#no one is helped by me having my emotions about it

[shaiyasstuff]

side effects may include: marriage, blushing, and one shirtless husband. | zayne

synopsis : You never planned on getting married straight out of college—especially not to a broody, absurdly attractive cardiac surgeon with the emotional range of a paperweight. But one wine-infused chocolate, a half-unbuttoned shirt, and an accidental kiss later, you’re rethinking everything.

content : arranged marriage!au, pure fluff, comedy, writer on crack

writer’s note : yay! the arranged marriage au’s have come full circle.

The letter in your hand crumples with the weight of betrayal as you wave it in front of your mother’s face like a white flag soaked in passive-aggression. “What is this?”

She barely glances up from her tea. “Your marriage agreement,” she says, taking a sip as if she hadn’t just casually handed your freedom over like a lunchbox.

“Why didn’t I know about this?!” you exclaim, arms flailing like you’re directing traffic in a thunderstorm.

“Because you wouldn’t have agreed,” she replies smoothly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Which, apparently, to her, it is.

“Mom, I literally just graduated,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face.

She raises a perfectly plucked brow. “I married your father before I even finished.”

You let out another groan, louder this time, before collapsing face-first onto the designer couch like a Victorian heroine with a Wi-Fi addiction.

It probably doesn’t help that your family owns one of the biggest tech companies in the country.

Wealthy, yes.

Emotionally prepared for an arranged marriage? Absolutely not.

“I don’t even know the guy!” you practically shout, sounding one emotional notch away from launching yourself into a soap opera.

“I do,” your mother says, flipping open her book like this conversation is just background noise. “He’s a very charming young man.”

You grab the nearest pillow and dramatically smother yourself with it. “I’m not doing it,” you declare, voice muffled and full of angst.

“It’s already been decided.”

You fling the pillow aside like it personally betrayed you. “No!”

Somewhere in the distance, a rich person’s violinist probably sighed in sympathy.

“You can’t make me do this!” you cry, pointing an accusatory finger at her like you’re about to cast a spell of teenage rebellion.

“You will move into the new house in a week. Pack your things,” she replies, turning the page of her book without even looking at you, as if she’s ordering takeout instead of destroying your life.

You gape at her. “I’m not going to prison, Mom. I’m just trying to live my mediocre post-grad life in peace!”

She sips her tea. “And now you’ll do it as a married woman. Congratulations.”

You consider packing alright—packing your bags and running to a country where arranged marriages are considered ancient history.

Except, here you were—one week, three tantrums, and a very dramatic attempt to fake your own death later—standing in front of your husband.

Tall. Towering. Probably sculpted by ancient gods who had nothing better to do.

In your new marital home.

You blink up at him, still hoping this was an elaborate prank and Ashton Kutcher was going to leap out from behind a curtain with a camera crew.

No such luck.

Your new husband just stood there, looking like he stepped out of a magazine and into your worst-case scenario.

“I’m Zayne,” he says calmly, like you’re meeting at a networking event and not at the start of your forced domestic partnership.

You stare. Tall, brooding, buttoned-up like he’s allergic to joy.

Of course his name is Zayne—the kind of name that comes with a tragic backstory and an impressive skincare routine.

A shudder runs through you.

You’re married to that?

Somewhere in the background, the universe probably gave you a thumbs-up and whispered, “Good luck, sweetheart.”

You gulp, trying to summon the dignity your pajama-clad soul clearly lacks. “I’m Y/N.”

He nods. Nods. No handshake, no smile, no “Nice to meet you, fellow victim of our parents’ power trip.”

And then—he just turns and walks away.

Walks. Away.

You’re left standing there, blinking like a Wi-Fi signal trying to reconnect.

Married. To a man who treats introductions like optional software updates.

—•

“This is what Mom called charming?” you grumble, side-eyeing the empty hallway like it personally offended you.

You replay the interaction in your head—“I’m Zayne”—and resist the urge to punch a pillow just to feel something.

Naturally, you do what any responsible adult in a forced marriage would do.

You begin a full-scale reconnaissance mission.

Operation? Figure Out Who the Heck I Married.

You start with the basics—tracking his schedule, observing his comings and goings like an underpaid spy in a bad rom-com.

The man has the consistency of a German train schedule, the emotional availability of a stone wall, and the mystery level of a locked diary in a teenager’s room.

You have no idea what he does for work. He leaves in crisp suits and comes home even more pressed. He talks to no one. He reads thick books with no covers. You’ve yet to catch him watching a single cat video.

So, naturally, you conclude he must be a rich heir. Or a prince. Or some exiled monarch trying to lay low until his kingdom is restored.

It helps that he’s unfairly attractive—black hair that falls just right, piercing eyes that could probably see through walls, and a jawline that could cut glass.

Yep. Definitely a prince.

A very emotionally constipated, tragically handsome prince.

“I know you’re there,” he says, voice smooth and unbothered—of course he does, because apparently your espionage skills rank somewhere between amateur squirrel and nosy neighbor.

He doesn’t even look up from his book at first. Just turns a page calmly, as if catching his new wife spying on him is an everyday occurrence.

Then, slowly, he tilts his head and meets your eyes.

Oh no.

That look is lethal—cool, unreadable, and annoyingly attractive. He sets the book down with a soft thud and takes off his glasses like he’s about to lecture you, interrogate you, or casually ruin your life with a single sentence.

“Come in,” he says, and somehow it sounds less like an invitation and more like a challenge.

You briefly consider fleeing the country.

But your legs move anyway.

You let out an awkward laugh, the kind that sounds more like a hiccup caught mid-lie. “I was just… trying to see what you do.”

Zayne arches a brow, amused. “And lurking behind walls was the most effective method?”

You shrug, stepping inside, the door clicking softly shut behind you. “I considered asking. But you don’t exactly give off ‘share your feelings over coffee’ vibes.”

He leans back slightly in his chair, arms folding as he studies you—like you’re a puzzle he didn’t ask for but now can’t resist solving. “And what have you learned from your mission?”

“That you read a lot of intimidating books and might secretly be a prince,” you mutter, eyeing the hardcover he’d set down. “Or an assassin with excellent taste in eyewear.”

That earns you the ghost of a smile. Barely there—but it softens something in his expression.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” he says, and somehow, that doesn’t help.

You step closer, cautiously. “So… what do you do?”

Zayne tilts his head slightly. “Why? Interested now?”

“Trying to decide if I should be impressed… or mildly concerned for my safety.”

He chuckles under his breath—quiet and low, like he’s not used to laughing, but might want to try. “Maybe both.”

And for a moment, just a flicker, the air between you shifts. Less awkward, more curious. Like two strangers on the edge of something not quite comfortable, but not cold either.

“Well,” you say, fiddling with a stray thread on your sleeve, “I figured if I’m going to be married to a mystery man, I should at least get to know the mystery.”

Zayne watches you for a beat longer, then gestures to the seat across from him.

“Then stay,” he says. “Ask your questions properly this time.”

And you do.

You sit down across from him, suddenly hyper-aware of how your knees almost brush beneath the table.

His gaze is steady—too steady—and you gulp like you’ve just asked for his hand in courtship instead of mild information.

“So… what do you do?” you ask, trying to sound casual. It comes out more like a nervous frog asking a favor.

Zayne doesn’t answer right away. He leans back slightly, arms still folded, one brow lifting like he’s debating how much to reveal—or maybe just how much fun he’ll have watching you squirm.

“I’m a cardiac surgeon,” he finally says, voice low and even.

You blink.

“I—what?”

“I operate on hearts,” he says, like he’s talking about changing a lightbulb.

You stare at him. This whole time you thought he was brooding over world domination or writing dark poetry about rain. Heart surgeon was not on your bingo card.

“Wait, seriously? Like… actual hearts? With… scalpels?”

He tilts his head, clearly amused. “Is there another kind?”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Wow. I was prepared for ‘billionaire with a tragic past,’ not Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I assure you, there’s still a tragic past,” he deadpans, and for a second you’re not sure if he’s joking.

He doesn’t elaborate—but something in his eyes flickers. Quiet. Guarded.

You lean back, blinking slowly. “Okay… that’s kind of hot.”

That gets him. His lips twitch, just a little. “Are you flirting with your husband?”

You pretend to examine the ceiling. “I’m just saying, it makes the whole mysterious-silent-guy thing slightly more tolerable.”

He lets out a soft laugh—barely audible, but it’s real.

And suddenly, sitting across from him doesn’t feel so heavy.

He stands up suddenly, the chair sliding back with a soft scrape against the floor. You jolt slightly, halfway through processing his laugh, and blink up at him.

His expression has shifted—still calm, but there’s something else now. A hint of gravity in the way he looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, catching you off guard. “For the suddenness of all this.”

You sit up straighter, unsure what to say. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged the whole arranged-marriage-against-your-will situation out loud.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, extending a hand—not forceful, just open. “Let me show you why.”

Your heart skips. “Why what?”

“Why our parents thought this could work,” he says, and for the first time, there’s no teasing in his tone—just sincerity. Gentle, but certain.

You stare at his hand. His fingers are long, precise. A surgeon’s hands. Hands that fix hearts.

And here he was, offering them to you.

So, slowly, hesitantly, you place your hand in his.

And just like that, something shifts again. Less awkward. A little warmer. A little more real.

He guides you out to his car—a sleek, polished thing that looks like it probably knows more about taxes than you do. He opens the passenger door for you, which is either chivalrous or unsettling, you’re not sure yet.

You slide in, still trying to wrap your head around this whole situation, when he leans in unexpectedly close—and reaches across you.

Your breath catches.

Then—click—he fastens your seatbelt.

You blink at him, flustered. Not because it was romantic. It wasn’t. It was clinical. Efficient. Like buckling you in was a task on his daily checklist.

Still, your brain short-circuits a little.

“Thanks,” you mumble, confused by how something so unromantic could still make your stomach flutter.

He simply shuts the door and rounds the front of the car, settling into the driver’s seat like he’s done it a hundred times.

You glance over. “So… where are we going?”

He shifts the gear with practiced ease, eyes on the road. “To see my parents.”

You freeze. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“As in—meeting the in-laws now?”

Zayne glances at you, completely calm. “You’re my wife. It’s only natural.”

You groan quietly into your palms. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

At your dramatic groan, Zayne gives the faintest hint of a smile—so subtle you almost miss it. Just the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips, like your misery is a quiet source of amusement to him.

You narrow your eyes. “Was that a smile?”

“I don’t recall,” he says, cool as ever.

You huff and turn your gaze out the window, resigned to what you assume will be an awkward, overly formal afternoon in a mansion filled with judgmental in-laws and porcelain teacups.

But twenty minutes later, when the car slows to a stop, your sarcasm dies in your throat.

Because this isn’t a mansion.

It’s a cemetery.

Your eyes flick to him, your voice suddenly small. “Zayne…?”

He cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, his expression unreadable again.

“You said you wanted to know why,” he says, gently. “So I’m showing you.”

And just like that, your earlier words—your groaning, your dramatics, your little internal jokes—feel like they belong to someone else entirely.

Zayne steps out of the car without another word, and you follow, suddenly quiet, your footsteps softer on the gravel. The wind tugs at your sleeves as he leads you up a small hill, the world around you hushed, respectful.

The trees part at the crest, revealing an open clearing.

Two gravestones stand side by side, worn but well-kept, the grass around them neatly trimmed. Fresh flowers rest at their bases—white lilies, carefully arranged.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Zayne slows as he approaches, his hands in his coat pockets. He doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at them for a long moment. When he does speak, his voice is low, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“These are my parents.”

Your chest tightens.

You glance at him—his posture still straight, still composed, but there’s something softer now. Something heavy that doesn’t show in his face, but in the silence he carries around it.

“They passed away when I was in my first year of med school,” he says, eyes fixed on the stones. “I visit them every week. I always bring lilies—my mother liked them.”

You stand there beside him, uncertain at first, then quietly fold your arms, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders.

“I didn’t know,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says, and for once, there’s no edge in his voice. Just truth.

And suddenly, you understand what he meant earlier. Why he said he wanted to show you. Why he apologized.

Because this marriage wasn’t just sudden—it was the first thing in a long time he hadn’t had to face alone.

“My parents made an agreement with yours,” Zayne says, his voice steady as he turns to face you.

There’s no accusation in his tone, no bitterness. Just quiet honesty.

“So in a way,” he continues, meeting your eyes, “we’re both stuck in this predicament. Not just you.”

The word predicament almost makes you laugh—because that’s exactly what it is. A polite, miserable mess you’ve both been handed like a family heirloom no one wanted.

But the way he says it… it’s not cold. It’s not detached.

It’s shared.

For the first time, you see the man behind the silence. Not just the polished stranger with perfect posture and unreadable expressions—but someone who lost his family, who carried grief with clinical grace, who walked into this marriage just as unprepared as you.

You lower your gaze, toeing the earth gently beneath your shoe. “Guess that makes us reluctant allies.”

“Something like that,” he murmurs.

Then, after a pause, he adds, “But I don’t intend to stay strangers with you forever. Not if we’re in this together.”

You feel something small and strange crack open in your chest.

Hope. Maybe. Or just the beginning of something real.

After the quiet moments of prayer—hands clasped, heads bowed, the wind weaving through the stillness—you and Zayne make your way back down the hill in silence. It’s not uncomfortable this time. Just… thoughtful. Like something unspoken has shifted between you.

The ride home is calm, the late afternoon sun casting soft light through the windshield. You glance over at him, watching the way his fingers rest lightly on the steering wheel, the way his profile is bathed in gold.

You hesitate, then ask, voice gentle, “How do you feel about this marriage?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The road stretches ahead, lined with trees and fading light, and you think maybe he won’t answer at all.

But then, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips—small, but unmistakable.

“I don’t mind it,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road. “Now that I’ve met you.”

You blink.

It’s not grand or poetic. It’s not a love confession or sweeping gesture. But something about the way he says it—so simple, so sure—makes your heart trip a little in your chest.

You turn back to the window, trying to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

And for the first time, the silence between you feels like something full, not empty.

—•

When you reach home, Zayne unlocks the door with quiet efficiency and steps inside like he’s been doing it for years—even though technically, it’s your first week as reluctant roommates.

He shrugs off his coat and heads straight for the kitchen.

You trail behind him, curious. “What are you doing?”

“Making tea,” he says, already reaching for the kettle.

You arch a brow. “Seriously… did you go to husband-training-school or something?”

He glances at you over his shoulder, eyes just a touch amused. “Is that a thing?”

“It should be,” you say, hopping up onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “You open doors, buckle seatbelts, visit your parents’ graves with fresh flowers, and now you make tea? Either you’re weirdly good at this or you’ve been raised by a very intense etiquette instructor.”

Zayne smirks—an actual smirk this time, not the half-ghost of one. “My mother believed in manners. My father believed in precision.”

You nod sagely. “Ah, so you were raised by royalty.”

He sets two mugs on the counter, then adds, “And I believe in not poisoning my wife with bad tea on day seven of our arranged marriage.”

You lift your hands. “Low bar, but I appreciate it.”

He chuckles quietly as he pours the water, and you watch him, a strange sort of warmth settling in your chest.

Turns out, “reluctant husband” looks a lot like “softly competent tea-making mystery man” when no one’s looking.

You watch him as he carefully stirs the tea, trying to look casual, though there’s an edge to your curiosity. “So, have you got a girlfriend? Before all this…?”

The question hangs in the air, a little awkward, but you can’t help yourself. You’re still trying to figure out who he is outside of this whole marriage thing. You need to know what kind of life he led before it all changed.

Zayne doesn’t answer immediately, his movements slowing for just a moment as if he’s considering the question carefully. His eyes flick to you, then back to the steaming mugs.

“No,” he says after a beat, the word simple but loaded. “I didn’t. Too busy, I suppose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Too busy for dating? I find that hard to believe.”

He lets out a quiet breath, placing the spoon down with the kind of deliberation that makes you think there’s more behind it. “It’s not that I didn’t have time. I was just… focused on other things.”

“Like saving lives?” you tease, leaning on the counter.

