#not used to drawing backgrounds but i think this came out okay

[silvertherogue715]

Ah, cat owners.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN (TO GET SPLATTERED) OOH MYSTERY! PANIC! DRAMA! EMOTIONS!! LOTS N LOTS OF MEAT, SCARES, AND DICK-OUT FUN! BLOOD IN THE BAYOU HAS GOT IT ALL BABY!!!

blood in the bayou would make SUUUCh a great campy horror movie, its real in my heart, so real.....

[nefastnefertiti]

WHY CHAPTER 431 OF MY HERO ACADEMIA SCREAMS CENSORSHIP

First let's start by the "afterword", the note Horikoshi left after 430 and before the extras, chapter 431.

Original japanese for those who understand.

The best traslation I found and most people are agreeing with.

Key sentences are:

1.The real final chapter is 429, 430 is more like a curtain call.

2. PS: For chapter 431, I turn off the cameras and free the characters from their dramas.

This note being left after 430 and before the extras is so important. . The clarification of "the real final chapter is 429" and 430 is the curtain call is screaming: the show has ended here. This is further stated by "i turn the cameras off" by the man who use to refer himself as the camera man, I leave you with an example.

(They're talking about Vol 37 cover)

And back to point number 2: "and free the characters from their dramas", which could perfectly be understood as "the characters are no longer tied to their previous plots and drama" no longer connected to the main story.

It may seem like a reach until here, we're just trying to convince ourselves that's not canon, right? They´re delusions, right?

The problem is how far away everything about 431 antagonizes the whole story, the characters doesn't feel like themselves, they even regress back all their development, the drawing style looks totally different and there are many irregularities that call for our attention.

Dabi, 431 and by Horikoshi

Toga and Ochaco in 431:

Toga and Ochaco by Horikoshi:

All Might's signature for Katsuki (Horikoshi would never mess this up):

Kirishima with 6 fingers lol, Horikoshi loves drawing hands, he would never.

Katsuki's odd teeth what the fuck. (His hand looks good to me)

Ochaco and Shoto just look, weird. It's clearly not Horikoshi's art style.

And this awful background (center) was the main giveaway.

Horikoshi's backgrounds are so professional:

At this point I'm getting tired since the difference is astounding, don't believe me, just check the manga.

I don't think Horikoshi would've allowed those mistakes had he have a role in the making, maybe he did, there's no saying about that, but clearly if he did his involvement was very low.

Character's development wise now.

Seriously? "Deku"? And Katsuki complaining for picking him up. He cried his eyes out when Izuku lost his quirk and now he's back at season 1?

Izuku would never in a million years turn down that offer. And if he did, it would never be like this, so devoid of emotion and empathy.

430 showed us an Izuku aiming for his dreams again and at 431 this Izuku ¿? It's okay with being a teacher? Ok. And if that's not the problem, why he outright rejects Katsuki out of nowhere? When their rivalry was one of the main points of the plots for 430 chapters and now just um over? Without justification? Ok.

Ok.

Now specifically about that ship canonization and bkdk.

Horikoshi has been doing this for 10 years. The choices he took the whole manga were incredibly intentional, all those romantic tropes given to bkdk, his interviews, all stand in direct opposition to what happened in this last chapter.

I, myself, don't know much about Jump but what I've heard is they end lot of shonens with the same heterosexual formula. I don't think all of this is a coincidence.

Something really important that needs to be adressed to is what happened back in June (I think), when suddenly MHA announced it was ending in 5 chapters could've something to do with this. The manga was suddenly rushed to its ends with unsatisfying resolutions and as if that was not enough, one month later (at most) the same happened to JJK and all of this came accompanied by a switch of one of the heads of Jump.

About 431 again though.

I was just thinking what would I do if I was pressured to write something that ruins the biggest project of my life and goes against everything I was hoping for? Refuse. Tell them to write it themselves. If I can't do anything to stop it and it'll be there, alright, but I WON'T DO IT.

And I think this could be Horikoshi's case.

I've never seen a shonen manga come so close to implying his male protagonist and his male deuteragonist are in love before. Yes, it was not EXPLICIT but it was so fucking clear if you knew how to read, all the way up to 430. All those cliches tropes he gave them, he knew, we know.

I thought I'll die trying to explaineverything that seems wrong with this with nothing to back me up but the fact that he added that note is clear for me. I'm surprised they allowed him to publish it, I thought we wouldn't even have that.

PS:

It's interesting this being posted the same day 431 comes out. Also "heroaca is pretty dark, huh?"

I'll not go into this anyways because it's kind of a reach but the conclusion is: I think it's a "soft" censorship and Horikoshi did his best to relay his message given what he had.

Thanks for reading!

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday?

The brain worms are here again.

I honestly hate Christmas and avoid doing too much for it. However, an idea came to me suddenly and I can’t stop thinking about…

Secret Santa Steddie AU.

In one of Steve’s high school classes senior year, they’re assigned a Secret Santa project. They all put their names in a Santa hat and have to draw one out (returning it for another if it’s their own) and that’s the person they have to secretly give a gift to, either homemade or purchased, but there’s a cap of like…whatever the equivalent of $20 today is back then. Idk.

This is supposed to be a team building type of exercise, something to foster camaraderie, after say maybe a huge argument/fight broke out between Tommy and his group and the Freak, Eddie Munson, as well as some other nerds. Steve is exhausted and doesn’t care for Tommy’s bullshittery anymore, so he didn’t really get involved, though Eddie did throw a few digs his way. Which was hurtful but probably deserved.

Anyways, Steve draws out Eddie’s name.

For the next week or so the last fifteen minutes of class are devoted to questionnaires and such where the students answer questions about themselves directly or they fill in answers to widely asked questions, all used to let the Secret Santas learn about their recipients. Some people take it more seriously than others.

Steve gets to know more about Eddie, who is more blasé about it all, obviously not expecting anyone to give him something good (if they give him anything at all) since he has no friends in the class and most people don’t like him. So Steve, who has never paid Eddie any amount of attention before in the past but has been now and finds himself intrigued, starts observing Eddie outside of class.

Steve knows he could buy Eddie something music related. An easy cop-out gift. But the more he observes Eddie, the more he gets to see the tiny cracks in the Freak persona whenever he spies on him, sees the nerdy but also kind person beneath the leather jacket. And…okay…maybe he starts to develop a sort of crush without realizing that’s what happens.

Maybe he bribes other nerds about Hellfire Club and Eddie and makes certain they don’t squeal about him asking (he doesn’t realize he comes off as threatening, he just thinks he’s being urging), maybe he hears Eddie mention things and then he goes and asks Dustin what they mean, learning it’s from a book series about midgets and some jewelry or whatever, and so an idea forms.

While shuttling the kids about after school, Steve asks Will if he’d be willing to draw something for him, which Steve would pay him for. Will, obviously excited because it’s his first commission job and Steve pays him fairly, agrees.

(Steve may also purchase a patch at the record store they stop at—Will’s request as he wants to buy something for Jonathan—because it reminds him of Eddie, but that doesn’t matter.)

Yadda yadda ya, it’s time to exchange gifts. The teacher has allowed them to drop them off leading up to the Friday before winter vacation to keep the mystery alive.

When Eddie gets his, he’s expecting something more like a prank gift. Instead, he’s gifted a colored drawing (sadly not enough time for a painting) of Eddie dressed as someone named something like Spider or Arrow Gone or whatever, Steve doesn’t really know, but it’s him fighting off a horde of monster things with a flaming eyeball in the background and further back is an erupting volcano.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell is going on, not really able to absorb the massive info dump Dustin gave him, but Will assured Steve that the dude was cool and the battle depicted was awesome and important when he dropped off his old yearbook for model reference. Will’s opinion was enough for Steve of course. He just hoped Eddie liked it, and the patch that he rolled up with the picture.

Eddie is, of course, gobsmacked and trying his hardest not to show it. He scans the classroom to try to figure out who could have given him such an amazing gift, but no one even looks at him. There’s no way he would ever suspect the truth.

Steve ended up getting a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, which everyone laughed at and assumed was a joke gift for a jock, but Steve noticed a small twitch of a smile on Tommy’s face, the only one besides Dustin now who knows his secret.

Later, Eddie’s battle vest is adorned with the patch he received in his gift, a red and black Leviathan cross, but Steve doesn’t know what happened to the drawing. He hopes it didn’t get trashed.

It’s not until later, after everything with Vecna and recovering what was salvageable from the trailer, that he found the picture safely secured behind a glass frame hidden in Eddie’s room. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he might have been a little bit in love with Eddie “the Freak” Munson all this time.

~

Aaaaaaaah sorry this is a little bit of a nebulous ending here. Does this story follow canon and Eddie is dead, never knowing who his Secret Santa is? Or is Eddie recovering from his injuries, fated to recognize Will’s art style and thus learning the truth behind one of his most prized possessions? Who’s to say 🤷

I’m just gonna tag my perma list because I’m lazy. Anyone can be happy to consider this a tag for their own future brain worms tho!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[apocalypse-shuffle]

AGATHA HARKNESS (mcu | agatha all along)

—

“A Witch’s Bargain” (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader) and (mentioned Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader)

| Once you find out a witch as infamous and powerful as Agatha is seeking you out you decide to go to her before she can pull one over on you; an attempt was made.

| SFW, obeah, flirting, hints at immortality, reader has something going on with both Agatha and Rio, -caribbean!reader & witch!reader

| pic source: Agatha All Along (2024)

| Note, the Reader-Insert is speaking with an accent but I didn’t write the particulars of it down bcs that would’ve been a lot to parse through even for me. Also, happy less-than-forty days till Halloween!

| 2k+ words

“Oh my,” you drawl, leant back against a large tree near Westview’s local psychic shop and nearly lost in its shadow, “this is…underwhelming.”

A whopping three people — only two witches, one of which was currently powerless — pause in front of you on the sidewalk, your words ringing even truer at the way the boy amongst them jumps at your abrupt entrance.

Lips pursed, you look him up and down with little favor. If this was to be the makings of Agatha Harkness’s “great coven” the pickings truly must’ve been slim.

The very witch you came to see turns to you, her hair falling into her face with the movement like she’s in some big brand shampoo commercial. Without another word, you watch on with an opposing stillness, your heart remaining steady.

Interesting.

For a woman you’d all thought dead Agatha looked well. Hair not clumpy, skin not worn or leathery. Even the way she held herself still bellied her comfort in mysticism, even dressed like a modern day woman as she was.

“Mm,” she hums shortly, turning in place with a few unhurried steps until she can cast narrowed eyes onto her apparent newest tag-along. Matching her stare head on you lean into the sun’s light a little more, your own thick curls brushing across a few low hanging branches where your hair is wrapped in cloth atop your head. “I don’t recall asking for an Obeah Woman,” she announces, tone bitingly light.

A scoff falls past your lips.

“And I didn’t expect the whispers for a coven would lead me to you, like this,” you twitch, letting your smile spread your plush lips thin, “broken and without your gifts.”

“I wouldn’t test me, New Girl,” she parries, and you hold your palms up in surrender.

Though your expression doesn’t sober.

The smile that rises to match your own in response to that is lopsided and sharp. Years worth of condescension she’d grown too used to falling back on without caution due to the magic coursing through her coming to the surface.

Agatha Harkness’s name in whispers had sent you into a fit at first — a witch of her caliber and age with your name on her mind never meant good — but looking at her now you could only tilt your head.

On the other hand, the boy with her seems eager to shake apart with laughter that grinds upon your nerves. Luckily, one look from the Salem veteran keeps him quiet.

Mostly.

In seconds she too is cackling, however — the boy’s muffled laughter acting as background noise — and you don’t bother stopping your sneer then.

“Oh, I see. You think you're hot shit,” she draws out, voice dropping an octave. “Don’t you operate a failing apothecary out of your apartment?”

Lips flattening, you step from the shadow, your face fixed without obvious malice to the best of your ability.

“It’s a side hustle,” you sniff. “And still better than being sentenced to 100 lashes and persecuted by the Danish; if I ever see the inside of a Christianshavn prison again I’ll frig up more than a few rum distilleries.”

“Of course. Now you just get persecuted by American Authority instead,” she says, the cut of her mouth sly.

With a flourish you wave her off. “Wretched as your worry is, it’s unneeded. Poison is no different than an elixir when you make it backwards.”

“Okay,” she simpers, shrugging herself, voice light and eyes never straying from your form as you glide closer over the concrete.

Powerless or not, something beneficial could surely come of making the occasional acquaintance of such a renowned woman.

Movement in your peripherals catches your attention though, and you stop moving to turn your head to find who you can only assume is the cause of your blight today.

Your sneer situates itself right back over your lips.

“Lilia,” you announce, the woman stops in her tracks and cuts you a brazen look out of the corner of her eyes. You take caution to only let your molars grind together for a second, releasing the tension in increments as your gaze narrows on her and you stand taller. “I should cut you down where you stand.”

The psychic huffs, shawl sliding a bit down the slope of her shoulder.

Slowly pulling the covering back into place she tuts at you, “Or…you could not. I mean, let’s face it, you would’ve been drawn here regardless of if I gave Agatha your name.”

“Unlikely,” you snap, words ground out like you’d rather spit on her than keep to something so civil as using mere words to express yourself.

And you would if you weren’t in such mixed company. Lilia was only meek when she was playing some angle after all.

You didn’t like anyone else making your moves for you, forcing you to speed up your timeline. Your own plans be damned.

