#no matter what they actually are ridiculous

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for. 

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving. 

He manages to steal himself. 

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you. 

Suppose you were still settling in. 

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. ��We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you. 

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes. 

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused. 

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way. 

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it. 

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you. 

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place. 

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.” 

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…” 

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.” 

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his. 

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back. 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut. 

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here. 

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[fairyhaos]

❖ kiss your heart // xu minghao

minghao x f!reader, 1.1k+ words

tags: established relationship, both xmh + yn are RICH rich, fluff, kissing, marriage/proposal talks, minghao is literally so in love omfg

warnings: pet names (angel, sweetheart)

notes: literally me rambling about rich + devoted minghao with absolutely no direction planned and i think it's super obvious HELPP but it does not matter !! ur honor i luv these 2 theyre so sassy smitten and it devastates me

“you’re actually the worst person i’ve ever met.”

you glare at your boyfriend as he gets out of the driver’s seat, walks around the front of the parked car and opens your door for you. he’s still smiling that faintly smug smile that’s been on his stupidly handsome face ever since you left the restaurant, and you hate it.

“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.

minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”

“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.” 

during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.

any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.

but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.

you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.

“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.

that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.

and at the time, it seemed like it would work.

minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.

you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.

“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”

you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”

“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.

“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."

the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.

minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten. 

“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”

the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.

it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.

and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.

he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.

“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”

your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”

minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”

“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”

“you can pay for my birthday.”

“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”

you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.

“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”

your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”

minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.

“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”

you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”

minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”

“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”

“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”

you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery

[hsnlv]

enhypen!hyung line reaction to…

your stupid tiktok joke?

warnings/others: fluff?, suggestive joke (ifffff you squint actually lmfaoo)

a/n: i dont how to put out a layout for this one but i hope you enjoy it regardless :0 reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! 💗here’s my masterlist!💗

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ lee heeseung ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

“im bored. we should kiss.”

you glare at heeseung as he lounges on your bed, completely absorbed in his phone. your boyfriend—the one who came over claiming he missed you sooo much—is now here, ignoring you like you’re just part of the furniture.

“hee…” you whine, shifting closer to him, trying to steal even a sliver of his attention. but apparently, whatever’s on his screen is far more fascinating than you, because all you get in return is a halfhearted, unbothered “hm.”

oh, that’s it.

a lightbulb flickers in your mind as you remember something, and before you can stop yourself, you clear your throat dramatically and mumble, “baby, i’m bored. we should kiss.”

cue instant chaos.

heeseung, mid-sip of his water, suddenly chokes—his eyes widening as he coughs, frantically trying not to die. “w-what was that, bun?” he sputters, still recovering.

you blink at him innocently, gasping as if you’re shocked beyond belief. “gasp! who said that?!” you clutch your chest like you just heard the most scandalous thing in the world. “that’s crazy! so bold! so shameless!”

heeseung squints at you, lips twitching in amusement. “oh? so it wasn’t you?”

you shake your head furiously, eyes wide. “nope! absolutely not! it was probably the wind… or maybe a ghost!” you gasp again, pointing at him dramatically. “oh no! what if our house is haunted by a really romantic ghost?!”

heeseung finally breaks, a giggle escaping him as he tosses his phone aside and pulls you into his arms. “a romantic ghost, huh? well, i guess i better listen to its request.”

and before you can come up with another ridiculous excuse, he’s already leaning in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. park jongseong ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

“the matter baby? whats the matter baby?”

it’s movie night, and you and jay are curled up on the couch, but there’s just one problem.

jay is glued to his phone.

not paying attention to the movie. not paying attention to you. just scrolling.

you squint at him. this is blatant disrespect.

so, naturally, you decide to fix it.

“jay,” you say sweetly, shifting closer.

“hm?” he replies, still not looking up.

you fight back a smirk. “would you rather eat a baby goat or the matter baby?”

“the matter baby?” he asks, completely oblivious.

“what’s the matter baby?”

his thumb freezes.

his entire body goes rigid.

you watch as his brain malfunctions in real-time.

his eyes narrow, his jaw slightly dropping as realization smacks him in the face. “did you just—”

“nothing, sugar! how about you?” you cut him off, smiling innocently.

he stares. blinks once. twice.

and then, with zero warning, he lunges at you.

“YOU DID NOT JUST GET ME WITH THAT STUPID JOKE.”

you shriek, scrambling to escape, but jay is faster, stronger, and fueled by vengeance.

he tackles you onto the couch, trapping you beneath him as he straddles you.

“oh my god, you’re so mad right now!” you giggle, completely unbothered by the fact that you’re literally being held hostage.

“mad? no,” he smirks. “i just think you deserve punishment.”

“jay, no—”

too late.

his hands dive straight for your sides, and suddenly, you’re screaming with laughter, kicking and flailing as he mercilessly tickles you.

“say you’re sorry!” he demands, grinning.

“never!” you gasp between giggles, tears forming in your eyes.

“fine.” he leans down, lowering his voice. “i was gonna stop, but since you’re so stubborn…”

“JAY—”

the next few minutes are pure chaos, filled with screaming, thrashing, and a ridiculous amount of laughing.

somehow, you both end up in a tangled heap, breathless and giggling, his phone long forgotten on the floor.

mission: accomplished.

૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა sim jaeyun ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

“shh, dont talk too loud. it’s not good for the baby.”

jake has been nagging you non-stop for the past ten minutes, pacing around the room like a worried mother. and all because you forgot to lock the door when he left for groceries.

“baby, this is a serious matter,” he huffs, hands on his hips. “what— what if someone broke in and killed you or something? we do not want that—”

you groan, dramatically flopping onto the bed. yes, okay, he has a point. but in your defense, you were way too lazy to get up, and it’s not like he was gone for that long anyway.

and then, a lightbulb flickers in your head.

“hey, jake,” you cut him off mid-rant, voice suddenly soft and serious.

he stops, blinking at you. “what?”

you grab his hand gently and whisper, “shh, don’t talk too loud… it’s not good for the baby.”

jake freezes. you watch as about a thousand thoughts seem to hit him at once. “baby? what baby?”

