#should i turn this into a full fic????

[pollenallergie]

ok ok ok so

the year is 1987, it’s your second semester of your freshman year at college, and you’re super fucking nervous about taking chem 101 because 1) you haven’t taken chem since you were like a tiny little bitty bopper in high school and 2) the last time you took chem, you totally sucked ass at it.

so on the first day you’re like praying to god that the professor will let you guys work in pairs and by some miracle, he does.

here comes the hard part:

who do you pair up with??

you lock eyes with the girl at the lab station next to yours. she’s a cute, tiny, strawberry blonde with a blue scrunchie in her hair that perfectly matches the blue of her eyes. it’s 7 o’clock in the morning, so, she’s fresh-faced with not a lick or makeup on. however, if you had to guess, you’d probably say when she does wear makeup she tends to stick to the pretty baby blues and pinks. she looks like every popular girl from your old high school, but somehow prettier, with kinder eyes and a warmer smile. you think there’s no way in hell she’s gonna pick you as her lab partner, so you quickly avert your eyes and resume your search of the laboratory for a potential partner.

however, your search is swiftly interrupted by the sound of a soft, sweet, timid voice call out your name. your eyes quickly flit back to the girl on your left only to find her looking at you expectantly, albeit a little shyly.

“that is your name, right? it’s, um, it’s written on your notebook,” she says, pointing to the lab notebook you’ve set out on your station.

“y-yeah,” you stutter back. you response earns you a sweet smile from her, she seems oddly reassured by how nervous you are.

“i’m chrissy,” the strawberry blonde introduces herself timidly, as she holds her dainty hand out for you to shake.

you accept her hand, shaking it quickly, nervously, before dropping it in favor of picking at your own cuticles. “nice to meet you,” you respond simply, though not unkindly, as you muster up a small smile to offer her.

“do you want to be my partner?” chrissy asks.

“me?” you reply dumbly, mentally berating yourself for being so awkward.

“yeah,” she responds with an easy chuckle. “i noticed you already have all your stuff set out,” chrissy clarifies as she gestures towards the goggles, lab notebook, calculator, and two number two pencils you have set out neatly at your station. she continues, “i like having a partner who’s as prepared as me; shows you’re going to take this course seriously.”

“yeah, y-yeah, definitely,” you stutter, “i, um, i’m majoring in biology so i kinda really need to pass this class.”

“really?” chrissy asks, perking up excitedly. “i’m a bio major too!” she explains giddily. “are you premed?” she asks.

“no, no. i wish had the brains for that, but, um, i actually prefer environmental sciences,” you reply. somehow the smile on her face only gets brighter.

“me too!” she all but cheers. “are you taking principles of biology this semester?”

“yeah, i’m on my second semester of it. i have professor hughes,” you reply.

“so do i! i’m in her 3 o’clock class!” chrissy says excitedly as she unthinkingly reaches forward gently grasp your arm, unable to contain her joy; you think she’s somewhat like a golden retriever in the regard, especially given her luscious strawberry blonde locks. she blushes when she notices how forward she’s been, murmuring out a quiet “sorry,” as she releases her featherlight hold on you.

as if to placate her, you smile at her brightly, her excitement serving as a balm for your nerves.

“unfortunately i have her at 10,” you remark, “wish i would’ve signed up for her afternoon class so we could’ve been partners there too.”

chrissy’s bright smile swiftly returns at your words, any lingering shame fading away as her excitement renews.

“well, if we can’t be lab partners there too, maybe we could get together and study sometime? i’ve heard the first couples weeks of this semester focus more on viruses and bacteria, and, well, microbiology really intimidates me,” she admits.

chrissy’s offer takes you by surprise; mere moments ago you would’ve guessed that someone like her would simply turn their nose up at you and now, here she is, asking you to be her study buddy in addition to being her lab partner. maybe all the clique-y high school shit really does get left behind when you graduate.

“yeah, i’d like that,” you agree.

you don’t miss the way she blushes slightly and bites her lip before bashfully responding, “great! m-maybe we could meet at the café here on campus this friday and get a head start on studying?”

“yeah, that sounds great. i have some free time in between bio and my 1 o’clock psych class if you want to meet up around that time,” you offer.

“sure, yeah! it’s a date!”

for the rest of the week leading up to your meeting on friday, you hyperfixate on those last three words as well as the way chrissy kept sneaking glances at you during the remainder of the lab. <3

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - IX

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics gif from pinterest, wick art from pinterest, prtty sure its AI, OPs unknown lemme kno

9. and be saved

You are left starstruck and gaping, slack-jawed and weak-kneed, when Constantine finally pulls back from the absolute claiming of your mouth, his dark gaze boring into you like he either wants to fuck you, or strangle you. 

Maybe both, considering. 

“After all this, that’s what you think?” he snarls. 

A low growl reminds you both of the danger not far enough away. “And why wouldn’t she, after the way you’ve treated her, you stupid boy?” snarls Wick, his accent thickening in his anger. “Stop touching her.”

You jab a finger in the dhampir’s direction, putting yourself between them again. “This doesn’t mean you own me, buster, don’t get comfortable.” 

The dhampir grumbles deep in his chest at this, glaring blue daggers at Constantine, but he stops his stalking advance. He seems to have enough self-control to weigh the consequences of breaking his promise not to hurt the man you obviously care about (for whatever reason he cannot understand), over the rewards of the deal you made. If he is patient, he will get what he wants. That should concern you, but at the moment you have one thing on your mind. You dare to turn back to your first beau, far from happy. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you snap. 

“I told you that I like you!” 

“Are we in third grade?”

“It sure fucking feels like it!” he snarls, then starts coughing uncontrollably; horrible, racking hacks that convulse his whole body. 

You see the flash of blood on his sleeve. He is literally coughing up his lungs, and your heart breaks all over again. You try to help brace him, and he tries to hold you away. Finally fed up with his nonsense, you use your superior strength to best him, supporting him while trying to send energy to him through the bond to soothe him. 

Naturally, you find that goddammed brick wall erected between you again. You are so frustrated this time that you pound a metaphysical fist against it. At last it gives, and you push all that wonderful strength you went out in the first place to collect down the line to John. Life, for lack of a better word, and he closes his eyes as it washes through him, leaning on you heavily. 

It almost feels too good, and his relief naturally mixes with his native suspicion. He realizes he doesn’t actually remember what it feels like, to experience even the vaguest semblance of true health.   

