#so it might change when the live comes out

[keferon]

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1.

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

-----------------

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[from-the-owls-nest]

mhm. what if you're too broken, in too tiny pieces, even the base too shattered to rebuild from. what if there's too little good left.

*swallow* that... that probably wasn't the most helpful answer. but I know what you mean. and I don't really have a fix or anything.

*drily, like, ironically* should probably clarify that the you in that first sentence meant me and just me. so. before you get any more ideas. because of course for Me that's Different! At least for my chaos brain tangles.

[ooc: Philosophy Below. idk brain ran away with thoughts call me if u find it /silly]

*silence, thinking over the words again* I don't know. All I can hope is that - that sentence from the movie Aria likes. When we can see no future, all we can do is the next right thing. the next little ray of sunlight. the next little moment of peace.

And if none of that is possible... Wait, and hold on, and look for them, and hope they come back soon. This is just my thoughts - my little agreement with myself. I gotta try the best I can, even if the best I can is a break from trying to recover. And then I'll know that Past Me did their best for me now and that I owe it to Future me to do my best for what they might become. Even if they weren't very successful. Like deciding that however I am right now is me too, and so I am all these things and parts, the good and the rough ones, and they all together make the full me. It's these nice little shortcut across the self blaming and infighting that take a long time to work out but help wherever they hold.

But like. I think I owe it my future self to hold on, and to get through the storms. Our past selves have come such a long way, and who knows where we'll go next, what our future selves and lives might be like. So like. I do think that new paths open up all the time, possibilities. Even if the ones now are all bad, who knows where we can still go. And the only way to find out is to try, and to do our best.

*they pull out their diary, and from the front a little calendar page* Look. I... It's one of these pages I'll keep forever and ever because I need the reminder, and give to others when they might need it. I don't know if it's right. I hope so. and I think the only way to find out is to try and hold on.

For me that's enough. That, little hopes, little good moments, even just the memory of warmth and hope and the knowledge that all that was once can come again - in different forms, maybe, but it can. *turning to lay it next to Will's sneaker*

*more silence* But. Well. That's really big thoughts, and hard to see when everything is so dark. Hm. okay just to throw some thoughts out. You don't have to tell me, you don't have to think about it, just... some ideas. Little windows into that maybe, whenever you're able to look.

what do the voices say? can they maybe be talked to, or be both a little right?

is there anything you wish wouldn't stop? or come back? any little thing. ignore realism and context all that. if you were playing make-believe, your own little world, what would it look like? if you want to we can take turns. I play that game regularly cause, well, bad memory, and i probably should start again.

and... does it have to be a *bad* hurt? like. yes. you're different. stuff happened, and it changed you, and that really really hurt. you might not be the same person as before. is that a bad thing? or, you said nasty. sure. right now it's raw and painful and doesnt fit yet. but... could all these little shards grow back together and become something scarred and mended, and different?

I hope they could. I'd really miss you - not you from before, you however you are right now and however you want to be. Idk doesn't make much sense but - people if they change are still that person, right? just... changed, by a situation or because they got to know themselves better or whatever. Like Butterflies. I'd like to see the next chapter, with you if you want or just knowing there was one for you.

Image Credit @thelatestkate and her website

Love love love characters that present themselves as emotionally open social butterflies but the more you see of them the more obvious it is that they’re the most closed off fuckers in the story. Sure, they want to help you with your personal problems and messy emotions, but if you turn that shit back on them, they’ll shut down or deflect every time. Why are you sticking your nose in their business anyway? It’s not like it matters. They’re not a person, they’re just a role being played. They’re the guy who fixes things and saves people. Please ignore the man behind the mask, he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

[hoseoksluna]

STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

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Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last. 

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess. 

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears. 

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection,  like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore. 

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait. 

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t. 

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out. 

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic. 

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest. 

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit. 

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned. 

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth. 

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all. 

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment. 

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust. 

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him. 

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny. 

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in. 

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed. 

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again. 

And again. 

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang. 

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness. 

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight. 

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve. 

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet. 

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it. 

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion. 

You also wanted to make him feel better. 

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you. 

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won. 

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds. 

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him. 

Darkened the more you teased him. 

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time. 

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed. 

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world. 

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him. 

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed. 

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more. 

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of. 

And then the confessions began. 

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments. 

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you. 

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him. 

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had  consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it. 

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you. 

But you were a smart girl. 

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father. 

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it. 

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals. 

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you. 

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears. 

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view. 

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over. 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you. 

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside. 

The song of fate. 

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously. 

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were. 

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut. 

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt. 

You see how hard he is for you. 

Good. 

Now you can. Now it's yours. 

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all. 

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes. 

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air. 

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you. 

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up. 

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more. 

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek. 

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously? 

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive. 

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”  

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes. 

A tall candle, melting. 

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness. 

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment. 

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you. 

That he can’t stay mad at you. 

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you. 

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.” 

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew. 

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it. 

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you. 

He’s safe with you. 

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting. 

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt. 

He’s going to make that little girl stay. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[svtiddiess]

Nom Nom: The Bonus

Synopsis: Seungcheol has been hitting the gym more frequently lately, all for your sake, though you had no idea. When you fail to notice how much bigger his tiddies have gotten, he’s visibly upset. Determined to make up for it, you decide to give his tiddies the attention and admiration they deserve.

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!reader

Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, series

Rating: mature

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: body worship, tiddie biting, marking, dry humping, hand job, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: The 1k bonus fic is finally here! Thank you again so much for 1k followers! We're ending the series with how we started it, by noming on daddy Cheol's tiddies.

Thank you so much @yuncheoligans for beta reading!

This is part of a series, read the whole series here!

Click here to join my taglist!

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Your eyes light up at the sound of the door clicking open. Seungcheol’s back from the gym. He steps into the living room, drops his gym bag, and heads straight toward you with a teasing grin, pulling you into a tight hug.

"No! You’re sweaty!" you squeal, wriggling out of his grasp.

His arms drop, and he puts on a mock pout. "You don’t love me anymore," he mutters dramatically.

"I do, but I love the non-sweaty, non-stinky version of you even more," you tease with a grin. "Now, go shower."

With an exaggerated huff, he heads to the bathroom, leaving you giggling at his antics.

A little while later, he emerges freshly showered, clad in just a pair of loose basketball shorts, his torso on full display. Your eyes instinctively trail over his figure, and you can’t help but notice how much bigger and more defined his muscles look. All those extra gym sessions are clearly paying off.

"Look at you, Mr. Sexy," you tease, smirking. "Going to the gym more often is really working—you’re looking so big and buff."

Seungcheol blushes slightly but breaks into a giggle before flexing his muscles. "Do you notice any specific changes?" he asks, his tone hopeful.

You tilt your head, a little puzzled. "Uh, your muscles are bigger and more toned?" you offer hesitantly.

"But specifically, which muscle?" he presses, looking hopeful.

"All…of them?" you drawl, still unsure what he’s getting at.

His shoulders slump, and a small frown tugs at his lips. Alarmed, you knit your brows, worried you might have said something wrong.

"Cheollie, what’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?" you ask softly.

"I’ve been working so hard on building my chest muscles just for you, but you didn’t even notice," he mutters, pouting like a scolded puppy.

Your eyes widen in realisation, and an apologetic "Oh" slips from your lips. You quickly get up and cradle his face in your hands.

"I’m so sorry, Cheollie. I didn’t realise," you apologise earnestly.

But Seungcheol only huffs, pulling away to plop down on the couch, arms crossed and his signature pout firmly in place. "I worked really hard just for you," he grumbles.

You follow him to the couch, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your cheek against his. "And it shows, Cheollie. Your tiddies look amazing," you try to reassure him with a playful smile.

"If they’re so amazing, why didn’t you notice until I told you?" he retorts, huffing again.

You open your mouth to respond but falter, no words coming out. Seeing this, Seungcheol whines and gently pushes you away, his pout unwavering.

"Cheollie," you plead, dragging out his name. "It’s because your tiddies were already perfect, so I didn’t notice the difference."

"Liar," he mutters, furrowing his brows and turning away from you.

"It’s true!" you defend, scooting closer to him, but he just moves to the other end of the couch, arms still crossed like a sulking child.

"Cheollie, come on," you coax, but he ignores you, his back turned stubbornly.

Undeterred, you inch closer and pepper soft kisses on his shoulder. "Cheollie," you murmur sweetly, hoping to break through his resolve. Still, he refuses to look at you, keeping up his act of playful defiance.

With a dramatic huff, you get up from the couch and climb onto his lap, carefully squeezing yourself into his space. Despite your efforts, he stubbornly keeps his head turned away, arms crossed and his pout still firmly in place.

"Cheollie, look at me," you purr, gently taking hold of his chin and turning his face toward you. He finally relents, his wide, puppy-like eyes meeting yours, his lips still pressed into an adorable pout.

"I’m sorry I didn’t notice all the hard work you’ve been doing just for me," you murmur, your thumbs softly brushing against his cheeks as you cradle his face. "But I promise I’ll make it up to you now."

His pout wavers, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "How are you going to do that?" he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

"By showing you just how much I love your tiddies," you reply with a mischievous smirk, your tone playful yet tender.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between the both of you, pressing your lips to his in a gentle, lingering kiss. His pout melts away almost instantly, replaced by a soft smile as his arms relax and slide around your hips, holding you close.

Smiling against his lips, you begin trailing kisses down his neck, your touch light and affectionate. A breathy giggle escapes him, and the sound makes your heart flutter.

Your hands shift to his chest, giving them a firm squeeze and earning a soft groan from Seungcheol. Squeezing them again, you marvel at how much bigger they've become.

"Cheollie, you worked so hard just for me?" you ask, your voice filled with awe and affection as you gaze at him.

He chuckles softly and nods, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "All for you, princess."

Your cheeks flush, and a warm glow fills your chest at his words. He puts in so much effort, going to the gym every single day just for you. Your heart swells with love—he really is your Cheollie.

You press another tender kiss to his lips and softly murmur, "I love you," before letting your attention drift to his chest.

You start by peppering his chest with soft kisses; he lets out a soft chuckle and murmurs, "That tickles." You gently sink your teeth into the muscle, eliciting a groan from him. You hum softly against his chest before leaning in to suck on the tender skin, releasing it with a gentle pop.

"So perfect, just for me," you mumble before sucking on another part of his chest.

Seungcheol throws his head back and lets out a soft moan as he savours the mix of pain and pleasure coursing through him, his cheeks flushing at your words. Slowly, you trail your way up to his neck, leaving a path of purple and red marks in your wake.

"My perfect Cheollie," you whisper softly against his neck before peppering it with love bites, making sure the world knows exactly who he belongs to.

Your hands go back to squeezing his plump chest, squeezing them like a stress ball. Taking each nipple into your hand, you start rolling the bud against your fingers, earning a whimper from him.

You can't help but roll your hips against his when you hear the pretty sounds escaping his lips. You giggle when you hear him groan and teasingly grind against him once more.

"Always such a tease," he mutters, his voice strained, making you giggle.

"Can’t help it," you reply with a playful grin.

You lean down and look up at him as you lick a long stripe from the base of his chest up to his neck. Seungcheol can’t help but let out a deep chuckle at your actions. You throw him a wink before taking one of his nipples into your mouth, sucking the sensitive bud. He exhales deeply, his hand slipping to the back of your head as he gently presses you closer against his chest.

You run a teasing hand down his torso, stopping at his crotch. You slip your hand into his shorts without warning, grinning when you find that he's not wearing anything underneath. Wrapping your hand around his dick, you earn a groan from him when you press your thumb against his slit.

His breath hitches when you start stroking him at a teasing pace. Your tongue continues to suck his sensitive bud whilst your hand continues to toy with his shaft. You let go of his nipple with a pop, moving to give the other one equal attention.

Desperate for more, Seungcheol starts to buck his hips into your hand, a soft whimper escaping his lips. You giggle at his helpless state, leaning back to look down at him with a teasing grin.

"What’s wrong, Cheollie?" you ask, smirking playfully.

"Princess," he whines, his voice laced with desperation, "don’t do this."

"Do what?" you reply innocently, slowing your hand movements on purpose, earning a frustrated groan from him.

"Princess," he growls, bucking his hips up in frustration.

Deciding he’s had enough teasing, you pick up the pace of your hand movements; Seungcheol throws his head back and moans, hips matching your pace. Leaning back down, you press a few more marks onto his chest, leaving no part untouched by your claim.

"Shit, I'm close," he groans out.

You lean in close to his ear, your voice soft as you whisper, "Cum for me, Cheollie."

At your words, he comes undone. You bite your lip and watch in awe as Seungcheol comes apart beneath you, jaw slacked and pretty moans escaping his lips. He takes a few moments to catch his breath before grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a messy kiss that leaves you breathless, stealing the air right from your lungs.

Pulling away, both of you gasp for breath, your eyes locking as soft smiles form on your lips. He gently tucks a few stray strands of hair behind your ear before resting his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice tender.

"I love you more," you whisper back, your words laced with affection.

At that moment, it’s undeniable—Choi Seungcheol is yours, completely and utterly yours, in a way no one else could ever have him.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo

[filthygalli]

When I Met You: Chapter 4 "Iced Americano" pt.2

Fem!Reader x Neighbor!Hwang In-Ho

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Squid Game Master list

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: MDNI!Masturbation, Jealous In-Ho, Light Cursing, Down bad In-Ho for the reader—he's also getting a little needy, Not Proofread—you might see some mistakes here, let me know if there's something that I missed!