“me,” you pout, clutching his hand tighter. “i’m the baby.”

his entire demeanor changes in a second. his sharp gaze softens, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to melt. “oh my god,” he mutters, running a hand over his face.

you double down, widening your eyes at him like some sort of helpless, delicate creature. “you were yelling,” you whisper dramatically. “scaring the baby…”

jake snorts, shaking his head as he finally cracks, wrapping his arms around you and squishing you into his chest. “you are so insufferable,” he mutters, laughing into your hair. “but ugh, fine. my poor baby.”

you grin, smug at your victory.

except—

“but,” jake suddenly pulls back, holding your face between his hands, his soft tone turning into a firm one again. “my big baby still needs to lock the door when i leave, okay?”

you groan. “ugh, jake—”

“nope,” he shakes his head, pecking your forehead to shut you up. “no arguments, baby. i will nag you forever if i have to.”

“forever?” you blink.

“forever.”

…you don’t know whether to be fond or terrified.

˚⊱🎀⊰˚park sunghoon ˚⊱🎀⊰˚

“i dont know whats gotten into me but i wish it was you.”

you lazily trace random patterns on sunghoon’s chest, humming softly as he absentmindedly plays with your hair.

“you’re awfully quiet today, hm?” he murmurs, his fingers still threading through your strands. he presses a quick kiss to the top of your head, as if trying to snap you out of your daze.

perfect. he fell right into your trap.

you smirk against his chest before quickly wiping it away, putting on your most innocent, vulnerable expression. you clear your throat dramatically.

“i don’t know what’s gotten into me lately, hoonie…” you mumble, voice just the right mix of soft and mysterious.

his phone is instantly forgotten. his whole body tenses as he tilts his head down at you, his eyes now filled with concern.

“hm?” he hums, his fingers pausing in your hair.

“but…” you sigh dramatically, tightening your grip on his shirt. “i wish it was you.”

silence.

you feel his chest rise and fall, but he doesn’t say a single word. you slowly peek up at him, and oh, wow.

his brain is completely fried.

his lips part slightly, his eyebrows furrowed, and his usually sharp gaze looks… empty.

“wait.” he blinks once. then twice. “what—”

before he can even process the joke, he suddenly moves.

with a swift motion, he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering over you with a deadpan expression.

“you think you’re funny, huh?” his voice is low, but there’s a hint of amusement laced in it.

you burst into giggles, squirming under him. “i know i’m funny!”

he narrows his eyes before suddenly attacking your sides with tickles.

“hoon— hoon, stop—” you shriek, flailing under him as he mercilessly tickles you, a smirk finally tugging at his lips.

“oh no, baby,” he teases, tilting his head. “you brought this on yourself.”

“i take it back! i take it back!” you cry out, but he only laughs, enjoying the way you’re practically gasping for air between your giggles.

when he finally stops, he hovers above you, his face just inches away.

“next time, i’ll really get into you,” he murmurs with a smirk, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss on your lips.

…yeah, joke’s on you.

©️ all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[jraker4]

"I concede that evidence currently shows the Bibas family was killed, and a body belonging to someone not a hostage was returned. It's a travesty. However, I can't condemn Nat Turner, and in the same token, I can't condemn Hamas." Considering the rest of your remarks prior to this, what a marvelously brazen display of chickenshit behavior. After all of your bemoaning a lack of sources-while offering exactly none of your own, mind-when you're given one, it slides off your back better than water off a duck's. Don't get me wrong, it doesn't mean you're obligated to concede your entire argument or anything, but a person of integrity would at least have the stones to admit 'I eat crow on this claim I made over and over again. I think in time more evidence will reveal I'm right, but right now that's not the case'. But you don't need integrity, because you've got The Cause, right? You don't have to be accurate, because you're Right. Like when you compare the plight of Palestinians to that of African chattel slaves in the early 19th century. Which is for starters just a buckwild stupid comparison to make, and in any event lacks any sense of nuance: it's *completely possible* to condemn specific actions of someone without insisting that they then condemn an entire movement or goal. People do it all the time, they're perfectly capable of it. You're doing it right this very moment with Palestinians...and yet, somehow, even conceptually you can't make that little reach further. And also condemn others while doing it. Let's see, what else: you don't know what carpet bombing is. If Israel were carpet bombing Palestinians, there wouldn't be Palestinians *left*. That doesn't mean the conduct of the war in Gaza is good or beyond reproach, far from it, but again we come back to your not needing to be accurate because you're Right (supposedly). Terms like 'carpet bombing' have meaning, and it's not 'prolonged air strikes'. But why be right when the term is so sexy? Ethnostates: I wonder how many ethnostates there are in the region and, indeed, the world, and what's the cause behind your total fucking silence on this relevant question? Actually I don't wonder, and if you're going to insist on using the term I'm going to have fun mocking you for it.

'Colonial'. One cannot colonize one's own indigenous land. Obviously that doesn't mean taking it is OK, there are more ethical questions to be asked and answered than 'are you indigenous or not', but *by definition* Israel isn't doing A Colonialism because you can't colonize your own native land. Now, there *are* plenty of words that already exist to describe the sorts of behavior you're trying to describe, but they're way less sexy than 'colonialism', so why trouble usin' `em, amirite? Say, I wonder how the regional nations around Israel got their start, what's their history, surely there ain't any colonizing going on there, right? What? That don't matter? Happened too long ago? Well, OK, so what's the exact expiration date then? While Israel would prefer other options, I think they'd be happy to know that the standard is 'hold out for a few centuries and then it's yours in the eyes of the world', since they're already determined to hold out for centuries anyway. What? That's a ridiculous standard that it isn't fair to make? Why? If you're going to use a term like 'colonial', we're going to talk about colonizing. That ain't limited to Israel.

What’s more likely? Hamas killed two crucial bargaining chips, then, instead of simply saying the bodies were lost under the rubble, returned the remains proving they’d murdered them.

Or

Israel killed them when they carpet bombed Gaza, like everyone warned them would happen, lied about the kids being alive for over a year, are now lying again to invoke genocidal fervour and break the ceasefire?

This is the “40 beheaded babies” debacle all over again. The truth will be acknowledged eventually but by then it will be too late.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

fangirling and finances 𓂂 𓇼˚｡ •

Summary: offical merch is expensive. the men who sell it are rich. doesn't mean i won't go in a rant about it.

