#was i supposed to reach that conclusion before this point. was i

[the-curious-wordsmith]

I thought for a moment that Walraven getting terrible sleep was just going to be a thing I extrapolated from all the weird dream happenings in combination with the dozing off in every single instance of the Business at Court with the Great Khan card and nothing more, but...

...What do you mean that's part of the text. What do you MEAN he is plagued by a recurring dream of the future every single night now. What do you mean it gets to a point where the Khan pities him for his haggard state. What do you MEAN I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG? WHAT IF I SHOOK YOU AROUND AND STABBED YOU. MY HEART IS IN SHAMBLES!

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[cherryredcheol]

just one secret

tldr: you know what they say about assuming... a/n: reader is referred to as she/her/wife. this is as angsty as i'll ever be (and this isn't angst)

“okay, just make sure she doesn’t find out. i don’t want her to know.”

you stopped dead in your tracks. you weren’t trying to spy on mingyu and his phone conversation, honest. you had just woken up from a very peaceful nap and the plan was to go beg mingyu to cook for you, or at least pay for take-out. your blood ran cold hearing mingyu on the phone in the living room. you didn’t keep secrets from each other. or at least you didn’t keep secrets from him. you were under the impression it went both ways but suddenly you’re not sure. 

you knew you were jumping to conclusions. you’re not even sure what he was talking about. who he was talking about. it could be any other woman in his life, his sister or his mom. but how were you not supposed to spiral when you hear him whispering on the phone to god knows who about secrets? your stomach twisted uncomfortably. what were you going to-

“angel? you up? are you hungry?” mingyu was calling to you from the living room. he must’ve heard you down the hall. before you could even figure out what your next steps were going to be, he appeared in the doorway, backlit from the sunny windows, and you almost melted seeing him smile at you. but then that little voice in the back of your head reminded you mingyu was keeping secrets. 

“who were you on the phone with?” you had to play it cool, not wanting to alert him of your suspicion. you didn’t want to accuse him of something that was nothing. the best course of action here was to let him tell you. ask a few leading questions and let him fill in the blanks. if it really was nothing, he’d tell you. 

mingyu started walking towards you, holding his arms out for you. “it was no one, angel. are you hungry? i can cook or we can get take-out. what sounds good?” he had reached you at this point, wrapped you up in his arms where you stood stiff as a board. 

your thoughts were racing. why didn’t he tell you who was on the phone? what was going on? why was mingyu keeping secrets?

“angel?” he peered down at you, clearly waiting for your answer. 

you shook your head, clearing your thoughts, “i’ll eat whatever, gyu. i’m not picky.” you pulled yourself out of his arms, suddenly feeling suffocated by his embrace for the first time since you met him. “i’m going to shower real quick while we wait for dinner. okay?” 

you didn’t even wait for his reply before you abruptly turned and went back into the bedroom you had just come from. 

in the safety of the ensuite bathroom, you stripped and let your thoughts run wild as the shower warmed up. what was going on? things with mingyu had been so good for the last 3 years. you two were so in love, his members often complained about spending time with the two of you, citing nausea at the sight of mingyu’s lovesick eyes boring into yours. 

you jumped when you heard a knock at the door. 

“angel? can i come in?” you could hear the confusion in his voice. probably wondering why you had suddenly decided on a shower and not engaging in your usual bicker over what to eat for dinner. you two would go back and forth but mingyu always gave in to you, paying for your favorite take-out spot or cooking whatever you requested. 

you didn’t want to alert him to your strange behavior, still not sure exactly what was going on, “yeah, come in.” 

the door cracked open and he peeked his head in the steamy room, eyes searching yours for signs of what was wrong. he could sense it, of course he could. 

he entered the room fully now, not reaching out to you, but fingers twitching at his sides begging to touch all your exposed skin. he stayed respectful though, eyes never leaving yours. “um, i ordered your favorite sushi. hope that’s okay.” 

things were awkward, tense. “yeah. thanks.” 

mingyu sighed, “angel, are you okay? things were okay before you took your nap. did something happen? can i fix it for you?” he was desperate for answers, hating this distance between you two suddenly. he’s not even sure what was going on, he just knew you were not okay. 