He glances at you, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment before he gives a small nod. “Exactly. I never made time for anything else.”

You hum thoughtfully, but there’s something in his voice that makes you stop. Focused on other things. You wonder if that was his way of avoiding other things. Or maybe he just never let anyone close enough.

You catch his gaze again, and this time, there’s a flicker—an unspoken something in the way he holds it. You can’t quite place it, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten, just slightly.

“Well, now you’ve got me,” you say, trying to keep the tone light. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Zayne’s lips curl into the faintest smile. “Indeed.”

That night, you change into something nice—half-expecting a stiff, high-end restaurant with white tablecloths, six forks, and judgmental lighting.

But when Zayne pulls the car up to a quiet little corner bistro tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore, you blink in surprise.

It’s not fancy. No valet, no sparkling chandeliers, no menus written in French.

It’s… cozy.

Warm lights glow from inside, casting golden puddles on the sidewalk. Through the windows, you spot mismatched chairs, little potted plants on the tables, and the soft flicker of candlelight.

Someone’s playing gentle jazz on a guitar in the corner, and the air smells like garlic and fresh bread.

“This isn’t what I expected,” you murmur as he opens the car door for you.

He raises a brow. “Disappointed?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. Actually… I like it.”

He doesn’t smile, not really—but there’s a flicker in his eyes, like that’s exactly the answer he was hoping for.

Inside, you’re seated at a small table by the window. The waiter greets Zayne like he’s been here before, which surprises you even more. You hadn’t pegged him as the “quiet Italian bistro” type. More like “emotionally distant, espresso-fueled loner.”

But here he is. Ordering your meal with quiet confidence, asking if you want sparkling or still water like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And somehow, it feels normal.

As you sip your wine and let the warmth of the room settle around you, you realize this whole evening—isn’t part of some obligation or checklist.

He brought you here because he wanted to.

And that realization sits quietly between you, more intimate than candlelight.

“What did you study?” Zayne asks, his tone casual but deliberate.

You pause, fingers tightening slightly around your water glass—not because the question itself is startling, but because he asked it. He, who rarely volunteers anything beyond necessity, is choosing to ask you something personal. Choosing to know you.

And that… that makes your chest feel oddly warm.

“Uhm,” you say, blinking out of your surprise. “I majored in Economics.”

He nods, his gaze steady. “I assume it’s to help your parents, then?”

You smile faintly, setting your glass down. “Yeah. I mean, I was never really pushed into it, but it felt like the logical thing to do. Legacy and all that.”

He hums, clearly understanding. “Pressure has a way of wearing itself like a choice.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “That was poetic.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s true.”

And you find yourself smiling—not the awkward, forced kind you used to wear around him, but a quiet, genuine one.

“Did you always want to be a surgeon?” you ask in return.

He considers for a moment, then says, “No. I wanted to be an architect when I was younger.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“I liked building things,” he says, eyes flicking to you with a faint glimmer of amusement. “But life had other plans.”

And just like that, you realize you’re not dining with a stranger anymore.

You’re slowly, carefully, getting to know your husband.

You narrow your eyes at him, lips twitching as you lean back in your chair. “You wouldn’t have made a good architect,” you say, your tone teasing.

Zayne glances up from his plate, one brow arching in mock offense. “Oh? And why’s that?”

You shrug, swirling your water like it’s a wine glass. “Too serious. You’d probably design buildings with no windows. Just perfectly symmetrical, intimidating concrete blocks where joy goes to die.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I happen to like symmetry.”

“Exactly,” you grin. “You’d build dystopian fortresses and call them modern masterpieces.”

He leans forward slightly, voice lower, a touch playful. “And what would you build? Something inefficient with fairy lights and personality?”

You gasp, hand to your chest. “Yes. And they’d be beloved.”

Zayne smiles, really smiles this time—and for a second, you forget the marriage was arranged. Because god damn, he looks good when he smiles.

—•

Zayne drives you home after dinner, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between you. The city lights blur softly past the windows, and you catch yourself smiling—again.

Not because of the food.

Not because of the warm, candlelit atmosphere.

But because he smiled at you.

Not a smirk, not a polite twitch of the lips—an actual, honest-to-goodness smile.

And it was for you.

You lean your head against the window, trying to play it cool, but your heart’s doing backflips like it’s auditioning for the Olympics.

Who knew one smile from a broody cardiac surgeon could make you feel like you were in a coming-of-age movie?

When he pulls up to the house and parks, he doesn’t rush out or unbuckle your seatbelt like earlier. He just sits for a moment, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, glancing at you through the corner of his eye.

“Thank you,” you say softly, turning to him. “For dinner. And… for today.”

His eyes meet yours, steady. “You’re welcome.”

You linger a second longer than necessary, then reach for the door handle.

But before you can step out, he adds quietly, “I’m glad you came.”

Your breath catches, but you manage a soft smile.

“Me too.”

And as you walk up to the front door together, side by side, you realize something strange and terrifying and kind of wonderful:

You might actually be starting to like your husband.

—•

You’re halfway through your bedtime routine—hair tied up, comfy shirt on, emotionally bracing yourself for your nightly existential crisis—when you hear his voice from the living room.

“Y/N. Come sit with me.”

You freeze in the hallway like a startled cat.

Your brain short-circuits.

Come sit with me.

On the couch.

In the living room.

You peek around the corner, and there he is—Zayne, in his neatly rolled-up sleeves, glasses off, looking painfully relaxed and devastatingly unfair with one arm resting along the back of the couch like this is some indie romance movie and not your actual, real-life arranged marriage.

You fight the very real urge to scream.

Because—hello?? Attractive, emotionally reserved doctor asking you to sit beside him in dim lighting?

No. Absolutely not. Husband or not, this is a threat to your mental health and emotional stability.

Still, your feet move traitorously toward him.

You sit at the very edge of the couch, posture stiff, like you’re preparing to be interviewed, not casually sitting with your husband.

He glances at you, amused. “You look tense.”

“I am tense,” you mutter, clutching a throw pillow like it’s a life raft. “This feels like a trap.”

Zayne chuckles under his breath, clearly enjoying your slow descent into chaos. “You’re overthinking.”

“You’re underthinking. Have you seen yourself right now?”

He doesn’t answer—just reaches for the remote and switches on a movie.

And you sit there, slowly melting into the couch, wildly aware of how close he is, and wondering how on earth you’re supposed to survive a husband who smiles at you one moment and invites you to sit with him the next like it’s nothing.

It is very much something.

You shoot up from the couch like you’ve just remembered you left the stove on. “I’m gonna go… look for snacks,” you say, your voice a touch too high-pitched to be innocent.

Zayne turns his head slightly, probably about to say something—maybe to offer help or point out where the cookies are—but you don’t wait. You flee the room with the grace and urgency of someone definitely not running from their feelings.

Out of the corner of your eye, just before you disappear down the hallway, you swear you see it.

A smirk.

That little—

Nope. You’re not thinking about that. You are not spiraling over one stupid, stupid smirk.

You fling open the pantry door with more drama than necessary and scan the shelves like a raccoon on a mission. And then… there it is.

A not-so-suspicious box of chocolate. Sitting there. Unlabeled. Untouched. Almost like it was waiting for you.

Naturally, the logical thing to do is take it.

You snatch it like a gremlin, muttering to yourself, “If this is his secret stash, he shouldn’t have left it where I could find it.”

Because if you’re going to emotionally unravel over a handsome surgeon who asks you to sit with him, you might as well do it with sugar.

You shuffle back into the living room, trying not to look suspicious even though you’re literally holding the loot in both hands.

Zayne glances at the box, one brow lifting ever so slightly.

Without a word, you plop down next to him again—this time slightly closer, because apparently you’re a danger to yourself—and open the lid. You pick one out, hesitate, then hold it out to him.

He looks at it, then at you.

And takes it.

Just like that—without hesitation, without question—like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to offer him something sweet and for him to accept it.

He pops it in his mouth, casual, like he didn’t just cause your heart to skip a full beat.

You stare at him. “You didn’t even ask what it was.”

He shrugs. “I trust your judgment.”

Great. Now you’re emotionally compromised and flustered.

You quickly shove a chocolate into your own mouth before you say something like “Why are you so attractive when you chew?”

This marriage is going to ruin you.

As the chocolate melts on your tongue, rich and smooth, you frown slightly. There’s something… extra about the flavor. A little too warm. A little too bold.

You squint at the box, lifting it closer to inspect the label. The fancy script mocks you as your eyes land on the fine print.

“Hey, these are infused with—”

You stop mid-sentence, turning to Zayne.

He’s flushed.

Not dramatically—but enough. His ears are a little pink, the tips of his cheeks tinged with color, and he suddenly seems very interested in the pattern on the coffee table.

Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, holding up the box like a smoking gun. “They’re infused with wine.”

He clears his throat. “Just a little.”

“Zayne.”

“I forgot,” he mutters, and now he won’t meet your eyes.

You blink at him, then at the chocolate, then back at him.

And then you burst into laughter.

“Are you—are you buzzed from one piece of wine chocolate?”

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no real heat. “I’m not buzzed.”

“You’re flushed.”

“I run warm.”

You clutch your stomach, giggling. “Oh, this is so going in the mental scrapbook.”

He shakes his head, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

And suddenly, the couch doesn’t feel so intimidating. The air between you is warm—not from the chocolate or the wine, but from the quiet, ridiculous comfort of two strangers slowly, awkwardly becoming something more.

But fate, in all its twisted sense of humor, decided to laugh directly in your face.

Because as it turns out, Zayne does not do well with alcohol.

At all.

One wine-infused chocolate later, and he’s leaning back into the couch, flushed like he’s been running laps, and visibly warmer—literally and metaphorically.

You glance over just in time to see him tug at the top button of his shirt.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Your brain short-circuits.

You grip the edge of the sofa like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. Do not scream. Do not make a sound. You are strong. You are composed. You are—

He exhales, fingers working at the last button near his collarbone, exposing smooth skin and that maddeningly perfect line of his throat.

“I feel… warm,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You don’t respond. Because you can’t.

You’re too busy having an internal meltdown.

This is not a movie. This is real life.

Real life where your emotionally-reserved, wine-chocolate-flushed husband is currently undoing his shirt on your shared couch like he doesn’t know what it’s doing to your sanity.

You bite your tongue and stare straight ahead.

This marriage is a trap.

This couch is cursed.

And Zayne, evidently, is dangerous in more ways than one.

You try—truly try—to focus on the TV.

You fixate on the screen like it holds the meaning of life, repeating in your head. Not looking. Not thinking. Muscles aren’t real. Buttons are lies. Stay strong.

But then—

You feel it.

A hand around your wrist. Warm. Firm.

You barely have time to register it before you’re turned toward him—face-to-face with all of him.

Half-unbuttoned shirt. Lean muscles. Broad chest. Collarbone on full display like it paid rent to be there. His eyes, slightly glazed but locked onto yours with an intensity that could melt furniture.

Your breath hitches. “Z-Zayne!”

Your voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched. Like a cartoon character caught in a romantic ambush.

His hand doesn’t let go.

Neither does his gaze.

“You’re really red,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, as if you’re the one being strange in this situation.

“I’m red?!” you squeak, trying very hard not to look down. Or up. Or anywhere.

He leans just the tiniest bit closer, and his voice drops, slow and low. “Are you feeling warm too?”

You make a noise. Not a word. Just a sound. Because your brain has left the building and taken all coherent thought with it.

This couch is no longer a piece of furniture.

It’s a battlefield.

His grip on your wrist softens, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes lightly—absently—against your skin as he stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your entire existence.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he slurs softly, “You’re really… pretty… you know that?”

Your soul momentarily evacuates your body.

You blink at him. “I—what?”

“You are,” he says, a little slower, a little sleepier, his words curling lazily like they’re wrapped in velvet. “Your face is nice. Your eyes do this… sparkle thing. Like the stars. But not, cliché stars. Like… classy stars.”

You open your mouth to reply, but absolutely nothing intelligent comes out.

Because here is your emotionally closed-off husband—tipsy from a single chocolate, shirt halfway undone, staring at you like you hung the moon and casually comparing your eyes to classy stars.

This has officially become too much.

You grab the throw pillow beside you and bury your face in it with a muffled, “Zayne, you’re drunk.”

He hums, leaning back slightly, satisfied like he’s just confessed something profound.

“I’m married to a pretty girl,” he mumbles, like it’s the best realization he’s had all day.

And you? You are one slurred compliment away from combusting.

You reach out without thinking, hand aiming straight for his cheek—half to ground yourself, half because you want to see if he’s real and not just a hallucination brought on by wine chocolate and emotional confusion.

But before your fingers make contact, he catches your wrist again.

Gently. Firmly.

And then—he tugs.

You let out a surprised gasp as you stumble forward, barely catching yourself with your free hand against his chest. He’s solid. Warm. Way too warm.

Your heart skips, then trips, then sprints like it’s running late for something.

You barely have time to react before he looks up at you—eyes soft, dazed, and entirely sincere—and asks:

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s not breathy or desperate. Not bold or teasing.

He says it like a gentleman asking for a dance. Like he’s asking your permission to step into something delicate. Something real.

Your breath catches. The world stills. The TV hums in the background, forgotten.

You’re close enough to see the way his lashes rest against flushed skin, close enough to feel his breath brush against your lips.

And now, you have a choice to make.

Because despite the chaos, the circumstance, the wine-infused madness of it all—Zayne just asked you so politely to kiss you.

And god help you…

You kind of want him to.

You open your mouth to reply—maybe to say yes, maybe to question your sanity—but the words never make it out.

Because his lips are already on yours.

Gentle. Soft. Careful, like he’s still half-expecting you to pull away. Like he knows he’s toeing a fragile line and doesn’t want to break it.

Your eyes flutter shut as instinct takes over, and the world tilts slightly.

You can barely taste the chocolate on his lips, a hint of sweetness tangled with something warmer, something that makes your heart thrum unevenly in your chest.

Your mind goes fuzzy. Not from the kiss itself, but from the feeling that comes with it—the quiet kind. The kind that settles in your chest like a secret you hadn’t realized you were keeping.

He doesn’t rush it.

His hand stays on your wrist, thumb brushing softly along your skin, as if even now he’s asking—Is this okay? Are you sure?

And you are.

Somewhere between wine-infused chocolates, teasing banter, and the way he said Can I kiss you? like it meant everything—you became sure.

And so you kiss him back.

Somehow—somehow—you’re still suspended there, caught in that precarious space between balance and disaster, one hand on his chest, the other still held by his.

And then his hands slide to your waist.

Slow. Sure. Steady.

He holds you like he’s anchoring you—like if he let go, you might float away.

And that’s when the kiss deepens.

No more polite hesitation, no more softness at the edges. It’s still gentle, yes—but there’s more now. More pressure. More heat. More intention.

Your fingers curl against his shirt, and it takes every last ounce of self-control not to start undoing the buttons he didn’t already conquer earlier. Because God, you can feel the strength in him—lean muscle under your palm, warmth radiating like it was meant for you, and he’s kissing you like he’s waited a long time to do it.

You gasp softly against his mouth, and he swallows the sound like a secret.

Your mind is a whirlwind. Logic? Gone. Restraint? Dangling by a thread.

You are this close to losing all common sense and just undressing him right here on the couch like your sanity isn’t hanging on by a single, wine-infused thread.

But then he pulls back, just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm and uneven.

And he whispers, barely audible, “You taste sweet.”

You’re going to combust.

This man is going to ruin you.

The world blurs at the edges, warm and hazy like honeyed sunlight through half-closed curtains. His breath still ghosts against your lips, his hands still resting on your waist like they belong there, like you belong there.

You feel weightless. Drunk, not on wine or chocolate, but on him—the warmth of his skin, the way he kissed you like it was something sacred, the way he looked at you like you were something more than a stranger handed to him by fate.

Everything is soft. Glowing. Surreal.

Too perfect.

And then—

Blink.

The warmth fades. The light shifts.

You’re no longer on the couch.

You’re standing, stiff, in a room full of flowers and polished silence, your fingers cold at your sides.