“Shit,” he rasps, leaning against you, his face buried in your hair. 

You know they say that still waters run deep, but you still don’t understand the point of him hiding from you. Maybe there is no good reason, and maybe you’ll never truly understand. Even with your arms full of Constantine, you remain painfully aware of the lurking dhampir watching you, too close for comfort. 

What have you done?

When you draw back to look at John, the only word you can think to describe his expression is agony. In turn, you somehow feel relieved and wretched and angry, all at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper desperately. “Why couldn't you just tell me?”

“I did,” he answers, and maybe he thinks that's true, but he'd practically spoken in code and it's not your fault that you didn't understand. 

You should just tell him your side too, you reason. You've wasted so much time, and he's dying, and did you really hold back just because you were afraid he would laugh at you? You open your mouth, intending to get it out no matter what the cost, when Wick interrupts coldly, “This is very touching. But I didn’t come here to watch you two canoodle.” 

“I don’t give a fu—” 

You cut Constantine off before he can enrage the dhampir again. “He came here to help us,” you insist. “Come upstairs.”

“This asshole only knows how to help himself,” grouses the man in your arms, and you know he is glaring at Wick over your head. “I don’t trust him.” 

“Fine. Come talk to the vampire he brought us, then we can kick him out.” 

Wick snorts at that. “He can try.”

“You promised me,” you dare to remind the vampire hunter, even if there is a quaver in your voice. 

“As you promised me,” Wick counters right back, offering a mocking little bow with his hand over his heart and a heat in his eyes that involuntarily curls your toes.

Dear God. What have you gotten yourself into?

Constatine’s grip on your hip tightens to the point of bruising, had you still been human. You can hear him grinding his teeth, and you have to stop yourself from laughing or crying with exasperation. This man. Maybe you do have a screw loose. You should kick him in the balls for the way he’d treated you, but all you really want to do is wrap him up in your arms, and cloister yourselves away from the world for a very long time. 

Unfortunately, time is not something you have right now.

♰♰♰

Does the Geneva Convention apply to vampires? 

You're sure what Wick did to the vamp he’d captured is at least immoral, if not downright illegal. And yet, you know this sycophant of don Juan’s was no innocent. You find it hard to feel sorry for him.

It doesn’t take much persuasion to get the injured vamp to spill the beans. He’s already scared shitless of Wick, and adding Constantine only makes him talk faster in hope of some mercy. You doubt he’s going to get it, or maybe but only in the form of a quick death. 

He tells you all that don Juan has had a bone to pick with the High Table for years. Squabbles over power, jurisdiction, and of course, money, resenting the steep tithe he’s had to pay as a matter of course. He formulated a plan to overthrow them, by somehow involving the Son of Satan to wipe the slate clean with a new reign of Hell on Earth. With the exception, of course, that Juan continues to rule in L.A.

Constantine keeps shaking his head in disbelief, now seated at the head of the kitchen table. Wick has taken the seat at the opposite end, and you lean with your arms crossed against the sink, lowkey ready to intervene if they go after each other again. Maybe you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, but you sense the peace between them is tenuous at best no matter what Wick promised you.  

“It’s like going after a roach problem in your house with a nuclear bomb,” gripes Constantine. “What the fuck is he thinking?”

Wick shrugs. “I will kill him. You kill the demons. Problem solved.”

Constantine snorts at that. “Yeah. Easy peasy.”

“Is it not?”

“It never is with these assholes. When I deport them they return to their realm, but they don’t die. They could just keep trying, unless we really figure out what they're up to.”

“How do we do that?”

John lights a cigarette, ignoring you as you glare at him, the big idiot. He blows a cloud of smoke into the air, staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling like it holds the answer key. 

“I gotta use the chair.”

“At Midnite’s?” 

You have no idea what John’s talking about, but Wick seems to. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can you use it to find where Juan’s hiding? He’s gone to ground like the rat he is. It would save me time.” 

“Maybe. It’s…unpredictable.” 

“I might be able to find him,” you admit reluctantly, staring down at your bare feet. 

Both pairs of dark eyes turn towards you. “How?” they echo each other, almost eerily similar in that moment. 

“The last time you fed me…” you say to John, your cheeks warming with the memory. “Afterwards, I kind of…surfed around the city, while you slept. In my head, I mean. But not…” 

Wick is impressed by this, an eyebrow lifting, the corner of his mouth pulling slightly. John, however, gives you a hard look. “You just…went frolicking around on the astral plane, huh? Do you know how dangerous that can be?”

You laugh, for once more amused than miffed by John’s irritation with you. It helps, that now you’re starting to suspect it comes from a place of caring, rather than contempt. Not that you can tell through the bond now. He’s re-built his walls between you, twice as high and twice as thick as they were before. You know he has more experience with this psychic stuff than you do, but it seems unfair. 

“Well, I did it, and I found Juan. He felt it too. He hit me with something. It woke you up.”

“Yeah. I remember that.” 

You shrug. “I could probably do it again.”

John ashes his cigarette with a flick into an overflowing dish, staring at the reflection in the green glass. “It took a little more than blood to invoke power like that.” Your ears feel like they’re on fire, and how ridiculous is it, that even undead you still can blush?

You dare to meet his eyes, and find a matching warmth therein. It’s his only tell.

“I can give you blood, malyshka,” offers Wick, breaking the heavy silence in the kitchen. “And whatever else you need.” You hate it, that just the thought makes a spear of warmth shoot straight to your loins. 

Constantine narrows his eyes at the vampire hunter, pointing with the smoldering cigarette. “You can keep your cursed blood to yourself, dhampir.”    

“I am not cursed.” 

“No, but you’re a helluva traitor.” 

“Pot, kettle, wizard boy. You think you’re the only one with a bone to pick with God?” 

“Yeah, but you don’t see me skipping off to work for the other side because of it.” 

“The other side,” Wick scoffs. “Two sides, same coin, Constantine.” 

John snorts in answer. “Not exactly.” 

“Oh? Was it not God who gave you this gift you resent so? Was it not God’s priests who fed my pregnant mother to a hungry vampire to create me, God’s weapon against the darkness? My poor mother died in agony after my birth. The priests called her suffering God’s will. That’s what they said when my Yelena and my little Irinushka died too. I finally told them all to go to Hell.”

“So now you get your revenge on God by working for the Underworld?”

