#nothing really knows what it's doing but it does it anyway

[cipheramnesia]

I want to be eaten by worms and grubs instead of fungus. If I'm consumed by fungus it will probably be mold, and might not have the palate to appreciate my corpse.

Mycology is an incredibly diverse and complex field. Sadly I am not well versed in it, and not qualified to answer questions about mushroom genetics. Unfortunately I also do not have strong beliefs about the innate transitive power of animal consumption. I don't think animals or humans have any innate transformations, beyond the normal processes of digestion, caused by eating other living things.

The idea is beautiful though. What if we really did carry with us everything in the world we consumed? In a broad metaphorical sense we do of course, because we eat things to get the chemicals that physically build our body and literally transmit our thoughts. That doesn't happen because a molecule of sodium doesn't carry memories, unless you develop a purely speculative and scientifically unsupportable notion that molecules in animals somehow become quantumly entangled, but that still breaks down because that's not really what quantum entanglement does anyway. So, it can't happen, but imagining it is pretty for the most part. I'm philosophically prejudiced against the idea of cannibalism generally conferring special transfer of power or memories, because that comes from like some really specific stuff that I don't know enough about to dig into. And aside from all that, I think cannibalism as upper class elitism is less interesting than cannibalism as the hunger of disenfranchised groups.

However, I know a lot of people that would give human flesh a taste if offered, so I would let people eat however much of me they can, safely and / or legally. If I can do nice things for my friends, I enjoy doing it, even if I'm dead at the time.

My comfort in death is actually identical to my fear. I'll cease to exist. No more me, forever. No afterlife, no memories traveling through space. I mean, people will have some of me as memories, but the person I am contained unto myself is gone. I wish I could see more than whatever my lifetime will be. I would take immortality in an instant, just to see what happens.

But when I'm gone, I'm gone. And that also means everything in my head that I wish wasn't there goes with me, which is a relief as well. No more depression, no anxiety, no worries, no fears, no struggle. It will be quiet. That's comforting. I'd like as much of the noise as I can ever have, don't get it twisted, but the idea of that quiet makes me happy, like one day I'll be done.

It would be cool if my body ends up somewhere that grows lichen, because I want people to make jokes about it when I'm dead. People standing over my grave marker or whatever going "I guess she took A LIKIN' to this spot" is the kind of thing I would enjoy happening after I'm dead. I wish I could die a comedic death. Nothing would be better than to go out with people laughing uproariously at my ridiculous passing.

Anyway, does anyone reading this know about mushroom decomposition efficiency, or general fungus decomposition efficiency? What's up with that?

The idea that fungus experiences true sentient thought, but in a way that the rest of us cannot understand, is a kind of comfort to the inevitability of death and rot, to know that what consumes our corpse may in someway carry a memory onward with it.

[teddybeartoji]

bakugou and vampire!reader................ he's so unsure about everything, he doesn't really know what to do with himself or you or the fact that you're a vampire but when you kneel down in front of him and bat your eyelashes while asking to taste his blood, he really has no other option that to just let you do it. 

his heart is about to combust, he's sweating and he's squirming in his seat – with you sat between his thighs, gently cradling his hand and kissing his knuckles, it's impossible for him to calm himself. he feels a bit lightheaded from the way you're looking at him; your pupils are dilated, your eyes low, as you force down your own desire and focus on guiding him through his first time instead. 

he can't even bring himself to say anything when you ask him whether you can keep on going – he gives you a nod and you watch his adam's apple bob. you know him well enough to take this a sign to continue; he won't admit that he's nervous, no fucking way, but you do think it's sweet that he's still willing to let you do this. 

when your lips finally ghost over his wrist, he bites down a sound. 

he leans back on his free hand and throws his head back and you're forced to stifle a chuckle – he's awfully cute like this. a blush creeps up from under his shirt collar and without having to see him properly, you already know his face is doing any better either. his whole body burns, it feels as if he's on fire, but he refuses to back down. 

“how are we doing, suki, hm?”

something soars inside him; it spreads from his lower stomach – up and down, to his chest and to his thighs, to his arms and to his legs, to his fingers and to his toes. and you're really not even doing anything just yet. 

“g– good.”

his raspy voice breaks despite him trying to hold it together with all of his might. your hot breath warms his skin and he digs his fingers into the bedsheets below him – he curses his body for being so damn sensitive and he curses himself for being so weak for you. 

“i need you to look at me when i do it.”

his eyes pop open but he doesn't turn to look at you. he doesn't dare. 

“what for?”

“because i don't want to push you too far, baby. i need you to keep your eyes on me, so i can make sure of that.”

his chest heaves. 

“please?”

his body moves completely on its own when he cranes his neck to finally meet your starved gaze again. his answer is just a grumble and his reward is you pressing one last kiss to his wrist – you stay there with your mouth still against him and your eyes fixated on his dark ones for a moment before parting your lips and giving him a glimpse of your sharp teeth. 

bakugou sucks in a breath. 

you sink your fangs into his skin and he clenches his jaw. his whole body tenses up and you placing your free hand on his thigh does nothing to help him relax; his pupils grow bigger at the sight of you latched onto him, at the feeling of your tongue against him. the sensation of you draining his blood is weird to say the least but there isn’t a single part of him that wants to pull away. 

he’s mesmerized. 

when you trail your hand up over his body until you finally reach the middle of his chest, you give him a few pats, silently telling him to breathe again. he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes, he knows you’d tease him for it if you weren’t busy drinking his blood, and the flush on his cheeks deepens.

but it doesn’t take long before his mind starts growing hazy and you know you’ll have to stop a bit earlier than you usually do, but it’s not like you really mind. you watch how his blinking slows and feel his breathing finally begins to even out – pulling away from his wrist, his eyes widen a bit more as he watches you lick your lips clean and stand from your place between his thighs, only to straddle his hips instead. 

ignoring how tired his body suddenly feels, he snakes his arms around your middle anyway and lets you push him down onto his back.

you nip at his jaw and press yourself flush against him. “that wasn’t too bad, was it, baby?” 

the fact you’re so fucking close now makes bakugou’s head flood with filthier images than he’d like to admit but he blames it all on the delirium caused by the blood loss. he swallows down a groan as he kneads the plush flesh of your waist and shakes his head.

he thinks your hum sounds like a purr. 

and you think he looks extra cute like this. 

slowly, you tilt your head to the other side of his face and lower yourself down, so you can press your lips against his pulse point. “will you let me do it here next time, suki?”

goosebumps raise on his skin despite how warm he feels and his hips buck up into yours in an instant. 

“fuck…” 

“say yes.” 

bakugou doesn’t like to be told what to do. he doesn’t like when people order him around and he doesn’t like when people command him. 

“yes.”

[runninriot]

Pining Idiots

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 28

prompt: pining | rated: T | wc: 1.000 | tags: post vecna, mild angst, feelings realisation, love confession, friends to lovers, best friend Robin Buckley

   "You are both so stupid. Hopeless and stupid." Robin throws her hands in the air, frustrated and all out of patience.

Steve must've heard her say those words about a hundred times already but still, he can't find it in him to believe that there's even a flicker of truth within her reasoning.

If Robin were right, Steve would've caught Eddie by now, apparently stealing glances at him. Because there's no way he'd miss Eddie's dark eyes lingering on him, not when Steve's own - for whatever reason - are constantly locked on the guy. He feels naturally drawn to Eddie, has this weird connection to him he can't really explain. But contrary to what Robin is trying to make him consider, he doesn't accept that it's... love.

They're friends. Good friends, maybe even the best. Grown so close over time that now, barely a day goes by where they don't spend time together. Always attached at the hip, somehow even worse than he is with Robin. And yes, Steve gets that it comes off strange for any outsider to see them cuddling and touching and kissing each other goodbye on the cheek without shame. That's not what male friends do, not usually. But fuck that, it's nice.

He enjoys the physical contact. Likes to relish in the other man's warmth when their bodies are pressed together on the couch, one arm around the other's shoulders, or a hand resting on the other's thigh. He likes the familiar scent of leather and cigarette smoke that clings to Eddie's hair and skin, enveloping Steve's senses whenever they're close. Eddie's presence calms him, makes him feel less on edge. After all those years of fighting Demons, it's a blessing to feel at ease.

Eddie is good for him. And Steve knows he, too, has an impact on Eddie. That he's less fidgety when Steve is near. That whenever the healed wounds start to phantom-ache, Steve's hand atop his shirt soothes his body's memorised pain.

They're each other's lifeline, something to hold on to when the turbulent waters of nightmarish dreams threaten to pull them down. This... trauma bond they share, this friendship, keeps them both afloat. But that's all there is to it.

They are not the pining idiots Robin says they are. Apparently too afraid of their feelings for each other, unable to acknowledge that there is something more between them. Emotions allegedly written all over their faces – Robin says it’s obvious, but it’s not.

This isn't love.

It can't be. Steve cannot let himself fall for this ridiculous idea. Because once he goes down that path, once he starts listening close to his heart in search of the truth, there will be no going back.

And he's not ready to lose what he has. Because inevitably, that would be the result of him breaking down the walls he's built to keep his own emotions in check.

Steve cannot love like a normal human being. He is too much, wants too much, gives too much - his love is smothering. All-consuming.

He'd only push Eddie away.

   "Why don't you just ask him?"

Robin's words rip him out of his thoughts and he blinks at her confused.

They're still standing in the kitchen, their friend's voices coming from the other room.

   "You know, if you don't believe me, why don't you ask him if it's true? And if it's not, well. You got nothing to lose. 'Cause you're not in love with him anyway, right?"

He doesn't miss the teasing tone, knows she's testing him, trying to break through his thick skull because she knows that he's lying to himself. Knows him better than he knows himself.

   "And what if you're right?" he asks, seemingly catching her off guard with his question.

   "What if you're right and he does love me back. What then? You really think I won't fuck it up again this time? That I won't ruin it again?"

It hurts to say out loud, to admit that his worst fear isn't rejection. It's the thought of having himself to blame for when it doesn't work out. As always.

And it hurts even more when Robin's face suddenly softens, eyes full of pity when she takes his hands in hers.

   "Babe. It wasn't your fault. Nancy- wasn't the one for you, that's all. You were both meant for someone else, and you-" she squeezes his hands for emphasis, "You could have all those things your stupid, big heart is yearning for. Your person is sitting right there, probably already losing his mind because you've been gone from his side for too long."

Robin laughs but her eyes are glassy and Steve can feel a tear making its way down his own face.

Fuck her for always hitting him right where it aches the most. Where her unforgiving honesty settles and sticks and makes something warm spread in his chest.

   "I know he loves you. And, as dreadful as the thought is because you two are going to be the worst couple ever, I hate to see you both suffer over nothing. Just talk to him. Tell him how you feel."

She pulls him into a hug, holds him tight while he lets his tears fall unrestrained. It's relieving but scary, because she is right.

   "Hey, uh, everything okay?" Eddie's voice suddenly breaks through the silence, startling them apart.