you looked away from him, “yeah. i’m okay. just have a bit of a headache. i’m hoping this shower will help. thanks for ordering dinner gyu, i’ll be out soon.” you effectively ended the conversation, hoping he’d get the hint and leave. 

he did.  “okay, angel. love you,” he gave you one last lingering look before closing the door behind him. 

you did everything you could to drag the shower out for as long as possible but you knew you were being a bit ridiculous. mingyu didn’t deserve the cold shoulder and you’re not even sure if he did anything beyond having a suspicious phone call. pulling one of his shirts on over your head, you decided it was time to face him. if you stewed in your thoughts any longer you were actually going to go crazy.

the first thing you noticed walking out of the bedroom was the darkness of the apartment. all the lights were off and the sun had set while you were in the shower. had he left? 

“fuck!” 

that one little word pulled you out of your spiral. he hadn’t left, just turned off all the lights? you were confused, wandering down the hall pausing in the doorway to the living room, yep, lights off in there too. as you reached the kitchen you saw mingyu hunched over the kitchen table, trying and failing to light a candle in the middle of the table. one of many candles he had lit, you realized as you looked around the room. there were little candles all over the room, a soft glow illuminating the dark space. you could see that the sushi had arrived and mingyu set the table, making for a much fancier take-out night than you usually had. 

“hey,” you called from the doorway, softly to not scare the big, clumsy man holding a lighter above your dinner. 

he jumped anyway, spinning around to see you. he was apprehensive, nervous energy pouring off of both of you as you eyed each other. neither of you wanted to upset the other, doing this delicate waltz around each other's feelings. 

he smiled despite himself, “hey angel. feeling better?”

“what is all this?” you ignored his question, very confused as to what was going on. 

his hand went to the back of his neck, suddenly feeling embarrassed about all the effort he went to, “well, you said you had a headache so i thought you might like softer lighting in the apartment so your eyes wouldn’t hurt from the overheads.” 

you made him jump a second time when you burst into tears. mingyu stood there looking at you holding your face in your hands, sobs wracking your body, frozen for only a second before he jumped into action, crossing the room in long strides and holding you to his chest. you kept crying, the wet spot on his shirt growing larger and larger.

when your sobs turned to sniffles, he loosened his grip on you. pulling back only enough to look at your face. 

“what is going on, angel? please tell me so i can help.” he was pleading with you, begging even. it hurt him to see you upset like this, especially because he didn’t know what was causing it. 

you couldn’t look into his eyes, instead, you stared at his feet, clad in soft socks, one on either side of yours, caging you in. “why would you do all this for me when you’re keeping secrets?” you sniffled, tears pooling at your lash line, threatening to spill again. 

mingyu blinked, confused, “what are you talking about? what secrets, angel?”

you still couldn’t look at him, “i heard you on the phone earlier. you said, ‘make sure she doesn’t find out.’ what did that mean? and when i asked you who it was you said it was no one. are you keeping secrets from me, gyu?” you felt so small in that moment. all the air around you still as you waited for his answer. 

“angel,” he cooed at you. grabbing your chin and bringing your eyes up to meet his. “you heard me on the phone? that’s what you’ve been upset about this whole time? i didn’t even know you heard that.” 

“you still have not answered my question, mingyu.” 

he winced hearing you use his full name, “angel, i promise you i am not keeping secrets. well, just one. but i was going to tell you soon! it just wasn’t the right time.” 

you tried to back out of his grip but his arms tightened around you, keeping you against him. “we promised not to keep secrets.” 

he laughed, “i can’t exactly tell you about my plan to propose, can i?” 

you went rigid, “you better not be fucking kidding, kim mingyu.” 

“i’m not fucking kidding, angel. that was wonwoo on the phone earlier. he’s been keeping the ring hidden at his place for months. he’s dropping it off tomorrow and we had to coordinate when he could swing by because i didn’t want you to be here. didn’t want to ruin the surprise. guess that doesn’t matter anymore,” he laughed, squeezing you even tighter to him. 

you suddenly felt very stupid. and so guilty. how could you wreck his surprise like this? you felt like crying, “i’m so sorry gyu. i shouldn’t have assumed and now i’ve ruined the whole thing.” 

he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “angel, you ruined nothing. you should’ve just asked me in the first place, though. could’ve saved yourself all this heartache.” 

belly full of sushi, comfort show playing on the tv, mingyu by your side, you have never felt more content. you loved this man so much and you couldn’t wait to be his wife. 