Zayne stands across from you, buttoned-up, composed, unreadable. No wine in his system. No flushed cheeks. No trace of that kiss.

Just a man you’ve never met.

And the moment of your arranged introduction.

Your breath catches, and for a second, you don’t know what’s real.

But you do know one thing.

Whatever just happened—dream, vision, or cruel trick of the mind—it’s already begun.

[abyssyby]

off guard on duty

— the big twins watch the little twins for a day and long for what they think they'll never have.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: my babies my angels my loves ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ sylus is just a dad of 4. here's a silly little fic about the big twins watching the little twins. they have a great time. let me know what you think of this one lol, it was super fun to make! enjoy! ❀-urs important heads up for context of this story: kyros and lucian are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. around 3 years old at this time.

kieran, luke, lucian and kyros highlight!! | sylus x reader | fluff, angst, softbabysitter!twins, mom!reader, sufferingdad!sylus, bigtwins are also sylus's sons change my mind?? tw: separation anxiety/tantrums, past abuse mentioned (pls let me know if I missed any!)

Don’t drop them.

Don’t lose them.

Dinner is at six.

Easy enough. They’ve gone through more difficult missions before. Covert ones, requiring meticulous planning and great improvisation. 

Kieran prides himself in being able to execute seventeen different kinds of strategies to take down a group of thirty men within 5 minutes. Luke can persuade anyone into doing anything, and eliminate them— without a trace—if they don’t comply. Exceptional mercenaries. Isolated ghosts. Nothing is impossible.

Perfectly capable babysitters, if you ask them. 

How they made the silent twin wail like a siren and the rambunctious one sit still was beyond them.

“Papa!” Kyros screams, blotchy red cheeks puffed and damp bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. He presses himself against the heavy main door, as if forcing himself to walk through, stretching his little limbs and straining his ankles to reach the knob. “Papa! Papa!” 

“Keero mad.” Lucian blinks, staring at his brother across the room, snuggled against his mama’s blanket. Your scent envelops him, helps him stay calm in your absence. You had left for your mission earlier that day, and Lucian has since finished his little tantrum, as evidenced by his own salt-crusted cheeks.

Luke and Kieran are a mess, to put it mildly. 

“It’s okay, little boss,” Luke tries to say, pulling the toddler away from the door where Sylus had just left from. Kyros gurgles a desperate sound as he weighs himself down to the floor in protest. “Big boss will be back.” 

“Papa!” Kyros cries, calming words falling on deaf ears.

“I don’t think he knows who ‘big boss’ is.” Kieran, equally panicked but hiding his racing heart behind calm breathing, offers. “Little boss, papa will be back.”

Kyros seems to scream louder at that, stomping his little feet and running off to the crevice by the door. He squeezes himself against the corner and sobs. Fat droplets of tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. Heartbreakingly resembling an abandoned hamster.

Kieran’s arms fall to his sides—how? How is this little one such an angel during play time and…? Have they done something to upset him? Does he not really like them? Is this how he finds out that a child can have preferences and can choose not to prefer them? 

Before Kieran can spiral deeper in self-pity and throw Luke off with the swelling emotion in his chest, in their periphery, they see movement from the couch. Lucian, wrapped in his mother’s blanket, waddles over to his brother and gives him a little hug. “Squeezy-squeeze, Keero. No cry.”

Luke blinks at the sight. The realization comes to him in the form of a distant sensation— freezing cold cells, the deafening bang of a metal door and him, anguished and ashamed, crowding Kieran close to the corner of their room where they held one another—high on sedatives— after they had just torn each other apart to survive another day. 

With that, he moves slowly, approaching the little twins with caution and then opens his arms. “Kyros?” 

Lucian makes way, and at the sight, Kyros scrambles over to Luke and buries his hiccups in his chest. He engulfs him in a hug, mindful of the pressure he applies with his arms and how that would translate to a little body like Kyros’s. Pressure, deep, deep pressure tethers him back to them. 

Kyros deflates, nuzzling his wet little face into the fabric of Luke’s turtleneck. He can’t be bothered by the snot, relieved that the boy has begun to stop crying. 

“Papa will be back.” Luke says quietly, making sure to press his lips into the baby’s head so he can feel the sound. Something he’d observed you and Sylus would do to him. “Kieran and I are here.” 

He exhales when he realizes Kyros doesn’t struggle. That he is allowed to comfort him like his parents do. 

“Be back now.” Kyros murmurs, genuinely thinking big, strong Luke and Kieran can do something about it. 

“Later.” Luke assures him. “Just out on a mission.” 

“No, ‘ishun.” he shakes his head, eyes glassy and pleading. “No, pease?” 

“Sorry, buddy, Papa’s work is important.”

“Maybe we can do something else? Like… hide & go boom?” Kieran offers, mirroring the quiet voice and lifting Lucian up into his arms as well. An effort to put them all on equal footing. 

Lucian nods. “Yes.” 

Kyros shakes his head. “Don’wanna.” 

“Okay, that’s fine.” Luke nods, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “How ‘bout the hammock?” 

Kyros shakes his head again, much to their disappointment. 

Kieran racks his brain for ideas. Were it not for the devastation on the little boy’s face, he would have found it funny that he gets to see how Sylus would cry, if he were a small toddler. Lucian and Kyros look so much like Sylus, they might as well be triplets. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the coat closet open, and an idea is born. “Hey… wanna see papa?” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Get out.” Kieran rasps, pushing his voice deep into his chest. He stands in an imposing pose, chin jutted out to accentuate his jaw and squinting his eyes to be half-lidded and bored. 

On his shoulders was Sylus’s brown leather coat, on his feet were Sylus’s large shoes and on his head… was Lucian. Serving as a giggly white wig on his hair.

“Give us the brooch!” Luke demands, Kyros in a baby carrier strapped tightly to his chest. He wore your hunter gloves on his thumb and forefinger, far too small, and Kyros held an empty water gun. 

“I hid it, go find it.” rasps Keiran again. Poorly hiding the cough that rips through his chest. 

“Where, papa?” Kyros giggles as he’s swung around. Luke makes exaggerated movements of disbelief. 

“Here.” cough. “There.” cough, cough. He rubs his throat and swallows drily, brows knitting together as he breathes out with great difficulty, “Somewhere.” 

Lucian— a sentient wig, apparently— points to the playroom. Kyros nods in understanding.

“Fine’da boots!” Kyros wriggles, willing Luke to march forward. Luke hobbles into the playroom and puts Kyros down, who dives into his toy box. Kieran follows with Lucian.

“Keero, no there!” Lucian says, scrambling off of Kieran’s shoulders, hitting him in the eye— both big twins wince— and sliding down his leg. 

“Don’t tell him, Cian, we’re team papa.” Kieran chuckles, rubbing his eye as he sinks onto the floor to watch the little twins. Something swells in his chest as he watches the two executing his little mission— an affirmation that he’s done something worth their time.

Luke pauses from searching for a clue. He asks, because it matters to the story, “Wait. Does that mean we’re team mama?” 

“Boots?” Kyros asks, holding up a toy fork. 

Lucian swats it away, “No!” 

Kyros continues his search, asking everyone if whatever he was interacting with was a brooch. 

“Boots?” He asks, bouncing on the trampoline. 

“Boots?” As he slides down the playset.

“Boots?” As he carefully stacks the colored rings into a wobbly tower. 

 Boots? Boots? Boots?

“I don’t think he remembers what the brooch looks like.” Luke finally says, after minutes of watching Kyros turn the place upside down. 

Lucian has since joined, and the moment he pulls out the plastic bathtime boat and presents it to them with a hopeful, “Dis boats?”— Kieran is sure he has forgotten now too. 

“No… uh…” Kieran thinks, lips quirking to the side. He tries to explain what the small, metal pin looks like to the toddlers again. They stare at him with wide, clueless eyes, feigning comprehension. “It’s black and has a bird— a small black bird in the middle,” he says, motioning towards Luke who points at the drawer it was in.

Lucian nods first. “Ohh…” 

Kyros hops up with a newfound fervor. “Bird! Ya, bird!” 

“Yes! Bird! Do you remember n— HEY!” 

In a flash, Kyros has tugged his brother out the door and the pair sprint down the halls. Kieran scrambles to stand, feeling his knees pop at the quick motion while Luke slips and tumbles on the rug trying to get to the door. He blinks back the black and white dots from his vision as he runs.

“Wait, wait!” Kieran begs, listening to the echoes of laughter down the halls to follow. Luke is already swiping through the security camera feed to locate them.

The boss is going to kill them. You’re going to kill them dead. 

The giggles resonate throughout the halls until they are confusing. Kieran swears he hears Lucian down the left and Kyros down the right, but Luke just saw them together on Camera 8. 

“They’re—they’re teleporting!” 

“Do they have evol? I’ve never seen them—did you hear that?!”

“Part boss? Did you spot wings?!” 

“Quiet! Let’s…” 

They stop. An argument between them brews just in the horizon when the silence swallows them whole. 

“Where are they?” Kieran glances at Luke’s phone. His jaw sets. Swipe after swipe through the camera feeds, they finds no trace of them. Luke’s hand begins to shake.

Kieran’s comments don’t help. “… I don’t like that.” Camera 13— empty. “No, no, I hate that.” 

Luke shakes his head as helplessness consumes him. “They’re invisible.” 

“Stop it.” 

Chills trickle down Luke’s spine as he hears faint laughter echo down the halls that he fails to localize. “Were they even real?” 

Kieran shoves his brother. “Listen to yourself!”  

Don’t lose them. 

Before their hysteria escalates— praise be— they hear a very distressed squawking. With a look, they take off left. Boss’s office. 

There they find Lucian balanced on his father’s chair— round belly dented over the head rest, stretching to reach the charging perch, little hands grabbing the mechanical bird by the neck. Kyros stares up, holding the other boy’s legs as to not let him fall. 

“Kee-wan, bird!” Lucian says proudly, wiggling in his already precarious state. Kieran feels his life force in his throat as he rushes to get him down from the chair. Palms cold and clammy, fingers trembling and struggling to get a grip.

Don’t drop them.

“Boots!” Kyros proclaims in a shout. It still surprises them how loud Kyros can actually be. “Pisto boots!” 

“Mephisto was not the br—“ Kieran’s mouth is slapped shut as Luke cuts him off with cheers.

“Little bosses found the brooch!” Because he can’t have them running off to find any other thing they think is the brooch again. He can’t do it. His head is still spinning from his wipe out. He curses under his breath, silently checking— just in case— for little wings. 

The little boys scream in delight. Kieran softens at the sight, silently grateful his brother cut him off. Who would want to miss this? 

He pries Lucian’s fingers off of Mephisto gently and places the bird back on the perch. “Nice job, kids.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Dinner comes at six o’clock. Sylus had put his boys into a routine so well maintained that the sound of the clock striking six wasn’t a bell, but his son’s growling stomachs.

“Papa made you squash.” Luke says, taking it out the fridge and heating it. Meanwhile, Kieran buckles them in their ridiculously luxurious high-chairs. “And fish…” 

Luke pauses at the note written on top of the bigger container of meat and potatoes. Reads: Big Twins in handwriting they’ve only seen on under-the-table-offers, bidding slips and ledgers. He tries not to let it get to him, takes it out and heats it as well.

“Papa home?” Kyros asks, although this time with more curiosity than despair.

“Not yet.” Kieran tells him, giving his shoulders a grounding squeeze.

It doesn’t escape them how they’ve been calling Sylus “papa” all day too. How it came so easily when the adjustment was needed. Somehow they can’t seem to stop. 

Luke serves dinner. Two ceramic plates and two silicone-suction-cupped bowls. 

Lucian’s nose knocks into a palm as his path to his food is blocked. Kieran chides, “It’s hot.”

Lucian blinks at Kieran, who is still wearing Sylus’s coat and shoes, and tilts his head in amusement. Something connects in his head and he giggles. “Like papa.” 

Kieran’s face flushes, and Luke howls in laughter as he takes that in too. He hurls the silicone spoon at his brother like a javelin, and through his laughter, Luke catches it with ease. Straight to the sink it went and a new spoon is handed to Lucian. 

An unspoken truth passes between the big twins, a dawning that settles in them like warm milk on a sleepless night, as they feed their corresponding little twin. 

This is their life now— not just running errands, killing, and negotiating for Sylus, no matter how much they enjoyed that. How that put them into use. How that gave them purpose. A reason to exist in this world that hated them enough to maim them, and strip them of who they were only to throw them away. Because even then, they were still worth nothing. 

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen light, eating the food Sylus had prepared them, feeding their charges. They see, they hope: this—this is who they are. Not machines, not weapons—boys, brothers, parts of this family. No matter how fleeting it may all be. 

They doubt it, but they feel it. In the way you check up on them when they come back from a mission, in Sylus’s silent but kind regard, in the little twins’ comfort and acceptance. Despite their shortcomings, their differences, they have found a place here. And maybe one day, the masks will come off and they will be nothing, thrown away once more— but what a wonder to have had this all the same.

“Kee-wan, Wook,” Lucian tells Kyros, pointing a chubby little finger at the wrong twin as he says it. Pulling the two out of their spiraling thoughts, different but grounded in the same soil. 

Kyros shakes his head calmly, chewing on the soft squash Luke fed him. He points correctly, “Wook. Keewi.” 

Seeking confirmation, Kieran gives Kyros a thumbs up. The little boy grins a proud orange smile, squash and all. Meanwhile, Luke teaches Lucian the differences— “Kieran’s head is this weird sha—ow!”

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re still snickering at the video footage Mephisto sent you of Sylus lingering on the front door from earlier. Head devastatingly pressed to the wood, a white fist around the handle as his son screamed for him to come back on the other side. 

“It was terrible,” he tells you. His hand hovers on your lower back as you both ascend the pathway to the base. 

You offer him a sympathetic smile and squeeze his shoulder. “I know.” 

“We’re back!” You announce as the door is pushed open. Sylus slips in behind you.

It takes a moment for the footsteps to emerge, but they do. They always do. Only it wasn’t just the two light-footed ones’ you usually hear. Accompanying them was the sound of loud, bounding leather boots. 

“Mama!” Lucian screeches, little legs pumping to get to you. Leading the charge. Behind him, his brother— face scrunched in solemn determination, trying to catch up. Eyes zeroed in on his papa. And behind them…

“Stop! Ow, Mephisto! Kieran, get him!”

“I’m trying— He’s— OW!” 

The mechanical bird nosedives towards the two larger twins who struggle to catch their wards and fight off the bird at the same time. You giggle at the sight, and you hear Sylus chuckle the faintest bit too. 

Both on your knees, you each catch a twin, showering them with affection. Leaving the base for work has been harder than ever since these two gained the curse of existential dread and skill of object permanence. 

“Papa home!” you turn at your Kyros’s voice, who pats his father’s hollow cheeks softly. Meant as a happy report rather than a guilt-tripping accusation. Still, it prickles Sylus’s nose red as he tries to swallow the emotion that rises with the memory of his son’s cries. 

He presses his nose into his angel’s silver hair and breathes him in. “Brave boy.” 

“Mama!” Lucian says, both hands on your cheeks, turning your gaze towards the fumbling big twins. He points, correctly this time to each. “Kee-wan. Wook.”

You squint, taking note of the differences despite their movement and then beam. “You’re right!”

He giggles like a pebble skipped over a frozen lake when you pepper his face with kisses. 

“Mephisto.” At Sylus’s command, the bird ceases. It flutters to a nearby shelf and tilts its head as if nothing happened. 

“Were Kieran and Luke good babysitters?” Sylus asks. Even if he knows, Mephisto having sent automatic updates on his twins’ mishaps.

The little twins nod happily in response, then came the litany of warbles meant to be a retelling of their day. Two baby birds with their mouths wide open trying to string together something coherent. 

You and Sylus catch ‘keewi papa’, ‘boots’, ’boats’ and ‘pisto mad’. Understanding was half the battle when both your boys told stories with such vigor. You struggled to keep them in your arms as they ‘swoosh’ed and ‘fwish’ed, reenacting as if they could project their imaginations to the wall for mama and papa to see. 