“I was made to kill vampires. So it is what I do.” 

Constantine barks with bitter laughter. “This is what you’re getting with this guy, y/n. He doesn't kill vampires to help people. He does it to scare the other vamps into line, so they don’t defy the High Table, and so the most powerful among them can go on exploiting human kind with ease. Trafficking, drugs, you name it, they’ve got their dirty fingers in it. When you said you would rob a drug cartel? He’s the one they would send after you for it.” 

It’s not like you thought Wick was a good man, but for some reason hearing all this hurts your heart. Shocked, you turn to Wick. “Is this true?” you ask hushedly. 

He actually looks regretful, not meeting your eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I made a bargain, a long time ago. It is the only thing that matters to me now. I must honor it.”

You’re not sure why hearing all this has made you feel sick. You don’t really get stomach upset anymore, but you do not feel well. 

“Milaya…” says Wick pleadingly, willing you to look at him. 

But you just shake your head, staring at the floor. Maybe deep down, there was a part of you that thought maybe, maybe, you wouldn’t have to be so completely alone as the long years went by. But now you know this was a very stupid thought indeed. 

“Ask me,” prompts Wick quietly. “Ask me what the bargain was for.” 

“She doesn’t care,” says Constantine, at the same time you ask: 

“What was it for?” 

Ignoring John, his dark eyes bore into you. “I made a deal with a powerful witch of the High Table, that I would serve until the day I found my Yelena again. I was told that if I waited long enough, someday she would be reborn to me.”

You don’t know why you feel dizzy in that moment, like the floor of the whole world has dropped out from under you. You close your eyes against it, screwing them shut tight as your fingers–claws–dig into the countertop behind you. 

This man has done terrible things–for centuries, it sounds like. But he did them for love. Does that excuse them? No. Does it soften you to him? You hate to admit it, but the truth is���a little. 

You entertain the possibility for a second–you only allow yourself a second–that maybe you are this woman the dhampir thinks you are. A reincarnated soul, searching for her long lost mate, like in the deliciously trashy romances you love to read. Shouldn’t you have some sort of past life memories or dreams? Isn’t that how it always goes in the stories?

You think about how you’ve always felt adrift in this life. Not really interested or committed to anything. How it’s all always seemed kind of silly to you, meaningless even, and the only thing you’ve ever been certain was truly important, was to be kind to others. It’s ironic, maybe, that only after becoming a vampire that you truly gained a sense of purpose in your life, helping those who couldn’t help themselves, and removing evil doers from the population at large. 

You think about how you came to L.A. You practically moved here on a whim, because you were tired and off a bad breakup and you wanted to go somewhere exciting and new. Did fate guide that choice you made for yourself? Was it the unconscious searching for your soul’s true mate? 

If that’s true, then why didn’t you go to New York instead? 

You think about the day you moved into your apartment. Wrestling with your numerous boxes of stuff. Not much, really. Just what you fit into your compact hatchback car, which has since died an inglorious death on the 405. Some jerk had bumped into you on the stairs, nearly making you drop your heavy load of books, only to belatedly steady the box before it spilled, and maybe as an afterthought, you. You remember how you’d looked up, up, up because Jesus he was tall, to find the man now pulling on the addictive smoke that will prove to be his doom. He’d looked down at you with bemused annoyance in those lovely dark eyes. Told you to “Watch it,” and went on his way down the stairs, two at a time on those long legs, clearly in a hurry. 

Rushing off to save the world, or a little precious part of it, you know now. 

You remember how you’d felt like you’d been hit with a frying pan, the first time you saw him. How your heart had seemed to stop then start again, racing doubletime.  

If this was a movie, John Constantine would be your soulmate, the man you were meant to find, the one who fate seemed to be driving you towards. Because since the first time you set eyes on him, you haven’t been able to look away. And if this was a movie…it would be a tragedy, because the man you love is dying, and there is no magic that can truly save him, only delay the inevitable. 

You look between the two men seated at either head of the table. Both formidable, in their own ways, they could have been mistaken for brothers in their appearances. You wish you could deny that you felt a certain something for Wick too. It would be much simpler that way. You don’t really like the idea that things are preordained. You want to believe that you have the power to make choices about life, be they good or bad. But there is something in this dilapidated kitchen, the warm night air whispering through the broken windows, that feels unmistakably like fate. 

“I hope you find her someday,” you tell the dhampir, and you mean it, holding your hands wide in a gesture of peace. “But I don’t really think that I’m the answer you’re looking for.” 

The too-long sleeve of your shirt–John’s shirt–flops as you gesture, and you roll up the sleeve again, feeling more than a little ridiculous despite the looks both men have been paying you. As you crease the fabric up your forearm Wick zeroes in on something peeking out of your sleeve. 

“What is that?” he demands, with way more force than the situation demands. 

You look at him quizzically. “A tattoo?” 

“Let me see.” 

Constantine frowns as he watches this exchange. You feel a little uneasy too, as you pull back the sleeve to reveal the black and white flowers emblazoned on your underarm. “It’s just…something I thought was pretty on the flash wall, when I turned 18.” It had called to you, for whatever reason, on that rebellious expedition with a friend who had also just crossed the threshold into adulthood. Luckily, you still liked it. Lord knows dumber late night decisions had been made in that tattoo parlor in your little town. 

Wick, however, sits back in the chair, laughing to himself like you have told him an inside joke. “Margaritka. What do you call this flower in English?”

“Daisies?” 

Then you remember what he’d said, about the little white flower his late wife had loved to pick near their cabin. 

Oh fuck.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's another intentionally suggestive Hotch x gn!reader scene!

__________

“Oh my god,” Aaron groans, voice muffled by the pillow his face is pressed into. “Don’t stop, baby, please.”

You bend at the waist to kiss the spot just behind his ear and murmur, “Yeah? Feels good?”

“That feels fucking incredible,” he affirms with another groan that reverberates through your body from the point where your hips meet. “What are you even doing back there?”

With a giggle, you mold your hands down his muscular back and explain, “It’s called petrissage, love. Part of my spa day was learning how to give a proper massage.”

“Emily got you that gift certificate for your birthday, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, your fingers now trailing along the taut cords of muscle that make up his shoulders, the tension practically melting away beneath your touch.

“Remind me to give her a raise.”