“Witches, witches!” Agatha cuts in, holding her hands out to keep you and the psychic apart despite the way she’s only looking your way. “Let’s not tear each other apart just yet, hm?”

She eyes you from head to toe, taking her time to pan down as she takes in your flowing clothing and lightly clacking beads, before giving you a wicked look. “We wouldn’t want to mar anything too pristine before things really get interesting, now would we?”

Knocking your gaze to Lilia for a second you clock how she initially meets your glower, but keep your gaze steady regardless, just up until she finally twitches in discomfort. Only then do you ease up, tossing a grimace of a smile her way, before watching Agatha closely once more as the psychic wanders off somewhere out of sight with a few muttered curses you pay no mind to.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s expression has changed, having lost its begrudging appraisal and turned furrowed.

You raise your brows, “Harkness?”

She squints, obscuring fine cut hazel.

“I know you, don’t I?”

“Ah,” you grin without teeth, shoulders shaking, “so you can’t tell your porridge from your oats either I see.”

She rolls her eyes.

“The ‘wise sage’ act is very annoying, I have to tell you. It’s really ruining an otherwise beautiful package and I think you should work on that.”

“Should I?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Oh, alright,” you examine your bare nails, twisting your wrist this way and that to get a ‘better’ view of your cuticles, “you’ll have to put the request in with my secretary first, though, I fear.”

Agatha’s pet’s head pops up from over her shoulder, his face screwed up, “You have a secretary? …No offense.”

Sighing, you drop your hand back to your side and make a point of rolling your eyes hard enough to nearly make yourself dizzy.

“No. I don’t,” you tell him finally, though you don’t look away from the actual witch in front of you even as you do.

Immediately after you raise your brow at Agatha, however, “As for you, you know full well that I’m better than any sage, and that passing me up would be a waste when you need a potion maker. Regardless, no we haven’t met, but your backside is just as unpleasant as people describe.”

“Hm,” she hums in agreement, moving to toss her round brunette curls around to her back with a wink in your direction, “unpleasantly beautiful, you might say.”

“Worthless more like it,” you correct.

Agatha stops putting on her little show so quickly you might as well have just lashed her across the face.

Briefly, her eye spasms, “Watch it.”

“I might,” you say, “so long as you prove me wrong. Now, if we could get back on track.”

“Huh,” she scoffs, glaring at you now. “Fine. How bout’ this, unless you can make an elixir to make me invincible from every witch closing in on me, then scram. I’m dealing with enough ameatures as is.”

Head thrown back for a second, you laugh, letting your fervor echo throughout Lilia’s forever vacant parking lot.

“Oh, make no mistake, Harkness, I can do that...” you say eventually, voice easy in a way that gives the other woman pause. You jerk a brow up, briefly mirroring the way her interest seems to physically jump up to stare at you, “…for a price.”

Gaze finally brightening she moves to knock her male companion on the shoulder, gesturing your way afterwards before plastering a much “nicer” smile on her face.

“Teen’s got the money. Give the woman whatever she wants, come on.”

“Oh no, I don’t want money,” you cut in with a flick of your hand at the grabble she’s making for the boy’s wallet.

Agatha pauses in the middle of silently arguing with Teen, glancing your way from her slightly bent position.

“—You don’t?”

“I might not call myself a witch, but that in no way means I’m confused as to what you witch them does do.” You get closer to her, and how she straightens to meet your advance makes you preen. “I want a favor. A binding one.”

“As if,” the boy cuts in with, “A witch of her caliber doesn’t do binding spells, they’ll only hinder her.”

Oh my—

“You well fucking rude,” you say distastefully, giving him a harsh look. Irritatingly, his forward ass only lays his hand over his heart with a gasp.

For her part all Agatha does is laugh, knocking you lightly on the shoulder as if you’ve told a particularly funny joke, and taking you right out of your stare down. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Dear. Cause you sure are delusional.”

She snorts.

You suck your teeth.

This back and forth routine was getting far more tiresome than you’d anticipated.

“The only lucky one here is you,” you deadpan.

She opens her mouth to respond, that same dismissal in the curve of her mouth, but then pauses. Expression twitching, she leans even closer to you to inhale.

Frowning, you pull your upper half away from her.

“What—?”

“—I should’ve known,” Agatha exclaims lowly, pointing her finger at you. “You reek of her plague, that's why you seemed so familiar. What have you been dabbling in, I wonder, to smell so thoroughly of Rio? Joining her plot against me?”

You shake your head, looking away from her. You’d only hung around Vidal for the same reasons you were hanging around Agatha: to gain connections and, better still, favors you could cash in on if you ever found yourself in a bind due to your own ventures.

You hadn’t been lying earlier when you’d said you’d start making drastic moves if you saw the inside of a cell again, you didn’t care where it was. You’d burn it all down until they had to put you down before you’d waste away imprisoned ever again.

“Absolutely not. Whatever cuhruckle that went down between you two is yours alone. All I’m worrying about is my deal.”

To the displeasure of your heightening pulse, however, Agatha doesn’t just look passingly interested or even admiring any longer. She looks like she’s been given a puzzle, and like she likes it.

“Too late,” she chirps, fluttering her lashes, “Rio is far too picky about the company she keeps alive for your involvement to be left unexplored.”

Hand coming up, she runs her nails along your jaw. You stave off a flinch from the ticklish sensation her touch elicits. “You’ve taken on too potent a poison, Darling, situating yourself in the middle of our fight,” Agatha finishes, clicking her tongue, before walking her digits back up the umber expanse of your skin to press the pads of them into the hinge of your jaw.

You swallow roughly, hope she can’t hear it.

Agatha smiles, pressing in until she can force you to meet her eyes again. They’re roving, almost manic when paired with her smile.

“Yes,” she breathes, eyes alight. “Maybe I do need an Obeah Woman after all. We’ll be going to the Witch’s Road, won’t you come with?”

No. It’s on the tip of your tongue. The feel of Rio’s blackened energy still a hot, sizzling brand across your lips.

One deal had been made already, yes, but were you sure about pursuing this one as well with the inevitability of getting caught in the middle of a centuries old rivalry so probable?

Unfortunately, your, “Fine,” slips past your lips before you can stop yourself, and rather than deal with the indignity of walking your agreement back you stay quiet.

Watching for her move. Reasoning with yourself that there were still benefits here despite this new hiccup, if only you played your cards right.

She doesn’t make you wait long.

A shiver rises over you as her presence does the same, her steps carrying her till there’s hardly a whisper between your bodies. Even without her magic, being this close to Agatha Harkness allowed her to snake herself across your soul same as Rio Vidal had when you’d also unintentionally peaked her curiosity a while back.

“Wonderful,” she coos, the pad of her thumb gliding up your cheekbone as her hazel bores deep into your brown, “let’s see about that deal then.”

Dammit to hell; this had better be worth whatever Agatha and Rio’s combined interest would do to you.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Fun fact, actually, I wrote this when I’d only watched episode two up until Agatha and Teen left Lilia’s place, and so didn’t know that Jen (gorgeous as she is) would be who they went to for poisons (or that that was in any way a requirement in the first place) so that was a fun little coincidence. Otherwise, the setting of this oneshot I just pulled out of my ass fr.

Also, character motivations are a bit funky but I can’t pinpoint the exact reason and really want to post this tonight so we’ll all have to deal.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Caribbean word of the day (i.e.,the glossary): “Frig” - an alternative way to say ‘fuck’. so ‘frig up’ = ‘fuck up’.

“Cuhruckle” - a fight or (intense) disagreement; drama.

*remember, though, that dialects are regional so the words in this glossary aren’t used by every caribbean* 

EDITED: 9/26/24 & 10/26/24 (after s1ep7 I’m even more in love w/ Rio now)

[jayietheriverwarrior]

...okay but like... I had to. XD

This is fanart for ArualMeow's comic What Lurks Beneath. Their character Hake is the most precious bean to ever bean, and we just got a flashback scene of him coming out as trans to his family. He did so via coming out of a "cocoon" he assembled of various grass and other foliage, transforming like a butterfly. With all the ways he talked about butterflies and compared himself to one, I just had to draw him as a little trans butterfly cat. So here he is. :D

I loosely based the shape and pattern of the wings off an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, while using the colors of the trans flag in the pattern. I never drag insect wings, and butterfly wings are apparently deceptively difficult to both draw and shade. Not totally happy with how they came out, but I think the end result is alright?

I'm super happy with Hake himself though, he turned out fantastic. I have an app that lets me pose a 3D model of a cat however I wish, so I used that as a reference for Hake's flying pose here. And I don't know how I made that background look so good, as simple as it is, it just somehow turned out really good.

I hope you like this Arual! And thank you for all these wonderful adorable scenes with Hake... we all really needed it after the last chapter. ;-;

This is the last bit of art I'm posting for tonight, I'll hopefully have more art done to post soon.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 21 | Uninvited Judgements

summary: you were invited to a party by one of your friends, of course you brought Matt, your boyfriend along despite him being slightly younger, everything was going by smoothly and everyone was having great fun until you went out to the bathroom and when you came back you saw your drunken friends surrounding Matt, not suggesting anything good by their loud laughter…

warnings: ANGST, heavy language, arguing, party setting, drunk guests, bullying, age discrimination, age gap, all of the drinking characters are of age please drink responsibly and be aware of the possible consequences! & possibly more

authors note: nnn is soon coming to an end and the Christmas season will start which means… more Christmas fics! (And more smut) I am already feeling the spirit and love this season so much, also sorry for not posting this fic when I was supposed to but something personal happened and I couldn’t finish it that day and I hope y’all understand , but anyway luv y’all sm and hope y’all enjoy this one

The music bounced through the walls of the small apartment, a vibrant background to the laughter and conversation that filled the air. Matt adjusted the collar of his shirt, visibly feeling a little self-conscious under his excitement. He was still getting used to being around my friends, most of them were several years older than him. We had been dating for a few months now and while I loved spending time with him, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was still trying to prove himself.

I took his hand and squeezing it gently. “I’ll just be gone a minute,” I said, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Just need to use the bathroom. You okay to hang out here?” “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I’ll grab a soda or something.” As I slipped away into the crowded bathroom, Matt leaned against the counter and glanced around. Most of the partygoers were off in groups, cups in hand and laughter mixing with the music. He was about to reach for a drink when he noticed a couple of my friends gathering near him, their faces flushed and attitude high from the alcohol they have consumed.

“Look who it is!” one of my friends Mary slurred, her eyes shining with mischief. “Little Matt. What’s he doing here all by himself? Waiting for his mom to pick him up?” Matt felt heat rush to his cheeks, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and irritation. “I’m fine,” he muttered, trying to brush off the comments but the lack of a reaction from him it only encouraged the others. “Oh come on!” another friend chimed in with her laughter ringing loud. “You’re dating a woman who could practically be your aunt! What is she like, 25?” The group burst into drunk giggles, clearly enjoying the show of the younger guy, considering him as an easy target.

Matt clenched his fists at his sides, feeling a swirl of emotions and his gut twisted in upset. The teasing only got worse, the insults sharper, the references to our age gap digging deeper until he just couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m not a kid for gods sake,” he shot back but his voice barely cut through the intense crowd. Their laughter only grew louder, cutting off his words. When I finally returned with a bright smile lighting my face while Matt was the opposite, livid and his skin prickling with anger. I noticed the tension immediately as I maneuvered through the crowd toward him.

“Everything okay?” I asked concerned looking from him to my drunken friends who had just finished their turn of jokes. “They think it’s hilarious that I’m younger,” he said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. “Why do you even hang out with people who think it’s okay to make fun of someone like that?” I looked caught off guard while blinking rapidly. “I don’t think they meant anything by it, Matt. They were drunk and you know how that goes. They joke around, they don’t always know where to draw the line.” “A line?” he snapped and frustration spilling out of his expression. “It feels fucking disrespectful to make jokes about someone’s age! Like I’m some boy toy you’re just playing around with. Do you think I like being the center of their jokes?”

“Matt, just chill out for a second,” I ushed, raising your hands for him to calm down. “You know they didn’t mean for it to hurt you. It’s just banter! They were drunk—” “No, it’s not just banter!” he raised his voice louder than he intended. “It’s condescending and you’re just brushing it off like it doesn’t matter!” I felt my heart racing, a mixture of anger and hurt beginning to swirl in my veins “You’re making a huge deal out of this. They’re not bad people, they were having a good time! You can’t just get upset over everything people say when they’re drinking!” “It’s not ‘everything’! It’s just this! Ugh!” he exclaims, frustration lacing every syllable that left past his mouth. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t even see how it affects me. You just make excuses for them.” With that, one of my friends—a guy named Jake who had been listening nearby—snorted. “Who knew Matt had such thin skin? Can’t handle a little fun?”

Matt’s gaze flicked toward Jake, becoming stiff in his stance. “And you’re an ass.” “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s basically a kid,” Jake retorted and shaking his head. “Matt, just ignore him,” I pleaded but he was too far gone now. “No, fuck this…” he muttered, stepping away from the group who had been laughing at his expense. He turned to me with his eyes blazing. “I’m not playing this game. I’m not gonna sit here and take your friends’ bullshit. I’m done.” Before I could get a single word out past my lips, Matt turned on his heel and moved toward the exit, the door slamming behind him. The sound echoed in the now silent apartment as everyone exchanged glances, the party suddenly feeling much less exciting.