Sylus turns to the big twins who listened proudly. Given they had context, they seemed to understand more than the parents did. He raises a brow, squinting slightly at Kieran to make sure, then asks, “Are those my clothes?” 

Kieran jumps, tongue in his throat. “I—“ 

“Looks good on you.” Sylus says so casually it was unbelievable. Lucian nods in agreement, “Like papa!” 

“Wook squeezies.” Kyros mentions as well, pointing at Luke, who had calmed him earlier. He nods in approval, swinging his feet. “Like Wook squeezies.” 

“Looks like you guys did really good,” you commend, walking over to the big twins. You brush a feather out of Luke’s hair, eyes sharp as you secretly check for scratches from their earlier bird-attack. Luke flinches at the contact, and you point at his forehead knowingly. “Ice.”

He hesitates, then gives a bashful smile. Rug. Right. “Oh, that’s… psh.” 

You promise to get him some. And before you forget, you add, “Thanks, guys.” 

“Faithful minions—“ 

“—at your service.” 

The tired grins on their faces make your heart clench. That… doesn’t feel right. The silence that follows is hollow as the weight of their own words settle into the space between them. Is it possible for them to believe that’s all they are? Help? Followers only good for their hands to take orders? The mere thought settles like bile on your tongue. 

You shake your head at the ridiculous notion and prop Lucian up on your hip. “Tell your brothers goodnight, Cian.” 

Lucian extends his arms and Luke plucks him from your hold. Easy and familiar, Lucian presses his forehead on each one’s like a lion cub. “Na-nite.” He whispers.

And just like that, they feel the warmth that radiates off of the little one so overwhelmingly. Just as they do pain, they feel this too— this thing that neither of them have the words for yet. But it is heavy as it is true. Lucian’s hands touching their faces, the gentle repose of your eyes work wonders to cast away old, haunting thoughts of being lesser than or temporary. 

Kieran holds him a little longer. Luke stares. For once, they have no strategy, no words, no logic or skill to make sense of the feeling. Standing there, in silence, they choke on something so difficult to swallow.

You make a mental note to treat them to something fun soon. Hang out with them like you did before the little twins came along. Maybe Luke would appreciate an opportunity to redeem himself in laser tag, or Kieran would like to play a video game again. You’ll make the time.

They freeze when you press a chaste kiss to each of their cheeks, then pass Lucian back into your arms. Without another word, you turn towards the kitchen to hunt for something frozen and something to eat. Nodding along and offering “ah-huh”s and “then what?”s as Lucian’s weaves a colorful, jargon-laced story. 

Sylus follows after you, Kyros already snuggled to his chest with half-lidded eyes and fingers clutching his shirt. He pauses, just as he walks past the twins. A heavy air hangs between them, but it isn’t suffocating. Not tense, or harrowing. Come to think of it, they haven’t felt that in ages. Not since Sylus. 

The air was just… firm. Stable and calm. 

“Thank you,” he says to them, holding their gaze with a reverence that they’ve never noticed before—one they had only ever mistaken for dismissal. But now, really looking, they see it. What Sylus truly feels for them— proven in the trust he had placed in them. Gratitude in the way they cared for his kin, just as he once cared for them; taking them in despite their troubled beginnings.

Pride, in its full glory. 

He is proud of them. 

And as if Sylus sees the gears turn and lock into place in their heads, as if he has been welcomed into their twin loop at last, he smiles—careful and sincere. “Get some rest.” 

Kyros waves a sleepy little hand at them as they go.

Alone, Luke and Keiran turn. Faces reflecting each other. Once never needing a mirror, now taking in the flustered, upside-down smiles pulling at the corners of their lips. They shake their heads at the impossibility of it all. And yet. 

A home, a family. Despite their past, their sins and their scars— 

They are enough. 

Finally, they belong. 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more little twins ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading! 。゜゜(´ｏ`) ゜゜。

[ippilulu]

Kanna and Yume oh my god

In honour of this severe call-out post, here's a snippet from a fic I'd written around this (from Kanna's POV):

"I heard about your show for Father. I personally thought it was wonderful, Kanna. A pity that they don't feel the-" "Yume one-san, they're our parents. They have our best interests in mind." Do you even believe that anymore, though? His sister sighed and Kanna's skin prickled. He could see the echo of his father in her, sometimes. It didn't help improve his perception of her. "Okay, Kanna. I apologise. But speaking about the performance, I caught most of it! I especially loved the twirl you had towards the end, the one before the jump..." Yume continued to speak, her eyes glittering as she recollected the morning's events.

So she watched everything, huh?

Why didn't she step in when it mattered, then? Why wait until after, when it was safe?

Kanna knew why. After all, he'd just said it to her a few moments ago. But some part of his heart lurched in a burning feeling he hesitated to give a name to. All he could do, however, was smile and pick at his food, waiting for her to leave.

And another, cause I love angst:

Kanna could imagine Manya there, alone in the magnitude of her grief. She’d have been informed of Kanna’s defection, have had to hear him labelled as a traitor. The last one who knew the woman she loved the way she deserved, and he couldn’t even be there. Surrounded by people like their- his, now- parents, who were surely scrambling to save their own image, to portray themselves as the bereft parents left behind in a tragedy… And who knows- maybe they actually felt the grief they were showing. After all, it was Yume, they had to have loved her. How must his mother be dealing with it now? Did they know that he was the one… who killed their beloved daughter? The son they’d always chastised, who could never measure up to the heights his sister had crossed. And now, he’d let them down in the worst way possible. Surely, they’d hate him forever now- no more birthday gifts and guilt-trippy letters, huh? The timing of it was so horrible that he’d have laughed if he could find his voice.

"After all, it was Yume, they had to have loved her."

Does bro know what he does to my psyche? Every time he enters he does 1000+ emotional dmg and leaves me on the curb.

But I love him anyway he's my bb 🫂

Doomed siblings enjoyers when the one that dedicated their whole life to trying to live up to their parents is still worse at it than their sibling who spent their whole life rejecting them

[pisceanfilm]

⋆ ｡  𐀔  ° ‧     what does this person want you to know?

KEYWORDS: romance, relationships, (past) situationships, seperation, energy check between you and your person of romantic interest.

ꕤ * ． pile one. → ꕤ * ． pile two. → ꕤ * ． pile three.

relax your body, close your eyes, and take a deep breath. ask yourself: "which pile has a message for me today?" when you open your eyes, what image did your eyes fall on? what image do you feel most drawn to energetically? that's your pile!

this reading is timeless! it will cross your path whenever it's meant to find you 🍀 while my main intention was to channel someone you're already involved with, you can also use this for your sp, a future partner, a soulmate, or whoever you're thinking about!!

PILE # 01

your person is a true yearner, i'll tell you this much. their heart is very fragile, they want you to know they're scared of getting hurt, of being betrayed. this is a person who didn't have many healthy relationships in the past. they're confused, unsure what to do, and just wishes to avoid it all right now.

they're very much fantasising about a future with you, though... they want it all with you, they loooove your laugh. (i'm seeing that maybe they want to travel with you? explore the world together is what i heard.) with you on their side, they feel invincible. they really want you on their team. when this person has been processing their emotions healthily, i see that they're very attentive, unafraid of showing a passionate desire towards you, and generally very caring and loving. they appreciate you so much, you're the brightest star in their existence.

however, if this person isn't standing strong in their emotions, i see them being very hot and cold. when you're together, everything feels right. you feel secure, you feel like there's something there. but when you're apart i see that you're very confused by the energy of your relationship. your mind appears to be your biggest enemy: do they like me? am i good enough for them? is this something that could work out? (i see that this is you picking up on the energy of your person... their confusion and doubts are making you doubtful as well.)

what i'm hearing is that you need to focus on your own healing and stability, so you can help this person heal energetically as well. this is a connection that's mostly guided by the divine. (currently there's a lot happening behind the scenes that you aren't even aware of.) you're meant to heal and complete certain cycles with this person for sure, this is not the end of the connection. so have faith, and trust that everything will align!!

a letter from your person: do you think about me too? i can't get you out of my head, no matter how much i try. you're always there. it frustrates me, how easy it would be for you to secure a spot inside of my heart. how well we could work together if i let my guard down. i'm scared, though. scared of hurting you, scared of hurting myself, scared of failing. what if i have something so beautiful with you and then ruin it by my fears and self sabotaging tendencies? i don't know why you still stick around, but i'm trying to be a better person. please call me out on my bullshit, i need you to be firm and stand your ground. don't take shit from me, i know i need to step up. i care for you, i'm trying to put my ego aside.

PILE # 02

god help my soul, i'm sensing a very intense and determined energy coming from your person 😭 this is definitely giving me the energy of an ex, or a situationship that was meant to take off but somehow didn't (i see this being your person's fault, for sure). this person absolutely regrets losing you. they're the reason things aren't moving forward. they blame themselves, they're angry and devastated. they wish they could've done things differently.

in the most favourable outcome, i see this person working on healing themselves. they're going through an ego death/dark night of the soul and are questioning everything and everyone around them. in this reflection i see them wanting to become a better person (for you), if you're willing to give them a chance. they want to love you right, they want to show you how much you mean to them... i see them wanting to swoop in and steal you away so you can ride into the sunset together!!

if this person refuses to face their demons, however, i see that spirit is going to give them a very difficult time unfortunately</3 they will hit them with the same harsh lessons over and over again until they finally see the light. in this case i see spirit keeping this connection in a separation (or limbo) in order to protect you. you can't heal this person right now... if they open their eyes, if they're able to see... they would understand what you truly mean to them. what a treasure they had in front of them. they will get there, though. it might take some time, i'm hearing.

depending on your situation with this person, only take them back if you can see that they've changed!! you know this is the case when they come back and show humble energy, that they're able to admit that they were wrong. i see, for some of you, they truly fucked up. so please use your discernment! losing you has been their biggest regret, though, and they will be carrying this guilt for a very long time...

a letter from your person: i'm going to win you back. i'll return to you and prove that i can be the person you need me to be. i'm sorry for hurting you in the past, i'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't good enough. apologies won't cut it, i know things need to change. i'm working on facing my demons. you were right, you made me realise i need to heal. i hope you still will be there when i come back... do you have someone new? are you willing to forgive me? i messed up, and losing you will be the biggest regret of my life.

PILE # 03

this is such a sweet and gentle energy, i just want to squish their cheeks<33 i see many different scenarios for you two. you could be dating, this could be a secret admirer, this could be your friend... this person feels very hesitant to me. i feel like they often have a poker face or wear a mask. i sense that you might pick up that they're hiding something from you/aren't being 100% authentic. don't be afraid, they aren't hiding anything malicious! if anything, i see they're hiding the depth of their emotions for you. they fear coming off too strong, they fear scaring you away. if you're in a relationship together, i see them wanting to take the next step... (making things official, living together, an engagement maybe? 🤭) they want to move things forward in a fruitful way, they want to give you all the love in the world. they're sooooo gentle with you, this makes my heart want to burst with love. they have such good intentions with you and they want to make you happy for as long as you'll have them<3

i don't feel any negative energies for this pile</3 literally, the worst case scenario here is that your person is a bit hesitant and reluctant to show the depths of their true feelings for you. they fear rejection, they fear being judged by you. (i see this person really cares and values your opinion of them, so your rejection would hurt tbh.) they're mostly testing the waters right now, trying to figure out what you want and what you're ready for. this is a very considerate person! but again, their insecurities might stop them from taking any action right now.

you have such a special place in their heart, it's no joke. you must have such a beautiful and powerful energy because this person literally loves every. single. thing. about. you. they see you as their sun, their moon, their stars, their whole universe... you mean a lot to them. i think the depth of their emotions scares them as well, to be honest. but i see them being brave and facing this head on. they want you, they know they want you, so i see them making a very significant move in the very near future.

please, my pile 3, be gentle with their heart<3 their energy is so pure and wholesome, they could be such a bright light in your darkness! i'm hearing that, if you aren't sure of this person's intentions, know that it's safe to trust them. you'll be very pleasantly surprised with what's waiting for you if you open your heart!

a letter from your person: do you like me? you shine so bright, sometimes it's blinding me. you radiate so much warmth, you make me so happy. when i'm with you there's no other place i'd rather be. did you know this? i'm placing my heart in your hands, i surrender myself to you...

(i'm not getting much more from them because this person is a bit shy... but when i'm in their energy... their heart just glows thinking about you. i see shy smiles, unable to keep eye contact without blushing, i feel like sometimes they need to take breaks from you because you're so overwhelming. love love love this energy 🩷)

[howlingmod]

SIT NEXT TO ME!

summary - how some of the survivors and killers show their love ... giggles

misc - low quality content im so tire .... but i must write .... it is demanded of me .....

Noob - Physical Touch

-Simple pleasure, simple guy, what can I say.

-It's not even something they're aware of half the time, a big part of what probably tipped you off to their feelings for you in the first place was their touchiness. While they're more physical with everyone, it definitely lingered with you more. They'd stick closer to you on excursions and, more often than not, would be brushing shoulders with you when working on generators.

-They just like being able to feel your presence, it's grounding to them in a big way. A lot of the time they'll have a hand on you just because it feels comforting, usually it's on your shoulder or they'll reach for your arm if you've got one free (they prefer holding onto your arm/hooking arms more than handholding to be honest ... it just feels so much more secure and special !!)

-Late at night they'll frequently fidget with your hands, looking at all the lines in your palms and the little cuts and marks that litter your skin. It puts them in a trance, you're just so gorgeous to them, in that human, real kinda way. It's hard for them to put into words ...

007n7 - Physical Touch

-Before .... everything, he's a lot more varied. If anything, he probably leaned more towards acts of service- he likes making your life easier, especially with you (presumably) helping him raise c00lkid. It's not easy being a parent, he knows how stressful it and daily living in general can be. He feels good if he can make your day a little less stressful.

-Now though, he really needs that grounding. There's just so much missing. He's not really on great terms with anyone here and he knows he deserves it. You're all he has left. You're the only shred of his perfect life left.

-It's the little things when you guys are around others, the way he sticks to your side, the times where he'll subtly reach for your hand and squeeze it in reassurance, where he'll hug you when you get back from an excursion and look you over. It's the little bits of vulnerability he can spare to show you he loves you.

-Other times, it's more desperate, tight clinging to your form when you lay together because everything's suddenly clamped down on him like a million weights. It's those times that feel most like a perverted version of the ways you used to lay together when things were better, less suffocating and mournful. Sometimes you still expect the door to your room to open and c00lkid to crawl under the sheets with you two. He never does.

Shedletsky - Quality Time

-Ohhh my god this guy does not shut up. He's always got some story to tell you about, some little anecdote that something you said or something that happened reminded him of. You never really know how accurate he's being to reality, you can make your guesses but he'll only ever smile and shrug if you ask for confirmation.

-It could come off as egotistical or annoying if it weren't fairly obvious it was his way of keeping morale up. What, you think he's making things up? Why, he'd never! You'll just have to argue with him about it if you care so much. It's just a way of keeping your mind on something other than your current situation, even if it means he has to be the butt of a joke more than a few times. Besides, he just thinks playfighting with you is fun sorryyyyy <//3

-That being said, he can be serious. What you two are going through isn't exactly easy, you can't always ignore it, you have to face it head on sometimes. If you wanna talk about how scared you feel not knowing what's going to happen, he'll listen and admit he's scared too. If you wanna talk about how hopeless everything feels, he'll admit he's felt the same way a few times before. He might not be as emotional but he's forthcoming with his experiences, the last thing he wants you to feel is alone, if he can make you feel heard and helped then he's happy to admit to every bad dream that's ever haunted him.

-It'll always end with some little glimmer of hope, no matter how vague. He can't afford to lose you to apathy, he'll spin as many tales and sneak as many wishes he has for the two of you into your conversations as it takes for you to keep going just a little longer. He doesn't know what the future looks like, but he wants you to be there with him to see it.

Dusekkar - Acts of Service

-While they're more than good with their words and freely give out their praise to you, they also worry about your physical well-being frequently. Even if you're in good standings, they'll be keeping an eye on you. It's just a habit they've picked up protecting the others that's amplified tenfold for you. Perhaps they're a little biased with their shields, but they couldn't bear to lose you.

