#this is very much a personal preference but

[ohmygoly]

I dont typically like getting political on tumblr because I know the crowd of people who typically follow the fandoms I'm in. I know the crowd of people who usually pay attention to such fandom cultures in the first place, and I truly don't want to make myself such an enemy in anyone's eyes. But also, I don't want people irrationally scared that the new Hitler is coming to make their lives awful and oppress them in every way imaginable. Because to act like America is about to become Nazi Germany is to prove how out of touch you are with what other countries are doing and also just extra anxiety on your part that doesn't need to exist. I want your life to be less stressful, I really don't want anyone afraid for their life when it's unnecessary. Besides this "checklist" I want to comment on, remember that many changes aren't probably gonna feel very personal to you and while you might notice some slight differences, the day to day will probably be the same as it is through every presidential transition. Some things are cheaper/more expensive maybe, maybe your office or school has some slight alterations, but thats usually about it.

I don't hate anyone. I have met and become friends with more people I disagree with on a lot of important points than I do people I agree with on said issues. The scenarios in which I have met these people have allowed me to see how friendly, creative, and talented they are. It has also allowed me to see just how precarious and overdramatized interactions and relationships with them can be. This does not even include the internet or social media.

"Powerful and Continuing Nationalism" Americans value America first. A healthy country wants to succeed, and to want something to succeed you have to love it first. If you would prefer every other country over the one you live in, then don't live in it. But there is no logic in wanting a country to have influence and do better and actually progress whilst also despising its existence as a country. Plus, most of the "America first" sentiments don't pair with a "hurt other countries" sentiment. More like a "they can and should handle their own problems" one. If you can respect any amount of individual freedom, responsibility, or self pride, then you should be able to respect it on the national scale.

"Disdain For Human Rights" Its not that anyone in power at the moment disdains human rights. In fact, they know that within the government, every human has the right to pretty much everything. Anyone can run for office, vote, start a business, not be discriminated against as a potential employee or customer, and overall do pretty much whatever they like. What they don't want is those rights to be taken away because someone is offended or inconvenienced. Most republicans don't even actually mind trans people, they just dont want children permanently altered or women's safety threatened. If you have the right to sleep with whoever you want, dress however you want, and call yourself whatever you want then why shouldnt others have the right to live, be safe in their own spaces, consent to who gets to see their body, to their speech and opinions (offensive or not)? Those things can live side by side. In fact, the best you can do when it comes to human rights is not over manage speech. They should, however, manage some actions that can have harmful/permanent effects.

"Identification of Enemies as a Unifying Cause" This is clearly about illegal immigrants and trans people. Again, no one thinks trans people are the enemy. More so the ideology since overall it blatantly refuses the truth of sex, any self responsibility (you choose how you present yourself to people and how you manage your own thoughts and feelings), or any concern for others' feelings and safety that isn't a trans person. It would be like saying because someone hates depression they hate all depressed people. No. You as a person can still be good and deserving of all your human rights, but the ideas themselves aren't helpful to any society. Illegal immigrants aren't being threatened with mass genocide or really much violence at all. Rather, if they havent committed other crimes within the country that would deserve actual punishment they are simply facing return back to the country they came from. It is immoral to allow illegal immigrants in the country, not only for the safety of the citizens that the politicians swore to protect but also because it is exploitative. It's also dangerous to make it here, so why would you want to encourage people to risk their lives to come to a place where they can't enjoy all the rights of being a citizen?

"Rampant Sexism" As a woman, I can say with absolute certainty that I do not see one ounce of blatant sexism from the politicians coming into power and I certainly do not feel politically oppressed in any way. There are many other cultures where sexism is even worse, if you can even call anything in America actual sexism, but I'm sure it would be considered racist to make such a claim. Its not as if middle eastern women are fighting for their lives and education and equality or anything. Us Americans have it so bad because sometimes a man says something weird and gross. The most sexist thing I've ever come across on a societal scale within my life is the prioritization of men who say they're women over actual women. But we definitely don't see the new people in office supporting that sentiment.

"Controlled Mass Media" This is the only one I will give even the slightest ounce of credit, simply because I know the government would prefer Meta over other companies and they did ban tiktok/almost ban tiktok? In any case, if you can still get news from pretty much every political ideology, access any other social media website, shop at the "Banned Books" section of a book store, and access literally any other form of media that has existed throughout our history then your media is most likely not very controlled. The thing with social media specifically is that it is still so new so we will obviously need to figure out how to navigate that within our physical world but that isn't a sign of a fascist country, thats simply a sign that we are facing a rapid change in technology and don't know how to handle it yet. Its a great thing we have a constitution and hella rebellious citizens who will make finding the best, least oppressive solutions easier here than probably anywhere else on the planet!

"Obsession with National Security" The only reason there's a surge in national security is because there has also been a surge in threats against the security of this nation. Through many foreign nations and within our own borders. This country cannot be successful and cannot help any other country in the world if we are falling apart while we are doing it.

"Religion and Government Intertwined" There is a difference between politicians being religious and it actually being intertwined with our government. Most government policies made are based on our constitution and how we can best respect the rights given to us through it. The religion of any of the politicians is not going to become mandatory or oppressive to anyone not of that religion, because that is not the goal. Anyone can come up with the sentiment that they need to fix the way the government runs and protect the rights of their citizens. Yes, religion might influence some of their opinions on things and a few of their changes, but if you elect someone you have to accept that they have ideas about things. Thats just how it works. Overall, religion will not become permanently intertwined with the government or forced upon citizens.

"Labor Power Suppressed" Last I checked, you can get any job you want. Literally, you can quit any job you don't like, and just go find a new one. Not to mention they want to improve businesses and they know that the labor class is very vital to that.

"Rampant Cronyism and Corruption" Corruption is a vague word and a lot of the people in the new administration don't even agree on everything. The main thing they agree on is that they want to see America succeed and that they will respect the elected president's right to see that mandate through, as an elected official. How terrible of a president to hire people that don't hate him and won't sabotage the policy goals he was elected to see through.

Looking more like a checklist these days. I want off this ride. 😭

[akutasoda]

all for you

synopsis - they'll always love you so dearly

includes - mydei, anaxagoras, phainon

warnings - gn!reader, maybe ooc, fluff, slight crack, wc - 1.5k

a/n: what is this? i couldn't tell you- at best it's a silly little piece i thought of the other day ;;

mydei ★↷

mydei stared you down with a scowl.

all you could do was ignore his scowling and continue on with your task, which was easier said than done as even after all this time, mydei still had a glare that still could affect you - at most it gave you a slightly discomfited feeling but you could always dismiss it.

it wasn't uncommon knowledge that mydei often put himself in uncertain situations, always with a confidence that made it seem like nothing to him. whether that was a result of his own curse or the years of experience he had with those same scenarios was an equal guess.

regardless of which, namely the former, mydei occasionally faced some particularly tricky situations which would result in your worrying.

it was hard not to, even if you were well aware of his curse, the idea of him getting hurt was still enough to bubble some concerns of yours to the surface. mydei always insisted he was fine but that was never enough to soothe your worries.

you continued to make an effort to check for any outstanding injuries that he still may have sustained, none of any potentials would've been fatal but you still wanted to make sure there was absolutely nothing.

if anything, it was almost routine at this point. mydei would get into some kind of altercation and immediately seek you out afterwards. no matter how much he acted like it was a bother or claimed it was unnecessary, he always sought out comfort in your embrace, entrusting you with seeing him at his lowest.

“you worry about me too much” mydei's scowl barely wavered, his eyes still constantly looking at you and only you

you fought back a scoff, “if you're aware then you should watch that heedlessness of yours”

mydei studied your face, taking note on the seriousness you portrayed. he'd be lying if he didn't think your concern for him was endearing, even throughout the constant reminders to you, he found it somewhat charming that you still bothered to care for him in that sense.

there was a few moments of silence before mydei broke the standoff. it was his turn to scoff at you as he abruptly pulled you into a hug with little resistance on your end, “fine, but no promises”

you knew that was the best that you would get from him in words.

anaxagoras ★↷

a long sigh was drawn out from you as your eyes flicked over to observe what anaxagoras was doing - it didn't shock you to see that he was doing exactly the same as what he was doing the last time you checked.

you couldn't exactly recall how long it had been since you'd idly sat beside him. originally your plan was to simply pay anaxagoras a visit as you were passing by, but while you dropped by he had informed you that he was finishing up soon so he'd leave with you. so you saw no harm in complying and waiting around for him.

although, looking back, you realise how foolish of a decision it was. whether it was anaxagoras having a different concept of what “soon” meant, or it was a case of him getting too engrossed back into his work, you weren't too sure. but whatever it was, it was now the cause of your boredom as you waited.

you'd waited too long for him by now to simply turn away and leave without him - you'd made a much earlier attempt but anaxagoras had stopped you, reassuring you he'd be finished some time soon, another case where more insistence on your end would've saved you from waiting longer.

in complete honesty, you never understood anaxagoras.

he always struck as the type of person who much preferred his own company rather than others and it certainly stood true in quite a few cases. anaxagoras also always made it very clear that he had little tolerance for those who held little competence and broke the rules he always went on about.

perhaps it was the fact that you never broke any of those rules that was the reason why he didn't mind you hanging around.

“if you have time to stare, then you have time to talk” anaxagoras's voice snapped you out your daze “speak what's on your mind”

it took a moment to formulate a response on your end after being abruptly caught off guard, although all you managed to get across was a short response claiming it was nothing major - something that was met by a glower on the scholar's end.

anaxagoras soon followed up by announcing that he was finally finished, making a vague signal for the two of you to leave and you joined him. you filled the spot beside him but for some reason, your previous train of thought was still occupying your mind.

after a brief moment you decided there was no harm in asking, which led to you poising the question about why he insisted on you waiting around for him.

he paused for a moment, looking over to you and stopping in his tracks, something you mimicked in turn,

“that's because you're more favourable to me, a preferable appearance in my life”

you looked at him in disbelief, while it certainly was a conclusion that you did entertain on occasion, the idea that anaxagoras did see you as a potential friend, but you always assumed that was too far fetched so being an acquaintance of his was enough for you.

he looked at you, a quizzical almost judgemental look reflected upon his features,

“i thought it was common knowledge for you”

all you could do was stare vacantly at him still, his words still barely processing in your mind as you watched him leave - the rare, sincere smile that fixed its way onto his face going completely unnoticed by anyone.

phainon ★↷

you'd been assisting aglaea throughout the day, a few jobs here and then that needed to be done but nothing too major.

more frequently as the day progressed however, you caught aglaea stopping occasionally, almost as if she was checking for something but anytime you asked if everything was alright she would brush it off and continue on as normal.

you believed her at first as you had no reason to doubt her but soon you found yourself feeling a pair of eyes on you sometimes, coinciding with aglaea stopping in her duties. it happened too frequently to be a pure coincidence but you still attempted to brush it off as you doubted it was anything of concern considering how aglaea kept brushing it off as well.

but eventually you caught her smiling a bit, a smile that felt more knowing than you would've liked - almost as if she knew something you didn't.

you soon observed aglaea delighting in your apparent obliviousness as she began making audible comments to you ranging from “did you see that?” to “do you really have no clue?”

in some sense, it was starting to creep you out as each time left you more questions and unease than answers. thankfully, eventually, aglaea decided to ease your worries with the next time she sensed it, she stopped and so did you, aglaea moved closer to you before talking in a hush,

“he's looking at you again”

arguably that creeped you out more but your gaze followed the direction she was pointing in and suddenly it all became clear again.

not too far from where you were, phainon was watching you. as soon as you locked eyes with him, phainon gave you a sincere smile and waved quickly before looking away and walking off.

you looked back to aglaea, “has he been doing that the whole time i've been with you?”

she hummed slightly in agreement, “most likely, he probably just wants to check up on you without interrupting” aglaea paused for a moment, “besides he has his own tasks to attend too”

you looked back to where he was a moment ago, the spot now vacant, now you were determined to catch him again.

a task that proved to be rather easy now that you knew what was going on as not too long after you caught him again, phainon then giving the same response as before before disappearing again. in a way it was sweet, the idea that he was watching to make sure everything was okay with you and presumably wanting to see you throughout the day without interfering.

after all, phainon always cherished being by your side, complete infatuated with your presence.

additionally it became very clear that phainon was mainly doing so because he clearly missed your presence, which was confirmed from the moment you departed from aglaea for the day and phainon took the moment to show up again. taking your hand in his with the biggest smile he'd shown all day.

[xxdedboixx]

~ Selfish (and Jealous) ~

One Piece Captains

How selfish are each of the captains when it comes to your attention? And just how much more selfish they can be when they become jealous.

NSFW for each captain below the red lines.

18+ MDNI

Luffy

Luffy is accidentally very very selfish. It doesn't even really cross his mind that he could possibly be being selfish and if someone brings it up all he thinks to say is "Well I AM a pirate" with a laugh and exaggerated shrug.

He'll just butt into conversations you're having, either running over to show you something cool or just wrapping himself around you in a tight hug to listen in. Maybe he'll even dramatically kiss your cheek just to make you laugh.

When he's intentionally being selfish it's a whole other deal though. He is suddenly one of the most jealous people ever. For example, you might be talking with a captain of another crew or gushing about how strong someone is. As soon as he hears praise for someone else he is right beside you, pouting or otherwise trying to draw your attention. "Hey I'm supposed to be the coolest guy you know" an exaggerated pout is permanently stuck on his face and he's glaring at the other person. If he doesn't manage to draw your attention though he will wrap his arms around you and run off with you (sometimes this is the first step of he's feeling particularly neglected that day).

Jealous of the other captains (Law and Kid mainly)? He will immediately be starting a fight for your affection. You mention one of their attacks is cool? He's immediately showing off the "super secret epic move" he's been "working on" (he probably just made it up completely on the spot). You like their style? He's pouting and grumbling about how his hat is so much cooler.

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When it comes to the bedroom Luffy is yet again accidentally selfish. It's not necessarily a bad things though because the way he is selfish isn't what you may think.

Instead of focusing on his own pleasure he is just so focused on the moment. You have his undivided attention and he is not letting a second go to waste. This also means you need to be focused on him though. Any time he is not touching you is time wasted if you ask him.

He's selfish in terms of not listening to you. Yes how you feel is important but what you say isn't. He is 100% accidentally overstimulating you because he just can't get enough of how you sound.

I also firmly believe that he prefers to focus on you rather than taking care of his own needs. He will only stop touching you when he absolutely can't hold back anymore and even when he is actually fucking you he is still groping you in every way possible.

How about how selfish he would be if someone else was involved? He probably just accidentally ignores them, forgetting they're even there sometimes just because he wants to hear you even more. If he does remember that someone else is there then he's gushing about you and showing off how good he can make you feel. You always have to be the focus of both of their attention, he just won't allow it to be any other way.

Trafalgar Law

Law isn't really selfish but he's not not selfish y'know? He has a good handle on his emotions for the most part so it's rare he actually lets any selfishness or jealousy seep through the calm and smug facade.

He also knows that you wouldn't be dating if you liked anyone else so he doesn't really get jealous.

If he wants your attention then he's probably going to be selfish and immediately ask that you come to his office just to spend time with him, no matter what you're doing. And since he is your captain you have to obey (he likes to pull the captain card a lot). But if he's content just doing his own work then he doesn't really mind letting you do your own thing.

If you're talking to someone else when he wants your attention there's 2 options. Option 1, he calls you into his office, maybe whoever you're talking to even thinks you're in trouble with the way he says your name, but he's actually just tired and needs your attention to refill his battery. Option 2, you're mid conversation and then you're in his room. This is usually much more of a last resort. He might use this method when you are refusing to go to bed or when you're ignoring him for whatever reason.

He knows it's selfish to want you to spend most of your time in his general vicinity but he just can't bring himself to care. You both might like time to yourselves but that doesn't mean you can't have your alone time in the same room.

He doesn't really get jealous when you hang out with other people but he does prefer it if you stay near him, he'll tolerate other people talking to you as long as it remains friendly and if they try to flirt, then you don't flirt back.

When it comes to the other captains (Luffy and Kid) he won't intervene in the dramatic way the others would. He prefers to be more casual, he might just wander over an arm around your waist or shoulder. He isn't one for PDA but sometimes he just has to show off his claim over you. He might even whisper a joke in your ear to irritate the others or make a sly remark about them.

The way he feels when you interact with them could be considered jealousy but he would probably just say that they irritate him and he doesn't want you wasting time on them.

If you mention something cool that the other captains have done, he doesn't do much more than raise an eyebrow at you, maybe it even irritates him but you won't necessarily know until later. If it irritates him enough then... Well check out the NSFW section.

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If you manage to make Law actually jealous then he might just take it out on you in the bedroom. In reference to what I mentioned before. If you talk too highly of the other captains then he is going to tease you endlessly. "Do you think those idiots could make you feel as good as I do?" His fingers might lightly trace over every sensitive place he can think of. "Come on, you talked so highly of them, where's my praise?" He won't let you finish, edging you until you're gasping out apologies. Even then, it's not an apology he's after, it's the satisfaction of knowing that even if they are 'cool', they could never make you feel the way he does.

When you're having sex otherwise he doesn't really seem selfish or jealous. He's actually very giving. Unlike Luffy, he will do whatever you ask him, if you've been good and you ask him nicely enough. He loves it when you beg (I'll probably make another post about this at some point).

I doubt he'd be comfortable with anyone else watching but if it ever did happen then he would be the one completely in control, giving orders. He might be sitting on the other side of the room and instructing them how to treat you, or he might tell them to just watch so he can show off how well he knows you. He's definitely making sure you are the centre of attention.

Eustass Kid

Kid is insanely selfish and very easily made jealous.

He lets his emotions get the better of him so if he's jealous everyone knows (even if he denies it).

He hates when you interact with anyone outside of his crew. Even going as far as making sure you are never sent to go shopping alone. It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just prefers that you have a guard dog to make sure no one even thinks of hurting you or trying to take you away.

If he wants your attention then he is going to yell your name and demand that you accompany him, he'll claim he just needs your help if anyone asks but in reality he just wants you by his side. Like how Killer is never too far away, he just likes to know what's going on and prefers to have you close by.

He wouldn't get jealous of his own crew per se (because he trusts his crew and friends a lot) but if he notices you spend more time with anyone in particular he might become more irritable. If you both have down time and choose to hang out with someone other than him he is probably going to seek you out and hang out with both of you. It won't necessarily improve his mood and he'll probably sit there glaring at you both (after all you chose to spend time with someone other than him) but at least he can spend time with you.

The only person he could never be jealous of is Killer because he trusts him completely and I would even go as far as to say that he shares everything with Killer.

Because he's pretty much always keeping an eye on you, the moment one of the other captains gets too close to you he is by your side, hurling insults and taunting them. "Why are you wasting time talking to these losers?" "Get back to work." Any excuse he can make to keep you away from them. Again, he trusts you but he just gets so jealous. The idea of them wasting even a second of your time irritates him beyond comprehension.