I tried to process what had just happened, a storm of emotions swirling inside of me. My friends still buzzing from the drinks, didn’t have the capacity to understand. They were just drunk and careless. But Matt? His feelings were painfully real and visible for anyone and my heart sank knowing I would have to find him and somehow make sense of this mess my drunk friends have put me in now.

@hearts4werka |

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🏷️ | @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknott - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - @sturniolosiphone - @sophand4n4 - @zombiesturniolo - @luvleyangeldust |

[cosmos-coma]

My Sun, My Star- Epilogue

A/N: Hello! This is just a short little scene I thought would be sweet! Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and reblogs and a BIG THANK YOU for the astounding 130+ followers I gained from this series alone! You guys are wonderful!!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader / Winter soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 665

Warnings: None! just fluff :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Bucky Masterlist

Buy me a Coffee?

_____

“Come on- let us see..!” Sam urged as he tried to peer around the Soldier’s broad shoulders, only for your Star to turn his back on him again. Even Natasha was trying to get in on the fun and see her honorary niece. She had a mission to become the coolest aunt on the team and she had to start right away to get ahead of the others.

“No.” The Winter Soldier simply answered, easily side-stepping and maneuvering around their advances.

He was too busy staring down at your daughter Selene’s little sleeping face. He had barely wanted to give her up since she arrived a day ago and refused to let her go for anyone who was not yourself. You only smiled and shook your head. You knew he was just trying to soak up his time with her while he still could. 

But this time you didn’t feel sad as you knew the end of his time was drawing near. Your eyes did not pool with tears and your voice did not quiver because in the short weeks before your pregnancy came to a close you and Bucky had been talking. You wanted to see how he felt about maybe letting the Winter Soldier out a little more often, or perhaps just not pushing back quite as hard when he needed him. It didn’t have to be for days or weeks on end, but something to make sure he didn’t get lost in the background again, to make sure he knew he had people waiting for him. And while you and Bucky hadn’t actually gotten around to making a firm agreement you’d like to see him try to deny you after today. Between giving birth in a safe house and the heroic actions of the former assassin, you don’t think he’d have the heart to say no to your request.

“Y/n, tell your boyfriend I want to see the newest member of the team…” Sam turned to you with defeat written in his frown as he failed to get a good look. 

“And I need to become the cool aunt before Wanda gets a chance to show off her magic,” Natasha chimed in as she tried to fake him out- it didn’t work.

You held your hands up, “I’m afraid it’s out of my hands guys… You’ll just have to wait your turn like everyone else.”

“Wow… and here I thought we were friends,” Sam joked as he shook his head before going back in for a few more tries. 

“And to think I made you my famous pancakes…” 

You laughed as they were blocked at every turn, it honestly didn’t even look like the Soldier was trying too hard either. Still, Your heart shone rays of joy as you laid back in the comfy chair of the tower, enjoying the entertainment before you as you took your own time to soak up moments with your beloved star. 

On the way back from the safe house you had told him about the talks that you and Bucky had. You could see before he even said a word that he was beyond excited to know he would see both of you again. The way his eyes widened ever so slightly, the way the corners of his mouth fought beyond their better judgment to crack a smack smile, his expression said it all. You reminded him that nothing had been settled yet, but he couldn’t care less about that, he just had only one request:

“Yes, my star?”

He smiled, a little less awkward now as he gained practice, “Promise me you’ll take photos when I’m not there, okay?” he looked down at her as he spoke, his hopeful smile shining down as she lay in your arms, “Promise me that I’ll still get to be a part of every single moment, okay?”

Your heart melted and you smiled softly, “Of course, My Star… You’ll be with us every step of the way.”

_______

Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity@simpxinnie@goldylions@mirtaqueen@blackhawkfanatic@mcira@aagn360@nialiuwanderlust@waywardhunter95 @hsllfirescoops

Thanks to everyone who wanted to be tagged this chapter! If you want to be added to the general Bucky taglist please DM me!

[sanctus-ingenium]

hi im so sorry if youve already answered this but how do u go about selecting the colors you use for your works!

hi! i've had this question a few times and every time i've only been able to answer with a vague sort of 'ehhh i just pick them'. but i think i'll actually talk some more about it now since a lot of my art actually takes a lot of beating before i decide on a final palette. but with a lot of them admittedly i already know what palette i'm using, and i organise the whole composition around those colours.

i use like two main palette methods and here they are (once you see it in my art, you won't unsee it). It mainly involves picking one main hue, and then a contrasting secondary colour.

So the most basic is to have a drawing be mostly a small range of hues, in this case the reds and oranges, and adding a single contrasting shade. Here it is the bounce light on the metallic metal parts, and doesn't appear anywhere else. It looks blue but it isn't - if I used actual blue, it would be too jarring and the colours would not appear unified. This is a warm and nice scene. So instead I pick that strong blue and blend it into a small swatch of the base colour. Then I pick from the blended portion, and what I get will be more blue than the base, but not actually blue. In fact it is yellow-orange :) The entire drawing looks warm as a result.

When working with marginally stronger contrast, here I have a cream unicorn on a green background. The main shadows on the unicorn will be the colour of that ambient room temperature bg - green. So I use the same test swatch method to pick a shadow colour which LOOKS green without being too disruptive of the cream unicorn. I increase the saturation and darken the value (moving the colour dot diagonally to the lower right hand corner of the box) and also spin the whole wheel towards green just a bit. Then I blend into the cream and colour pick a shade in the middle. But for the bounce light, I chose to use a common contrast of green - pink. It looks like pink in the drawing but in fact it is a low saturation orange! Using that real pink would be disharmonious. I do the exact same thing - I blend the pink into the bg colour and come up with that orange shade. It looks harmonious.

Now (top example) I am using two contrasting hues side by side. I decide the shadows will be warm, and the highlights in that contrasting zone. That means that for every colour i pick - Islin's skin, hair, his glasses, his shirt collar, his coat - every colour gets slid around the colour wheel until it falls inside that narrow band. And when I am highlighting his skin, I turn the wheel towards green. When I am shading his skin, I turn the wheel more red. I do this for every single element in the drawing.

It's the same for the Rua cover but this time I am not using such a wide band of available hues on the colour wheel, it's much tighter. I did this to replicate the look of a faded print, intentionally lowering the available contrast I had to work with by removing black as tool. It's all in that small cream to red window but it LOOKS purple - it looks like Pascal wears a purple shirt and that the smoke in the bg is lilac. Well, it isn't. That's all red and orange. I pick those colours by, again, choosing my goal "look" - a low-saturation purple, and then turning the wheel into the red range.

Okay so! for this it's just... the exact same thing again. Literally it always is. But since this one is recent I still have the process fresh in my mind. I envisioned it in the car, and I wanted this empty sort of desolate blue bg and a cold, distant overall tone. I ended up making the white on the chessboard & white pieces warmer, cream instead of white-grey, which worked out great. I wanted the blue, I wanted the pale cream/white, and the black of the chessboard. I didn't envision a colour for Pascal's shirt. but when the time came it was an obvious choice. It has to contrast with the bg both in value and hue, without falling outside the cream range already established by the chess pieces. So it's shiny salmon pink :) or orange, whatever you think it is. The only disharmonious part of this palette is the red velvet under the black knight piece - it works, but if I'd taken more care I might have spun the wheel more into orange and it would stand out less. But I don't mind.

[starrynini05]

santa tell me – roseanne park x barista!reader

summary: you can't help but wonder, is she really staying?

warnings: none (rosé is referred to as chae sometimes)

tags: idol!rosé ; non-idol!reader ; established relationship ; winter au ; first christmas ; holiday au

genre: fluff

word count: 1.1k

It was mid-December in Seoul, and the city gleamed like a scene straight out of a holiday movie. Snowflakes fluttered gently from the sky, blanketing the streets in a pristine white coat. The smell of roasted chestnuts wafted through the air, mingling with the faint notes of Christmas carols drifting from nearby shops. Couples walked hand in hand bundled in scarves and puffy jackets, clutching steaming cups of hot chocolate, their laughter mixing with the cheerful hum of the season.

Y/n adjusted her beanie as the biting wind nipped at her cheeks, making them flush. Pulling her scarf tighter around her neck, she glances softly at Roseanne, her six-month girlfriend. She was effortlessly stunning, even in the biting cold, her sharp features softened by the glow of fairy lights strung along the street. Her gloved hand held Y/n’s firmly, her thumb occasionally brushing against her knuckles in a way that sent warmth straight to the shorter girl's heart.

They had met almost a year ago while Y/n was working overtime in a café near the blonde’s studio. The Aussie singer stumbled upon the cute café after an exhausting recording session for her latest single, needing a place to relax and unwind. As she noticed the cute barista in the counter Chae didn’t waste her time trying to make small talk with her. This started a series of little dates and outings that had you both happy and smitten. After a couple of months and careful consideration, they finally made it official. This was their first Christmas season as a couple, and Y/n was equally excited and nervous.

The barista’s heart fluttered at how natural it felt to be with the blonde girl. Yet, there was a lingering doubt she couldn’t shake. Every time the holiday music played in the background, particularly that song, her mind echoed Ariana Grande’s lyrics:

"Santa, tell me if you're really there... 'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year." She knew dating the idol came with its own set of challenges, the possibility of it not lasting making her dizzy.

As they wandered into a Christmas market near Gwanghwamun Square, they noticed the stalls brimming with holiday trinkets, handmade ornaments, and steaming snacks. The festive energy buzzed all around them, but Y/n’s thoughts were miles away. Rosie squeezed her hand lightly, drawing her back to the moment.

“You’ve been quiet today,” she said, her voice soft but laced with curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

Hmm?” Y/n looked up at her, startled. “Oh, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“About what?” the idol asked, leading her toward a stall selling intricately crafted glass ornaments.

“About Christmas,” she admitted, her eyes scanning the delicate baubles sparkling under the warm light. “And us.”

Chae arched an eyebrow, pausing to study her face. “Us? Should I be worried?”

Y/n laughed, though it was a bit forced. “No, it’s nothing bad! It’s just… this time of year always feels so magical. But at the same time, it makes me think about the future. Like, will we be doing this next year? Or the year after that?”

Chaeyoung’s expression softened as she reached for an ornament shaped like a snowflake. “You’re worried about next Christmas already sweetheart?”

Y/n shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe. I guess I’m just trying to figure out how much to let myself… believe in all of this.”

Setting the ornament down, Chae turned to her fully, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re overthinking again.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing under the brown-eyed girl’s gaze. “But can you blame me?”

Rosé didn’t reply right away, instead brushing a stray snowflake off her hair. “Stay here for a second,” she said suddenly, her tone light but determined.

“Rosie, what—”

Before she could finish, the blond darted off toward a stall a few steps away, leaving her standing in the middle of the bustling market. Y/n crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her breath visible in the frosty air. She wondered what her girlfriend was up to when she caught sight of her handing cash to the vendor and pocketing something small.

When she returned, she hid whatever she’d bought behind her back, her grin sheepish but endearing. “Close your eyes,” she said.

The brunette frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” the singer insisted, stepping closer.

With a sigh and a playful roll of her eyes, Y/n complied, standing still as the chill nipped at her cheeks.

“Okay, open.”

When she did, she found herself staring at a small red box tied with a golden ribbon. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Rosie …”

“Before you get any ideas, it’s not *that*,” Rosé teased, her laughter warm and low. “Just open it.”

Y/n untied the ribbon carefully, her fingers trembling slightly. Inside was a simple silver charm bracelet, its single charm a tiny snowman with a red scarf. Y/n felt her throat tighten as she traced the charm with her fingertips.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, looking up at the golden-haired girl.

“I saw it and thought of you,” she said, her tone turning uncharacteristically serious. “It’s just the first charm, though. My idea is to add a new one every Christmas we spend together. That way, you’ll never have to wonder if I’ll be here next year, or the year after that.”

Y/n blinked rapidly, trying to fight back tears. The gesture was simple, yet it carried so much weight. “You mean…”

“I mean I’m not going anywhere,” Roseanne said, her smile softening. “So, you don’t have to ask Santa or worry about next Christmas. I’m all in, princess.”

She threw her arms around the taller girl’s neck, burying her face in her pink scarf to hide the happy tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re the best gift I could ever ask for.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” she teased, wrapping her arms around the brunette tightly.

The rest of the evening felt like a dream. They strolled through the market, sipping hot cocoa and admiring the festive lights, their worries melting away with every laugh and shared glance.

Later, as they stood in front of a massive Christmas tree glowing with golden lights, Y/n glanced up at Rosie, her heart full. Maybe she didn’t need to ask Santa this year. She already had everything she wanted right here.

[romance-rambles]

au - magic/knight!alkaid | can i ask: do you love me?

By a series of accidents involving love potions and cookies, you end up with a boyfriend.

k, fluff + one (1) background relationship, mentions of angst, accidental usage of love potions, reader is mc, series: none

WHEN IT COMES TO THE morality of love potions, there is usually no universally-agreed upon answer, in large part due to the sheer variance in what, exactly, constitutes such a thing.

The law, however, is as full of loopholes as it can be—as long as it doesn't seem to talk, walk, or act like a drug capable of inducing others to fall in love with you, it isn't. And so, if such a thing were to ever find its way into someone's food, it technically wouldn't be a crime.

Then where, you wonder, does the present situation fall under?