✿ ln x desi!reader ✦

✿ fluff + humour ✦

masterlist ☾☼

monaco glistened in the mediterranean sunlight, a playground for the global elite. y/n, though, had another purpose. no need for the designer stores; she was tracking lando norris. she gripped her phone, praying she could take a photo if she managed to get close enough. her wardrobe? a much-worn "lando 4" t-shirt, a copy she'd bought from a street stall back home in india. official f1 merchandise prices would make her cry – genuinely, who could possibly afford those prices? seeing a known face by the casino square, y/n's heart leaped. it was him! taking a deep breath, she walked over, attempting to look as casual as possible. "mr. norris, may i have an autograph?" lando grinned, always the professional, and autographed her phone case. as he returned it to her, his eyes fell on her t-shirt. "cool shirt," he said, "but why not get the official merch? the quality is so much better." that was it. the floodgates opened. "are you kidding me? official merch is highway robbery! i could practically fund a small road trip around europe with the cost of one of your official hoodies!" lando blinked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. road trips? he was more used to private jets. "uh-huh," he said, clearly not understanding the financial reality of budget travel. y/n was going strong. "see, a good official t-shirt will cost you about 80 euros, okay? that's, like, 7,200 rupees! i can buy at least five of these fake shirts for that kind of money, and they're not half bad! or, let's look at it this way, that's enough for, like, 140 big mac meals in india! imagine the food coma!" lando stared at her, confusion and fascination warring in his gaze. big macs? he lived in michelin-star restaurants. but she was so vivid, so evocative with her words; the sheer incredulity of her comparisons swept him up in their wake. "right," he answered slowly, "big macs. got it." y/n, unaware of his millionaire thinking, was only just beginning. "and those caps? don't even get me started! 40 euros for a cap? that's 3,600 rupees! i could buy a good pair of running shoes for that! shoes i could use to run away from those ridiculous prices!" lando, however, was undergoing some weird phenomenon. it was akin to "cuteness aggression," but rather than having the urge to squeeze a puppy, he simply wanted to continue hearing her. her furrowed brow, the frantic maths on her phone, the very universality of her money troubles – it was all oddly charming. casually, he suggested, "so, if money did not matter, what pieces would you most want?" y/n, without hesitation, recited her fantasy wishlist: a team polo, windbreaker, the limited-edition monaco hat, even the official team backpack. she listed the prices both in euros and rupees, not even catching lando's discreetly opening eyes at the sum. "and where are you staying?" he inquired, attempting to be casual. "how long are you in monaco?" y/n, still enthralled by her merchandise fever, replied eagerly, sharing information about her budget hotel and the last few days of her journey. lando listened intently, taking it in. "i'll… uh… i'll see what i can do with those prices," he replied with a small smile, well aware he wasn't going to negotiate with the official merchandise vendor. the next morning, an unassuming van arrived outside of y/n's hotel. a delivery man appeared, holding an enormous, unorthodox-looking package. on the inside, wrapped in tissues, were every item y/n had listed. the monaco cap, team polo, windbreaker, even the backpack. in a side pocket was stuck a tiny note, scribbled in pen: "look at the prices… adjusted ;) - lando." y/n gazed at the box contents, her mouth agape. she couldn't believe it. lando had actually… he'd listened to her rant! she messaged her friends immediately, telling them the tale in wide-eyed wonder, exaggerating the details just a little for dramatic effect. the question now was: what next? would this be an isolated act of kindness, or the start of something bigger? she had no clue, but she couldn't help grinning. this was certainly a vacation to remember.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

tf, why do i like this? dee, this is for you. anyways, i hope you like this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @opastries81

[quesocheeso]

wukong my poor guy.. no matter the universe he just cannot escape the cheating allegations 😔

i wonder how he'll react in the 3 am au about it, if he finds out about it. feel offended? or maybe mac makes a thowaway comment about it (pretending not to care but also gauging to see if its true from wukong's reaction) wukong might feel hurt mac would assume so? but also not sure how to show just how ridiculous that is, because oh no, that means he'll have to open the feelings box. ho ho the potential.

Throwing this out cause it’s kinda funny

But is it really cheating allegation if you’re not really together together y’know

Like there’s no actual commitment that’s stoping him from going out with someone else, so it’s not like it’s not possible

They’re not married like my other au so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it could happen

I think outwardly he wouldn’t show any hurt towards Macaque insinuating it, but inside he would be offended, but like he gets it in a way, like he doesn’t know what Macaque does 24/7 but he sure hasn’t pulled up with a random kid that shares his magical essence to a tea without the guy being a celestial monkey(which we know MK is a stone monkey that was born from the same stone as Wukong but like that’s later on) and instead is a normal mortal🤨

Like idk bout you but I’d be sideeying a guy tooo

I don’t think Wukong would be trying to justify it to Macaque but actually be proclaiming how ridiculous it is and also start questioning MK’s origin far earlier than in canon

[whosashan]

Console me

Part 2 of Sylus and Rafayel's section in "Who do you love?"

A/N: You asked, and here it is! Hope you enjoy! 💕

Rafayel

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you last spoke to Rafayel.

But the feeling of betrayal hadn’t faded. Not even a little.

It wasn’t that he didn’t try.

Your phone had been flooded with calls, texts, voice messages—some pleading, some poetic, others just plain ridiculous. Then came the flowers, bouquets upon bouquets piling up at your doorstep until your apartment smelled like an entire garden.

And then, of course, the billboard.

"Talk to me, cutie. I'm so sorry :("

It sat right outside your building, massive and utterly impossible to ignore.

You weren’t sure if you were amused or infuriated.

And yet, through all of that, he hadn’t shown up at your door. Not once. Rafayel, for all his dramatics, knew you. Knew that no amount of begging or extravagant gestures would work if you weren’t ready.

But he was waiting.

And maybe, deep down, you had been waiting too.

Then came the call from Thomas.

At first, you assumed Rafayel had bribed him into getting you to talk. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But there was something in Thomas’s voice—something that unsettled you.

"I don’t want to get involved in whatever mess this is, but I’m afraid it’s starting to affect my job."

That caught your attention.

"How?"

There was a pause. Then, a sigh.

"Just come here and see for yourself."

And then the call ended.

You scoffed. Classic.

And yet, despite your irritation, concern gnawed at you. Because no matter what had happened—no matter how much Rafayel had hurt you—you loved him. That much, at least, was certain.

Even if sometimes, you weren’t sure if his heart was truly yours.

—

The moment you stepped into the studio, you were hit with one immediate thought.

What the actual hell?

The place looked like it had been ransacked.

Not the usual artistic chaos Rafayel thrived in—no, this was different.

There was sand. Everywhere.

The paint on the walls had cracked, the curtains were ripped, and for some ungodly reason, seashells were scattered across the floor.