If you insist on talking to the captains or compliment them in any way, he becomes insanely angry. You are not spared from his wrath either. If you compliment them when they aren't around then he's just gonna curse under his breath and probably call you an idiot. If you compliment them to their face then he curses and storms off. "Fine if you like their company so much stay here then!" "Fucking idiot, complimenting this trash." Anyone who witnesses him storm off will immediately jump out of the way and probably avoid him for the rest of the day. Eventually if you confront him about it he'll shout about how he's the only one who deserves your praise. He's selfish so the mere thought of you complimenting someone else fills him with rage, those are his compliments, his attention, you are his.

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When it comes to the bedroom his selfish side really shines through. He's going to make sure you enjoy yourself but he's also a bit of a sadist so if he wants you to beg for it then you are going to beg. I also firmly believe he is the king of degrading praise.

"my pretty little whore" "such a good slut for me huh?"

If you've pissed him off then he is going to leave you there without letting you finish. But other times he is still focused mainly on himself but he will consider how good you're feeling, it boosts his ego to know that even when he is the main focus he can still make you feel just as good.

If you've made him jealous then he's going to show you just how much better he is. He will not stop until you are crying out, whimpering that you didn't mean to make him jealous, that he's the only one you admire and that he's the only one who can make you feel so good.

Kid would also probably be the most likely to involve someone else. Obviously the first person to come to mind is Killer but I don't doubt he would also be ok with sharing with a couple other members of his crew (the other two who immediately come to mind are Wire and Heat). As long as it's both of them dominating you then I think he'd be very very into it. He'd give the others tips and taunt you for getting off to the idea of both of them.

Although he's easily made jealous normally, because he has so much control in the bedroom it takes a lot more to make him jealous.

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If you've made it this far thank you very much and please check out my GoFundMe to raise money for my top surgery. I also take requests but will be more inclined to respond if there is any type of donation attached (even just $1 because everything counts)

[angelfishe]

#𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Vil schoinet x reader

Before you were teleported into NRC, you were a writer as well a popular illustrator. You decide to upload one of your most Popular works at twisted wonderland about a love story with a villain. Eventually it blew up in the media, changing the standard of how the media view villains. As well changing his life view forever.

( this is so rush, I'm so sorry )

You never have expected to be teleported into a world of magic it seems to be fictional but it's real, sadly you didn't get any abilities but on the bright side you don't have any deadlines to worry about I'm pretty much sure your coworkers are dealing with your story publishing.

Recently you got bored and decided to re write one of your most popular works and publish it into the media of this world, believing it wouldn't change anything.

The next few days your work has taken over the world, it gotten very popular due to having a unique setting and plot.

One thing you realize about this world is that they glorilize the heroine over the villain which is something you're not surprised because this is literally Disney. Why would they choose the innocent petite character when they could have the dark strong and hot villain. But still back in your world many would still simp for the villains in Disney.

It has taken the world by storm changing people how they view villains, finally finding the dark mysterious character attractive instead of the pure and innocent character stealing the spotlight from them.

Meanwhile vil realizes that his magicam account has been getting more likes than ever and saying that he looks like the male lead in your manhwa, I mean you were inspired to change their appearance to look exactly like vil because I mean look at him.

Vil decided to check the manhwa and insteadly falls inlove, on how they make the villain into the male lead as well a reasonable and loveable character, everyone is in love with him.

What part that makes him fall In love is because of how he finally sees the character staying till the end of the show getting the happily ever after they finally craved.

Soon many stories start the villain as its shining star pops out in a few weeks even though there are many short animations about the series, vil got the entire film study club to be involved and recreate one of his favorite scenes in the series.

It changed his whole world even the entire world on their views towards the villains, he wants to meet the author the bad part is he's unable to know because the author/ you is anonymous always keeping their private life close towards them never showing it towards the public.

But you may have left a slip up at that point you as being the author, during lunch you were looking panels on one of the scenes in the newest episode in the manhwa and epel was sitting right beside you surprisingly he was allowed due to vil being in a good mood.

Epel look over your shoulder and ask what you were doing while believing it was a normal question saying about how you were looking at panels for your manhwa, epel look at it and instantly recognize the character well because vil wouldn't stop rambling about it.

And in cue rook decided to drop by and also have a look at the panel he immediately looked at epel with a confused on what to do meanwhile you were still minding your business unaware of what's happening in both of the pomifiore students.

One day epel told you to come to pomifiore because he said he's housewarden wants to meet you. And low and behold vil is waiting sitting across a couch with teas and sweets on the table.

When you took a seat at the couch across from him he asked as If you were the author towards the popular manhwa and you confirmed it believing it's nothing special.

Vil ask why would you prefer the villain over the hero and you gave your reason was due to them being overshadowed, as well misunderstood as being a character. As a writer your job is to fully understand a person's character even tho they commit questionable things. You have to understand a person to write them perfectly.

And he was stunt and then he sends you a smile and says he needs your help about your manhwa as well saying both of you are gonna get along.

[shadesofjinx]

Answering all of these because I have truly nothing to hide!

1. What are 4 tabs you have open on your browser right now?

swim team membership page, one of my own fanfics on ao3, my ao3 bookmarks, my dining hall’s daily menu

2. Have you ever thought about seriously harming someone?

Yes, my abusers:) and also because of intrusive thoughts and those being super horrible bc of certain traumas

3. How are you feeling emotionally right now?

Pretty damn good. I feel lucky, where I’m in college rn is pretty quiet and I feel like I’m in a bubble and privileged enough to not be dealing personally with the backlash of trumps administration here but I do my best to spread info around for those who need it

4. What type of place(like building) are you in right now?

My college dorm room / dorm building

5. Does anyone know your deepest, darkest secret?

Well no, not yet at least. There are some things in the past that are so fucked up we’d just rather go to the grave with it but we may get the courage to tell our therapist these things

6. Have you ever tried to feign mental illness for personal gain?

Thank God no, you heard it here first we haven’t ever done that

7. Do you have any enemies?

Donald trump, my abusers, and the American healthcare system that personally failed me <3

8. Do you have people you only pretend to like?

Absolutely not?? The people who pretend to like others are fake as fuck I’m sorry (not including people who are genuinely unlikable re: terrible people). I’ve been the victim of this several times and it hurts very much so don’t be that kind of person, be genuine in your connections or else you won’t wake up tomorrow:))

9. What is one item you never let anyone look at or in?

The one sex toy I have . Prettyyy self explanatory

10. Do you have any talents people say you have but you don’t actually have?

My dad likes my singing and I never believed I had the potential to be a singer or be in a choir (I thought my singing sounded horrible) but now I am and my choir teacher has been very encouraging I love her!! My singing has already gotten a lot better

11. Something you like that apparently other people don’t like?

Cats. A lot of people I used to know, key word used to were avid cat haters and I was not here for that

12. Are you a virgin?

Somewhat unfortunately. I say that cuz sex would be great but we have sexual trauma so go figure

13. Is there anyone your grandma would hate that you’re subscribed to on YouTube?

Yes, Tommyinnit cuz he swears quite a bit, and DanandPhilGames because both are out queer men who live together and she’s homophobic and conservative

14. Introvert or extrovert?

Bruh I mean I’m autistic so introvert I guess but i prefer to be alone unless I’m with my bestie

15. Most used app on my device?

Chrome because use it to read ao3

16. How much fanfiction have you actually read?

Good question! I don’t know! But I’ve been on that site for 4 years and have let’s see 81 pages of ao3 history

17. Worst Fears?

Deep water, touch (in some instances), dying alone, dying unmarried, heights (I say as if I’m not a rock climber and also want to go bungee jumping but it’s ok I’m an adrenaline junkie so the fear and potential adrenaline cancel out)

18. Biggest mistake you’ve ever made?

Trusting certain people in my past 👍🏻

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

When my brother was stalking me online for years and found out that my therapist and I thought I had DID at the time (diff therapist, now diagnosed with DID with specialist) and I lied to his face (that I didn’t have DID) for my own safety

20. Do you consider yourself a trustworthy person?

Pretty much yeah I’m not good with like positive secrets (like a surprise party, I’d just get too excited and want to tell the person yk!!) but if anyone ever tells me deep dark stuff and I’m told to keep it a secret (as long as they’re not in danger/a danger to themselves) then yeah I’ll take that shit to my grave nobody’s gonna know

“I have nothing to hide” Asks

(For those daring enough to reblog)

1. What are 4 tabs that you have open on your browser right now?

2. Have you ever thought about seriously harming someone?

3. How are you feeling emotionally right now?   

4. What type of place(Like building) are you in right now?       

5. Does anyone know your deepest, darkest secret?

6. Have you ever tried to feign mental illness for personal gain?

7. Do you have any enemies?

8. Do you have any people you only pretend to like?

9. What is one item that you never let anyone besides yourself look at or in?

10. Do you have any talents that people say you have but you don’t believe you actually have?

11. Something you like that other people generally do not like?

12. Are you a Virgin?  

13. Is there anyone that your grandma would hate that you are subscribed to on youtube?

14. Introvert or extrovert?

15. What is the most used application on your device?

16. How much fan fiction have you actually read?

17. Worst Fears?

18. Biggest mistake you’ve ever made?

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

20. Do you consider yourself a trustworthy person?

[dmitriene]

happy late valentine's day !

valentine's day is not simon's ghost riley best holiday, at all, not only that celebrating something is overall not the most preferable thing to him, there's also an issue on thinking, or even making a gift, afraid of making the person upset with what his mind comes up, or even dislike, he does his ever best to avoid even getting in a monologues of upcoming holidays and any possible plans for them.

in relationship with you, he get's stressed to the bone, no, you don't purse him with a long list of the things you want him to get you, nor you demand them either, after all, his bank card is always in your pretty purse and between your fingers, getting swiped here and there if you want to buy yourself some little treat, clothes, lingerie, change of furniture, cosmetics, anything you want, you get, and simon doesn't even blinks twice when he gets a message that you spent another hundred, in less than five minutes.

but even then, simon longed to be the one to make you a gift, to make this day really, really special to you, to see your eyes round wide and twinkling with giddy happiness, to feel the endless press of your glossy lips pecking all over his patchy stubble cheeks and jaw, over his wrinkling, crooked nose, rapidly fluttering, crinkled eyes, stopping with deepening, languid caress against the grin splitted, chapped surface of his own lips.

he get's you a jewelry, perhaps not a very creative choice, but you still jump on your feet and wind your hands around his neck, hanging off his body with high pitched giggles right beneath his ear, making him fumble with the square, bow decorated box with just one hand, the other cupped right beneath your plump ass, holding you securely, and when he finally reveals what waits for you inside, your heart leaps and flutters anew.

you know, it's just a bracelet, some might say at seeing your eyes start to glisten so silly, but it's not only gets in your taste with the color and design, you catch it gleaming right beneath the rooms light, the embroidery of your shared initials, right on the inside, where it would be pressed against your fluttering pulse and hidden from curious eyes of people around, just your size, fitting your wrist without slipping away, only comfortably loose, and it's a gift for a price of the whole world.

it's adorable, how simon looks at you as you babble out excitedly, reaching out to take the bracelet and get it around your wrist almost too hurriedly, he's smitten, so hard, calloused fingers scrubbing at his stubbled jaw to try and hide the wide toothed grin he wears, mixed with a light sheepishness he almost manages to hide, eyes such a lovely hazel, entranced, squinted in a smile and accented with deepening crows feet, and oh, you want him to know just how much you appreciate the gesture.

the valentine's day ends with your brains pounded out, even though your first plan was to get down on your knees and take simon's cock deep in your throat, make him feel just how much you appreciate every inch of him, engulfed tight in the wet tightness of your soft, eager mouth, letting your tongue do the worship, but he got you swept off your feet and carried straight to the bedroom, spread out over the tangled linens and wearing nothing but the bracelet, all responsive, arching, reaching, keening his name again and again.

simon had come a long way, and your sharp nails tangle in the cropped hairs at the back of his head, anchoring, petting, moaning out in agreement when he grunts that you're his, a declaration, how much he adores you, a strained, guttural whisper, body strained, hard as a steel, overwhelmed, shaking at each trust, as he pounds into your squelching cunt rapid and unhinged, ravenous, completely, holding your frame flush against his, panting in your ear, kissing over each feature of yours sloppily.

the next morning glows up your tangled limbs and silly, absolutely lovestruck giggles and chuckles, faces still hadn't lost their luminous smiles, even with his back stinging from the nail scraped scarlet scratches, and a pulse between your still weak, quivering thighs, hands wrapped around each other, unable to pull away for even imaginable second, and even the sun gets blinded by the dazzle of your love.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[mommysorryshizun]

Shen Yuan, 22, starts playing Proud Immortal Demon Way, a well-known Otome game, and gets insanely frustrated at the fickle point system, coding errors, and totally unbelievable dialogue! He absolutely trashes the game across all platforms - from Twitter to Reddit, there's no one who is a more dedicated hater than he is! His ratios on all platforms are not exactly in his favour... At the root of it all lies his hatred of Otome games in general - Shen Yuan hates being unable to say what he truly means.

Then one day… he bumps into Luo Binghe irl. Literally. In Liu Qingge’s pretentious uptown coffee shop of all places- face planting right between the man’s tits while he’s distracted by harassing someone on Twitter - oh my god, what kind of bad cliche is this??!?!?!!! At first, he’s so shocked he can’t even speak to apologise, staring dumbly at the fucking Adonis in front of him. When he finds his voice again, he squeaks out an embarrassing “sorry!” before scuttling off, right out the cafe door from whence he came. And without his coffee! The stranger didn’t even look that much like Luo Binghe from the game! Right……?

It doesn’t seem to matter… until he arrives at work to find fucking MOBEI-JUN!!! THE GUEST EXECUTIVE FROM THE COMPANY’S MAIN BRANCH!!!! Shen Yuan stares at him for an embarrassing amount of time, to the point that Mobei-Jun raises his eyebrow in question, before gesturing to the seat beside him. Shen Yuan…………... IS GONNA DIE!!!!!! Men can’t… they can't be allowed to sit like that! It should not be allowed! It's not like Mobei-Jun is really doing anything special, one ankle resting up on his knee, legs spread wide open and… SHEN YUAN PREFERS TO USE HIS IMAGINATION!!! THANK YOU!!!! At least his imagination isn’t so dangerous for his heart…

Shen Yuan can explain away many things, including not-Luo Binghe’s appearance at the coffee shop and Mobei-Jun being. Entirely Mobei-Jun, name, and all. But when it happens a third time!!!!! Shen Yuan becomes convinced he’s cursed. Yue Qingyuan might be the whiniest, most tragic character in the game but god he is so tall, his shoulders are so broad, and his smile- This is not allowed. Shen Yuan is sure there has to be some kind of karmic law against this. He’s been cursed, oh my god, he’s totally been cursed. Coffee shop not-Binghe, workbei-Jun, and now new neighbour Qingyuan. NO ONE’S BEEN IN THAT APARTMENT IN DECADES!!! WHY NOW!!! WHY SHEN YUAN??????

It only gets worse from there.

Mobei-Jun might not give a flying FUCK about Shen Yuan, his sole focus remaining on Shen Yuan’s insufferable colleague, Shang Qinghua, but that doesn’t stop Shen Yuan from getting almost-boners every time the man scoots behind his chair to go to the bathroom during long meetings, or stares at him with interest when he presents a PowerPoint manifestation of the ideas he had at 3am. And Yue Qingyuan might definitely be trying to get in Shen Yuan’s pants and Shen Yuan knows as soon as he unlocks this man’s backstory his life will be ruined but that doesn’t exactly mean he’s avoiding the free food and company he offers.

The only person he hasn’t seen recently is not-Luo Binghe… which is good! Luo Binghe hates Shen Yuan in PIDW, who’s to say real life won’t be the same? Shen Yuan prefers to be an asshole through the screen, not in real life where the risk of a man who you could fit two liquidised Shen Yuan’s into punching him in the face is very very real. This lack of meeting might also be because Shen Yuan hasn’t gone back to Qingge’s coffee place for two weeks. The man (friend???) in question, a coffee connoisseur (apparently) may or may not be threatening his life for skipping his morning stop for so long.

Unfortunately, Shen Qingqiu is stupid, so after those two weeks he assumes the coast is clear and it’s safe to return. It is not. Sat out the front, Luo Binghe is just as tall and unfairly beautiful as last time Shen Yuan had the misfortune of bumping into him. And nope, no, Shen Yuan was wrong this guy and Luo Binghe are fucking identical save for the sweet smile plastered across real-Luo Binghe’s face. As if he could get more attractive. THIS IS SO TWISTED. In another fit of brightness, Shen Yuan pretends not to notice him. Orders his coffee as per usual. He’s almost made it to the end of his order before Luo Binghe goes and ruins everything.

“I’ll pay for it,” Binghe announces cheerily, reaching over Shen Yuan’s shoulder with a credit card. Daddy’s money no doubt. What was his aggravatingly wealthy father's name in-game? Ugh, asshole. Shen Yuan splutters some kind of refusal, but Binghe just hums pleasantly. “You forgot yours last time. They were calling… cucumber for a long time…”

Shen Yuan just needs to go home and kill himself. Right now. He considers scurrying away again, but bracketed between Binghe’s massive arms and the till he just mumbled out a miserable “thank you,” and resigns himself to fate. Luo Binghe finishes his order for him. It’s kind of creepy. Which makes it hot. This definitely doesn't say anything about Shen Yuan sexually or developmentally. Shen Yuan ah, Shen Yuan. At least he rests easy in the fact that real-Binghe is definitely not coming onto him. After all, in PIDW the man doesn't really hate Shen Yuan for Shen Yuan, but for his female persona.

They both wait for his coffee in a corner, Luo Binghe standing so close to him their forearms are almost touching. Shen Yuan regrets wearing a short-sleeve dress shirt today. He regrets being alive at all, actually. He would reach for his jacket but that would mean their arms definitely would touch and he would rather tie himself to a pyre and light the match with his teeth.

“Cucumber?” the server says, unsure. Clearly new. Awesome. Shen Qingqiu now needs to gain back twice the karmic points he lost telling anyone other than Liu Qingge about that stupid fucking pseud. Luo Binghe follows him like a puppy out of the coffee shop. Shen Qingqiu coughs awkwardly.

“Thank you,” he says again. Luo Binghe cocks his head. Like a fucking dog!!! If he knew Luo Binghe was so cute maybe he’d give him a chance in-game… Shen Qingqiu barely avoids smacking himself in the face to tamp down the heat rising in his cheeks.

“You’re welcome… cucumber?”

“Shen Yuan,” Shen Yuan offers his real name with a huff.

“Luo Binghe,” Luo Binghe responds, beaming.

“I know.” Ah. Shen Yuan. You really can’t help yourself, can you?

Luo Binghe cocks his head the other way.

“Bye,” Shen Yuan waves stiffly before breaking into a full-out sprint down the sidewalk. FUCK! FUCK! NEVER EVER EVER GOING BACK TO THAT COFFEE SHOP! SORRY LIU QINGGE!!!!!!

[itstheghostofmypast]

L♡VE- (Hyung Line)

Separate member/non-idol Ateez x (F)Reader

Summary: The moment he realised he loved you.