Word Count: 5127 (Damn...)

Author's Note: Omg y'all, this took so long, I was so busy at school because I'm a student leader at my uni so I've been busy as hell because of events and Seminars I needed to attend, I'm so sorry for the delays :((

© Pictures that are used are from Pinterest

 In-Ho changed his cum-stained pants with a beige-colored one; he put on his white button-up shirt before putting on a navy blue sweater. He fixed his hair in front of the mirror, deciding what hairstyle he would put on for today. He started experimenting on his hair—putting his bangs down, brushing it up, ruffling his hair to make it look fluffy. He groaned as he couldn't decide what hairstyle would suit him better. He scoffed as he put his hair down, which is his usual hairstyle. He put on his Ralph Lauren glasses as he went out of his room, holding his black leather briefcase.

While going down the stairs he hears you laughing as Yu-Jin plays with her, he smiles at the sight In Front of him, he wishes to wake up every morning with the sound of your laugh while taking care of Yu-Jin.

At this point, you and In-Ho are Yu-Jin's parents who don't live together or even together. You liked the idea of In-Ho letting you take care of his cat while he's away. Do you like it because you get to spend time with In-Ho's cat, or is it because you get to see In-Ho? 

“Y/n.” You heard a familiar voice as you looked up the stairs, and you saw In-Ho, who looked handsome as always. “Hmm?” “Are you ready to go?” He asked as he walked down the stairs, meeting you in the living room, “Yes, what took you so long anyways? ” You asked him as you slightly tilt your head with curiosity. In-Ho's breath hitched at your question. How long was he gone anyway? Is it that obvious? Were you paying attention to how long he was gone? God, did you hear him jerking himself while he moans your name like a prayer? “In-Ho?” The sound of your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, ���I- I was trying to find my uhm–my glasses,” he said as he points at his glasses, “Oh, alright, By the way–” you stand up and walk towards him, you slightly reach to his hair to fix it, “You look more better like this–” you said going on tippy toes while you fix a strand of his hair, you actions made his heart beats faster, he looks down on you, how close you are with him, he leaned in a little so you wouldn't be tipping your toes to reach his hair, you looked at each other for a while, those brown eyes, you can see the whole universe in them, you licked your lips a little, In-Ho noticed it–he looks at your lips that’s now damp with your saliva, he slowly looked on your eyes as he blinked leaning back up, “Let’s go-” He said as he turned around grabbing his keys and things, You nodded and picked up Yu-Jin and on your way out you also hurriedly grab Yu-Jin's leash, In-Ho waited for you before he opens the door, “After you,” he said stepping a side as you gave him a shy smile before walking out of his house, he quickly followwed after you, locking his house as the two of you went to his car, before you could even open the door he reached the door handle and opens the door for you, making you blush by his action, he noticed it, the way you hurriedly went inside as you lowered your head—hiding your flustered face, he smirked, he went around to go inside the car, he looked at you then Yu-Jin—who’s sitting comfortably on your lap, ‘What a lucky cat.” He thought, you slowly looked at him, “What is it?” In-Ho's gaze softened. “Nothing. Make yourself comfortable, Y/n,” he said as he started his car. The engine of his car roared, which made you quite shocked; cars don't really amaze you that much. Besides, this is your first time riding in an expensive car like this. “Do you want to play some music? ” He said before looking at you, “What?” You asked, slightly taken aback by his question, “You can play something; I know the silence bothers you.” He breathed out as he stopped his car because of the stoplight. ‘Oh…so he noticed,’ you thought. “Oh, alright.” You said as you connected your phone to his car speakers, and you played Angel Eyes by ABBA. The song hummed through the silence of the car as you quietly sang from it. You started to bob your head to the song as you looked down and smiled at Yu-Jin, who was looking up at you, admiring your features. In-Ho couldn't help but steal glances from time to time; he liked how your voice sounded from singing the song, how your nose would slightly scrunch cutely when playing with Yu-Jin. He smiled at the sight of you; he was slowly falling in love with you—and he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from falling in love further. He quietly hummed the song as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, matching the beat from the song. “In-Ho? ” “Hmm?” He hummed as he slowly looked at you, “What time will you go home later? ”You said with a slight hint of nervousness, “Before dinner, why? ” He said as he turned back his focus on the road, “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner…at my house,” a long pause cuts through the air, “You don’t have to go—” “I’ll go.” He cuts you off mid-sentence before you could even finish your sentence, “Are you sure? ” you said with a hint of excitement in your voice, “Yes.” You smiled brightly. He noticed your excitement as he looked at you for a second, then looked away to smile to himself.

“We’re here,” he said as he went out to open your door for you. “Thank you.You smiled up at him as you put down Yu-Jin so he could walk—in-ho nodded at your words and closed the door of his car as the two of you went inside the coffee shop. The smells of burnt coffee filled the air—the smell reminds you of your second encounter with In-Ho, where he leaned down to grab Yu-Jin in his arms and how his skin brushed against yours—how he smells like your favorite coffee. You felt a large hand placed on your back. It’s In-Ho’s. Your eyes widened as he leaned in against your ear,’Be a good girl for me and find us a table. Think you could do that? ’’ Your face heated up, and In-Ho smirked behind you. Noticing how his words and actions affected you deeply, you looked up at him as you quickly nodded, walking away to find a table to sit—eventually you found one, not far from the window of the coffee shop. In-ho glanced at you, giving you a slight nod, “Good morning, sir! What can I get you?” the barista said as In-Ho gave his order to the barista, “Alright, 2 medium iced Americanos. That’ll be (whatever your desired amount).” The barista said as In-Ho grabbed his wallet inside his pocket to pay for his order, “Oh, and your name, Mr…? ” The barista asked, making In-Ho pause for a moment before saying his name, ‘’In-ho.” The barista nodded as He wait on the side, quickly giving you a glance, he smiled at the sight of you as you played with Yu-Jin, he couldn't help but be jealous of his cat, Yu-Jin. How you give Yu-Jin affection and light feather touches, how gentle you are with Yu-Jin, giving Yu-Jin tons of kisses on its face, God, is he really getting jealous with his cat? He just wishes that you could do that to him too, Not now, But maybe soon. 

He sighed as he looked at the time, ‘Fuck,’ he muttered as he was going to be late again. It didn’t matter though; he was with you. He wished that he could stop the time for a moment to admire you from afar, to look into your angel eyes. He took a glance at you again, and it seems like you’re talking to…a man. The said man hugged you tightly as you chuckled and hugged him back. Yu-Jin blankly looked up at the two, confused on what’s happening. Like father, like son indeed.

“Y/n! It's been so long; I've missed you! ”Your childhood best friend, Marc, said while hugging you. You pull away from his embrace as you smile up at him, “I know! I haven’t seen you since college!” You both chuckled as you two exchanged conversation, “Oh—you have a cat?! ” Marc exclaimed, pointing at Yu-Jin, who didn’t pay attention to Marc. You chuckled, “That’s Yu-Jin—and

No, he’s not my cat; it's my neighbor’s.” You sigh as the two of you sit down beside each other. “Oh—You're a cat sitter now? ” He teased, and you playfully rolled your eyes at him, “Yes, and I do it for free—because this little one here is too adorable, and I love looking after him! ” You chuckled as you looked at Yu-Jin, who just blankly stared at you.Odd,’ you thought. 

“2 medium iced Americanos for In-Ho? ” The barista called as In-Ho snapped himself from staring at you and the man who’s now sitting beside you, He quickly thanked the barista as he took your drinks, Glaring at the man beside you, who seems close to you, is he your boyfriend, Fuck are you married? There’s no ring, though…He’ll put one on soon.

“Y/n.” You heard a familiar husky voice as you looked behind you to see In-Ho standing there with 2 coffees in hand. “In-Ho,” you smiled as you stood up. “This is Marc,” you said as you pointed at your friend. “Marc, this is Hwang In-Ho. He’s Yu-Jin’s owner and also my neighbor.” In-Ho looked at Marc with a blank expression as Marc stood up and extended his hand to shake In-Ho’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hwang,” he said as In-Ho stared at Marc’s hand. He gave you your coffee before shaking Marc’s hand, not bothering to say anything. He sat down on the opposite side of the table as he looked at you, then Marc. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin sat on In-Ho’s lap. ‘I know, Buddy.’ He thought, “Oh—how did you know that I like Americano coffee? ” You said, eyeing In-Ho. He glanced at you; his gaze turned soft at your words, “I just know.” Of course he knows; it's what your house smelled like one morning when he went there. “So,” he sighed, “how did you two know each other? ” He said, looking coldly at your friend, Marc. “We've been friends since middle school. My mom and Y/n’s mom are also friends, and we basically grew up together and went to school together too,” Marc says while looking at you. In-Ho can’t help but be jealous. Do you like Marc? How about him? Don’t you like him? In-Ho thought of countless things in his mind. He just nodded and pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I’ll invite him to dinner later; I hope that’s ok…” you said as you looked down, ‘No, it's not ok, Y/N.’ In-ho thought; he paused for a moment, “Yeah,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. The taste of black coffee made him feel alive; he sat up straight, slightly annoyed how your ‘friend’ Marc kept touching your hand, “So, Mr. Hwang… What do you do for a living? ” Marc said as he eyed In-Ho, “I teach,” He breathed out, Not interested in the conversation, “Teach, what?” Marc added, In-Ho tried his best not to sigh in annoyance, “I’m a professor at (your preferred university); I teach literature,” he said as he took a glance at you. In-Ho’s eyes softened when he saw you smiling at him, at him, not your stupid friend Marc. He took a sip of his coffee to hide his smile. “That’s interesting,” Marc said as he nodded. “And you? ” “Oh, I'm a mechanical engineer,” Marc said, giving In-Ho a smile. There’s a long pause of silence between the three of them. 

In-Ho looked down on his lap to see Yu-Jin peacefully resting. He smiled. He wished that someday it’d be you who’s resting your head on his lap as he moves a strand of your hair that’s been covering your beautiful face. He would give you kisses on top of your forehead. In-Ho would tell you how beautiful and good you are to him. He would praise you as if you’re a goddess. Fuck, he’d do it either way. He looked at his watch, and he was an hour late. ‘Fuck,’ he mumbled under his breath. ‘Y/n,” In-Ho called you. ‘Hmm? ” You hummed, “I should go; I’m late; I’ll see you later.” He said, placing Yu-Jin beside the empty seat as he stood up and grabbed his things, “Thank you for the coffee, In-Ho.” You smiled up at him, your hands brushed against, his heart skipped a beat, “It’s nothing,” Y/n.” Take care. He gave you a shy smile and patted Yu-Jin,"Be good to Y/n.” He chuckled as Yu-Jin purred. He took a quick look at you before nodding and left.

He opened his car door, settling his things in the back as he sat down, turning the engine on. The engine roared as he stepped on the gas and drove to the university. He can’t help but look at the empty passenger seat beside him. He misses you. He misses your smile and your soft voice humming on the song coming through his radio. In-Ho can’t help but imagine you sucking him while he drives, pressing your head deeper down his shaft, as you swallow thick stripes of his cum down your throat. He snapped himself out of his thoughts as he arrived at the parking lot of the university. 

You said your goodbyes to Marc as he left you and Yu-Jin at the coffee shop. Sighing you sat beside Yu-Jin petting him, you took a walk down the park, the sun is shining and so is you. The sun perfectly illuminates your soft skin. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin also enjoyed the weather; you found a bench to sit on and poured water on Yu-Jin’s food bowl. He drank it, and you also took a sip of water. The cold water made you shiver. You grabbed your phone to update In-Ho about you and Yu-Jin. You grabbed Yu-Jin and placed him down on your lap as you quickly snapped a picture of the two of you, sending it to In-Ho after.

After a long walk, you and Yu-Jin decided to go home to rest. It's been a long morning for the two of you, but as always, you had a lot of fun. A few minutes later you and Yu-Jin arrived at your house, you feed Yu-Jin before going up in your bedroom to take a shower, Your skin felt sticky because of the sweat, The cold water from the shower made you relaxed–Suddenly you thought of In-Ho, How would it feel like taking a shower with a man like him, How his warm and delicate touch would feel against your skin under the cold shower, you imagined him trailing down kisses on your shoulder blades and on your bare chest, he would suck your skin till it leaves reddish marks as he trace them using him tongue, Licking it all the way down on your nipples, You slowly pull your hand down on your bare cunt, Circling your clit as you quietly moan his name, ‘’In-Ho…’’ As you imagine him inserting his thick index finger inside your walls, you felt yourself stretch against his fingers, ‘’You’re so wet for me, Sweetheart,’’ In-Ho said as he leaned in on your shoulder to leave marks there, “In-Ho...please–” You moaned as you pumped your fingers inside, Imagining its In-Ho’s fingers, he groans as he inserts his middle finger, Making you feel full, “Shit, Sweetheart–so tight for me, Think you could take another one? Hmm?” He mumbled as you quickened your pace, as you felt a familiar sensation on your stomach—”Answer me, Y/n, I asked you a question, haven’t I? ”He said, cupping your chin roughly.

