#the support they have in one another is crazy

[stosmanthus]

(I’m allowing myself one rant for every 1,000 words I write. It’s partly self-motivation, but mainly it’s a preventative measure against how annoying my ZoLu brainworm is becoming.)

It is terrifying that I’ve been shipping ZoLu longer than some of y’all have been alive. I don’t recall how I got so old.

But I am glad for the chance to experience One Piece and ZoLu slowly through the years and view them from different stages of my own life. Because when I was a young adult, they were just silly boys who got along and matched each other’s crazy. Then I grew up, got married, and realized Zoro and Luffy’s CANONICAL relationship is actually one that I want to have with my own spouse. Allow me to rant explain:

Loyalty is, of course, probably the number one aspect of their relationship that all fans can agree on. Trust is possibly a second. You can’t have a long-lasting relationship of any type without either. Sure, they take it an extra EXTRA mile with all the almost-dying and you-and-me-versus-the-world shit, but the general point stands.

If you dive deeper, they’re also best friends. They enjoy the same crazy adventures, know when to let loose, share the same values, tease each other (without malice), support each other in their goals, and watch each other’s back. Their personalities might be different, but their friendship is SOLID.

Then you dive even DEEPER, and you realize they’re also PARTNERS. When one of them faces a tough challenge, the other will step in and help shoulder the burden (Duel with Mihawk; Usopp’s departure; and yes, it did in fact drive me insane when Luffy took a nap while fighting Kaido because Zoro was there to buy him time.) When Zoro wants to pursue something, Luffy fights for his freedom to go after it (duel with T-Bone). When Luffy needs a sanity check, Zoro is there to provide it, and Luffy ACTUALLY LISTENS! (Punk Hazard, you’ll always be famous.)

It sometimes baffles my mind how non-problematic Zoro and Luffy’s marriage relationship is. Although as Sanji points out in a recent chapter, Zoro does enable Luffy too much and that might not be great for their health, but hey, he just wants to spoil his captain with fun adventures, okay?!?

I guess the point of today’s rant is: if you’re gonna get hitched for life, I hope your relationship is as solid as the one between Luffy and Zoro.

[I really want to rant about the role of jealousy in ZoLu. Gotta write another 1,000 words! I’m pumped!]

[tracklessreason]

Back again with Hive Prime AU!

When Hive wakes up after falling into stasis, he is pissed. Everything hurts, he's tangled in support cables and the Primes won't. Stop. Talking.

Hive doesn't say a word. He summons Ratchet in and pantomimes like crazy until the medic understands that Hive wants him to send every bot they have in to see him, one at a time, and to bring him a dictionary.

The first bot goes in, and doesn't come out for breems. Every mech is concerned.

When she finally exits the medbay, she looks a frazzled mess, and reports that Hive had her recite the entire dictionary aloud several times, with different volumes and intonations. He did not explain why. No other Prime spoke.

This goes on for twelve cycles. Bots are shuddering and describing to one another how Hive just sat there glaring at them, servos interlaced, unmoving. When they finished reciting it one way, he would point to a list of emotions, and have them do it again in a different tone. No one is allowed to come in unless they are the one reading.

It's offputting. Some think Hive has finally lost it. Others are convinced he's screening for someone to pass on the Matrix to.

At the end of the twelfth cycle, Ratchet is called in again.

Its dark in the room, the only light being the soft pulsing glow of Hive's optics.

He's standing at Ratchet's desk, servos tapping on the table, lost in thought. He turns when he hears Ratchet come in, wings buzzing lazily. There's the distinct click of his recorder playing back, and in a vibrant, layered voice like the hum of a thousand insects, Hive speaks.

"Ratchet. Call everyone. I have something to say."

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 11

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do. 

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up? 

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop. 

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful. 

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above. 

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up. 

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured. 

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness. 

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus. 

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree. 

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment. 

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why. 

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves. 

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement. 

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath. 

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm. 

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself. 

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety. 

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her. 

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone. 

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp. 

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit. 

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push. 

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you. 