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: None

Word Count: 6.7K

Est.Read Time: 33 min

Networks: @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

Maknae Line: Here

Song Rec: Fallin'- Bang Yedam

A/N: A little Valentine update before Yuyu's IOMT chapter- blame @edenesth for introducing me to this song. Also, would be thanking my queen @edenesth for helping me out with these- especially Song Mingi's <3 - MY LAPTOP DIED ON ME- i-i- ill try to post the second part today too

Corporate Coffee Chaos

Personal Song Rec〜☆ Fallin' Connie Francis

Hongjoong never believed he would fall in love, let alone fall in love with someone at work. True, the man had a handful of ‘situationships’, most- or well all failed to pass to the second stage of ‘love’- he’d gone as far as kissing a few of those few blessed ones before he’d end up neglecting or ignoring them, paying attention to his first love- work. Whether he would like to admit it or not, it was a fact that he could not deny, most of his lovers had left him because he’d been so busy with work, it wasn’t his fault though, well not all of it. He had been completely honest about his ‘unhealthy obsession with work’, and although at one point he would blame himself for his failed relationships and his friends would often tease him about him eventually marrying his ‘desktop’ at the end, he had realised the moment he had met you, that it was not him who was at fault, but his heart, his heart that had closed off to almost everyone he had met, until of course when you had waltzed into the picture, or in specific, his cubicle.

He had felt his heart almost leap out of him, squeezing through his throat, ready to jump out of him and onto your palm, your very much expectant palm, only you had not been expecting his battered, shrivelled heart, instead, you had stormed into his cubicle at 8 A.M, demanding he hand you the reports that his work bestie slash coworker, Song Mingi had decided to butcher, which as a result had affected your job- the hell could he do? Oh, yeah, he was the Unit head, that meant Mingi’s clownery was something he’d have to cover up, though maybe he should thank Mingi for messing up this time, because for the entirety of the time you had been ‘explaining how he was as incompetent, lenient and overly considerate boss with eyebags that made him look like he was 50 - mind you that was a total lie-’ he had been staring at you like a lovesick puppy, trying to form the smoothest pickup line known to man, 

“Let’s discuss this over coffee?”

And discuss, you did, over a cup of coffee that had him falling to his knees for you, especially when he realised you liked your cup of brew as bitter and strong as him. One thing had led to the other and you found yourself often at coffee with Mr.Kim, the unit leader of the IT department, and eventually, perhaps a month or so later, Mr.Kim had managed to find something or someone, he may prefer over work. Well, to some extent, it didn’t take him long to figure out that you were as much of a workaholic as he was, and to an unimaginable extent he had loved that about you- another thing he had loved about you. 

So your routine was set, every morning he’d pick you up from your place, all neat and clean, with a crisp white dress shirt, his scratch-less glasses and a blinding smile, and between you two, in the cupholders of his car sat your coffees, ones he’d have Jongho, his buddy and favourite barista, brew all warm and nice early in the morning, to perfection. Call him an idiot, but it was something he admired about you- another thing he admired about you, how you’d thank him every day for something that was a routine, perhaps even his job at this point, he was after all your boyfriend, your boyfriend who had begun to be so obsessed with you that he’d need you to be around him most of the time, even at work. Though he would not call this the L-word, no he was not going to drop the L-bomb anytime soon and he had discussed it with another one of his close friends, Wooyoung, who had told him, “Hyung, you need to wait for the right moment to prove herself, trust me, I like my girl a lot, but I ain’t no simp, she gotta prove to me that she’s a real one.”

Though with your one year of being together, it was safe to say that you two were past your honeymoon phase, or were you? He wasn’t sure, he was no expert on love, he just knew that you were the first person who had grabbed his face and kissed him without letting him think of a stupid insecurity he could use to back out, and once you pulled back, your hands still gently cupping his cheek you had whispered to him, in the silence of the misty, street, under the streetlamp that had watched you two, “You need to stop overthinking Kim Hongjoong.”

For once he had listened, because soon he had felt himself let go around you, slowly showing you that he too, was human, in fact, too human sometimes- enough to still smile at her and say things like, “I really like you,” or “I hope you know you mean a lot to me.” For some ungodly reason you had never said anything to ruin the mood, you’d smile at him and recite the words back to him, wrapped in a velvet cloak of something he could still not decipher, but the way your eyes would twinkle, cheeks shine with a subtle pink hue and hands slightly tremor in his, he knew your words were sincere. Though a part of him wondered what would happen after this phase would come to an end, disillusionment or-

“Kim Hongjoong!” the man sat up straight, groaning at the pain in his lower back before turning his swivel chair and meeting your frowning face, knowing what was going to come next.

“I can not believe you,” placing the two cups of labelled coffees on his desk you frowned at him, hands on your hips as you glanced at him then the lumbar support cushion you had gotten him for his birthday and his stupid back pain. Shaking your head in defeat you moved to grab it and stuff it between his back and the backrest of his chair, before narrating, “I will be back after a little group meeting, and then, we can go out for a proper breakfast, I know for sure you showed up without breakfast.”

With a salute he watched you leave, before grabbing his coffee, odd, they were labelled, did you perhaps get them from another shop? Oh well, work Hongjoong, work, gotta make that money make purse and get your lady a nice fur coat.

Twenty minutes in he sat back, before stretching his arms above his head and yawning, huffing as he reached for his cup, only to realise it was empty, with a huff he tossed the paper cup in the bin before looking around aimlessly, where were you? For a ‘short little meeting’, huh? Bloody liar, you were worse than him, he knew how’d you get when the marketing plans were delayed, or the payments for the prints didn't make it through- anything, anything wrong to the slightest and the perfectionist in you would go ballistic- no, you’d go bat-shit crazy, pfft, he was not as bad as you.

Chuckling to himself at the thought of your hair already clipped up in a bun, sleeves rolled up, voice raised higher than your sleeves, he decided to start the next task, he could finish it halfway before you’d arrive, so much for breakfast. Leaning- hunching- back into position his fingers began to dance on the keys at an impressive speed, and amidst this display of skill he had reached to grab your lukewarm coffee, glad that you enjoy the same acidity of coffee that he did before he took a big boy swig only to freeze as his brain malfunctioned, for what slipped down his throat was not a warm, crisp taste of roasted coffee, but something that had him physically cringe, recoiling at the taste as he spat in the bin and glared at the cup, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. Did they get your order wrong? What on earth was this incredibly sweet, milky and creamy- was this tea?!

“Sorry I’m late-” you froze at the sight of your boyfriend holding a paper cup in his hand, your paper cup. Though in return his head had whipped up to glare at you, with eyes ready to kill, a menacing glint in his usual shiny orbs, as he spat at you, “What is this blasphemous treason, woman?”

“I- I can explain- did I label them wrong? Did I mix them up-” you paused when you realised that there was only one cup left, yours, damn it, you should’ve taken this with you- oh well, guess the truth was going to come out sooner or later, you just hoped it did not change his view of you. Gently, you reached forward and took the cup from him, your fingers grazing his as you gave him a shy smile and set the cup down before holding your hands in his as you decided to confess your deepest, darkest secret, “I hate bitter coffee.”

“What.”

With a small pout you nodded, giving his hands a squeeze as you continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…it’s just…it’s just that it's the first thing you ever bought me and…and you got me the same coffee every morning and I didn’t want to ruin it, it was such a sweet gesture anyone has ever done for me, out of the blue, just completely caught me off guard and you looked so…proud, so I never said anything.” You were now sitting at the edge of the desk as you continued to explain yourself, “I know it’s kind of stupid but, it really meant a lot to me, and I didn’t want to ruin it between us, I hope you can forgive me Joong, I really do like you, it’s just that I hate, no, I loath bitter things, dark chocolate, roasted coffee, lemon tarts, citrus cakes, even orange juice- like why on earth would I want to recharge myself with gross tasting things when a teaspoon of sugary goodness can do much better-”

“I love you.”

Frankly, he had stopped listening to you as soon as you had said, 'It’s just that it's the first thing you ever bought me and…and you got me the same coffee every morning and I didn’t want to ruin it’- what kind of idiot continues to torture herself every morning just to keep her boyfriend happy- no one had ever done that for him, hell, you’d been drinking Jongho’s strongest brews for almost a year without complaint just to keep him happy? Just to make him feel loved? Were you like an angel who had lost her way while going back up to heaven or something and had mysteriously landed in his arms? Or was he being rewarded by a higher entity? 

“W-what?” you whispered only to feel him squeeze your hands this time and repeat the words, “I.Love.You.” Only in return, he had earned not only your heart but your whole being, and if you weren’t at work, you would have smothered him with kisses, well, perhaps you could do that in the car before you go for your brunch- lunch, it was definitely lunch time now.

“I love you too, Joong.”

Perfect Puzzle Picture

Personal Song Rec〜☆ Bewitched Laufey

Doctor Park Seonghwa was a busy man, one of the best neurologists in his town, with a great track record of patients, and an even better relationship with patients- he was smart, skilled, kind and handsome, a whole package. A package that may have potential mother-in-laws approve of him without a background check, he was a total catch- with the brains, looks and financial stability, there was only one problem, Dr Park Seonghwa was a total nerd. Once the scrubs would come off, the man would morph into a cat mom; introverted, shy, in this case, the cat was the resident cardiologist, a shining star, Dr Choi, who one would often find in Dr Park’s residence or around him at work if the two were free- some even assumed that these two were ‘a thing’. Mind you, as soon as this rumor had made it to him, he had told Dr Choi to disappear or he’d pull his brain out of his nostrils, Egyptian mummy style. Oh, he was also a nerd, with an abnormal obsession with Lego sets.

Ironically, it had been due to his love for lego sets that he had met you, one fine night, and just like the God sent blessing you were, you had smiled at him politely when your hands had touched reaching for the last box of the  X-Wing Starfighter™, only for him to quickly pull away apologising, “You can have it, Miss.” He didn’t want to let it go, but seeing such a pretty little lady buying an intricate set had his lego-loving fanboy-self force him to bow to your mysterious self. Though your response had completely caught him off guard, “Oh, you can have it, my nephew is like 10, I was just getting this one because it's expensive and I can be the cool aunt.” That night your fate of being a cool aunt had been sealed, oh, and you had managed to somehow acquire the friendship of a cute doctor, who had also paid for this lego set…and a few more, each with a backstory you did not care remembering, too mesmerized by his beauty, and amused by his interest in his little hobby, admiring his dedication, since your short attention span barely ever had you finishing a 20 piece picture puzzle, let alone a whole 3-d set.

Therefore, your friendship had slowly blossomed into something more, something more precious, more pure and intimate- of course after the approval of the great Dr.Choi, who at the first glance at you had turned to the neurologist and stated, without thinking- one of his not so good qualities- “She’s way out of your league, hyung.” As a result, he had received a kick, and was told to leave their ‘lunch table’ at once, or he’d complain about him to HR. Nonetheless, Seonghwa was glad to have met you, you were sweet, kind, considerate, and somewhat of a people’s pleaser but something he really admired about you was how when you’d walk into the room, you would be all that he could see, you were the flame to his moth- something about you was so attractive that he’d often end up giggling in bed at the thought of you. Perhaps it was the way you accepted him as a whole, his flaws and his best qualities, how you’d clean with him, how you’d cook for him, how you’d secretly stalk healthy items in his ‘snack cabinet’ and how you’d always leave him craving for more, especially when you’d come to visit him for lunch at the hospital- oh you’d drive him too, and he was grateful, he could drive, but you were a much better driver and at least everyone wasn’t shipping him with Dr.Choi Stupid anymore, since you were very clearly in the picture. Nonetheless, you were a romantic- in secret- and Park Seonghwa, oh he loved that because he was a smart man, who’d know how to use this inclination of yours, which is why a year ago he had asked you out, on valentines day, and guess what? After three months of courting you, meeting your family, and becoming your nephew’s ‘favourite Doctor’, you had said yes to a date you would never forget- especially as the two of you sat at the top of the Ferris wheel, hand in hand, staring at the sunset, alone together, your silence singing around you, enveloping the two of you in a symphony that could only reach its harmonious peak through the beating of your hearts as they waltz under the glow of your admiration for each other.

Tonight was the night, the night he had decided to take their relationship to the next level, their first anniversary was the perfect moment to be doing this, he thought to himself as he picked up the box wrapped in plastic, smiling at the way this was not only romantic but an easy piece to build- it also catered to your ‘bouquets are killing live flowers, so I don’t prefer something so temporary’ policy. The Wildflower Bouquet was something you two could build together, it would officially be your first Lego set, and the first ever Lego set the two of you could build together, perhaps after that, you could play a movie in the background, Barbie The Island Princess one you liked so much, it was the first movie the two of you had watched anyway. Yes, this was a good plan, after dinner, the two of you could clean up, and get to it at home, working together on this. With this thought he had it wrapped up in the shiniest, prettiest wrapping paper, matching his vibrant smile he made his way to the restaurant where you were waiting for him, ready with a big meal for your big boy.

You looked around the hall filled with couples, feeling a bit more special because a romantic holiday wasn’t the only reason you were here, waiting for your boyfriend, no, it was your anniversary as well, and somewhere deep down inside of you, bubbled those three words you wanted to blurt out to him- not yet, you’d tell yourself, Seonghwa was a wonderful man, honest and loyal to the bone, but you didn’t want to scare him off, pressure him into something- he’d take things slow and you knew that, he was more interested in showing you how he felt through his little gestures, and-

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

You glanced up from the table to smile at the man who looked at you like you were his whole world, and to some extent you knew you were, this look was the only reason you were waiting patiently- any other man would’ve been kicked out pretty soon, not this clown though, he happened to be your clown, one you somehow gave your heart to, to juggle around.

“It’s alright, I’ve already ordered for the both of us,” you stated out, knowing it was very much okay to do so, because this man could and would eat anything, as long as the serving size was enough for a small village- lord knows how jealous you were of his efficient metabolism.

“No problem at all, that’s good because now I can give you this!” he smiled, letting out an excited giggle as he placed the box on the table and pushed it towards you, his smile growing bigger at your gasp followed by an “Aww…Hwa, thank you!”

Fingers tracing the glossy paper you smiled at your reflection before glancing at him then proceeding to open the packaging only to stop mid-way as you stared at the box, not noticing the concerned look plastered on the face of your lover who whispered, “Is everything okay sunshine?” Did he mess up? Was this not romantic enough? Shit. Of course, it wasn’t Park Seonghwa, she wasn’t a ten-year-old boy or a grown man with a weird obsession with toys-

“Seonghwa- I- Hey, earth to Dr.Park!”

He snapped out of his self-berating monologue at your voice, his glossy orbs meeting your confused ones, wait- was the guilt?

You placed the gift bag on the table and slid it towards him, “Open it up doc.”

With a small pout, he reached into the bag, pulling out a box, only to pause when he looked at it, before looking at you then the box, then HIS box, then back at you when you let out a sheepish chuckle, “Guess both of us have the same ideas when it comes to romance, huh, doc?”

“Oh…yeah,” he breathed out before mumbling, “First Lego set idea?”

“Yeaaah…” you mumbled, “Thought doing it with you would be romantic- well, I mean YOU did too.” you smiled at him and took the boxes, placing them in the bag and on the ground when the waiter arrived with your food, as you stared at your man who was looking at you like you had just broken him- in fact you had. Never in a million years had Park Seonghwa thought he’d find someone who’d enjoy his hobby with him, he was well and fine with knowing you could tolerate it, but knowing that you were going out of your way to start something new with him, something that meant the world to him, something that could be just something the two of you did together, meant one thing and one thing only-

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You were pouring water in his cup when his words echoed in your ears, a smile gracing your lips as you eyes flickered up from the glass to your boyfriend who looked like he was going to explode in the next ten seconds if you did not meet him with similar sentiments, lucky for him, you did-

“I think I love you too, Doc.”

He visibly shivered in his seat, smiling at you like your little goofy clown anticipating what was to come next. The night was still young, after this very delicious-looking meal he could take you home, he could show you his new cloud-shaped cotton candy bath bomb, and after a little fun in the tub, the two of you could be all cosy in your matching PJs he had been keeping in secret to give you on your birthday- screw it, he’d get you something else on your birthday, maybe even propose to you- and then the two of you could spend the rest of the night building one set after the other, with whatever the hell you wanted as background noise, because he’d be too busy, too obsessed, too absorbed in your beauty, your presence, your being as a whole- he had finally found his missing puzzle piece to make his heart whole.

Game of Love

Personal Song Rec〜☆ Old Love Yuji & Putri Dhalia

“DADDY DILUC HERE WE GO!”

Yunho looked up from his phone to chuckle at your excitement, sitting there in your office attire, heels kicked off near the door, your dress shirt crinkly because of the entire days of hard work, hair in an extremely tight ponytail so you could focus, manspreading on his couch- thank God you were wearing pants- slouching against his couch with the controller in hand. You had been working like a dog at work, hour over hour, nonstop meetings and work that truly would scar a normal human being.

He used to think his job was stressful, having a dog cafe wasn't the easiest thing out there, with so many things to manage, but when he had seen an office woman tired and exhausted, pressing her forehead against the cool glass door of his closed cafe, staring down at a puppy with the saddest pout he had ever seen, he had realised that maybe there were more exhaustive jobs out there. That night he had let you in, nodding at the way you apologised constantly, telling him you had a horrible day at work and just wanted to spend time with the puppers- that and how “stupid apartment policy didn't allow pets.” He didn't really get an chance to give in his two cents because you were so busy hugging every dog that came your way, only for him to realise that you were a regular…only that you'd often come around at this time -closing time- and a “Fairy Prince Manager Guy”, would let you in for 10-15 minutes. Ah, Kang Yeosang, truly a God sent miracle of some kind.

Since that night, Yunho would send Yeosang off early, telling him that he'd close up, that was his job as the owner of course and like the innocent bub the Maltese - sorry- Doberman was, he never questioned, only merrily skipped away with his things all packed up. Each night Yunho would let you in, sometimes he'd even make you something to eat, watching you play around with the dogs while he'd clean up, sometimes you'd help him arrange the things and take the dogs to their beds, sometimes he'd watch you take a small nap with the dogs. And one night much like the others, he had mustered up the courage to ask you out and amid the canine chaos you had giggled out a ‘yes’.

So, after almost a year of being together, your boyfriend who was a true gamer at heart was now sitting in his living room on the floor, back pressed against the couch, phone in hand trying to play a co-op mode with you because you had agreed to game with him only if you played Genshin Impact because “I gotta mine for daddy Diluc.” He had picked you up from work and you had had dinner in the car, refusing to go into the restaurant, so the drive through it was, and as soon as you had reached his apartment complex he had received a big smooch on his cheek followed by a “Thank you, Yuyu~”.

Now, the two of you were going to game, spend some quality time together, even though it was almost midnight, tomorrow was a day off and you were dying to spend time with your very considerate and caring man, who deserved the world and for some reason, the world had given him a girlfriend who barely spent time with him. Therefore, if you had forced yourself to leave work today, going to the restaurant would have wasted time which is why you insisted you have dinner in the car, the sooner you'd reach home the sooner you could spend time with Yunho.