You imagined In-Ho who’s a man who can be rough and soft at the same time, He’ll make you beg until you cry, and he would only smirk and tilt his head slightly as you beg for his touch, He would make you a crying mess underneath him, He would fuck you till he had enough, you kept on thinking about him as you gently rub your clit, thinking its In-Ho’s fingers against it, He pulled out his fingers as he looked at you, The same look that he would always give you when silence filled the room, ‘’In-Ho..Please i’m close–” You cried out, ‘’Please what, Sweetheart?” He waited for your response, "Make me cum—Please, God, In-Ho—” At this point, you’re a mess, face flustered, eyes filled with tears. Your skin felt vulnerable as In-Ho traced his fingers against the marks that he made, "Look at you, so beautiful like this…’’ he said, inserting his index, middle, and ring fingers inside your aching pussy. You wince at the pain, “Cum for me. Now,” he demanded as you continued to pump yourself as you thought of In-Ho doing it for you, “That’s it, Sweetheart, fuck—” He groans as he felt your walls clench around his fingers, “In-Ho, I’m going to cum—! ” You moaned loudly as you pleased yourself at your own imagination, “That’s it, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me and cum all over my fingers like the whore you are—! ” He said as he roughly played with your sensitive clit, your eyes hit the back of your head as you squirted in the shower while moaning In-Ho’s name. You slowly pull your fingers out as you groan—you scoff to yourself, feeling embarrassed after what you just did—moaning your neighbor's name while you fuck yourself, thinking, What would In-Ho think if he finds out that you’re moaning his name while you touch yourself? Does he do the same to you? Clearly not, right? He’s not that kind of man—he’s just quiet, observant, and sometimes he can be a little teasing—when he’s in the mood, of course. You sigh as you continue to shower, properly this time.

In-Ho sat down on his chair inside the cubicle and saw your text message; he smiled upon seeing it. You looked beautiful as always—a hand brushed against his shoulder, “Mr. Hwang, are you free tonight? ” A woman wearing a gray skirt and white button-up shirt called In-Ho’s name. In-Ho looked back, eyeing the woman’s hand on his shoulder before looking at her. “Ms. Gomez,” he said as he straightened his posture. The woman leaned down to In-Ho’s eye level. “Busy? ” The woman said as she tilted her head a little, “Yes.” In-Ho coldly said, giving her a blank facial expression, “So, are you free tonight for—” “No,” In-Ho said before the woman could even finish her sentence, “Oh—” She lightly scoffed, must’ve been taken aback by In-Ho’s response, “Some other time, maybe? ” She said as he seductively caressed In-Ho’s shoulder, In-Ho sighed in annoyance, "’Look," he said as he grabbed Ms. Gomez’s hand, “I’m a busy man, and I certainly won’t go out with a woman like you. Find someone else you could bother,” he said as he stood up, grabbing his things and leaving without saying anything, “Typical.” Ms. Gomez said as she scoffed and eyed In-Ho’s back, looking at him from top to bottom.

In-Ho sighed as he went out of the campus, nodding and greeting some of the students and his colleagues. He hates it, though. He doesn’t like social interactions that much; it bores him. He doesn’t even care if he has no friends at the campus; he has his cat, Yu-Jin, anyways. Oh, and well, there’s you. His ray of sunshine amidst his dark and quiet demeanor, always there to brighten up his day even with just shy glances from you, a smile creeps upon his lips by just the thought of you. Your effect on him is impeccable—you drive Thee Hwang In-Ho crazy! And he couldn’t believe that a person like you would make him feel like a teenager again.

He arrived at the parking lot. He opened the door of his black Mercedes. He set his things on the passenger side where you once sat. He recalled the moment where you were humming and smiling. He smiled too, "Fuck, she’s making me feel so desperate.” He sighed. He went around and opened the door of the driver's side as he sat down, turning the engine on. The engine roared as he stepped on the gas pedal. 

While driving, In-Ho can’t help but think of the things he needs to buy from the store. He needs food at home. He’s been lazy for the past few days about it. Going shopping from the grocery store feels lonely. He doesn’t like it. He just wishes that someday you’ll do it with him—walking on every aisle of the store as he holds your hand. Fuck, he would buy anything you want, even if you just thought of getting it or you just touched it. He’ll buy it. He will spoil you with his money and probably everything that he has. He parked his car in the parking lot as he went out and closed the door behind him.

He grabbed a couple of foods that he may need during the week; he also grabbed a bottle of expensive whiskey—he likes drinking whiskey, unlike beer or any other alcohol. After grabbing everything he needed, he went straight to the cashier, paying for his items. He went straight home; he can’t wait to see you. He stepped on the gas pedal as his car roared. He’s never been like this, getting so excited when going home, usually only seeing Yu-Jin at home makes him get excited, relaxing and watching movies while Yu-Jin sat beside him or on his lap. But now, when he met you…he’s always looking forward to going home and seeing you, even though you live just beside his house.

You laid down on your soft sofa while reading a book. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin laid down on the stairs, watching you carefully. You heard a soft knock coming from your front door. You huffed and sat up from your couch. Yu-Jin meowed at you, “You miss him, huh? ” you asked as Yu-Jin lay on his back—you chuckled, you walked towards Yu-Jin, and gave him belly rubs as you quickly walked towards the door. A soft knock came again, “Just a sec—” you said as you grabbed the door handle; you twisted it, and the door swung open, seeing your friend Marc holding a bouquet of flowers, “Hi.” You smiled, “Marc—you didn’t have to! ”You grabbed the bouquet of flowers in his hand as you smelled it. “It smells so nice—it’s so beautiful too! ” he chuckled, “It's not as beautiful as you, Y/n.” He said smiling at you, “Geez, when did you learn to be like that?” You chuckled, “I’m always like this.” He teased as you sighed, “Come in.” You opened the door just enough to let him in, “Your house looks wonderful,” he said as he looked around your home, “Oh—That old man’s cat is still here.” He crouched down as he called Yu-Jin, “Come here, buddy—” he said as Yu-Jin didn’t pay attention and just ignored him, “Is he always like that? ” Marc asked, “Oh, no…he’s usually sweet and clingy when I call him…” you said as Yu-Jin sat down on the chair cushion in the corner of the room, “Odd…” You mumbled, “Well, he must’ve loved you a lot then? ”Your friend Marc said as he stood up, looking at you, “What are you doing in here anyways? It's early, dinner’s at 6,” you said as you walked in the living room. “I just wanted to see you. It's quite lonely,” he said as he sat down on the couch. He looked beside him and saw the book that you were reading. “I didn’t know you liked to read. ” he asked as he brought up the book, holding it up to his face, “Inferno…Scary.” He chuckled, “I’ve been reading books since forever, you dummy—” You teased as you rolled your eyes playfully, “Hmm,” he grumbled, “What’s the cat’s name again? ” Marc asked, pointing at Yu-Jin, who’s glaring at him, the same glare that In-Ho has when he first met you, the looks that could literally kill. Yu-Jin really looks like In-Ho, no DNA test needed. You chuckled at the thought, “His name is Yu-Jin; he’s a sweet and calm cat, but he can be stubborn sometimes…which reminds me of someone.” You smiled a little as your friend looked at you. “Me? ” he said, “What? No—” You chuckled, “Someone I know…” You smiled a little, “Whatever.” You two chuckled.

In-Ho arrived at his home, parking his car as he went out, eyeing your house. The lights are on. You’re home already. A slight smile creeps on the corner of his lips as he goes inside his house. Setting his things down, he quickly puts the food he bought inside the fridge and some inside the food pantry. He sighs as he leans back on the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone—checking if you sent him a message. He frowns, only one text message from you, which is odd. He’s used to seeing lots of your messages pop up on the screen of his phone; it’s either a picture of Yu-Jin alone or with you. He always saves them; there’s actually one folder on his gallery dedicated to you. He puts a password on it, making sure only he can access it. He quickly typed a message and sent it to you. He finds himself staring at his phone, waiting for you to reply. He started to tap his fingers on the kitchen counter, sighing and huffing. He looked at himself in the reflection of the window. Is he falling in love with you? Is he jealous, Needy? He ran his hand through his hair as he groaned and stood up, walking upstairs as he twisted the knob of his room.

You laughed as Marc cracked a joke, “I’m just saying—” He chuckled, “That’s funny, but never say that to me ever again! ” You slapped his shoulder as you laughed, “You still do that, huh? ” He winced in pain. “The what? ” You frowned, “The things that you do when you laugh, slapping my shoulder, it hurts—” He pouted as he teased you, “Oh—stop it.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

The warm water splashed through In-Ho’s skin as he relaxed under the shower, breathing heavily as he thought of you. Ever since he jerks himself at the thought of you, he couldn’t stop doing it. He groans at himself for doing such a thing like that.

In-Ho is a man who barely touches himself unless he needs release; whenever he’s stressed from work, he’ll stroke his cock with his left hand, and after he cums, he’ll act like nothing happened and will go straight back to work. And now here he is—in the shower moaning your name breathlessly as he came—shooting his cum on the ceramic walls of his bathroom, he rested his head on the wall, his chest rising up and down, “Fuck…” he muttered.

He went out of the shower as he wrapped a towel on his waist, he opened his closet trying to find comfortable clothes to put on for your dinner with him tonight. Should he wear something casual? Something that he’ll get to tease you with, to linger your eyes on? He grabbed a pair of black pants and a charcoal gray button-up shirt. He put them on as he looked at himself in the mirror. He chuckled as he rolled his sleeves through his elbow—exposing his veins that go all the way up to his biceps. He also left his collar unbuttoned, getting a tiny glimpse of his skin. He sprayed some of his expensive perfume on his neck. After putting on his glasses, he went downstairs and grabbed an expensive bottle of wine that he bought from Italy a year ago. He wished that you liked wine; he forgot to ask you that—he just knows that you like black coffee.

He stood outside your door, remembering the first time he went here. He was rude to you. He softly chuckled through the memory. Your soft and innocent expression always caught him off guard. He always thought, how could such a grumpy old man like him meet a bright person like you? He could only sigh at the question in his mind. He brought his knuckles on your door and remembered to knock softly, not wanting to startle you like he did before.

“Oh—I’ll get it,” Marc said as he stood up from his seat as you and Yu-Jin cuddled on the floor. You nodded. In-Ho knocked again. “Just a sec—” He heard a different voice coming from the inside of the house. Shit, were you with someone else? Are you having dinner with someone else and not him? The door swung open as In-Ho frowned, “Who is it?” You asked as you walked slowly towards the front door, “It’s the old man from the coffee shop earlier,” Marc said eyeing In-Ho from up to down, ‘I’m gonna kill him,’ In-Ho thought as he scoffed at marc’s words, “Oh, he’s here for the dinner–” You said as you looked at In-Ho ‘Fuck, he’s hot.’ You thought as you gave him a smile, In-Ho’s gaze softened when he saw you, “Y/n.” In-Ho said giving you a slight smile, Fuck he looks breath taking, His dark brown disheveled hair, His style of clothing–Honestly you love how In-Ho dressed himself unlike guys your age who dressed like everyone else you see on the street, But In-Ho, he dress himself perfectly, His taste in Clothes are elegant, Always give him that aura and intimidation, His looks matches the way he dress–And fuck, you could smell that strong scent of if perfume, It smell like burnt amber and leather, It smells so manly. 

In-Ho noticed the way you looked at him. He knows that his plan worked. You look like you could do anything to him right now. The way your eyes traveled up and down through his figure, your eyes full of lust as you look at him, he doesn’t give a fuck about your friend. He’ll take you away from him. You’re his and he’s yours, and he’ll make you his no matter what. 

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Author's Note: Aaaaa part 4 finally, I've had so many sleepless nights thinking how will i end it, Another cliffhanger ending for the next chapter though, I'm so grateful that you guys loved this series, I'll make sure to continue writing this series for y'all!

Taglist: (Let me know if you want to join my taglist!)

@badasoneandonly @jspidey5 @angela075905 @totowolfffcheco @sylviavf @maria-trisha @k1ra-park3r @rosegracewood09 @onyxmango @macnbriee @annasnape7 @reader101988888 @bridge-always @gloriousjellyfisharcade @lightwork-no-reaction @obx-potc-marvel-hp-ep @tinylawyerbluebird @trashmouthrei @anacondaiscoot @pinkjrqsper @angelofthorr @sebbymybaby21

[netscapenavigator-official]

I want you to point to the part of this post where I said there had NEVER been media manipulation about Mangione. What I said was

This isn't a case of media manipulation.

"This," as in the very scenario I laid out in the very first sentence, and the only scenario this post addresses because this is the scenario that inspired me to make this post about this scenario.

YOU made the choice to insert your own biases and interpret this post as about Mangione in general, and then YOU chose to pretend like you know MY opinion of him without checking a single other thing on my blog or internet existence. Pissing on the poor reading comprehension. This website never seems to disappoint on that front.

Also, I'm sorry you find the reality-checking POV cringe, but it's not my problem you prefer to live in a deluded pseudo-reality. We, as a society and species, have nothing to gain from rejecting reality and embracing impulsive and biased fantasies that only serve to distract us. By keeping ourselves oriented with the reality of situations, we better prepare ourselves to work with reality and change it in more effective and desirable ways, rather than constantly being disappointed and ill-prepared when it doesn't match up with our wish list.

I, personally, very much have a favorable opinion of Mangione, and I very much wish his alleged actions would've sparked copycats. However, you hadn't even considered someone could like Mangione while also wanting to have a realistic perception of his public image. I hope Mangione goes free. I hope there still are copycats brewing. However, I gain nothing but an inevitable disappointment if I try to convince myself that he's more popular than he actually is.

If further data comes out showcasing YouGov's poll to be incorrect, then I will adjust my opinion and mentality correctly. However, until then, I am not going to base my opinions and thought processes on a superstitious hunch when we have well-researched facts at our disposal. As much as I want Mangione and his alleged actions to be universally beloved, the data simply says they are not. Being conscious and aware of that hurts no one, and it doesn't change my personal opinion of Mangione in the slightest.