__________

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch

[bywons]

💌 ( fic idea) PSH x f!r SMAU WHERE— y/n ( sunghoons gf and reader ) forgets their dog, gaeul, at the supermarket but when she goes to bring her back, gaeuls transformed into a human

[hyperfixatinator]

DPxDC Headcanon: the title "King of the Infinite Realms" is misleading

Sure, there are indeed an infinite amount of worlds and dimensions across the multiverse. However, the name "Infinite Realms" is actually referring to the space in between said realms. The malleable borders that act as cushions to prevent all these realities from constantly colliding with each other. If you compare the worlds themselves to bones, then the Infinite Realms would be the cartilage preventing friction whenever they move.

So if Danny ever became the king of the Infinite Realms, he wouldn't actually have authority over whatever goes on within said realms. After all, each world has their own set(s) of afterlives and deities already taking care of that. No, Danny would only be in charge of that squishy, ectoplasmic stretch of space that portals need to punch holes through in order to cross over.

[unicornpopcorn14]

For the hurt comfort prompts, how about "Just breathe, it’ll be over soon" or "Asking them every two minutes if they need something" for skk? I think the kind of scenarios that would lead to them saying/doing those things for each other would be interesting!

Skk whump || 8.5K words || One Shot

(Sorry for the long wait on thiss :'> Hope you enjoy <3)

Hurt/Comfort prompts

[stardust948]

3 Inch AU

Prequel to this post

Zuko rubbed his aching eyes, praying what he thought just happened didn't. That a bright light did not flash in the middle of his and Azula's spar leaving his body sore and head aching.

He forced himself to open his eyes and found himself in the middle of a strange spirit forest. Great. First the body switch fiasco now this! Why were there so many spirits hanging around the palace?!

"Nice going dum-dum." Azula spat. "You angered the spirits again!"

"Again?! That was your fault! Both times!!!"

"As I recall, no one knows what angered the last one, but you pushed me onto this spirit and now we're 3 inches tall!!!"

"What?!" Zuko shot up.

Azula pushed the vegetation back revealing an oversized throwing star Mai gifted her. The very one Zuko knocked out of her hand when their spar turned into a messy free for all.

Zuko's heart sank.

"Like I said, 3 inches tall. Thanks a lot."

"None of this is my fa-"

A shadow fell over them seconds before a huge bird swooped down. The siblings barely had time to jump out of the way as the bird snatched up the throwing star. The two shared a frightened look. They had to get out of the garden or they'll surely be next.

A brief silent truce was formed as Zuko and Azula began the trek. Thankfully, they were relativity close to the walkway before they were shrunken. After scaling the huge steps, the ground trembled as a massive figure in deep red robes passed by. The siblings gasped.

"DAD! HELP US!"

"WAIT! DOWN HERE!"

They quickly chased after him, but it was no use. Ozai tuned out their now shrunken voices, assuming it was a chorus of summer insects. And there was no possible chance of the siblings catching up to him on foot.

Azula grabbed Zuko's wrist. "Agni's Arrow!"

Zuko skidded to a stop then spun his sister around. Azula produced fire jets from her feet to build momentum. After counting to three, Zuko released her. Azula shot through the air at breakneck speed straight towards her father.

This better work for they were both done for.

~*~

The palace was quiet. Too quiet.

That alone put Ozai on edge. He swore he heard his children out by the garden earlier. It was just another sibling spat but when he decided to check on them, the garden was empty.

A part of Ozai hoped the children settled things on their own and left without a big fuss. The rest of Ozai knew that was wishful thinking. So, he walked the perimeter just to be sure.

Ozai let out an annoyed sigh. The humming bees were a lot louder today. He'll have to talk to the groundskeeper about that least they overrun the whole garden.

Something landed on his shoulder. Ozai tsked and brushed it away. It seemed the infestation already began.

"Dad!!!"

Ozai stopped dead in his tracks.

"Azula?"

It was so faint. Maybe he was hearing things.

"Down here! Hurry!"

A small blue flame shot from his arm. Ozai glanced down and saw his daughter dangling from his sleeve.

"What the-"

Ozai quickly scooped her into his palm before she lost her grip.

"A-Azula?" Ozai gaped at his now tiny daughter trying to get her bearings. "What... how...?"

His eyes widened. If Azula was like this then...

"Where's Zuko?!"

Ozai lifted his feet as horror gripped him. Cool relief washed over him when he spotted a small figure running towards him.

"Dad!"

Ozai knelt down and lowered his hand for Zuko to climb onto. Now that his children were safe, Ozai calmed down enough for his mind to piece together what happened.

"Don't tell me-"

"Spirits." the siblings answered at the same time.

Ozai groaned. "Not again."

[indigosabyss]

The Not-A-Curse (JJK x Nanbaka Crossover) AU: Kyoto Goodwill Event – Possible Track for Nanba?

The Goodwill Event was a collaboration between the three major jujutsu education organizations in Japan: Tokyo Jujutsu High, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and... Nanba Training Academy.

"Why'd you say that weird?" Yuuji asked, immediately picking up on Megumi's reticence on the subject.

Gojo tapped his chin, "Well, how to put this? Even compared to sorcerers, they're weird."

"The Goodwill Event only happens either here or Kyoto because they literally will not tell us where their secret island base is." Megumi explained sourly.

"An island?!" Nobara screeched, "So unfair! I'd throw the match so we can get an island vacation next year."

"Which is exactly why we let them not host." Gojo tutted, "Otherwise, everyone has an incentive to not do their best!"

Then above them, a loud 'POOF' rang out, followed by a cloud of white smoke. When it cleared, there was a man dangling upside down from the ceiling right in front of Gojo, using a belt that resembled more of a tail wound around a lighting fixture to keep him there.

Bright red markings around his eyes heightened the dry glare leveled at their teacher from mere inches away, who smiled beatifically.

"Heard you were talking shit." The guy drawled finally. Yuuji thought he was really cool.

Gojo grinned, turning to look at his students and pointing at the interloper, "See? Weird."

(more excerpts thru the entire arc under cut)

------

"'Goodwill Event'." Principal Hyakushiki - nicknamed 'The Warden' - scoffed as she marched in front of the chosen six students for the event. They all straightened their spines as she continued to lecture, "Don't let your hearts soften. Don't lose sight of the target. Remember: this is war."

Zakuro gulped, leaning to whisper to his trainer, "Doctor, isn't this a bit dramat-?"