You weren’t even near a beach.

Your eyes finally landed on him.

Rafayel was seated in front of a massive, untouched canvas. His usual effortless grace was gone—his shoulders hunched slightly, his hands limp against his lap. The ever-present glint of mischief in his blue-pink eyes had dulled.

And yet, when you spoke, his name slipping past your lips softer than you intended—

"Rafayel."

—he didn’t look at you right away.

You weren’t sure if he was ignoring you or just too lost in his own world to register your presence.

So, you moved closer, crouching beside him.

Finally, his gaze shifted to yours.

It was subtle, but you saw it—the flicker of relief. The weight of exhaustion. The quiet kind of hurt that he rarely let anyone see.

But he stayed silent.

You sighed, reaching for his hand, fingers brushing against his knuckles.

"You're a big, big dummy, fishie."

His lips quirked—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

"Are you here to scold me, or finally confess that you can’t live without me?" His voice was light, teasing, but you heard the tension beneath it. The attempt to mask his uncertainty.

"How about we go to the beach?"

That made him pause.

His brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his face—until realization hit.

The beach. Your place. Where everything had begun. Where words always came easier, where wounds found ways to heal.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were offering him this. Like he knew he didn’t deserve it.

And yet, he still took your hand.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers laced through yours before he pulled you forward—abruptly, effortlessly, entirely into his embrace.

His arms tightened around you, his grip firm, possessive, as though making sure you were real. That you were here.

Then, lips brushing against your temple, voice barely above a whisper—

"Don’t leave me alone again… please."

You inhaled sharply.

Rafayel was a lot of things—dramatic, infuriating.

But right now, he wasn’t playing.

You hesitated for only a second before resting your forehead against his shoulder.

"Don’t give me a reason to."

Sylus

It had been a week—a full week without contacting your lover.

Guilt gnawed at you, weaving itself between regret and hurt, settling heavy in your chest.

This was the longest you had ever been apart since the beginning of your relationship. It felt unnatural, wrong. Life without him was something you didn’t want to adjust to.

And yet, your pride held you back.

You paced your room, phone clutched in your hand, staring at the messages you had typed out but never sent.

"I miss you." "Can we talk?" "Why did you have to hurt me this badly?" "Are you still waiting for me?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

Sylus had reached out, but only in the quiet, thoughtful way that was so distinctly him.

A small, carefully folded letter, delivered by Mephisto.

"Whatever you decide to do, I'll always be here for you. My heart is yours, darling. —Sylus"

Your grip on the letter tightened. It made your heart ache, made doubt creep in.

Had you overreacted?

Before you could dwell on it further, a sudden knock on the door shattered your thoughts.

You hesitated before moving toward it, unsure what you were hoping for.

And then, you opened it.

There he was—your lover, standing before you, looking slightly disheveled, not quite himself. In his hands, a bouquet of your favorite flowers, petals trembling slightly from his grip.

His confidence, usually unwavering, was laced with hesitation.

"I know I said I’d wait for you," he murmured, voice softer than usual. "I just... missed you. I needed to see you."

Your heart pounded.

For a moment, you only stared at him, absorbing the sight of the man you had longed for. And then—

You launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

He let out a startled breath, arms instinctively locking around you, steadying you against him.

Then, you grinned against his skin, voice muffled but certain.

"Let’s never fight again, okay?"

[blueraith]

"Vi and Cait should have broken up until Zaun was freed!"

Jesus fuck, once again, for the 1,485th time, Vi's concerns throughout the show have little to nothing to do with Zaun's political issues. Ekko. You are talking about Ekko. Who also evidently saw no need to wait until after the conflict to ally with Jinx. You know. The woman who's been killing off all his friends and attempted to blow him up at least once. And yet y'all never seem to bitch about how little in-universe Timebomb makes sense according to your own standards.

The standards Vi and Caitvi in general are held to compared to other characters are frankly ridiculous.

"Caitlyn hit Vi!"

Jayce fucking shot a hole in Viktor's chest.

Yet I don't go around to the other ship tags talking about stupid shit that ultimately does not fucking matter to the overall plot or enjoyment of the story presented.

No. It would not have made for a better show if Cait and Vi didn't make up until after some nebulous and far-fetched ideal about Zaun was reached.

(Y'all should be more pissed at Jinx for setting Zaun's full independence back by years at this rate for blowing up the council. Whoops, guess blind acts of violence while actively--and successfully mind you--negotiating your own sovereignty doesn't work, actually.)

Anyway, that shit would have been lame as fuck, perpetuates the idea that Vi can never just have what she fucking wants without constantly sacrificing herself for the sake of others, and turns the show's message into some Saturday morning cartoon, moralistic, and boring bullshit.

[lelengerine]

pairing. zhong chenle x reader

synopsis. you became chenle’s academic rival because it was the only way to make him notice you. it was supposed to be harmless—just a little friendly competition, a fleeting thrill of being seen, but when you overhear his friends saying you’re nowhere near his type, you realize you’ve might’ve been playing a losing game from the beginning.

tags. highschool au, academic rivals to lovers, mutual pining, a splash of angst but mainly fluff, one cuss word, plot is a lil stupid but it's MY kinda stupid, she/her prns are used for reader!

wc. 1.6k words

notes. it has been a while... again... anyways.... i hope you're all doing well 😁 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list ꒱

it all begins with a single test.

a perfect score, a name at the top of the list. not his. yours.

chenle doesn’t look at you often—not outside of necessity, not beyond the casual acknowledgment of two students who happen to sit near each other. you were just another body in the classroom, another hand raised during discussions, another mark on the ranking board.

yet, that changes the moment you manage to surpass him.

“that was sheer luck,” he says when he sees your score, as if the idea of you outperforming him was absurd, as if there was no possible universe in which you could be his equal, but that was what it took for him to notice you, to know you.

so you do it again. and again. and again—until your name and his become inseparable, linked by competition, by late-night study sessions and quiet acknowledgments of each other’s efforts; until it becomes expected that when scores are announced, yours will be the first name he looks for.

and at some point, the rivalry stops being just a game to you because you like the way his brow furrows when he barely edges you out. you like the sharp wit in his teasing, the way he leans back in his chair and smirks whenever he catches you staring. you like the quiet satisfaction in his voice when he tells you, “next time, i’m winning.”

you like him.

not in any serious way—just the tiniest bit. a trivial little crush. nothing that would ever mean anything.

at least, that’s what you tell minjeong.