Also, might I add, your short-sighted, conservative-propagandized mentality of distrusting and wanting to invalidate polls & surveys is very alarming. Being distrustful of certain "facts" can be an extremely important tool when utilized properly. However, if you whip it out in such an extreme, declarative, full-force manner every time you so much as get a hunch, then you aren't radical and ahead of the curve. You're a conservative. Blindly trusting everything is bad, but blindly distrusting everything isn't any better.

“Luigi Mangione disappeared from headlines once the media realized people loved him.”

Bitch, his trial got delayed until mid-February because Prosecutors requested it, and his lawyer accepted. That’s it. That’s why there haven’t been any updates: There aren’t any updates. It’s not that deep.

Also, thinking Mangione was universally beloved is very much a Tumblr echo chamber thing. According to a survey done by YouGov, the ONLY demographics which “majority” support Mangione are people aged 18-29, and people who self described their politics as “Very Liberal.” That’s it.

39% of under 30s agreed. 32% were indifferent, and 29% disagreed. Every other age demographic saw disagreement surpass agreement.

47% of “Very Liberal” individuals agreed. 22% were indifferent, and 31% disagreed. Every other political leaning category (including “Liberal” and “Moderate”) had their Indifference and Disagreement exceed their Agreement.

For the average U.S. Adult, the survey concluded that 21% agree with what Mangione did, 37% were indifferent, and 43% disagreed.

So no. This isn’t a case of media manipulation. This is a case A: There quite literally being nothing new to report on, and B: Mangione not being as bipartisan-ly popular as most of you think.

[cloverapple]

do you have anymore advice? your post helped me so much pls I need more

The Restaurant Analogy For Reality Shifting

Aghhh I told myself I wasn’t going to post anything else, yet here I am XD. Hopefully this is helpful.

You already know how to shift. “Oh, but I—” nope. Nope. You already know how to shift. How do I know that? Because shifting is simply the act of becoming aware of your desired reality. And how do you become aware? By focusing, by choosing what you want to become aware of. When your focus and intention are aligned with your DR, you’re already shifting.

“But the symptoms—“

Oh to grab and politely shake you until you realize that “becoming aware of XYZ” is merely focusing on that thing, becoming aware of it. Are you laying there focusing on your DR? Congratulations, you’ve become aware of your DR.

(There’s a very popular post on here (that I can’t find rn bc I’m rushing as I type this) that states your awareness shifts first and then your senses follow. I cannot stress enough how true that is.)

When you lay down to shift, you don’t need to overcomplicate it. Just focus on your DR and allow it to come to you. Let yourself shift. Sure, allowing it might involve slipping into an altered state of consciousness, using methods, counting or affirming—if that feels natural to you in the moment. But ultimately, it comes down to self-trust. Your mind already knows how to shift. Maybe your issue is that you just need to step out of your own way and let it happen. Which in that case:

Deciding to shift is like deciding to go to a restaurant and sitting down.

Choosing your DR is like selecting a meal from the menu.

Letting your subconscious do the work is like trusting the chef in the kitchen to cook your meal.

What happens next? Inevitably, the chef brings out your meal—you become aware of your DR.

Now, what NOT to do:

You don’t march into the kitchen and grab the ingredients from the chef. You don’t argue with them about how they’re making your meal. Your chef, your mind, knows how to cook. You don’t pace back and forth from the kitchen to your table, spiraling in doubt, wallowing in self-pity, or crying to everyone in the restaurant about how you’ll never get your food and how you’re doomed to starve. You don’t leave the restaurant altogether. You sit down, relax, and trust the process.

“But what if my meal takes a year, or two, or even more?”

Well, think about it—what have you been doing during that time? Have you been running into the kitchen? Losing faith in the chef? Accusing him of not knowing how to cook? Your beliefs shape your reality. What you believe—what you truly believe—is what manifests.

This even applies to the “restaurant.” If you believe your meal will take forever, it will. If you believe the chef isn’t cooking, they won’t be. If you believe you’ll never get your meal, then you probably won’t.

But that’s the beauty of going to the restaurant. No matter how much you doubt, the meal comes eventually. Why else would you have sat down at the restaurant?

And there’s another thing: some meals may take longer, and that’s completely fine. Even if you’ve been patiently sitting here waiting for it and it’s been taking forever in your mind, that’s completely fine. Let go of this atattchment you have to time.

So what if the meal took a year to reach your table? 2 years? 3 years? 4 years? 5 years? Has all that time passed since you’re reading this? Awesome! So why are you still focused on it?

All the time you’ve spent shifting, you will get back and more once you start shifting. 2 years? You gain it back. 3 years? Back into your hand it goes. 4 years? There it is again. 5 years? You got it back.

Focus on the now; sit at the restaurant, enjoy the live music, talk to other patrons, flip through the menu and browse because maybe you want to change your meal or try an appetiser.

“Changing the meal (my DR) means it’s going to take even longer!”

Who told you that? I don’t know what kind of cooking you guys are doing IRL, but afaik, if the stove is already on and the pan is warm, searing that stake is going to be just as quick.

“Clover, but you just implied that arguing with the chef messes with your meal!”

Arguing with the chef (your subconscious) is very different from politely poking your head through the kitchen doors and informing him that you want a different meal.

“But how do I focus on my DR?”

I love this question! When you’re sitting at the table, expecting your meal, what are you doing? You’re probably thinking about your food—imagining the flavors, the texture, the sensations of eating it, the satisfaction of finally having it. That’s how you focus on your DR.

When you’re laying there doing your shifting process, think about what it feels like to be in your DR. Use your senses. Imagine the smells, the sounds, the things you’d touch, the things you’d hear. Visualize, ground yourself, and do what feels natural for you. There’s no right or wrong way to focus—just let yourself become immersed in the idea of your DR and trust it’s coming to you.

What you need to do is simple: select your meal, sit down, and know that it’s coming. I’m not even telling you to wait for it—just know that it’s already on its way. The moment you ordered, it became yours. That’s all there is to it.

[twijaxx]

more fem vamp rin pllzzz ^_^ biting necks this time perhaps

oh! so yall want more Fem vamp Rin? WHO AM I TO REFUSE?

F! itoshi rin x F! reader, Vampire Rin, Smut, VERY occ Rin, Pet names [ Cute girl, Pretty girl] Neck bitting, Blood. wc: 1k

You heard your stomach rumbling, it was evening already so you decided to make some food. As you were going downstairs (wondering where’s your gf OBVIOUSLY) you heard some strange noises at your doorstep “is someone there??… Rinnie is that you?” you usually brushed strange noises off cause you literally lived in the middle of the forest so it was common, but this time you where sure it wasn’t pack of raccoons or couple of wolfs.

“mhhh… me… please.” you where standing too far away from your door to actually hear what that someone.. was talking about, you where scared but you decided to approach your door and look thru the peephole.

The “someone” you heard was actually your girlfriend, but something wasn’t right she was all beaten up, covered in blood clenching at her stomach, did she fight someone again?

“[name] let me in… please…” you where just standing there in shock not even thinking before opening the door.

“Rin what happened! did you-“ you didn’t even have time to finish your sentence before she started passing out but you managed to catch her quickly “what am i gonna do with you now…”

You slowly dragged Rin into your house but what now? she’s all covered in blood and you didn’t want to stain any of your furniture (not talking ab the fact that your fav t-shirt is already stained) You decided to lay her down on the floor, clean her up, change her clothes and then lay her down on your bed.

You managed to do all that, you gave Rin quick kiss on the lips and went downstairs to make something to eat. Your ramen was done microwaving, as you sat down to finally eat you felt someone’s hands on your shoulders (why is everyone interrupting you today?)

“what are you doing Rin?..” -she didn’t respond, that was quite a common thing for her when she wanted to avoid your questions.

“what happened? did you get in a fight again??”-no response, but this time you felt Rin hair nuzzling in your neck slowly leaving wet kisses along your artery, you didn’t have time to ask another question because she lifted you up from your chair (poor ramen:<) and started walking up your stairs carrying you to your bedroom.

You were left breathless the time she finally made it to your bed. “i’m.. hungry, can i feed off on you?” -she said while taking off your bloody t-shirt form earlier. You nodded in a response. You knew she loves to get your heart pounding before finally sinking her fangs into your neck and she never fails to do that.

Rin didn’t waste any second, taking off your bra and panties, you felt like she was staring into your soul every time you two have sex and to be honest, it turned you on so much:3

“come on pretty girl, what are you waiting for? come here..” You exactly knew what she meant by those words, Rin just wanted you to sit on her lap so she can have easier access to your neck and your cunt.

And you did what she asked you to, slowly crawling onto Rin lap as she continued to make out with you. You can’t say your heart wasn’t pounding by now but she wanted more, Rin wanted you to feel like your heart is about to jump out of your chest. And as we know Rin always gets what she wants.

Without a warning she put one finger in your already soaked pussy “My cute girl is already so wet for me, didn’t know i turn you on that much” You wanted to say something but she didn’t let you, adding another finger causing you to moan.

“ahh! Rinnie please!…” “I didn’t know my girl is so needy for me, say what you want and i might give it to you” Is she seriously gonna make you say it? she knows you want her to absolutely ruin you under her touch, you wanted to be fucked out to oblivion by her.

“Don’t worry i know what my girl wants. I’m not gonna make you say it this time.” Why you where suddenly even more turned on my those words? As you where lost in your thoughts Rin started moving her fingers in and out of your pussy quickly bringing you to your climax. (in wasn’t your fault for cumming that quickly she was just too good with her fingers okay?)

“You came so quickly, i think you are ready now” she pulled out her fingers out of your cunt, you whined a little at the feeling of emptiness. She started kissing your neck, looking for a place where she can feel your pulse the strongest, just so she can finally taste your sweet blood on her sharp fangs.

After couple more minutes she found it, that oh sweet spot on your neck, she couldn’t stop staring at when you were around her. “i’m gonna bite you now. okay?” You hummed in response, not wanting her to loose the spot, then suddenly you felt pain at the right side of your neck. It hurts, it really fucking does but every time Rin ask you about it you say it doesn’t, you don’t want her to think she’s hurting you so it’s better if you lie.

After what felt like ages she pulled out, licking the excess blood you had on your neck from what just happened. You felt dizzy, little starts appearing before your eyes.

“are you okay [Name]? You look like you’re about to pass out. did i took too much blood??” -she sounds really worried, which is only common when she feeds off on you. You want to lie that you are okay but the look in her eyes stops you from doing it.

“fuck.. i’m really dizzy Rin, can you bring me a glass of water?” -she asked no questions teleporting to your kitchen and then back to your room. Handing you the glass of water waiting for you to stop drinking. She told you to lay down and you did what she asked, Rin laid down beside you whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep.

tags: @isaisliterallyhim :3

O MY FUCKING GOD THIS TOOK ME SOO LONG AND ITS SO SHIT BUT I NEED ITS NOT A WANT ITS A NEED TO SPREAD MY FEM VAMP RIN INTO THE WORD, I NEED PEOPLE TO KNOW ABOUT MY FUCKING OBSESSION thanks for reading pooks 😝chat i’m lowkey going crazy for writing two fics in two days….

[drgnflyteabox]

☄︎₊˚˖ fusion vs. fission [1]

series masterlist | simon riley x fem!reader part two -> cosmic dance

> summary: simon learns something crucial. or, simon wants a better life for you. he's willing to do anything to get there. > tags/warnings: murder / violence / death, illness, unplanned pregnancy, poor working conditions, mining, feelings of hopelessness / numbness, hurt/comfort, softdark!simon, scifi, inspired by Alien Romulus, made up science, ambiguous shady deals

Down in the dark and the deep, the air is muggy and teeming with floating particles of dust. They stick to Simon from the damp that builds on his skin, fighting to get through his respirator with each breath.

He’d cut a man for it, watched him leak slowly into a dark offshoot of the mine. Saw the whites of his eyes shine in the lamplight for a brief, terrified moment before going dull.

Nobody had said anything about the missing man. Not the first day, nor the next.

Eventually, it passed like a ship in the sky.

The respirators were luxuries. Simon had watched his own father’s lungs go black from the work, watched him grow small and weak.

Ultimately, it was the sickness that got him. Wasn’t the endless fantasies of violence Simon had replayed in his head since childhood of revenge. 

Just a slow, bleak sickness.

He refuses to let that take him, not while you’re waiting for him to come back.

He leaves the mine, now, crammed into the shaft with his fellow workers in labour. Some have respirators, like him.

Most do not.

The mine shaft creaks, stutters, then dings at the top.

Headlamp, pick, chisel, they all go in a canvas bag, which he straps to his back. Heavy, but not terrible. He only feels it because he’s been worse for wear lately, feeling the effects of hard labour more and more as the years go by.

Still, Simon is better off than some. They walk painfully slowly in and out of their work bunkies, living close to the mines so that they might still work – might still produce labour.

Sick, is what it is. Inhuman.

He can’t bring himself to care, not really, not if he’s being honest. To acknowledge anything but you is to acknowledge how hopeless it all is.

He knows it's bad.

Must be, the way he only feels alive when he opens the door to your shitty little trailer and finally, finally breathes .

You’re asleep, though you must've tried to stay up for him, sweet as you are, and passed out waiting on the couch.

His steps are as quiet as can be as he steps through the threshold of the door, closing it behind him with a rickety sound.

Then he stops. Stares. You’re curled, knees tucked, an old blanket covering you from the shoulders.

Your cheek is pressed to your hand, neck bent, breaths deep.

He thinks you’re beautiful. Knows that you aren’t used to being called that, not when he’d first met you and not now.