He was cut off by the Principal bellowed, "WHAT IS THIS?"

"WAR!" The rest of the group readily yelled. The Department Five duo he expected to like that sentiment, but the Dreams track guy said it with way more bloodthirst than was normal.

----

Jyugo didn't want to invite the Kyoto group to the school. He just happened to be passing by with Inumaki and Panda who wanted him to break into Kusakabe's car.

And now he had been cornered by this scary guy with a topknot.

"You. What's your type in women?" He asked, towering over him.

Jyugo blinked, struggling to understand how they had gone from carjacking plans to this.

"I... don't like women." He settled on saying.

"Men, then!" The interrogater switched tracks easily.

"I don't like men either." This finally hit a dead end for the guy. Was it really that strange?

"Complete emotional unattachment is his entire identity." Panda backed him up.

Mai waved a hand over the weird guy's eyes, to no reaction, "Woah, you broke Todo."

---

"Hey, Number Fifteen. Want to watch the event from the screen us staff get?" Gojo asked, half-distracted by a strawberry popsicle, "Your old supervisors have great taste in snacks!"

Number Fifteen shook his head, looking listlessly at the book the blind fire-cursed man had given him, "Kinda busy right now."

"Okay then, have fun staring holes into a book you clearly can't stand!" He ducked back out, beating the bad thoughts back with a stick.

---

Zakuro's hands were shaking lightly as he pulled Jyugo's hand into a handshake, "Holy shit, you're the original Cursed Shackles user."

Funnily enough, the Cursed Shackles were the last thing people pointed out as weird about him, in jujutsu spaces. Everyone was more excited by the Hollow Spirit aspect.

"Thanks." He managed, extracting his hand from the grip, "Should you be down here?"

"We should run away." Zakuro suggested, already thinking about the future, "This world, these chains, we don't deserve it. Let's get out of here."

Jyugo considered it. He looked back at his room, still covered with deadbolts on the outside.

The idea wasn't too unappealing.

---

The curse with tree roots growing out of its eyes flexed its cursed energy, facing down the young sorcerers surrounding him.

The tiny boy with plaster-white skin flickered his cursed energy wildly. His classmate in the red jumpsuit started moving back.

"Brace yourselves." He warned, "Upa is unleashing his technique."

Everyone backed away as the boy fell into a stance, waiting in anticipation as he concentrated higher and higher cursed energy into his palms. Until finally he released a blinding beam of it directly at the curse.

Smoke rose up from the spot, eviscerating the creature previously standing there.

"Your secret technique," Megumi said with withering disappointment, "was just hypercharged cursed energy blast."

"Yes." Upa said simply, "It is a talent treasured in Department Five."

Megumi fucking hated Nanba Academy.

[messenger-of-stupidity]

plspslsspsl pls write more Imp!Vega x Pet stuff I am out here starving and licking any crumb on the floor i can find plspsllsspsl tag me palsoslslslslsl /nf /lh

IM JUST A POOR BOY I NEED NO SYMPATH-

@t4llhum4n

---

Vega walked down the narrow hall. So much had changed within a few hours. Which had been the goal, but Avior was lamenting. He spoke of meeting with Sovereigns, of making a deal with them. Vega frowned.

There was nothing good about Sovereigns, just as there was nothing entirely bad. But making a deal with them was dangerous. More so than Avior was aware of.

It was something to worry about at another time. He walked the hall until arriving at a door. He would have liked to use magic to keep it sealed. To keep it safe. But if things didn't work out, he needed the door to be able to open. Time to see if they obeyed.

Vega opened the door slowly. He didn't want to startle them. He could already taste their fear through the door. Bitter and burning. Normally he enjoyed the taste, but not from them. Never from them. He stepped into the room, his eyes easily finding the curled up figure on his bed. They had wrapped themself in the blanket he only used when they were with him. He told them that they were the only ones he was willing to surround himself with softness for.

Pet. He said, watching as their eyes pulled up to meet his. They had been crying. He recognize the red puffiness around their eyes, the slight swell to their cheeks. He frowned and moved closer. They rarely made the first move, always waiting obediently to see what he wished from them. Which wasn't usually a problem - preferred, actually - but right now... he could use their touch. No hesitation or reluctance. Not that reluctance had ever been part of the equation.

"Is... Is it over?" They asked, their voice hoarse. How long had they been crying, without his arms holding them? Without the pleasure to accompany the tears? He sighed and sat down next to them.

Nothing is ever over, Pet. But for now, it is over enough. He answered. The room fell quiet and he looked up at the stars kept on the ceiling by his magic. They followed his gaze, chewing on their lip.

"...I watched them." They said, the hoarse voice breaking the quiet. He glanced over at them, a brow arching. "I watched them in case they disappeared. So I would know."

Sweet little thing that they were, watching his magic to know if he would die. He moved a hand, taking their jaw in his grip to turn their face towards him. Tearstained and swollen and too soft for their own good. So much had changed in the past few hours, but that had remained the same. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against theirs. He could see the corners of their lips twitch. A ghost of a smile, like they always did when he touched them.

They brought you comfort then? He asked, and he frowned as they nodded a little. Their nose brushed against his. It was still strange to think that a human took comfort from his magic. He already knew what he had been able to do for them, but this had been different. None of his presence, his body, his voice. Just his magic had brought them comfort in a time of uncertainty and unrest. Good.

"Something's wrong, isn't there?" They said after a moment. Vega's hand left their jaw, tracing down the slope of their neck to their shoulder. Down their arm and moving over to their waist. He tugged them closer, pulling them into his lap, straddling his thighs. They squealed softly as he did so.

Nothing is wrong, Pet. He responded, feeling every year of his age. Every year that so many of his kind forgot. Every year that had been turned into myths and stories to tell for a lesson. His hands trailed to their thighs, feeling the warmth of their skin through the clothing. He kept his forehead against their's, eyes gazing into their vulnerable gaze. Maybe that's part of the problem.

Their nose wrinkled, confusion filling their sweet expression. Of course they would be confused. If nothing was wrong, then of course there wouldn't be a problem.

You change my existence, Pet. He added. It didn't alleviate the confusion, but he wasn't finished either. Then again, he didn't hold much hope for them understanding either. He didn't really want them to understand either, to taint their simple view with the centuries of mistakes he had been privy to. You find comfort where others find fear. You find pleasure where there is pain. You find safety where they only know danger.