“you’re actually insane,” she says one afternoon, watching you scribble furiously in your notebook.

you don’t even look up. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

minjeong kicks at your chair leg. “oh, please. you started a whole academic rivalry just to get chenle to notice you.”

you blink innocently. “and?”

“and that’s the most unhinged thing i’ve ever heard!” she gestures wildly. “like, do you even hear yourself? you willingly turned your crush into your competition just so he’d acknowledge your existence?”

you sigh, finally looking up. “it’s not that deep.”

minjeong gives you a look. “it is exactly that deep. you could’ve just flirted with him like a normal person.”

you scoff. “i am flirting. just… academically.”

“i call bullshit!”

“it’s working, isn’t it?” you tap your pen against your notebook. “before this, he didn’t even properly know my name. now, he’s the one finding me to compare exam results.”

minjeong groans, dropping her forehead onto the desk. “i can’t believe i’m friends with someone this delusional.”

you grin. “you love me.”

she lifts her head just enough to glare at you. “i tolerate you.”

and maybe she has a point—maybe it’s ridiculous, maybe it’s a little (very) pathetic, but in the end, what does it matter? it’s just a harmless game. a fleeting thrill.

it’s not like you actually expect anything to come of it.

right?

ʚɞ

it was all an accident.

you didn’t mean to overhear jaemin and jisung talking in the cafeteria, but the moment your name slips into the conversation, your brain snags onto it like a hook.

jaemin sighs, voice quieter than usual. “i feel kind of bad for her.”

jisung, chewing absentmindedly, glances up. “why?”

jaemin nudges his tray with his fork, brows drawn together. “i mean… it’s obvious, isn’t it? she’s been competing with him like crazy, but…” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “i don’t think she realizes that chenle doesn’t usually—” he exhales. “he’s never really looked at anyone that way before.”

jisung frowns slightly. “you think she likes him?”

jaemin gives him a pointed look. “come on, you don’t?”

jisung hesitates, then sighs. “yeah. but it’s not like it’s completely hopeless. i mean, he respects her now, you know? it’s not nothing.”

jaemin leans back in his seat, thoughtful. “yeah, but respect and interest aren’t the same thing.” his voice drops, softer, like he almost doesn’t want to say it. “and if he was interested in someone… it probably wouldn’t be her.”

jisung’s expression hardens. “not because she’s not good enough, right?”

“no, of course not,” jaemin says quickly. “it’s just—you know how he is. he likes people who challenge him, but he also looks up to experience. he’s always been drawn to older people, people who’ve done more, seen more.” he sighs. “if he ever did like someone, it’d probably be someone like that.”

jisung drums his fingers against the table, lips pressing together. “i mean… who would wanna date their rival anyways? that sounds a bit exhausting.”

jaemin huffs a quiet laugh. “yeah, exactly.” then, after a beat, his voice softens again. “i just don’t want her to get her hopes up.”

your stomach twists.

and just like that, the air shifts because suddenly, everything that once felt light, fleeting, manageable—your silly little crush, your harmless rivalry—becomes something heavier. something that leaves a pit in your stomach, pressing down with the weight of every joke, every glance, every moment you thought maybe.

there was never a chance. not even the slightest possibility.

and you were stupid to ever think otherwise.

ʚɞ

you don’t talk about it.

not to minjeong when she nudges your elbow during class, whispering about the way chenle has glanced at your direction three times in a row already when it’s only the first period. not to your friends when they ask why you don’t seem to argue with him as much anymore.

and certainly not to chenle himself.

you tell yourself you’re getting over it, that it doesn’t matter.

you stop challenging him for the sake of it. you stop lingering on the way he says your name. you stop waiting for him to look at you first. you let yourself lose—because what’s the point of competing for something you were never going to win?

“what’s with you lately?”

chenle’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the nearly empty classroom. you don’t look up from your notebook, feigning disinterest as you continue underlining a phrase you’ve already marked twice.

“with me?” you ask, barely sparing him a glance. “nothing’s wrong.”

he scoffs, shifting his weight against the desk. “you haven’t tried to beat me in anything all week.”

the accusation is laced with something you can’t quite place—curiosity, maybe. or frustration. maybe both. but it doesn’t matter, none of it does.

you shrug, keeping your expression neutral. “maybe i just don’t care anymore.”

a pause. too long, too heavy. you feel the weight of his stare pressing into you, waiting for something—for you to crack, to admit to something you shouldn’t.

then, his voice comes quieter, but sharper. “you expect me to believe that?”

you tap your pen against the desk, the rhythm steady, controlled. “i don’t expect anything from you.”

and there it is. the truth, laid out between you like an open wound.

chenle exhales, tilting his head, his gaze never wavering. “so that’s it?”

you force yourself to nod, as if it’s that simple. as if your stomach doesn’t still twist every time he looks at you.

another pause. then—

“so it has nothing to do with my ideal type being someone older or whatever?”

your fingers stiffen around your pen.

the air shifts, charged and suffocating. for the first time since he walked into the room, you hesitate. your body betrays you before your mind can catch up—shoulders tensing, breath hitching, the smallest flicker of your eyes meeting his before you can stop yourself.

chenle sees it all.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, voice clipped, turning back to your notes.

he doesn’t let up. “jisung and jaemin,” he hints, like he’s been waiting for this, like he already knows you heard them. “that’s why you’ve been acting weird.”

you grip the edge of the page, trying to keep your hands steady. “it’s really not.” 

his gaze burns into you, unrelenting. “right,” he murmurs. “so it wouldn’t… i don’t know… bother you if i said they were wrong?”

your heart stumbles.

wrong?

the word unravels in your mind, the possibilities spinning out of control before you can stop them.

they were… wrong?

wrong about what? that you never had a chance? that he would never look at you that way? that you were playing a losing game from the start?

or—

that maybe, just maybe, you had never been losing at all.

your throat feels tight. you grip your pen harder, grounding yourself in something, anything other than trying to figure out the meaning behind his words. you tell yourself not to ask. not to hope.

“no,” you mutter instead. “it doesn’t matter.”

chenle exhales, a quiet huff of amusement, as if he can see right through you. “it does matter, though.”

his voice is lower now, softer, careful, and you hate the way it makes your pulse stutter.