   "Glad you're here," Robin says, "Steve's got something to tell you." And with that, she leaves, a big grin on her face that only grows wider when Steve huffs out a wet laugh, mouthing 'I hate you' at her.

   "Stevie, are you okay? Have you been crying? What's wrong?"

Steve melts at the softness of Eddie's words, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

   "I- I think I'm in love with you, Eddie."

After a moment of silence, Eddie's lips curl into a smile.

   "Oh, well. If you're sure, let me know. I've been dying to finally kiss your pretty mouth.”

[revelboo]

LOSING! MY! SHIT! REVEL THE REAPER OF SOULS, CROWS IN A COAT, CRYPTID OF OUR TRANSFORMERS DREAMS, HOLY SHIIIIIT! Everything is Alright is so ✨️✨️✨️✨️💙💙💙✨️✨️✨️✨️💙💙💙💙💪💪🎉🎉🎉💙💙✨️✨️✨️ ITS DELIGHTFUL AND IT KEEPS ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT AND I HAVE LOVED SEEING THE TURNS OF EVENTS SO MUCH

Thank you! I have a lot of fun writing these

Everything Is Alright Pt 98

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Optics half shuttered, Megatron shifts uncomfortably on his throne. Had thought this would get that awful curiosity out of his system and be a lesson to Starscream about who’s in control. Punishing the Seeker isn’t going exactly as planned, though. More like punishing himself. Frame shuddering as you give a breathy moan, before crying out Starscream’s name. A deviant part of him wanting to know what his name would sound like on your lips as you come apart. Instead of hearing Starscream snarl as he finishes inside you. You’re just a human, less than nothing really. He shouldn’t care, but he does.

• Servos tangling in your hair, Starscream presses his helm to your forehead before claiming your mouth. Trying his best to ignore Soundwave and Megatron both. When you loop your arms around his neck, he slides his own arms around you, taking you from Soundwave. “If you’re satisfied?” He growls head lifting, unable to make himself add ‘Lord Megatron’ as he glares. Wondering if the warlord will demand Soundwave claim you, too. Not that he thinks the communications officer would mind as he runs his palm down your spine, crooning to you.

• Resting your cheek against Starscream’s shoulder, you reach for Soundwave and close your eyes when he immediately laces his servos with your fingers. “You’ll bring our pet back before reporting for your duties,” Megatron says, leaning back on his throne. Those red optics are watching you and your mates. And there’s a hunger on his face that twists inside you. Eyes widening at the sound of Star’s thrusters powering up, you cling to him, legs wrapping more firmly around his waist as he vents as if aggrieved and reaches a hand out for Soundwave to clasp. Eyes closing against a slightly hysterical giggle because you hadn’t realized he could fly when not in his alt mode. And because he’s mass displaced darting out of the bridge, through the halls, spike still buried inside you as he drags Soundwave with him, dangling by a wrist.

• “Stop squirming. It’s not funny,” Starscream snarls as you start laughing, face pressed against his neck. And the sound kills the last of Soundwave’s tension. Because you’re okay. They all are. The secret is out and Megatron hadn’t punished them. Not exactly anyway. Truth be told, he’s almost positive Megatron is interested in you. Not that he’s about to snoop in the warlord’s thoughts or mention that theory to Starscream. No telling how the flighty Seeker might take it. Sharing with him is one thing, forcing him to share with the one mech he despises above all others? He’s afraid Starscream will run with you and he can’t risk that. Won’t lose you.

• Venting tiredly as you keep laughing, one corner of his mouth twitches. Unable to believe you’re okay. Safe. That Megatron had watched him frag you. That he’d dressed you in that sheer, revealing outfit as a punishment. Can hear your chains sliding against his chassis where you’re clinging to him and he’ll need to remove them. Though, using them to bind your arms over your head does have a certain appeal. As does fragging you while in the air. Though you might be upset if he let go of Soundwave to do it. At any rate, he’s going to take full advantage of being mass displaced. Take his time with you.

• Tossing a leg over the arm of his throne, Megatron stares at the ceiling. King of nothing but sorrow. Destroyer of worlds, including his own. Frustration leaving a bitter taste on his glossa, he covers his face with a hand and laughs. Because he can see those defiant eyes when his optic shutter. Hear those needy sounds. That hungry dissatisfaction spreading through his lines and digging into his spark. Wanting something he shouldn’t.

Previous

[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 26. home — ✦ (wc: 0.6k)

notes: trying out a bit of a different style of writing ^^ hope you guys enjoy!

cw: online harassment targeted at reader & characters, self-deprecating thoughts

You’re used to this.

Getting criticism and some hate comments here and there is nothing new for you. It's all part of the business in this industry.

And you haven't gotten this far without having gone through a scandal or two. 

Maybe it’s the storm outside your window, or maybe it’s your melancholia. Maybe you’ve always been like this — hungry for more and more.

Attention. Praise. Love. You wanted all of it and more. You needed it more than you needed air.

All eyes are on you, now more than ever. It's been like this for years.

You should be used to this.

You just hate the fact that you have to drag him down with you.

He doesn't deserve any of this.

None of your friends deserve this.

What were you thinking, agreeing to his deal? You threw him to the wolves and put his private life on display, all to fulfill your fantasies of him liking you back. 

It's nothing but a lie anyway. 

You may be used to hating yourself, but it's a different thing entirely to see the world turn against you.

You deserve this. 

With the rain picking up, you should probably get home soon. But to be fair, it wasn’t raining that hard when you went out.

You probably should have listened to Yoimiya when she said to not go out. The pouring rain drenches you from head to toe the moment you step outside. An umbrella would have been useful, but it’s not like you had the foresight to bring one.

God, it’s fucking cold.

Yoimiya and Ayaka have probably told Scaramouche that you went out. And at this rate, he’s probably worried about you. He really shouldn’t be wasting his energy like that. He shouldn’t be wasting his efforts on you at all.

The fact that he’s going on interviews when you know he hates doing them feels like a weight on your chest, a mixture of guilt and self-hatred that manifested as a storm that mirrored the cold, unforgiving rain as you dragged your feet across the wet pavement.

An umbrella covers you, interrupting the ceaseless torrent of rain and your thoughts.

“Idiot,” Scaramouche says. You can barely hear him over the rain. “Why are you out here? It’s late; something could have happened to you.”

It’s hard to look him in the eye, so you don’t bother. “You shouldn’t have come after me. I’m not worth all your efforts.”

Scaramouche furrows his brow, “What are you talking about? Of course you are. Come on, let’s go home.”

The next words are lodged in your throat, but you keep going.

“Break up with me.”

It’s better this way.

“I don’t want you to have to suffer because of me.”

He shouldn’t have to be dragged down with you.

“Even if I bounce back from this, which I highly doubt I will, this won’t be the last time people talk shit about us. Please, Scaramouche. Leave me while you still can. You don’t deserve any of this.”

He’s silent for a moment. Unmoving. You’re bracing yourself for his response when he moves closer toward you.

“I’m not going to leave your side. Not when you need all the support you can get,” Scaramouche says, cupping your face with his hand. His hand is so warm. A welcome change to the cold of the rain. “And I’m sure as hell not breaking up with you.”

“We don’t even know if public opinion will change after your interviews are published,” you argued.

Scaramouche nods. “I know. But I still wanted to try and help you in any way I could.”

Against all odds, Scaramouche presses closer to you and wraps his arms around you. Against all doubts, you bury your face into him. He only holds you tighter.

“You will always be worth the effort,” he says softly. “And even if the world hates you, you have us. You have me.” 

Scaramouche takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. You have a feeling he won’t let go any time soon. You hope he never does.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

author's notes:

my favorite chapter to write by far ^^ hope you guys enjoyed!!

taglist — currently CLOSED:

@aestherin @your-kuya-pogi @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @vxnuslogy @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @nymphxie @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @lilybythevalley @one-and-only-tay @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @miaakai @duckyyyx @cinnaniyoom @kgogoma @xtobefreex @mechanicalbeat1 @feiherp @venturinea @nnasv @retiredmommylover @onmywaytoteyvat @tiredslepz @saccharine-sucks

[loverslantern]

Mirror- Dean Winchester x f! reader oneshot

Description: Reader doesn’t feel pretty so Dean tries to show her what he sees in the way he knows best: praise.

Warnings: It’s hot and heavy in here, inherently sexual but nothing happens, manhandling?, praise

Word count: 2k

Note: This is not only my first time writing something like this but also my first time writing something not related to The Hunter and The Witch series so please leave feedback!

  I catch my reflection on the screen of my laptop and groan. My face looks weird today. It’s just one of those days where I just couldn’t feel…pretty or nice or any other adjective. It shouldn’t matter now when I’m alone in my motel room and researching for the next hunt. There’s no one to impress in the desolate room other than the four beige walls and a creaky bed. 

  It shouldn’t matter. To be fair it shouldn’t matter in general when beauty is an objective concept, and yet it does. I do not know the psychology behind it, maybe it’s a biological thing as animals would choose the mate that’s more appealing or strong to have offspring that can survive. I shake my head, ridding myself of the thought. This would just spiral into a psychological analysis that would only make me think of it further rather than ignore it. 

  It’s an obsessive thing, isn’t it?

  Either way, I don’t like the way I look today. I couldn’t get my hair to look just right this morning and I tried so many up-do’s that my arms got sore. It still didn’t look right, so I left it down. 

  And my face just looks wrong. Maybe my eyes are too big or too small in proportion to the rest of my face. Or, maybe my jawline is too soft, perhaps I’m not rough enough. Perhaps I’m too rough. Somehow, every possible thing feels true. 

  I groan again, leaning my head back against the headboard of the bed, and squeeze my eyes shut as if it will get rid of it all. I’m meant to be focused on research. It was supposed to help. But stupid screens and their stupid reflections.

  The jingle of keys forces my eyes open, my eyes landing on my door as it clicks open. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dean greets, casually inviting himself in. 

  “Hi,” I breathe. I suppose the consequence of giving someone a spare key is that they will use said key. But, I’m not that bad of a thing considering it’s Dean who’s walking in. “I’m gonna head to a bar, you in?”

  “Eh,” I answer. “You go ahead. ‘Not feeling it tonight.”

  He eyes me for a moment, squinting just slightly. “Not even as an excuse to dress up and listen to music?” he pushes. “‘My treat.” Of course, his treat meant a fake card or money he got from hustling. But, god the way he smiles and holds his hands up as he tries to convince me is cuter than it should be. “Sorry, Dean,” I say despite the sight, “Just not feeling it.”

  His shoulders and smile drop, “Come on I’ll buy you as much (favorite drink) as you want.”

  “You can go without me you know?” I point out as he saunters over to the bed and plops himself down. “We both know you’re gonna be leaving with some random girl anyway.” 

  He rolls his eyes as he leans back on his elbows, his black shirt flexing against his muscles. He knows I’m right. “I thought Sam was the nerd,” he comments, ignoring what I said by lifting my laptop off my lap and discarding it in the empty space next to him. “Why don’t you wanna go out? ‘You feeling okay?” he asks and for a moment as his eyes scan my face, I can see the concern pass through them. 