“wait, are you proposing tomorrow?” 

[roseykat]

TITLE: Play Bite

PAIRING: Hyunjin x Jisung x female reader

SUMMARY: You, Hyunjin, and Jisung have a really fun time playing a dirty truth or dare game after the plans for everyone to go out failed. Part 1 to the 'Play' series.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSWF SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

Part 1 - Play Bite Part 2 - Play Fight Part 3 - Play Right

TAGS: Hyunjin, Jisung, and reader have all consumed alcohol but are not fully drunk, smut, kissing, hickies, making out, dirty texts, dirty talk, erotic truth or dares, use of pet names such as 'bub', 'baby' and 'pretty', swearing, food play (nothing heavy), solo orgasm, female masturbation, suggestive material, very vague mentions of choking (not emphasised), slight traces of top!Jisung.

MASTERLIST

A/N: Think of this as a prelude to this hard thought I posted a while ago. If you haven't read it, it will give you some context into what will come in the future for this type of concept. Also just to preface but not give away too many spoilers, nobody is cheating in this story.

-

“Remove one piece of clothing, socks do not count,” Jisung reads aloud from the card in his hand. 

It’s the third task into the deck of dirty truth or dare at Hyunjin's apartment. After the entire group’s plan to go out for the night fell through when it started pelting down, it was in all three of your guys’ best interests to not waste the night. So, although he invited the rest of the group over for drinks, only you and Jisung decided to go around. 

An hour later into the night and already just past the point of tipsy, the three of you progressed to playing games. A set of dirty truth or dare cards was the first thing that caught Jisung’s keen eye as he analysed the plethora of games that Hyunjin had on a shelf in his living room. 

“You’re not even wearing socks, so you have no choice,” Hyunjin chuckles, almost evilly.

Jisung dons his best thinking face, eyes narrowing as he tries to come up with which item of clothing he wants to take off. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls the entire fabric up and over his head before placing it beside him, careful not to knock over his drink. 

Your eyes glue to his gorgeous bare top half for a few seconds too long before averting them to the floor like you weren’t supposed to look at him. It’s not like you’ve never seen him topless before in all of his honey toned glory. Almost always will Jisung proudly walk around half naked unprovoked when you’re around him. 

“Your turn bub,” he continued.

You clear your throat then lean over to pick a card up from the middle, then read it out loud, “oh…”

“What’s it say?” Jisung peeks his head over to see what’s written down before his jaw unhinges. “Let the person to your left select an area of your body for them to give you a hickey. Wow.”

Hyunjin, to your left, stares back at you in shock and horror. His cheeks were ballooned and full of liquid after taking a large swig of his drink before setting it down. The more silent seconds that tick by, the more flips his stomach keeps doing. But, he had to expect the unexpected with this game.

You and Jisung were ready to play by the rules and Hyunjin wasn’t going to exempt himself from it just because of the card you pulled. 

He swallows the mouthful of alcohol, “alright. Are you okay with me doing this?”

You nod even though you can feel your heart picking up its pace, “I am.”

He takes your answer and runs with it then ponders on the best place to plant a hickey on your body. It doesn’t take him long to think of a number of unspoken places where he would and even though he’s tipsy enough to disclose those areas, he decides to keep that to himself. 

“Okay, can you lie down for me then?” He asks. 

“Lie down?”

“Mm, otherwise it might be awkward to reach,” he explains vaguely. 

You start jumping to conclusions at the instant you hear his request, yet your mind is so hazy that your body just ends up listening to what Hyunjin has asked of you instead. You end up lying back on the floor, your head next to Jisung’s thigh who looks down at you while Hyunjin moves. 

His long body straddles yours but not fully putting his weight down on you. With his hand, he pulls back some of your hair so he can reach the area he wants before gently tilting your chin up and to the side towards Jisung. 