Yunho glanced up at you, chuckling at how you cursed when you lost a team member, “NOooo Razor my boy!” Shaking his head in amusement he looked back at his smaller screen, thinking of how busy he had been the past whole week. One of his dog's was sick so he had been making frequent visits to the Vet, and that's where the infamous doctor Jung Wooyoung had graciously told him, “Keep on ignoring your girl and she'll definitely leave you.” ” Did he then look at the doctor and almost debate on whether he should punch him in the face or not? Yes, he did, but instead of listening to his intrusive thoughts, he decided to take the other approach, one that had most of society believing Jeong Yunho was a very emotionally stable and nice guy, “And you know this how?”

Wooyoung who was patting the cute Shiba Inus, hummed in return, “When couples don't spend enough time together, their connection can weaken, leading to decreased intimacy, poor communication, potential feelings of neglect, and a lack of shared experiences, which can ultimately strain the relationship and potentially lead to resentment or a fading spark between partners; essentially, the bond between them may deteriorate due to lack of quality time together.”

That was all it took to convince Jeong Yunho to spend time with you no matter what, hence, the gaming session. Ever so often he’d glance up at you, smiling at your focused expressions, admiring the way you looked so natural in your element, enough to have him move onto the couch, right next to you, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear, his fingertips caressing your cheek in the process before you turned to him with a pout that had his heart clench, urging him to hug you close, smother you with his attention. You had handed him the controller, “You better win, Jeong,” with that you had skipped to the kitchen, looking for something to eat for the two of you, perhaps to make a cup of tea for yourself as well. By the time you had returned with a bag of chips and two cups of tea your boyfriend had ascended your character which almost had you falling to your knees to propose to him- speaking of propose, for a while you had been wondering if you should say those three words to him. Yunho was a smart man, he was a reliable man, and most of all he was an honest man, so you really were not sure what was stopping you from declaring your undying love for him. Maybe it was the fact that he could sometimes be too night, a part of you wondered if he felt the same way about you, you knew he liked you, but did he love you? That is exactly why you had yet to say anything to him, wanting him to make the first move, it would be safer if he did so, it would be better if he did so, because for all you know, maybe he was tired of you-

“You okay?”

His words caught you off guard, almost dropping your cup in the process, clearing your throat. You smiled up at him and nodded, “Just…a little tired Yuyu, that’s all.”

With a slight nod he pouted at your response, leaning closer to place, brushing his lips over your forehead before sighing, “How about we call it a night? You can just wish on the banner later-”

The man could not even finish the sentence because you had snatched the controller out of his hand to wish on the various character banners- thankful that your man was a good grinder, feeding your gambling addiction.

Yunho snorted at the way you were wishing non-stop, whining at every pull, ah, leave it to you to do something like that, you didn’t even hear him when he had declared a bathroom trip, “I’ll be back in ten minutes- the burger really didn’t set well.”

It did not set well at all, his insides were on fire and he’d be lying if he were to say he didn’t open the little washroom window and that he did not in fact use up the entire air freshener. If you had to use the washroom, he’d have to ask you to wait, otherwise, you’d probably break up with him if you were to smell the aftermath of the war that had taken place in the tiled room. He huffed in exhaustion, glancing at his wristwatch, 4 A.M., it was late, even if you had a day off, you needed to sleep, good thing he changed the sheets today, you could take his bed and he'd take the couch.

Walking into the living room to find the TV switched off, remote controllers back in place on the console, coffee table clean, if he were to check the kitchen, he would find washed dishes and a cleaned counter. He saw you sitting on the couch, purse beside you, your phone in your lap- wait? You were leaving? Were you calling an Uber? You couldn’t possibly think he’d tell you to leave at this hour of the night, never- he wouldn’t drop you off either, knowing you, you’d just fall face first on your couch and wake up with the worst back pain next morning. He was about to ask you to sleep here when he heard a light snore, eyes flickering up from your phone to your face- oh, you were asleep. A small smile graced his lips as he sat down on the couch next to you, slowly reaching to caress your cheek, a form of guilt spreading through him as he noticed your tired features, something inside him blossoming, confirming that feel that he’d been pushing deep down within him, trying to ensure to not slip- but here he was ready to confess to you, confess that he had decided to spend the entirety of his life with you, solely because he had never met anyone who was so ready to spend time with him, spend time doing what he’d like. He’d shown you all sides of him, how he was a sweet man, how this same sweet man could snub rude customers who were mean to animals, how you’d seen him get cranky if he was woken up after a rough sleep, and how he’d shown you what he was like in his lowest when you’d come to his apartment to check up on him when his senior husky, Macho Man, the first dog he started his cafe with had passed away due to old age, though it had taken a big toll on him. You had walked into his apartment, looking around at the mess but dared not to utter anything negative, instead you had tiptoed to the six-foot-plus man who was curled in his bed, all tired and sad, coercing the heaps of blankets off him, as you helped him sit up, cupping his face, wiping his tears, “Aww….Yuyu….he’s in a better place now, playing with all those cute big and small doggos up there.” Kissing his tears dry you had pulled him out of bed, had him take a nice path and then had dragged him out in the sun, showing him why he had begun feeling about you this way.

You slowly opened your eyes to Yunho looking intently at you, deep in thought as his fingers continued to run through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. Actually, that had been what had you slowly slip out of your sleepy state, you felt ‘too relaxed’, not a feeling your nervous, overworked body was used to-

“I love you.”

Your breath hitched at the quiet whisper, finally twitching in action, reaching to grab his hand and bringing it down to your lap, clasping his hand in both of yours as you smiled at him, taking in his shocked expressions, “Care to repeat that for me?”

He raised a brow at your little smirk before shaking his head and giving you a big smile, “Well…I was declaring my love for my sleeping beauty who seemed to be spying on me.”

Your laughter echoed in the living room as you felt him move closer and envelope you in a hug, arms circling around you, squeezing you closer when you whispered back, “I love you too.”

Taste of Love

Personal Song Rec〜☆ I Feel Loved Aden, Amin

“Yes, but have you shown her your horrible taste pallet?”

Even though he wanted to argue with the stupid vet, he knew what Wooyoung met. Wooyoung had known Yeosang since middle school, he'd seen how weird the pretty airhead can be, especially when it came to his snacks. Wooyoung scratched the dog's ear before looking at Yeosang, “Dating a pastry chef and not telling her about your horrendous desserts is a bit of a deal breaker don't ya think?”

That was why Kang Yeosang had asked Jongho to give his best worker ant a day off on Valentine's day. He only said yes because it was Yeosang, anyone else would have gotten thrown out at such a barbaric request. You had smiled up at him, wiping your hands with your apron at the sight of the princely man who was talking to your boss, curious about what was going on. Only for them to split when you came closer, Jongho mumbling something about a day off tomorrow and your pretty boyfriend offered you a shy smile and giggled, “Dinner at my place tomorrow?”

Not a bad idea, you loved spending time with him, watching him game for hours, playing with dogs at his workplace, going for walks with him- anything actually, you just wanted good company and Yeosang could definitely be considered as great company. What was worrying you however, was his constant fidgeting. You'd never seen him like this, worrying over the slightest of things, running around the table to hand you a tissue instead of just passing the box. He didn't even let you get up to help him set the table.

You had brought fried chicken and a soda, even though he was persistent that you didn't need to, it was his treat, true, but you couldn't come empty handed, so…you may have brought a nice fudge cake for dessert too, something you had been planning to launch at the cafe, but you wanted your Sangie to taste it first, so he could give you his review and you could mold it to his taste.

Yeosang stared at the box in the kitchen, leaning closer to sniff the chocolate, God, it smelt divine but YOU and your GENEROUS LOVING BEHAVIOUR had foiled his plans of his dessert dish with your much normal, much more delicious and well thought out dish. Running his fingers through his hair he wondered if he should come out clean to you right now, “Love, I gotta tell you something, I Kang Yeosang am a total freak.” Or okay maybe he could rephrase it, “I gotta show u my true self, please don't run away my love, please, trust me, my intentions are pure.”

“Sangie?”

You called out, coming into the kitchen with the dirty plates in hand as you set them in the sink, eying the way he was staring at the cake, “What's the matter? Don't you like it?”

He shook his head and gave you a small smile, one that calms you down before he walked over and placed his hands on your shoulders, “I made dessert too…can we…try that first?”

Your head tilted to the side as you pondered for a moment before smiling at him, “That's why you've been so worried?” You reached for his cheek only to pinch it, earning a gasp from him before moving and running out of the kitchen, calling for him as you took a seat at the table “I'm waiting Chef Kang!”

Yeosang felt his cheeks heat up at that name, technically wasn't nervous about that but at least your consolation made him feel a bit better as he answered back, “Be right there!”

You stared at the bowl in front of you, ramen…and chocolate?

“Is this…a foreign dish, Sangie?”

He felt his heart clench at your innocence, oh God, he was about to destroy you, break you, ruin you for life. Shaking his head he handed you a spoon, “It's….my recipe…”

“Oh!? I got a special treat from Chef Kang himself!?” You giggled before taking a spoonful of broth and sniffing in. It didn't smell bad, though it was an odd choice of combined goods but, you trusted him, you trusted him with your heart and soul. That thought in mind you tasted the dish, freezing on the spot.

Yeosang was eagerly sitting next to you, he had dragged his chair next to yours, with a glass of water in hand and a tissue box near him, in case your reflex reaction were to spit it out. He watched the way your facial expressions change, from curiosity to determination and then you froze, as if you were trying to calculate something, comprehend something, trying to rationalise it. Good lord, she was probably thinking of how to break it to him- no what if she was phrasing a polite way of breaking up with him and-

“I LOVE THIS!”

His breath hitched at your screech, taking in the way you squealed, “I mean sure, it's not everyone's cup of tea but the sweet and spicy taste- the broth is tangy! plus the ramen adds a soft texture to it- why haven't you given me this before?”

He had honestly stopped listening because the moment you had called him a great cook- well, something like that, it was close enough, the point is, he had just realised something, something he was about to blurt out,

“I love you!”

Your monologue stopped as you turned your head to stare at the man who was staring back at you, his shaky hands reaching to cup your face as he blinked at you before whispering again, “I love you…” if there was one thing Yeosang was sure of, it was that he had developed these strange feelings for you, that had him thinking about you 24/7, that had him wanting to be close to you or near you, that's why he'd walk 10 blocks To the cafe for his lunch break, only so he could stare at you work around, passing him a smile every time you'd make eye contact with him. He just didn't know what to call it, he had no words to describe this warm fuzzy feeling…well…that is until now,

“I really do….love you.”

[nctinthehouse]

afternoon pick-me-up

❝ pairing: barista!reader x Jaehyun — genre: fluff — wc: 0.6k — ⚠️ warning(s): none — a/n: happy jaehyun day!! 🍑 a little something for jaehyun’s birthday! damn i actually miss him :(( ❞

It’s currently late afternoon. All you can hear is pitter patter of rain against the windows accompanied by chill café music in the background.

Usually, you would be dealing with the aftermath of a lunchtime rush. Sometimes, it can get really busy during those times. However, today wasn’t much of a rush at all. Maybe because it’s been pouring down since early this morning.

You haven’t really got anything to do so you just decided to check your phone for a little.

You glance up as you hear the door open and spot a familiar figure coming in.

He’s somewhat a regular customer, probably orders a drink, two or three times a week. Usually either the same or you notice that he takes a little time, staring at the menu, maybe thinking he should venture out a little with something different.

He’s quite a happy chap whenever you see him and, you think he’s cute too.

You really want to know his name and ask for his number, but, you being you, you absolutely do not have the courage to do so. Especially with someone so handsome and probably out of his league. And usually, it’s quite busy whenever he’s here, but today, right now, it’s very quiet. Probably because it’s pouring outside. Perhaps today’s the day you pluck up the courage and spark up a little conversation with him?

You sometimes wonder what he does for work. Is he a model? Could be, especially with a face like that.

You spot him finally making his way over to you as he decides what to get.

“Hi!”, you say with a smile on your face. “What can I get for you today?”

“Hey!” He responds with a beaming smile as always, whenever he’s here. “Um, can I get an iced latte please?”

“Sure! Anything else?”

You notice his facial expression slight changes, to a hesitate one it looks like but you ignore it.

“Um yeah…” his voice comes out a little hoarse so he clears his throat. “C-can I also get your number, please?”

You stare at him with wide eyes, blinking at him a few times, not expecting that. “W-what?”

The guy repeats his question, seemingly with confidence this time. “Can I get your number, please? I-it’s just that I think you’re really cute and you seem like a really sweet person. I’ve always wanted to talk to you. I mean, other than you taking my order, but, I know it can get quite busy here so I don’t want to disturb you. I mean… It’s okay if you say no-!”

You butt him in mid-sentence. “What? No, no! It’s cool!”

He looks at you with a beaming smile on his face again; dimples popping out in view. Gosh, you just want to poke his dimples.

“Thank you…” he takes his phone out and passes it to you so you can write your name and number. You pass his phone back and looks at your name and number.

“Thanks… uh, Y/N.” he smiles. “Cute.”

You let out a small chuckle.

“I’m Jaehyun by the way. Nice to meet you!” He reaches out his hand, and you reach back, shaking hands in unison as you both chuckle.

“Nice to meet you too!”

“So, Y/N, I’ll call you, or text. Whichever you prefer.”

“Sounds good”, you say with a smile.

“Great! I’ll, uh, see you around” he gives you a wink. You give him a small wave and he does the same back, you watch him walk out of the store.

You kind of stare at the door for a while, thinking back to what just happened. A slight blush forms on your cheeks, and you softly tap them with the tips of your fingers, trying to stop yourself from blushing even further. Then suddenly, you had a thought.

“Wait, did he just order a drink and walk out without one?”

As you get lost in thoughts, you suddenly feel a buzz in your pocket and take out your phone and see a text from an unknown number.

“Forget about the drink haha, I just wanted your number today :)”

masterlist

© 2025 nctinthehouse — All Rights Reserved.

[paymechildsupport]

Pleaaaaaaase I need more sukuna and deity!reader!!! The concept is immaculate, it’s scrumptious, it’s delightful!!!! Need more devout worshipper sukuna in my life

YES SIR 🫡

————————— —- ⛩️ ———————————

“Really, is this many shrines necessary?” 

Sukuna thinks your statement is silly, because of course it’s very much necessary. Anything and everything physically possibly dedicated to was necessary. This shrine was as necessary as the dozens of other ones he had put up this week. Many long nights had he stayed up, painstakingly constructing, creating, with all four of his own hands. The many blisters and cuts that adorned his calloused palms a testament to his dedication to the craft. 

The juxtaposition between the harshness of his strikes in battle and the delicate way in which he carefully set up each offering was jarring. You found it odd how such skilled and careful fingers could be the ones responsible for the wasteland of a village you stumbled upon just weeks ago. 

What an odd speciman.

“By the way,” your voice breaks Sukuna out of his trance of concentration, and maroon eyes gaze upon your own, —lines of harsh concentration softening from his face, —“Gods typically don’t accept offerings of human flesh.” What a shock it was a few days ago to all of a sudden be granted the sight of a ripe human corpse, presented humbly as an offering. While it was quite surprising, (and smelly) you couldn’t help but look back on it humorously, almost affectionately. It reminded you of a cat who once gifted dead birds at your doorstep. 

Sukuna huffs. However was he supposed to know gods were apparently above human corpses as offerings? Truly, he was trying his very best— but all this ‘devotion’ stuff was foreign to him. Sukuna was never a man of worship, and as a curse the very impurity of his existence was a spit in the face to any divine entity. Hedonistic lifestyle only takes someone so far, and a devout follower was so far off from his character that his older self would likely look on his current position in disgust. 

And yet, Sukuna simply cannot find it within himself to care. Because being granted your divine presence- let alone your attention- was enough to bring even a filthy beast like him to his knees. 

“Well then,” he asks, not without a sardonic tone, “what kind of offerings are mediocre mortals presenting you with, if not the heads of your enemies?” 

“Rice , fish , sake , meat -“ you give an amused smile, “preferably not of the human kind” 

Sukuna only grunts in response. He could understand the food part. Personally, if he were a higher deity, Sukuna knew he’d want heaps of human meat as an offering. What better gift than another’s life? He thinks any other kind of offering pales in comparison, and human offerings are definitely much lamer than what he could lay at your feet. However, if that was what you wanted, then he would gladly fetch it for you. 

“How… quant.” He says, before turning his attention back to his task 

That afternoon he went hunting, and had Uruame prepare a meal at nighttime. By the time the sun arose, you came back to find a feast grand enough feed a large village, meats of all varieties lavishly laid out, with colorful, lush heaps of vegetables, and enough rice to feed a small family. 

And, (albeit against Sukuna’s strongest desire), not a body in sight. 

——————————————————————

Imagine as a deity you’re so powerful that regular sorcerers and curses are to you like mice are to people, and even someone as powerful and imposing as Sukuna is essentially the equivalent of a slightly larger than average cat 🙌

[taliabhattwrites]

Here's a mini-version so I can go back to Sifu.

A lot of people have voiced confusion at the backlash against characters like Bridget being depicted as textually transfem, or the general drive to refuse to name the transfeminine body as a woman's body in erotic media. While my transhet friends have talked to me at length about how cis queer men's transmisogyny does manifest in this kind of degendering--and how they rationalize it by considering transition a sort of 'betrayal' of their community, as though trans women were simply trying to transition to greener pastures--I hope it's obvious to everyone that gay men alone cannot sustain this kind of pervasive cultural attitude. Especially when homophobia and transmisogyny are coterminous in patriarchal societies.

So why do men, in general, and even people of genders beyond 'man', insist on third-sexing the transfeminine body? Wouldn't it be preferable, more stable for a straight man and his identity to consume the eroticized transfem as a woman?

Well, if you don't have time to read the 10,000-word article I just linked--though you should, I worked quite hard on it--the shortest version possible I can give you is that the sexual consumption of third-sexed populations by men doesn't destabilize their gender or sexuality as much as you might think. Patriarchy has always had "fail-states", the faggotized, degendered, un-manned subject that cannot be allowed to consider itself a Woman, but is definitely something Lesser than a full-fledged Man.

Given that modern sexual mores are no less centered around penetration than they were in Roman times, men can freely engage in that form of intercourse with the third-sexed, transfeminized woman without having to name her as a woman, and without that being disruptive to his place in the gender heirarchy.

Once you understand that, you realize what the value of the transfeminized sexual object is to a man that wishes to use her as such. The un-womaned transfem is abject, highly precarious, vulnerable, disposable, a dehumanized creature whose entire purpose has been reduced to taking it, whether we mean "sex" or "violence" (and oftentimes, both). She has value in her utter devaluation, in her reduction to a place below the respectable, marriageable Woman that can be taken home, introduced to the parents, and exploited for reproductive labor. The third-sexed, degendered transfem is the Platonic ideal of a fuckable object that can be discarded.

And while some of you might be tempted to kinkpost about that, when we're not horny and are trying to navigate through the world as people, being seen in that way constantly is a very, very bad thing. It's what gets us hurled out of society and locked out of the formal economy, left to subsist or perish on the margins as we are able.

So people are very attached to the idea that their favorite porn category is just that--a 'shemale', a 'futa', a 'dickgirl', an 'otokonoko', a 'ladyboy'--any dehumanizing, degendering term that renders her neither man nor woman, but purely a sexual fantasy. The idea that this sex toy they wish to use could actually be considered a person, a woman, or even a trans woman, that horrid, 'woke', 'political' individual with multicolored hair and multivariate pronouns, feels existentially threatening.