“cause you’re the same age as me.”

the words settle between you, deceptively simple, but you can feel the intention behind them, the unspoken meaning in the way he says them—like he’s handing you a puzzle piece, daring you to put it together.

slowly, reluctantly, you look up.

chenle is already watching you, waiting. his expression is unreadable, but there’s something beneath it—something pleased, something almost satisfied. like he’s just solved a problem that’s been bothering him for a while.

like he’s just confirmed something he always suspected.

a slow, knowing smile tugs at his lips. “so?” he murmurs. “still want to pretend you don’t care?”

and suddenly, it clicks.

the teasing, the competition, the way his eyes would always flick to your scores first. the way he’d smirk whenever you challenged him, like he was waiting for it. the way he never let you win too easily, but never let himself lose without a fight.

the way he always met you where you were, like he had been waiting for you to catch up.

it seems you weren’t the only one playing a game.

[thedemonofcat]

Though Jaskier is certainly not a mage, he actually has a pretty good grasp on magical theory.

He's a master of the seven liberal arts. He can learn anything from an academic standpoint!

Late nights discussing magic theory with Yennefer.

Geralt sulking because he's not getting attention.

One peculiar thing Geralt had noticed about Jaskier was his inexplicable wealth of knowledge on the most random topics.

"It's nearly impossible to find Damiana at the market these days—everyone keeps using it for love potions," Jaskier remarked.

"And how exactly would you know that, bard?" Yennefer asked, her lips curving into a smirk.

"When you've had enough people try to slip you love potions, you start learning what they're made of," Jaskier replied matter-of-factly.

"I've always preferred Cardamom," Yennefer mused.

"Ridiculous. It has far too strong a scent," Jaskier scoffed.

The two fell into a lively discussion about the magical properties of various plants. Geralt, for his part, had no idea what they were going on about.

After an awkward silence, he finally muttered, "I like the taste of fennel seeds."

[brainddeadd]

Loosely based on this ask

What the NHL is Saying About Y/N

Jack Hughes (New Jersey Devils - Teammate & Honorary Brother):

"She’s one of us. Tough, skilled, and honestly, probably the best-dressed player on the team. Just don���t let her sweet off-ice vibe fool you—she’ll dangle you out of your skates if you give her an inch."

Nico Hischier (New Jersey Devils - Captain & Teammate, Honorary Brother):

"She works hard, and that’s what matters most. She’s earned her spot here. I don’t care what anyone says, she belongs in this league."

Luke Hughes (New Jersey Devils - Teammate & Honorary Brother):

"If anyone touches her, we’re fighting. No exceptions."

Dawson Mercer (New Jersey Devils - Teammate & Chaos Instigator, HonoraryBrother):

"She’s got that quiet fire. Doesn’t talk much, just proves it on the ice. But also, she drinks the pinkest, most ridiculous protein shakes I’ve ever seen."

Trevor Zegras (Anaheim Ducks - Friend & Agent of Mayhem):

"She’s fun, fast, and fearless. I respect that. Plus, I love watching her make guys twice her size look stupid on the ice."

Quinn Hughes (Vancouver Canucks - Protective Older Brother Energy):

"I see why my brothers won’t shut up about her. She’s got skill, and she plays smart. I just hope she doesn’t let the league chew her up—this place can be ruthless."

Matthew Knies (Toronto Maple Leafs - Opponent & Friend - Clearly PR-Approved Statement):

"She’s got potential. You can see she plays with confidence, and that’s huge. But, you know, it’s a long season. We’ll see how she holds up."

Colton Parayko (St. Louis Blues - Veteran Presence):

"She’s tough, no doubt about it. Doesn’t back down, doesn’t play scared. That earns respect in this league."

Travis Konecny (Philadelphia Flyers - Certified Pest & Y/N’s Enemy #1):

"She’s feisty, I’ll give her that. But she’s still gotta learn how to keep her head up when she’s playing against guys like me."

Matt Rempe (New York Rangers - Absolute Menace & Secret Softie):

"She’s fast, she’s skilled—yeah, she’s good. But more importantly? She’s got an entire army ready to throw hands for her. Smart move, baby devil."

Auston Matthews (Toronto Maple Leafs - Superstar & Sniper):

"She’s got good hands, no question. It’s not easy being in the spotlight right away, but she seems to handle it well. We’ll see how her game evolves."

William Nylander (Toronto Maple Leafs - Fashion King & Skill Player):

"I like how she plays—smooth, confident. And she’s got great style, which is obviously important."

Brock Boeser (Vancouver Canucks - Elite Flow & Laid-Back Vibes):

"She’s a fun player to watch. Got that mix of skill and grit. I’m just glad I don’t have to play against her every night."

Gabe Landeskog (Colorado Avalanche - Captain Material Always):

"She reminds me of the young guys who come in and immediately demand your attention. She’s got something special, and if she keeps working, she’s going to be a problem for the rest of us for a long time."

Tyler Seguin (Dallas Stars - Veteran & Former League Heartthrob):

"She plays hard, and she doesn’t let the noise get to her. That’s impressive, especially for someone new to the league. I respect that."

Brad Marchand (Boston Bruins - Menace & Instigator):

"Look, the league’s changing, right? New faces, new energy. Not sure how long she’ll last once teams start really targeting her, though."

Matthew Tkachuk (Florida Panthers - Agent of Chaos & Certified Hater):

"I don’t get the hype. Everyone acts like she’s some kind of game-changer, but this league isn’t just about showing up—it’s about proving you belong, every night. Let’s see if she can actually handle that."

Unnamed Fourth-Line Grinder from a Random Team:

"I don’t get the hype. She’s fine, but she’s not some superstar. I’ve seen guys with way more skill struggle to stay in the lineup."

League Executive (Clearly PR-Approved Statement):

"Y/N represents an exciting new chapter for the NHL, bringing skill, determination, and a fresh perspective to the game. We’re thrilled to see her thrive at the highest level."

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

What do you think of the show's seeming obsession with everyone (the leads especially) being the best and the top? Like, Marinette's parents don't just run a good bakery, they run the Best Bakery in all of Paris! Kitty Section gets a record deal with the city's top producer! Marinette is the personal designer of Jagged Stone! Alya runs a super popular video blog! Max isn't just the resident smart kid, he can make AI with real feelings!

Oh, but actually, Marinette and Adrien are also top of the class (the webisodes straight-up state Adrien is best in class, surpassing Max and Sabrina, and Marinette gets top grades in Chameleon despite all the workload), because how dare our leads be not good at something?