But still, he tells you. Loves to watch you scrunch your nose at him and tell him you’re beautiful too, Si .

Part of it is the ultimate rejection of softness, the inability to accept good things in a world demanding that you stay numb to it lest you be burned by getting comfortable.

You complain often about that – about how he’s letting you get comfortable . Lazy, you call it, since he’s stopped letting you go to work.

I worked before I met you, Si , you always say. Doesn’t matter, he’s got you waiting safely at home now.

Bored, maybe, but not lazy. 

Simon has always tried to bring back books or precious commodities from the trade markets like yarn. Things to do. Knows you like to use your hands.

Anything but the mines. He’ll never let you work there again.

Your breath changes when he sits beside you, his weight dipping the worn couch cushion and dragging you just a little closer.

“Told ya not to wait up for me,” he grumbles as your eyes flutter open. Sleepy little cat.

“Wanted to,” you murmur back, though your words jumble and slur a little, half-awake and already leaning towards him like you’re being pulled gravitationally.

“Mm, my sweet girl,” he cups the back of your head, kissing your hair, smelling you.

You’re one of the very few people who smell clean to him. Neutral. Like laundry soap, mostly, and maybe a little bit like the hot bread they serve at breakfast.

A lot of it is just you, though. He likes your natural scent.

Your nose finds his collar, like usual, and you smell him back. He knows he likely smells of soot, of sweat and the minerals they mine on this planet.

You never care. You like how he smells, too, enough to tell him all the time. 

It’s bliss, for a moment. Contentment. He closes his eyes and forgets the haggard faces of his fellow labourers.

Forgets the inequality of it all. Forgets the ads that he walks by that promise a trip on a fancy ship to a better planet if he just worked hard enough.

They’re the only clean thing on the streets, the only things that get wiped and shined on the regular.

He shakes his head, forgets the suffering of the world, and especially of this godforsaken planet.

Then you tense.

He’s attuned to you, can tell when the atmosphere changes. 

When there’s something wrong.

His hands find your face, cradling you, thumbs at your cheeks, “what is it?” he says, brows drawn.

“I have something to tell you,” you say, and his world narrows to a pinpoint.

Simon, sit… we have something to tell you, his mother tells him, before he learns Tommy’s hooked on something bad and he’s barely hanging on.

We’ve got something to tell you, the peace officers broach without a lick of humanity when he learns his family has been killed – a mine explosion had collapsed their trailer into a sinkhole.

So his breath changes. His shoulders tense. He trusts you completely, wholly, in every way, but he’s launched into the void of space by your words and braces for impact.

Only you begin to cry. Hot, globulous tears fall down your cheeks, falling onto his wrists.

They burn worse than hot coal. Hurt worse.

“Sh, you’re alright now,” he soothes. His thumbs brush away as many tears as he can catch, “come on, don’t cry. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I don’t know how this happened,” you hiccough, trying to move your head away from him. He doesn’t let you, holding you in place and letting the stuttering of your breathing resolve itself.

“How what happened, honey?”

“Simon,” – not Si. He braces – “I’m pregnant.”

It starts to rain halfway there. The rain here is different from other planet systems – it makes the air thick with a viscous humidity, coloured with a strange glowing blue.

If he’s to believe the quackjob down the street from him, it’s apparently because this planet is rife with bioluminescent phytoplankton.

I thought plankton were from the water, silly, Tommy says in his memory. I just seen it. He’s four, then, and mostly immune to the suffering he will soon know. 

Simon had been reading to him from a shitty copy of Science for Kids! One leftover from old earth.

This is a special kind, the quackjob had told him. If I could just get a book about it, I could tell you the name … but it’s like phytoplankton!

Simon shakes his head. His mind hasn’t wandered like that in ages.

It’ll be alright, honey, he’d held you there, on the couch, mind miles away. I’ll take care of you, don’t I always? 

He tries to, at least. Has made a hundred promises about your safety, your happiness. Ones he shouldn’t have made, in hindsight, but he’s made them and he intends to fulfil them.

The bar is sparsely populated, likely due to the thick fog of rain.

Price is always there, though. 

It’d be a real sign of impending doom if he weren’t.

There, in the back. Beside him, another man Simon doesn’t know.

What he does know is that Price doesn’t work the mines. Doesn’t have to. The peace officers leave him be, too, because he’s known for making them disappear should they cause any trouble.

“Price,” Simon says gruffly. He’s not putting it on because he doesn’t have to. Naturally big and imposing, he gets the message across.

“Take a seat,” Price says.

He doesn’t make the mistake of thinking he and Price are friendly, but he does know that Price has a sprout of respect for him – it’s up to him to make it grow. To prove himself.

This is the only way for him to take care of you, now.

A deal is made.

The man’s name is Nik, and he’s a pilot. Rare thing on this planet, rarer still that he’s open to business from a man like Simon.

He wants out, and Nik has the means.

Price is included because he needs an extra man on a job, and the history between them lends for a tremulous kind of trust.

A pact built on the fact that each of them are not normal men, not normal workers. They’ve tasted violence, used it, and aren’t afraid to take their gloves off to get a job done.

When he learns of what the mine operator has done to you, he doesn’t immediately act. No, he waits. 

Simon is used to the shadows, to hiding. Used to patience.

He watched his father die, after all, didn’t act even after all that man did to him. Saw him turn to nothing before his eyes.

So he waits for the operator. Finds out his schedule.

You’d been left in the mine for hours. A support had fallen, trapping you and three others behind it. Oxygen grew sparse. No food, no light.

The operator could’ve had a recovery team there within minutes of hearing the news.

Too expensive, he’d said, and sent common miners to dig at the rubble for hours.

That, he could not forgive. Not after seeing your face, tear tracks cutting through the soot, lungs crackling for days afterwards.

Your growing fear of the dark, and of small spaces. Of being enclosed.

No, Simon could not forgive that.

That’s where Price finds him; with blood soaked into his sleeves, knuckles busted, face covered with a mask.

“Looks like you did my job for me.”

Everything comes together, brick by brick, line by line. He agrees to worse things than killing a man for his respirator, but he does it thinking of you and feels nothing for it but satisfaction and peace.

“You sure about this?” Price asks, sipping his drink. Expensive anywhere, a downright luxury here. Speaks to not only his power but his mobility.

Nobody gets off the planet, let alone does it regularly. Nobody but Price – and Nik, Simon thinks.

“I’m sure,” Simon says succinctly. He is, and has never been surer about anything else. There are no boundaries he won’t break for you, nothing he won’t agree to get you out of this hellhole.

Everything’s being expedited now, thanks to the little life growing inside you.

He can’t afford to waste any more time.

You’re still asleep where he left you when he gets back. On the bed this time, covered in a mound of knit blankets.

Your brow is furrowed, even asleep, body curled protectively.

Fuck, that makes his heart squeeze in his chest. Fear, uncertainty, inadequacy. Everything runs through him at one like a herd of wild horses, trampling the earth in their wake.

He crawls in with you, in front of you, staring at your sleeping face. You’re so beautiful, he thinks again.

His knuckles find your cheek, gently touching, eyes dipping down to the curve of your body beneath the blankets.

“S’gonna be alright, sweet girl,” he murmurs, “I’ve got it covered.”

[stormbabylore]

Aeryn doesn't know her age—doesn't even have a nameday, as far as she knows. She "arrived" in Eorzea as a "young adult" with no memories beyond a vague guess at a name, and so she has no determinable age. An astute observer might peg her somewhere in her mid-20s, and that is roughly where I place her on the age chart.

Her other self died in her late teens, at which point she was promptly locked in stasis by Hydaelyn (to prevent the physical manifestation of a dying star from entering the lifestream). She didn't age in stasis, not until the most recent calamity on the Source claimed the life of her reflection there. The rejoining cracked her stasis, causing her to age again, so she would essentially have aged five years from the time of her death to the time she is "reborn" on the Source.

All that to simply repeat: Aeryn doesn't know. I assume she shrugs and stays quiet when questions of her age arise and might jot down arbitrary numbers whenever required to on paper. (This would lead to vast discrepancies about her age within Eorzea's Warrior of Light rumor mill.)

As for outliving her loved ones… yes, she likely will. Which of course makes me very extremely sad. (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) Many fictional character life-death emotions behind the cut:

The fusion with her star drastically impacted both Aeryn's lifespan and aging process, so she'll live a good deal longer than the average hyur. I'm sort of hooked on this poetic notion of her burning out like a star, and her aging would mimic this: she would seem unnaturally ageless for many, many years; then have sudden, milder bursts of growth/change over the span of a few months. (Those who see her regularly would find the signs of aging still too gradual to note from day to day. Anyone who did notice she seemed older than when they last met would shrug it off, because she still looks darn good for a hyur of her age, all things considered.)

She's not immortal and is actively dying like most folks. The time she has is just prolonged. If I had to put a number to it, I'd say her star magic extends her life by roughly 75%, allowing her to live 60-75 extra years and placing her general life expectancy somewhere in the range of 120-175 years, total. As such, even assuming the scions (et al.) get to live full lives and don't have the typical "Eorzea is dangerous, so most people die before 50" endgame… Aeryn's probably still outliving the majority of her non-viera friends.

Lately I've toyed with the notion of her living even longer: becoming a nomad after all her immediate acquaintances pass on and doing as [redacted for spoilers] challenged, ensuring she sees everything of the world she can possibly find. If so, she would eventually stop and/or return to discover a full generation has come and gone, and that few even knew her anymore outside myth/history/legend.

Though I find that particular bit painful to think about, I very much enjoy the idea of Aeryn's story being circular this way. She both begins and ends her journey on the Source "alone," but she is content in her solitude at the end because of the journey she's taken and the way she's grown to love and accept her circumstances... and herself. She burns out, not lamenting a life (a past) she never found, but satisfied with the life she allowed herself to live.

What age is your WoL, if they know it? Will they outlive their loved ones?

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Snow White featuring Toji! You live in a snowy village and have a crush on your handsome neighbor Toji, unaware that he’s been hired by the queen to kill you. 

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Snow White. Age gap (Reader is early 20’s, Toji is mid 30’s). Slight size difference kink.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear

Oh no, the bread is burning! You drop the pins you’d been using to secure your hair beneath your kerchief and rush over to the oven, using a thick towel to grip the iron pan and pull it from the heat. 

You made it in time, thank god. The bread is perfectly baked, soft and plump and warm. You place it in a basket lined with cloth and cover it with a cute, decorative towel, then finish getting ready. You want to look as nice as possible for this. 

The trip is a very short one, just two houses away in your small village, to a rather plain and dark little cottage. Snow has piled up in the yard, and flakes of it blow around your face in light, cold gusts. You straighten your dress and take a deep breath before knocking on the wooden door. In just a few moments, it opens. 

He appears in the doorway, the man called Toji. He’s wearing dark pants and shirt that do little to hide his incredible physique. Tall and muscular, with sharp eyes and black hair. His annoyed expression only softens a little when he sees who is at his door. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says. He doesn’t seem particularly happy to see you, and that makes you deflate just a bit. “What do you need?”

You fidget a bit with the handle of the basket, which suddenly feels heavy and awkward in your hands. “I thought you might be hungry… and, um… I baked bread!”

He glances at the basket, then back to your face. You must be blushing by now, so you have trouble meeting his intense gaze. 

Toji sighs, then takes the basket from your hands. “Thanks,” he mumbles as he closes the door in your face. 

Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned. You’d imagined him inviting you in to enjoy the bread with him, but you should have known better. Oh well, at least you now you can come back later to retrieve your basket. 

Disappointed and a bit dejected, you a walk back to the home you share with your bedridden father. Snow crunches beneath your shoes, seeping in to make your socks cold and damp. 

You’ve been in love with Toji for two years now, but he rarely gives you more than a passing glance. When he first moved into the village, you avoided him like everyone else. He was a big scary man who didn’t talk much and kept to himself. There were rumors that he used to be a member of the royal guard, that he’d been married once but his wife mysteriously disappeared, that he had a son out there somewhere that no one has seen. All of it was enough to make you steer clear of him at all cost. 

That all changed when a massive, violent boar began ravaging the village at night. It destroyed crops, killed pets and livestock, and even seriously injured several villagers who had tried to chase it away. It eventually killed a child, and the whole village realized something had to be done. Two different hunting parties tried to kill the boar, and both failed. The men returned with wounds and defeated expressions. 

Then one morning, Toji walked into the village with the boar, very much dead, slung across his shoulder. Turns out, he’d been a royal Huntsman before leaving the castle. The villagers warmed up to him then, hosting a huge feast using the boar’s meat. Toji remained quiet and unfriendly for the most part, though he did seem happy to receive the payment the villagers gathered for him. 

Still, you’ll never forget the sight of him with that boar over his shoulder, how powerful and confident he looked. You fell for him that day. 

Since then, you’ve tried to get to know him better. You’ve tried striking up conversations when you see him at the market, paying him to help you do simple repairs around your house, and even cooking for him. He accepts any jobs you offer and takes the free food, but his behavior toward you hasn’t improved. He’s displayed no interest in you at all, and you’re on the verge of giving up. You’re considering just telling him how you feel so that he can reject you properly and you can move on, but you’re afraid of the inevitable embarrassment. 

You suppose you can simply admire him in silence for a little while longer. 

Toji opens the basket and pulls out the bread. It’s still warm, so he bites off a chunk and chews slowly, savoring the taste and trying not to think about the lovely young woman who baked it. 

Toji is a lot of things, but he’s no fool. He knows his sweet neighbor is attracted to him. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s made it obvious. And Toji is flattered. 