With horror twisting your lips into a grimace, you gaze silently at the empty tray of cookies, sat upon the table unsuspectingly. No crumbs remain on its surface, though that speaks more to the character of the man who accidentally devoured them than any skill on your part. Alkaid has always been like this, even when your delicious cookies were nothing more than chunks of coal.

Despite the conclusions you manage to draw so easily, a question—one qualified enough to be called idiotic—slips out of you.

"Did you…" You swallow the lump in your throat. "Did you eat all of these cookies?"

Alkaid chuckles, smiling warmly. "Of course. They were as delicious as always."

On the topic of love potions, sweet in taste as they are, they tend to be amber in color. Sugar turned into caramel, or honey gleaming in the sunlight, as your friend once described it. A treat perfectly suited to her tastes.

Food dye is what brings out the pink hue oft associated with love, and the association is such that there are those who believe that love potions in any other color are simply…

Defective.

It was this same association that led Ehlonna—who came to you in tears, her once-in-a-lifetime request as much a paradox of selfishness and selflessness as she herself was—to request a more natural approach. As the soon-to-be Princess of Leighton, even so much as a hint that a love potion existed in her possession could not only be damaging to her reputation, but would incite needless worry in her brother and father.

Her brother who has just inhaled a plate full of cookies made accidentally with the love potion you crafted for her.

You don't scream. For one, you can't scream, but it is a near thing. The devil whispers in your ear, isn't this a good thing? And it takes a frightening amount of time for your conscience to talk you down.

This is why you don't play around with love potions.

"That's good." An awkward smile. An even more awkward silence. "And you feel okay? They didn't taste…funny?"

The love of your life laughs again. You think it's deserved, a little. A lot. It takes the embarrassing sting off the joke that is your current existence. How does one accidentally put a love potion in a batch of cookies? They run out of sugar and attempt to make due with honey.

How does one mistake a love potion for honey? They put it in an inconspicuous jar and wake up to bake at three in the morning. All because of a nightmare, one as equally like to come true as the opposite, where the groom looked suspiciously like the man in front of you and a blob of colors substituted as the bride.

"Have more faith in your baking," he says gently, holding his teacup to his lips.

On average, knights are not the best at holding their own against magic of any sort. But Alkaid bucks the trend by being startlingly difficult to hex, which, by all accounts, should bode well for him.

Except for the fact that he did, in fact, succumb to the last potion you tested on him. Trust, after all, is a powerful thing. It knocked him out for a week, and when he woke up, it was to the sight of your inconsolable form at his bedside. Even his own family wasn't half as concerned, though his father did advise against using him as a test subject in the future.

"I do," you say numbly, resting your arm atop the chair. Soon enough, it is your entire body that the wooden dining chair—one older than even you—must support. "I really do…"

His amused smile fades, making way for an expression full of concern. Setting the teacup down, he asks, "Has something happened?"

You exhale.

Ordinarily, you would confess everything to him. But everything entails secrets that are not yours to give away. Like the part about Ehlonna nearly taking a lover, for one. How the prospect of marrying for duty terrifies her enough that she would sooner numb herself to the world. How the love of her life vanished at the start of the month, the only proof of his existence being the whispers of the townsfolk and the songs the children sing.

So, you play around with the truth instead, to the best of your ability.

"I think…" You slip onto the seat in front of you with a sigh and a careful bite of your lip. "I think I poured a truth serum into those cookies. It's not where I keep it anymore."

But no one said it'd be a good lie.

His eyebrows nearly disappear under his bangs. You've always appreciated the siblings' willingness to go along with whatever excuses you offer them. Call it gullibility, as some people do, but you think it veers on blind faith.

Whatever questions he has sit on the tip of his tongue—then he swallows them back down and places a hand over his forehead. Gently moving the tray to the side, you lean in close, upper body crossing half the table as you wait your turn.

Alkaid has always made note of your hands. How they often run cold, instead of warm. The telltale increase in body temperature that results from love potions, then, could be obfuscated by that fact.

Frustration knits your eyebrows together. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you ask:

"Do you feel like telling me anything?"

"Not particularly," he answers, looking concerned. For you, you suspect. Then, he takes your hands and squeezes them gently. "It's been a long time since that day. It isn't out of the realm of possibility that I've gained some resistance since then."

Your expression tells him all you'd like him to know. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility—if he was anyone else. You'd love to give him some other potion to prove your point, but you can't risk him getting knocked out before the delegation for the Kingdom of Leighton comes knocking on Eden's door for their new princess.

Which is…

Two days from now.

You feel yourself breaking into cold sweat again. The potion takes a month to make.

And Ehlonna is nice. Ehlonna is understanding. Ehlonna is your best friend, and with love troubles of her own under her belt, she will surely understand your circumstances. There's nothing to forgive, her saintly voice echoes in your mind.

On her part, sure.

On your part? Absolutely not.

The smile on your lips grows forced. At the same time, Alkaid reaches out and brushes your bangs out of your face—and you'd love to draw conclusions, but he's always been like this.

"Alright, why don't you ask me a question?" he proposes, half-exasperatedly. "If you've wanted to ask anything at all, now's your chance."

Do you love me?

You swallow the lump in your throat with great difficulty. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green." A lie. The answer is purple.

"What's your favorite season?"

"Summer." A lie. The answer is undetermined—his usual line is, Spring is the season flowers bloom, but Winter is the season we met.

"What's your favorite food?"

"Whatever you and Ehlonna make." A truth. He'd have to be the liar of a lifetime if it wasn't.

This back-and-forth continues for a while longer, his initial reason for visiting nearly forgotten by both of them. It's not as though they'd made any progress on coming up with a fun night for Ehlonna anyways. You'd preemptively rejected places that were sure to remind her of Yin, which left the two of you with almost no options in the nearby town.

Eventually, you run out of questions, but the soft smile on Alkaid's lips does not fade. The devil whispers in your ear, and, for some reason, he sounds a bit like Yin, Ask: do you love me?

You opt for a slightly different question. "Is there a girl you like?"

His eyebrows furrow at the question, and his lips purse. He looks a bit uncomfortable, really. But it's only for a brief moment before he smiles again.

"Yes." A statement, undetermined.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is that a truth or a lie?"

"Which one would you rather it be?" he counters.

Silence engulfs the home you inherited from your mother. It's deep in the forest near Eden's capital, with enchantments cast specifically to keep it hidden from unwanted guests. If someone wants to commission you for a magical product, they must ask during your business hours, at the quaint little art store you own.

The lavender walls of the dining room seem quite intriguing, all of a sudden—even to an eye like yours, which has seen them since birth. There's a few scratches on the table from when you were a child, and the chair slats feel more uncomfortable that usual when you lean back against them.

It would be easy enough to pick the first option, you think. But if the end result is anything like your dream…

Eden—more specifically, you—can only handle one broken-hearted mage right now.

"Who is it?" you eventually spit out, to the tune of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Regret instantly floods your veins, but it's too late to back out. Your mother did not raise a coward, nor did she raise someone unaffected by sunk-cost.

"She's…" He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. "Wonderful. Kind. The most beautiful woman in the world—"

You wonder if you can tune him out.

You wonder if you should.

Every little compliment functions like a dagger, repeatedly stabbing you in the heart. Even so, you count each one and wonder, Could that be me? Who else does Alkaid know who sometimes eats like a slob? You're not proud of it, but hunger often has a way of making you forgo niceties.

And it can't be his cat, either. Sparkles, despite his name, is not a girl.

"Is she sitting in front of you?" you blurt out finally, when it seems like he's about to stop. Then, to make up for your mistake, you bury your head in your hands and pray this ritual grants you invisibility.

"How'd you know?"

When you look up, Alkaid is smiling his usual gentle smile.

THERE IS A LITTLE FOOTNOTE in the banned potion's textbook that provided the recipe for this love potion. You learn about it that night, after pulling the book out of your shelf to occupy your sleepless night in a productive manner.

Half of it is written in a handwriting you've only ever seen in letters your father wrote before his untimely death—the one you modeled the curves of your alphabet after. The other half is written in your mother's handwriting, still in cursive, but with a definitive air of practicality to it, in that it would nearly be illegible to anyone else but you.

It says:

A love potion will not go into effect if the target of the ingester's affection and the first person they see are one and the same. In rare cases, with sufficient willpower, if the two people are separate, the ingester will be able to overcome its effects.

Biting your lips has no effect on your ever-growing smile. Neither does the prospect of having to tell Ehlonna about your mistake dampen your excitement about today's events.

Perhaps that makes you a bad friend. Perhaps wondering if the love potion would've failed anyway, owing to Ehlonna and her brother having an incredible willpower, makes you a bad friend too. In any case, in the following days, it ceases to matter, because your hunch about Ehlonna's fate happens to be correct.

Just not in the form you expected.

When you finally show her and her new husband the textbook—smuggling it into the manor carefully and quietly, though the Duke tends to turn a blind eye to your shenanigans—on the day after their wedding, the three of you can only laugh, as you did in the old days.

— happy (very) belated birthday to @chiefcroissantdeanbanana

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part 13)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Please comment and engage!

“Well, we already did it and it's already complicated," you said, clutching the fabric of your jacket as if it could ground you.

Cillian ran a hand through his hair, a friction of tension spreading across his features as he weighed your words, indecision etched in the lines of his brow.

“Y/N, we just can’t let it happen again.” He took a half step back, body rigid like he was fighting against an invisible tide.

“But what if I want it? What if you want it too?” you asked, your heart racing at the direct challenge. "Do you want me?" you challanged and Cillian’s breath hitched, the question hanging between you like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.

“What do you think?” His voice was low, almost a growl as he stepped closer, a primal energy crackling around you as the distance between you narrowed.

You took a breath, feeling a mix of bravado and vulnerability swirling in your chest. “I think you want me as much as I want you,” you admitted, locking your gaze onto his, a daring resolve hardening in your chest.

A flicker of something wild ignited in Cillian’s eyes as he stared at you, the tension crackling like static electricity in the air before he looked around, spotting the Hilton a few hundred metres down the street, a façade of safety and anonymity.

Cillian’s gaze darted to towards the luxurious hotel, barely illuminated by the street lamps as the distant hum of city life swirled around you.

You noticed him looking into that direction and felt your heart skip a beat. He turned his gaze back to you, a heated spark igniting in those depths you had come to admire.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, causing your heart racing at the intensity in his voice. The question hung in the air, charged with unspoken desires and the weight of potential consequences.

“More than I’ve ever been,” you replied a steady conviction filling your voice as the anticipation crackled like lightning between you both.

Cillian’s gaze held yours for a lingering moment, absorbing your words as if measuring the weight of your resolve against the depths of his own yearning.

With a deep breath, he nodded, a silent agreement passing between you, and together you turned toward the hotel, the evening air thick with anticipation.

The walk down the street felt surreal, palpable energy coursing between you as you approached the hotel’s entrance. The world around you blurred, the sound of bustling city life fading into the background, leaving just the two of you and that electric tension coursing through the air.

As you stepped into the warm, cozy lobby of the hotel, the soft glow of ambient lighting enveloped you both.

"I will check us in," Cillian said, pulling his wallet from his pocket as he approached the front desk, indicating for you to keep your distance. You knew that, for his career's sake, he couldn't be seen like this and you decided to seek out the lavatory while he handled the check-in process.

The tension in the air hung heavy around you as you walked away, your heart thrumming with both anticipation and a hint of nerves.

When you came back to the lobby, you saw Cillian waiting by the elevators, nervously fidgeting with the edges of a small piece of paper he had taken from the reception desk. His fingers toyed with the keycard as he caught your gaze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

“Everything okay?” you asked, his voice steady but edged with tension.

“Yes ,” he replied, drawing in a steadying breath as the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding.

You stepped inside, the small space suddenly feeling very intimate, cocooning you both with a weight that pressed against your chests, causing your hearts to thrum in sync as the doors slid shut behind you.

Cillian pressed the button for the eleventh floor, his body angled slightly to you and the air between you thickened with unspoken anticipation.

“You sure about this?” he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting to the glowing panel as the elevator asc ended with a soft hum. The seconds stretched taut between you, the familiar rhythm of your heart echoing like a drum in your chest.

“Yes," you reiterated, your voice steady, a resonant echo of the certainty that surged within you. His eyes flickered to yours, searching for any hint of hesitation as, finally, you arrived.

The elevator shuddered to a stop with a soft ding, the doors gliding open to reveal a dimly lit hallway lined with plush carpeting and muted artwork. You stepped out first, the anticipation coiling tighter in your chest as you felt Cillian's presence right behind you, his steady breaths a comforting reminder of what lay ahead. The hallway stretched out before you, each step feeling weighty with anticipation. Cillian walked beside you, the silence between you both vibrating with energy, each shared breath interwoven with unspoken thoughts.

He paused at the door to room 1112, digging into his pocket for the keycard, the faint click of the lock echoing in the quiet hallway. He turned to you, a momentary flicker of uncertainty painting his expression as the door swung open. The room was quiet, bathed in soft, warm hues, the muted lighting inviting yet charged with the electric tension that hummed between you both.

Cillian hesitated on the threshold , his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced over at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

The moment stretched out, thick with tension as Cillian seemed to measure the gravity of the space before you. You took a step forward, past him, and into the room, letting the warmth envelop you like a soft blanket, pushing through the initial hesitation. The room felt surreal, the air thick with anticipation.

Cillian entered behind you, closing the door softly, cutting off the outside world. The soft click of the door latch echoed in the hushed space, leaving an almost palpable silence hanging in the room.