They inhaled sharply, pulling from air he would never touch. He could feel their chest expand with the breath, pressing against his own. Their heartbeat in their ribs against his own silence.

"They don't know you then."

[splickedylit]

I know most of my new followers are for Homestuck but I just reread the entirety of Eyeshield 21 and: football manga good. So you'll have to forgive a brief interlude of "Splickedy's favorite minor character (and guests)" haha. Anyway do you think any of the gangsters Agon canonically cuckolded ever mistook Unsui for his twin brother and beat the shit out of him?? Ignore me.

...also tho relatedly I made a post about college Hiruma/Unsui in January and now I'm 26,000 words in, because,,, idk I've lost control of my life? Because "I realized in college that I'm queer and I have a million tons of repressed emotions behind a very cracked dam" is a big mood and maps onto Unsui too easily for me to resist? Because I'm still incredibly amused by the thought of how pissed off Agon would be if his brother started dating Hiruma? All of those things, lmao.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

top 5 wips you’re most excited to write? :D

AH …. anon my beloved 🥺🥺🥺 tysm for giving me an excuse to talk about them!!!! i have a whole bunch but here are the ones i’m most excited for/planning to write soon :3 hopefully

TITLES ARE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION BTW but if you know where any of them are from you get a big gold star ⭐️

it’s your touch that i need

the best friend’s brother!satoru fic that i’m planning on posting next….. i’m . Unsure if i’ll have time to post it this week but :’3 i’ll get it done!!! honestly i just think bfb!toru is insanely attractive so this is mostly an outlet for that but . i have a plot mapped out kind of… the unrequited love trope is just perfect for him but it’s Me so it’ll probably be less angsty and more funny/bittersweet !!

here’s a snippet from it <3

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.” the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this? it’s a specific kind of torture. he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. there are lots of people out there for you. (i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know. but i want you.)

hunter, you were human

my neglected mer!sugu fic…… our beloved fish man….. one day. i’ll write it out. i’m having some trouble deciding the order of events + general formatting of the outline so 😭😭 i’m a bit stuck. i’ll get there though!!! this au has angst potential but it’s Me so trust that this will be fluffy and nothing else. lots of banter and cutesy moments. i have a lotttt of thoughts about this au and character/reader dynamic so….. i’m. really excited to eventually write it all out!!! i love him sm :cc

“i don’t really like freshwater.” … your eyes widen. his voice is silky, smooth, like a silver river running from the forked tip of his tongue; a melodic lilt that makes you think of the lullaby your mother used to sing you to sleep with. a long, slow moment passes you by, like the rocking of a rusty ship. silently, your tongue forms around a bundle of words, your mouth gaping like a fish out of water. staring at the merman in your bathtub. “you can talk?!”

consider the hairpin turn

THE BELOVEDEST OF THEM ALL …… my extremely neglected best friend’s brother!kenjaku fic T_T my magnum opus even . i started writing it out a while ago but had to stop bc i can’t decide how to format it …. i think it’d be best to tell the story through a lot of flashbacks but it’s difficult to decide where to put what flashbacks in a way that doesn’t disturb the flow, yk??? but i do have everything outlined and i’m super excited to finally post it :33 someday… bfb!kenny is the actual loml i have so much lore planned for him. this fic is just a whole bunch of yearning and tension… the tiniest tiniest bit suggestive bc he truly makes me ill.

nervously, your gaze trails towards the stairs. worried, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. kenjaku notices. a large palm cradles your cheek; making sure your eyes stay locked onto his own. ”don't worry about him,” he soothes, a rough thumb smoothing down your skin. ”it’s just us here… just you and me. why don’t you take a deep breath for me, hm?” (you do. without thinking. as if your body was waiting for instructions, waiting to satiate this gnawing desire to impress him, make him proud. be good for him.)  “now,” he exhales, in tandem with you, molecules mingling together. “do you want this?” 

only in the next world

ANOTHER DEARLY BELOVED WIP that’s been rotting in my drafts for a while ….. 👉👈 i think that out of all of these fics this is the first one that i wrote the outline to?? probably even before i made this blog. it’s basically just a canon-aligned au where gojo navigates his maybe-possibly-feelings for you, a new teacher at jujutsu high!! sooo really just my attempt to write what i view as a more canon-aligned gojo and his feelings towards love :3 mostly character-centered fluff and slowburn… some office au vibes…. i’m very fond of this reader!! and i love this version of gojo so bad i really hope i can do him justice…

“they’re a softie, huh?” shoko exhales — smoke drifting past her lungs, mingling with the cold air, a stench of tobacco that makes him crinkle his nose. ”they are,” she hums, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. a dangerously knowing look. “it’s not often someone captures your attention.” gojo smiles. ”is that what it seems like?” he drawls, almost a chuckle. closing his eyes and thinking of you, the fading scent of your perfume. ”well, who knows.” (certainly not him.)

signs of affection

my sickeningly fluffy cult leader geto fic <333 bc i’m spreading the agenda that he is a puppy of a man towards his s/o. this one is just meant to be funny and sweet!! i adoreee the thought of him dating a retired sorcerer with a normal ass job so in this one the reader works at a preschool…. and they’re meant to attend some kind of event for the preschool + is offered to bring a plus one. mild chaos ensues (geto doesn’t want to be anywhere near your non-sorcerer colleagues but he also wants to support you so he’s having a bit of a crisis rn…..) i LOVE this one and i’m so excited to write it out <333333 i think this geto is the most endearing man alive.

suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering, gleaming under the shallow light of the lamppost just behind him. illuminating the peach-dyed flush dusting his ears, those wide pupils. and his lips, glossy with something cherry-flavoured, soon to curl up into a smile — fond, fond, fond. melting into your touch, basking in your long-sought attention. if he were a cat, you’re sure he'd be purring. he places one big palm over yours, where it rests on his cheek, and he stares. silently, like you’re the only thing worth seeing; dreamy galaxies inside his eyes, all honey and star clusters, leaking adoration. a milky way of love. ”… another,” he pleads, nosing at your fingertips.