  “Oh, I’m fine,” I insist, trying to be as convincing as possible. Yet, he sees right through me, giving me a pointed look. He’s hard to lie to. I break, shaking my head, “Fine. I just…I don’t feel pretty today so I don’t really wanna go out.”

  His eyebrows raise, his lips parting a bit as if that’s the last thing he expected me to say. “You?”

  My eyebrows furrow, head tilting in confusion, “….Yeah….” Who else?

  He studies my face again and I worry he’ll see what I’m seeing. He’ll see I’m not pretty. His features soften regardless. “Come with me,” he announces, gesturing a hand to follow as he gets up from the bed. I don’t listen, giving him a confused and cautious look. “Come on,” he insists, his voice firm. 

  I hold back my sigh as I stand from the bed. I almost didn’t want to know what he had in store. But, he doesn’t leave me with much choice but to turn back as he takes hold of my hand. His hand is big and warm as it envelopes mine, butterflies erupting in my gut at the simple touch.

  He leads me into the bathroom, his hand leaving mine to travel up my arms and to my shoulders, positioning me in front of the mirror. My hips press against the sink, his hands on my upper arms and his body close behind mine. He nearly looms over me with his tall stature, his head and eyes tilted a little down as he uses the mirror to meet my eyes. “Don’t look at me. Look at yourself,” he directs. But my eyes linger on him, on his pretty green eyes, sharp sculptured jaw, and his straight nose. His fingers tap against the skin of my upper arm, “Come on,” he encourages, his voice a little gravely. 

  I give in. He makes it so easy to give in. I pull my eyes from him and land on myself. A frown pulls on my lips as my eyes jump around my features, even my frown looks wrong. He squeezes my arms, gaining my attention back in the same second my gut lurches. “Uh-uh,” he hums. “Eyes back on you, baby.”

  Jesus. 

  Again, I force my eyes away and I can feel his burning gaze on me. “What do you see?” he asks. I scuff and roll my eyes, “Dean, I’m not—“

  His hands rub up and down my upper arms. “Just—what do you see?”

  I bite on my bottom lip. I look unamused. That’s what I’m seeing. I sigh, trying to humor him. “Myself,” I answer plainly.

  He tuts, “Not what I meant, sweetheart. What do you see that you don’t like?”

  Everything. That seems like an appropriate answer. But I can’t just say that and I don’t. I hardly want to share what I feel when it’s hard to put words to it. “How about this?” he says, his head dipping down to occupy the space by my neck, putting himself closer to my level than far above me. “I like your smile,” he admits, his voice so soft it’s like a rough whisper. “I like when you smile at me…” he squeezes my arms, “like I’m damn important.”

  “You ar—“

  “Uh-uh,” he hums again. “This is about you, baby.” 

  One of his hands drifts upwards, the muscles in his forearm flexing. The sight is nearly intoxicating as I watch it move in the mirror, resting at the base of my neck as he stands to his height again. His thumb brushes back and forth against my collarbone, his eyes downturned to his movements. “Keep watching yourself,” he reminds me. I hadn’t realized I was watching him but could you blame me?

  He presses me back against him, his body solid and warm. I wonder if he can feel the increase in my heart rate. “And your skin…always so smooth. Hardly any scars.” He presses down on the base of my neck, encouraging my head to lean back against his chest. My breath hitches.

  “Shows how careful you are, yeah?” I can almost feel his warm breath as clearly as I can feel my heart beating against my ribs. “You a careful girl?” His gaze is burning as it travels down me. “Yeah…” he drawls, eyes traveling back up. “You are.” His thumb taps once against my collarbone, reminding me to keep my eyes on myself which seems like an impossible feat now. “There you go,” he praises, his voice low. 

My skin feels warm. My everything feels warm as if I am a furnace with the sole purpose of burning and he stokes the fire, poking at it, adding wood to keep it going. 

“Those eyes,” he mumbles, and I can feel the rumble in his chest as the words protrude from his lips. “‘Damn pretty eyes. Then you give me that look…fuck.”

  My eyes flick to his, something burning deep within my gut. He doesn’t scorn me for looking away from myself. “Yeah…” he whispers, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “That look right there. Eyes all big, your lips parted just a little.” His hand drifts up from my neck, gracing my jaw. His thumb presses on my bottom lip. “So pretty…” he mumbles. “‘Don’t know what you aren’t seeing. Can you look at yourself again baby?” 

  I do as told and my knees feel wobbly with the heat that pools within. It’s the sight of him rather than me. The sight of him practically playing with me. “Want you to know how pretty you are,” he mumbles. “How good you are. God, you’re so good.”

  His thumb is a little wet as it slips from my lip onto my chin and my neck. His lidded eyes watch the slight mess he makes, his breath a little shallower. He hums, his chest rumbling with it. “Do you know what I think?” he asks.

  “What?” I answer the single word sounding like a sigh. My eyes drop to my lips in the mirror, my bottom lip coated in a thin layer of my own saliva like a coat of lip gloss. My breasts press against my tank top, seemingly wanting to spill over with each shallow breath. The soft swells of skin peeking from the neckline. His hands drop to my hips, pushing me forward until they’re pressing into the sink with a force that knocks me forward a little, a gasp escaping my lips. I grip the sides of the sink to catch myself. His fingers press into my hips as he holds me firmly. His body looms over me as his eyes take in my bent-over form. Those stunning green eyes that usually resemble the greenery of a forest when the sun is shining through the canopy of leaves just right, now a darkened green like the parts of the forest the sun can’t reach. 

  His hands massage my hips roughly, pushing them forward before drawing them back. His eyes are downturned to the movement, his mouth parted a little in the same manner mine is. My breath is quicker, and my heart is pounding in my chest like it’s trying to escape the space behind my ribs. “What’d I say about keeping your eyes on yourself?” He says roughly despite his own distraction. I swallow roughly, forcing my eyes back on myself for the umpteenth time.   

  He continues his actions, eyes burning into my hips and my ass like nothing else matters. “I think…” he starts, circling back to answer the question he asked me before, one I forgot about. “I think it should be sinful,” the word is like a purr coming from his lips, “to look this good. To be so fucking pretty.” It should be ironic coming from him but why would he go through all this trouble, all this guiding, pushing, pressing to convince me of something he didn’t believe in? And I can see it. I can see it, through the fog of a bad day, exactly what he’s seeing, or at least part of it. 

  “Are you seeing it?” he asks in a low voice as if he saw the change in my eyes. “Yeah,” I breathe, nodding, “Yes, I see it.”

  “Good,” he answers firmly, and yet I can hear the cocky smile that no doubt threatens his lips. Then, his hand circles around the back of my neck, tangling into my hair. He squeezes just once before he’s guiding me up, straightening me out ‘till I’m standing straight again. I spin in his hold, his large hands immediately going to my hips to keep me pressed into the sink. His eyes meet mine, something written in his irises that I can’t decipher. Then, they drop to my lips and then to my chest, that cocky smile finally making its appearance as his eyes drag back up to my lips. “Where’d you learn that?” I ask.

  His smile widens as he answers, “You don’t wanna know.”

[sgiandubh]

On sightings

It's that blessed time of the year, with eggnog and spice galore?

Anons are never unemployed for long, because - as I always say - the idiots' mother is always pregnant.

To counter Park Anon, perhaps, another casual fan (relevant later) posted a sighting on another one of those FB behemoth fan groups that come with a LOT of small print barking around ('BE KIND! NO BULLYING! NO SPAM! NO ADS!'). That particular group is obviously Spanish/Latino based and that is sort of relevant, in the geopolitics of this fandom:

Anyways, here goes. The woman had no fucking idea of Claire Fraser's civilian name, but was ashamed to admit to it - so long for accuracy, dude:

Her sister is also a member of the group, but curiously enough nobody asked her anything, even if she was there and could have given her own feedback on the whole event. And she did not offer any, even when her next of kin was clawed around by the patrolling Stans Brigade. Perhaps because she's only been a member of the group since December 15, 2024 (her sister, the OG informer, was active in there since August 30 2024, only)?

Anyways, all the obsessive tropes seem to have been thoroughly checked, in that comment thread.

Blonde Bambino? ✅

Tracula? ✅✅- you know that one was coming, right?

The Wookey Hole Caves is an amusement park in Somerset - oh, how convenient:

C might have went with Blonde Bambino and retinue for the Winter Wonderland show - it does make sense.

An easy daytrip from London, too. But it had to be Somerset, for some reason - where C has established no footprint since 2019 and something she never mentions in fan events (even though Tracula's relatives do live in that area - plot thickens). Where no other sighting had been reported since at least the Italian guy taking a fan pic with C, circa 2019-2020 (help me on this one, veterans 😘?).

What stroke me as odd wasn't even the lack of pictures. It would have been very easy to sneak one, since the OG informer's nephew was riding along Blonde Bambino on an age appropriate ride - but hey, let's not nitpick on that one, after all Park Anon didn't have any, either. Also, the OG informer is unsure about Caitriona's name, but knows exactly how old Blonde Bambino is? What about that 'almost 4" - did C casually throw some pebbles along the narrative track, like Hansel in that fairy tale? Isn't Blonde Bambino supposed to be 3 years, 4 months old? How is that 'almost 4'? Was the OG informer using her own deductive skills, based on a ride Verboten sign?

The carousel the Blonde Bambino could not supposedly ride on is this one. It is situated indoors, in the park's Penny Arcade zone, at The Mill (https://www.wookey.co.uk/things-to-do/):

What stroke me as odd is that both the OG Informer and the Riding Toddler's mum are inexplicably elusive about any specific details. I was not expecting a deposition transcript, for sure, but at least a couple of those details that bring warmth, humanity and plausibility to a story. You know, like Park Anon's little girl having a tantrum because she didn't want to go home:

[Source: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/751391542332325888/i-always-read-the-comments-on-sams-posts-because]

Nothing of the sort, here. But if anything, what gave me pause the most is this tiny little tidbit the sanctimonious people across the street do not want you to see:

You read that right. The Perfect Stay-At-Home Dad couldn't be arsed to watch 'his' son on a ride, in an amusement park where things can and do happen. The One Who Always Babysits, even when his 'wife' is clubbing around with her Praetorian Guard (credit given accordingly 😉) in London, knowing perfectly well C has a full time nanny for 'Baba', looked completely disconnected from the scène de genre. So much so, that the OG Informer had nothing else to report.

So which one is it? Was it T, was it someone else from the Praetorian Guard? Does it really, really matter?

All this carefully calibrated story surely made me think about one of the times I lied to a very nice bungalow B&B landlady, somewhere on the coast of the Peloponnese. When our electricity blew out in the middle of the (cold, February) night, I had to call her and explain 'me and my husband' were about to die frozen in her idyllic little orange orchard. My 'husband' was my best gay friend (currently posted somewhere in the Middle East, LOL) and we were very much plastered with excellent wine, which we happily continued to imbibe after the incident was solved. Bless her heart, she did ask me the next time I went there (with Someone, 😱) how was my 'husband' doing. I shamelessly told her we got divorced, in the meanwhile. She smirked and mumbled something like 'eh, diplomats'. LOL.