Hyunjin then sinks his face down just to the side of your throat and sucks. For a second, your body squirms at the slight achy pang that he brings to the surface of your skin. Still, with the way that your body is buzzing, it undoubtedly feels amazing. He remains there for a few seconds and uses his tongue to swipe over the surface he just marked.  

Jisung watches with his mouth ajar. He takes in the contorted look of concentration on your face, the way your eyelids flutter closed. 

It’s not long after until Hyunjin peels himself off of you then takes your hand to help you sit back up again. In hindsight, you wonder if it was all but necessary to lie down for him in order to give you a hickey. But Hyunjin’s thinking was that to reach your throat, you had to be on the ground. 

“That might’ve been-“ his face contorts with worry just looking at the fresh, deep and reddish mark. “A bit much, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you respond, trying to act cool under the pressure. “It felt nice anyway. Okay, Hyunnie’s turn.” 

He draws another card, reading it in his mind before his eyes dart to Jisung, “make out…with the person beside you for one minute.”

“W-Which side?” You ask. 

“My left which is-“

“Me,” Jisung responds, pointing at his chest. “Alright then.”

Hyunjin stares blankly at his friend, unsure if he's joking or not, “wait, you’re…you’re serious?”

Jisung shifts his body closer to Hyunjin, his face nearing him, “that’s the game right?”

“Y-Yeah,” he replies sheepishly. “Yeah, okay then.”

“I can set a timer,” you announce.

He’s never done this before - kissed a friend, made out with a friend. For one, Hyunjin knows Jisung has done so multiple times, having been an impartial witness to it. Whether it was while Jisung was drunk, sober, high, it happened. Even with the same gender. 

“Alright,” you say, pulling out your phone as you go to the clock app to set a timer for one minute and place it on the ground. “3, 2, 1, go.”

You’re not sure who it was first that leaned in for the kiss after being so warped by the fact that they were even doing this. It was like Hyunjin offered his mouth and Jisung went for the kill. Both of them started off slowly by the time ten seconds hit. Twenty seconds in and Hyunjin’s hand comes up to the side of his friends’ face when the kiss deepens even further. 

You watch the glide of their tongues move so languidly with one another, doing unspeakable things in between your legs. Similar to Jisung’s reaction when Hyunjin gave you a hickey, your mouth was on the floor. There’s no way in hell could you ignore how hot it was to see them make out. 

After forty seconds, the pace had picked up a notch as they continued to move in sync with one another. Jisung’s hand had made it onto Hyunjin’s lap with some unintentional plan of slowly hiking up his thigh. In his mind, the more touch, the better. He already felt floaty because of the alcohol. Now Jisung touching him, kissing him, was an enhancement. 

At the mark of one minute, your phone rudely blares its alarm. Hyunjin pulls away with red lips, Jisung’s as equally as glossy as the other. They stall for a second, almost as if they briefly thought about going back at it again…

“Minho was right,” Jisung breaks the silence willingly. “You are a pretty good kisser.”

“What?” Hyunjin exclaims, his eyes almost popping out of his head. 

“What?” He whines. “He and I were trying to figure out who in the group would be the best kisser. Minho reckons you are.”

“You say that as if you’ve kissed everyone in the group to try and find that out,” You realise. 

“Well I just kissed him, so it’s everyone except for you now. Which there’s still time for since it’s my turn now,” he responds in a slightly hopeful tone and picks up his next card. “Huh, maybe not - what’s the most amount of times you’ve had sex in one day?” 

“Is that the first truth question?” Hyunjin points out, trying to subtly keep himself calm after what just went down with Jisung. 

“I think so,” you reply. “We’re nowhere near halfway through the deck.” 

“Three and a half,” Jisung answers. 

“And a half?” You and Hyunjin parrot in unison, the confusion very present in both of your tones.

“Halfway through the act, got caught, had to wrap it up and leave,” Jisung explains very succinctly. “It would’ve been four if it weren’t for fucking Seungmin. Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m holding a grudge or anything.”

“Sure,” you trail off, trying your best not to laugh at his misfortune while you go to pick up a card. “Uh, lend your phone to the person on your right and let them send a dirty text to someone in your contacts.”