You turned to face him and, as his gaze met yours, the tension ratcheted up, electric impulses flickering like firecrackers in the charged atmosphere around you.

"God, I want you so fucking badly," he muttered, his voice husky, greedy with desire.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt a shiver zigzag down your spine, heat pooling low in your core. The admission gave you a vulnerability that ignited a fire within you, a fierceness born of passion and forbidden desire.

"Then have me," you whispered, a challenge hanging in the air and, by that point, Cillian did not have to be told twice.

 Reaching for your face, his thumb traced the outline of your lips, temptation igniting a hunger blazing in the depths of his eyes as there was no turning back now.

With a growl that resonated deep in your chest, Cillian closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a searing blaze that set every nerve on fire. The kiss there deepened instantly, hands roaming freely, trailing over the curves of your body, lips parting in invitation as the fire spread through you both.

He was such a good kisser , but, this time, the fact didn’t surprise you.

His fingertips wandered up your body, gently cupping your neck, a silken ache trailing throughout your veins like wildfire.

The hunger was almost carnal – it seemed like he wanted you as if there was no tomorrow. As if he had been starving, and you were the first drop of water he had seen in days.

Cillian's touch grew insistent, trailing down your arms until he found the bottom of your shirt, slipping underneath the fabric and skating over your skin.

His fingertips brushed against the bare expanse of your stomach, sending ripples of heat storming through you, igniting a passion only fueled further by the illicit nature of the encounter.

Your t-shirt came off next, followed immediately by your bra, both discarded on the floor in a crumpled heap, as Cillian pushed you back against the wall, savoring the sight of you.

" You are so fucking beautiful, do you know that?"he murmured with lust deep in his voice, eyes alight with hunger as he trailed hot, wet kisses down your neck and shoulders.

"You did tell me before," you giggled as his fingers moved to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them and sinking to the floor as you quickly stepped out of them.

He was moving fast and your breath hitched as he hooked his thumbs into your panties and pulled them down, helping you in stepping out of them.

You stood naked before him, your chest rising and falling in time with Cillian's deep, measured breaths.

His gaze dropped to your bare skin, taking in every curve, every angle - and admiration flashed in his eyes as he dropped to his knees before you.

He took one of your thighs with his hand, guiding you as he adjusted your body to his mouth as you leaned back against the wall. One hand trailed up the inside of your thigh, your body trembling with every touch, while your other rested on his shoulder. 

Then, his tongue came into contact with you - and you let out a gasp. 

"Oh my god ," you breathed, your hands knotting themselves in Cillian's hair as you pushed yourself closer to him as his tongue ran through your slit. 

"Cillian, fuck, yes...right there,"  you moaned, savoring every second of the sensation as Cillian's tongue continued to swirl around your clit, his grip on your thigh tightening at your reaction.

The sound of his name, whispered through gritted teeth, seemed to spur him on, and the deliberate strokes of his tongue became more intense.

He slid a finger inside of you - a feeling so deliciously wicked that you couldn't believe you were allowing this to happen, right here in a hotel room with your stepfather, yet it was exactly what made this whole encounter feel even filthier.

"You taste so fucking perfect ," Cillian moaned, nuzzling his nose into your pelvis, causing you to submit to his decadent actions.

He buried his face in you, his tongue tracing every inch of your most sensitive places, bringing your body to a swift climax. Your thighs started to tremble, your respirations becoming shallow, and you couldn't help but let out a guttural moan.

"Oh fuck," your voice broke, becoming incoherent as he kept on working his tongue, sending waves of pleasure rocketing through every inch of your body.

Your instinctive response was to try and pull him closer against you, your hands clenching and unclenching as uncontrollable, involuntary muscle spasms rippled through your body.

"Cillian!" you cried out, your voice hollow despite your best efforts to smother it. "I-I'm going to -" You broke off, unable to form the words as Cillian worked his magic between your legs.

"Cum for me," he growled, pressing his tongue harder and faster on your clit as he thrust the finger deeper inside you.

The sensation was so intense that you couldn’t help but obey him. With a sharp cry, the climax ripped through your body—waves of pure pleasure that drowned out reality as you arched your back, each muscle taut as you held on to him.

Cillian didn’t falter in the slightest, giving you his full attention as you rode the pleasure, his hands solid against your trembling thighs. When you finally came down from the high, your legs gave out and you slid down along the wall to land in a sated heap on the plush carpet.

Cillian stayed where he was, continuing to exaggerate his responses for your benefit. One of his hands trailed possessively up your inner thigh, his fingers grazing the moisture that was still seeping from your pussy.

"That was quick," he chuckled as he swiftly pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside to join the rest of your clothes on the floor.

You were momentarily distracted by the gorgeous sight of him - his pale freckled skin and slender body. But it was the look in his eyes that drew you back, the sheer hunger and lust that was making your stomach flutter.

"It was quick, but this is because you are so good at that," you gasped as he unbuckled his belt, unhooked his jeans and shoved them down, removing them completely in just one smooth motion.

"I clearly am," he smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement, looking down on the very wet patch you left on the floor, which was something that caused you to blush. "I mean, you positively drenched the floor," he said proudly, and you felt embarrassed, but there was also another emotion brewing inside of you—adrenaline, fueled by the scandalous nature of this rendezvous. It licked at the edges of desire, pushing the embarrassment aside, freeing you from the constraints of propriety.

"Sorry," you  stammered, and just as the words left your lips, Cillian's mouth found yours once more, forcing you to close your eyes and surrender to the temptation. His hands roamed over your skin again, strong fingers trailing over your breasts, the familiar tactile memory of him provoking a response as powerful now as it had the night before in your stepfather's house.

"Don't apologise," he growled, nipping at your lower lip, the tender gesture sending shockwaves down your sensitive nerves. "I fucking love knowing that I can make you lose control."

"I need you to fuck me, Cillian," you whispered against his lips, urgency driving your words, hips rising off the carpet in silent invitation. "Please!" 

A shudder went through Cillian at the sound of those bold words. For a moment, his eyes met yours, hooded with desire, and he nodded.

"Let's take this to the bed then. I am too old to do it on the floor," he mused as he pulled away, offering you his hand to pull you back to your feet.

You didn't need to be asked twice. Wrapping your fingers around his, you allowed him to help you up. Immediately, you tangled your hand with his, leading him towards the now inviting bed across the room. The anticipation was heavy in the air, and it was only growing thicker with each step you took towards the bed.

By this point, Cillian was only wearing his CK briefs, his hardness straining against the material, drawing your gaze immediately.

When you reached the bed, you reached for his boxer briefs, and Cillian didn't resist as you slipped them down over his slim hips.

The sight of him was breathtaking, his cock hard and ready, dripping with precum, and without much thought behind your actions, you got on your knees between his legs.

Cillian's eyes started to glaze over just by watching you inspect him – but it was when you wrapped your lips around his tip that he truly started losing control.

A strangled moan left his lips as you swirled your tongue around its head, teasing him with the lightest of touches before sliding his entire cock deep into your mouth.

You set the pace, teasing Cillian with your lips, watching with satisfaction as he threw his head back with a guttural sound, hips thrusting slightly to meet each of your downward glides. He swore under his breath as your hands started circling his balls, firm enough so that he would feel the sensation but not enough to bring him pain.

With every stroke, you felt him swell more and taste him more fully against your tongue as precum trickled out. You were still in charge, and it was intoxicating.

Your hands reached around to hold onto his firm, muscular ass, pulling him further into your mouth, making him moan loudly above you.

He tried to remain silent as not to arouse suspicion, but your ministrations made him increasingly unable to stop himself from moaning obscenities and whispering filthy words into the room.

You continued to swallow him down, half of him disappearing between your lips as you latched onto the base with a suction that kept him rooted until he begged for you to stop.

"I need to be inside you before I lose my fucking mind," Cillian grit, pulling away slowly, while his eyes remained fixed on your lips wrapped tightly around his shaft.

You pulled back slightly, releasing him with a slick, wet sound and stared up at him through your eyelashes, savoring the lingering taste of him on your tongue, feeling empowered by the sight he presented.

"Then make love to me," you purred without hesitation and Cillian didn't need to be told twice.

Wrapping his arm around you, he gently pulled you back onto the bed and followed you there, pressing the whole length of his body against yours. With a low growl, he captured your lips once more, his kiss fierce and dominant as he pinned you to the bed with his weight.

You parted your lips eagerly, inviting him deeper as your tongues danced together, each stroke sending shivers of anticipation coursing through your veins.

The taste of him was intoxicating, making you drunk with lust and longing, a primal need rising up inside you like a tidal wave.

Cillian shuddered against you, his hands roamed across your sensitive skin, leaving hot trails of desire in their wake. His fingers skimmed your breasts, teasing your nipples in the barest touch before sliding lower, tracing the curve of your hips before slipping between your legs.

Your breath caught as his fingers found your opening, slick and ready for him.

He slowly circled your clit with his thumb while slowly pushing a finger inside of you before pulling it again and aligning  his cock's head with your entrance.

He rubbed himself against you, his gaze locked on yours, and you bit your lip in anticipation.

A sudden, sharp stab of guilt jabbed at you for betraying your family in such a way, but that brief flicker was quickly snuffed out by the all-consuming passion that radiated between you both.

He thrust inside you, filling you up to the hilt, both of you moaning in euphoria at the sensation.

Your body stretched around him, welcoming the intrusion, and as you wrapped your legs around his waist and arched your back, inviting him in deeper, you could see him lose all control.

Every thrust was deliberate, measured, each stroke like his masterpiece; he took his time, hitting every spot that made you moan louder. The headboard slammed against the wall with every powerful thrust, the sound echoing in your ears like the sweetest symphony.

Cillian reached down between you two, finding your clit, rubbing small circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts.

The dual sensation sent your body into overdrive, your back arched off the bed as your fingers clawed at his back.

"Ah, fuck, Y/N," he moaned, desperation thick in his voice. "You feel so fucking good." His voice dripped with lust, sending another wave of shameless shivers down your body.

The filthier he talked, the more you could feel your orgasm building—slowly at first, a rolling wave barely discernible beneath the surface, then quickly cresting into a tsunami that threatened to drown you both.

"Cillian!" You screamed his name, the sound bouncing off the walls as his name became a litany, your voice weaving together with your gasps and moans as the pressure built inside. Your voice grew increasingly hoarse, cracking under the strain of your rapidly growing pleasure but as much as you wanted to be quiet, to not draw any undue attention to the room that held your secret, you couldn't help but give yourself over to the sounds of pure rapture that bubbled out of you of their own accord.

He plunged deeper inside of you, bottoming out with each powerful thrust.

Neither of you could believe how incredible it felt to be so connected.

“Oh my god, Cillian. Right there, don’t stop!” You screamed, your words punctuated by sharp intakes of breath.

You raked your nails down his back and he hissed in pleasure, the sensation of your touch only adding to the unbearably intense experience. The slick sound of skin against skin accompanied each thrust as you both 

lost yourself completely, a shared knowing shimmering between you both. Your breaths were ragged, escaping in short pants as you sat up to meet each thrust..

“Harder,” you gasped, in a voice that barely recognized itself, demanding more from the man whose body now claimed all of your wants.

"Okay, then turn around," he  panted, tearing his lips away from your skin from one too many kisses, craving to conquer another side of you.

You complied easily, gracefully flipping yourself over in one swift move, knees sinking into the soft mattress, butt raised in the perfect angle for him to claim you again. Your hands wrapped around the headboard, preparing yourself for what was about to ensue.

A low growl escaped Cillian’s throat as he took in the new view of you, naked and vulnerable, on all fours  .

His fingers gripped onto your hips, tugging you closer, and your breath hitched as you felt his hot, hard length brush against your eager opening.

"Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking wet," he grit out, driving his hips forward and burying himself deep inside your warm, welcoming depths.

You gasped, eyes screwing shut at the surge of pleasure as his cock filled you up in delicious ways. He started off thrusting slowly, every motion deliberate and measured.

You could feel him touching every inch of your insides, and the sensation was so fucking perfect that it almost hurt.

"Holy sh-shit!" You cried out, head spinning as your thoughts dissipated, obliterated by a newfound focus on his body's perfect rhythm.

Each slow thrust brought a fresh wave of pleasure vibrating through your every nerve. It was an intoxicating sensation, and one that you wanted more of - wanted to push yourself to chase that moment, wanted Cillian to do it too.

"Please," you whispered, the word cracking as you begged, your lips trembling. "Please, Cillian. Don't stop."

And he took your plea to heart, increasing his pace - the slow, steady rhythm now replaced with hard, quick thrusts that left you dizzy. Each forceful entry hit exactly where it should, sending blissful shockwaves rippling in their wake. You could feel him everywhere - inside you, around you, until you couldn't take it anymore.

You climaxed first, screaming his name as you contracted around him, pouring yourself over his hand, his fingers massaging your clit. 

The roll of his hips showed you he was close behind, and with one final, violent push, he let loose, his hot seed filling you to the brim.

As he collapsed onto you, panting and spent, your bodies melded together in an increasingly frantic dance, a desperate attempt to keep the world from falling apart.

But eventually there was only silence, and the dim light streaming in from the window casting long shadows on the walls.

Cillian pulled out gently, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

"Damn Y/N, that felt amazing," Cillian murmured as he wrapped you in his arms from behind as you leaned back against him, leaving sticky trails of sweat and semen blending between your skin.

Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of your actions.

"God, I needed this," you  breathed, voice thick with emotion and satisfaction, as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer.

Cillian's fingers snuck under your arms, cupping your breasts gently, and he pressed a kiss to your neck, the heat of it almost stinging your feverish skin.

"So did I," he confessed, his voice wavering with unspoken emotions that echoed your own. His lips found the sensitive area of your shoulder and he peppered soft, lingering kisses. "But we really can't stay here tonight," he went on , breaking the spell. 

You didn't respond, keeping your eyes fixed on the window across the room, watching the hazy silhouette of the city sprawled out in front of you.

"I know," you whispered, still staring outside, your thoughts churning.

"Y/N," he began again, hesitantly.

With a sigh, you eventually pulled away from him and got out of bed, feeling exposed and vulnerable after being so intimate with this man, your very own stepfather.

"I know, I know," you repeated, wrapping one of the hotel's plush bathrobes around yourself and tying it tightly around your waist.

Cillian followed suit and grabbed his own robe, watching you silently.

"Look, I-" he started, but you cut him off.

"No, you look," you said firmly, turning to face him. "I am moving to New York in six weeks and that will be it, so let's just enjoy  every moment together."

Your participation in this horizontal tango, this act of adult carnal passion, had been building for months now -- ever since you had first crossed paths with your stepfather again, Cillian, on that fateful night. The chemistry between the two of you was undeniable; you couldn't ignore it any longer and instead found yourself helplessly caught up in the allure of his seductive smile and piercing blue eyes.

"You seriously want to keep this up for six weeks?"  Cillian asked, eyes narrowing with a mixture of skepticism laced with a hint of hope.

"Yes," you affirmed emphatically, trying to maintain a sense of resolve as you stepped towards him, closing the distance between them. "I don't think I'll be able to keep my hands off you while I am there, seeing you almost every day, but once there is some distance between us, maybe it  will be easier to let this go."

Cillian stared at you for a second, conflict dancing in his eyes as he took in your words. "It seems sensible, considering the circumstances," he finally agreed. "But six weeks is a long time, Y/N and I," he began before running over his thoughts. "It's just," he stammered. "It's so fucking wrong, Y/N. I mean, you're my stepdaughter for fuck's sake. I-I don't think I can handle the guilt."

You didn't respond, his words striking a chord deep within you. You knew what he was saying was true, yet you couldn't help but desire him in all the ways you never thought possible.

"Then say no and stay away from me," you challenged, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside of you. 

Cillian stepped forward, eyes darting from your face to your lips, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. 

"You know I can't," he whispered hoarsely, his hand sliding up your arm to brush your cheek with his calloused fingertips.  "Fuck, you have no idea what  you do to me."

His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat, and you couldn't help but lean into him, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. 

"I think I have some idea ," you replied, your words barely above a whisper, laced with a husky purr.

Cillian groaned at your words, his arms tightening around your waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you violently. The passion between you was all-consuming, a tempest of fire and desire that threatened to consume you both.

You felt his cock growing hard again against your stomach, pressing against you as he ground his hips into yours, and you whimpered, a low, needy sound that echoed between you.

"One more time before you go, after which I will be making full use of the room, even on my own," you chuckled  with a sly grin, reaching down to grab his growing length.

Cillian let out a choked gasp when you took him in your hand, fingers stroking up and down his shaft with a sensual slowness that left him squirming for more. God, you were going to drive him mad with lust before the night was through.

"Alright, but not before I get another taste of that sweet little pussy of yours," he groaned, gripping your hips and making you drop back on to the bed.

"But you just came inside me ," you protested, cheeks flushed.

"And your point is?" he  answered, moving inbetween your legs, spreading them wider, as he bent down, and pressed an open mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh...

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[madelynraemunson]

You can answer this privately, but a few weeks ago I was thinking about if Reader was trying to make Eddie jealous with the song I kissed a girl in the background making out with some girl on the stage you know. Or tryna make him want her more lol.

def need to catch up tho

ooooh a lil toxic lovin’ i see i see 😏💋 thank you for helping with the possessive!eddie dirty talk and reactions, my sweet.

from the CMWYW universe

timeline: shortly after chapter 013

𝐈 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐭 18+

a collaboration with @emsgoodthinkin 💌

modern!strip club owner!eddie x modern!fem!exotic dancer!hargrove reader

CW: jealous!eddie, wlw, possessive!eddie, boyfriend!eddie, biting, degrading kink, eddie calls us a slut lmao, bratty shy girl, dom!eddie, sub!shy girl, lmk if i miss anything

[WC: 2.0k]

“I just think you’re getting a little too into it.”

It’s crazy to think Eddie would draw the line at Gareth and not Steve. Yet here you two are, arguing in the dressing room mid-shift because Eddie realized his D&D friends — who are regulars at his D&D themed strip club — have eyes and money. 

“Babe, this is GARETH we’re talking about here,” you emphasize. “Gareth!”

You’re talking about the Gareth who’s gamer tag is ‘Gareth the “Gare Bear” Emerson’.  The same Gareth who still uses the bunny ear method to tie his shoes. The same Gareth who gets upset when his food touches. Aside from his now relatively toned build, clear skin, and knowledge on self-care and personal hygiene, Gareth Emerson is still the same guy. And that guy is a fucking dweeb.

“Yeah, but Gareth is conventionally attractive now,” your boyfriend points out. “And somebody who’s had no choice but to build their charm from the inside out is a dangerous person.”

Projecting, are we Munson? You think to yourself. You couldn’t believe the audacity of your boyfriend. Ever since you two became exclusive, Eddie has become extra protective of you. You didn’t mind it. You actually preferred it because it means he cares. But really, at work? The place you clock in every day (not only to see him but) to make a living?

“You left scratches on his back last time.”

“He paid me to make a girl jealous.”

“And let’s not forget whatever the fuck that was that you did with Creel,” Eddie adds refusing to hear you out. 

“Henry PAID me for a lap dance,” you hiss. “He was lonely, I was doing my job. He came in and spoiled me and your business on his off day, babe.”

The heat dissolves from Eddie’s cheeks when he hears his pet name. Albeit flattering, this conversation between you two wasn’t over just yet. 

Eddie knew what he saw. He knows that blank, fucked out stare from anywhere, and it was prominent when you were giving Henry a lap dance, using the crinkle of his pants to get yourself off.

There’s no arguing there. But you were single when that happened and Eddie at the time made it really seem like he didn’t want anything with you. None of this was taking away from how ridiculous Eddie was being.

“Okay,” you sigh, still choosing to honor his wishes. “No more dances for Gareth.”

“At least for tonight,” Eddie barters, issuing you a fake pout. “Feeling a little bit jealous, but I’ll get over it.”

Stay away from Gareth, or men in general tonight. You can definitely do that. 

Eddie’s a happy camper now. He watches as you do your thing at Vecna’s Lair, cock twitching eagerly in his pants as you swing down the pole and sink your pelvis onto the stage. The men douse you in ones, fives, tens, twenties. And you let it rain down on you with ease. 

But why is Eddie still so jealous? He can’t help but turn green with envy when he sees you smile at your patrons. When you lock eyes with them as you speak. And the way they gravitate towards you and your pheromones like some magnets on a fridge. 

You seem to be unbothered by everything, unbothered by his presence in a room full of other gentlemen. Eddie needs to test the waters. Eddie needs to know you care.

So he decides to grab a beer and approach the first customer of the opposite sex who happens to spiral into his periphery. It happens to be good ol’ Stephanie tonight. 

A regular during the beginning days of the week, this kind hearted, very approachable redhead welcomes Hellfire’s owner with a smile, offering her beer bottle to Eddie for him to give her a clink, hello. 

“Hey!” he chimes. “How uh, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing well, and yourself?”

Eddie grins. “Not too shabby.” 

Performatively studying her with his eyes, he decides to ask her an innuendo-filled question. “You enjoying yourself tonight?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I always like to make sure my customers are satisfied.”

Her brow does a fruitful quirk upwards.

“So you’re the owner huh? Already so young and successful. That’s quite impressive.” 

“D’aww,” your boyfriend’s hands clutch his chest. “I appreciate that.” 

You can’t help but look over, stomach warped into knots.

Eddie told you to stay away from guys. So why is he flirting with a girl? Specifically a customer you’ve interacted with before. Not that Eddie would know that, since he’s always in his office when Stephanie is here.

Eddie knows you see him now and that’s all the satisfaction he needs. Knowing he got the reaction he wanted, he excuses himself from Steph, strutting back over to his office to disappear for a while and let your mind wander.

But your mind is already two steps ahead. When Stephanie catches a glimpse of you, her eyes sparkle. You wave her over.

“You just keep coming back for more, don’t you?” you infer as she strides towards you. 

Stephanie chuckles. “You just can’t seem to keep me away, Shy Girl. I owe Vicky and Robin one for putting me onto this joint.”

You swing your legs over so you can divert your attention to your stunning regular. She seems to be receptive to your flirtatious nature. And conveniently, the DJ transitions into a very fitting song:

“How are you doing tonight?” you assess her.

Stephanie shrugs. “I’m doing okay. The chick I was telling you about last week stood me up. So I’m here just trying to make myself feel better.”

“OMG I’m so sorry dude.”

But she brushes it off. “It’s okay. The loneliness will die down. I just gotta feel sorry for myself first.”

You rest a consoling hand on your shoulder. Before becoming exclusive with Eddie, you knew the feeling of rejection all too well. 

“You’re welcome here anytime. Even if you just wanna talk. Girl to girl, we can even do a private room for an hour.”

Just then, Stephanie reaches into her bra and pulls out a twenty dollar bill with the smuggest look on her face. 

“What about center stage? You tryna kiss it all better?”

You could’ve… and would’ve done it without the money. But knowing Eddie is in for the plot twist of his lifetime, you’ve rendered the deal priceless. Happily obliging, you accept the money Stephanie insists you take from her and extend your arms out.

“Bring it in, chica.”

It’s not what I’m used to. Just wanna try you on. I’m curious for you…

And then it happens. It starts with a timid smack of the lips to feel out both your comfort levels. The feeling of safety and trust propels you both further into realms of intensity you wouldn’t have thought of exploring with one another before. She tastes of cherry, with a hint of minty coconut. 

You let out a satisfied hum. It registers as a vibration against her full, vivacious chest. Dancing your fingers in her wavy hair now, you pull her closer to your chest as your lips lock in tandem. 

“WHEW!” you can hear Argyle shout all the way from the kitchen. “GAH DAMN!”

…I kissed a girl and I liked it. The taste of her cherry chapstick…

The uproar creates a chain reaction and soon all the gentlemen at Hellfire are hooting and hollering at the relatively unscripted act of affection in front of them. Soon, the money follows. Grinding your hips against her torso now, you chase the feeling of self-indulgence as you unravel yourself onto Stephanie. Right in time for Eddie to see.

I kissed a girl just to try it. I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.

Floored, confused, and just a tad aroused, your man stands at the foot of Vecna’s Lair with his hands curling at his sides.

It felt so wrong. It felt so right. Don’t mean I’m in love tonight.

His stiff cock protrudes at the posterior ends of his zipper, boxer briefs shamefully laced with the salty spouts of his leaky tip. Fuck, he’s so hard. But still, oh so very pissed.

I kissed a girl and I liked it. I liked it.

Standing where you knew he’d be, you shoot him a wink, letting him know that you’re well aware of his foiled plan. And after you and Stephanie thank one another for each other’s time, you prance off to the dressing room with mountains of bills in your hands.

———

“You think Eddie’s gonna like this green set?”

There’s an itch to burn the cash you got tonight, so you find yourself browsing the internet for lingerie on your phone.

“Oooh,” Nina coos in approval. “Yes girl. You’re gonna look like a sexy dragon of sorts.”

“Mm. And what about this g-string?”

“Yes, get it. I have the same one and it’s so flattering and comfortable. Look!”

Just then the door shoots open.

“Eddie, what the hell?!” Nina shrieks, quickly donning her cloak to cover up. “Knocking, fucker. Ever heard of it?”

You turn towards the entrance to find your flustered man at the door, scowling at you briefly before turning to apologize to Nina.

“Sorry, Neens,” his gaze softens sincerely. But Nina is already storming out. “I was dumb for that.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you tsk.

You two wait until your colleague is out of range to engage in what you both know is about to be some pretty reckless behavior. When all is clear, Eddie wastes no time, pouncing on you, pinning you by the wrists to the drawer of your vanity, leaving love bites at the crook of your neck just keen enough to draw blood. 

Pathetically, you love it. Your dripping cunt swells for the intensity — the fury of his rough hands — the vampiric blows to your hot pulse points — the rugged buckling of his hips as he digs his claws into the tender indents of yours.

“Eddie…” you whimper.

“This familiar?” he demands between breaths. 

“Rings a bell,” you muster, tracing his large display of excitement with your trembling palm. “Though it seems like you don’t necessarily…have a problem with it.”

A sinister laugh escapes his throat.

Eddie huffs. “Think you can be a smart aleck with me without repercussions?”

As swift as they come, Eddie flips you around, easing you safely onto the desk portion of your vanity by the your neck. You squirm around like a brat, whining and kicking at him with your heels in playful retaliation. His fingertips then tightly enclose around your thin lacy bralette, causing a minor tear of the sparkly chrome fabric.

Too far. Grabbing him by the wrist, you eye him in disapproval.