Double standards are, as always, prosperous across the street. Other than that, may I just add the most recent reviews of the park are ahem, mixed, at best?

Especially, perhaps, this particular review, written by a mom of a three-years old little girl:

[Source: https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g635922-d213489-Reviews-Wookey_Hole_Caves-Wookey_Hole_Somerset_England.html]

I find the management's answer extraordinarily enlightening. They know they have a problem with it. They offer settlement outside of the saloon, perhaps a batch of free tickets and hefty discounts thrown in for good measure. LOL, really LOL.

Hence my question, Your Honor: was it even C? Why would she do that, when she could have easily went to Eurodisney in Paris or any other fabulous London seasonal attraction, of which I am sure there are many? This, by all accounts, sounds more like a sad, rushed and tacky improvisation - again, why? Why on Earth do that to 'Baba'? Why?

Make it make sense, please, because right now it surely doesn't.

I rest my case.

[midnight-bay-if]

i live for sarcastic asshole mcs, so if youd like, ROs reactions to mc doing the "you have blood on your sweater" bit from Wolfs to them after a fight?

also, really enjoying your if so thanks for writing (taj and umbra my beloved)

(Thank you so much! Too often, I have days where I question if I'm capable of writing at all, so it's always nice to hear people are enjoying the characters. Sorry this took a while to get to.)

S: Your middle finger shoots up, and S immediately rolls their eyes and tuts. Between you and Taj, S wonders how they haven't already settled into an early retirement. After a beat, the ridiculousness of the situation washes over them, and their tight lips inch upwards. They turn to hide it, not wishing to encourage you, but the moment you pantomimed, flashing your finger from the inside of your jacket replays in their head. Their shoulders shake with stifled chuckles, and they relax.

"You and Taj can compete for my funeral bills should either of you put me in an early grave."

Rain: All of Rain's worry morphs into shock at the sight of your middle finger. Their mouth falls open, their heart hammering. It doesn't immediately dawn on them that you're fine, but the moment it does, Rain swipes out a hand and whacks you in the arm.

"Ow!"

"Oh, sorry!" They exclaim, rubbing the spot they just hit. "But I was really worried!" They hit you again. "Next time, I will... Well, I don't know what I will do but I'll make sure it's very inconvenient for you. So watch out."

Taj: Taj growls at the sight of your middle finger and instantly throws up one of their own. They won't admit to having been worried, especially not now, because that means admitting you pulled one over on them. They can't do that. So, they wave their own middle finger in front of your face as you do the same. Then, just to be extra petty, they pull out the other hand and do the same.

Is it childish? Maybe, but you're smiling anyway, so who cares?

N: They fold their arms, staring at your middle finger with hard eyes. Once upon a time, such a trick would have been impossible to pull on them. They would have read your intentions like one reads a book. It's difficult to quell their ire with such lingering thoughts goading them. "Remind me which one of us is supposed to be the demon here?" But they can't remain angry at your smug expression when you seem very pleased with yourself.

It's ridiculous how cute you are.

Umbra: They had been ready to rip off their clothes to push against you and stem the bleeding, but you pull out your middle finger with a devious smirk instead. Umbra blinks. Once. Twice. Then, it dawns on them. You were pretending, playing. Their eyes search for a wound that is not there, but are grateful when they find nothing but an already drying blood stain. You're still smiling and waving your finger, and all Umbra feels is relief.

"You scared me," they mumble, their pale creeks painted crimson. "I don't know what I would do if--" they cannot bring themselves to finish the thought.

[gyaruhana]

semi smut ? where her and reader are in a toxic relationship

Semi - Toxic smutty headcannons

Synopsis: just semi being toxic..

A/N: turned this into headcannons bc I didn't know what plot to right (though there's a little paragraph at the end). I hope that's okay! Anyway- second squid game fic of the day !! I cheered

Warnings: mean semi, manipulative, mentions of vibrators, light slapping, edging,

➠ Let’s be real.. Semi is manipulative. When she first laid her eyes on you, she thought you looked too innocent. It’s one of the reasons she even got with you in the first place. 

➠ You were cute and naive and she believed you’d be unable to leave her ever no matter what she did to you. 

➠ So, yeah, she's mean. And maybe she likes making you cry a little too much. It’s not her fault. It’s yours for looking at her with big doe eyes with tears spilling from the corners and slowly dripping down your face. 

➠But she won’t hit you or anything of the sort (unless it’s during sex and she’s punishing you..)

➠ She never admits that she’s wrong. She’s just always right. Every argument always ends with her saying it’s your fault before she decides that you need to be punished for your attitude. 

➠ Her punishments are mostly just edging. She loves to keep you stuck between that feeling of almost getting to cum before stopping all together so you can let out a cry and beg her to give you what you want.

➠ She does like a little bit of hitting though. Nothing too rough - just some light slaps across the face or on your ass. Hard enough to sting but not to leave bruises. 

➠ When she’s not punishing you, it still sort of feels like a punishment. 

➠ Sex with her is usually just her trying to please herself. She’ll let you cum as many times as you do but, if she has enough then she’ll leave you high and dry.

➠ Honestly likes giving you vibrators to wear and then turning them on in public settings like a restaurant. She enjoys watching you squirm and beg for her to turn it off. 

➠ She keeps it at a setting that she knows will make it impossible for you to cum but sometimes she likes to randomly max it out or, when you’re close, she’ll stop it just to hear you cry out. 

➠ Overall, she’s really just a manipulative girlfriend who thinks you’re completely innocent and likes to abuse that belief.

“Don’t you have any respect for me? Do you think I’d lie to you?” Semi spoke as she thrusted two of her fingers into your hole - her thumb rubbing your clit teasingly to keep you away from the edge of a climax but close enough that you’d be in a tortuous state of impatience. You’d be stupid to think she’ll let you cum after you spoke up to her. Even when tears filled your eyes, all she did was mock you.  “Don’t cry. This is your fault. If you had just been good, you’d be squirting by now,”

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Soulmate AU I 2k I Rated Mature I idiot4idiot

The thing about linking with your soulmate, you never knew when it was going to happen. There were horror stories about it happening during weddings to someone else or while performing heart surgery or landing a plane, but linking was so rare, stories like that seemed more like fairy tales than cautionary ones.

If anyone had asked Eddie what he thought about it, he would've said the odds of there being some guy out there destined to be his mate, let alone that he'd have to worry about linking during some critical moment, were astronomically low.

He'd be wrong.

Because his ears are ringing, his vision has tunnelled, and there's an empty vacuum where his usual chaotic thoughts should be. All signs pointing toward-

Hello?

Jesus H. Christ, not now! Not right now, this cannot be happening now. Quick! Think of something else! Uhhh… Golems! Ice golems! Or maybe frost giants. Yeah! Not having hate sex with your arch nemesis. Shit! Stop thinking about it! Frost giants, frost giants, frost giants!

Hate sex? He hears echo around his noggin next. Arch nemesis?

Fuuuuuck. No, darlin’, don't even worry about that stray thought! Nothing to see here. I'm, uh, baking! Yeah. Brownies. For a charity bake sale

A long pause, empty space between them, before he says, I don't believe you. I think you are having sex

Sex?! He screeches. How dare you! I would never!

You would. Go balls deep into a guy you don't even like, sounds like to me. Class act.

Oh god, there’s gotta be a way to salvage this.

No, let me explain, please!

Knock yourself out

Right. So, this guy, I know him from school, right? And he was always kind of a jerk. The space between them pings with a sort of stung feeling but Eddie doesn't understand how any of this works yet so he ignores it. But we end up having a few mutual friends, and this one really weird event happens that forces us to, like, team up, I guess. After all that I'm spending more time around the guy and he's not so bad. Invited me over to smoke up with him, which was cool. I'm gonna be totally honest, I'm not sure how exactly we got here, the sex part, but it’s pretty hot and heavy, kinda aggressive, so… yeah. Hate sex I guess

Soulmate is quiet again. His feelings bleed through anyway, at least Eddie's pretty sure that's what he's getting. It feels like embarrassment and disappointment.

You okay? Did I scare you off?

You don't like the guy at all? You said arch nemesis

Oh. Uh. Well… How did he explain to his future partner, if he hadn't already ruined it, that he likes him plenty, he's just been holding him at arms length, metaphorically, because he assumed the guy was straight? Up until roughly twenty minutes ago. He should probably start with honesty.

No, I like him okay. He's not as bad as I'd always thought. We give each other shit but I'm pretty sure it's just left over bullshit stereotypes from high school. I bully him about his music taste, he bullies me about my shitty van. That type of thing

…Right

He waits to hear back from his soulmate but he's not very talkative. That's okay, Eddie can talk enough for both of them.

So, what were you up to when we linked? Not driving I hope

He can hear the guy sighing over the link, which is worrying.

You'll never believe it, but I'm also having sex at the moment

Seriously? That's hilarious

Yeah. A hoot

Not having fun?

I was. But I recently found out the guy doesn't like me that much. So, yeah, real mood killer

Oh man. That sucks

Oh my god. Yeah, it really does. Kinda wish he'd get off of me so we can get the awkward part over with but he's distracted at the moment

Doing what?! Eddie yells, offended on his behalf.

“He’s busy not realizing he linked to the guy he was hate fucking.”

Huh?

“Eddie, open your fucking eyes.”

That's Steve talking.

He blinks his eyes open to see Steve looking up at him. He's not pleased.

Wait

“Yeah.”

Oh my god

“As impressive as it is that you managed to stay hard through that whole thing, I'd appreciate it if you-” He hisses as Eddie, rudely he realizes, pulls out without warning.

He scrambles to the end of the bed, bunching up the comforter around his junk. “I'm so sorry, fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry. I don't… I didn't…”

He can't fix this, he starts to slowly comprehend. He's made Steve think he hates him.

“Nah, it's cool. I get it.”

I don't hate you, I swear. You have to believe me

“Sure, Eddie.” He's yanking his briefs back on, angry and trying not to show it. “You just don't like me much.” Can't believe I did this again. So fucking stupid

Eddie's certain he's not meant to hear any of that but he responds anyway.

You're not stupid. Please let me explain

“You already did. And I am fucking stupid,” he snaps. “Here I thought we were flirting this whole time and you thought we were bullying each other. That's real fuckin’ stupid of me. I'd convinced myself you actually-” He snaps his teeth shut but Eddie can still hear the unfinished -liked me. “I really wish you would control your feelings, dude. You're broadcasting your horror straight into my head.”

“I don't know how to stop,” he quietly admits.

“Well if you'd ever shown up to health class you'd know how to control it.”

I never thought I would get a soulmate

Steve's surprise at that pings around his brain before he does what Eddie can't and shuts it down.

“I did. I've been thinking about it for years.”