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together. 

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing. 

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling. 

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight. 

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face. 

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly. 

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest. 

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down. 

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

[mewtillidae]

with imposter1998 finally over after a short accidental but much needed hiatus, let me just say uh, FUCKING THANK YOU? LIKE WOW? i did not expect you guys to participate and theorize and interact as much as you did, quite frankly i think you guys put more thought into this objectively silly idea than i did lmao

never before in all my internet years have i encountered such a fun, sweet, supportive online fandom. for imposter1998 and for daily kremy as a whole, the support i got from the many like-minded nerds on here was crazy. the tags and comments were plentiful and inconceivably kind, there was daily kremy FANART, @papa-goose-ollie got the whadda hell is a grapefruit one printed on a fucking MUG. shits crazy. but like truly everything about this has been awesome and i dont think i could thank each and every one of you enough :)

however, i think daily kremy ends here for now. made it to 150, i think thats respectable, but yknowwwww interests change and whatnot. however, you can guarantee I'll be back once new eps come out!

anyway enough sap do you guys wanna laugh at me for how horribly shambled together this whole game was behind the scenes (more under cut)

so this whole game was meant to last exactly 1 week, and conclude the day before Halloween. that sure didn't end up happening. probably because I "planned" this all over the course of like THREE DAYS. the extent of my planning was a single sheet of a4 paper and a barebones notes app doc

THE TYPOS WERENT INTENTIONAL. IT WAS SO FUNNY AND EMBARRASSING EVERYTIME SOMEONE MADE A COMMENT LIKE "Aha! Another typo! It's all coming together now guys!" LIKE NOOOO STOP LOOKING AT ME DONT PERCIEVE ME PLEASE😭😭😭😭 it was absolutely on me though, adding that tag mentioning them. it was supposed to be a joke at my own expense and people rightfully took it as a hint, oops <\3

all the puzzles were from my own noggin 👍 but very inspired by a few escape room boardgames like EXIT that I've played before. i also didnt know a solitaire cipher was even a thing. i thought i was being smart when the REAL smart thing to do would've been, uh, a singular google search.

and lastly, in the spirit of daily kremy, everything was made at like 2 am the day prior to posting and i totally winged it everytime. as in i had no clear idea what I'd write, just a bullet point to work off of. work ethic? never heard of her.

no comment on the ending! but you guys are super smart im sure you can have fun thinking abt it :)

[itwdoris]

I'm a gamer and sometimes the game goes on for so long that you just can't go to the bathroom and all I can think about recently is yuji being your under desk support and being your personal toilet IM GOING CRAZY YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND

itadori yuuji x afab reader.

author notes; all characters are aged up.

tw; piss drinking, not revised.

★

you just needed to stay there a little longer to break another record, with your eyes glazed over the colorful screen and a controller in your hand being guided with quick gestures, a headset to keep out any noise from outside the game and a small bottle of water on the table.

the same one that once belonged to your boyfriend; yuuji, and that has held a lot of your piss when you couldn't be away, even if you don't tell anyone about this part. it was already too "complicated" and embarrassing.

just like that moment, where you scream as quietly as you can while frantically pressing the buttons, because itadori was right there in your bed and you no longer knew if he was asleep or not. sometimes he was in the middle, anyway, you just didn't want him to be far away.

and you had drunk almost the entire bottle and your bladder was begging for redemption, your legs were restless and so were you until you found a better position to hold on just a little longer, even if it wouldn't do any good. you ended up having to kill yourself in the game just to get time to position yourself well and maybe use the bottle.

with just a few seconds to think about it; even though the screen shows you that it would take a considerable amount of time to paste until you came back. you didn't need to tell any of your colleagues that you were currently raising your knees and putting your feet up on the chair, open legs, a small wet spot being revealed on the panties you were wearing under the itadori's big blouse.

holding back a few sighs as you reached out to grab the bottle from the table, at least until noticed a figure with your peripheral vision, not needing to turn around to discover that it was him who was coming to hug you as tightly as he could. needy needy, as always when he wake up.