“Eds!” you hiss at him, seriously this time.

“You’re buying new sets anyways,” he shrugs indifferently. “You know, with the money you got for being a needy little slut.”

You issue a low grumble as Eddie sinks his body atop the small of your back. The softness in Eddie returns again when he presses delicate kisses around the tip of your chin.

“Mine, remember?”

He spins you around again, ordering you to your knees with an authoritative snap. You oblige a little too quickly, but you don’t care. You’re at the mercy of him tonight and always.

“Yours…” you breathe, knowing he’s about to fuck you and your mouth to spit and tears. “Yours only…”

He smirks, satisfied with himself. You bite your lip eagerly as you watch the King of Hellfire — and your heart — unbuckle his belt, ushering his pants down to line his pulsing cock up against your lips. Desperate for more already, your tongue peaks out to say hello. The deep lines of his snarky face concave further.

“Pucker up, sweetheart.”

💞 valentine’s divider by @saradika-graphics 💞

happy valentine’s day, sweethearts 💌

tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @mediocredreams , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

[snowthedemonfox]

Okay so we're at it again with me posting another theory, this one I haven't seen anyone else point out yet so I might as well post about it. This might be a bit long, so prepare to do some reading

TL;DR: CAINE'S OFFICE IN EP 4 IS CONNECTED TO THE OFFICE AREA WE SEE IN THE PILOT

I'll explain under the cut because THIS WILL TAKE A BIT:

ONE: Even if Caine was playing the part of upper management this episode, I don't think he made this office area just for the sake of the adventure.

There's heaps of books in the background, ranging from info about Gloinks, a Murder Drones parody, a reference to the Pilot, and a book that's called "MatPat Theory". You can see a small version of the Tent next to his monitor, along with various drawings on his desk and on the pinboard in the background.

I think this is Caine's ACTUAL office, where he goes to work on any upcoming adventures he's making for the cast. I've said in a previous post that after this episode I believe all future (or at least most) adventures will be based on suggestions from the suggestions box. (To make a long story short, Ragatha seems to like baseball, and the season 1 trailer showed us a WIP version of a baseball stadium. Would not surprise me if she's the one who suggested that.)

Yes, we see Caine throw away the box after deciding on the Spudsy's adventure, but Caine logic is Caine logic and it wouldn't surprise me if he just /tp'd that box to this out of bounds office area for him to look through later. His main priority is making sure that EVERYONE likes his adventures, and it makes sense that he would take advantage of the suggestions box (after being reminded it exists), especially after his therapy session with Zooble in episode 3.

He's in his office because he's decided to scrap his current list of adventures and instead make adventures based on what the humans seem to want. It'd also make sense that this is the one adventure where he actually decides to use his 'all seeing eyes' to watch the cast throughout the day. He's seeing if they do better on a suggested adventure compared to an adventure HE came up with. That's why he's got all the photos of them throughout the day, and is keeping track of their scores on his computer (An AI having his own computer? A computer within a computer?). And based on the scores he gave them, he doesn't seem to notice that nobody really had the best time on a 'realistic' adventure.

It's hard to make out since the screen is blurry, but I'm pretty sure the spreadsheet has the character's names on it (Kinger, Zooble, Jax, Ragatha, & Pomni) along with their scores in the second column. Hard to read what the last one says though. Maybe it's just for additional notes? Gangle most likely isn't listed yet because Caine's talking to her in this scene. He'll write down her score once she leaves.

(Side note, but Caine probably repurposed his horror adventure for Kinger to have fun with while everyone else was at Spudsy's, which would be why his A+ score doesn't count towards the whole 'checking if the humans prefer suggestted ideas more' thing. Kinger didn't do the horror adventure Caine had planned.)

TWO: If every map has a 'backrooms-like' out of bounds area, wouldn't it make sense for this office area to be the out of bounds area for the Tent?

If you compare the office area to episode 2's out of bounds area, they look pretty similar, like a giant maze. We saw that episode 2's out of bounds area still had little areas of importance, like storing the character models, so why wouldn't the office area also have these small rooms? We have the notable computer we see at the end of the pilot, and now Caine's office.

If this area is still connected to the Tent, then it'd make sense for Gangle to know how to leave. Caine probably has a door he spawned in for them to leave through, similar to the Exit door from the Pilot. If I had to guess, it's probably connected to either one of the various doors on the side of the Tent (where we see Pomni checking looking for him in the Pilot), or to one of the bigger hallway doors we see on every floor (which I talk a bit more about in this theory).

Speaking of that Exit door, though- We know Caine never actually finished making that exit. If he had no idea what to put on the other side, wouldn't he just put a placeholder there instead? Like, I don't know, maybe lead it to the out of bounds area directly connected to the Tent? Where his office is? So he can still keep an eye on it?

It's probably why his wackywatch never picked up on the fact Pomni was there until she ended up in the Void. If Gangle can walk freely through the office area to get back to the Tent, then Caine probably has no reason to be alerted if someone's there.

It's not like they're not supposed to be there EVER, and if they got lost, he could find them anyway! (Referring to Kinger's line in ep 2 when talking to Ragatha about Pomni being lost) Someone just tells him that there's a person missing, he tracks them down, and brings them out of the office area.

THREE: If you compare the two locations, a lot of things seem to match.

The lights on the ceiling look near identical, the only difference being that the Pilot's version has some kind of filter... air conditioner thing? I don't know what those are called but if this is a general employee area, it'd make sense to have that there.

There's the same cabinets and even the exact same plant model. The office area in the Pilot already had a lot of re-used models, so if Caine's office is directly connected to it, it'd make sense if it also had these re-used models.

The only thing that doesn't match exactly are the computers.

The monitor Caine uses has little buttons on the bottom of it, while the Pilot computer doesn't. But you could argue that's because the computer seen in the pilot is much older. So if it's been there for a while (Since I can only assume this entire office area is based on the office the actual computer hosting the game's server is in), then you could argue that whatever office this was, just, never upgraded this computer specifically. All the other computers look much newer and more clean, but it's hard to tell if they also have those buttons on the monitors.

If it weren't for the fact we see the C&A logo in Spudsy's as well I'd argue that's also a thing the Pilot and episode 4 have in common, but since we DO see the logo in Spudsy's, I can't really make that argument.

But it's still worth pointing out that Caine uses a computer with the C&A branding on it, and the Pilot's office area has a giant C&A logo on one of the walls. Again, not the strongest piece of evidence here, but I think it's still a good idea to mention it.

Still have no idea on why Caine started glitching out at the end of the episode, though. Hope he's okay.

[randomprose]

now posted on AO3!

Mo Guan Shan is sitting on the kitchen island eating a sandwich when He Cheng walks in. 

He looks up from scrolling through his phone, looking a little startled. 

“Mo Guan Shan,” He Cheng acknowledges with a nod before heading to the fridge. 

“Uh. Hey, boss."

“Where’s He Tian?"

“Still sleepin’,” he shrugs. “Got bored an’ hungry waitin’ for him to wake up.”

He Cheng just hums. His brother has always been one to sleep in late even as a child. 

“Have you eaten?” Mo Guan Shan asks, a hand scratching the back of his neck. He looks awkward standing in He Cheng’s kitchen — rarely used, all stainless steel, and state of the art — yet strangely comfortable behind the counter near the stoves. At least before He Cheng came in. This is the most relaxed He Cheng has ever seen him in his house over the years.

He mulls the question over, probably blurted out on impulse. He’s really only here to get a bottle of water. 

“I've had coffee”, was what he said after awhile. He can’t quite remember what time that was. Some time between the early hours of a new day and before the crack of dawn.  

Mo Guan Shan frowns, brows knitted together. The kid is very expressive, He Cheng observes. Easy to draw reaction from. He can see why He Tian loses his shit pushing this kid’s buttons.

“That’s not exactly food.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.” Never had the stomach for it. Just never made sense for him to eat so early in the morning.

“Er. It’s past noon, boss,” Mo Guan Shan somehow feels the need to remind him. He Cheng just stares at him. “Technically it’s lunchtime bordering on…mid-afternoon snack?”

It dawns on He Cheng that, given his answer, this kid wants him to eat something. Mo Guan Shan either has certain manners drilled into him — He Cheng caught him eating when he entered the kitchen so he felt the need to offer him something as well — or he has an inane need to take care of people. Just like He Tian. 

He Cheng supposes that’s a good thing, if a bit of a soft touch — something that has no room in the world he and He Tian live in but is nonetheless welcomed and desired by He Cheng for his brother. He Tian could’ve done so much worse. At least He Cheng knows his brother is eating and taken care of. He swears that kid never knows how to look after himself. 

“If you insist,” He Cheng allows and sits on a stool at the kitchen counter. 

Mo Guan Shan visibly relaxes. Like he’s relieved He Cheng agreed he could cook for him. If he hadn’t ran a thorough background on him he’d think he’s going to try and poison him. Except the kid is terrible at hiding his expressions and controlling his body language and He Cheng has known him since he was in middle school.

“Alright. So, uh, what are you hungry for?”

He Cheng isn’t really hungry for anything, but he does acknowledge that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday and this will only be his first meal of the day. Still, he doesn’t think he can stomach a full meal right now. 

“Just eggs will do.”

“Okay,” Mo Guan Shan nods. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled,” is all he says. No mention of how he likes it cooked, no preference for seasoning, no specifications of any kind. He Cheng doesn’t really care as long as it's edible and won’t upset his stomach. 

Mo Guan Shan gets to work in silence. He Cheng watches him move and is not at all surprised that he knows his way around, knows where everything is. Qiu mentioned the kid is good in the kitchen, more than a decent cook, and is not above admitting that he enjoys his food despite the disaster that occured the one and only time the kids came over his place and had Mo Guan Shan made them dinner. He Cheng knows this, too. He knows that the kid is apprenticing in a family restaurant and is saving up to go to culinary school. He’s had to drop by He Tian’s place occasionally and was pleasantly surprised that his brother isn’t just subsisting on take-outs if at all.  

But it’s just eggs and He Cheng isn’t really expecting anything. Eggs are just eggs after all.

After just about twenty minutes, Mo Guan Shan puts down a plate of the fluffiest looking scrambled eggs He Cheng has ever been served garnished with spring onions and what seem to be crushed potato chips. He serves it with a glass of orange juice on the side and the whole ensemble looks like it’s been lifted out of a lifestyle cooking magazine. 

He Cheng takes a forkful and lets out a low pleased sound at the back of his throat.

"Good?" Mo Guan Shan asks, a corner of his lips quirked up in quiet satisfaction the way a cook is when they know someone enjoys their food.

"It is." He Cheng maintains that eggs are still just eggs but this really is good. Qiu’s not exaggerating then. 

The eggs are light and cooked just right, lightly seasoned with the melted cheese adding another layer of flavor, and the potato chips give it a good crunch. He’s never even thought of potato chips as anything other than junk food.

"Yeah. Figured you and Tian like your scrambled eggs the same." Mo Guan Shan comments as he sits back down to finish his sandwich. "First time I made it he looked so pissed even though he couldn't stop shovelling eggs in his mouth. Thought he might've hated it and was just eating it to, I don’t know, not hurt my feelings or some shit, but then I heard him curse you under his breath and ask for seconds."

A thought that comes to He Cheng: He Tian eats breakfast and likes his eggs scrambled just like him.

“He hates it, but he's really alike you in a lot of ways, you know.”

Well, of course he is, He Cheng agrees. He practically raised that kid. He Tian’s bound to pick up some of He Cheng’s mannerisms and preferences for certain things whether he likes it or not.

“Coffee? Brewed a new batch.”

“Please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

“You sure?" Mo Guan Shan asks like he doesn't believe him. 

“I like it as it is.” 

“Huh,” Mo Guan Shan sounds out before shrugging and pouring out two mugs.

This prompts He Cheng to ask, "Does Tian-di not take his coffee black then?"

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know his brother at all. Maybe there was a time that he did, when He Tian was small and only had him, but He Cheng doesn’t claim that he knows his brother beyond his childhood days. While He Tian seems to come to him more and more these days, their relationship is still rather estranged and not at all conventional, however that may be. 

All He Cheng knows of He Tian is that his brother is of the good sort and that’s enough for him. 

He Tian cares for his friends and cares for Mo Guan Shan in ways He Cheng will probably never understand. He’s better than He Cheng in a lot of ways that matter, more human perhaps, which suits him just fine. He never wanted He Tian to be someone their family has morphed and twisted to suit their needs and use as see fit. He never wanted He Tian to be like him. 

And so He Cheng finds himself indulging in wanting to know the little things that make up his brother. Like how he likes his eggs and how he drinks his coffee.

“He does but I know he hates it. Everytime he drinks it he makes a face like it's poison.” Mo Guan Shan shrugs as he sits down across from him. He hands He Cheng one of the mugs and nurses one himself. “I don't know why he insists on drinking it this way.” 

He Cheng just hums, breathing in the aroma of the coffee, not unaware of the way Mo Guan Shan is pointedly looking at him.

“Tian-di probably just can’t be bothered to have it otherwise.”

“Nah. He probably just thinks it makes him all mature and tough. As if cream and sugar makes you weak or some shit.”

Just before they both move to take a sip from their mugs, He Cheng mutters “Idiot” under his breath at the same time Mo Guan Shan scoffs it. They stop and couldn’t help to smirk at their consensus.

It’s good to know someone else can see through his brother’s bullshit.