And you ended up with me… And I ruined it before we even got started. I ruined it. Steve Harrington is my soulmate and I ruined it. What the fuck

“You don't have to say it like I'm some kind of prize.” He steps into his jeans and tugs them back up to his hips, not even bothering to do them up. Which is- “I guess it's nice that you think I'm hot. That's something. Maybe we'll be the first casual hookup soulmates.”

He has to fix this. Somehow. Think, god damnit! Wait! That's it! He just has to show Steve what he's thinking!

“I wish you wouldn't.”

“Too bad!” He snaps back.

Okay, as embarrassing as this is about to be, he has to tell the truth.

Eddie was in the 8th grade, Steve in 7th, when they first met. Or, when Eddie first noticed Steve anyway, they never really spoke to each other, their cliques already established by then. But Eddie can remember it like it was yesterday. It was lunch, Eddie was walking by with his bagged PB&J, when he heard it. Steve laughing. It was so joyful, Eddie didn't even know what he was laughing about but it made him smile anyway. Of course one of Steve's shitty jock friends caught him staring and called him a queer freak but that wasn't unusual.

“What the fuck, Eddie? Why do you remember that? And how are you so good at visualizing?”

He ignores the questions to move on to the next memory. Eddie's sophomore year they somehow ended up in the same Shop class. Again, they never spoke but he got to watch Steve work, tongue poking out while he concentrated, the proud look on his face when he whittled some hunk of wood into a recognisable shape.

“I forgot about that. It was a dolphin. I was dating Chelsea Hosteller, they were her favorite animal.”

“Lucky her.”

“Hey, fuck you, man, you're the one showing me this shit! What am I supposed to assume from any of this? You thought I was cute? So what? You clearly don't like who I am as a person, so what difference does it make?”

He's not going to have the patience for every single moment, and they're a lot of them, Eddie realizes that now. So he speed runs through them, making sure to send every bit of feeling through their link.

Steve in his Scoops outfit, luring Eddie to the mall but never making him brave enough to go in. The horror of not knowing whether Steve was alive or dead when he heard about the mall burning down. The joy of finding him at Family Video, somewhere he had reason to visit.

You never even talked to me there

Listening to every word to every story Henderson told him about Steve and his bravery. Pretending to be annoyed so no one noticed he was eating it up. Getting to know the real Steve over Spring Break, the giddiness he couldn't quite tamp down, even as he was scared shitless. The pain of knowing Steve was still in love with Nancy Wheeler, even though it was the obvious narrative to Steve's fairytale life. Of course he gets the girl at the end.

What? Is that why you-

The way he stuck around afterward, even though their dynamic was more antagonistic than friendly, and the way Eddie thrived off of every snarky comment. How it felt like banter even though Eddie knew, by all logic and reason, Steve was merely tolerating his presence. They would always be antithetical to each other, circling but never meeting.

Eddie, no

Steve growling ‘Do you ever shut up!’ before pouncing on him downstairs. The heavy pounding of his heart as he wrestled Steve up the stairs. The way his brain never did catch up to what was happening or why, until it was too late, and he was ruining both the greatest sex he'd ever had and also the chance to prove, though he's still completely unworthy, that he has already been primed and ready to fall for Steve for years. The shame of ruining it. The heartbreak of ruining it. The teeny, tiny spark of hope as Steve stares him down. He has to close his eyes to avoid it, lest he say something stupid and fuck it up again.

You…do like me?

Yeah, Stevie. I like you a whole lot. I just didn't think I was allowed to like you. I didn't realize you liked me too. I'm sorry I said all that shit earlier. I didn't want to tell the guy I'd just linked with that I was thoroughly enjoying the chance to sleep with this guy I'd had a crush on for years. That seemed rude

The bed dips and so does Eddie's stomach. Steve's enormous hands slide up his neck, into his hair, and gently cradle his face as he leans in to kiss Eddie square on the mouth.

Oh. Hi

Hi

This is nice

I think so too. How do you feel about finishing what we started but this time we both know that we like each other?

That sounds awesome. But are you sure? I really, really fucked up the first time

I thought you were perfect up until you called me your arch nemesis

I have been told that sometimes I'm a little dramatic

You know what, that's fair. I really should've taken that as a compliment, if anything

See? Now you get it

What I'm getting is another condom. Hold my ankle so I don't slide off the bed

You got it, baby

Unbelievable. Salvaged the wreckage of his own stupidity and managed to bag the hottest guy in town! Score one for the nerds!

“I heard that.”

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Clockwork Clown behind the cut; "way worse advantage". Standing warning for not-Kon-yet assuming that Lex intends to have sex with him despite the fact he is underage and in his custody due to a history of being taken advantage of by other adults, though this is not actually what’s happening here and Lex has both no intention of doing that and no idea that that’s what not-Kon-yet is assuming. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Lexington!” a voice calls loudly, and Superboy jerks awake all groggy and brainless and half-falls off the bed in an awkward flail and halfway-hits the floor and halfway-catches himself in the air just above it, and then manages a “hnngh?” and literally nothing more coherent than that. What? What’s–? 

TTK registers, in a flash of awareness through the hand he has on the floor and the knee he still has on the bed: he’s in a bed in a bedroom, it’s not his bed and not his bedroom, there’s somebody in the doorway and they were watching him sleep and– 

Oh, he remembers, and blinks blurrily at Luthor, who’s wearing a stupidly expensive-looking suit and an obviously bored expression.

Superboy feels a flash of embarrassment and jerks upright and doesn’t do anything as lame as cover himself up with the stupid fancy sheets Luthor’s probably planning to fuck him in, because since when does he even care who sees him naked anyway, since when has he ever cared who saw him naked– 

He wishes he’d slept in his suit, for some weird stupid reason, but like . . . that’s weird. And stupid. 

And it wouldn’t fucking matter anyway. 

“I–huh?” he manages, his stomach twisting uncomfortably, and then feels even stupider. Fuck, his eyes are all crusty and his hair’s a hot fucking mess and he’s pretty sure he was literally drooling on the pillow, and he just does not look good at all right now, he probably looks like fucking roadkill right now or just– 

“You aren’t providing me an actually usable name, so until further notice, we’ll be cycling through options,” Luthor replies dryly. “Get presentable, the stylist will be here in an hour and after that Mercy has to get you registered with the rest of the security systems.” 

“. . . huh?” Superboy repeats, like a fucking idiot or something. Luthor gives him the driest fucking look anybody’s ever given him and hasn’t even checked him out once, which–what the fuck? Was he–like, did the creep get his fill while he was still sleeping, or–? 

“Keep up, Alesdair,” Luthor says, then turns on his heel and lets the door close again as he walks away. 

Superboy stares after him in confusion, the uncomfortable twist in his gut torn between settling down or twisting up worse, and just feels so–feels like–does he look that bad? Like, to the point Luthor didn’t even want a morning blow or anything? Like–really? That’s– 

Superboy bristles, clenching his fists at his sides and yanking his hair into order and the sleep out of his eyes with his TTK and baring his teeth at the closed door as he scrubs the drool off his jaw and bites back the snarl in his throat. Fucking–what the fuck is with this negging shit? 

He knows he looks good. He looks like fucking Superman, for fuck’s sake! He–he’s not–he looks good, dammit! 

Luthor’s such a fucking pill.

[pparacxosm]

a little while before this came out i remember diya explaining the concept to me and saying she was doing something heady and charged and tashi-centric with the what am i jesus motif and i was like don’t threaten me with a good time diya and we were talking about how art donaldson fundamentally destroyed the city boys agenda and what have you and anyway

what i like about fics that centre around this particular moment in the film of tashi’s injury is that they always act as this caustic tunnel right into the hearts of we few but passionate devotees of dear ms duncan and anyyyy opportunity to see diya through what she creates is a gift to my bones

and what i can tell about diya—what i am lucky enough to know about diya, but what really shines through here—is her absolutely faultlessly earnest eye for that little thing, that true and tender thing that exists in the details like tashi duncan’s hands and the abject intimacy of speaking to one another while doing yoga, and all these other bodily things, these corporeal things, that when told alongside a grand epic, the inextricable dissonance of her charisma and physicality and vitality and uniqueness and hurt (!!) and how it all makes her everything and nothing like a divine being it’s just !!!! ugh !!!,!!!!?;)/!!

and she does it in a way that’s so easy and introspective that you’re like well of course !! what ABOUT the after !!!??! i was thinking the same thing !!

but then only diya is watching a lecture on asian religion from a frat-boy traumatised lecturer and thinking waitttt what of unexpressed worship and cats and angels? what about THAT? what about the afterrrrrr???

the absolute tashi duncan of this

the way everything snaps back to her like elastic !! it’s addictive !!!!

it reads like learning in real time

this is migrain inducingly good

and this:

absolute consensus statement from an entirely separate set of religious canon than the central one because all devotion is the same thing and there is always the god or the girl or the god AND the girl and omg

what about the after indeed..

i need to go to bed.

goddess

"what am i, jesus?" "yeah"

(tashi duncan x f!reader)

The essay is crumpled by the time you reach Tashi. 

The infirmary is a small building; plain and tucked away between some trees at the far end of campus. Simultaneously inconspicuous and irrelevant. At best an after-thought, only identifiable from the words “health center” plastered across the front. 

It’s surprising you didn’t miss it, and you can’t help but feel indignant at the fact that this is where they brought her. But the feeling is quickly washed away with the growing sense of dread that gnaws at your chest. 

Abruptly, you’re hit with the idea that you’d walk in to not find her at all. That there would be no sign of her existence within those four walls. It’s illogical and unfounded, but the thought lingers as you force yourself to the door.

You have a faint memory of meeting Tashi. A blurry recollection of bumping into her at the dining hall and a vague outline of the conversation that followed. The only thing you actually remember are noticing her hands.

It wasn’t anything physical about them that drew your attention. You couldn’t care less about how they actually looked, you were captivated by her movement. Instinctive yet deliberate. As if every action was simultaneously spontaneous and methodical. A dichotomy that gave each motion an innate intensity. A power hidden in the folds of the universe, which only she could reach. 

You didn’t have to watch Tashi play to know she’s special, you just had to watch her hands. 

You knew that from that first moment alone. 

The rubber soles of your sneakers squeak against the tiles as you walk into the room, your breath coming out in short little pants from the run. Your hands flex against the papers in your hands, as a breath of relief slips out upon seeing her. 

Tashi sits on the cot, eyebrows knitted pensively with a frown staring at the brick wall in front of her. Her arms are crossed against her chest, heaving in a melancholic rhythm. For a moment you expect her to scream on the top of her lungs or burst out crying, but she remains stoic.

Her knee is wrapped in what looks to be yards of gauze that is blinding under the overhead fluorescent lights. It beckons your attention with its unsettling glow and you drift to it’s call, your vision flooded with white. 

In the periphery of your view you see a tan movement, followed by the noise of a soft shuffle. Your eyes instantly dart back up to Tashi to see that she is already looking at you, her eyes slightly red and swollen.

Your heart drops. 