-They'll make your life easier in any way that they can, they know that the stress of everything can add up and they want you to stay strong despite it. They can't stand idly by and let you fall to the wayside, rotting in fear and pain. How could they ever truly protect you if they allowed for you to crumble right in their arms?

-It's little things- letting you sleep in longer, making sure you get a little extra food even if it means sacrificing some of their portion, hovering around you whenever you head out on an excursion. You're their world, their muse, their heart- they'll make sure you know how important you are to them and how deeply they care for your health in every way they can, it's what you deserve.

John Doe - Acts of Service(?)

-John's a weird one. He only has so much he can do for you without risking hurting you. If he sticks around you too often that could alert the other survivors and cause them to attack you. He can take bullets, you can't. Additionally, he has to be careful, that corrupted arm of his isn't exactly gentle. He knows fully that he could crush you, kill you in the blink of an eye if he isn't careful. So, he has to settle for little gestures.

-He'll leave you alone when he hunts. He'll heard you in the direction of generators, supplies, warm corners free from the chilling wind. If everyone else dies he'll walk you back home, paint you with their blood to make sure it doesn't look suspicious. He'll watch from afar till you disappear into the closed doors of your 'base.' Even then, you suspect he doesn't leave until later, hovering around as a spare set of eyes and ears on you.

-Even then, he's selfish, takes gambles when he hangs around you for just a little while longer. He'll contort, physically pulling the shoulder of his monstrous arm as far back as he can to avoid the chances of even brushing it against you when he reaches for you with the other. He'll keep it restrained, muscles pulled taut just to keep you to his side in a rare moment of peace. He's a man of few words, you can only imagine what his vocal chords have been turned into, but if you push your head close enough to his chest you just might hear him breathe out an "I love you" in between the pained labor of his lungs.

1x4 - Gift giving

-Likewise, he also can't stick around for very long. That doesn't mean he won't make a lasting mark on you. He's more risky, he knows that if the others found out and tried anything he could paint the walls red with them all before they could even lay a finger on you. He thinks he could take care of you far better than they could, provide a better home, protect you better than they could ever try to. More than once he's thought about faking your death, making a bloody scene for the others to find so he can take you from them. They're only a burden on you, a risk you (for whatever reason) worry yourself with.

-He won't force you, he's some humanity left, but that doesn't mean he won't show them up (to him, at least). He'll present you with enough jewels and gold to make an officiant pale with the dried gums of blood in between the joints, kick supplies in your direction and rip them from the hands of fallen survivors to give to you, he's offered up fingers, bones and heads as a show of his prowess and only grumbles when you turn them down.

-He'll never understand why you bother yourself in the ways you do, taking others under your wing when they can't do anything but leech off of you in return, so he'll have to make up for their inabilities instead. Where they can only take, he'll give you more than you could've ever dreamed for. It's his way of displaying how special you are to him, the pride he takes in you just as you do him. Consider himself a dragon and you the lucky singular he allows into his hoard.

+ (PLATONIC/FAMILIAL) C00lkid - N/A

-Well ... c00lkids always really liked spending time with you and dad! Dad always had cool stories about all the stuff he got up to when he was younger and you always had fun games to play with him and dad. Sometimes you'd draw with him and happily hang up his art to admire everytime you went through the kitchen before work and then he'd spend the whole day drawing more and more for you to look at, making up stories (that usually involved dracobloxxers) and worlds to tell you all about during dinner.

-Other times you guys would play tag! Usually it didn't last very long, at some point you'd get tired and have to sit down for a while and do something else with him (SAD!) but you'd been running a lot more recently! He hadn't been able to tag you in a whiiile, but he knows he will eventually! You've just been giving him another challenge to overcome like you always did, ducking around corners and over ledges. It's hard, he's scraped his knees pretty bad a few times and run into the walls more than he can count, but he always gets back up!

-It's a little weird to him though. He's never really played with anyone other than you and dad. He doesn't really know why those other people are there. You won't tell him. You never stop running. (He misses when you'd get tired, when you'd stop and hold him while you watched a movie together instead.) (He misses you and dad talking to eachother, telling him stories and dancing with him in the kitchen.) (Did he do something wrong? Are you mad at him? Why won't either of you just TALK to him!-) (If he stops chasing you, won't you be sad? Would he be disappointing you?)

-Sometimes he suddenly gets very sad. Sometimes you stand still and look at him from afar and you don't smile at him. Just stare and have this weird, long-gone look he's never seen before. He thinks about walking up to you, asking what's wrong, if you and dad hate him, why you always run but he knows you'll just run again. Instead he just chases after everyone else and wishes dad would order pizza again and you would put band-aids over the cuts on his knees from falling and the pricks of branches on his arms.

[nephewinthewild]

if you are fortunate enough to not have lost someone extremely close to you you might not know this but bereavement support groups are absolutely full of stories of people connecting with their dead loved ones, through dreams or ghost encounters or whatever. I have also experienced this. I've had extremely vivid and memorable dreams of a dead family member speaking to me and helping me with emotional issues, years after their death. and of course I'm sure that this is explainable rationally through some psychological phenomenon or another. but on the other hand, the memory of a dead person strengthened by the depth of my feelings about them came back and had a tangible effect on my experience of the real world and I kinda feel like what's the difference between that and an actual ghost?

obviously ghost sightings and experiences don't actually happen, obviously they're all rationally explainable in one way or another, but that doesn't mean they aren't also real?

[melaninfury]

Astrology Harsh Opinions

Back with a vengeance. Thank you 😊

Please don’t take this as astrological facts. These are more my experience and perspective. The whole chart and aspects must also be considered.

It must be gods gift to every Scorpio rising with Pluto in the 1st to seem very devoted to self preservation and just...self. Can be very self absorbed when the power is in their hands. With a Taurus descendant they have stability/peace in some relationships but I notice these people have a thrill for domination and power dynamics but in subtle ways that reflect back to how they want to feel about themselves, enough said.

If your parents are a Capricorn moons, their wounds and detachment from their mother will translate to how they raise and treat you. While they may not hate you or want to treat you with that same coldness but they can't help but resonate with the downright coldness they can carry into parenthood. Some.....some.

For independent souls if your MC (10th house) is in an innovative and independent sign do not and I repeat DO NOT tell your plans or all your ideas to somebody with a moon or malefic planet on your MC. They will control or have alot to say about how you approach and move through your career and navigate life on the outside. They can hinder you or make an emotional attachment regarding your improvement/advancement. Partnerships are great make sure yours can be though.

There is nothing more judgmental and ever questioning then a gemini moon, venus or stellium. Guaranteed aways have something to say.

If your coworkers have personal placements in your 4th, 8th, 12th and 10th. Trust they will be all up in your business, watch your mouth around them. They will talk and spread your business. (honorable mention the 7th house)

You will find a venus on someones ascendant or in their 12th can activate their jealousy towards you and the people you love and give your attention to outside of them. Especially if you surpass the idealism or idea they wanted you to be.

Don't be a fool mars conjunct mercury or these planets in the 7th, YOU know and you need to follow you intuition towards your people (soul family), business and fulfillment. Move away from them people that come against or attempt to hijack your wavelength. FUCK THEM PEOPLE.

Its true if you have 7th and 12th house placements you have hidden enemies/sneaky enemies....enemies of all kinds nonetheless. If this energy is connected to your 1st, 10th, 4th or 9th house i'm telling you now, you have hidden enemies that are coming from alot of places some family, friends or people around you (i.e coworkers). They seek to stop, control or transform you for their own benefit and from their own place of shadow.

Again if your parents are Capricorn moons I just want to start a support group for you and me so we can discuss all of our generational trauma and anger together, fully engage with the fact that your parents can do anything but love you properly.

If your a Sagittarius moon, Laugh...laugh as you cry its gods way of giving you proper antidepressants I do not care what your provider says....jkjk lets all get a therapist and shadow work :).

I personally think telling people to fuck off is the best way to protect yourself. Its the right way and the only way because if i don't get it then its not real. Make it make sense or shut up because I don't have the energy. The math has to fucking math thank you - a tired virgo mercury

I think having karmic synastry or inherited placements from family is a fucking curse. If this lady didn't fair well with her moon mercury and venus why the fuck would you give me that one for her to screw me retrograde...? HELLO god were you listening while I was crying and screaming....!?!?

One thing I fucking hate is being told what to do - sincerely a sag moon. Especially when you fucked it over 3 or 4 fucking times... now your trying to "teach" me something. Play with stop signs and red lights for me respectfully.

If your mars is conjunct a planet listen to your anger and the source, use it to your advantage or to calm down. If its a soft planet like venus, use pleasurable and fun ways to activate and express your needs. If its moon find comfort in taking action to protect and build your needs and home for yourself. If its mercury well, just try to calm down and find ways not to punch people, watch how and what you say because it makes sense why your angry with everyone but yourself. Use it to talk yourself down or scream or perceive a smarter person idk (sorry y'all i'm pissed)

Love yourself well and protectively Venus in the 8th, its precious there and its hard to fully recover from deep seated pain it changes the foundation of how you love or who. Which may be a good or bad thing.

Bump people and their passive aggressive lack of realness and balls to say I either do or don't like you 11 house placements (especially malefic). Cut em off loose ends that aren't productive for how you see yourself and reputation. CUT them off don't just think about it.

Saturn or Mars in the 4th is childhood trauma, the type depends on the connections and aspects to the houses.

A mars in scorpio is gonna do what they wanna do for them every time, your in the way of what they want or who they want...they will attempt to get you gone in secret or in public, I don't make the rules.

Neptune can show where you should or can spiritually protect your mind, body and spirit. I.E Scorpio Neptune in the 9th can use religious ideology or practices to protect or spiritually cleanse. Leverage your spiritual planet. Especially because of its need for strong spiritual hygiene. Sometimes applying the meaning to the energy of the planet can help you learn to define your spiritual practice.

Saturn squaring moon or mercury is emotional/mental pain, it can definitely show hardships involving perception and internalization in your environment. These are planets that rule over socialization and understanding (how we learn to understand the world around us), these are the main planets that show us and guide us on "how". Even if its not real, for example Saturn in the 4th/aspecting moon or mercury allows you to perceive through a lens of struggle or hardships that haunt them, as they grow older or reflect in lessons of life. Growing up in poverty effects how we see or want our inner world and homes to appear after we've endured childhood, this is seen through maturing the moon or saturn/moon hard aspects. Saturn/mercury aspects show the dent in expression and mental clarity that can often be inherited by a lack of stable environment or words being affirmed, later healed through journaling, therapy and expressing the source of what was never said.

If you are a Pisces, Scorpio, Capricorn or Aquarius. Learn to love yourself and who you are (not to say others shouldn't), my dual ruled signs tend to receive a lot more hardships being ruled by malefic and transformative energies. The rising can also show what your parents wanted for or of you, which under these signs can be a weight of something that you never asked or wanted. It can become a burden but allow it to show your strength. Focus on mastering and clarifying who you are to YOU before you find yourself in a job, label, home or relationship that may not be the best but the endurance before the best.

If you are a 9th moon or venus, move. If family and circumstance is bothering you MOVE, even if you cant leave forever or stay away forever. Take the time to learn when to move with the optimism of the heart. Because you may not feel in tune with yourself unless you find what your looking for elsewhere. Elsewhere is usually not with the past and people from the past.

One of the hardest placements to me is Saturn,Chiron, Neptune in the 11th. I truly feel sad when I think about this one, remedy or not who you trust isn't much up to you. Who really is there that you haven’t chosen? This to me is a cosmic rejection. You are not for everybody and everybody isn't for you. Don't easily trust or share because your heart will harden if you let it dealing with that type of public, communal or social rejection. Especially if your a social sign like libra, gemini or sagittarius, etc. Just be careful because it can be painful. Its protection there and ideas, innovative yet strong energy but it can be very lonely.

ALL signs should love themselves and take it easy. Grow up and live strong. Never forget who you are and what you live for.

©️ All Rights Reserved @melaninfury

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐭.2 - choi seung-hyun

Summary | Now that you know who your secret admirer is, the two of you go on a small date.

Pairing | Bully! Choi Seung-hyun x Fem! Reader.

Genre | 2000s school era.

Warnings | Fluff, veeery romantic.

Author's note | English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

Honestly, you never would’ve expected it. You never thought a few letters could change your perspective so much. But here you were, trapped in thoughts and emotions you didn’t know how to handle. And, strangely, for some reason, it didn’t completely disgust you.

During class, your mind wandered. It was hard to concentrate because every time you could, your eyes would find him. It wasn’t something you were looking for, but it happened inevitably. And though you tried to look away, a part of you stayed focused on him.

You hated to admit it, but you knew the truth: you had fallen for the person who had been sending you letters without you knowing his name. Now that you knew it was Seung-hyun, you refused to accept those feelings. But inside, you knew that denial was costing you more than you wanted to accept.

You decided to talk to your best friend to distract yourself a little, but that didn’t help much either. She, with her mischievous smile, couldn’t help but bring up Seung-hyun, the letters, and the expensive gifts. She was subtly pushing you to take the first step and approach him.

“Come on, girl. I know you’re dying to talk to him and tell him about the letters.”

Mi-eun looked at you with a teasing smile, enjoying your reaction too much.

“Stop it, Mi-eun.” You rolled your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “We’re supposed to not get along. I don’t know why he sent me those letters… He didn’t even seem like the one writing them.”

Mi-eun didn’t insist anymore. She just shared a meaningful look before letting the topic fade. You both waited for class to end, eager to head home and relax.

When the moment finally came, you followed your usual routine. You changed your shoes at the locker and prepared to leave. This time, you were calmer. You didn’t expect more letters or gifts. After all, everyone knew who had been sending them.

But apparently, that didn’t matter to Seung-hyun.

Because there it was. Another letter.

“What? But…” You murmured, confused.

The envelope rested in your locker, untouched, as if it had been waiting for you. With trembling hands, you took it and opened it quickly. This time, the scent was unmistakable. A faint trace of cologne that he always wore.

Your pulse quickened.

Impatiently, your eyes scanned the words written in a familiar handwriting.

“For you, one last time,

I suppose it doesn’t make sense to hide anymore. You know who I am.

I didn’t plan for you to find out this way, but now that you have… I don’t see why I should keep avoiding the inevitable.

I know you probably still don’t understand why I did this. Maybe you think it was a joke or that I’m not the kind of person who would write something like this. But the truth is, every word you’ve read was sincere.

I don’t expect an immediate response. I don’t expect this to change what you think of me overnight. But I want a chance.

If you’re willing to listen, I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow at Cheonggyecheon Park at 6:00 p.m. Just you and me.

If you don’t go, I’ll understand.

But if you do… I promise you won’t regret it.

— Seung-hyun”

Your eyes remained fixed on the letter, your thoughts racing at full speed. You couldn’t stop thinking about how all of this felt so… unreal. The guy you barely ever talked to, the one who annoyed you with his arrogant attitude, was now inviting you out, for a date. And the most surreal part of it all was that, despite everything, a part of you felt an odd excitement as you read his words.

The heat rushed to your cheeks so fast you couldn’t even control it. Your heart was pounding in your chest. You looked around, nervous, afraid someone might see you like this, so exposed. But at least, to your relief, the hallway was practically empty. There was no one left. It was the perfect time to process what you’d just read.

But then, just when you thought you were safe, Mi-eun appeared out of nowhere, her energy overflowing. Without thinking, you grabbed her arm and pulled her toward you, seeking comfort in her presence.

“Mi-eun, he sent me another letter…” you whispered quickly, your heart still in your throat. The paper felt heavy in your hands, as if you were carrying a huge revelation.

“What?!” Mi-eun let out a shriek, making you jump. But you quickly gave her a light tap on the arm, silently asking her to lower her volume. You didn’t want to attract attention, but the excitement on her face left no doubt she was as surprised as you were. “Sorry, sorry. But, another? Didn’t you already know who it was?”

You lowered your head, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. What you felt was confusing. Part of you still couldn’t believe it was him, the guy you’d considered arrogant and annoying so many times. But at the same time, a spark of curiosity grew inside you.