Jisung claps excitedly, “hand it over baby!” 

You roll your eyes, reluctantly passing him your device, “anyone except my family otherwise I probably won’t live to see another day.” 

He takes your phone earnestly with a cheeky and devious expression before delving righteously into your contacts list, “don’t worry, I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

Jisung’s thumb scrolls excitedly trying to find the right person to send the right message to. He pauses over a couple of names and then finds one he thinks will give the most entertaining response. He creates a new message and types in what he wants to say.  

From You: I’m horny. Come over and fuck me.

The silence was palpable as the fate of your dignity rests in your friends’ hands. Once the message is sent, Jisung keeps your phone on standby while you all wait for the response. The sheer riskiness of the dare calls for you to pick up your drink and finish the rest off, knowing that you’re going to need it. 

“What did you write?” You ask him anyway, setting your empty glass aside. 

He looks smugly at the screen again and repeats what he created, “I’m horny, come over and fuck me.”

Your eyes widen in horror, “t-that’s not…who did you send that to!?”

“That’s a bit straightforward isn’t it?” Hyunjin laughs. 

“Doesn’t matter now, your turn, go,” Jisung nods to you.

“Fine,” you groan, snatching up a card. “How many times a day do you get off? Once, maybe twice. Done. Next, you go.” 

Hyunjin blinks in surprise at the information you so rapidly provided and leans into the circle to grab his card, “alright. Choose one person to sit in between your legs for the remainder of the game.” 

“I think considering that he and I just made out, it’s your turn to do something now,” Jisung smoothly contends his point before you could even get a word out. 

“Fair enough,” you respond coolly.

The move is practically childsplay in comparison to what they’ve done so far. Nonetheless, it quickly proved itself to be rather effective on your body. 

Hyunjin tries not to grin and spreads his legs for you to slot perfectly in between them. You’ve been this close to him before - in a hug at least. But never has Hyunjin been as acutely intimate with you as of right now. As he’s pressed up behind you, it’s hopeless to try not to be so affected by such subtlety. The warmth from his body glows like a heater onto your back and the steadiness of his breathing is comforting. 

“Sungie’s turn,” he says from behind you. 

Another card is taken from the deck and Jisung reads once more, “feed someone a food item with your mouth. Okay, but what kind of food?” 

“There’s that bowl of grapes just there on the coffee table,” Hyunjin points over to it. 

Jisung spins around on the floor and sees the assortment of snacks that they had laid out on the table earlier on. He turns back with the entire silver bowl in his lap, popping a couple of them in his mouth and eating away to his heart's content before proceeding with the dare. 

“You’re breathing heavy,” Hyunjin whispers teasingly in your ear while Jisung isn’t looking. 

“S-Shut up,” you utter back to him, trying not to act so utterly embarrassed by the truth he’s managed to highlight. 

Jisung pops in two more grapes and goes to sit beside you before talking with his mouth full, “bo’ o’ ya.”

“Huh?” Hyunjin retorts, trying to decipher what his friend is saying. 

You ponder for a second, “I think he said both of us?” 

Your guess comes up as correct because without a proper verbal answer from Jisung, his actions spoke louder. He leans towards your face first - closer than it has ever been since you’ve known him. The purple grape sits between his teeth as he goes to pass it to you by his mouth. It was awkward to manoeuvre at first, but the pair of you discovered that using your lips is key. By that point, Jisung manages to exchange the fruit as you crush down on the grape that explodes with such a sweet flavour. 

Then, he moves a bit behind you to reach Hyunjin. Both of them struggle to pass the grape without fully touching each other's lips once more. Then again, that was the point of the card that Jisung pulled. 

“Yummy?” he asks, sliding back to his original spot with the bowl. 

“Mm,” Hyunjin hums while he chews. “Sweet.” 

Half of the stuff that you’ve done so far with them makes you realise that you’re not that nervous to do these kinds of things. It could’ve been the alcohol, that definitely helps. But also because they’re two of your best friends and wherever they are, you feel safe in their proximity. 