[chiropteracupola]

wip ask game: bath, goat, cat (knowers know)

flight of the heron tam lin au:

“A nice, quiet post, with just enough work to keep your hand in, as it were.” He finished the phrase with a little flourish of his pen, and had Keith been in a slightly worse mood, he might have slapped the thing from the man’s hand. But he had not, and instead nodded in dejected acceptance. “It’s most certainly not a trip to Bath, but perhaps the mountain air will do you good.” Keith had made some dispassionate noise of agreement and left, stepping outside to stare out over the neat lines of the camp before him and the likely ruin of all that he had worked so diligently to achieve.

no instances for goat... very disappointing of me.

flight of the heron ladyhawke au:

So Ewen leaves his shirt and plaid folded on the shore, and allows the tiny wavelets of the loch to lap, cold, against his ankles as he steps into the water. He turns to face the hills just in time to see Keith bat an experimental paw against the water and recoil in disgust — and at that he cannot resist laughing, for the way that Keith the cat shakes out his fur to rid himself of wetness is, he knows, a perfect mirror of Keith the man in ruffled discontent.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - VIII

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics Wick pics midjourney art from pinterest, OP unknown

8. confess your sins

Before Wick can react John hits him with some kind of spell that knocks him off his feet, shatters two windows, and breaks the mental hold that had mind-fucked you so completely. 

You freeze with shock–John has to grab your arm, wrenching you towards the door. “Wait! What are you doing?!” 

“Saving you, obviously!” he snarls back, taking the stairs two at a time. 

The unholy growl that emanates from the upstairs apartment sets your hair on end. 

“But he didn’t come here to hurt us!”

“Then what was all that blood on the floor? It tripped the alarm in my wards–God, I thought he was killing you!” 

You are shouting all this at each other as you are running down, down, down. Constantine does not go for the exit, but seems to have another destination in mind. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Beeman’s reloading my shells!” You don’t know what that means–does it have to do with that weird steampunk shotgun? “I hope he finished the dhampir loads,” John mutters, pulling you along through the machinery under the bowling alley that looms like mechanical spiders. It’s eerie down in the basement, dark and quiet. 

“Beeman!” John shouts. “I’ve got a situation!”

There’s no answer. 

“Beeman!” 

The quiet of the subterranean level is broken by the sound of soft footfalls. Wick, stalking you both in the dark. 

All manners of weird and wonderful things hang from the ceiling. Jars and baskets filled with raw ingredients from all around the world. You round a corner to find John standing by a long and cluttered workbench. Beeman is nowhere to be found. 

With a clenched jaw John searches the work table, hefting the gun from the night before and loading it with sharp, precise movements, shoving home golden canisters inscribed with ancient runes and occult symbols. 

“Constantine!” 

You turn with horror to find the looming silhouette of Wick standing at the end of the dark aisle with his feet spread, the naked blade of his sword glinting silver in the low light. Those eyes glow such an unearthly blue, dancing like lightning. He is magnificent, terrible to behold, and you are as captivated as you are terrified. 

“You always bring a knife to a gunfight?” taunts John from behind you, the shotgun shouldered. 

“I want the pleasure of cutting you into pieces,” answers Wick in a tone that sends a chill down your spine. You believe him, and this is not good. 

“Please,” you say, putting up your hands and daring to step between them. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

Both men snort in answer to that. 

“Step aside, y/n,” says Wick, like he expects to be obeyed.  

“No.” 

“Let the man answer for himself. I’ll make it quick for you. A mercy killing.” 

“No,” you refuse again, standing your ground. You take a step towards him. “He just thought you were hurting me.” 

“I was hurting you? In that rat’s nest up there that reeks of your tears?”

 “That doesn’t…matter.” 

“It matters to me,” Wick states, and as unhinged as that is…it kindles some small, completely unhelpful warmth in you. 

Perhaps foolishly, you take another step. “If you hurt him I’ll never forgive you,” you tell the dhampir, and you mean it from the bottom of your heart. 

“Never is a long time, malyshka. Someday you’ll thank me for setting you free.” 

“No.” 

“Move,” he growls again, and you rack your brains for something to offer this maniac that might get through to him. 

“I’ll come visit you in New York,” you say, your tongue dry in your mouth, fear trilling down your spine. “But only if you calm down.” 

As it turns out, this was probably the only thing you could have said to get through to him in this state. He tilts his head, considering it, and the neon brightness of his eyes dampers to glowing cerulean blue. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“If you promise not to hurt him. Ever.” 

“What?” protests Constantine from behind you. “No! Y/n, he’s crazy!”

 Wick turns the blade in his hand, considering your offer over the apparent delight it would be to quarter John Constantine. You guess these two must have a history you have no idea about–this much bad feeling can’t be coming over you. 

“Breaking a deal with me is a bad idea, vampling,” the dhampir warns. 

“Likewise…dude,” you retort, as though you could offer even half the consequences this man could wreak. But your bravado inspires a slight curl of lips from him. You can just see it, in the dampered glow of his eyes. 

“Very well.” He sheathes the katana down his back. “When my business here is finished, you will come with me.” He steps towards you, and now John puts himself in front of you, the gun still raised. 

“I’m not agreeing to this deal. She has no idea what she’s getting into with you.”

You see Wick bristle, ready to go to war again, and you reach for John’s arm. He tries to resist you, but he forgets that you are actually stronger than him, and you force him to lower the gun. 

“You didn’t want me anyway, John. What do you care?” You don’t mean to sound so petulant about it, but it’s been a rough month, and it all comes out in those last four words.  

The demon hunter looks down at you like you’ve grown a third head with those soulful dark eyes held wide, his teeth grinding, utterly furious. It’s the most emotion you’ve seen from him, maybe ever. And maybe you’re the one with the preternatural strength and speed, but you never see it coming, when he grabs you by the neck, and his mouth crashes over yours.  

[softlyella]

Should the idea of devotion feel foreign to you, or repulsive, do not come to me, flirt with me, try to be with me in any capacity.

Devotion is how I love and desire to be loved.

A devoted man whose heart is full of Love for me, whose dick is connected to his beautiful and loving heart, who shows me his insecurities and gently listens as share my own, crying, who holds me so close and tight I hear the beating of his heart.

A devoted man who eagerly waits the permission to put his lips on me, attach his mouth to my core, whose perfect dick stands tall and strong, hard, leaking, about to burst as he laps my pretty pussy hungrily. A devoted man who sees me as an absolute goddess, a queen whose desires are his to fulfill.

A devoted man who wishes nothing more than seeing me happy and pleasure everyday, running barefoot under the morning Sun in a still dew covered garden.