You want to carve your knee from its socket with your bare hands and leave it beside her. Give it to her as a replacement. If you could, you’d do it. Maybe give her your whole leg if that is what she wanted. It’s not even a question.   

You told Tashi you’d be late earlier in the week, during one of your yoga sessions. An important part of her routine she roped you into. And while you had no real interest in yoga, you also had no interest in ever denying her. Struggling through asanas was unimportant.

“He said he wanted me to stay a bit after class to talk about my paper,” you explained, voice somewhat strained from holding your breath and hands slightly trembling from trying to keep yourself in downward dog. 

She came down onto the mat beside you, releasing the position into a sitting one. Her hands moved to your waist, gently coaxing you into the proper formation and you exhaled instantly at the contact. “He didn’t say about what?” she questioned absently, preoccupied with your pose.

Your professor had a tendency to be vague via email, one of those people who never truly started trusting the internet. As a result his emails were brief and unintentionally ominous. This one simply read: 

Hello,  Please stay after next class to talk about your mid-semester paper.  Sincerely,  Professor Thatcher

“Just that he wanted to talk about my paper” you responded as her hands moved away from your body, a sense of loss pooling in your stomach. “I’ll just be a bit late to your game,” you frowned, coming down onto your own mat to sit beside her. 

Tashi shrugged, as she moved her foot to rest on the opposite thigh. “You’ll come after?” she said, adjusting her other leg in the same way, settling into the lotus pose. 

“Of course,” you responded without thought, and caught her eyes flick up to yours with a half smirk on her lips before falling back to your lap. Her hands reach towards you and she begins to move your legs as well.

“What class is it again?” she asked, also contorting you into a lotus. A futile effort, although that doesn’t deter her. 

“Asian religions"

She hummed, getting you halfway into the pose. Her gaze pulled away from your lap back up to your face with the same half-smirk. “I swear you do more for this elective than any other class,” she remarks amused.

“Who realized religion is complex?” you sarcastically retorted, a smirk on your own lips now. She laughed in response and little wrinkles formed at the edge of her eyes, the sight turning your smirk into a soft smile. It dipped to a frown as soon as you remembered what the conversation was about in the first place.

You were flippant with routine. Always eager to skip a class and never the one to follow your parents to mass every weekend. But you were always consistent with her games. Routine was only mundane without her.

Tashi’s hand reached to push a lock of hair behind your ears. “It’s only one match,” she whispered looking into your mind. You took in a deep breath and met her gentle eyes, the disappointment morphing into a knot in your chest. The sense of dread lingered as she smiled softly. “How interesting can playing Pepperdine be anyway?” 

The dramatic irony isn’t lost on you, it’s just too tragic to acknowledge. 

You should have taken the knot in your chest as a premonition. 

Her hands tremble. A small, involuntary motion that makes you feel ill. 

You’re seated across from where Tashi is on the cot. You ache to be closer, but the only seat next to her is already occupied by Art. Somehow having wormed his way into a place he doesn’t deserve. 

Like always, his presence and proximity bother you, but there is also a small joy in the fact that it is only Art. Tashi had told you Patrick was visiting for the game, but at the moment was nowhere to be seen. You don’t ask about him either, not one to question small blessings.

Only the sound of breathing fills the poky space. Art is watching you, probably as vexed by your presence as you of his.

(Sometimes you wonder if all the Apostles quietly despised each other as well. You’d understand why.)

You don’t have to turn to already see the impassive expression on his face, so your eyes remain glued to Tashi’s hands. Watching the little erratic tremors as you bit back nausea. There is no fluidity to the uncontrolled movement. It’s just hollow. 

“What’d he say?” Tashi suddenly asks, breaking the unnerving silence. There is an inflection in her voice which is both bitter and pained, an aftertaste of the day’s events. There is nothing to indicate the tone is directed towards you, but you flinch anyway. 

“Huh?” you mumble, not having processed her words. 

“Your professor,” she starts with an exhale. “What’d he say about your paper?” 

Your eyes dart down to the wrinkled papers on your lap, thumb pressing down on one specific crinkle in the vain attempt to straighten it. It feels insignificant. The essay. The professor. Pointless to even think about, much less discuss. 

When you look back up, you see Tashi is looking at you with a desperate wide-eyed interest. She bites the inside of her cheek in unsettled anticipation and it dawns on you that she is trying to fill the room with something besides the obvious torment. Without much of a thought, you murmur “Something about nuance.” 

“Nuance?” she questions, a vain attempt to continue the conversation. 

You nod in response. The interaction is blurry, the moment charged with the desire to leave the game and the memory clouded with the panic of finding out about the injury once you did. But you remember him mentioning nuance. “He told me I needed to be more nuanced,” you repeat, with another small nod in her direction. 

“What was the paper on?” Art asks, also picking up on her need for a distraction. 

You swallow, pushing some hair back from your face, “the living goddesses of Nepal.” 

Kumari was the actual term. A connection between humanity and the divine was how Professor Thatcher described them. “An incarnation of the celestial for a few years,” he said in lecture, although you didn’t catch anything after that. Drifting off by then, your mind already thinking of someone else. 

You’re grateful that Art doesn’t probe on why you chose the topic. Although, you’re sure he would have understood.

You think anyone who knew Tashi would. 

You told her once. 

“You’re like god,” you whispered to her drunk in the living room of Kappa something, too drunk from whatever concoction made by the frat brothers for their Halloween party. You were dressed as a cat, fallen to the ground while dancing inebriated, and clinging onto the soft, white fabric of Tashi’s angel costume as she tried to help you stand. You looked up to her, blinded by the flashing lights of the room and her radiance, and whispered those three words like a prayer. 

She had no verbal response, just pulling you up with a small smile and soft laugh. Her hands moved from your arms to your cheeks, gently cupping your face and tilting it.

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

The infirmary has settled into another, heavier silence. There is no sound loud enough to fill the space. None of you try. 

Her hands still tremble. 

The paramedics arrive eventually, whisking Tashi off to a proper hospital for examination. You take the name of where she’s gone and walk to your dorm, using your essay as a stressball as you plan on how to visit her the next morning.

A wave of exhaustion hits you the minute you cross the threshold into the room, and you walk straight to the bed. The tiredness sinks into your bones when you sit down. The day's events smothering you at once as your fingers play with the corner of the page.

You look down at the shriveled papers in your hand and take your first proper look at it all night. Red pen scribbled all throughout, little notes on grammar and word choice, but at the heading in all caps is written WHAT ABOUT THE AFTER?

Oh right. That’s what he said.

“It’s an informative paper, just…” Professor Thatcher started when you went up to him after class. His voice trailed off as he debated the right word, finally deciding, “just a stale one.” 

“Stale?”

“You lack nuance,” he clarified, with a flick of his wrist, looking back down to the red marking on the paper.

Your eyes darted to the clock on the wall and then back to him. “I mean…how much nuance is there…” you said with a forced smile, a weak attempt at a joke to resolve the conversation and leave for the game.

If he noticed the attempt, he made no comment. “You don’t consider the after,” he remarks, looking back up to you. His eyes narrowed as you snuck another look at the clock. 

“The after?”

“Yes,” he reiterated. “The after.”

“What... after?” you asked, eyes flicking to the clock once again.

“Well you mention how they lose their status after puberty, but don’t actually talk about their life…sans godhood,” he explained, watching you carefully. Daring you to look back at the clock.

You weren’t present enough in the moment to process what he was saying, but felt the need to defend your work anyway. “Well..when you’re worshiped like that…i don’t think you can just let it go…it’s what everyone knows you for”

“Exactly.”

You waited for him to say more, but were only left with an awkward silence. Your eyes darted to the clock once more, and heard a scoff like noise from his direction. He pushed paper into your hands and with a hint of irritation said, “Just re-write it based on the feedback I wrote. Give it back to me next week.”

You left the next second without a second thought.

WHAT ABOUT THE AFTER?

The words are a taunt.

You put the paper down on the bedside table and let your exhaustion carry you to sleep.

The hospital is a bus-ride away from campus. You’re on it by the time the sun starts to rise, trying pointlessly to distract yourself with the sky’s pinkish hues. 

It’s a large hospital, but it doesn’t take much to find Tashi. You tell the lady at the front desk her name, and her face flashes with recognition. She points you in the direction to go and sends you off. 

Three minutes and an elevator ride later, you stand in front of her hospital room. You knock on the door out of courtesy, but quickly push yourself in, unable to handle the distance anymore. 

Tashi is laying on the hospital bed looking out the window. There are dark circles around her eyes and her lips a fine straight line. Her head shifts to acknowledge your presence, before she turns back to the window. 

You don’t move a muscle. 

Your mind goes back to when she kissed your forehead at the Halloween party. She spun you after that, dancing to the music with her in your arms. You clung onto her to keep yourself upright. 

If it wasn’t for her, you would have fallen. 

“They took a couple x-rays” she begins, finally breaking the trepid silence of the room with a low, solemn voice. She looks away from the window in your direction, without properly looking at you. 

You inhale apprehensively, swallowing slowly before you speak. “Yeah?” The question you can't bring yourself to ask lingers in the air.

She turns back to the window, watching the sun finally reaching its rightful place in the sky. Her eyes go distant and you wait for the words you fear. 

“They said I might not play again,” she whispers, eyes still on the sun. Her finger imperceptibly pulls at the sheet on the bed. Your focus is on the subtle motion, watching the way she pinches it between her thumb and index. “I might never play again,” she repeats, her voice louder as if properly hearing herself for the first time. Her brows furrow as she confronts the possibility, trying to reconcile it with everything she’s known.   

Her hands move to push back her hair in a swift, intuitive motion.

“It doesn’t change anything.” 

She lets out a shaky, humorless laugh, before turning to face you. This time your eyes lock and she gives you a small, sad smile. 

She knows what you mean. 

You both know it’s true.

authors note: about a month ago in the midst of Navaratri a frat boy ran into my friend's "Religions of Asia" class and rolled down the lecture hall as if acting out the "Jack and Jill" nursery rhyme. the incident was so off-putting to the professor he decided to turn the entire class virtual from that point on. as a result, my friend now plays his lecture videos while we eat together each Wednesday and this idea was conceived during one of those lunches (so thank you frat guy ig?). this is more experimental than anything else i've written, so i am very curious to know what you all think. i hope you enjoyed it, or at least understood what I was trying to say lol

art credit: taken from the French poster for Satyajit Ray’s Devi

[marsdql]

Skating on thin ice

♡ 𝒥 — [ 양정원 ] ⊹₊⟡⋆ jungwon ── .✦ f!reader ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ . . . 𝒲𝒸 2.1𝒦

──── eyes full of 𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈, we walk past eachother, pretending there’s no 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒸𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 . . . { a lot of teasing, frenemies to lovers, fluff, crack, low self esteem, highschool drama, romance, bullying, self doubt, light angst? }

────୨ৎ────

“Y/n, I swear if I have to ask you to finish your homework once more, your phone will be on the side of the road!” Your mother yelled from across the kitchen.