“My turn,” you say as Jisung picks the top card off of the deck and slides it to you across the floor. “Oh - same as Sungie’s, remove a piece of clothing, socks do not count. Isn’t this just a forfeit card since it’s already been picked up?”

“No, not necessarily?” Hyunjin answers. “Plus, what if you forfeit that one and pick another one but it’s worse?”

He had a good point. It was a very mellow dare in comparison to the others you’ve all completed. With that in mind, your hands find their way down to your shorts, contemplating whether to take them off or not. Considering Jisung already has his top off, you went for the opposite in a sudden spur of confidence that was short lived when you saw the look on your friend's face. 

Jisung’s eyes couldn’t leave where your hands moved as you freed your legs from the fabric, allowing you to remain in your underwear. However, it becomes very apparent to you that taking your pants off wasn’t such a good idea when you know that you’re wet. Whether they knew it, particularly Jisung who had a full view of you, was too late. 

Behind you, Hyunjin was trying to keep himself calm as you moved around a bit, “w-who’s turn is it now?” 

Jumping onto a different topic gave time for Jisung to blink away from your body. He feels guilty for even staring at you like that in the first place. Then again, it’s not like you weren’t doing the same ever since he took his shirt off. 

“Yours actually,” you answer and without any spatial awareness whatsoever, you lean forward just a bit to pick up a card for Hyunjin that your ass slightly pushes back into his crotch in the process. 

After the fact of the matter, you realise what you’ve done. But it wasn’t intentional. You just wanted to pick up a card for him so that he didn’t have to move from behind you. As you come back to sit between his legs properly, you feel his forehead rest against the back of your head - a silent sign to prove he definitely recognised what you did to him.

Although he didn’t say anything because what was there to say to that? In hindsight, it might’ve been better forJisung to just read it out for Hyunjin. 

“H-Here,” you offer the card to him, playing it off. 

He lifts his head back up from yours and takes the item, “what is your dirtiest fantasy and why?” 

Right now if Hyunjin was able to answer honestly, he would say ‘fucking you while his best friend watches.’ But even for a filthy game that they’re playing, he thought it would be inappropriate to say. On top of that, it’s not actually his dirtiest fantasy. He could do way worse but just doesn’t know what at this point in time in his sex life. There was still time for him to explore…

“I haven’t really got one at the moment,” says Hyunjin. “I suppose just real…rough sex.” 

Jisung immediately becomes intrigued, oblivious to the fact that Hyunjin had it in him to admit such a scandalous piece of information, “what does that mean to you though?”

He becomes even more flustered under the heat of his friends’ question, it doesn’t help that he’s nearly fully hard behind you either, “it means things like…choking or hair pulling-”

“What…you like to do those things or those things being done to yo-

“Both, I like both. Anyway, that’s not the question,” Hyunjin interrupts impatiently. “Just move on.” 

It’s difficult for you not to laugh at him, yet as you go to pick up a card - more carefully this time for Hyunjin’s sake - your smile fades quicker than you could blink. Not one doubt crossed your mind about how obscene this game could get. Yet this card refuted all of that. 

“I…get…get yourself off in front of someone,” you mumble in a very quiet voice.

“Get what?” Jisung tries to reiterate. 

Hyunjin’s brows knit in concentration as he reads the card from over your shoulder, “she has to get herself in front of someone.”

An ‘o’ forms in Jisung’s mouth before he responds to that statement, “that’s a…an interesting card.” 

The three of you fall deathly silent to the weight that the dare has you under. Your mind wants you to do it, to satiate that instinctual appetite to pleasure yourself ever since the game heated up. To do so in front of your friends doesn’t appear to be a bad idea which technically it isn’t from the way they already have you unintentionally wet. That in itself said a lot.

Therefore, you spread your legs and bend your knees. 

An expression of realisation washes over Jisung, coming to grips with what’s about to unfold. As for Hyunjin, he can only sit and remain in place as a support for you to lean against when your hand slips down the front of your underwear as you begin to rub. A sigh of warm relief then pushes past your lips. The pads of your fingers collect your damp essence to use as you circle over your clit. 