"What do you mean, I've been fantasizing about exploiting a person this entire time? Fuck you!"

Anyway, this little piece has focused exclusively on men's relationship to transfemininity. Do people of other genders have similarly exploitative relationships to us, and a consequent desire to third-sex us?

In a word, yes, but you might have to wait for me to write more essays before I go into it. So look out for those in the future. Quick disclaimers: I've focused this writing on why transfeminine abjection is attractive to those who wish to consume us, but please do not misconstrue this me as saying that cis women are always considered 'people' or 'respectable' under patriarchy--this is very much not the case. I'm simply discussing this as a matter of degrees, where the transfem is more easily and utterly dehumanized due to her being constructed as both failed man, unable to sire, and failed woman, unable to gestate.

Furthermore, entire classes of cis women are also often reduced to this kind of degendered, exploitable state. Degendering is a broader force that is core to transmisogyny, but is not the entirety of transmisogyny, and more women than merely trans women are degendered.

Okay, NOW back to Sifu.

trap hentai now blatantly shows their "boys" with obvious hrt titties but still calls them boys whats up with that. back in my day they they were flat chested but now its "draw a trans woman and misgender her"

[slight-gaming-addict]

Hello!! May i request for the headcannons twisted wonderland characters?

Where reader is very affecionate person and kinda clumsy whenever they are dating with them (nrc characters), YET they are very smart that every class lesson, they will write the note until it's full, since reader when they are at their world back then was always get the 2nd or 1st rank academic especially that relate to sciences.

(The characters in twisted wonderland is up to you, can be only housewarden, or vice housewarden or the first years)

Sorry if my grammar is bad, love your writting and hope you have a great day! ^^

sweetest devotion

masterlist | ko-fi

characters with a smart & affectionate reader

characters: leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, vil schoenheit

warnings: fluff, i accidentally made vil's slightly suggestive, not proofread

𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒂 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓

he isn't really aware of how smart you are, mostly because he never shows up to class to begin with

gets annoyed when you initiate a cuddle session, only to pull back a couple hours later when you insist on having to go to class

he'll grip onto you so tight that you struggle to push out of his grasp, practically falling off the bed in your attempts to free yourself

you just smile at him when he looks at you with that grumpy look on his face, but will always say no when you ask him if he's going to class that day

you come to terms with him never wanting to go to class early on, just settling on giving him the notes after it's done

it doesn't really click in his brain whenever you give him the notes that you actually enjoy the class and do well in it, just grumbly skims through whatever stuff he already knows and doesn't care about

it's when ruggie threatens him for the nth time that week about going to at least one class that he gets annoyed at him and eventually just agrees

but that doesn't mean he's going to be diligent about getting to said class

he gets to the class twenty minutes in, ignoring the rest of the students and just slumping in vacant chair next to you

you smile when you see him in class for once, even if he is just slouching in the chair staring off into space

you instinctively grab his hand under the desk as the lesson continues

the warmth of your hand is the only thing really keeping him there

is genuinely surprised when he hears how much you actually know about the information in the class

watches in awe as you jot down almost everything the professor is saying without a pause

he's learning something new about you every day

𝑨𝒛𝒖𝒍 𝑨𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐

gets so flustered every time you compliment him or hold his hand

tries to play it off but he's really bad at it

he's immediately captivated by you when he finds out how smart you are in the classroom

you'll find him just staring at you when you lift your head up from your paper

he'll turn away from you in embarrassment when he's caught

but he'll just go back to admiring you a couple minutes later

practically swoons if you offer to help him with any business related things

he'll be so excited to tell you everything about it, and let you help him out with things

it's all slightly new to you, so you'll feel bad if you make any mistakes

azul ensures you that mistakes are a given in the line of work and that it's a good learning opportunity

he prefers to work with you than the unpredictability he gets with floyd anyway

it helps when he's constantly getting complimented by you from the work that he does

he's ready to just permanently keep you apart of the team

𝑽𝒊𝒍 𝑺𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒏𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒕

he isn't one for much pda, he has a reputation to uphold after all

knows how affectionate you are and won't outright reject you, but the most he'll do in public is hold your hand

however, the first time he found out about how well you were in potions, he was taken off guard

he knew you were smart, but didn't know how much you actually knew

had to do a double take when he heard you answer the question in class effortlessly, hardly even glancing at your notes

had to stop himself from pulling you to him and putting his mouth on yours right then and there

instead, he scoots his chair closer to yours and grabs your hand under the desk

you're taken off guard by the motion, but you don't pull away

he stays close to you for the rest of the class, practically dragging you through the hallway after it ended

finally gets you alone and does what he's wanted to since the start of class

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hoping you’re having a great day… Can we, have some Haruchiyo Valentine’s Day headcanons? Pretty please?

Since it is today here they are! (These are based on western valentines day standards more so then Japanese ones, I was also doing them as if he was currently dating the reader)

Honestly has no idea what he's doing, he's never tried to celebrate valentines day before since he's never had a need to. But now that you're in his life he wants to do something special but has no idea what.

Acts a little weirdly in the weeks leading up to valentines, like he's watching you more closely and asking more questions about you. He already knows pretty much everything about you but he's hoping for some inspiration on gift ideas.

Asks around a lot for advice, mainly asking Shinichiro and Mucho. (Mucho tells him to not give you the hair from your enemies)

Tries to do all of this while still keeping it a surprise from you though, he thinks he's being very sneaky with it.

At one point Mikey teases him about how you'll probably get lots of valentines from secret admirers, Sanzu vows to get rid of all the secret admirers (rip made up secret admirers)

Buys so many presents for you, anytime he sees something valentines themed that he thinks you'll like he grabs it for you. 

Actually does panic a little about valentines, because he's never done it before he's not sure if he's doing it right. He looks around at a room full of presents and wonders if he's got enough for you. 

Makes sure he's free on that day too so the two of you can spend it together.

He's pretty pleased with your shocked expression as he invites you round the morning of valentines day and presents you with all the gifts. He's even more happy when you hug him, wishing him a happy valentines day too.

Your gift to him is thoughtful and personal, it means a lot to him.

Despite coming up with all the gifts he didn't plan much for the actual day, so the two of you spend it together touring round on Sanzu's bike and having fun together. 

In the end, the presents were nice but you both preferred just being in each others company much more.

[magicalbats]

Persist and Resist (Sunday x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7730

Warnings: afab!reader, handjob, cum eating, a pinch of femdom, canon typical Catholic guilt

A/N: Happy Valentine's everyone! I actually started writing this one in response to an ask I got back when I was working on last years kinktober but at some point in shuffling the text around from here to Google docs it seems Tumblr ate the initial message, which is a big bummer. I do, however, recall that the sender wanted to know what I liked about Sunday ... and the answer to that is clearly 7730 words long! lol Please enjoy the fic and if you're still around, anon ... this one is for you. ❤️

⭐

“Just relax,” you murmur, ignoring his startled gasp when you lean in from behind to rest your chin against his shoulder. “You’re always so stiff. That’s not good for your health, y’know.”

He hesitates, seems to think about it. Deciding how he should react. 

Forcing himself to draw a slow, carefully measured breath this time and further betraying his feelings on the matter, Sunday grits out a terse laugh. It’s soft and quiet. A barely there chuckle that carries with it only a very small fraction of the self assured confidence he’d displayed back on Penacony. 

You knew now that the real Sunday was not quite so sure of himself or as comfortable in his own skin as he’d first appeared, although he still tries very hard to hide that insecurity from you despite being far, far away from his old home. Like some sort of defense mechanism meant to protect and shield the delicate fragile parts of him from threat of the outside world, but it doesn’t work. Not when you were sitting so damn close to him as to feel every stuttering beat of his heart.

Pressed right up against his back like this, there’s not much he can keep from you, in fact. You’re keenly aware of even the most imperceptible shift in him, from the steady expansion of his lungs down to the loose flex of his hands where they’re resting across his lap. His body language makes it clear that he’s not accustomed to sharing such close proximity with another person and he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Right down to the molecular level it’s obvious he’s way out of his comfort zone given his subtle fidgeting, as if he just couldn’t help himself.

He was nervous. Maybe even a little scared, too.

“How interesting.” He finally murmurs. “I wasn’t aware you filled the important role of medical expert on board the Express. I’ll have to make note not to end up in need of your services again.”

Turning his head, Sunday pointedly looks elsewhere in your new room on the train, much preferring to focus on anything other than its owner at the moment. 

Situated above the party car and effectively cut off from the more heavily used common areas, the privacy here is absolute and precisely why you’d extended an invitation to him. There was more than enough room for you to share this space with the wayward traveler who, as far as you could tell, had been sleeping on the bench seats in the car below while you worked to get everything set up to your liking. But he never complained about it or tried to demand better accommodations even though you were certain it was a drastic downgrade in the comfortability he was used to. Like some self flagellating martyr, almost. 

The thought that he might be using the Express’ lack of additional rooms to further punish himself, convinced he deserved that or even less, was what ultimately swayed your decision to open your door to him. You wanted to show Sunday that there were still good things in this world that he could have, things he could enjoy and appreciate the same way he had in his previous life even if they weren’t quite as luxurious or posh as he was accustomed to. 

You also wanted to show him that you were willing to forgive him and, in the process, maybe even convince him to forgive himself. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” He insists, just a bit too tightly for it to be believable. “But I’ve seen you in action before. You’re not exactly what I’d call a gentle hand, and this … bedside manner is beyond me.”

That makes you smile into his shoulder as you wind your arms more securely around him, gently nudging Sunday back against your front. Still, he refuses to relent though. Staying perfectly motionless and straight as a board now, he almost feels like a statue made of solid granite sitting on the edge of the haphazardly made bed with you. Would have, were it not for the slightest hitch in his chest.

You realize in a distant, immaterial sort of way that his subconscious reaction was in response to your breasts pressing into his spine. He must like it then, even if he was loathe to say it. This was admittedly something you found to be charmingly cute in its guileless unassuming but it also made you want to tease him even more for it at the same time.

“That might be for the best,” You softly coo at him, keeping your voice light and barely more than a whisper as you trail a single hand higher up to pull at one of the clasps on his jacket. “I don’t have a medical license, after all.”

He sucks in another inhale, sharper this time. “You’re shameless.”

“That may be true, but I don’t see you trying to stop me.”

A strange little sound puffs out of him, something equally torn between indignation and fluster.

He either can’t or he won’t bring himself to reject your advances though, and he just sits there while you make careful work of unfastening his cozy coat. Idly, you wonder if this was the first time he’s ever had someone touching him like this. But he’s either making an attempt to be more polite than he otherwise would have been when someone was invading his personal bubble like this or, more likely, he considered it another facet of his penance. Further punishment for a sin he’s already been punished for twice over in your eyes. 

Sighing a quiet sound against his neck, you tentatively slip your hand into the inner layer of his shirt once you’ve got it nudged up enough to reach inside.

The skin along his stomach is enviously soft and smooth when you brush your fingers against it, and he outright jolts at that first hint of contact. Even then he still does not protest or try to pull away, though. His breathing deepens, coming slightly harder and faster now, but he makes no move to disengage from you, and you finally rouse yourself to tip your face up at him in question.

“I was only joking, Sunday. You can tell me if you don’t want me to keep going.”

“So you can hold it over my head later? I think not, Miss Stellaron. Against all odds, I still have some pride left in me.”

You frown at that. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re not a prisoner here and I’m not your jailer, so you’re free to make your own choices. I just want to help you.”

For a drawn out moment it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any kind of response from him, and you’re just a bit disappointed about that. But then, ever so slowly, he turns his head to cautiously glance back at you. The deeply embarrassed flush staining his cheekbones manages to surprise you, making your brows climb up to your hairline before you can suppress the reaction and stop it.

“I fail to see how this could be in any way helpful to me.” He intones, keeping his wing tucked forward across the lower half of his face so he can hide his mouth from your line of sight. Acting as a final barrier in case you were to decide to take that last inch from him. 

“I thought this might help you relax. You are pretty stiff, you know. I wasn’t joking about that.”

That defensively tucked in wing gives a brief flutter to make the soft feathers ruffle slightly, like a helpless bird trying to puff itself up to look bigger. It would have been adorable had his eyes not narrowed at you in warning in the same breath.

“I’ve never heard of such a method for relaxation. This isn’t how the Family does things.”

“But you’re not part of the Family anymore, are you? It’s okay to do things differently now.” Holding the air in your lungs, anticipating the coin drop, you slide the hand inside his shirt a little higher up to rub over a tiny nipple. “Let me show you, Sunday. Please?”

He twitches at the touch of your fingertips and quickly swings his attention back around to avoid having to look at you any longer. You can feel the shudder that runs through him but he still refuses to utter the one word that would make you back off. ‘Stop’. That’s all he needed to say. And you would, if he really wanted that. 

Something told you he didn’t completely hate what you were doing though, and it’s not like he’d ever admit to liking it anyway.

So you take your time softly petting over the petite bud, coaxing it to full stiffness which even then doesn’t leave much for you to play with. Every part of him was so slim and compact that as you feel over his chest you find yourself wondering if he was perhaps malnourished despite the life of relative luxury he’d lived back on Penacony. He shouldn’t have had to go without food, at the very least.

Deciding to find him a slice of cake in the kitchen after this, or at least a cookie, you redirect your hand to the opposite side of his chest to tease that nipple as well. Sunday stiffly arches against you in response, nudging his narrow chest up at the sensation even as he whimpers a quiet noise into the still room. He was slowly getting more and more fidgety, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react to what you were doing. How to process it or how to reconcile any of it in his mind. 

But a simple glance down at the front of him tells you everything you need to know without having to break the static charged silence by asking him how he was feeling. He wouldn’t have been honest with you anyway, of that you were certain, so there would have been no point in it.

The reluctant tent pushing up through his pants speaks for itself though, and this part of him could not lie. No matter how much he tried to fight it or wrestle it back under control, there was simply no subjugating the natural urges of his body. He couldn’t fully control it no matter how much he might want to and you can tell that bothers him a great deal in the way he softly seethes under his breath.

He was supposed to be disciplined and steadfast, not easily swayed by the compunctions of flesh and blood. And after rejecting it for so long, stuffing it down into a sealed box in the back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to look at it or think about it, he was now quickly succumbing to the full brunt of his neglected sensitivity. All you’ve done so far was tease his nipples a little bit and his cock was already needily flexing up into the placket of his slacks as if with a mind of its own. A hungry beast that couldn’t be contained no matter how hard its master might yank on the leash trying to bring it back to heel. 

It’s a little sad, in a way. You can’t help feeling sorry for him and all the simple pleasures he’s denied himself for the sake of exerting some amount of control over his own existence when he otherwise had none, but you also feel a sharp stab of arousal too. There were so many things you could teach him, if given half the chance. So many different avenues of pleasure and satisfaction, and intimacy that the two of you could explore together if he’d just allow himself the freedom to experience them for once in his life.

In truth you’d found Sunday quite interesting from the moment you first set eyes on him in front of the check-in counter of the Penacony Grand Hotel, like there was some sort of magnetic force at work urging you closer into his orbit. You knew now that at least part of that compulsion was a result of the Harmony and the other was his natural charisma as a Halovian. But there’s something else there too, something not so easily explained or written off.

He was not that much unlike you, was he? Someone who was so utterly bereft of a home to call his own in this vast cosmos that the nomadic existence of a star-bound wanderer was the only feasible option left to him. Everything from his identity right down to his own sister had been taken from him and he was alone now, save you and the rest of the Astral Express crew. You could understand that well enough even if you didn’t have any memories of what you’d lost before ending up here, just the same as he eventually had.

But you wanted to show him what having that freedom was really like, even if it was just a tiny glimpse of what awaited him on the other side now that he was free of Penacony’s slumbering birdcage.

“Do you trust me, Sunday?”

He tries to laugh again, fails miserably at it, and all that comes out is an odd little croak instead. “I don’t see that I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”

“Of course you do.” 

Carefully sliding your hand out of his shirt, you reach down to tug at his belt buckle with deliberate slowness, giving him ample opportunity to protest. He just groans the most threadbare little sound you’ve ever heard though, and finally allows himself to reluctantly ease back into you. Still unfalteringly stiff and halting, but at least you were making progress.

With a brief clink and a rattle, his belt comes loose. You set your sights on his pants next, fumbling with the top button just as slowly so as not to spook or startle him. He really was like a defenseless bird caught in the sights of a much larger predator and unable to fly, to flee or to fight. He remains passive in your arms, luckily, but the building anticipation of what you were doing does make him start to squirm. He quickly forces himself to stop and be still though, merely watching what your hands are doing with his face tipped down towards his lap.

Soon enough you have those neatly pressed slacks open and you slip your fingers inside to feel along the band of his underwear before trailing even lower. You find his straining cock easily when it’s already stiff and rigidly pushing up from his body, giving it a gentle squeeze through the last layer of laughably thin cotton, and he responds with a tortured, half choked gasp.

“M - Miss Stellaron …”

You can hear the hoarse rattle in his voice as much as you feel it where you’re pressed right up against him like you are. At some point your breathing seems to have synced with his and you find yourself quietly panting right along with him as you work to nudge his pants down far enough to free him from them. 

Clearly picking up on your intent, Sunday hesitates to do it and he sways almost unsteadily between your arms before he at last manages to shyly angle his hips off the edge of the mattress to help you in your endeavor. He whimpers softly while he does it, and you consolingly coo at him as you press your face into the crook of his elegant neck to breathe deep the smell of him. Soap and clean linen, and a hint of downy fuzz that makes your head feel light with the impression of warmth. Perfect for cuddling. 

“Shh. Just relax for me. I promise I’ll take good care of you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Tipping forward, you place a tender kiss to his drooping wing and you’re delighted by the sensitive inhale he sucks in at the sensation of your lips brushing against the feathers. You’d always wondered if they were as delicately receptive as they looked and you were glad to have your answer even as you tug at his underwear to slide the band underneath his straining length.

And it immediately springs up into the air, already flushed and leaking as it weakly twitches in his lap as if in a desperate bid for attention. You’re amazed at not only how beautiful his cock is, average in size at best and yet so perfectly shaped as to look somehow beyond the pale of mere flesh, but also at how satiny soft and smooth it is. The flawless texture almost makes it look like something made of alabaster, and you eagerly reach around to take him in your hand.

“Oh!” His back dramatically arches against you, his hands flying up where they hesitate over yours for a harrowing moment before he allows himself to latch onto your wrists. It’s the first hint of reciprocity on his part, intentionally touching you instead of remaining a bystander as he had up until now, but you still hold your breath as you wait to see what he’ll do next.

If he was going to push you away this would be the time. The situation had clearly escalated beyond what could be excused as simple platonic affection and you brace for his reaction. His rejection. 

To your genuine surprise, however, Sunday just holds onto you by the wrists and weakly rolls his hips up in a shuddering, painfully stiff thrust. The motion sends his cock stuttering across your fingers before pulling back when he eases down to sit fully on the mattress again, wheezing softly at just that brief stimulation. You sorely wished you could see his face again but Sunday’s attention remains down and that fluttering wing stays an ever present screen for him to hide behind as well. 