And that's not getting into "Marinette and Adrien are the best LB and CN ever" stuff. That part is best chalked up to Tikki and Plagg being encouraging, because otherwise the show dunks on all the historical figures they made holders, all at once.

Anyway, with everyone in class being a) hyper talented and famous or b) related to some big nabob, it's not surprising that fans thought it was some elite private school. But no, it's apparently a regular state school (holy smokes, why would Andre and Gabriel send their children to a regular state school??)

That would work in a story where comical exaggeration was the absolute norm, but seems like Miraculous tries to be grotesque and realistic at the same time and fails at both.

Oh look, it's time to talk about Kim Possible again! Phineas and Ferb, too. I'll even use My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic to really drive this one home.

It's incredibly normal for episodic kids shows to have the cast be ridiculously talented and connected. They do this for a couple of reasons.

The first reason is that the characters are meant to be stagnant. Every episode stands alone so there's no time for true character growth. That means that the characters need to be their best selves right from day one. Kim Possible doesn't have time to let Kim learn to fight and be awesome. That's just her default state.

Small life lessons may be taught as we see in both Kim Possible and My Little Pony, but you can miss an episode and still understand the characters because those life lessons didn't really matter to the characters. They weren't there as part of some major character journey. They were there for the kids at home.

The second reason is that kids shows star kids and teens. You don't want adults to be too involved, but sometimes you want "adult" powers and so the kid and teen characters get ridiculous upgrades. A great example is Wade from Kim Possible. Wade is Kim's tech guy. He's also 10-years-old. Absurd? Yes, but they wanted Kim to have cool teach while also keeping the reoccurring hero cast mostly teens and kids and so we get Wade. Phineas and Ferb is another example of this. The titular characters are shown doing things like welding even though they're around 10. This happens because they need to have ridiculous skills for the show to work.

The third reason is that the more connected the characters are, the more stories you can tell. If Marinette's parents don't have a successful and popular bakery, then they can't be hired to cater major events like a movie premier. If Kitty Section isn't wildly successful, then they won't get invited to appear on TV.

This is why Kim Possible made Kim's dad a rocket scientist. It let the show use rockets and advanced tech in several episode. There's at least one where they go to space! The main character of My Little Pony is the student of the kingdom's ruler, allowing the show to include princesses and have plot lines around things ranging from royal balls to diplomatic missions. Things they couldn't do if it was just about some random ponies with no connections.

Some kids shows keep the characters more normal and stick to more realistic hijinks, but when your show is about magic and superheroes, it makes sense to go big.

The reason Miraculous' version of these things doesn't work for some people is probably because of our ever present issue: Miraculous feels too serialized. There's too much connective tissue for the characters to get away with being stagnant. The lessons they "learn" are too big to just go away never and be touched on again. They are not their best selves from day one. They actually do need to grow! This makes the things they're good at feel hollow to some because the show didn't set Marinette and Adrien up the way Kim Possible set up Kim and Ron or the way Phineas and Ferb set up its leads. The character's adult skills don't fit their very real flaws.

Similarly, the show has added all these celebrity connections and then done stuff that makes it feel like those connections should matter to the plot when that's not the way this is usually played. My Little Pony kept Princess Celestia well removed from the things Twilight and her friends were getting up to. It never felt like she should step in. She had a kingdom to run! The show also never treated Twilight's connection as a big deal. Celestia might be the country's ruler, but she's very down to earth. She doesn't feel all that special.

Meanwhile, in Miraculous, the celebrities are treated like celebrities, they often have close ties to the cast, and they are actively around, making it feel like they should play a part in the story at times. The big example is, as always, Lila's lies. Many of them should fall apart because of who the cast knows or, conversely, the cast shouldn't care about Lila's celebrity friends because they have those friends, too. Princess Fragrance was a season one episode and gave Rose a close friendship with Prince Ali that is confirmed to be ongoing in season four's Guiltrip, making it deeply confusing when Rose never catches on to Lila's bullshit. You're really telling me that Rose never once talked to her good friend Ali about her good friend Lila? Really? Rose? Little miss loves-to-talk-about-her-friends-and-how-much-she-love-them? Sure, writers. Sure.

In summary, the problem isn't that the characters are too cool, connected, and talented, it's how those ideas were executed. There are versions of the show where the characters are fine being the best things ever and versions of the show where those elements should have been toned back. I can't really say which canon should have done because canon is a mess of episodic stories and serialized elements that has no idea what it's trying to be.

[winters-on-the-wing]

as a disabled gay poc i dont WANT to rule over brits or straights or whites. that doesn’t actually help anybody. and even if i did, the key here that you’re missing is that those groups HAVE THE POWER. muggles do not and never did have the power. the muggles and muggle borns are the poc, the gay, the jewish, in this comparison.

just because you feel victimized by a nazi being seen as exactly what they are, a fucking nazi, doesn’t mean that i have to bow and scrape and pretend like i don’t see the truth.

him being a child DOES matter actually because a lot of the people he hurt are children. it’s not fair that they’re forced to understand the truth of the world by being hurt by it and oppressed by it but reggie gets a pass cuz he’s a cute lil white baby who didn’t know better. ridiculous. pack it the fuck up.

because the marauders fandom as a whole generally uses this phrase horrifically wrong, i’m going to explain what “morally grey” actually does and does not mean!

morally grey is NOT:

1. character who’s done a lengthy series of horrific things and then does one sort of good thing.

2. character who had a bad childhood and then as an adult, commits violent hate crimes.

3. character who is supports racism/bigotry/misogyny but it’s okay because they get bullied or they’re poor.

4. character who’s done a lengthy series of really good things and then does one sort of bad thing.

5. character who is a horrible person who’s done numerous horrific wrongs, but they’re a little white boy, or a tiny little twink man, or an emo dark haired baby boy, or a blond freckled cinnamon roll, so it’s magically fine.

morally grey IS:

1. character who fights for good/equality/a noble cause but goes about it in a violent or harmful fashion. yes, violence is necessary in times of war. but it is still morally grey to engage in it.

2. character who is forced into an oppressive role and is choosing the safety of themselves over the safety of an oppressed population.