Already, a hefty volume of pressure is escalating in the pit of your tummy, tingling and spreading throughout your lower half. All from being turned on by the game. The person in front of you and behind you feel the exact same way except the one behind you was already there a long time ago. Their cocks fill out against the inside of their thighs and Hyunjin is positive that you can feel him through his pants. 

“Y/N,” Jisung says. “Does that make you feel good?”

“Jisung,” Hyunjin warns him sharply, not wanting his friend to fuel the fire that’s burning. 

“Mm, y-yes,” you stutter, breath catching at the base of your throat the more you try and push yourself towards an edge. 

It could be better though. It could be the pair of them groping and teasing your body at their will. You know that they both know how to use their mouths with the way that they made out earlier on. Not to mention from the grapevine, you’ve heard about Jisung too; how he knows how to eat pussy. Then you have Hyunjin, who just exposed his fantasy of liking having rough sex. The possibilities with his ideas would be endless and fun. 

With the pair of them, you don’t think you would ever run out of orgasms. Just thinking about it makes your fingers speed up, becoming increasingly more wetter. Your muscles jerk every now and then when you inch closer to the tail end of your orgasm, which causes you to unintentionally move against Hyunjin’s crotch once more. 

“Y/N,” Hyunjin breathes out against you. 

“Don’t touch her,” Jisung snaps. “This is her dare.”

“I-I’m not fucking touching her,” he presses back madly, then mutters just to himself as he hides behind you. “Can’t help it Jisung.”

“K-Keep watching…” you plead. “So…close.” 

Hyunjin’s nails are digging deep into the carpet beneath him and his restraint not to touch you teeters dangerously on the last millimetre of a cliff. He’s throbbing, achingly hard. For you. Jisung can see his friends' knuckles turning white but he understands. He too remains hard in his sweats, which was obvious to you. Even just the slight outline that you can see indicates to you that he’s big.

Your mind starts wondering what that sort of length would do to your body, how would it feel to have inside of you? As you ask yourself those questions, you try to imagine that sensation when you start fingering yourself. 

You whimper pathetically, curling over that sweet spongy spot, “yes, feels so good. Makes me wanna cum…” 

“Yeah? Gonna cum in front of us?” Jisung eggs you on. “Gonna make yourself cum just for us?

Your dozy eyes lock with him just for a few seconds before you nod against Hyunjin’s body, “j-just for you both.” 

“F-Fuck,” Hyunjin squeezes his eyes tight shut, gritting his teeth so much that his jaw aches. 

As that familiar euphoric bliss catches up to you, a silent scream paints over your face while your eyelids clamp shut and your eyebrows are furrowed together, focusing on the pleasure. For a moment, you’ve forgotten that Hyunjin is behind you as you can’t help but shiver helplessly against his body from the waves of your orgasm. Quiet yet very audible moans ring throughout Hyunjin’s apartment, making themselves known as you gradually come down with heavy gasps. 

“Holy shit,” Jisung murmurs in awe, he can see that you’ve soaked through your underwear. 

The large wet and sticky patch makes him want to lurch forward, tear the piece of clothing from your body and taste you for himself. To have his face buried in between your legs would be the Atlantis of his own fantasy right now, to have you use his mouth and tongue until you’re cumming all over again. 

In the moments of quiet when the still air is filled with nothing but your staggered breathing and depleted whimpers as you try to collect yourself, your phone buzzes on Jisung’s thigh - the reply to the dirty text he sent from earlier on.

He looks down at the glowing bright screen and his jaw drops to the floor once more. His mind sobers quickly.

From Chan to You: Again? Still horny from this morning? Alright then, I can come over and give you what you need x

There was no way.

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[neuvistar]

ASS, TITS OR THIGHS?