he stood over you and mumbled some incomprehensible things, burying his face in your neck to smell and kiss your skin, rising almost slowly in a wet and needy trail of kisses and smells to your mouth, which he almost devoured, even though he was still drowsy.

you sighed softly, trying to hold on for just a second longer, squeezing the bottle as you moved your legs slightly. "y-yuuji-" he held your knees as if to stop you from moving, because he had now noticed your position, and soon his hand went to your panties.

with thick, slow fingers sliding down until he found the wet spot on the fabric, his eyes opened curiously to you, who could only feel your face getting hotter and hotter. but somehow, itadori's mind began to work in some questionable ways, looking at the almost empty bottle of water in your hand, feeling something too wet on your panties, too ashamed face.

so he turned away for a few seconds only to yawn and bend down to get under the desk, approaching you to get very, very close, between your legs, placing his hands on your hips to pull down your panties and give him more space.

you couldn't quite work out what he was doing or what was going on, but it seemed to be quite clear when a moan came from your lips as he opened your folds and left a kiss, fitting his mouth on you, looking at you as if he expected something.

because he was. and with the computer screen counting down for you to start again, yuuji ran his soft, wet tongue over your folds, repeatedly stroking your urethra with the tip, the bottle in hand but useless at that point...

that's how you discovered things.

"yuuji!!" you whimpered softly with your hand covering the microphone of the headset you were wearing, without having to look very far to see the pink-haired man coming at you quickly, getting under the desk to do the job. "please.."

and you didn't even wear your fucking panties anymore, because you drank so much water and every time you had to pee, it was very difficult to have to take it off every time so that he could help you while you keep playing and breaking your records.

ah, he really was the best boyfriend, wasn't he? being the best urinal for you.

and oh, itadori loved to feel the warm liquid filling his mouth, going down his throat as he heard your sighs of relief at finally emptying your bladder, small drops turning into a weak stream and then into an almost endless flow.

love how you hold his hair when you're holding it for a long time, how you bite your lips and your cheeks turn red, still concentrated on the game.

pressing your bladder just to hear you moan and make the piss spurt into his mouth, swallowing every drop with pleasure because he loves it, you can hear him gulping, to see how his eyes look at you so pleased that he's being useful, that he's being good to you, making you look so pretty that his semi-hard cock throbs inside his boxers wanting attention, maybe wanting you to get him wet too.

the flow comes to a close and inevitable end, making you sigh and lean back in your chair as ends the game in victory, but he continues his work, cleaning your folds with his tongue, leaving wet kisses on it before turning away a bit.

"you won?" yuuji asked with a grin when he noticed the lightly bluish light on your face, wet lips and chin dripping a little.

oh i miss you guys so much!! i saw this yesterday and i just wanted to do it, think its a bit rushed and kinda meh cause i had to stop several times during the process, but yeah, hope you like it! <3

i loved this prompt sm, bc hes so cute, like waa the best urinal!! IM GOIBG CRAZY TOO

[solarwynd]

Seeing WHO with very little tools beat most of Seven's records (a song that is literally the fraudest of frauds) while Like Crazy is above Standing Next To You (another song of his which was promoted to hell) is honestly so scary to me. Imagine if Scooter wasn't involved and JK got normal promotion and support from the company. Jimin with his sabotaged single and album would still have wiped the floor with him in 2023.

If his stans haven't realized yet that there's really nothing special about that man, they are just working hard to convince themselves of their own lies just to remain in that delusion at this point.

I still think JK would’ve pulled around the same numbers tbh. Probably in between what he got for SNTY and NLG.

But Jimin has irrefutably shown that he’s the one member out of BTS that genuinely has global backing that doesn’t need to be bolstered by heavy label support.