“Yes, but this time…” you stopped for a second, looking at the letter in your hand as if you were searching for an answer in the words written. “He asked me to meet him at Cheonggyecheon Park.”

Mi-eun’s expression changed instantly. Her face lit up with a smile so big you could almost hear it from far away. You knew what that meant. You knew she wouldn’t let it go until you figured it out, and she’d pressure you with questions until you agreed to the date.

“WHAT? Cheonggyecheon Park?” she repeated, her eyes shining with excitement. It was so obvious she was enjoying every second of your confusion.

You looked at the letter again, as if hoping the words would change, that it would all be a joke, but no. It was clear. It was real.

“Yes…” you responded, with a sigh, feeling a mix of uncertainty and excitement taking over you. Mi-eun didn’t take long to start jumping up and down, excited.

“Oh my God! This is epic!” she said, almost shouting at you, as if she were living the situation instead of you.

You covered your face with your hands, though you knew there was no way to hide what you were feeling. Not only because now Seung-hyun knew you knew who he was, but because the date seemed more real than ever.

“Mi-eun… I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” you confessed, a sigh escaping your lips. You knew this would change everything. The letters, the mystery, now everything was about to become much more personal.

Mi-eun looked at you, her eyes gleaming with complicity.

“Ready? Who needs to be ready? You’re going, of course! And you’ll see how all this gets even more interesting.”

You sighed. You knew there was no escape. And even less, because you knew Mi-eun would be your personal stylist tomorrow.

The next day arrived faster than you expected. With it came the bags of clothes you had bought with Mi-eun the previous afternoon.

You weren’t exactly a fashion expert. Most of your wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs from your older sisters, which had never bothered you. In your family, there were no unnecessary luxuries or excessive spending on superficial things like brand-name clothing. Your mother had always done everything possible to support the family since your father passed away four years ago, and you never wanted to be an extra burden.

But this time was different. This time, for some reason, you had agreed to buy something just for yourself. And although the idea still felt a little strange, you had to admit it excited you more than you had expected.

"Alright, what do you think of this one?" Mi-eun asked, holding up an outfit with evident satisfaction.

It consisted of a long-sleeved black sweater that left the shoulders bare, a brown plaid skirt that reached just above the knees, elegant black shoes, and a beret in the same color as the skirt. The combination was simple, but it had a sophisticated and feminine air that you would never have chosen for yourself.

"Wow, you really know fashion," you commented with a light laugh, surprised at how well all the pieces fit together.

"Obviously." Mi-eun smiled proudly. "Now try it on, come on."

You didn’t argue and went to the mirror after putting it on. The image your reflection returned left you speechless. You weren’t the type to dress up too much, but you had to admit the outfit suited you better than you imagined.

"What did I tell you?" Mi-eun clicked her tongue, triumphant. "It looks perfect on you. Seung-hyun is going to go crazy when he sees you."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Time advanced mercilessly, and soon the clock hands marked 5:45 p.m.

"Alright, it’ll be six soon. You’d better head out now," Mi-eun urged, giving you a thumbs-up with an enthusiastic smile. "Good luck!"

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of nerves swirling in your stomach. Finally, you gave your friend one last smile and hurried out of the house, not wanting to risk being late.

Cheonggyecheon Park wasn’t too far away, so you decided to walk instead of taking the bus. The cool evening air brushed against your skin, and with each step, you felt your heart beating harder.

When you arrived, you spotted him immediately. Seung-hyun was already there, standing next to a lit streetlamp, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The soft glow illuminated his face with a warm light, highlighting the gentle features of his face and the deep gleam of his dark eyes. It seemed like he had been waiting for a while because as soon as he saw you, his expression lit up with a mix of relief and admiration, as if his whole body relaxed upon confirming that you had really come.

For a moment, it felt like the entire world went silent. The distant murmur of the city, the footsteps of passersby, even the cold wind sneaking between the streets—all seemed to fade as he looked at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore. His gaze traveled over every detail of your outfit, lingering just a second longer on the beret that matched your skirt, as if engraving the image into his memory. The way his eyes sparkled made heat rise to your cheeks before you could stop it.

"Wow…" he finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper that the wind almost carried away. His lips curved into a lopsided smile, one that couldn’t hide the awe in his expression. "You look beautiful."

The blush on your cheeks deepened. You weren’t used to receiving compliments like that, especially not from someone like him, whose mere presence had the power to make your heart race. You lowered your gaze slightly, playing with the sleeve of your sweater in an attempt to disguise your sudden nervousness. "Thanks," you replied softly, unable to stop a small smile from forming. "You look good too."

And it was true. He was wearing a gray turtleneck sweater, an elegant black coat that gave him a sophisticated air, and dark jeans that accentuated his natural poise. His hair fell slightly over his forehead in that perfect balance between messy and carefully styled, as if it hadn’t taken him much effort to look that good.

Seung-hyun let out a soft laugh, lowering his gaze for a second before looking back at you. There was something in his expression, something sincere and warm that made you feel special. "I’m glad you came," he said honestly. "I was afraid you’d change your mind at the last minute."

"And miss the chance to see you this nervous?" you teased, trying to lighten the tension in your chest, though deep down, you knew you were just as nervous.

He let out a low chuckle and shook his head, amused by your comment. Then, without losing that playful air that characterized him, he took a step closer, reducing the distance between you. The scent of his cologne, a mix of wood and something subtly sweet, immediately enveloped you, making your breathing slow down—a little more conscious of his proximity.

"I don’t want to sound impatient, but…" he raised an eyebrow with a smile that sent a shiver down your spine, "can I hold your hand?"

Your heart skipped a beat. The question was so simple, so innocent in essence, but the way he said it—with that soft tone and expectant gaze—made a chill run down your spine. You didn’t trust your voice, so you simply extended your hand toward him, feeling your fingers tremble slightly.

Seung-hyun took it gently, intertwining his fingers with yours in a warm, secure grip. His touch was firm but not dominant, as if he wanted to make sure you were comfortable, that you wouldn’t let go unless you really wanted to. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stayed like that, feeling the light but significant weight of the contact, letting the night move at its own pace.

Finally, he gave your hand a small squeeze and smiled tenderly, tilting his head slightly. "Come on, there’s a place I want to show you."

As you walked together along the sidewalk illuminated by streetlights, the atmosphere took on a special warmth despite the cold night air. Seung-hyun never let go of your hand, and though at first, the contact sent a tingling sensation through your stomach, you soon got used to the comforting feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. As you walked, the city’s bustle faded into the background, and the sound of your footsteps became the only thing perceptible in that quiet corner.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked curiously, watching his profile as he kept his gaze forward, a faint smile drawn on his lips.

"It's a surprise," he replied with an air of mystery. Then, he turned his face toward you, his eyes shimmering with an amused glint. "I promise it's worth it."

The tone of his voice and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You didn’t insist any further; you simply let him guide you, enjoying the walk and the slow pace at which you moved forward. Every now and then, his thumb would gently brush the back of your hand—an almost unconscious gesture that sent warmth spreading from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

After a few more minutes of walking, you arrived at a small park hidden between the buildings. It wasn’t luxurious or particularly striking, but it had a special charm. The streetlights cast a soft glow over the stone pathway, and the trees swayed gently with the night breeze. In the center of the park, there was a small, tranquil lake reflecting the starry sky.

"Wow…" you exhaled without realizing it, mesmerized by the view.

Seung-hyun glanced at you out of the corner of his eye with a satisfied expression. "I knew you’d like it. Not many people come here at night, so it’s a good place to find peace… and to share special moments."

His last words made your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nervousness. You felt the air grow a little heavier as he, still holding your hand, led you to the edge of the lake. Seung-hyun stopped and, with a smooth yet deliberate motion, turned you slightly so that you were facing him.

"You know…" he began in a low voice, as if afraid of breaking the magic of the moment. "I've been wanting to do this for a while."

Your breathing became erratic. His hands slowly slid to your wrists, his touch firm yet delicate, as if testing how close he could get without startling you. His gaze flickered to your lips for a fleeting second before meeting your eyes again, and your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it too.

"If at any moment you want me to stop…" he left the sentence hanging, giving you the chance to step back if you wished. But you didn’t.

Instead, you raised one hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his sweater. It was just as fast as yours. That gave you the confidence to slowly close your eyes, leaning in just a few centimeters toward him.

He needed no further invitation. Seung-hyun closed the distance with gentle ease, and with a contained sigh, his lips brushed against yours in a slow, warm kiss—filled with emotions that had been held back for too long. The entire world seemed to disappear in that instant. It was just the two of you, with the reflection of the stars in the lake and the cold breeze wrapping around you in a silent embrace.

It was a sweet kiss, unhurried yet full of meaning. His hands traveled up to your face, holding it tenderly as he deepened the kiss with care, as if wanting to etch every second into his memory. And you reciprocated with the same intensity, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of being exactly where you wanted to be.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested against each other. Seung-hyun smiled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Definitely worth the wait," he murmured with a playful smile, making you laugh softly as warmth crept back into your cheeks.

And in that moment, under the starry sky, with his hand still holding yours, you knew that this night would be engraved in your memory forever.

@leni111

[himasgod]

HOUSEWARDENS X READER

Where you are mute PART 2

How would the housewardens act towards you if you were mute?

kalim, idia, vil and malleus.

Part one with riddle, leona, azul is on my profile <3

Kalim Al-Asim

For Kalim, the fact that you're mute doesn't change how much he enjoys being with you.

If there's anyone who's never had any prejudices about how people communicate, it's him.

From the very beginning, he treats you with the same warmth and enthusiasm as anyone else.

His reaction to learning that you can't speak is more curiosity than concern.

"That's amazing! So how do you communicate? Do you have a special method? Teach me, I want to learn!"

He's not immediately good at sign language because he's a bit slow with memory :( but that doesn't stop him from trying his best.

If you use another method, like writing or using expressions, Kalim adapts quickly because he's already someone who is very guided by emotions and gestures.

Something he loves about you is that, even though you don't speak, you express so much with your eyes and your smile. He finds it beautiful how your face conveys so much without words.

When he's really excited, he forgets that you can't answer him right away and talks nonstop, but as soon as he notices you need a moment to type or respond with signs, he waits patiently with a big smile.

"Oh, sorry! I got too excited again, didn't I? Hehe, it's okay! Take your time, I want to know what you think."

Because he's so expressive, it's easy for you to understand him without him having to say much.

Sometimes just by looking at him, you know exactly what he's feeling, and that makes him even more attached to you.

If someone makes an insensitive comment about your muteness, Kalim flies into a rage. He's not the type to get angry easily, but if someone disrespects you, you can see the serious glint in his eyes as he says,

"Don't ever talk like that again."

Overall, Kalim is the type of person who loves and understands beyond words, and being with you is proof of that.

Idia Shroud

When Idia finds out you're mute, his first thought is like

“Great! I don't have to worry about talking out loud all the time-”

It's not that it bothers him when people talk, but he's someone who hates forced social interactions and finds it stressful to have to respond constantly.

However, when he starts getting closer to you, he realizes something important: it's not that you don't talk, it's that you have a different way of communicating. And that intrigues him more than he thought.

If you use sign language, Idia feels clumsy trying to learn it.

His fingers are fast for games, but when he tries to sign, it feels like he's casting a weird spell with his fingers.

“Ugh, this is harder than learning to program in five different languages…”

But if you use a device to type or communicate in other ways, he feels much more comfortable.

He programs a personalized app that helps you type responses faster, or even a voice synthesizer if you ever need it.

At first, he gets nervous trying to interpret your expressions, but after spending so much time with you, he begins to understand you with just a glance.

"Hey, hey, … in this new game, there's a character who communicates without speaking, just like you! Want to see it? I'm sure you'll love it."

If someone ever makes a hurtful comment about your muteness, Idia first goes pale with fright, then red with fury, and then hacks their devices to play a cruel prank on them

No one messes with his special someone and gets away with it :>

He may not say it out loud, but Idia truly loves how you communicate without words. After all, the best connections don't always require sound.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil has always believed that elegance isn't just about appearance, but also about the way a person communicates and expresses themselves.

When he meets you and discovers you're mute, his first impression is fascination.

“How interesting… You speak without words. It's a unique and beautiful form of expression.”

If you use sign language, Vil learns it without difficulty. He has an excellent memory and is a perfectionist, so he masters it quickly.

If you communicate in other ways, such as with expressions or writing, he watches closely. He becomes adept at interpreting your emotions with just a glance.

He loves the way you convey so much with so little. Sometimes, when others are filling the air with unnecessary words, he looks at you and feels that the connection you have is purer and more genuine than any empty conversation.

When you're in public with him, he doesn't let anyone make you feel inferior for not speaking up.

If someone tries to belittle you, a single glance from him is enough to make them immediately shut up.

“You don't need words to prove your worth. Your presence speaks volumes.”

Malleus Draconia

For Malleus, the fact that you are mute is neither strange nor worrisome.

He himself has spent centuries surrounded by awkward silences and conversations filled with empty formalities.

In comparison, your presence is refreshing.

From the beginning, he takes a genuine interest in how you communicate.

If you use sign language, he learns quickly, and whether you prefer to write or use gestures, he adapts seamlessly.

He isn't someone who needs words to understand you. Over time, he develops a special sensitivity to your body language, to the point where he sometimes asks you something and, before you answer, he already knows the answer just by looking at you.

"You don't need to explain anything. I can see the answer in your eyes."

He loves the reassurance you bring. In a world where people always fear him or treat him with extreme formality, the fact that you can communicate without words gives him a special kind of intimacy he's never experienced before.

When you go for a walk together at night, the silence between you isn't awkward.

Sometimes he simply sits beside you and enjoys the feeling of company without needing to speak.

If anyone dares to belittle you or mock your muteness, his dark presence becomes crushing. Suddenly lightning illuminates the sky man, and his gaze turns icy.

"You dare disrespect someone so precious to me? How insolent."

He's a prince, but to you, he's just Malleus, someone who understands you beyond words.

[baurutruffle]

Let's go!

1. I'm a therian.

2. Crocodile, torn between Mugger crocodile and Siamese crocodile.

3. The most common shifts are mental and phantom shifts. My phantom shifts include tail, snout, the "horns" (which basically are ears), hands/feet, belly and the general flat shape when laying down on my belly. My mental shits often mean the urge to bask in the sun with my mouth open, do the death roll or make sounds like hissing or the like. Occasionally, I have the urge to turn around and snap or slide back into water, too. My oddest cameo shift? Wings. They make no sense but they're funny and feel nice.

4. I sometimes imagine my body to be a crocodile on two legs, interacting with other animals rather than humans. Sometimes, I'm just constantly tired and need to recharge by simply laying around or sitting in the sun. Sunlight is extremely important. Despite me being a mammal - a human - in this life, I sometimes feel like I depend on the warmth and the UV light of the sun more than anyone else. When I choose my meal, it gotta include good meat and veggies (yes, crocs eat veggies and fruits). While most women (and many men) see a sharp jawline as crucial for beauty, I like a slight double chin which I think might come from my crocodile self where we all have a kind of a double chin. A good trait of my body is the robust build. I'm not chunky or something but on a healthy side with small stubby hands which resemble my crocodile hands. And this makes me feel very comfy at times. Guess I had some luck there to look a bit crocodilian in my human body. c;

Though, what makes me feel weird at times are my boobies. They're... big. As a reptile, I often look down and think: "Wth, what's this? Oh, yea... right." Reptiles don't have such. The same goes with other things which I won't talk about here for the safety of the minors on this platform.

When someone's annoying the hell outta me, I have the urge to either retreat in a water body or chomp them or hiss at them. Usually, I'm very disciplined and can avoid following my urges in a social setting but sometimes a deep rumble leaves my throat either way.

Those are just a few slight insights. But I'll happily talk about more of my experiences in my everyday life, if you're interested.