If he were ten years younger, he’d have already had her pinned beneath him in his bed, her legs trembling on either side of his waist. But now? Now he’d rather avoid the trouble. 

He could invite her in, give her a good fucking, and she’d no doubt enjoy it. But the problems would come after. What if she got pregnant? He doesn’t want to deal with that, not again. Even worse, what if she developed genuine feelings for him? More drama he simply has no interest in at his age. Better to go to a brothel in town to get his occasional needs met. 

The girl is just too sweet for him. Too innocent. She’s as pure as freshly fallen snow, and someone like him would only taint her beyond recognition. 

He drops into a chair near the fireplace as he finishes off the bread, bitter at himself for lacking the willpower to reject the food she makes for him. 

Ah well, if he spends less on food, maybe he can save up enough to pay off his gambling debts. 

While thinking these things, he hears a knock at his door. Has she come back for her basket? In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have taken it. He grabs it from the table as he walks to the door, so he can push it into her hands and close the door before he’s tempted to let her in. 

When he opens the door, basket in hand, he’s surprised to find a royal guard standing on his doorstep. The man is tall, not quite as broad as Toji, and wearing a crisp royal uniform in red and silver. Snow flakes blow into Toji’s house, whipping around the guard who seems unbothered by the frosty air. 

Toji frowns. “What do you want?”

“You’ve been summoned by the queen,” the guard says, all formal language and behavior. 

“I don’t work for the crown anymore,” Toji tells him, his hand unconsciously gripping the handle of the basket. 

“The queen is aware of that,” the guard says, “so she is prepared to pay you handsomely for your services.”

This gives Toji pause. He has no love or loyalty for the queen, having left partially because of her selfish and cruel rules. She puts on a kind and wise face for the masses, but he’s been her personal guard a few times and knows what she’s like beneath the public mask. 

But he needs money. He’s been banned from three different gambling houses in three different nearby towns. Soon he’ll be out of places to go to feed his addiction. 

With a shrug, he leaves the basket on the floor and steps outside, closing the door behind him. 

A nondescript carriage is waiting for him. Not a royal one. This must be a job the queen wants to keep quiet. Toji can guess the nature of it, considering the things she had him do while he was in her service. 

Assassination. Murder. Taking out potential threats to her rule or, more accurately, people she just didn’t like. 

The ride to the castle takes over an hour, moving slowly over icy roads. By the time Toji arrives, he’s feeling restless and bored. 

Guards line the walkway leading up to the entrance, and they all stand silently as Toji walks by. They probably all know who he is, even if they haven’t met him. He’s been told that his reputation for being the strongest royal guard still holds up today. 

He’s led to the queen’s private chambers, and the guard who brought him steps out, leaving Toji alone with the beautiful ruler. 

The queen is sitting in a high backed golden chair. Not quite a throne, but close enough. She’s already dressed for bed, and Toji worries that she’s going to invite him to her bed again. He refused the first time, not because he didn’t find her physically attractive, but because her personality is quite repulsive. 

In truth, the queen is a stunning woman, but that very fact makes her vain and twisted. He remembers well the bizarre games she used to play, making random guards declare her more beautiful than their wives, sometimes in front of their wives. 

She stands up, regarding him with her golden honey eyes. “You look good, Toji.”

He grins. “Thanks.”

He was probably supposed to say “So do you,” but he likes the quiet anger his response provokes in her face. 

She frowns, but continues as if she’s not offended. “I have a job for you, one I’m willing to pay an exorbitant amount of coin for.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”

“I need you to eliminate someone for me,” she says. Of course. He expected that. 

“Who?” he asks, prepared to memorize a name and location. 

The queen walks over to a nearby wall and draws back a curtain, revealing a huge oval mirror trimmed in gold. 

Toji can’t suppress a sigh. He hasn’t forgotten the way she asked this supposedly magic mirror every night if she was still the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. 

She glances back at him, then faces the mirror and begins her “incantation”. 

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

The mirror always shows the queen her own reflection, because that’s what mirrors do. Toji has always thought someone played a hilarious trick on her when they sold her this mirror. 

But to his shock, the mirror shows a different face this time. To his even greater shock, it’s a face he recognizes. In fact, the young woman in the mirror was at his doorstep earlier this afternoon, with a basket of baked bread. 

Toji keeps his face straight, not wanting to show any reaction. The queen stares at him, as if she expects something from him. Does she already know this girl lives in the same village as him? 

“Who is she?” Toji finally asks, interested in how much the queen knows. 

“A loose end I failed to take care of twenty years ago,” she replies, looking at the mirror now instead of him. 

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes shift back to his face. “Never mind. Let’s just call her a threat to my rule and leave it at that. I want you to kill her, as soon as possible.”

Toji chuckles. “Because your fancy mirror says she’s prettier than you?”

The rage in the queen’s eyes makes him regret the comment. He doesn’t fear the queen, or anyone she could send to attack him. He’s the best assassin she’s ever had, after all. But dealing with all of that would be a huge annoyance, one he’d rather avoid. 

Her angry expression morphs into a wicked smile. “Poor, simple Toji. You wouldn’t understand the complexities of rulership. Just do as you’re told, and you’ll be paid.”

He ignores the insult. She’s obviously just trying to bite back. “Alright. Give me a name and a location.”

The queen speaks the young woman’s name as if it’s venom on her tongue, then says, “You should be familiar with her location, Toji. She lives in your village.”

Toji shrugs. “Oh yeah, she looks a little familiar.”

“So you’ll take the job?” 

“Sure,” Toji says. “Give me a day or two and I’ll take care of it. Have my payment ready.”

He turns to walk out, but the queen’s silky voice stops him. 

“Toji… make it messy. Make her suffer. I want her face ruined.”

He glances back at her, then smiles. “Whatever you say, Your Majesty.”

You wake up early the next morning and tend the fireplace, staying near it for several minutes to warm up. You get breakfast ready before waking your father and sitting a tray of food in front of him. 

“Delicious as always, dear,” he tells you, his voice frighteningly weak. He’s been sick for two years, of an ailment you don’t quite understand. The village doctor told you there’s no cure, so all you can do is try to make him comfortable. 

You don’t mind taking care of him. He raised you with love, all alone after your mother died. He was a builder, being especially good at making furniture, before his illness rendered him unable to work. Luckily he’d saved back enough coin for the two of you to survive, but you try to be frugal. 

Tucking him back into bed after he finished his meal, you kiss the top of his head. “You just rest, father. I’ll be taking care of some chores today.”

He smiles up at you. “Don’t stay out in the cold too long.”

“I won’t,” you tell him. Luckily most of the things you need to do today are indoor chores. 

You get right to work, cleaning the kitchen of the mess breakfast left, sweeping the floors, and making your bed. It’s early in the afternoon when you hear a knock at your door. 

Smoothing your dress as you walk to the door, you wonder who it could be. You don’t often receive unexpected guests. So when you open the door to find Toji standing just outside, your heart skips a beat. 

He holds your basket out to you. “Here,” he says, “I didn’t mean to take it. Sorry about that.”

You take the basket from him, feeling slightly dazed. He’s never come to your house before without being hired to do something. “Oh, that’s alright,” you manage to squeak out, “I have another one.”

He smiles at you, maybe for the first time, and says, “I’m heading into the forest to gather some firewood. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me and keep me company.”

He… he wants you to come with him? Oh my. That bread must have done the trick! You can’t stop a grin from spreading over your face. “I’d love to go! Just let me go tell my father I’ll be stepping out for a while.”

Toji nods, then adds, “Wear something warm!”

You hurry to your father’s room and tell him you’re going out to “help a neighbor with something”. Not a lie, but you left out some details. You’re an adult, so it’s not like you need his permission, but you don’t want him to worry about anything. 

Next you pull on thick wool socks, boots, gloves, scarf, and finally a heavy cloak over your dress. You don’t want to cut the outing short because you got too cold. Before joining Toji, you walk over to the house next door and ask them to check in on your father while you’re gone. 

With everything taken care of, you step over to Toji’s side and walk with him into the woods, feeling giddy with excitement. 

He drags a wooden wagon behind him, making it seem effortless. “Wanna sit down and ride?” he asks when he notices you looking at it. “It’ll be full of wood on the way back.”

You smile. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather walk.”

The snow is thick, but your boots are well equipped to handle it. You’ve spent your life in a village that gets heavy snowfall every winter, so you’re accustomed to walking in it. 

“So what happened to your mother?” Toji suddenly asks. 

The question catches you off guard for a moment, but doesn’t bother you. He wants to know more about you! That’s a good thing! 

“She died during childbirth,” you tell him. “I never met her.”

“Sorry to hear it,” he says, his eyes shifting away from you to focus on a large branch in your path. He tosses it out of the way as he asks another question. “Got any other family? Besides your father I mean.”

“None that I’ve met. My father has a sister who lives far away from here, I’m told.”

“Hmm.”

That was a strange response. He seems to be thinking your answers over, as if he’s trying to figure something out. After a few moments of walking, he stops and motions around him. “This is the spot. Lots of fallen branches and trees. You can sit on the wagon while I work.”

You’d like to help him gather wood, but you realize you’d probably just get in the way. Instead you watch him work. He lugs heavy logs into one end of the wagon as if they weigh nothing at all, snapping thick branches as if they’re made of paper. 

At some point he pauses and looks at you. “What is it you like about me anyway?”

You freeze, staring at him as your face turns hot. He knows?! “Uh… well… I…”

He laughs, tossing another log onto the wagon before stepping closer to you. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. I just got the impression you’re interested in me. Unless I’m reading you wrong.”

You look down at your boots as you fiddle with the ends of your scarf. “I like you. I have for a while now,” you say. “It started when you killed that boar. I thought you must be really brave and kind to hunt it down after it killed a child.”

You chance a glance at Toji, curious about his reaction. He’s looking off into the woods, not at you, with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I’m not as great as you think I am,” he says, so low you almost miss it. 

You stand up from the wagon. “Of course you are! You didn’t have to help the village, but you did! Even though people were spreading those rumors about you.”

He looks at you then. “What rumors?” His tone is more playful than offended. 

You hesitate, but decide to tell him the truth. “People in the village were saying you had a wife once but she mysteriously disappeared.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes seem a little sad. “She didn’t disappear. She died.”

You place a hand over your mouth in shock. “I’m so sorry!”

He smiles. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Any other rumors?”

You instantly think of one, but you’re not sure if you should mention it. Toji looks at you expectantly, so you take a breath and say, “Just one. They said you have a son, but no one has ever seen him.”

“That one’s true,” he says. “I do have a son, but he lives with his mother’s family for now.”

You perk up. “Oh? How old is he?”

Toji thinks for a moment, which seems strange to you. “I guess he must be seven by now.”

You know you probably shouldn’t ask the next question, but curiosity is getting the best of you. “Do you not see him often?”

Again, that sadness creeps into his eyes. “No, not often. It’s been two years since the last time I visited him. It’s a three day journey both ways, and the people he’s staying with don’t exactly welcome me with open arms.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, meaning every word.

His eyes meet yours again. “What do you think of me now, knowing I have a kid I don’t take care of?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, then say, “I think you’re doing the best you can, and you’d like to see your son more often. I still think you’re a good man.”

Toji laughs and looks away, continuing to gather wood. 

A little later, you notice the snow is getting heavier and the wind stronger. You recognize these signs. A blizzard is rolling in. You look at the sky, at the dark gray clouds hovering over the woods, and pull your cloak more tightly around you. A gust of icy wind blows past, making you shiver. 

Suddenly Toji is standing right in front of you, pulling off his heavy coat and draping it over your shoulders. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have asked a lady to come out in this cold.”

“No, it’s fine!” you say quickly. “I’m used to being in the cold! You should keep your coat, Toji. You’ll get sick.”

He grins down at you. “I’ve never been sick in my life.”

You snuggle into his coat while he goes back to his task. It carries the warmth of his body heat and smells like him. 

At some point the snow and the wind become so strong, Toji has to stop. He looks over the wood in his wagon and says, “This’ll have to do. But I don’t know if we can make it back to the village in this weather.”

You stand up, alarmed. “What should we do?”

He looks at the sky, then into the trees, his gaze leading deeper into the forest. “There’s a hunting cabin nearby. We’ll have to stay there until the snow lets up.”

Your heart flutters. The thought of being stuck in a cabin alone with Toji has you feeling heated, but…

“I’m worried about my father,” you say. 

“You asked someone to check on him, right? They’ll probably look after him tonight.”

“I suppose so,” you say, turning to follow Toji as he begins to pull his wagon. 

The trek through the snowy woods is a short one. Only ten minutes of walking lead you to a small cabin. It’s dark and plain, but in this winter storm it looks like a paradise. 

Toji parks his wagon out front and then opens the door, ushering you inside before pulling it shut. It’s pitch dark inside, so much so that you can’t see your hand in front of your face. You hear Toji say something, but it sounds like he’s far away, and the raging wind outside drowns out his voice. 

Just when you’re starting to worry, a faint glow appears, then Toji emerges from what you assume is another room, carrying a small candle. He reaches it to you, then lights another. “I’ll get the fireplace going,” he says as his light moves away again. 

You hear noises, familiar sounds to you, and after a few minutes, a fire lights up. It grows quickly in strength until the whole room is illuminated. You move closer to the fire for warmth as Toji stands up from his kneeling position in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t say anything as he begins lighting more candles and sitting them in various places around the living room and kitchen. 