Highschool has been on your back this year, everything becoming more and more difficult as the days fly by. You were never a math girl—science, sure. But math? Never. Definitely your worst subject. Nothing really ever made sense, well sometimes it did, but only in budget related stuff—of course you were only good in budgeting, shopping addict.

To make things better—Yang Jungwon, a boy who transferred just a year ago, would always pick on you for your math grades each time he’d see your note from the corner of his nosey eye. If you knew better, you’d make fun of him too—his science grade was trashy, while yours were always colourful.

He never meant any harm from it, he only does it because of the time you humiliated him in PE class when you got higher than him in the beep test, infront of all of his friends who were watching from outside your gym class. Although, your sensitive self cannot handle any insults towards your grades—especially when you’re trying all you’ve got—and still getting so low.

“Another 5? Comon now y/nnie, we’re IB students! You shouldn’t be getting this low now… didn’t you want to become a doctor?” Jungwon whispered in your ear from behind. You quickly yanked his head from your shoulder, making him jump back into place onto his seat behind you. ‘Do you ever get tired of making fun of me? Go focus on your own things.’ ‘I can’t focus on my own things when you have too many flaws…’ he said as he gave you a wink and plopped a lolly into his mouth.

As you were walking to the bus to go home, you were stopped again—by jungwon. “What do you want now, jungwon?” You said in an annoyed tone. “Hey, what’s with the attitude… I’m not here to say anything mean, unfortunately. My friend Sunghoon told me to ask you if you did ice skating, he said he saw your instagram profile and you had something about it in your bio” You were obsessed with figure skating, you claimed that you knew how to skate—when in reality, you fell the last time you tried it and now too scared to try it again. Yet, you still had it in your bio and made it seem as if you were a skater…

As a child, you didn’t do much sports like most people. You wanted to do taekwondo—too boyish for your parents. You wanted to do basketball—lost passion for it after 4th grade. You did gymnastics/dance—wasn’t as flexible as your other friends and got discouraged, slowly growing out of it. Now as a teenager, you felt the need to know a sport, but you knew that it’s only good to be actually amazing at a sport if you started it when you were young.

You went to a sports school and you were one of the only ones who never tried out for anything, too scared of people being better than you because of them doing the sports from a young age. —— “Y/n? Hello? Are you even listening to me? You loser… why are you zoning out at this time? Don’t make me scare you out of it!” Yelped the boy right next to you. “No! Okay? Get out of my face jungwon! I don’t know what you’re saying but whatever it is, no!” You forgot what he even said—too lost in thought to care. It was your stop so you had to hop off anyway.

Days pass by, it’s depressing during winter, nothing to do, especially on Christmas break. Suddenly, a loud, aggressive knock on your door catches your attention. Coming from behind it, “y/n! Y/n! Comon! I know you’re there, I can hear your grumpy sighs from here!”

As you opened the door, you were welcomed by his huge smile—jungwon’s. “Now, what on Earth are you doing here? Is it to tell my mom that-“ as you were about to finish your sentence, you spot your mom and another woman—who seems to be jungwon’s mother—walk from the driveway to your front door.

“Y/n, please welcome our guests with respect and go get the kettle ready. Now miss Yang, what do you prefer? Tea or coffee?” Said your mother before you were even able to process what was happening.

Jungwon stared at you with the biggest grin on his face—as if he planned this from the start. He stayed behind you in your house as you walked towards your kitchen, being the good daughter you are and doing what your mother telling you to do.

“Okay, so, care to tell me what you’re doing here? Did you convince your mother to become friends with mine so that you could annoy me in my own house aswell?” You asked him, avoiding eye contact at all costs—because the last thing you needed, was to add something on his list of “things to hate on y/n”.

As you turned on the kettle, filling it up with water, he responded with a more serious tone than usual “no seriously this time, they saw eachother at the supermarket near our school and recognized eachother from social media.. I didn’t believe it either when I saw my mom pull into your drive way.” How did he even know it was your house.. “and don’t ask me how I know it’s your house, you practically run off the bus and make it to your door before it can even driving.”

As Jungwon sat at the kitchen table, his usual smirk returned. “Anyway, back to the real question. Do you ice skate or not? Sunghoon won’t stop bugging me about it.”

You sighed, suddenly regretting every choice that led to you putting “figure skater enthusiast” in your Instagram bio. Avoiding his gaze, you muttered, “No, I don’t actually ice skate.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows shot up, his teasing grin reappearing. “Wait—what? But your bio—”

“I know, okay?” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively. “I just… I like watching figure skating, and I wanted to seem interesting, okay? People who are good at sports always seem so… cool. And I’m not good at anything.”

His grin faded, replaced by an unusually soft expression. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re good at plenty of things.”

You scoffed. “Name one.”

He leaned back, pretending to think. “Well, for starters, you’re great at making me laugh. Even when you’re mad. And you crushed me in that beep test, remember?”

“That doesn’t count,” you muttered, though your lips twitched upward. “I’m still not good at sports. Or anything else, really.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Stop putting yourself down, y/n. You’re good at science, better than I’ll ever be. And honestly? Half the school’s scared of your sarcastic comebacks. That’s a skill.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Right. Sarcasm queen—what a talent.”

“Hey, it’s better than lying in your Instagram bio,” he shot back, smirking again. “But seriously, if you want to learn to ice skate, I can ask Sunghoon to help. He’s a pro.”

Your face flushed. “No way. That’s way too embarrassing.”

Jungwon leaned closer, a teasing glint in his eye. “What, afraid he’ll fall for you when he sees how graceful you are on the ice?”

“Shut up, Jungwon!” you said, shoving his shoulder, though you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

“Fine, fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But for the record, you don’t have to be good at sports to be cool. And you definitely don’t need a fake bio to impress anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity. “Thanks, Jungwon.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, popping another lolly into his mouth. “Just don’t expect me to stop teasing you anytime soon. That’s what friends are for.”

Friends? The word lingered in your mind, leaving a strange warmth in its wake. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so bad after all.

As the days went on, Jungwon started acting… differently. It wasn’t immediate, but you noticed. The sharp teasing comments he usually threw your way softened, replaced by subtle jokes that didn’t sting as much. He even started helping you with your math homework after class, though he made it clear it was only because he “couldn’t stand watching you struggle so much.”

You weren’t sure what to make of it. Was this some elaborate scheme to catch you off guard? Or had he genuinely decided to be nice? Either way, you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by how much time he suddenly spent around you.

It was late on a snowy Thursday afternoon when it happened. You were sitting on a bench outside the school, waiting for the bus. The air was crisp, your breath visible as you tucked your hands into your coat pockets. Jungwon appeared out of nowhere, plopping down next to you, his usual lolly in his mouth.

“Waiting for the bus again? You know, one day you’re going to freeze to death out here,” he said, nudging you with his elbow.

“Thanks for the concern,” you replied dryly, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You look tired.”

“Wow, such a compliment,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Long day, that’s all.”

“Bet you’re overthinking something again,” he said casually, leaning back on the bench.

You hesitated. “Maybe. You’re being weirdly nice lately, and I don’t know why. It’s kind of throwing me off.”

Jungwon glanced at you, his expression unreadable for once. “Weirdly nice? Wow, thanks. I didn’t realize I was such a villain before.”

“You kind of were,” you teased, though your voice was quieter this time. “But seriously. Why are you being… like this? Did you get bored of making fun of me or something?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re so dense sometimes, y/n.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, frowning.

He turned to face you fully, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something softer—something you couldn’t quite place. “It means… maybe I just like spending time with you. Maybe I like seeing that little smile you try to hide when you think I’m being funny. And maybe I realized I didn’t want you to think I only know how to annoy you.”

Your heart stuttered. For a second, you forgot how to breathe. “Jungwon… what are you saying?”

He sighed, his breath fogging up in the cold air. “I’m saying.. just, never mind—see you later y/n!” were the last thing he said before he left—your bus arriving at the same time.

t . . . b . . . c . . .

[nebulatrifid]

My analysis of Viktor and Sky in Arcane:

I do think Viktor and Sky were acquaintances however they weren't really close. You see this in the flashback where Viktor is playing with his boat as a child. Sky looks down at him but doesn't join him, and instead goes to play with other kids. They did grow up together though, knew each other, but essentially have the same relationship you do with the other people in your highschool graduating class.

This relationship is still something though and is why Viktor helped Sky get a job as his lab assistant. Viktor is definitely portrayed as an introvert in the show and while he probably made small talk with Sky, said hello, asked how her day was going, ect, their relationship was never anything more than coworkers. This is reinforced by him referring to her as "Ms. Young" rather than Sky. During the Progress Day Presentation, Sky also walks in with Jayce but doesn't say anything to Viktor.

After her death, Viktor feels upset and rightfully so. He is the reason she is dead. Viktor is a human being and any human would feel incredibly guilty about what happened. He does take the time to read over her notes and realized firstly that Sky thought they were a lot closer than he did. This makes Viktor feel even more guilty because they worked together for seven years, he should have made more of an effort to get to know her, but he didn't. Viktor also realizes that him and Sky would have gotten along if he knew her better, and maybe even sees part of himself in her (he didn't want to spend the rest of his life as an assistant, Sky probably didn't either).

After leaving Jayce and becoming Jesus, either Viktor or the Arcane creates the version of Sky we see in Act 2 to help him process his grief. The Sky we see is shown to be forgiving of Viktor and supportive of his actions. Their conversations are based on Viktor's perception of her from her notes, and I do think the Arcane also influences this hallucination to guide Viktor along. This is supported by Sky telling Viktor he shouldn't try and heal Vander. She also seems to be assuring Viktor that what he is doing is correct.

In order for Viktor to fully evolve though, he needs to get rid of his humanity. This involves releasing the version of Sky he created since she existed to help him process his guilt. When she says "no you won't" she is reminding Viktor that she is a creation of his human emotions, and that she wasn't the real Sky. Viktor won't miss her because she was talking to himself.

Finally, there are a lot of mirrors in Arcane. If Viktor and Sky weren't close, Sky probably invented a version of Viktor that she fell in love with. Viktor then later created a version of her that he became friends with. I don't think Viktor has any romantic feelings for Sky (this is kind of confirmed by the show creators).

Anyways yeah that's my theory. I feel like Arcane left a lot unsaid and this kind of strings together a lot of the loose threads with Viktor and Sky's character. I wish we got to see more of Sky, but she hardly had any screen time. I also wish we got more of an explanation as to what the purpose of her season 2 character was. I kept expecting them to do some big reveal but she kind of just disappeared and nothing more was said. I personally don't think season 2 Sky was the real Sky, her character just didn't seem consistent with how she acted in season 1.

[hsnlv]

“all mine.” (altered) | s.jy

pairing: boyfriend!jake x fem!reader

synopsis: a moment of doubt clouds your mind, but jake’s gentle touch and heartfelt words remind you just how loved and perfect you truly are in his eyes.

warnings/others: insecurity, jake is sickeningly sweet in this one :(

wc: 1.04k

a/n: as written, this is actually my old work that i decided to re-write! i hope this will give you comfort like it does to me <3 reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!! happy reading my loves🎀 here’s my masterlist!