5. I've been part of the community for over a decade. It should be 16 years soon. Over the years, I witnessed a lot. I really like the side where we all peacefully talk about our experiences and discuss about terms and the usage of those etc. The downside on the other hand looks way deeper. Gatekeeping, unwanted grilling, excluding young alterhumans, hate and more. After all, I think if we focus on the positive sides of the community, it's a fairly nice one. We should build up some more of the neutral, peaceful side. We're all sitting in the same boat - nonhumans living a human life and trying to make the best of it. Following the construct of self-care to not lose our minds in-between all these humans where a big part still sees us with despise and hatred. The community has its potential for the good and the bad.

6. Inclusion. I'm most euphoric to be able to say that I'm not alone and not mentally ill simply for identifying as something nonhuman. For believing in having been a crocodile in my past life and still carrying this part of me with me. I am a crocodile and that's completely valid. As a rational person (by law) who grew up not showing too many emotions and letting go of feelings and the like, I tried to find a reason for all these experiences and thought I was just mentally ill for seeing myself as a crocodile. I read plenty of books, went to a couple psychologists and tried to "treat" away this side of me. But the community took me back on the ground and helped me understand what was actually happening. Now I'm 29, have two jobs (social worker and firefighter), pay taxes and all these weird human things and I can still say I'm myself. I gained so much self-confidence and became more self-conscious over the years. I did have my downfalls in the community as well but it still caught me and helped me back up on my feet. Now I can say out proudly that I'm a crocodile. Thank you for that, dear alterhumans!

7. I experience species dysphoria a lot after all. While most four-legged mammals can simply walk on all fours and feel at ease doing so, it doesn't feel that right for me. I can't do this slumber walk and have a heavy tail being dragged over the ground. I can't eat like a crocodile with this weak human mouth and this weirdly shaped face. If a tooth is broken, it won't just fall out and grow back but has to be repaired and treated carefully afterwards. My boobies, which I mentioned above. I have no scales and can't swim like a crocodile. I don't have a third eyelid. My claws are weak and soft.

Many many things make me feel species dysphoria. Though, it's fine. I accept those feelings and do my best with that. I got to the nail manufacturer and let them make me grey relatively pointy nails. I have the possibility to get tattoos. I can swim and dive as a human just as fine. You name it.

8. Don't rush it! I made this mistake which left me in an identity crisis for 11 years! Let it go, live your life, embrace your existence. If you're like me, a journal can help as well. Keep track of your experiences. And don't compare yourself to others. You might not know what you are right now and it might take years to find out for sure but this is what you have in advance. You're able to learn so much about yourself and educate yourself more on many levels which those who know what they are since they can think don't most of the time. Take the part where you have to read about so many animals and dive into zoology so hard that you can consider yourself a little nerd (lovingly). Take the patience that you need. Or maybe learning about many facettes and their correlation to your nonhumanity. Of course, those who know their true self since the very beginning can learn about these as well but you still do it on an absolutely different level. Enjoy it! And if you need help, don't hesitate to ask for help.

9. I don't have any gear yet but would love to have some. Though, I wouldn't know what I could get. Maybe you have some ideas.

10. Theoretically, such experiences and self-portraying as animals or other nonhuman creatures takes us back to the first humans with the spiritual and religious side. We have evidence of humans from the Paleolithic time to self-portray as animals, that's been about 40,000 years ago. Zoologic art has been found that may represent the earliest known form of anthropomorphism. I like to see that as the beginning of nonhuman identities. And maybe humans were identifying as nonhuman even before that or at least have very special connections to animals which could be seen as otherhearted or even as an identity already. Several religions, thelogies and spiritual beliefs practice animal related rituals and the like way before civilization. I think we could root alterhumanity there already.

11. I don't tag individuals but let everyone decide for themselves, if they want to partake in such fun things or not. So, go ahead!

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[daisyvisions]

Not Like the Rest - (j.cm)

➺ Pairing - fuckboy!Changmin x fem!reader

➺ Summary - For you, friends with benefits should never drag out this long. Use each other til one of you wants to call it quits. So why was Changmin still hanging around?

➺ Word Count - 1.2K

➺ Warnings - Smut (18+, minors DNI), friends with benefits, mixed feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation (?), aftercare, riding, slight angst (ish? idk), fluff, mentions of bad past relationships, hookups, etc., pet name (babe), let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Author’s note - yippie another one (even if I wanted this to be longer huhu 🥲) but it's been in the drafts long enough, finally letting this one out in the wild. this is my very late bday gift for Changmin's bday, story was originally an ask I had for a different fandom but decided why not write it myself? Proofread once, enjoy!

➺ Taglist: @deoboyznet @winterchimez @snowflakewhispers

Thinking about fuckboy!Changmin, who you’ve been hooking up with for the past couple of months.

To be honest, this was probably one of the longest and most steady friends with benefits agreement you’ve ever had in your life. Usually the others would drop you after the first month or so and ghost you. But not Changmin.

At first you thought he would be like the rest. Just a one time fuck or whatever the hell these guys go for, especially given his track record and all (or so you've heard through the grapevine). You’re used to it by know you think and maybe you should stop this vicious cycle.

But old habits die hard, especially when you’ve had a string of bad relationships that it made you too afraid of commitment. Too afraid of getting your heart broken time and time again.

That’s why you resorted into flings. At least if ever it ends, you’re not so attached right? Well that’s what you try to tell yourself so it hurts a little less.

But that’s why with Changmin, for some reason being with him leaves you with all these mixed feelings. Oh god especially when he does things that make your heart beat fast and the butterflies raging in your stomach?

Or how he makes that rope within your abdomen tighten each time? Like how he is right now as he grips your hips, helping you bounce on his length as you try to reach your high.

It almost seemed too good to be true, that’s why by the third month that past of whatever you wanna call this continued, you did your best to please him almost all the time both in and outside of the bedroom. You wanted to hold onto this one as long as you can, even if there have been moments where it made you tired, especially physically as you continue to bounce on him.

Riding wasn’t really your forte when it comes to sex positions. Though you enjoyed it a lot, it’s just that your knees and leg muscles would eventually give in. But of course you wouldn’t tell Changmin even if it made you drained out. You were worried you might turn him off because in past relationships you would get criticized for it (because they expected you to do all the work).

So as you try your best to ignore the growing ache in your knees and the burn in your thighs, Changmin could tell something was off. It wasn’t your movements slowing down or when you would try to pause in between but with the way you knitted your eyebrows together (and not the kind that’s done because of pleasure).

“Babe, you okay?” He huffs out as his hands continue to guide your hips up and down his throbbing member.

“I-it’s nothing.” You breathe out, trying not to feel the pain in your muscles. You suddenly yelp both out of surprise and pleasure as Changmin suddenly pushes your hips down and halts your movements, his entire cock sheathed inside you as the tip kisses that sweet spot deep within.

“Why’d you stop me?” You whine.

“We need to talk about something-” Changmin says with a serious tone. Was he finally going to break things off with you?

“About what?” You try to keep your composure, not letting your emotions get the best of you.

“You have this face every time you’re on top.” Changmin gets straight to the point. “What’s wrong?”

Oh… so your discomfort does show.

Out of embarrassment, you lean forward and quickly hide your face at the crook of his neck.

“Hey- you can tell me it’s alright.” The warmth of his hand caresses the back of your head.

“Please don’t make fun-” Your voice starts to quiver ever so slightly. “It’s not that I don’t like being on on top it’s more of…” You life your head to face him, you cheeks growing warm from feeling flustered.

“I get very tired from it easily. My legs are- they’re kind of weak. I’m- I’m sorry…”

At first, there’s an awkward silence that fills the room. Changmin’s eyes trying to search something within yours before his chuckle breaks the tension.

God, is he seriously laughing? He’s the first guy to ever laugh at you for this. You should've just kept your mouth shut. Now he thinks you’re a-

“Well why didn’t you say so babe? Hold on.”

“Huh? Oh!” You squeal as his arms wrap around your waist, plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts himself into you like a jack rabbit. As the sounds of skin slapping against one another progresses, you can’t help but let out a string of erotic moans as you bury your face into his neck once more (God how he wishes he could play your sounds on loop forever).

The pleasure was starting to overwhelm you that your vision starts to blur from the tears forming in your eyes. You’ve never been fucked like this before. You practically feel him everywhere. You don’t even realize you’ve already reached your high and now you’re squirting all over him, your cunt gripping his length like there’s no tomorrow.

You reach your second wave of high much faster than you anticipated, igniting something very primal within Changmin to just keep on thrusting up into you. His arms tighten around you suddenly as his release suddenly bursts within your walls, coating them in his hot load.

You suddenly have no energy to move after all that, so Changmin helps you lift your hips, releasing a pool of your mixed essences as lay on his chest for a moment.

For some reason after being honest with Changmin about how you were feeling, it was like you were seeing a totally new side of him. He was usually the type to give aftercare but something seemed different tonight, you just couldn't place your finger on it.

He made sure to prepare a warm bath, help you lather your hair, and made sure you were settled in before holding you in his arms, leaving you a warm goodnight kiss before he went to sleep.

You stayed up for a moment, replaying everything that has happened between you and Changmin from the moment you met. This was very different from your usual hookups, and it made you feel a lot of mixed emotions.

While he made you feel all these exciting things, you couldn’t help but feel scared about how this will turn out in the end. Maybe these are the early signs of him ending things? Will this be one of the final moments you'll ever have with him before you become strangers again?

You mentally shook the thoughts out of your head and decided to focus on what was right here in this moment, snuggling closer into his chest as you slowly drift into sleep.

But little did you know that Changmin’s feelings for you were already reciprocated, ever since you two met. It was only a matter of time til he took you out on a proper date and finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

[newobsessionweekly]

No way out

part 1

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When you finally find the courage to take action against your abusive boyfriend, Tim is there to save you. And something happens inside the two of you.

Angst

Warnings: Domestic abuse, emotional distress, violence, protective behavior, slow-burn romance, language.

A/N: As I promised, I will be more active around here. I got a request and decided to turn it into a mini series, I hope you'll like it. Feedback is always appreciated!! Take care of yourselves, bubs! Lots of love! 🫶🏻✨

Words: -

You were gasping for air before you even hit the floor.

The impact of your body slamming into the hardwood rattled your bones, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating terror gripping your chest. The room was spinning, but you forced yourself to look up—his shadow loomed over you, sharp and menacing under the dim light.

"You're always making me do this," he seethed, his voice thick with anger. "Why do you have to push me?"

You curled into yourself, the familiar sting of his words cutting just as deep as the bruises that would form later. Your body ached, but it was the emotional toll that shattered you the most. Because you knew him. You knew the boy he used to be—the high school sweetheart who held your hand in the hallways, who kissed you under the bleachers, who swore he’d never hurt you.

But that version of him was long gone.

A sob choked in your throat as you turned your head, eyeing your phone on the couch just a few feet away. He was pacing now, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath about how sorry he was, how it wasn’t his fault.

It was now or never.

With all the strength left in you, you lunged for the phone, snatching it into your trembling hands as you scrambled backward. He spun around, rage twisting his face.

"Don't you dare—"

You pressed 911.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

Your voice cracked. "Please, I—I need help. My boyfriend—he—"

A hand yanked your wrist so hard you thought it might break. The phone clattered to the floor, but the call was still connected.

"You think they can help you?" he sneered, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You're nothing without me."

But he was wrong. For the first time in years, you felt something shift inside you. A quiet, burning defiance.

And then, in the distance—sirens.

Tim Bradford had answered countless domestic calls. Some ended peacefully, some turned violent, but every single one had the same thread of despair woven through them.

Tonight felt different.

Lucy kept checking the address, her expression tight. “Tim,” she said suddenly. “I know her.”

He flicked a glance at her, hands steady on the wheel. “Who?”

“The victim. Y/N. She’s my friend.”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t like that. “You knew she was in trouble?”

Lucy hesitated. “I—suspected. I asked her before, but she never admitted it.”

Tim exhaled sharply through his nose.

They pulled up to the house—lights off, curtains drawn. The kind of place where bad things happened in silence.

He stepped out first, scanning the surroundings. He didn’t like this either. The neighborhood was quiet, too quiet. He unholstered his weapon, nodding at Lucy to follow.

They approached the door. Tim knocked, hard. “LAPD! Open up!”

Nothing.

He could hear muffled yelling inside, a crash, then a choked cry.

Tim's patience snapped. He stepped back and kicked the door open in one powerful motion, the wood splintering under his boot.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

You were on the floor, bruised, tears streaking down your face. And your boyfriend—your attacker—stood over you, his face twisted in fury.

"Get your hands where I can see them!" Tim barked, stepping between you and the man without a second thought.

"She’s my girlfriend!" the guy snapped. "This is none of your business!"

Tim had him pinned against the wall in two steps. He twisted the guy’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees. “You like hurting people?” Tim growled. “Try me.”

Your boyfriend grunted in pain, but Tim didn’t care. He snapped the cuffs on, yanking him upright.

Lucy immediately rushed to you. “Hey, hey, are you okay?”

Your eyes were still locked on Tim. He wasn’t sure what you were looking at—the gun, the badge, or something else entirely.

“Y/N.” Lucy touched your arm, voice soft. “You’re safe.”

Your breath came out in a shudder, and your knees nearly buckled. Tim watched as Lucy steadied you, gently guiding you toward the couch.

For the first time since they arrived, you exhaled.

The paramedics checked you over, but Tim never left your side. He told himself he was just being thorough, but deep down, he knew better.

Lucy knelt beside you, guilt written all over her face. "I’m so sorry. I should have seen the signs. I should have helped—"

You shook your head. "You couldn’t have known."

Tim watched the way your hand trembled against the blanket draped over your shoulders. Without thinking, he reached out, gripping your fingers lightly.

Your breath hitched. His touch was warm, grounding, and for the first time in years, you felt safe.

It was wrong. You had just gotten out of hell, and here you were, noticing the strength in his hands, the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

But when he squeezed your hand back—just a little—you knew he felt it too. Something dangerous simmers in his gaze, something fierce and protective and angry—not at you, but for you.

The night ends in a blur. Statements. Paperwork. More questions than you have answers for. But through it all, Tim is there.

He stands close—not too close, but enough that you feel his presence like a shield. Whenever someone else talks to you, his eyes never leave you.

It's overwhelming. And yet... comforting. You don't even realize how exhausted you are until it’s over.

"You have somewhere to stay?" Tim asks.

Lucy speaks before you can. "She’s staying with me."

Tim nods, but something about his expression stays tight, unreadable. His eyes flick to yours once more, and for a split second, you swear you see something there—something you shouldn’t.

And then he turns away.

When Tim gets back in the shop, he doesn’t start the engine.

Instead, he turns to Lucy. And snaps.

"What the hell, Lucy?" His voice is sharp, cutting. "You’re a cop. How did you not see what was happening to your own friend?"

Lucy’s eyes widen. "Tim, I—"

"You should have known," he growls, slamming his hands against the wheel. "You should have done something."

"I didn’t know!"

"That’s the problem!"

The car falls silent.

Lucy swallows hard, guilt written all over her face. "Why do you care so much?"

Tim opens his mouth—then closes it. He doesn’t know.

But something about the way you looked at him—something about the way he felt when he saw you on that floor—unsettles him.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim Bradford doesn’t know what to do with himself.

[djinnuhq]

Advices that helped me shift easily !

welcome to my blog i hope you find what you need,DO NOT HESITATE. Shifting isn't always about practice,following rules but its mostly about doing your own research and finding whats the best for you. So lets begin !

Talk to yourself during methods or your shifting journey: Talk you yourself,reassure yourself,tell yourself how proud you are for all the efforts put into your journey,tell yourself how good you're doing,be kind,be happy,be proud. Accept yourself and prepare your mind during the process.

Bad emotions and negativity do NOT ruin your journey. In fact it can help. Use all your emotions to align with your reality.

You will be sad in your DR,you will indeed have haters,arguments,betrayal and many negative stuff and its fine. Just don't except it to be perfect unless you wanna get shocked.

ME DI TA TE !!!! MEDITATE juste mediate istg. Y'all need to understand how helpful it is to meditate. Plus its a fun thing to do,its relaxing and it has many benefits outside shifting aswell.