No matter though. You didn’t really have need for visual cues when you could feel everything in stunning high definition through the point of contact between his body and yours. 

Closing your fist tighter around his cock, you gently begin to pump him, hand dragging from the base where ticklishly coarse hairs tease your knuckles straight up to the tip to make his foreskin bunch over the head. You can hear the sticky wet click of precum but it’s quickly lost under the harsh, frazzled gasp he raggedly pulls in. And it almost manages to surprise you, how sensitive he really is and how vigorously he twitches at your ministrations. There was some part of you that hadn’t been sure if he was even able to put on such an animated display, thinking he’d fight tooth and nail to keep up that implacable facade no matter what manner of duress he was made to endure. 

That is not what happens though. 

Instead he suddenly comes alive, unable to stop himself from full on shuddering and twisting his narrow hips against your hold. Hissing an overwrought sound into the otherwise still and silent room, he clutches at your arms in such a tight deathgrip that the leather of his gloves softly creaks. Not to stop you or to push you away, you dully realize when he groans your name like a plea. But because it felt good and it overwhelmed him, and he needed to hold onto something or risk shattering into a million pieces right then and there. 

Stealing another quick, almost giddy look down at the cock gripped in your fist, you don’t think that’s going to help him or stop the inevitable though. He’s flushed pink and raw from nothing more than just a few brief pumps of your hand, and you can feel the intense throb of him pulsing under your fingers. Not only was he going to cum quick and hard, considering how fiercely he shakes for you, but it was also going to take an embarrassing lack of effort on your part to get him there. 

“Oh, Sunny. Are you enjoying yourself now?” You purr into his shoulder, delighted at how abruptly he’d changed his songbird’s tune. From proud and immovable to a writhing, pathetically whimpering mess in just the blink of an eye. And all it had taken was the firm hold of your hand on him. It was in many ways astounding. “I always knew you had it in you.”

“I told you — nnghn! Not to … not to call me that.” 

Humming a low sound of agreement, you slowly drag your hand back down the length of him to peel away his foreskin in a tortuously stilted motion. Another sticky click hits your ears and he grunts a harried noise of distress when the cool air wafts against his exposed glans unimpeded, making him judder wildly in response. But you keep him held tightly against you even when his back dramatically bows, using your anchoring arm wrapped around his flexing stomach to keep Sunday pressed into you while the opposite hand gives his base a pinched squeeze to stave off his release. It wouldn’t hold it back for long but you were happy with even just those few extra seconds you’re given to admire him. 

And admire him you do. He’s sticky with an excess of eager, dribbling precum that coats the glistening head in a filmy sheen, inviting you to reach out and rub him there. You knew that would undo him in alarmingly short order though, so you hold off for the moment. Rather, you gently smooth your touch down to caress over his balls and wrap your fingers around their delicate weight, cradling them in the palm of your hand. 

Surprising you a great deal, Sunday outright yelps at the sensation and jolts as if you’d just electrocuted him despite how careful you’d been in handling his testes. Slim chest heaving on an uncontrollable, stuttering rhythm, he heavily leans back into you and tips his head to keen up at the ceiling. The sound itself as much as the volume of it makes your heart leap into your throat where it threatens to suffocate you. He was getting much too loud, wasn’t he?  

Your thoughts immediately flash upon the idea that someone might be just downstairs in the party car but you aren’t sure how well sound travels between the two floors, and that makes you nervous. Would they be able to hear him clearly and figure out what was happening just over their heads, or would it only seem like muffled and distant noise? Hell, even if one of your other crewmates wasn’t down there Shush almost certainly was. That damned robot hardly ever moved from behind the polished bar unless it was to pester someone with its awful jokes. What would it even say about the things it could hear going on up in your room? 

Quickly deciding you really didn’t want to test fate like that, you unlock your arm from around his middle and reach up to lightly palm over the graceful line of his throat instead. His Adam’s apple bobs thickly under your hand with the rough inhale he pulls in, swaying between your thighs when he turns his head to blink at you as if he were drunk and seeing double. But at least it looked like you had his attention again. 

“You need to watch your volume. If someone hears us, that's going to make having breakfast together way more awkward than I’d like.” You warn him, keeping your voice gentle and soft. For someone who’d acted with such overwhelming confidence on his home turf he’d quickly proven himself skittish and easy to fluster once you got your hands on him. You didn’t want to scare him off after all the effort you’d had to put in just to get this far. 

“I … I’m sorry.” He mutters with no shortage of Herculean effort. Gone are the impeccable manners and lofty words of the head of the Oak Family, and in their place there was now only a raw vulnerability you hadn’t expected to see in him. “It seems I’ve — forgotten myself. How embarrassing. I - I’ve never …”

“Been touched like this?” You supply, giving his balls a featherlight palpitation for emphasis. 

It’s enough to make Sunday hiss through tightly clenched teeth though, squeezing his eyes shut against the sensation as he turns his head away. “Yes. I mean n - no. This is my … first time.” 

That makes you smile. “I can tell. You’re so sensitive, Sunny. Haven’t you ever thought to touch yourself before?” 

His little wings flutter in response, flapping an irritable rhythm that makes the feathers softly smack against your face as if to bat you away. It’s hard to say if he was offended that you would even think to ask that of him in the first place or if it was because you’d used that insufferable nickname again but either way his reaction makes you laugh. 

Yes, there were a great many avenues of mischief the two of you could get into. It would be fun exploring them together, and this was only the first activity on a very long list of things you wanted to introduce him to. It was a bit out of order but maybe you could try kissing next. 

Your own excitement grows at the thought, and you eagerly swing your attention back around to Sunday’s lap. Giving his balls one last, gentle squeeze, you curl your hand upward so you can wrap it around his shaft and feel that silken skin under your fingers again. The seething noise he makes sounds suspiciously like that of a tea kettle getting close to boiling but he makes a valid attempt to keep his voice in check when you offer that rigid length another slow, savory tug. 

Unfortunately he quickly loses hold of that threadbare control as you reach the glans and the drag of your fist makes his foreskin slide up to bunch over the fleshy slit. The sensation seems to nearly bowl him over and he judders helplessly, squawking an oversensitized sound. Even with the threat of discovery an ever present danger, you still can’t quite stop yourself from grinning at his decidedly innocent, unassuming reaction. 

“Oh, Sunday … what are we going to do if someone comes knocking on the door because they heard you? Something tells me that look on your face would give us away no matter how we tried to explain ourselves.” 

He full on whimpers at that, sounding sad and deeply ashamed in at the implication of guilt. It’s clearly getting harder for him to maintain his usual cool the longer your hands are on him though, and you realize you’re going to have to do something to help him out. He was much too sensitive, too easily overwhelmed to roll the dice in this particular situation when getting caught together could mean the end of everything. 

Licking your lips, you momentarily consider choking him just enough to cut off his air supply and make it impossible for him to cry out. Your fingers idly flex around the bobbing curve of his throat at the thought. Although it’s certainly a tempting idea you ultimately think better of it, sliding your hand higher up to brush over his jaw instead. 

Finding Sunday’s mouth, you slide your palm over it and press down firmly to elicit a startled yet blissfully muffled sound from him. He jolts and lurches in your hold, as if only just now realizing the true scope of the danger he was in, but it’s much too late. 

Readjusting your hold on his cock in the other hand, you firmly drag your fist down and then back up, settling into a steady rhythm that continuously works the foreskin over his receptive glans. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down; rubbing, sliding, sticky slick clicking in your ears. And Sunday outright shrieks behind your fingers, twisting and tossing his head like a wild animal caught in a trap. His belt rattles softly where it’s spread open across his thighs, still twisted up in his pants, and his wings slap a furious beat that has you turning your face into his shoulder to avoid the full brunt of his ratcheting alarm. 

He’s hard to keep ahold of like this, especially when he digs his heels into the floor and tries to wrench himself free, but your physical strength proves greater. Despite being a man and in spite of having a few inches on you in height, he just isn’t equipped to fight you off. Not when you’ve got his cock in one hand, stroking it with the continuous glide of your palm over all of that sinfully smooth flesh, and the halfhearted way he shoves at your arms quickly morphs into desperate grabbing instead. 

Blindly, he latches onto you; your thighs where they bracket his shuddering hips, the bend of your arm, so he can squeeze tight and hold on for dear life. His muffled sounds of pleasure turn dazed and intoxicated as he rigidly slumps against you at last. And when he tips his head back to rest along your shoulder, tiny wings still fluttering helplessly but starting to weaken and droop, you dare to lift your face to look at him. 

Wrecked is the only word that immediately comes to mind. His usually perfectly styled hair is tousled and sweat damp where it sticks to his skin in a few places. Cheeks so hot with color you know he’d be warm to the touch. It’s the far-away glisten in his golden eyes, once so sharp and pointed, now distant and too heavy to keep fully open anymore, that really seals the deal though. Sunday’s higher functioning mind may still have been fighting against it but his body was singing like a deftly plucked chord while the violently crashing waves of pleasure slam into him with every slide of your fist. 

Feeling devious and a little too eager to stop yourself, you take advantage of his draining will to fight it and adjust your hand over his mouth so you can plunge two of the fingers inside. He squawks a decidedly undignified sound at the sudden intrusion but even his attempt to turn his head away is half hearted at best. Only somewhat reluctantly does he allow you to probe at his squirming tongue, feeling the perfect line of his teeth scrape over your knuckles when you reach back just far enough to make him gag. 

The compulsion is an odd one, you understand that much, but it’s as if your own pounding excitement won’t be satisfied until you’ve thoroughly torn down every one of his mile wide defenses. You needed to leave him debauched and utterly disillusioned from his old role, his previous identity, or this wasn’t going to accomplish what it was supposed to. How else could he be expected to move on and undertake the journey ahead of him if he was still clinging to his old ways and holding himself to the same standards as before? 

Sunday needed to see that despite his once high-minded ideals he was still just human, that his flesh and blood body was not some great sin for him to reject or punish. That he didn’t need to self sacrifice and martyr himself just for his life to have meaning. You wanted him to understand that it’s okay to be a little messy sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with letting go of his almost fanatically held control. 

So it is with a great deal of pleasure that you keep his jaw wedged open with your fingers, carefully moving them back and forth over his tongue while he whimpers and whines so sweetly for you. It doesn’t take long for the excess of saliva to build up and dribble out at the corners of his lips, his spine dramatically flexing when he feels that first unseemly rivulet run down his jaw. His mouth works futilely around your digits, alternating between trying to spit them out or to somehow swallow around them but it doesn’t work. The drool just keeps coming, slowly bubbling out to track sticky paths down his face. 

You even catch a glimpse of shuddering moisture wetting his lash lines but you politely look away despite the eager jump in your pulse at the sight of those tears. It would have been all too easy for you to tease him for them, really lean into the humiliation he was probably feeling, but that was not your goal here. Not this time, at least. 

Instead you focus your attention back on the hand wrapped around his cock. Your ministrations had slowed to a stop while you were stuffing his mouth full and now you can see the length of him, flushed a pretty pink that almost matches his face, flexing needily against your hold. He was leaking enough precum to smooth the glide of your next upward stroke, watching in fascinated wonder as the fleshy hood of his foreskin comes up with another soft click to make the clear discharge slowly ooze down the sides of his shaft. 

His hips wildly buck and he wails a garbled noise as he needily arches up off the bed, jutting his pelvis out as if in desperate supplication for more. Both of his hands have latched onto your thighs now and he squeezes them tight enough to hurt. But you give him what he wants, what he so clearly needs, pumping your fist up and down the length of him on a steady, energetic rhythm. 

Sunday freezes like that, poised with his back bowed and his body flexed away from the mattress. Distantly, you realize that he seems to have stopped breathing altogether, holding the air in his aching lungs while the rest of him stiffly shudders and twitches steadily closer to the edge of oblivion. He was beautiful like this, like something out of a tawdry, lurid painting of some ethereal being from legend or myth. 

“Oh, Sunday,” You coo at him, so soft and gentle. Coaxing him ever towards his own ruination. “Are you going to cum for me?” 

Wailing a frazzled sound of distress around your spit soaked fingers, he gives his head the barest shake as if to deny the simple reality of what was happening. Unfortunately his own body betrays him almost instantly, and you stare in rapt fascination when his narrow hips stiffly lock up before nudging forward in a reluctant thrust. He’s holding himself far too unrelentingly to execute the full range of motion but it’s enough to have him fucking into your hand in painful, tortuously slow increments. 

He just can’t seem to help himself or smother the urge completely, even when the rolling grind of his pelvis was clearly something foreign to him. But it’s instinctive and hard coded, muscle memory carved into the very atoms of his body more than anything else. And you can see the musculature in his slim thighs trembling fiercely, the flex of his stomach dramatic while he wheezes and gasps his pleasure into the otherwise still air. You knew your fingers weren’t doing as sufficient a job at muffling him as your palm would have, but you can’t quite bring yourself to move or even care very much about that right now. 

Especially not when he gives one final, stuttering thrust into the squeeze of your hand and his cock positively erupts in a sudden spray of white. Creamy and thick, it shoots up into the air on what you would consider an impressive arc before splattering across his front. A second jet quickly follows the first, and then a third, while Sunday all but sobs through his orgasm, wetly choking on it even as he gradually sinks back down to the bed in a drained heap of splayed limbs. 

The eager pulse along his length quickly slows, oozing yet more of that clear discharge to dribble down the length of his shaft in sticky tracks before at last subsiding completely. He’s already a complete mess with various bodily fluids coating his skin but you still give him one final squeeze and drag your hand up to draw the last little bit of his release out of his flagging cock. He seethes a delirious sound in response, head lolling back in doped out bliss while he tries to even out his breathing again to no avail. 

“How was that?” You prod, smiling to yourself as you withdraw your fingers from his mouth. A sticky wad of saliva follows after you, catching on his bottom lip, and you brush your thumb up to helpfully wipe it away, ignoring the mirthless, gasping laugh he rattles out. “It looked like you enjoyed it to me. Was that really your first orgasm?”

Somewhat awkwardly clearing his no doubt dry and scratchy throat, Sunday pointedly turns his head to look elsewhere. Still shy and reticent to openly show any of his emotions, but he certainly felt more relaxed in your arms than he had before. “I wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that, would I? Or do you take me for some kind of shameless masochist?” 

Allowing a brief giggle to slip out, you lean further into him so you can find his neck and deliver a soft peck to the still thrumming pulse under his skin. Sucking in a deeply flustered inhale, he snaps his attention back around to look at you with wide, startled eyes. That makes you laugh too, much to his pouting confusion. 

“What?” He demands at last. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking how cute you really are, that’s all.” 

His brows shoot up almost too fast for you to track the motion. “Cute? M - me? But I don’t —“

“It’s alright, Sunday. Just go with the flow. You feel pretty good right now, don’t you?” Grinning at the uncertainty that flashes across his face, you lower your chin to rest against his shoulder, much like how you’d first started. Realistically only a few minutes had passed but it felt like an entire lifetime had come and gone, and yet you were still right back to this again. 

In the following silence while Sunday chews on that and mulls it over, you rove your attention down to inspect the damage you’d caused. Luckily his coat had been more or less out of the way where you’d spread it open earlier, and it looked like the quickly cooling evidence of this sneaky tryst had mostly landed in harmless flecks across the darker inner shirt underneath. That was a small relief, if you were being honest. You didn’t even want to think about all the fussing he’d do if you stained his white jacket like that. 

“Well,” he says at last, rousing you from your thoughts. “While I still think your methods are unscrupulous and incredibly underhanded … I suppose I still owe you my thanks. I do indeed feel more at ease than I did before. Now if you’ll excuse me —“ 

Quickly looping your arms around his middle when he makes a move to stand up, you yank him back against you with another laugh. “Nuh-uh. We’re not done yet, Sunny. I need to help you clean up that mess first.” 

Choking on a protest, he reaches down to shove at your arms but you don’t budge, pointedly nuzzling into him from behind as if to prove that he wasn’t going anywhere until you decided to let him go. After another brief moment of cursory struggle, he finally gives up and slumps against you with a terse click of his tongue. 

“Really, is this truly necessary?” He grumbles under his breath, lifting a hand to subconsciously wipe the remaining spit off his chin with an air of distaste. “Haven’t you gotten what you wanted out of me already? I'd think you would be satisfied by now, Miss Stellaron.” 

You hum a sly sound at that, coquettishly walking two of your fingers up the front of his shirt to one of the bigger globs of milky white bleeding into the material. He goes still against you, mouth dropping open in what could only be abject shock when you swipe one of the digits through the mess before lifting it up to your face. 

Looking appropriately scandalized now, Sunday tracks the motion with wide, horrified eyes. “Wh - what are you doing? That’s —“ 

Popping your cum coated fingertip into your mouth earns you a strangled gasp and he tries to reel back from you as if in disgust. But you keep your arm locked around his middle, holding him firmly in place while you suck the digit clean. Sunday’s wings flutter an anxious beat and tuck forward to curl defensively over the lower half of his face but it does very little to hide the furious blush staining his cheeks. He looked even more like a ripe cherry ready to be plucked than when you’d been holding his cock in your hand. 

“It’s nothing to be so embarrassed about.” You tell him candidly when you slide your finger out and reach back down to swipe it through the sticky fluid on his shirt again. “You don’t taste bad, if that’s what you’re thinking. I like how you feel in my mouth.” 

His eyes nervously darting from side to side, up and down, anywhere but directly at you, he tries to speak, croaks, and then awkwardly clears his throat again. “But - but that’s … unhygienic, isn’t it? That came out of my … my - -“ 

Softly laughing at how dangerously close he seems to fainting dead away like some sort of swooning maiden in an old movie, you catch a clinging glob of his spend and lift it up towards his face this time. “It’s fine, I promise. You taste good, Sunday. I wouldn’t lie to you. Here, try it for yourself?” 

He makes a face at that, reminding you of a kid that doesn’t want to take his medicine, but at your gentle prodding he slowly lowers his wings. The drooping feathers brush against your curled fingers just so, almost making you tremble at their light touch as you watch him differentially drop his gaze. Submissive and pliable, a clear sign of his bending to your will. 

Your earlier arousal flares back to life with a vengeance, making you feel uncomfortably warm and damp between the legs. Holding the air in your lungs, you nudge your hand closer and he obediently parts his lips for you with a tiny, shuddering whimper. Eyes slipping shut when you slide into his mouth again so you can drag your fingertip across his tongue and smear the salty discharge, making sure he got a good taste of it, he issues a faltering breath that puffs against your knuckles. 

“See? Not so terrible, is it?” You murmur, your voice drawling at a lower octave than usual. Watching him come to terms with his own body was almost as distracting as the need pulsing in your loins, demanding attention and relief in equal measure. You wanted him. More of him. All of him. 

But would he have you? 

Groaning a threadbare little sound, Sunday flutters his lashes and cautiously opens them to peer over at you. For a drawn out moment the two of you just stare at one another, gazes locked and searching. Questioning. Begging. 