🎧now playing!🎧: take you there- h.e.r

“c’mere,” jake pats his lap with that playful grin you can never resist, the one that makes your heart do flips. his voice is soft but teasing, like he’s already expecting you to curl up in his arms. it’s your spot—his lap, his warmth, his everything. it’s where you feel safest, where you always feel loved.

but today, you hesitate. something in you feels… different. heavier. you glance down at your thighs, your stomach, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror out of the corner of your eye. it’s silly, really. you know it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but the thought sneaks in anyway.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, staying rooted in place. your arms fold over your stomach as you avoid his gaze, hoping he won’t push.

but he’s jake.

he notices everything.

his teasing smile fades just a little, replaced with that soft, tender look he gets when he knows you’re feeling off.

“baby,” he says, his voice gentle as he scoots closer. his arms reach for you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, trying to brush it off. “nothing. just tired.”

“hmm.” he doesn’t buy it. not for a second. instead, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin as he murmurs, “tired of what, hmm? me? ‘cause if that’s the case, you’re breaking my heart here.”

you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, though you try to smother it. “jake…”

“there she is,” he teases, pulling back just enough to look at you. his fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “there’s my girl. now, are you gonna tell me what’s really going on? or do i have to guess?”

you hesitate again, biting your lip, but the way he’s looking at you… like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. it’s too much.

“i don’t know,” you finally mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i feel… different today.”

his brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face for a moment before realization dawns.

“oh,” he breathes out, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “it’s one of those days, huh?”

you nod, feeling a little silly now. “yeah.”

jake sighs, but not in frustration. it’s that soft, loving sigh he does when he’s about to say something that’ll make your heart melt.

“baby,” he starts, pulling you closer until you’re practically sitting in his lap, your legs draped over his. his hands settle on your waist, holding you like you’re something precious. “you know none of that stuff matters to me, right? like… at all. i don’t care if you think you feel different or look different. to me, you’re always gonna be my favorite person.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not!” he insists, looking mock-offended. “do you want me to prove it? i’ll prove it. actually—hold on.”

before you can stop him, he’s reaching for his phone, typing furiously with one hand while the other keeps you firmly in place. a second later, he holds up the screen.

“you’re literally the prettiest person i’ve ever seen and i will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“there,” he declares proudly. “proof. now you can’t argue with me.”

you snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re gorgeous,” he counters, his voice dropping to that soft, serious tone that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

his hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing gently. “see these? i love these. and this?” he taps your nose lightly, grinning when you scrunch it up. “adorable. and don’t even get me started on your smile. do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on anything when you’re smiling at me?”

“jake…” you mumble, your face heating up as you try to hide your grin.

“nope. not done,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “this face? my favorite. this laugh?” he pokes your side, earning a giggle. “even better. and don’t even think about arguing with me, because i’ll just keep going until you agree.”

you laugh again, the sound light and genuine this time, and jake’s smile grows even wider.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice warm and full of adoration. “that’s my girl.”

he leans down, guiding you gently onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he peppers kisses across your face.

“mine,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“all mine,” he adds, brushing his lips against your nose.

“the most perfect girl in the whole world,” he finishes, punctuating his words with a kiss to your lips.

you can’t help but giggle. “jake.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours while his face is plastered with that stupidly handsome boyish grin he has always had.

“you make it really hard to stay upset, you know that?”

his lips twitch into a smile. “good. that’s kind of the point.”

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your features like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. “it’s actually unreal.”

“stop,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up again.

“never,” he replies, grinning as he leans down to press kisses all over your face. each kiss sends a flutter through your chest, the warmth of his lips chasing away the lingering insecurities in your mind.

“you’re impossible,” you manage through a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“and you’re perfect,” he counters, his voice soft and earnest.

his hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

it’s in the way he says it—like it’s not just a compliment, but a promise. and for the first time all day, you feel the weight of your doubts start to lift.

wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and love, you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[cinnamonest]

Anon at literally any given moment my brain is consumed with thoughts of Goro, I have so many Goro concepts that gnaw at my mind at all times

One specific one though is a PhantomThief!Darling.

One of his classmates, perhaps, even though you don’t see him that much given his frequent absences, or someone he met through his ventures in the entertainment industry. Someone he managed to get close to, was able to talk to him enough that he opened up to you, and as much as it frustrates him to acknowledge even just to himself, he has an emotional attachment.

Regardless, his beloved darling, the one person that brings him some semblance of joy and comfort in his life, the one person he allows himself to feel genuine affection for, who doesn't get pushed back to arm's length like everyone else. And thereby, someone he's vulnerable to, someone he trusts, someone he holds dear, even if he hasn't been honest with you about the full extent of those feelings.

That’s why it makes him so angry, when he finds out.

The first time, it catches him so off-guard, the whole composed presentation he usually carefully maintains, completely slips off for a second, leaving him stunned and slack-jawed.

He was going to meet you, you know, to catch up, and you gladly accepted that. You said something about how you felt guilty for taking up his time — it’s admittedly quite comforting, being able to read between the lines, knowing you see yourself as below him in status and likely feel grateful that someone like him would give you time and attention.

So to round the corner and see you smiling and laughing and talking to someone, the way his eyes casually travel over to see exactly who you’re facing, who you’re talking with so happily — he freezes mid-step, shoulders tensing up, smile dropping in an instant, the second he lays eyes on that godforsaken pair of big glasses and frizzy hair.

He recovers before you actually spot him, but you still notice tension in his voice and posture nonetheless — you can dismiss it as simply a rough day, maybe.

I wasn’t aware the two of you even knew each other. Small world, isn’t it?

You say you just happened to run into the guy while waiting. What a coincidence.

And Joker doesn’t linger either, he seems to recognize the awkward atmosphere, makes a quick exit with a nod and a farewell of assurance that he’ll see you both later, a statement that makes Goro bite his tongue.

It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to delve into endless questions on the exact circumstances and details of your relationship with him. He tries to tell himself he’s better off not knowing the details — anything you tell him will only keep him up all night, playing out visuals in his head. Even as it is, he knows that the image of you smiling like that will linger in his head for weeks on end, every second of remembrance filling his gut with a pit of bitter irritation.

It feels pathetic. It is pathetic, and he knows it. That only makes it that much worse, the sense of shame and embarrassment weighing down like an anchor in his chest, a burning, discomforting sensation.

But he refrains. Keeps the evening as normal as possible, tries to pretend as if he saw nothing, as if the interaction didn’t happen, he fights the urge and fights the urge and in the end, it comes spilling out anyway, so awkwardly and ill-timed that he has to resist the urge to slam his head into the wall right there out of self-directed frustration.

By the way, how exactly do you two know each other…?

It was a question he was better off not asking. You first need clarification of who he’s referring to — dammit, it’s been so long it wasn’t clear, and does that make it obvious that it’s been bothering him all evening…? — and even then, your answer is dodgy, avoidant, vague.

He doesn’t like the implications of that.

Why do you not want him to know? What specifically are you avoiding telling him? There’s only really two possibilities — either you’re fucking the guy and the truth would make that fact obvious, or you know, and the real story would explain exactly how.

And if you know, that might just mean you’re involved.

He’s not sure which possibility makes his stomach churn worse.

He has enough self-control to not make his suspicions too obvious, to let the matter go and not press further. It’s not until another conversation, another day, that he brings up the matter more directly, finding a convenient avenue to bring up the matter via a trail of conversation about his work.

By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you… what are your feelings on the Phantom Thieves?

You give an answer that’s overall disapproving. Just complex enough to lend you a sense of intellectualism, but overall well-aligned with his own public statements.

A little too well, actually.

Like you’re just telling him what you think he wants to hear.

He grinds his teeth and beneath the table his fingers curl and dig into his thigh, but his pleasant smile doesn’t falter.

The suspicion that you’re not being fully transparent with him eats away at him. It keeps him awake all night, that night.

He doesn’t tell you about the second time he sees you together. That time, it’s by coincidence that you manage to cross paths, and he manages to go unnoticed — watching as you converse with the whole group of them together. You seem awfully comfortable with them. Like you’re used to being a part of this group. Like you've interacted with the lot of them many times before.

It makes his skin crawl. It makes his mind race with questions. It makes his thoughts drift to unpleasant things.

But he’s only finally vindicated within the metaverse itself. Once he actually, finally sees it with his own eyes, stalking behind the band of thieves, and lo and behold, there you are.

It feels so damn satisfying to be right, to have that vindication, that sort of I-knew-it rush of euphoria — and at the same time, the absolute rage is practically blinding, all-consuming. He’s left standing still, watching, blood running cold through his veins.

Look at you. Jumping all around, fighting shadows, complete with a fitting little outfit and all. It’s endearing, adorable even.

It makes him feel sick.

He’s known you longer. He’s done a lot for you in the past. And the thanks he gets from you is total betrayal. Allying yourself with the people working against him, knowingly, knowing how he feels about it, knowing it’s working against him directly — and you still have the audacity to see him regularly, to lie to him, to pretend like you’re on his side of things. You're actively deceiving him, and fully content with doing so.

The bitterness and spite that wells up in his chest is petulant, and he knows that. That makes the myriad of emotions that much more frustrating — to feel such unadulterated rage, yet that anger itself is embarrassing, makes him feel humiliated just to acknowledge his own feelings — and that intensifies the rage itself because it's your fault he feels that way, a self-perpetuating cycle of negativity.

And moreover, as childish as the thought feels, he can't help but succumb to the bitterness of the notion that you essentially have chosen them over him.

Is it merely ideological? Is that it? You just truly believe in their cause? Do you just like them more? Did he do something to lose favor with you? Did you never care for him that much at all? Is it circumstantial, they helped you and now you're helping them? And if that's it, why did it have to be the Phantom Thieves that helped you? Why didn't you go to him?

Why?

But all that restraint and self-control he exercises so perfectly externally takes a lot of effort. Internally, he gives in quite easily to letting his mind wander.

It’s so easy to cave to the fury, let himself be consumed by hateful thoughts and fantasies of vengeance, even the darkest and most petulant ones.

He’s always planned on killing them. He could make you watch. He knows he couldn't bring himself to kill you, but maybe he could make you think he's going to. Or he could threaten to turn you in, make you face the possibility of prison time. It would be satisfying, to see the fear etched onto your face. To see you grovel at his feet.

And if he gave you the choice — would you choose him, or to die with them? Would you betray them for him, if it meant being spared? Would you help him achieve his own goals, if it came down to it?

Maybe you'd say you’re sorry. Maybe you'd cry. He thinks he'd like that.

In fact, the more he thinks it through, the more it comes together, the more plausible it seems.

It will be easy. Just give him some time, and he'll ensure the circumstances work out perfectly to give him the opportunity to execute his fantasies down to the exact details.

And maybe if you beg for it, he can even forgive you, too.