This isn't an advice or maybe it is. Religion and shifting cannot match. Hear me out on this one. Shifting is the realization of the power of the conciousness,its realizing that you aren't a soul a mind or any spirits,you're able to change realities at any moment and become what you want for EVER. Shifting makes you immortal and the belief of immortality and reality shifting is opposite to the religious after life most people think they will experience.

stop TRYING to shift,stop triggering a shift stop pushing yourself to shift. The second you thought of shifting somewhere,you did shift. And the 3d will follow along. Just relax,imagine yourself there and mostly trust yourself

what works for people won't obligately work for you. I know it hurts to admit it but even if all humans in the world shifted on the first attempt with a specific method doesn't mean it will make you shift to. Find what works for you.

stop depending on social media advices. Remember 2020/2021/2022 trauma? Have you learnt nothing from it? STOP.LISTENING.TO.PEOPLE. especially on shiftok. Do your own research,try your things and mostly trust and accept the shift.

Methods arent the ones making you shift,i know sad to hear. Methods are just there to make you forget your cr and mostly focus on relaxation. But keep depending too much on methods and you won't get there soon.

Stop asking the universe for favors. Stop just stop. Stop counting on god,the universe,methods,subliminals,water,people online,shiftok,shiftblr or anything. Just stop. The universe won't just offer you a one free shifting month its not how it works. The only thing that can make you shift is YOU. YOU are in charge,YOU have the power to shift,YOU make yourself shift. So fuck methods,subliminals,water,people fuck it all. Its all about you.

ANYWAYS SORRY FOR MY TERRIBLE ENGLISH I KNOW HARD TO READ THAT. TRUST YOURSELF YOU CAN DO IT YOU WILL DO IT AND YOU'LL LIVE HAPPILY MANY MANY LIVES FOR EVER.

[qardenofeden]

ushijima wakatoshi is not a man of many words, and when he does talk, he comes across as pretty blunt. but it’s not with ill intent; he means well, he’s just so brutally honest sometimes, which is why you immediately shut down when you hear the words “i don’t like you,” escape his lips.

your classes had just ended, and it’s a friday afternoon when you finally work up the courage to confess to the man who stands before you. the cherry blossoms around you dance in the air, painting a romantic, picture perfect scene between the two of you. your arms are outstretched as you present to him your favorite brand of chocolates.

“i…” you look down in disappointment, avoiding his gaze as much as you could, as if it’d miraculously hide you from him.

“i don’t understand you one bit,” he says, his monotone voice unwavering.

you’re thankful you didn’t bring any of your friends along. this was humiliation at its finest. on the bright side though, it’s a friday and you don’t have any classes after. so you’re free to cry your eyes out and curl up in bed as much as you want.

but these thoughts of yours do little to distract you from the moment, and your eyes can’t help but water a little as you look down and take a shivery breath.

“i asked tendou about you.”

that catches your attention, and suddenly you’re taking a deep breath as you look up in shock. he asked tendou?! now that’s going to spread throughout the entire school!

the tears resting on your eyes reflect the golden sun above. your brows furrow in confusion, and if it stuns wakatoshi, he sure as hell doesn’t show it. “why are you tearing up? you did not even let me finish before crying.”

“what else is there to say, ushijima?” the use of his last name sends a small shock through his veins, and yet ushijima still remains unmoved. “you don’t like m—”

you’re quickly interrupted when he speaks, saying “there it is again.”

and you scoff, because he’s not listening. but maybe you should, so you look behind to see just what he was referring to, but nothing’s there.

“what are you—”

“i feel strange whenever i’m around you.” he interrupts again, before clearing his throat and quickly apologizing. “i’m sorry, i did not mean… you can continue.”

“wait, no, what?” you scoff again in disbelief, brows furrowing as your eyes fidget around, searching for something that can help you understand just what the hell ushijima was talking about.

“when you looked up at me with teary eyes, i felt a pang in my chest,” he says, before continuing like he was explaining his symptoms to the doctor, “and when you referred to me as my last name.”

and finally, ushijima’s unwavering confidence almost looks like it falters as he looks away, breathing an exhale. he speaks again, tone finally somehow… softening. “i feel a different pang though when you visit my practice matches and cheer me on…”

no way. you made the ushijima wakatoshi shy? japan’s number one best ace?

he must be rambling, he thinks, but regardless, if wakatoshi hurt you, he wants to apologize and make up for it. starting by explaining. so, he dismisses his thoughts and continues.

“but, more specifically, i asked tendou why i felt irritated when i saw you tutoring that boy in your class,” he finally looks at you now, confidence returning as he tilts his head slightly to the left, “i have a crush on you too, it seems.”

you’re at a loss for words. because, didn’t he just say, moments prior, that he doesn’t like you?!

“i do not, however, like sweets.”

and you let out a chuckle as you bring your hands up to your chest. maybe it hasn’t fully sinked in, because you still can’t talk.

“i do not understand you because you make me feel all these emotions. and i don’t like what i don’t understand, but…”

ushijima brings his hands to yours, taking the chocolate as he opens it. he takes a bite, and there’s a faint hint of pink in his cheeks.

“there are a few exceptions in life.”

and then you see it. the man before you isn’t ushijima wakatoshi, japan’s first best ace. it’s wakatoshi, your wakatoshi, whose biggest enemy is the concept of emotions.

made this at 01:19 it’s rough i know leave me alone i’m tired

[81pastrys]

The Other Verstappen

Part 2 / ?

Summary— She can’t escape her father for long when Max tells her he’s flying with them to Monaco

Warnings— Jos Verstappen ; horrible father ; fighting

A/N— this is just mediocre to what I have.

Series List

The next morning we wake up and dress ourselves, I temporarily put on my outfit from last night and go to my hotel room to freshen up before flying out. I dry off and Max calls.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He started the call. “He kept on and I had to give in, I’m so sorry.” I stay quiet, confused at the constant apologies.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Dad is flying with us back to Monaco.” He finally admitted. I whisper profanities under my breath and just accept it. Lando is flying with us as well.

“Okay.” I sigh heavily. “I’m about to finish packing and I’ll be there in about an hour or so.”

“I’m so sorry.” He said again. I know if I tell him it’s fine he’ll go ape shit on me saying he knows how it isn’t. If I had another way out I’d take it, but flying with Max is my only way on such short notice.

The call ends and I toss my phone, finishing my packing duties. When I finish packing I meet with Lando in the lobby. “Ready to go?”

“No.” I say seriously. “Jos is flying with us.”

“What?” He asked shocked. “Why?”

“I don’t care anymore.” I sigh. “After all I’ve done to keep him away and I fucking can’t?” My eyes water and I push the thought away and put my luggage in the cab.

We get to the airport and I see them waiting for us to pull up. I take a deep breath and grab my luggage. I walk up to them and Lando joins shortly. We board the plane without any words exchanged. I know how this goes, he’s ignoring me until everyone’s phones are off.

“Sis I-“ Max said getting me alone while our dad exited for something.

“Don’t, I know how he is.” I say holding back all the emotion I want to express.

Our dad returns and I shoot a deadly look his way as I settle in to my seat next to Lando at a table. After takeoff he starts his bullshit.

“Could’ve done better than P3, your career is a joke.” He scoffed. “Look at your brother, he wins every other race!”

“Yeah I know.” I sigh heavily as if I don’t win the races my brother doesn’t. “Anything else disappointing you?”

“The way you don’t want to talk to your father.” He said faking his sincerity. “Blocking me on everything, so childish.” There’s the narcissism.

“Hand must’ve slipped, my bad.” I respond coldly. Lando is holding back a laugh at my dry responses as my dad continues scolding me. “What do you care?”

“You’re my baby girl, I can’t have the right to talk to you?” He threw at me.

“Considering every conversation is similar to this one, no I’d rather not talk to you.” I say seriously.

“Similar to what?” He asked. Arguing, fighting, getting degraded, you know things fathers say to their youngest daughter.

“You spewing hateful words to me, I’m sick of it.” I say the attitude coming through completely. “I’ve done my best to please you and all I get is criticism.”

“It obviously doesn’t help.” He scoffed. “Should’ve ended your career when you lost the karting championship.” He scoffed at me.

“Saying that won’t change anything.” I say as if it wasn’t obvious. “Sorry I can’t be your perfect little prodigy.”

“You’re just insufferable.” He said. “Always giving people attitude and being a bitch.” Something snapped in me and I slam my hands on the table, residing to the opposite side of the plane.

I curl up in the corner with a blanket and cry silently as they talk. Once their conversation dies out and my dad moves facing away from me, Lando sits next to me and pulls me into his lap. He toys with my hair and the tears stream slowly down my face.

I fall asleep in his lap and wake to the sound of him and Max talking over me. “He’s asleep.” Max whispered. Lando moves my hair from my face.

“He isn’t staying at your house is he?” Lando asked. I sit up and just lean my head on his shoulder.

“We haven’t discussed that but even if he doesn’t I want her to feel safer while he’s in town.” Max said.

“Where would I stay?” My voice was raspy and sleep ridden.

“With me.” Lando smiled kissing my head. Max returns to where he was sitting earlier and I just relax on Lando. He plays on his phone a bit and I watch.

Towards the end of the flight my dad walks to our seats and scoffs at me lying my head on Lando’s shoulder. “And you’re sleeping with the drivers?”

“No I moved her head so it didn’t hit the window.” Lando laughed. “She just woke back up.”

“I don’t believe it, I always knew she’d be a slut.” He remarked disappearing to the bathroom farther back on the plane.

We exit the plane and I immediately load my car and drive off quicker than they could blink. I can feel the eyes of my father rolling at my dramatic exit. I speed around and blare music.

Oh?

@widow-cevans @pandabiiissh @charlesgirl16 @angelluv16 @il0vereadingstuff @itznotsophia

[thebroccolination]

Soooo when I said, “There’ll likely be a loud minority openly complaining about Krist topping and Singto bottoming and much more silent disapproval,” in my last post, I was giving the fandom way too much credit.

According to friends on Twitter, there was indeed a significant backlash over the sex scenes portrayed in the novel, some fans even going so far as to @ the series’ official account to complain about it.

(Don’t want PhiTam, yet tagging Krist first. Mixed signals, fam.)

Multiple folks say the mood among the fandom on Twitter at large right now seems to be mainly denial, that because the novel and series are written by different people, Singto’s character will surely play the top role in the series—even though he’s the bottom in the novel.

But, y’know:

And I, uh. I mean. This is:

Y’all?

Even outside the series, they’ve been—

Yeah, that.

So like. Y’know.

I mean, listen. To be so viscerally clear here, the reason I’m excited about Krist playing the top is because he played the bottom in both of his previous BL roles. (KristSingto had two shorts for Baby Bright where Krist seems more top-leaning, but I guess it was vague enough for people to ignore if they didn’t want to see it.) So I’m glad he’s getting versatility as an actor.

But it’s also because he’s been mistreated in the past by many KristSingto fans who, since they perceive him to be “the bottom” or “the wife,” seem to think this means he’s got to be docile and submissive and sweet, even when he’s pushed too far. To be honest, I had the realization recently that maybe the reason so many Peraya chose to ignore interfans calling Krist homophobic for so many years could be that they didn’t care either way. As one of the OG fandoms, it seems that their fans skew older and more conservative, so it could be as simple as that. They knew he wasn’t homophobic, everyone did, but real life queer issues didn’t matter to them, so they didn’t care that interfans were absolutely decimating his reputation among the queer community when it was OG Peraya stalking him and harassing him that made him post that story in the first place.

I mean, not to invalidate the high emotions going on over on Twitter dot com, but I can’t believe this upset over Singto’s character bottoming for Krist’s character wasn’t limited to a few silly temper tantrums from fringe fans with outdated beliefs about queer people.

Honestly, that there’s anger over this at all says plenty about how they must perceive the bottom role. Being on top is hot, but being on bottom is shameful? (What is this, Ancient Rome?)

I hope y’all know I try as much as I can to avoid making posts about fandom negativity and toxicity. I think emphasizing the positive aspects is more helpful in the long run. But many in KristSingto’s fandom continually treat both of them like products, and I am truly tired of it. Many whitewash Singto, many belittle Krist, and they need to fix their attitudes.

Personally, I consider myself part of all three of the KristSingto fandoms: Yuyu (Krist), Peraya (KristSingto), and Samoonjaopa (Singto). So when I criticize any of them, I’m not trying to burn the house down. I’m saying, “Stop playing with matches in the house.”

Many Peraya boycotted “Be My Favorite” which, like, whatever, watch what you like. But many among that many also openly complained about it while it was airing. Some went so far as to bully Gawin, using alt accounts to call him a halfbreed and a leech. When I called out this behavior, I was accused by multiple Peraya of trying to make the fandom look bad, that those alt accounts were clearly run by other fans trying to do the same. When the focus, as far as I’m concerned, should have been on protecting and supporting Gawin. There were very few Peraya who showed support for Krist’s friendship with Gawin continuing publicly, and their quiet likes and endorsements of tweets criticizing Krist did far more damage to their reputation than me standing up for Gawin ever did.

While I’m doing this, lemme just address the fandom ridiculousness that’s been going on across the board over the past year, shall I?

Some Samoonjaopa complained about Singto’s lack of solo work last year compared to Krist’s and went so far as to @ Krist to tell him that he wasn’t doing enough to keep Singto steadily employed. Which? Isn’t Krist’s job??? And ignores the possibility that Singto can get his own work, is a seasoned talent at GMMTV in his own right, and maybe just wanted to relax last year since the man is a dedicated introvert who’s openly and repeatedly said he’s prioritizing his mental health more these days? And again: there are many in Singto’s fandom who are continually, constantly whitewashing his photos. Stop whitewashing Singto. You’re his fanbase. The people who are supposed to love him most for who he is, not the fictional person you’re photoshopping him into for your aesthetic preferences. How do you think he’s felt for the past decade seeing not only the media whiten his skin but his own fans? Portray his melanin or stop posting photos of him at all. If you can’t see how beautiful he is tan, you don’t deserve to call yourself Samoonjaopa.

Meanwhile, some Yuyus have continually moaned about Singto’s return, complaining about Krist’s lack of music projects even though Krist himself said he’ll be focusing on that after “The Ex-Morning” airs. He’s already been hospitalized this year? Stop pressuring him to film a series, host, take care of his family, and work on an album? They’ve also accused Singto of coming back to GMMTV because he ran out of money, that his freelance career was bombing, etc. Calling him desperate and a leech. (People really like to accuse people close to Krist as a leech, what is that.) What’s worse is that some of them don’t even dislike Singto—they just want to piss off the Peraya. But hasn’t Krist made it devastatingly clear that he adores Singto? Was it not enough when he had to call out one of his own solo fans for trash-talking Singto last year when he was already getting backlash for his friendship with Gawin?

Fans in all three fandoms need to reevaluate why they’re even here.

This applies to all fans in all fandoms everywhere: if you spend most of your time in fandom fighting and policing people and spreading anger and toxicity rather than lifting up the real people you’re ostensibly here to support, then you’re doing this wrong.

Love brought you here. Act like it.

I left Twitter because the situation there was too toxic to stand, even to stay for KristSingto and BounPrem, and while I haven’t been there for months, I did predict that some Peraya would be upset about a possible dynamic switch. I just overestimated their maturity about it, clearly.

I probably should have said all of this while I was on Twitter, but people have to realize it on their own or it won’t stick.

So what I’m going to do instead is go on promoting KristSingto to fans who haven’t had the chance to get to know them yet, because I love Krist and I love Singto, and I think they deserve more fans, new fans who don’t treat them like property.

Obligatory final note that of course this isn’t the entire fandom behaving badly. If you’ll notice, I used qualifiers in this entire post. Some, many, etc. There are many lovely people in all three fandoms, but the ones ruining everything are loud and need to be addressed for things to improve. Ignoring them hasn’t helped so far. I say this because sometimes people get very upset and don’t utilize close reading skills.

All this over top/bottom dynamic switch.

Told y’all it was brave of KristSingto to do it.

Now to hope no one bothers KristSingto about it at the book fair tomorrow. 👁️👁️