And then, ever so sweetly, he closes his mouth and gives your finger an experimental suck, swallowing down the evidence of your illicit activities. A stuttering exhale escapes him as you slowly withdraw your hand, giving him just enough space to breathe for a second. You wanted him to decide for himself how he wanted to proceed, what his next move should be. 

Because what you’d said earlier was the truth. You were not his jailer, nor were you going to willingly facilitate that self flagellating streak of his either. If he wanted to come to you it would be in mutual pleasure and enjoyment, as equals with a vested interest in each other's happiness. Not as punishment or penance for something you’d already decided to forgive him for. 

“M - Miss Stellaron, I …” 

The way his wings start to shyly curl inward again, wanting to hide behind them, brings another smile to your face. He really was too cute like this. “What is it, Sunny?” 

He sucks in a mildly bothered breath at that. “I told you not to — never mind. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. And you were right. It wasn’t terrible. In all honesty, nothing you’ve done today was … entirely disagreeable in my eyes. So if you’d like to … I mean, if it pleases you we could …”

“Keep going?” You helpfully offer up, making his expression pinch in obvious embarrassment. 

“W - well, should you insist I … I guess I wouldn’t have any complaints about that. But only if you want to. I don’t care either way.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Practically grinning from ear to ear now, you place your hand against his shoulder and push to get him turned around. He still refuses to look directly at you, evidently finding the pattern on your bedspread far more interesting in that moment, but he doesn’t change his mind or try to pull away when you lean into him. 

Tipping your head so you can dip into the space between his nervously fluttering wings, you find Sunday’s mouth and kiss him. Tentatively at first to see how he’ll react, but when all he does is whimper a flustered sound against your lips you press harder, letting your hunger for him dictate your actions. His hands carefully come up to slide around your neck while his wings slowly fall open, letting you in as he holds you against him, and you feel like you just might burst. 

To be wanted by someone like him felt like a blessing and a curse all wrapped up in one. By initiating this had you only sped up his ruination from perfect and holy to mere mortal, or had you just engineered your own downfall in the same breath? 

You’d find out soon enough.

⭐

Cross posted: here

[melanielocke]

Arcane meta: Viktor was always lying to Ambessa

For many, it felt strange how Viktor was willing to work with Ambessa when he was so opposed to everything she stood for, and it certainly feels out of character for him to offer Ambessa her own immortal robot soldiers since he was so opposed to war.

When Singed tried to convince cult leader Viktor to sacrifice Vander, he immediately pivots away from Ambessa's war aspirations to why Viktor should do it: to 'save us from ourselves', which later becomes Viktor's goal. Singed probably knew potential personal benefits of conquest would never convince Viktor, and guessed this might be a goal he was heading towards.

But I think after Jayce shoots him and Singed revives him, Viktor was already planning to evolve everyone. He was just in a not great position after Jayce shot him, and depended on her and Singed's help to survive and be able to complete his plans. His people skills might not be great, but he probably understood that if he told them 'yeah I'll evolve all your soldiers. I'll evolve everyone. It'll be great. No more wars ever, no more clouding emotions, we'll all share one mind and everything will work out' Ambessa probably wouldn't have helped. She wouldn't have wanted to be evolved herself. But at this point she was pretty desperate for magic weapons, so Viktor promised to evolve her soldiers after he got the anomaly. At which point, he already would have completed the glorious evolution, and if Ambessa were still alive at that point, she would have joined the hivemind and been evolved too.

Viktor depended on her help because Jayce was going to stop him, but he didn't actually want this. He didn't want Ambessa to start a war so he could reach the anomaly, and he thought that if he could convince Jayce to help him, this wouldn't be necessary anymore. He would prefer to do it in peace, but he also decided whatever Ambessa was going to do was an acceptable sacrifice.

I think what changed after Jayce rejected him was Viktor's willingness to go through with his own transformation. I think that scared him, because he still very much wanted Jayce's love back, and I think he viewed that final transformation as the line he was about to cross that would cost him Jayce. He wasn't willing to cross the line until he believed Jayce had given up on him no matter what. He didn't decide he should just evolve everyone vs those willing after Jayce rejected him, he decided he was willing to give up his humanity to see it through.

At least, this is how I interpret the Line, since it feels like Viktor losing a fight with himself, on one hand wanting to hold on to Jayce, being scared of disappointing him, not wanting people to see him, while on the other hand "I'm sure there's nothing left to try", and his transformation is him giving up.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Synopsis: Sunday is your mirror, as you are his — or, how meeting him spells your doom, just like losing you spells his.

HSR Masterlist

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warnings: female reader, second person in some parts and third person sunday pov in others, religious themes because…it’s sunday…, not canon compliant because idk wtf happened in penacony and i don’t feel like figuring it out, not lore compliant either because i’m #toocool for that, ooc because i wanted to make sunday a freak, major character death but not really on screen just mentioned/implied, unreliable narrators, halovians are Very Different (both from their canon depictions and from humans in general), robin mentioned but she’s also probs ooc idfk i’ve never written for honkai star rail and i’ve played for like a month tops, sunday is a d1 piner, sunday loses it, sunday crashes out, weird narrative structure, very nonsensical, in terms of endings we have no endings (it’s like open to interpretation ig), m1ckeyb3rry’s monthly drop of MID

A/N: i wrote this really quickly for my beloved illu’s birthday!! unfortunately i didn’t get the idea until like two days after the date itself so it’s a bit late LMAOO also it sucks but. it has SUNDAY !! my first foray into the hsr verse…hehe…anyways illu i could go on about how much i appreciate you and how glad i am that we’re friends but for the sake of conciseness i shall leave it at HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY GOAT @milksnake-tea I LOOK FORWARD TO ANOTHER YEAR OF CRASHING OUT TOGETHER 🙂‍↕️💖 LOVE AND KISSES I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS A BIT!!!

There is a ghost waiting for him in the confessional booth. Velvet curtains cover the latticed wood, obscuring its contents from his view, but the effect comes to nothing. He knows she’s there, he always does, he can feel her presence. It’s a chill seeping into his bones as he kneels — he doesn’t need to kneel, of course he doesn’t need to, but it’s a habit he’s yet unwilling to break — and clasps his hands together. It’s a supplication for something, but it isn’t until his mouth is opening of its own volition, his wings fluttering in alarm and his eyes widening as the words are wrenched from his lips, that he realizes what he’s begging for.

“Please,” he whispers. His voice echoes in the empty room, mocking him, teasing him. Please. Please. What right does he have to ask her anything? He’s sure that’s what she’s thinking. He’s sure she’s laughing in that odd way of hers, and his throat constricts at the image. “Please—”

Forgive me? It reverberates in his mind, that fragment of a thought, jagged at the edges, sharp like a blade and twice as cruel. Isn’t that it? Forgive me. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. 

“Condemn me,” he says instead, and then he’s struck by a burst of anger, hot and unyielding and entirely at odds with the weight of his tongue in his mouth, which is all leaden and unwieldy and clumsy and despicable. “Condemn me or forgive me or what have you!”

He waits, as he always does. One, two, three. He counts on his fingers, an invisible metronome ticking in his mind, mechanical and perfect in rhythm, keeping time for his vigil. Four, five, six. The curtain flutters in a phantom breeze, and for a second he can pretend that he sees a flash of bright in the darkness of the booth, a dancing shade like a glittering iris peering back at him. Seven, eight, nine. He doesn’t care what she says. He doesn’t care about any of it. As long as she says something, it’s fine. Condemn me. Forgive me. He’s not sure which he would prefer at this point.

Ten.

The ghost is silent.

The first time you met Sunday, it was raining. Everything about him was limp in the storm — his clothes, the fabric clinging to his slender frame; his hair, spilling onto his pale brow and trailing down his mannequin-straight back; even his wings, which drooped miserably towards his shoulders, the preened feathers translucent at the edges from dampness. 

When he turned to glance at you, you expected his demeanor to shimmer with the famous benevolence of his family. Sunday Oak, the heir, the young lord; certainly there would be a kindness to him, a gentleness permeating throughout the very essence of his being. Certainly he had been born a saint, anointed in the waters of his mother’s womb before he could even draw breath, incapable of humanity’s many shortcomings and fallacies. Certainly these things were true, and that was why it frightened you all the more when, for one singular moment, his impassive mien crumpled into a glare, as baleful as it was captivating.

His eyes were a sharp, canny gold, feline in both shape and shrewdness, framed by lashes clumped together with wet. They were terrible in the way of a dying star, that peculiar brand of horror so beautiful that it was impossible to look away, and indeed you stood transfixed until he cleared his throat and arranged his face into a polite smile. 

“I wasn’t aware we had visitors today,” he said. He spoke carefully, perfunctorily, reading from a script he must’ve memorized long ago. You stiffened, for although he had not given you any reason to think it, you were suddenly very certain that you were not supposed to see him like this, his fingers curling over the slick rail of his balcony, his dark abdominal wings folded tightly over his stomach and his halo dull in whatever light struggled through the clouded sky.

“I was just leaving,” you said. “I must have made a wrong turn. I apologize for disturbing you, sir.”

“You needn’t apologize,” he said, and there he was, the man who you had expected: Sunday, the scion of the Oak Family. Gracious Sunday; magnanimous Sunday; Sunday the prince and Sunday the saint. He was so finely constructed it made you wince, his blinding delicacy and keen refinement eerie, preternatural. A baser instinct of yours told you to run, reminding you of a time when those of his kind ruled over humanity with impunity, pleading with you to save yourself before it was too late.

You bit back your fear so hard that blood exploded over your palate, salty and sweet in turn, viscous as you swallowed it back and offered him a smile. He did not return it in full, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. That should’ve been soothing, but it only served to worsen the electric anxiety running through your veins.

“I shall call my sister and tell her to fetch you,” he said. “I would hate for you to find the Oaks remiss in our hospitality. I am sincerely sorry that you were not given an escort earlier.”

There were so many things you could say to him. I ran. Does that make me remiss? I’m the one who ran from them. You could reassure him, promise him that you would be alright on your own and there was no need for Robin to come. You could do any of these things, yet you were frozen like an insect in the amber of his stare, and so you did not.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing slightly, lowering your eyes to his leather shoes in a valiant attempt to free yourself, “for your generosity.”

“Do you think it’s possible for people to forgive themselves?” he asks his sister. They’re sitting in the parlor, porcelain teacups in their hands, pinkie fingers raised primly in the air. His sister’s cup is chipped at the base, but every time he tries to throw it away, she pitches a fit, which is so uncharacteristic of her that it renders him speechless. This one is special, she insists. There’s doves painted on it. See?

It isn’t special, there’s countless others exactly like it, but he caves to her whims far too easily, as he always does. He’s prone to it, after all; she wants for things so rarely as it is, which means denying her few requests when she makes them is nigh-impossible. So he allows her to keep the ruined cup, on the condition that in his presence, she holds it in her left hand, for he never wants to see the blemish again.

“I’m not sure,” she says. Her voice is always dreamy, but as of late there’s been a tangible sadness to it. He’s asked her what’s troubling her countless times, but his every attempt is met with a shake of her head and a solemn oath that it’s nothing. “Maybe.”

“I don’t think that it is,” he says. “At least not at first. You can’t forgive yourself before you’re forgiven by anyone else.”

“If you were already so sure of the answer, brother,” she says, cocking her head at him, “then why did you ask?”

“Hm?” he says, furrowing his brow. She takes a sip of her tea, and maybe it’s the angle or maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he swears that that dammed chip is taunting him, smarting like a peeled-off scab.

“It’s a strange practice of yours,” his sister says, batting her eyes at him in a way that makes him feel shrunken and tiny, as if she knows everything and he knows nothing, although by all rights it’s the other way around.

“What do you mean by that?” he presses, voice coming out harsher than he’d like. Cringing, he sets his teacup down and folds his hands in his lap. “My apologies, sister. I — I did not mean to speak to you in that way.”

She raises her drink to her lips, smiling at him over the dove-painted rim, and says nothing more.

Robin Oak was like nightshade, the most beautiful flower you had ever seen and, incidentally, the most poisonous. She was lilac where Sunday was silver and sapphire where he was gold, but although the edges of her halo and her face were rounder than her brother’s, as malleable as he was rigid, she was no softer than he. Perhaps she was even colder for it, all the more deadly, unassuming and quiet, poised to strike with a warbling song and a tittering giggle.

“Hello,” she said, and although the two of you were ostensibly having a normal conversation, she still talked like there was a song in her voice, her cadence lyrical and amused. “We’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“I didn’t go very far,” you said, following after her as she navigated the hallways without hesitation.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “But who would’ve thought you’d end up in Sunday’s room?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” you said, cheeks heating up at the sly implication. “I sincerely thought I had happened upon some study or restroom where I might recuperate.”

“He does keep his surroundings austere,” she said. “I’ve tried to convince him to hang up paintings or photographs, but he refuses. He’s like that.”

“I see,” you said, as neutrally as possible. Robin must’ve sensed your disinterest, for with a soft, breathy, chuckle, she steered the conversation away from her brother and to another subject entirely.

“Ah, you mentioned recuperation? Do parties tire you, too?” she said, and maybe it was manipulation or maybe it was genuine kindness, but it disarmed you all the same. Bashfully, you nodded, your shoulders hunching in on themselves involuntarily as you continued down the corridor.

“They are exhausting. I can never handle them for more than a few minutes at a time,” you confessed. She wrapped an arm around your torso, a companionable vice of a grip, and although you shouldn’t have been, you were surprised to feel that her skin was blazing to the touch.

“Nor can I,” she said. “There’s a commonality. Let’s be friends.”

It was a command, not a request. You knew better than to believe that Robin Oak would request anything; the world was at her feet, the universe shifting so that her words became truth, so why would she bother with questions and hesitance the way the rest of you did? She was no more human than Sunday. She was even less, only just as good at pretending, at painting on a doll-like mask to disguise her lies.

“Well, then it is a pleasure to be your friend,” you said.

“Don’t talk like that,” she protested.

“Like what?” you said.

“Like I’m somebody important, or like I have a status worthy of only the highest respect,” she said.

“But you do,” you said. She nudged you in the side with some measure of eagerness.

“No, no, forget about that,” she said. “I’m just like you, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, even though that could not be further from the truth, even though she could not be further from you.

“I swear on truth,” he says to the congregation, the beige churchgoers in their beige robes with adoration sparkling in their devoted eyes. “I swear on the calendar. I swear on words. I swear on values. I swear on rules. I swear on meaning. I swear on—”

A chill rushes down his spine, icy fingers grabbing onto the roots of his wings and yanking. He hisses under his breath, prayers of rebuke and protection, nails digging into his palms as he chants furiously, lips moving too fast for the gatherers to understand what he is doing.

Anxious murmurs arise like the songs of a choir the longer and longer he is frozen. Somebody coughs. A child whines audibly. He continues his chanting. 

Ena, the Order; Xipe, the Harmony; defend me in this tribulation. Curse this evil, bind its spirit and banish it to whence it came. I swear on truth, I swear on the calendar, I swear on words, I swear on values, I swear on rules, I swear on meaning, I swear on—

The hair by the nape of his neck is ruffled, and then the sensation vanishes and he is left alone once more. He is grateful for only a moment before he mourns her absence with a sudden savagery that takes even himself by surprise. It’s a contradiction, but she is a contradiction, so it’s fitting. He could never understand her before, so why should it be different now?

Clearing his throat and subtly adjusting his lapels, he raises his hands to silence the throngs of worshippers. They do his bidding at once, and he closes his eyes so that he does not have to see their naïveté at this final part, so that he is speaking to himself and the ghost alone — because nobody else matters in the end.

“I swear,” he says, his heart beating faster and faster until it is almost bursting from his chest and pounding in his skull, “on human dignity.”

What do Halovians know of human dignity?

“Nothing,” he says, responding to the unasked question as he turns away from the others, away from their applause and their grins. His wings cover his eyes and his hands cover his ears as he leaves the cavernous hall, the thunder of laudation fading and fading, replaced with nothing but a whistling, lonely emptiness. “They know nothing.”

He pauses, his eyes darting around surreptitiously. Then, when he is sure he is alone, he continues, under his breath so that no one can hear even if they try very hard to.

“I know nothing.”

He is sure of this much, at least.

On Halovians:

They abide by a so-called “divine creed” which they refuse to divulge to outsiders. However, they maintain that if they break these secretive laws, they are punished severely in what amounts to a foreshortened process of decay. Their holiness and altruism is, thus, not a choice but a compulsion; the one sin they are permitted is lying, and many will spin tall tales as a form of indulgence.

They are comparable in ability to the sirens from Lucyke — indeed, many researchers believe the species share a common ancestor and are one of many examples of divergent evolution found throughout the cosmos. They are nonthreatening when approached, capable of rational thought and intelligent speech, and have advanced societies with defined familial structures; hence, they are classified as a Level 0 Intelligent Species.

His halo is cracking. He doesn’t know when it began, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say he doesn’t want to know, but regardless it’s happening. The burnished gold, once a plain, gleaming expanse, is now marred by thin, unmistakeable fissures in the shape of spiderwebs. At first, he can only stare at his reflection in abject horror, but then he’s stuffing his fist in his mouth and screaming. 

What will people think? When they see it, they will know what he has done. It’s tainting him. It’s above him and behind him and all around and he can’t escape, he can’t do anything, his halo is cracking and he’s screaming and she’s there again.

“Stop it,” he snaps. “Stop coming back. If you’re only here to torment me, then — then stop it!”

Is she laughing? She must be. She always laughs at him, always finds him so curious. An oddity. A Halovian. He’s not like her, she’s fond of reminding him, he’s different. He’s born for the Harmony and the sky. He’s born for a purpose greater than hers, with black wings and a bright halo and a tongue made to lie.

“Don’t leave,” he says when she begins to withdraw. “Hey. Hey. Don’t leave — don’t leave me — I can’t — don’t!”

Her absence is like a hole carved into his stomach daily anew, and if his wings weren’t losing their feathers so rapidly, he’d fold them over the gaping wound in an attempt to disguise it, to transform it, to hold himself together until he can once again become whole in earnest.

It’s pitiful. He’s pitiful. He longs for a ghost who he despises, a ghost of his own making, a ghost who is pulling apart his halo and his wings and his sanity alike. She is ruining him and he is powerless to stop her; somewhere deep inside of him, he’s not sure if he even wants to. This is what he’s owed. This is what he deserves. No matter how much he begs, she will not forgive him; no matter how much he prays, he will not forgive himself.

This time when he screams, he does not bother with muffling it.

You were certain that, in the pools of her mind, in places unknowable and unreachable, Robin believed that she loved you. She repeated that lie so often that she fooled everyone, even herself — everyone, of course, but you. You knew the truth. You knew that she never had, that she never would, that she never could.

“This is my very best friend in the entire universe,” she’d say, holding your palm against her heart. “I love her.”

She carried it like a trophy or a weapon, that meaningless phrase. I love her. Lilac instead of silver. Sapphire instead of gold. I am not a Halovian. That was what she really wanted to say. That was what you really meant to her. I am human, too. Treat me like I am human. Talk to me like I am human. Love me like I am human.

I am human.

I am human.

His sister is worrying about him. He wishes he could allay her concerns like he always does, wishes he could promise that it’s nothing, that he’s fine, but whenever he tries, he can’t. It sticks in his throat, and he’s left to stare at her miserably, helplessly.