He Cheng notes that Mo Guan Shan takes his coffee black. Mo Guan Shan just shrugs when he points this out. 

“I like the bitter taste. It’s what keeps you awake,” he says before taking another sip. “And you taste the flavor of the beans better without the cover up of milk or sweetener.”

A fair assessment. He Cheng will drink to that.

For a while, they sat in silence as they finish their meals. Then Mo Guan Shan’s phone lights up. He drains the last of his coffee as he swipes at the screen. It seems a message has popped up because he picks it up and types something back. He Cheng surmises it’s probably He Tian, just woken up, asking where Mo Guan Shan is. 

"Refill?" Mo Guan Shan offers, walking back to where the coffee pot is.

"No, thank you.”

Mo Guan Shan refills his cup and adds three spoons of cream and two sugar cubes. He Tian enters the kitchen with a jaw cracking yawn just as Mo Guan Shan is back on his seat and finished stirring. His brother takes the seat beside the redhead across from him and He Cheing watches the latter push the mug at He Tian’s direction. The cup is only three-quarts full. 

“I’m done. Finish this.”

“You always do this. Why bother pouring a full cup if you’re not gonna drink even half of it?” He Tian quips but takes the mug anyway. 

He Cheng notes his brother doesn’t make a face after the first sip. He Tian even licks at his upper lip and a corner of his mouth is quirked up. 

“What’s for breakfast?”

“It’s way past noon.”

“It’s my first meal of the day. What’s for breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs,” He Cheng answers before Mo Guan Shan could and delights at the face his brother makes when he sees what’s on his plate and realizes who made it.

‘What the…’ He Tian mouths as he narrows his eyes at what remains of He Cheng’s meal.

“You know what, I actually don’t want scrambled eggs. I want—”

“Tough shit. I’m already making them and you’re gonna eat it when it’s done.”

He Tian makes a low whining displeased sound but nonetheless doesn’t protest. “Throw in some bacon.”

“Alright.”

He Tian doesn’t offer to help beyond getting the pack of bacon from the fridge, handing it to Mo Guan Shan before returning to his seat. Like it’s routine. Like there’s an unspoken agreement that Mo Guan Shan cooks and He Tian stays out of his way. And He Cheng gathers he’s probably been shooed away and out of the kitchen when the other is at work. He Cheng can’t imagine his brother even knows how to operate a stove — just another thing they have in common by virtue of being born to money. 

He Tian's attention is solely on Mo Guan Shan. His back is to He Cheng, leaning against the counter as he talks to the redhead. He asks if he slept well, what he wants to do today, if there’s somewhere he wants to go to, if he wants anything particular for dinner later. Mo Guan Shan makes a comment that makes He Tian laugh but goes over He Cheng's head and he figures it must be an inside joke between them. 

There’s a kind of ease to it, the flow of their banter, the way they move around each other. He Tian certainly seems comfortable and at ease, the line of his back relaxed and lacking the usual tenseness of someone always ready to go on either the offense or defense. 

Mo Guan Shan mirrors the same ease as he puts down a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast for He Tian, who turns his head to plant a kiss on his cheek in thanks. 

The whole thing makes He Cheng feel like a fucking interloper in his own goddamn kitchen. 

He Cheng looks at his brother with his own plate of scrambled eggs and Mo Guan Shan's mug of coffee, the one with cream and sugar he said he couldn't finish so He Tian would take it, and thinks it's the best life he could have ever hoped for him. 

“Wash the dishes when you're done,” Mo Guan Shan says as he scrolls through his phone.

He Tian looks at the sink and makes a face at the pan and other things Mo Guan Shan used to cook.

“Man, do I have to? This isn’t even my house. And there are maids for a reason.”

“Tch. Spoiled brat.” Mo Guan Shan lightly pinches a chewing He Tian’s cheek, bulging with food. “Exactly. This isn’t your house. You use them, you clean them.”

“Cheng ate, too,” he nods to where He Cheng is finishing up the last of his meal. “Why don’t you make him do his dishes?” he says with a smirk, thinking he’s on to something.

“He’s letting the four of us stay for the summer.” Mo Guan Shan takes He Cheng’s plate and the empty glass of juice when he sees he’s done and soaks them in the sink. “Here. In this house that he owns. In an island that is his. For free.” He sends He Tian a look that says, ‘need I say more?’.

“What are you talking about? I’m paying for our stay here you know.”

“Oh, really? With what? Sure as hell haven’t seen you so much as touch your wallet since we got on the boat.”

“My sanity.”

Mo Guan Shan’s hand flexes and for a moment, He Cheng thinks his brother is gonna be hit over the head with the frying pan. 

“Just,” the word is sighed through gritted teeth, “do the damn dishes. It’s not that hard.”

“Why don’t you do them then?”

“I already cooked, asshole. I ain't washin’ the dishes. 'sides, you're the last to finish eatin’ so you get to clean up. Them’s the rules.”

“Fine, but I'm only gonna wash mine,” He Tian declares, viciously biting on a chunk of toast.

��It's one plate and a mug, Tian,” Mo Guan Shan sighs sounding like he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times. “Don't be a little bitch and wash them all. Don't waste soap.”

“Baby, look around. We can afford the waste.”

Mo Guan Shan levels him a look which He Tian stares right back as he continues to chew. It goes on for maybe a minute or two. A standoff with just their eyes, willing the other to back down first. 

He Cheng doesn’t quite know what’s going on between the stare down and the silence, but He Tian is the first to look away with a groan. The one to concede first, apparently.

“Uuughhh! Fine! Fuck it! Fine! I'll do the damn dishes.”

“Yeah, as you should,” Mo Guan Shan quips looking satisfied with his victory. He Cheng marvels at how easy it is for him when getting He Tian to do anything, even if it's for his own good, has always been like pulling teeth. “I’m gonna go call my mom. There's more coffee in the pot. Creamer ran out, but there's milk in the fridge.”

“You know I only take my coffee black.”

Mo Guan Shan watches with a flat expression as He Tian sips ‘his’ coffee with cream and sugar. He catches He Cheng's eyes and shoots him a look that says, ‘are you seeing this shit?’ which He Tian doesn’t catch.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He doesn’t bother contesting. “There’s more toast in the bread box.”

“Buttered?”

“Butter it yourself, idiot,” Mo Guan Shan shoots back making a face at him. 

“Can’t even do that simple thing for me, babe? Really starting to doubt this relationship right now.”

“Good. You shouldn’t get too complacent anyway, dick head.” He hops out of his seat and swats at He Tian’s grabby hands. “Do the damn dishes or I swear to god you won’t have anything to doubt anymore.” 

He Cheng watches the exchange and feels like he’s in a sitcom. He thinks about how his initial plan to get a bottle of water has led to him being caught between his brother and his boyfriend play fighting, flirting, and the domesticity of it all. He thinks about asking Mo Guan Shan how he does that whole thing where he just stares at He Tian and makes him yield but figures it would only work if you're Mo Guan Shan. 

He remembers a time when He Tian lowered his pride. Impulsive, insolent, and desperate, he came crawling back to He Cheng and was even willing to go as far as becoming something he hates. All for the sake of some boy, some school friend, some little pet project that he picked up because he was bored that morphed into something else, something more.

Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care for another. He made He Tian care so much he was willing to make himself into a monster for Mo Guan Shan, but stopped him just in time from going the deep end and even made him more human. Hell, Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care about himself. And for all that, He Cheng is grateful.

"Thanks," he says as much and means more than just the best scrambled eggs he's had in a while, but Mo Guan Shan would never know it. "You really didn't have to." 

"Huh. Oh, uh, sure.” It catches Mo Guan Shan off-guard, halting him from leaving the kitchen. He looks a little sheepish as he says, “It's nothing, really. It's just…it’s just eggs."

He Cheng just hums and nods at him once in dismissal. 

“Why are you so mean to me?” He Tian shouts after Mo Guan Shan, who’s already rounded the corner and only shouts back, “Dishes!”

He Tian scowls but there’s no real heat in it. He even asks He Cheng if he wants the rest of the coffee, which he declines, when he stood up to get more toast before tucking back into his eggs.

He Cheng sees that He Tian is happy, thinks Mo Guan Shan brings out all the best in him, and hopes to all the gods he doesn't believe in that his brother don't ever fuck this one up. 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until He Tian asks, “What?” around a mouthful of toast. 

“Nothing,” He Cheng says as he finishes his coffee, and as he stands up he says, “Make sure you bring him along everytime you plan to come over. Otherwise, don’t come at all.” And just to spite him, he slides his empty mug closer to He Tian. “And make sure you do the damn dishes.”

He gets the desired effect. The glare his brother sent him is acrid and his next words make He Cheng want to laugh.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t. Mo Guan Shan did.”

“Whatever. Shut the fuck up.”

He Cheng just smirks and doesn’t hit him for his impertinence if only because He Tian grumbling, “I was gonna do them anyway” has already made his day.

Later, as He Cheng sits on his desk looking over his schedule, he sees that he has an appointment with their legal team. A thought strikes him and he scribbles a curt note at the margins and tells his secretary to summon the family lawyers too.

He might as well update the family registry.

--

edit: now posted on AO3! glad you guys like this piece. please leave kudos and comments there as well. thank you! :)

[mypoorsanity]

𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗻' 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻

𝘁𝗼𝗸𝘆𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃!𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗮𝗿

𝗮/𝗻, 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : 𝗴𝗻!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗷𝗶'𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲, 𝘆𝗲𝗮…, 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁.

mikey’s eyes slowly reach over to your relaxing figure, a meeting had just finished and you’re standing over with the captains, conversing probably about the guy baji beat up for fun yesterday. happy thoughts fill his mind again, of course, he notices his jacket which used to be high and hanging off your shoulders, is now almost falling off due to the distraction in front of you. he slowly but surely, moves his way over to you, now giggling over something stupid baji said again. he slid in next to you, bringing his arm up to bring the jacket up to its original position, you don't notice his figure till he does this. “thanks mikey.” he smiles, but his arm not moving from the position around your shoulder. you not complaining, but confused, is about to ask about his sudden move on you. “so it stays there.” you roll your eyes, playfully of course, paying no mind to the now bitching pah-chin in the background about this display of ‘smoothness’ coming from mikey.

"hajime, you know I have too many of these. i mean, they all came from you, so think about it... i appreciate the thought, but i don't need any more of them." you smile sweetly at kokonoi, hoping to deter him, but he doesn't seem to be taking the hint. “and that’s what i’m saying, get the whole collection babe," he replies, undeterred. you know kokonoi hates it when you deny something that he’s about to buy for you, and you can see the determination in his eyes. this is when he always makes another mental note to himself, to just give you the gift box instead of asking first - it’s harder for you to decline that way. “you need to stop wasti-” “-money, yes, but it’s for you, dear. that’ll be the last one, i promise. you were just looking at it when we walked past the window." you can't deny that he has a point. the item in question is beautiful and you had been admiring it. still, you now make a mental note to stare at the floor when going out with him in the future. “okay, fine. but you won't be able to get me anything else for the next month." you hope that this will be enough to curb his shopping habits, but kokonoi just makes that stupid face you despise - that smirk that gradually turns into a dumb smile - and you know he's not going to be keeping his promise.

it's the way you feel his arm slowly nudge your linked one behind him, leading your now entire body gently behind him. draken notices the drunk man on the same train platform as the both of you. with the already late friday night setting in, his caution is immediately raised. "hey, you want to take a cab? i've got the bill; don't worry about paying me back." he's trying not to draw the drunken man's attention to the two of you, notably you. you notice his behaviours and words in relation to the circumstance in front of you. “ok..” he begins to walk you both to the stairs to the surface, making sure his arm is firmly wrapped around you and that you're out of sight of the risk. in that little moment, you can't help but feel so in love with him in that small moment. “thankyou.” a small kiss is left on the top of your head, "anything for you.”

"you didn't tell me that this was ripped?" mitsuya can't help but interrupt your small ice cream date as you both return to his place. when you looked down to where he was now lifting up with his free hand, you noticed a rip in the side of your jacket that he'd gotten for you. "i honestly didn't notice, it's fine, I'll fix it next weekend." you can't help but laugh at mitsuya's faint expression of offence, "you're talking to the person who sewed up your dress a week ago.” of course you knew. it was a mistake, a little one; you had a small rip in your sundress, which he immediately repaired for you. "don't worry, i'll finish it by tomorrow." he moves his hand to yours, running his thumb over it and bringing it to his lips. the faint blush on your cheeks now contrasted with the smaller red hearts he had made on your now-fixed jacket.

“you went too far with him kei, c’mon.” “THAT FUCK WAS LOOKING AT YOUR ASS.” you can't help but sigh, having to admit that you're still struggling to control the man you've been dating for a while now, baji keisuke, a man of violence. he just looks down at you, no signs of regret in his eyes, as you switch for a new cotton pad to continue dabbing his knuckles with- "admit, it was hot when i beat his ass." he's looking down at you with a fucking hot ass grin, his taller figure leaning against your bathroom sink, with you almost against him. "i'm surprised we didn't get caught kei, you broke his jaw and nose," deadpanning at his randomness. now his keen eyes are focused on your movements, you care too much for him, he can’t help but want you all to himself. pulling out the box of bandages, you let go of his hand to open it, and in a short second their back on top of your wrist, screw that, both wrists. “s’too fuckin good for me eh?” god he takes you by surprise every day, “thanks sugar.” you've dropped the bandages and your hands are in his hair in no time...