With all the candles and the roaring fire, you can now see the interior of the cabin quite clearly. It’s very rustic, with scant furnishings. It’s obviously not designed for long stays, but for hunters to rest overnight or wait out a storm. 

The living room has two wooden chairs and a single small table. There’s an old rug that does nothing to cover the dusty hardwood floor. The kitchen is basically a nook off the west side of the living room. There’s a simple stove, a sink, and a table that would seat no more than four people. 

The place is surprisingly cozy, and the fire is very warm, so you slip off Toji’s coat and your own cloak before sitting down on the rug in front of the fireplace. You pull off your gloves and hold your hands as close to the flames as you can stand. 

You almost don’t notice Toji sitting down beside you. His movements are so quick and quiet, like a shadow sneaking along the wall. You’d think such a big man would be hard to miss, but somehow Toji manages to disappear every now and then. 

“Warm now?” he asks, pulling off his own gloves. 

You smile up at him. “Yes, thank you.”

He scoots closer to you, until his thick shoulder is touching yours. “We’ll be warmer if we share body heat.”

Your heart skips. You’ve never been this close to him before. Suddenly the cabin feels hot, and you find yourself tugging at the collar of your dress to let a little air in. You glance at his face, only to find him looking right at you. 

With this atmosphere, this closeness, maybe it’s the right time. You tilt your head up and meet his gaze. “Toji… I don’t just like you. I’m in love with you.”

His eyes widen slightly, but before you can say another word, he leans down and kisses you. His lips feel cool against your heated ones, and you close your eyes as his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer. 

You press into the kiss, tugging at his shirt with your hands, encouraging him. You’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t bear the thought of stopping now. 

Toji eases you onto your back on the rug, then pulls his shirt over his head. The fire light dances across his muscular chest and makes his green eyes gleam. Oh god, he’s so beautiful. 

He reaches down and unties the laces at the front of your dress, loosening it enough to pull the top of it down your shoulders, exposing your supple breasts. You raise up enough to help him pull your dress down your hips and off your body, leaving only plain cotton panties. He kisses you again as his hands slide the panties down your legs, finally baring your whole body to him. 

Your skin is flushed in the flame’s shifting light, but your eyes are drawn to Toji as he pulls off his remaining clothes. His body is perfection, like a statue of a god. 

When he lays down beside you, his strong hands begin exploring your body, his skin hot on yours. You curve into him, against him, as one warm hand slips between your thighs. His movements are gentle, but his hunter’s fingers are rough as they probe your tender, glazed flesh. 

With a shudder and a gasp, you close your eyes again and focus on the pleasure, on the way his thumb circles your clit, the way his firm body is pressed against you. It’s building up inside you, something powerful and radiant, ready to burst free. Your shaking hands grip his forearm as a mewling cry escapes you. 

Then, suddenly, the pleasure overflows within you. Your body quivers on the rug as the orgasm ripples through you, finally leaving you breathless. 

Toji gives you a few moments to catch your breath, his eyes watching you with his intense gaze. Then he rolls over onto you, pinning your body beneath him. He holds himself up with his arms to avoid crushing you, but you’re still effectively caged in under him. 

And you love it. 

You open your legs, letting his body slide in between. You can feel his rock hard cock brushing against you, and you look up at him with eager eyes. His expression is partially shadowed, but he leans down and kisses you again as he finally pushes himself inside you. 

He takes it slow, moving with the grace of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing and has full control over his own body. He easily strikes a rhythm that gradually takes him deeper while rubbing the spots within you that make you moan out his name. 

Your legs encircle his waist, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. You hold onto him with all your might as the blizzard rages outside, the wind howling in your ears. 

For these brief moments beneath him, all of it falls away. The storm, your concern for your father, your worry that this only a one time thing for Toji. Your mind can only focus on the searing pleasure, the feeling of being full of him, his hands hot on your skin. 

You cum again, trembling under him, your weakened limbs loosing their grip and falling to the rug. When Toji finishes, he kisses you again as he cums inside you, his cock buried as deeply as possible until he’s emptied himself. 

He pulls out and rolls off you, leaving you totally spent and panting. Your eyelids feel heavy as you watch him stand up, grab his coat from the floor, and drape it over you. 

Within seconds, you fall asleep, lulled by the wind outside the cabin and the warmth of the fire. 

Toji sighs as he pulls on his clothes, already regretting the decisions he’s made today. 

His plan was to take his sweet neighbor, and target, out into the woods and then to this cabin. He knew the weather would get bad, knew they’d be forced to take shelter in this quiet, isolated place. 

Toji thought he’d do her a kindness by giving her the fucking she so obviously wanted from him before he kills her. 

But now, as he looms over her unguarded, sleeping form, knife in hand, he’s thinking his plan was flawed. He doesn’t want to kill her. He’s already decided to kill her in her sleep, so she doesn’t feel pain or fear, and mess up her lovely face afterward. The stupid bitch of a queen won’t know if he did it before or after death. 

He clenches the knife tightly, bringing it close to her neck. She shifts slightly, her face turning toward him but her eyes remaining closed. “Toji….” she murmurs, a faint smile on her lips. All he can think about is how those lips tasted on his own. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, lowering the knife to his side. He can’t do it. Not because he’s too moral or righteous. He’s never been either of those things. He just doesn’t want to kill her. 

Something the queen said is still rattling in his brain. “A loose end,” she called her. What did that mean? Is this young woman related to the queen? The mystery is eating at Toji, and he won’t be able to rest until he figures it out. 

He sits down in one of the two chairs and watches his new lover sleep, deciding to tell her the truth in the morning.  

[adumbratrapedme]

Atsumu Miya x reader | teen pregnancy. pt 1 the news.

Synopsis. a teen pregnancy storie between atsumu and reader.

wc. | genre. angst to fluff |cw/tags. angst, teen pregnancy mentions, fluff, etc.

teen pregnancy series masterlists here!

╭⋅ So, this happens on your third year at higschool, you guys dated since your first and at first it was good, but... im a sucker for "fuckboy!atsumu" allegations and agst so...

╭⋅ Atsumu definitely has that charming, cocky persona, and he’s known to flirt with anyone who catches his eye. But when he’s with the you, he can be surprisingly soft and genuinely sweet. Still, it’s a struggle for him to drop the “playboy” act completely, which causes a lot of tension in u guys relationship.

╭⋅ You guys always break up- and come back- break up- and come back-

╭⋅ Despite breaking up (thing he regrets everytime) he hates seeing you with someone else and can’t stand the thought of u moving on.

╭⋅ The pregnancy news hits him harder than he admits, and he starts questioning whether he’s ready to be a father and whether he deserves the chance to make things right with you-

╭⋅ DEFINITELY struggles with the idea of being a father, especially because he’s used to living a carefree life. He’s not sure he’s capable of stepping up, but as the pregnancy progresses, he realizes he might have to.

╭⋅ Before he fully realizes the gravity of the situation, Atsumu might initially avoid facing the pregnancy news because he’s scared of what it means for his future. He doesn’t know how to balance his carefree attitude with the responsibility that comes with having a child. It’s a huge step for him to admit he’s not ready, but once the reality sets in, he’ll struggle to find his place in the reader’s life again.

╭⋅ And in case you are curious this takes place in the same "universe" as osamu's teen pregnancy storie mwhaheheh

It’s been two months since you and Atsumu broke up—again. The same cycle, the same arguments, the same bullshit promises since you were in your 1st year. He’d swear he’d change, swear he was done flirting with other girls, done making you feel like you were just another option. And maybe he meant it in the moment, but he never followed through. So, you ended things.

But, of course, Atsumu never really left you alone.

Even now, as you sit in the classroom with a classmate, laughing at something dumb he said, you can feel Atsumu’s eyes on you. He’s standing by the doorway, pretending to talk to one of his teammates, but you know he’s watching.

Your classmate nudges you. “Miya’s glaring at me.”

You sigh. “Let him.”

Truthfully, you have much bigger problems than Atsumu’s jealousy. Like the positive pregnancy test sitting at the bottom of your school bag, wrapped in tissues and regret.

You haven’t told anyone. Haven’t even figured out how to process it yourself. But the weight of it is suffocating, pressing against your ribs, making every interaction with Atsumu feel ten times heavier.

When the bell rings, you head out quickly, but you barely make it a few steps down the hall before a familiar hand grabs your wrist.

“You’ve been avoidin’ me,” Atsumu mutters, his grip firm but not tight. There’s that usual cocky smirk on his lips, but his eyes flicker with something else.

“I don’t owe you anything,” you reply, pulling away.

His jaw clenches. “Who’s that guy?”

You blink. “What?”

“The guy you were sittin’ with,” he says, voice dropping. “You datin’ ‘im?”

You let out a sharp laugh. “Oh my god, Atsumu, are you serious? You’ve spent the last two months acting like I don’t exist, and now you’re mad because I sat with someone else?”

“I never acted like ya didn’t exist.” His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges. “Yer the one who walked away.”

You exhale slowly, gripping the strap of your bag. This is pointless. He’s always like this—possessive when it suits him, distant when it doesn’t.

You should just walk away. But the words are already clawing their way out of your throat.

“I’m pregnant.”

The hallway noise fades. Atsumu just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Like his brain is still buffering, trying to process what you just said. Finally, he breathes out a short, shaky laugh. “What?”

You hold his gaze, refusing to repeat yourself. His smirk wavers, and then, for the first time in all the years you’ve known him, Atsumu looks genuinely lost.

You don’t wait for him to process it. You turn, your feet carrying you down the hallway, away from him, away from everything. Your heart is pounding, each step feeling heavier, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Atsumu doesn’t say anything more. Not that you’d expect him to. He’s still standing there, frozen, his mind racing, but no words come out.

As you step outside, the cool air hits your face, and you breathe it in, trying to steady yourself. You have a plan. Sort of. You’ll figure this out, somehow. You always do.

But then, you hear his voice again.

“Wait.”

It’s soft, hesitant—definitely not the usual Atsumu, not the cocky asshole he always is.

You don’t stop.

“Hey,” he calls, louder now, more desperate, his tone slipping into something unfamiliar.

This time, you force yourself to pause but don’t turn around.

Atsumu’s footsteps echo behind you, and he catches up quickly, standing a few feet away. You still don’t look at him. You don’t want to.

“I—” He hesitates, and you hear him swallow. “Is it mine?” You freeze, your blood running cold for a split second, before everything inside you snaps. You turn around sharply, fury building up in your chest.

“Of course it’s fucking yours, Atsumu,” you snap, your voice cutting through the air. “Unlike you, I don’t go sleeping around with people after I end a relationship.” (I have a question guys, english people, is it “unlike you” or “like you”. ?? Confused at 100% hope is understandable tho)

His face goes pale. He opens his mouth to say something but falters, clearly not knowing how to respond to that. You can see the guilt in his eyes, the regret, but you’re too far gone to care.

“You think I’d come to you with this if there was any doubt?” Your voice shakes, but you keep your gaze steady. “I’m not some fucking idiot who plays games like you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. He just stands there, staring at you as if you’ve slapped him across the face. And maybe, in some ways, you have.

Finally, he takes a step forward, his voice quieter now, as if he’s trying to find his footing. “I’m sorry.”

But you don’t want his apology. Not this time.

“I don’t need your apology,” you reply coldly, turning to walk away. “I need you to stop pretending you care when you don’t.”

Atsumu doesn’t follow you. Not this time. You hear him stand still, the silence heavy between you two, and for the first time, you don’t feel the slightest urge to look back.

Taglist:

@chilichopsticks @dreadnoughtus101 @starykari @staygoldsquatchling02 @alpha-mommy69 @curlyhairkk @b1xi @reuka1

if you want to be part of the taglist you can always DM me or coment! also if u only want to be tagged on specific characters.

-if i forgor someone pls tell me and dont be shy, i get really lost with the taglist thingy ahhh

I HATE THE TWINS SO BAD (jk i love them) i always get confused on who is who, who is pee pee head whois poo poo hair anyways huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh sprry for late update, im doing a few other stuff lately but i. uh. i deeply apolgzhe!!

[dekariosclan]

I had a thought about Gales reaction to/feelings about stretch marks on his partner. Not ones from pregnancy (I personally feel those are kind of different. I have a lot of them just from fast weight gain, and even after losing that weight seeing them seems to only remind me of my shame that I ever let myself go that much).

I feel like I already know the answer - he is so loving, and so truly does not care about physical “imperfections” on his loved one or things that may be outside whatever beauty standards apply in his world. If he knew his partner was insecure about them, he’d likely go out of his way to make them feel better about them. But I’m still curious how you would describe his thoughts on them, if that makes sense. Would he even notice them? What would they represent to him, if he knew they were from a time his partner was neglecting their health (or even being very lazy)?

I hope this isn’t a nonsensical ramble. I think I’ve lately found myself trying to change my own negative perceptions of myself by thinking through the lens of what Gale would see, so asking an expert like yourself for your take might help me get there on this topic <3

Not nonsensical at all anon! 💜 And I love your idea of thinking through the lens of what Gale would see—the world would be a much kinder (and chattier!) place if everyone did so.

Your thoughts about Gale’s response to his partner’s insecurities are spot-on. But he’d also want to reassure them (and you!) that there is nothing shameful about the fact that their body changed shape or appearance. He would hush any disparaging comments about ‘letting oneself go’ or ‘being very lazy’. He’d be very, very proud that his love was no longer neglecting their health, but he would not apply any shame or negativity to their bodily appearance, either in the past or in their present condition.