3. character who had a bad childhood and struggles to break the cycle in which they were created, but makes an effort to do so anyway.

the bottom line is that moral greyness represents an actual struggle between good and evil influences that manifests into tangible action.

regulus black is NOT morally grey. the one good thing he ever did was not for a good reason. therefore he was not struggling between good and evil. his entire life was dedicated to himself, his power, which comes from blood supremacy.

barty crouch jr. is NOT morally grey. he had a bad childhood theoretically, but he never canonically fought against those influences, and it’s implied that his childhood was bad as a direct result of his sadistic tendencies. therefore, there’s no struggle between good and evil.

bellatrix lestrange is NOT morally grey. being a woman does not automatically counter or somehow excuse her dedication to blood supremacy, which never wavers or changes. no struggle between good and evil.

severus snape is NOT morally grey. his actions appear to be good, but the reasoning behind them are never that. he protects harry because he sees lily in him. he doesn’t express remorse for his blood supremacist views even when he becomes a double agent. he openly bullies and torments children for things they can’t control due to the bitterness in his heart. he was bullied in childhood but it was due to his blood supremacist beliefs. it all comes back to him clinging onto the slightest semblance of power he has as someone with wizard blood in him. though his actions suggest it, i personally see no true struggle between good and evil, as his objective is always the same.

ron weasley is NOT morally grey. his occasional moments of rudeness are never guided by evil intentions. he is simply human, and his bad actions do not remotely balance his good actions. his good actions are so significant and common that his bad actions are tiny blips of misjudgment that can be attributed to emotional outbursts. emotional outbursts do not imply moral greyness.

albus dumbledore IS morally grey. his intentions are good, but the way he goes about doing what he does is horrific. he is willing to murder children in order for more children numerically to stay alive. debating which lives are more precious through simple logic is moral greyness because it is a struggle between the good of saving lives and the bad of sacrificing other lives. all for a good cause, but is it really so good if it causes death?

i’m too tired to think of other characters but moral greyness is present in harry potter/marauders. just not in the characters that the fandom is implying. morally grey is not an excuse for one’s actions or a way to criminalize one’s actions. it’s simply a way to describe somebody. akin to a personality trait.

and this is my take on it! i know i’m gonna get death threats but i don’t really care! i know i’m right!

[earthlybeam]

Hey, I love your writing so much and I had request if you're taking them right now. I read your headcanons about Glorfindel and I thought it was interesting that people kind of underestimate him because he's attractive. Could you do one where Glorfindel overhears the reader defending him to other people? Hope this isn't too strange of a request!

That’s such a kind thing to say—thank you! I’d love to write this for you. 🫶 It’s a great idea, and not strange at all! Glorfindel is such an interesting character, and I really like exploring the contrast between his beauty and his strength. 😉❤️‍🔥🤌

Glorfindel version below

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

Glorfindel was no stranger to admiration. His golden hair, striking blue eyes, and radiant presence often left people in awe before they even knew his name. It wasn’t unusual for conversations to shift when he entered a room—whispers of his past heroics, quiet sighs over his beauty, or, occasionally, dismissive laughter from those who assumed his looks outshone his substance. Most days, he ignored it. He had lived too long to care about the idle chatter of those who did not truly know him. But today was different. Today, he overheard you.

The voices reached him just as he turned a corner in the halls of Rivendell. He hadn’t been paying much attention—his mind had been on council matters, his upcoming patrol, and, admittedly, the thought of seeing you later that evening. But the moment he heard his own name, spoken with a sneer, he slowed his steps.

“Oh, come on. He’s Glorfindel—he’s all charm and golden hair. He’s a warrior, sure, but it’s not like he’s some grand strategist. If he weren’t so pretty, do you think people would take him half as seriously?” Glorfindel’s steps halted. He exhaled sharply through his nose, already prepared to walk away. This was not new. He had heard it all before. He had nothing to prove to those who judged him by his face rather than his deeds. And then, your voice cut through the air like a blade. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” His brow lifted slightly, curiosity sparking in his chest.

“Glorfindel is one of the most formidable warriors in Middle-earth. He literally fought a Balrog single-handedly and won. He has led armies, advised lords and kings, and is one of the few elves wise enough to be trusted as an emissary of the Valar. He’s not just ‘some warrior’—he’s a leader, a tactician, and a legend.” Silence followed, and Glorfindel could practically see the way the others must have shifted awkwardly under the weight of your words. But you weren’t finished.

“And even if he weren’t all those things, even if he were just ‘some warrior’—what of it? He’s kind, selfless, and one of the most honorable people I have ever met. He doesn’t look down on others, even when they clearly don’t deserve his patience. The fact that you all assume he gets by on his looks alone just proves you’ve never actually spoken to him. And maybe you should, instead of sitting here making fools of yourselves.”

Glorfindel had been called many things in his lifetime—hero, lord, captain, legend. But standing there, listening to the raw conviction in your voice as you defended him without hesitation, he had never felt more seen. His heart clenched, warmth flooding through him in a way that had nothing to do with the golden light of his spirit. You hadn’t defended him because you wanted something from him, or because you needed to impress anyone. You had spoken because you believed in him. Because you knew him.

The sound of chairs shifting signaled the end of the conversation. He waited until the footsteps faded before stepping forward, rounding the corner just as you turned to leave. You nearly ran into him. Your eyes widened slightly, guilt flashing across your face—as if you’d been caught saying something you shouldn’t have. “Glorfindel,” you breathed. He tilted his head, amusement glinting in his gaze. “That was quite the speech.” A flush crept up your neck. “You… heard that?”

“Every word.” He let a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. “Legend, was it?” You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “They were being idiots—what was I supposed to do? Let them keep talking nonsense?” Glorfindel chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “No, I rather enjoyed hearing you put them in their place.” He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, the back of his fingers brushing lightly against your hand. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, more sincere. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him, and for a brief moment, he felt like that young elf from Gondolin again—awed, hopeful, endlessly grateful for the kindness of another. “They don’t deserve to speak about you like that,” you said firmly. “You matter, Glorfindel. And not because of what you look like. Because of who you are.” His breath caught. For all his centuries of existence, for all the titles and accolades and whispered praises, this—this simple, earnest truth—was what meant the most.

With a smirk, he nudged your shoulder lightly. “Well then, my most loyal defender, what say you to a walk? After all, if I am to keep up this image of a ‘legend,’ I ought to be seen in the company of someone just as formidable.” You laughed, rolling your eyes but accepting his offered arm nonetheless. “Fine. But only if you admit that you’re more than just a pretty face.” Glorfindel grinned, leading you down the corridor. “Oh, I never doubted it.”

[wigglebox]

Newsflash: They sound ridiculous either way

[tackykachowch]

How it feels to not like timebomb after s2