[rainparadefromhell]

love them so much 🥺

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

(ln8 spoilers) jinshi thinking except for my godly looks i am just average and then his smartass goes and kills around five birds with just one brand. someone whose status is so high that even his name can't be said by anyone except the emperor jinshi branded himself with the crest of the empress vowing loyalty to her assuring her he doesn't wants to take the place of her son. one-upping his "bro" with this who refuses to let him leave the line of succession wouldn't let him become a commoner doesn't wants to let him become a servant to the royal family. only slaves get branded and if this ever got out there will be chaos in the court. gyokuyou tho considers jinshi like a brother and he did swear loyalty to her but if she ever tried to cross his family her clan's brand on his body would be enough to prove her as an adultress which would be bad for her and her clan.

and jinshi did this in front of these two people and maomao so now she is the only one who can see him naked and the emperor cannot order him to marry anyone which was something that was definitely gonna happen had he not done what he did. as a bonus he gets to spend more time with maomao after a long time and he did all this while saying the exact words: empress gyokuyou, your enemy i shall never be in front of maomao reassuring her because she once muttered i don't want to be an enemy to empress gyokuyou and he had heard her but before he could tell her that he had no intention of doing that either he couldn't because of the lishu incident. one of the major reasons maomao hadn't accepted her own feelings for jinshi one of the obstacles he promised to remove for her. even though he doesn't even know that maomao's concerns about her becoming gyokuyou's enemy had to do with his birth secret his true status. that no matter what he is the rightful successor. something jinshi himself isn't even aware of and yet without knowing that he did this to deal with it all in a single way most preferable to him: masochism

[triglycercule]

ok imagine nightmare sans. now imagine those minecraft villager trading halls where all the villagers are stuck in the little cell blocks to get ideal trades. now that but replace the villagers with the murder time trio and ideal trades with negativity. he's maxxing out the negativity output for every square foot i guess,,,,,,,

there's absolutely NO space for movement it's practically a little closet. only thing is like basic necessities like food and water distributed by a killer (because he wouldn't get attatched to any of them when there's so many,,,, perhaps a different cell warden for a killer only section to avoid a killer meeting another killer and then having to deal with the mindboggle they'd face and then UGH!!!) these little negativity farms cost so little effort to make!!! all nightmare has to do is keep as many (living) sanses (IN FACT NOT EVEN THE TRIO!! but also the trio since they're easy to break down) in as little space as possible and he's practically got like. + 100k negativity every hour with just 6 of these farms. how efficient!

what do you mean it violates the genevarsal convention. DREAM STOP CONDUCTING PRISON BREAKS

(a little birdie told me u wanted 2 be tagged,,, @qin-qin16)

[krispiecake]

tell me why i can hear another tenants fucking music from my flat. HE DOESNT EVEN LIVE IN MY BUILDING. HE LIVES IN A COMPLETELY SEPARATE BUILDING ON THE SECOND FLOOR AND I CAN HEAR HIS MUSIC FROM MY FLAT. MY FLAT WHICH IS IN A DIFFERENT SEPARATE BUILDING.

[civetcider]

Hey girl how do I make a fursona

You just do it

[kaerinio]

it's monday. why tf am i sitting here having to professionally pop off at someone???

[martianbugsbunny]

August 18th was the birthday of one of my favorite actors: Patrick Swayze, may he rest in peace. In honor of that I put together a couple of caps of my favorite characters that he played: Miss Vida Boheme, Orry Main, and Johnny Castle <3

Happy Birthday Patrick!

[2prince2sparkle]

Losing my mind hearing that people think being punitively misgendered as they/ them only happens to she/her trans women and not also he/ him trans men

Edit: glad I dug through the shitty comments enough to find op saying she didn't mean the phrasing of a particular sentence to imply this didn't happen to trans men, she wasn't expecting the post to blow up and was just writing about the things she's experiencing in a casual rant way. Internet ok sometimes. (Still other people in the comments thinking the above though.)

[starlooove]

I rlly liked red hood the hill bc besides the gift it completely ignored everything else with the batfam which to meeee I’m taking it as the hill has been overlooked by the bats forever (see Orpheus rising) so yeah nobody there gives a fuck about those people and jason knows better than to bring that shit over there

[teruthecreator]

guess whose oliver plush got stolen because the delivery driver cant follow instructions or even bother looking at the address AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!