“If you need anything…” she murmurs, voice trailing off into nothingness as she pretends like she’s not looking at his halo, which is on the verge of collapse, or at his wings, which are approaching a skeletal state. “Maybe you should stay home today. Someone else can pray.”

“No,” he says. He has to do it. If he doesn’t, then he has nothing left — which is the truth, really, but he can’t accept it. Not yet. “No, I—”

He wants to say I can do it, but the words won’t come. She waits, but when he does not finish his sentence, she only sighs and nods.

“If you think that’s what’s best,” she says. If she’s expecting a response, she won’t get one, or at least not one that’ll satisfy them both. He can’t maintain his facade anymore. Those carefully constructed falsehoods which were once his birthright have abandoned him; now, he is left with nothing but the truth in its harshest form, his eyes sewn open to it and his wings tied back so he can no longer cower behind their trembling defense.

Unlike his sister, Sunday never pretended to love you. Indeed, he treated you no differently than he treated everyone else, keeping a polite, reserved distance between the two of you at all times. He was kind when you spoke, though he tended to avoid such occasions, and he took great pains to ensure that he appeared as harmless as possible, pulling his wings close to his body, averting his eyes from yours and shifting so that his halo was always partially obscured.

Robin told you that he was a proud man, so the fact that he shied away before you meant something. I’ve never seen him like this, she would ponder when he would sidle past, his feathers blending in with his pale hair, a coat thrown over his shoulders and his gaze trained directly ahead even when he greeted you. It’s unlike him.

It’s kind. That was all you ever said when she prodded at you for answers. He’s being kind to me.

Unlike her brother, Robin didn’t understand what that meant, so she would only embrace you, deceptively strong despite her frail figure, wings extending to skim along your skin in what she must’ve considered a sign of affection.

I’m glad you’re getting along, she’d say, and then you’d wonder, invariably, what it’d take to break the chords of her speech. Was she capable of producing dissonance? Or was it one of her many blessings, that avoidance of discord, of cacophony? I’m really glad. I hope one day he loves you, too.

She never asked you to love him back. She never dared to even hope for it.

“I can’t recall you ever laughing at me this much when you were alive,” he says, lying on his bed with his limbs splayed out. He’s looking up at the ceiling, which is bare, as are the walls, and the furniture — entirely by design, of course. Periodically, his wings will flap weakly, wracked with nervous tremors as he waits for her to quiet.

He doesn’t reprimand her anymore. The prospect of chasing her away is unbearable, even more unbearable than the sound of her mirth, which is as wrong to his ears as music from an untuned piano. So he ignores it, and when it is particularly agonizing, he speaks to the empty air, saying everything and nothing all at once in an attempt to silence her.

“You would ask me questions,” he remembers, drumming his fingers against the mattress. “But you wouldn’t laugh. I don’t think you found me amusing, unless I tried very hard to appear that way. I was better at it back then. At becoming what people expected of me.”

She’s not laughing anymore, but he knows she hasn’t vanished yet. She’s there in his periphery, poised to disappear as soon as he turns his head but there nonetheless. Taking advantage of the rare silence, he sits up, hugging his knees to his chest and closing his eyes.

“I didn’t pretend quite as much when it was you,” he says. “You know that, right? By the end, I couldn’t bring myself to at all.”

Does she believe him? He can’t tell. If he were her, he wouldn’t believe himself, so likely not. Exhaling heavily, he collapses backwards, tangling himself into a pile of blankets that he pulls over his shoulders.

“I should have lied to you more often,” he says, eyes drifting shut. “Maybe things would be different if I had.”

 On Halovians:

Halovians are the only Level 0 Intelligent Species that do not choose long-term mates, although there is evidence to suggest that in the distant past, they remained with the same partner for life. According to legend, this is because they gave up fidelity for falsehood, trading their ability to love eternally for their freedom to lie at will.

Research disagrees with this old story, and many alternate theories have been proposed. The most common and widely-accepted is the claim that the Halovians once faced extinction and thus had to procreate at speed, leading to a permanent shift in their mating habits. The most substantial proof for this, of course, is the otherwise-inexplicable population boom…

You couldn’t say for certain when you began visiting Sunday in his room. It had happened so suddenly and yet so gradually that by the time you realized what you were doing, it was too late for you to stop. He never did anything untoward — you doubted he was capable of it — staying at his desk and scowling at his work while you wandered about, familiarizing yourself with the confines of the space.

“Why don’t you decorate?” you asked him one day.

“Decorations are only needless distractions,” he responded promptly, signing a paper with a flourish that, somehow, represented his name. Sunday Oak. You didn’t know how something so enormous and grand could be summed into two squiggles and a cross, but he seemed confident of it, so who were you to question the method? “I cannot fathom sleeping with such clutter surrounding me.”

“I see,” you said, and that was the end of it.

Your conversations with him typically went as such, endless games of question-and-answer, where you would ask whatever was on your mind and he would respond as truthfully as he was able. You often wondered when he would grow tired of it, of you, but he never did. You asked Robin why it was so, and she only shrugged enigmatically.

“Maybe he’s glad to be the one speaking for once,” she said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“You ought to ask him,” she said. “He might not tell anyone else, but if it’s you…if it’s you, then he’ll definitely answer.”

His sister’s hands are frigid on his shoulders. She’s warm by anyone else’s standards, but for a Halovian, she’s always been cold. Even when she was born, half the size she should’ve been and with eyes as boundless as the sky, she was freezing, a shivering slip of a baby shoved into his arms by his bleeding mother.

“Your halo is breaking,” she says to him, but she’s angry, her melodic voice wavering as her fingers dig into his muscle, shaking him back and forth. “It’s breaking. Why is it breaking?”

She’s glaring at him, tears welling at her lash-line. He wants to reach out his hand and wipe them away, but more will replace them in an instant, so what is the point? She shakes him again, harder and harder, and he allows her, because he’ll always allow her impulses, and because he’s never seen her like this before.

“Why?” she says. “Why is it breaking? Tell me what you did, brother, tell me what you did!”

She isn’t asking because she wants him to give her the answer. She’s asking because she wants him to deny it, to tell her that she’s wrong, that the conclusion she’s arrived at is incorrect somehow. Once, he could’ve. He could’ve made up some story about tragedy and misfortune, and she would’ve believed him, as she always did.

That was their relationship. He lied and she believed him. She asked and he obliged her. But now that he can not lie and she has nothing to ask for, what is left?  

“You know already,” he says. She gasps in the manner of an injured animal, berry-stained lips parting, indubitably to hurl accusations at him.

He doesn’t think he can handle hearing them, not from his sister of all people, so he leaves before he gets the chance.

“Does it feel strange when people touch your wings?” you said. Sunday was in his bed today, afflicted by some illness of the lungs, and you were rummaging through his bookshelf, pulling out volumes at random before putting them back where you had found them. 

“Huh? Why do you ask?” he said, raising a porcelain cup to his lips. It was prescription, a medicine reeking of menthol but wearing the guise of peppermint tea — the only way, according to Robin, that he would drink it. A servant had brought it and presented it to him with a bow, walking out of the room with a look thrown at you over their shoulder, concern and envy blending into something razor-thin and cutting.

“I don’t have any,” you explained, taking out a book and tracing your fingers along the gold lettering of the title. “I can’t fathom what it’d be like.”

“Come here,” he said, and although it was mildly done, you obeyed immediately. You could never forget what he was, not completely, no matter how hard he tried to make it so that you did. You would always be human and he would always be Halovian; this fundamental disconnect was insurmountable, and anyways, you had no interest in surmounting it. It’d serve you well to remember these many little differences between yourself and the Oak siblings, between yourself and Sunday in particular. 

He extended his hand, the palm facing up, and dipped his chin towards it. You tilted your head in confusion, for the act was all but inexplicable, and at this he smiled. He did not smile very frequently, and it transformed his face when he did, lighting it up, turning it into something close to human — not quite, but close. Closer than he ever was otherwise.

“Here,” he said, setting aside his teacup and using his other hand to place yours against his, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and then waiting. “Does that feel strange?”

“No,” you said. 

“It’s the same for me,” he said. “To you, my wings are bizarre and outlandish, but to me and those of my kind, they are simply another body part. No more or less fantastical than an arm or an ankle.”

“Ah,” you said. He settled back against the cushions of his bed, allowing the wings by his ears to stretch out comfortably, closing his eyes and letting out an exhale that shook with the remnants of a cough.

“You want to touch them,” he said. He phrased it as a statement, not a question, and when you paused before answering, his smile grew imperceptibly larger. “I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t?” you said. He shrugged.

“It’s only fair,” he said, pressing down on the point where your veins nearly surfaced, tapping in time with your pulse before drawing his hands back and clasping them together in the cavity below his ribcage. “I wouldn’t have told you you could if I’d hold any resentment for it.”

“Aren’t Halovians known for lying?” you said. He snorted.

“Have you been doing your research?” he said.

“It’s common knowledge,” you said.

“We are,” he said. “But I swear I will always tell you the truth.”

“How can I believe that? What if that’s just another one of your lies?” you said. He cracked one eye open so that he could peek at you, and whatever he saw must’ve proven your seriousness, for he hummed in thought, carefully considering your words.

“I suppose you can’t,” he said. “It’s your prerogative. Do as you’d like, then.”

He closed his eyes again, which you supposed was his version of an invitation. Waiting until his breathing stilled and he was caught in some form of repose — whether he was truly unconscious or not escaped you, but either way he was certainly in some altered state of mind — you extended your arm and brushed your index finger against his feathers.

They were as soft as you had anticipated, cottony and shapeless compared to the firm flight-feathers of the pitch-dark wings jutting out at his sides. The bones were hollow and slight, as if you could break them only by taking them into your fist and squeezing. This was such a contradiction to the appearance he so carefully maintained that your heart softened to him despite your greatest efforts to guard it.

“Those ones are mostly down,” he said, startling you out of your daze. You had assumed he was asleep and had allowed your movements to become casual and complacent. Jerking your hand back as if he had burnt it — which he just as well might have, given the temperature of his body — you held it to your chest and took an involuntary step back while he adjusted himself in his nest of bedding. “In antiquity, back when we still ruled the skies and rarely touched the ground, it was considered a sign of friendship for Halovians to groom one another’s upper-wing feathers.”

“And now?” you said.

“And now it means nothing,” he said. “Fetch me a new cup of tea if you have the time. This one has grown cold, and I am yet unwell.”

The feathers he used to be so proud of are fraying at the edges. He hasn’t cared for them in so long, hasn’t carefully misted them or doused them in diluted soap in ages, and now they have come to this. Scraggly and broken and bent and wrong.

Sticking a finger in his mouth, he rubs it along his teeth and the bitten flesh of his inner cheeks. Decay. This is decay. He’s seen it so many other times, in so many other forms, but never did he think he’d experience it himself. And least of all so quickly! Yet it has come for him, as it comes for everyone in the end.

He finds it’s different this time. It’s different when he’s the one who’s dying.

“They say it haunts us,” Sunday said. His arm was heavy over your waist, his blankets pulled up over your chin and tucked tightly around your shoulders. Your forehead was flush with his collarbones, your eyes fluttering shut as he played with the hem of your shirt while he spoke. “The first time we kill something. It haunts us to death.”

“Is that why you’re vegetarian?” you joked.

“Yes,” he said, and although he sounded grave, you could tell he was joking, too. “Can you imagine being followed around by the ghost of a chicken and then dying while it watches?”

“A horrible way to go,” you said, laughing at the image of Sunday plugging his ears and running from the shadow of a bird as it chased him, his own wings flapping furiously as it squawked at him with no small amount of indignation. 

“Indeed,” he said with a laugh of his own. Then, after a pause, he hummed thoughtfully. “You should laugh more often.”

“I’ve been told my laugh is grating,” you said.

“It’s not,” he said. “Not at all.”

“Then I shall endeavor to do as you ask,” you said. “I will laugh until you tell me to stop.”

“I’ll never tell you to stop,” he promised, and you should’ve known better than to trust him, because he was a Halovian and donning that impenetrable mask of his was a part of his nature, yet you couldn’t help yourself. You did, you trusted him more than anything or anyone, and didn’t that make you a fool? A happy, laughing one, maybe — but a fool nonetheless. 

He is close to collapse when he drags himself to his bathroom. Leaning over the counter of his sink, he grips the marble edge, noticing in fascination that his knuckles are almost as white as the stone. He almost can’t endure the thought of looking in the mirror, but in a last burst of inspiration, he drags his gaze up to his haggard reflection.

His heart skips a beat when he realizes he’s not alone. Standing there, beside and behind him, is her. The ghost. His ghost.

Her face is placid — she’s not laughing, and neither is she frowning. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but he can’t change it, so who is he to complain? He waits for her to speak, but she is silent, and he considers calling out for his sister before deciding that this time, this once and never again, he will be selfish.

“It’s you,” he says, reaching out and placing his fingers against the mirror, where the image of her cheek is distorted by imperfections in the silver.

The metal is cold under the involuntary curve of his palm, which tries to follow the contours of her face but finds it to be impossible in the second dimension. Then again, to him, she was always cold, so there’s no difference, except that she is flat where once she was whole, empty where once she was everything.

“I killed you,” he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken it aloud, the first time he’s spit out the words that he’s been dancing around ever since she appeared to him, almost a year ago exactly. Somehow, it feels like a dagger driven into his heart and a weight lifted off of his shoulders simultaneously. If he had the strength, he’d run down the hallways of the mansion and scream it at everyone.

I killed her. I killed her and now I am dying for it. You bowed your heads in reverence to me, and all along I have had this blood on my hands. I killed her! How does it feel to have followed a sinner for so long? How does it feel to know that I am forsaken, and that one day, if you are so lucky, you will be, too?

Sunday’s mouth on yours was hot like a furnace, clumsy and demanding, with a lingering aftertaste like menthol. At first, it alarmed you, the overwhelming sensation, the much of it all, but before you could even pull away, something in the back of your mind twisted, and then you were grasping for anything you could. His hair, his wings, his shirt, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, you only needed to hold onto him in some way. You could not breathe without him. You could not live without him.

That was your first indication that something was very, very wrong.

On Halovians:

Much like their presumed cousins, the sirens of Lucyke, Halovians are irresistible to their prey. Unlike the sirens, the Halovians no longer hunt; some assume that this must be one of the religious laws they abide by, while others argue that it is mere ecological responsibility.

Simply put, the Halovians were too efficient as hunters. Several lesser species have been driven to extinction by their efforts, and it is only due to the reduction in Halovian numbers, their vows of vegetarianism, and concentrated conservation efforts that the food webs on the Halovians’ native planets have stabilized in recent years.

“Sunday,” you said to him one day, when the sun had not yet risen in the sky. “I think that I will die soon.”

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. No, it seemed he was trying to say. You won’t. His lips formed the words, but they wouldn’t take shape in his throat, wouldn’t bloom into existence, and you watched as he struggled for a while before pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead.

“Yes,” he said.

“It will be your fault when I do,” you said. You weren’t accusing him; you said it simply and plainly. You were dying. It was his fault. He was the curse and the cure, if a mere prolonging of the inevitable could be considered as curing it.

He was quiet for so long that you assumed he had forgotten about the question entirely. You did not begrudge him for it — how would he answer, anyways? There was nothing that he could say which would change it. There was nothing that he could say which would reverse what he had, knowingly or unknowingly, done.

“Yes,” he said when you were halfway to dozing off.

“What?” you mumbled, the contents of the conversation already escaping you.

“Yes,” he said. “It will be my fault.”

The ghost doesn’t say anything, watching him as he turns on the sink and splashes the water onto his face in a futile effort to cool himself off. He’s feverish as he pushes himself back into a semblance of good posture, pacing back and forth along the length of the bathroom. He can only see her in the mirror, and he wonders if he somehow trapped her there or if that’s her way of teasing him; she must find him so absurd, storming away from her visage before crawling back to it like he is starved.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “You must understand that. I didn’t know! Not at first, anyways. I would’ve sent you away. If I had known, I would’ve sent you away…”

He can hear her feet against the tile, copying his own path, but he dares not turn around. What will he see if he does? What emotions will reflect in her eyes? The first time he saw her, it was fear, unadulterated and pure and choking him with its overwhelming intensity. Then, over time, it warmed into something resembling indifference, which in turn became fondness and then, finally, a sick sort of dependence, the former liveliness and curiosity glazed over with vacancy and fixation.

“I did this to you,” he admits. He’s read that accursed book on Halovians and their accursed vestigial organs and accursed archaic hunting methods so many times that he knows this for a fact. He killed her. “But I didn’t — it wasn’t my intention, please, it wasn’t, you must know that. Did you die knowing that?”

When he halts, she halts. When he takes a step forward, she does the same. It’s maddening. He doesn’t want her to echo him. Her steps sound like a prophecy, the drumbeat to a seer’s chant, and they clang in his head, the antithesis to everything he holds precious. Order. Harmony. And then there she is, discord, cacophony, waiting for him at every turn, inescapable and unavoidable.

“It’s the truth!” he snaps. The argument is entirely one-sided; the ghost never speaks to him, after all. She only laughs and sighs in turn, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot convince her to say anything. “I can’t lie anymore. Although, that’s irrelevant; when it comes to you, I haven’t been able to lie in a long time.”

Ena, the Order; Xipe, the Harmony; defend me in this tribulation. Curse this evil, bind its spirit and banish it to whence it came.

I swear on truth. I swear on the calendar. I swear on words. I swear on values. I swear on rules. I swear on meaning. I swear on human dignity.

He’s murmuring every prayer he can think of. They play in an endless loop, springing to his lips at random, more like nonsensical jumbles of words than anything coherent. A prayer for salvation. A prayer for forgiveness. A prayer for protection. A prayer for order. A prayer for harmony. A prayer to banish her. A prayer to bring her back. 

A prayer to bring her back. A prayer to bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back. Bring her back.

“I won’t come back, you know,” she says. That’s the first time he’s heard her voice in so long, and he’s startled to find that it’s almost foreign, like he’s already begun to forget her, like she’s turned into something entirely beyond his understanding.

“Why not?” he says, his voice cracking as he scrambles for purchase against the wall. “I’ll do anything they ask. Anything you ask.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do or who you beg,” she says with a snicker. “You can’t bring someone back once you’ve killed them. You should’ve regretted it earlier; it’s meaningless now. Well, anyways, I have a question for you.”

He swallows but nods, his back to her, vision blurring out of focus as he squints at the plain wall in front of him.

“If you could meet me again, would you?” she says.

“Yes,” he says without thinking, because of course he would. How could he not?

“Knowing that it would kill me?” she adds, giggling. 

Is this what it’s like for those who he interrogates? Now he is the one who cannot hide behind the comfort of fabrication, who must strip himself bare to an unsympathetic audience. He hates it, in truth. He hates it more than anything, but — but he doesn’t hate her, so clenching his jaw, he nods once more.

“Yes,” he says.

“Oh, my,” she says. “How romantic. Careful, or I’ll think you really do love me.”

He whirls around. “I do—!”

There’s nobody there. He wonders if there ever was.