A devoted man who lays me on a blanket amongst the blooming flowers, plucks a ripe grape to feed me, watching in awe as the juice explodes in my mouth, pushes my dress up my legs till he finds the band of my silk panties, my legs thrown on his wide shoulders, his teeth playfully nibbling every bit of skin he has access to before his pink lips press wet kisses on the very same spot.

A devoted man whose fingers hook themselves into the hem of my panties and slowly, with his attention being the kisses in my knees, he removes the only clothing keeping him away from my heat.

A devoted man whose strong hands knead my thighs, spreading them open with a gentle force as his lips cherish the path leading to my dripping pussy. The scent drives him into further ecstasy, his own arousal now impossible to ignore as it threatens to burst from his clothed prison. The discomfort urges him to reposition himself, laying down so close to core I feel his warm breath on my expectant lips and begin to clench, aching for his touch.

A devoted man who eats me out like a starved fairy who has awaiting my reincarnation for a quarter of a century. Unable to quench his thirst and hunger anymore as the only thing that now feeds him is the divine juices of my pleasure. One hand keeping my hips in place, the other sometimes exploring my curves, sometimes my cunt, always touching me, aching for me, for connection.

A devoted man laid down drinking my pleasure as much as he is causing it, nurturing it, expanding each orgasm by helping me ride the wave with softer licks between my lips, and skillful fingers, never stopping, only slowing down and speeding up, cleaning me up as I squirt with the incessant teasing of his fingers on my sensitive spot, as I writhe beneath him, pull his hair, push my hips against his face aching for more.

A devoted man who only comes up for hair.

A devoted man whose underwear are soiled with the mind-blowing effect I have on him.

A devoted man who yields to the authority of my desire, the path of my pleasure knowing only he is allowed on this path.

A devoted man whose mouth trails up my belly in search for a nipple to bite. A devoted man with his hand on my breast, massaging, as his tongue toys with the other. A devoted man whose throbbing dick now grinds against my naked pussy, a most welcome friction.

A devoted man who pushes his shorts out of the way, freeing the part of him who most craves being inside my pussy, currently clenching on thin air.

A devoted man whose gaze is fixated on my body, sprawled out for his enjoyment, to satisfy the starvation within.

A devoted man who meets my equally lust full gaze.

A devoted man who reaches to wrap his hand around his hard member, stroking himself whilst looking at me, silent moans escaping his half closed mouth.

A devoted man who slowly lowers his head to est between my thick thighs, his hungry mouth devouring me once more, starving for my taste, my moans, my hand running into his hair, and the cascade of sweet juices he, and only he, draws from me.

A devoted man with a leaking cock, hard just for me, and from me, who groans against my clit as I grind against his mouth with each orgasm. Each drop of me sends his enraptured cock into an euphoria that has him question reality. He feels gone, kept alive solely by the taste of me, divine sustenance he cannot get enough of.

Never before has he ever felt the need to taste a woman and drink from her.

Never before has sex felt like nourishment, one that puts his heart at peace, his soul in bliss.

My devoted man who has been laid with me on this blanket, amongst the blooming flowers since the sun was high. Through my love for him, these sacred feeding on my pussy are bringing him back to life, fueling him with life force each time he abandons himself into the rapture of our sexual intimacy, his mind unable to think of anything but my pleasure, happiness and safety.

The blissful smiles I give him after each climax, the screaming of his name, repeated, chanted like a prayer, louder at times, a difficult whisper to utter at others…. These things fuels a fire within him that hadn’t awoken for anyone else before myself.

His fatigue and weariness are disappearing further with each lap of his tongue. His heart flutters each time I say his name. His body feels welcome, fully. I receive all of him. Even the part that we’re dismissed by others.

My devoted man feels found with me. He’s home, finally.

And so, he gives his home his all, happily, eagerly. He never wants to stop. He will never leave.

[maulfucker]

Poast about the "fucking some guy" saga behind the scenes because I can't shut up about it :]

The idea of this series started as just some Maul porn (possibly as a kinda flashback in what became They finally fuck each other this time) where he fucks a guy. Originally i was thinking of going with a twi'lek because they're what we see as sex workers the most in canon, and also the idea of them having two dicks (to match the two headtails) entertains me

As mentioned before, the base of They finally fuck each other this time is actually a wip I've had for Months and didn't know where to go with

There was a scene in the wip where Obi-Wan gives Maul a patdown to check if he's really unarmed, but it was not homoerotic enough and felt kinda out of place and out of character so I cut it

(There were also supposed to be more scenes with Bo-Katan, but once again. did not fit well enough.)

There was gonna be a scene like right after they fuck where Obi-Wan gets a call from the Jedi Council because he's been gone and out of contact for Hours so of course they're worried. and he's like. "oh don't worry I was just having a conversation with a slightly paranoid possible new ally. nothing much going on :) " [<- his neck is visibly covered in hickeys and bite marks]

[yoda voice] some bacta you need. terrible post coital manners your new friend has.

The original original idea continues well after where I ended the series, and involved Maul being imprisoned after Bo-Katan gets the throne except he's put in like. a ray-shielded apartment. and Obi-Wan has to live with him. because there's no way simple technology can keep a Force user imprisoned so they should have a jedi guard him, and Bo-Katan asked him so nicely, how could he possibly refuse to submit to the torture of living a domestic life with his nemesis with benefits.

And from then on it's all just. silly gay slice of life.

Like.

Very awkward jedi visits because everyone wants to see how Obi-Wan is doing but they're all distrustful of Maul even though he's just. vibing in his corner. sipping tea or reading a book. ignoring everyone staring at him.

VERY awkward Anakin and Padmé visit because he Senses she is pregnant and the children (he can feel it's twins) are Force-sensitive and he's like. well that's Interesting [<- doing his best not to bring up the topic of fucking jedi]

(the visit slowly turns into talking about the merits of leaving the Jedi Order for love and how that's totally fine and not a betrayal of one's morals and if someone wanted to stop being a jedi to go marry a senator and become a father that would be totally fine Anakin we would all be so happy for you. hypothetically.)

A mandalorian tries to "jailbreak" Maul but he's like. I'm fine where I am, so no thank you. and this probably happens like once a month.

Arguing about tea (it's like a hobby for them) (force help anyone who visits them during these arguments, they WILL force people to take sides)

And more!

[rotisseries]

the amount of people on that post who straight up don't fucking get what I mean when I say "conflict free fluff" is an actual nightmare