I honestly think a lot of people struggle to understand Gale’s way of thinking because we have been-force fed toxic beauty bullsh*t for our entire lives. By our society’s beauty standards, Gale is hot. And Gale had a hot Goddess girlfriend; therefore how could Gale love a non-hot person? I’ve seen countless posts about Mystra being his ex and how ‘my Tav could never compare.’ But we’re the ones who have it all wrong; in Gale’s eyes, when he falls in love with Tav, it’s Mystra who can no longer compare.

So I’ve come to think of it like this: we all know Gale loves and treasures books, right? If you try and destroy the Necromancy book, he gets mad. He geeks out thinking about shopping at Sorcerous Sundries. He has a massive overflowing library in his home in Waterdeep. In short, he absolutely adores, respects and reveres stories. And I think, when Gale looks at others, and especially at his beloved Tav, what he sees and values first and foremost is their story—because that’s what defines who they are. Gale doesn’t judge a book by its cover, he judges it by the quality of the writing.

So, to answer your question about how he would react to Tav’s stretch marks, and whether he would notice them, and what they would represent, I believe he would simply see them for what they are: A physical representation of a chapter in Tav’s life. Not an imperfection, not something shameful, but an experience that, like all the other chapters in Tav’s life, helped shape them into the wonderful person that Gale loves today. An experience that helped to write Tav’s story.

And in his eyes, what could be more beautiful than that?

[nopointic]

my adventures with being asexual and getting my tubes removed as a 33 year old virgin in a red state in 2025

my gynecologist is so funny and sweet because i'm asexual and he remembers that, but he always brings up birth control and safe sex by habit and i dutifully nod along. and he's like awww yeah you're ASEXUAL now but in the future???? you might wanna??? and i'm like hmmmm maybe???? but better safe than sorry!!! and we smile and laugh but there is an understanding of something bigger. we're not naive. we live in a red state. women's rights and health care are being stripped every fucking day. i am young. i am not married. i am asking for something that doctors usually just turn down immediately.

and then we go on to continue to plan for my surgery for getting my tubes removed and it's so fucking funny to me.

he's like, ok so no babies. no babies!!!!! but maybe one day you might want sex! i dunno. but no babies for sure! and i'm like yep!!!!! he gets me! this was easier coming out the closet to him than my parents. my parents still do not comprehend that i am asexual. to them it's me saying odd phrases and a just a phase. i am 33 and have never dated or even kissed someone. i openly gag dramatically when someone brings up sex on a tv show. i'm like YUCK 🤢. could NOT be me. we all laugh but they still think it's me bullshitting i guess. asexual? what does that even MEAN? they just say ok and move along.

meanwhile the nurses and medical assistants are SO confused on me not being on ANY birth control. because they always ask and i say, nah, i'm not taking any. AND THEY LOOK AT ME IN HORROR. and then i say, i'm ABSTINENT. and one lady was like?????? i said I DO NOT HAVE SEX MA'AM. and she was honest to god still confused????

but my gyno is like, yes, she is ASEXUAL duh, she doesn't have sex. and he smiles and moves along.

the funniest shit!!!!!

but i am forever grateful he's so normal about me being asexual. because even my therapist was like, um it's because of your parents bad marriage and you were abused and you don't know for sure it could be a hormonal problem blah blah blah and i told my gyno and he bless his heart went, ok. that's what YOU choose right? you're FINE with that? and i said yeah. and he said cool. that's YOUR decision and you don't have to do anything you don't want. and we then went on to discuss my medical problems. (i have a shit ton)

but yeah. some people think being asexual is something that needs to be fixed immediately and i'm glad my gyno, this one in a million white guy who reminds me of steve rogers aka captain america, just went ok, cool.

sexuality is fluid. he never says oh you'll change your mind in a condescending way. he doesn't ask me why i don't want sex. he just wants me to be ok with my choices and make sure i don't have a baby if i do not want a baby. because shit happens. sadly that is the plain truth. bad things happen like rape and he's like, you don't want kids ever? i'm gonna make sure that stays true. he is so real for that.

even though i am asexual and i don't have sex.

i lucked up in finding a gyno in a red state that cares so deeply about my body and my decisions. i wish everyone had that.

anyways shout out to my gyno going you're asexual?! and then always smiling and saying, yes, you're asexual but NO KIDS RIGHT! 😂😂😂😂😂😂 nah, no kids. team no kids for life. thank you!

oh and virginity is a social construct ya know.

not wanting sex is not the end of the world.

and i can only imagine what my fellow lesbians go through at the gyno. like. the nurse nearly had a fit when i said i don't use any contraceptives. she really hit me with the SO HOW ARE YOU NOT GETTING PREGNANT HUH?

i don't have sex babes.

oh and yes i've gotten the "but you're pretty" lines too. not sure what the fuck being pretty and rocking cute clothes got to do with me being asexual but go off!

[somewillwin]

Hey, how are you doing? I’m wondering what do you have in mind for Vi during the period of the divorce era and their attempt at only friendship afterwards, can you share with us a bit more about that? I wonder what might be going on with her and if Cait can feel anything about Vi that gives her pause or confuses her about all this besides the tattoos. And will the tattoos be the same since she got all of them in stillwater in the main universe? I’m really curious about it bc rn it feels like she is "forced" (for lack of a better word) to feel uncomfortable sensations that make her miserable/heartbroken/sad/angry 80% of her time lmao I was just reading another ask you received and I think it’s fair for Cait to feel disheartened that Vi can't see her true intentions and beliefs when it comes to her decision to become an enforcer, esp since this is on 2x07 au universe and to her Vi has contact with ppl like Grayson in the AU and we know what Grayson, an enforcer and sheriff, means to Cait as a mentor but it’s also completely fair for Vi to feel strongly averse to this given the way she had to deal with loss and violence from a very young age because of enforcers and how this affected and traumatized her and also her family, especially her sister, and we know how Vi works when it comes to that Imo it’s pretty justifiable that Vi would have a hard time understanding why her soulmate would want to be part of this group when she know what happened to her and how much that still affects her even if Vander/Cassandra/Grayson are making progress regarding that and in the au things are not nearly as dire as it is in the main canon at this point (also hextech and shimmer doesn't exist and that changes a lot of things too) I feel it’s much more complicated them just x made more sacrifices than y so they deserve more or they deserve less because of it. Plus these two are teenagers or young adults in love who still don't really know how to navigate their emotions properly in a divided world. And it's a world where Vi has more to lose in a broader aspect. I think Cait motivations to become an enforcer are, among others, exactly to bridge this gap in an everlasting manner. Imo she sees it as a way to change things permanently. "What (who) are you shooting for, young Kiramman?". If we agree or not, or if we'd do the same or not, it's up to us individually but from what I understand what we're talking about here is not that but what Cait and Vi think given their circumstances at this point of the story Also I'm really curious to see the parents but most of all the siblings (of both sides) reaction to the mess these two are creating with their miscommunication even tho they are soulmates lol but I bet their bond will be even stronger by the end when they are more mature and have a better understand of themselves and of each other. Apologies for the really long text!! 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

Well vi is gonna be mostly fighting with herself here, and lashing out and getting her tattoos. I don’t plan for her to start drinking cause she’s baby still and I want her to be happy. She’s just conflicted and needs to figure out what does she wants.

Maybe I’ll get her to date Gert during the friendship era after the divorce… she just wants to know how it feels with other people, if maybe she can be happy or love someone else like that. (Both of them have Grayson and Cassandra as example that you can be soulmates and not being together, but also remain on each others lives, not like Vander and Silco)

It obvs doesn’t work cause they are in love so they can’t force themselves to love someone else, specially when they are still meetin regularly during their friendship era….

Oh also… shimmer does exists in this AU. The barons and shimmer are still a big point of conflict in this AU. The barons like to give Vander problems and try to mess up this “peace” that Vander and Cassandra have been able to build fighting the council, and anything could tip the council into a direction that would put everything at risk like it was before.

(Vander is not on the council btw, he is just considered as the leader of Zaun by them)

The thing about cait as a character and that I didn’t want to change in this AU. Is her sense of justice… how important it is to her. She wants to protect people and she feels like the enforcers are the best answer for that, BUT she has seen vi and her family and also has felt some of the abuse they are capable of, she is not ignorant to it. She know that joining them climbing in rank AND also because she is a kiramman…. She can change the enforcers, she does have the power to change them and what they stand for. To actually protect people from both Zaun and piltover, not just to protect the interests of the council.

She believes she can do that and she’s gonna work til she does it. She wanted vi to understand that’s why she was joining them and not because she thinks like them… but ofc vi trauma about the enforcers it’s A LOT… so she’s not able to understand that at this moment.

About the parents??? Lmaooo they are going through it.

Yes, both Vander and Cassandra advised them to take things slow after they met at the hospital. Warned them about the soulmate thing not always working out. THEY DIDNT EXPECT THEM TO TAKE IT AT A GLACIAL PACE THO.

Cassandra didn’t like AT ALL that cait joined the enforcers, she was even more pissed when cait came home with Maddie and introduced her as her girlfriend. Cassandra loves vi, she has seen how happy she makes caitlyn and like EVERYONE ELSE can see how much they love eachother. She can see how miserable cait is without vi and how she is forcing smiles and just… forcing feeling for Maddie.

Vander can see how miserable vi is and she can see going into an auto destructive state and that she is also hurting her soulmate with it. So she’s constantly giving her talks about the consequences of hurting your soulmate and yourself and that she could end up just breaking them beyond repair if she continues down that path. Vander has worked with Grayson for yeaaars so he has seen the good and the bad of the enforcers and keeps helping vi with this but is letting her keep her own path and trusting her to pick with her heart instead of her head. She has a good heart after all.

Th kids are just talking about their divorce and just… they are so done with both these idiots.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Can I have skeletons reacting to a narcoleptic S/O? Like they have that medical condition that makes them sleep randomly.

Undertale Sans - .... What do you mean it's a medical condition? Yep. That's how Sans figures out what it calls lol. Sans is narcoleptic as well. He doesn't have cataplexy like you, but that's one of the reasons he's sleepy all the time and is so tired despite sleeping so much. That's a big change in his life to be aware of it. He learns to live with it watching you live with it. It still tenses him a little to watch you randomly collapse while he's talking to you, but he's used to it by now. He feels sorry you two can't do things sometimes because you're collapsing on top of one another and sleeping for hours like this.

Undertale Papyrus - He became an expert at predicting when you're going to fall. He sees when you're struggling. He won't lie, at first he thought you were mocking him trying to imitate Sans and he got a bit upset, but it turns out that's a real thing and now he's having an existential crisis. Is his brother lazy or does he have something similar? Because that for sure looks familiar to him. Oh well, nothing he can't adapt to. Papyrus is the best at adapting!

Underswap Sans - He's a little annoyed he can't be excited around you as excitation triggers cataplexy. He can get used to it with time, but he is still frustrated you can't follow him in all of his adventures because of your narcolepsy. Also, when he's really focused, he tends to forget you behind and doesn't notice when you fall asleep, which can lead to some awkward situations where you wake up lost and all alone.

Underswap Papyrus - You found out that Honey's service dog who alerts him when he's about to pass out can also detect when you're about to fall asleep. So Honey called the organization that gave him the dog to see if you could have your own service dog too. Now there are four service dogs at home for Honey's greatest pleasure and you know when to sit down or call for help outside thanks to them.

Underfell Sans - Red had that bad habit of getting out of the way when he sees you fall lol. He knows he's supposed to catch you but all his little head can see is your giant body falling on him and he never reacts fast enough. So, uh, since it's upsetting you a little, he pretends like he totally saved you now and that you only have bruises because some of his bones are sharp. You're suspicious but you can't really prove anything.

Underfell Papyrus - He needs to protect. You're giving him anxiety. How is he supposed to save your life if you fall asleep while running away? Edge doesn't like when you randomly fall asleep, especially outside, because he's always scared someone will hurt you. He's nervous when he has to leave the house, and he hates when strangers come to help you. He doesn't like the idea of a lot of people knowing this weakness and yes, he might be a bit protective.

Horrortale Sans - He has the same type of narcolepsy you have so you're having interesting days. Usually, when one of you falls asleep, the other falls asleep soon after, and it sometimes sends you both into a sleep circle and you need Willow to step in to save you two lol. Oak thinks it's funny you're so similar sometimes.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's already used to it with his brother, so that's fine. Unfortunately, Willow can't catch you when you're falling though, so when he sees you acting weird he screams at you to sit on the floor. Sometimes it feels like he has eyes behind the head as he can scream at you to sit from anywhere in the house. You're pretty sure he has a weird superpower or something.

Swapfell Sans - He's patient, so whenever you fall while you two are talking, he pauses what he says to catch you, wait for you to wake up, and then unpauses what he was saying and keeps going. Nox doesn't mind, even though it can sometimes stress him a little when it's happening several times in a row. Well, to be more precise, this is fine now. At first he thought you were possessed and locked you outside by fear you transformed into a zombie or something.

Swapfell Papyrus - One second you're in the couch, falling asleep, the next one you're on the top of Mount Ebott. Rus favorite game is to teleport somewhere every time you fall asleep and watch you get extremely confused when you wake up. He could never get bored of this, which is sort of a problem. He could never take this seriously, sorry.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Every time you fall asleep, he picks up a broom and pokes you in the ribs to see if you're alive. You never know. Maybe you died and he can finally have your money, you know. You hear him let go a discreet "damn it" every time you wake up. You're not sure if you should be offended or not about it.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Well that's perfect. Since you're confused every time you wake up, he teleports you to bed and pretends like you were cuddling him so you cuddle him. You're pretty sure you cuddle Coffee twenty times today but he keeps assuring you it's not true. You have doubts, somehow.