— featuring ┊satoru gojo, toji fushiguro, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo x fem!reader (all separate)

— warnings / content warnings ┊suggestive obvi, not proofread oops, cunnilingus, uhm uhm use of nicknames, riding, mentions of titfucking, overall suggestive content | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊jujutsu kaisen hyperfixation got the best of me guys i betrayed u all and accidentally became a gojo + sukuna liker i’m sorry. apology coming soon /j 😔

𖦹 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

let’s be real here.. i know damn well this guy is definitely a tit man. cmon it’s just this feeling in me that can sense this guy’s love for titties, he’s the number one tit lover guys im telling you! i bet gojo is def the type to stand behind you and tower over you) at random times and slowly slip his large hands into your shirt, squeezing your tits like it’s the most casual thing for him! of course you wouldn’t mind.. so you would just carry on with whatever you were doing. up until he nuzzles against your nape, inhaling your scent as his fingers tug and pinch at your sensitive nipples, smirking against your skin when he hears you whimper at his touch. this guy makes your head spin sometimes it’s actually insane. “ooh. they’re soft.” “that’s how they’re supposed to be, dumbass” ngl i feel like gojo would love your tits for the dumbest reason ever, like since he’s rlly rlly tall i feel like he would like your tits all because “they’re easier to reach” LMFAO he’s so silly! this guy probably love’s embarrassing you sometimes cuz he would grab your tits literally ANYWHERE (if ur fine w it ofc) in conclusion.. he loves seeing you all embarrassed whenever he brings a hand to cup your tits in his hand!

gojo here loves stuffing his face in your tits, he doesn’t care.. it’s the ocean he wants to dive into 2nite lol! anyways sometimes during sweet little cuddle sessions he would straight up pull you up by your hips and press himself closer against your body before leaning down to drown his face in the softness your tits, cmon.. can you blame him? but anyways! gojo loves your titties regardless.. big or small, small or big, he’ll still be willing to shove his face in ‘em! he definitely has a thing for titfucking, you just.. look so hot laying there all sweet for him, squeezing your tits against his hard cock while he thrusts in between them, trying his best not to overdo it. “f—fuck.. they’re so soft.. so perfect. no one has ever fucked your tits like this like i have right, angel? mhm? look at them.. s’pretty and all mine.” he pinched your nipples rather harshly, forcing a whine to leave your pretty lips. “all mine, yeah?”

𖦹 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

look me in the eyes and tell me toji fushiguro doesn’t look like the ultimate ass man ever, cmon tell me! are we really surprised tho? are we REALLY surprised? he looks like the biggest ass man known to mankind it’s not even funny at this point he loves ass he mfing does i tell you. this old hag probably steals a few glances at your ass from time to time whenever you wear a skirt.. or a dress for special occasions, toji cant control himself bro it’s not his fault you had allat back there.. it’s not his fault for looking it was an accident! (no it was not and you knew it) ngl the first time he caught a glimpse of your ass he probably said “damn.” so loudly, loud and clear for you to hear. “damn.” you heard a familiar voice behind you, glancing over your shoulder to see your boyfriend’s intense gaze at your bottom. “i knew your ass was nice but i didn’t know it was this nice.. damnn.” “oh shut up, will you?” idk abt u guys but toji is probably the type to slap it while you walk past him sometimes.. like it’s so unexpected you just straight up flinch and glare up at him, rubbing it to try and ease the pain bc i bet his slaps HURT sometimes

toji 100% a fan of you taking it from the back.. he loves it! i mean do i need to explain further? though he loves seeing your facial expressions to see just how well he fucks you but i feel like he prefers to see your ass and well-defined back. you have this man in a TRANCE. no matter how hard he tries to focus on you, his eyes always manage to wander down to your rear. he loves pounding into you mercilessly like there’s no tomorrow just to see the jiggle physics of yo ass because gahhh dayummmm he loves the way it moves, my guy probably spanks too i’m telling u this dude loves ass, especially yours.. it’s an unhealthy obsession at this point idk what to tell u 🤷‍♀️

𖦹 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

suguru def a thigh man, i don’t even know my reasoning but he just screams thigh man.. like he seems like the type to love them ykwim? like he just loves diving into them any time he gets, holding your thighs against his hands while he pushes them to your chest. he def loves eating you out just so he can feel your thighs caging around his head, he loves how soft they are, how warm they feel whenever he gives them a little squeeze. personally i bet this fucker is probably a lil crazy about your thighs, just a little bit! whenever you sit on his face, he pushes you even more against his mouth. his tongue is talented that’s all i have to say, suguru doesn’t give two fucks if he can’t breath against your overstimulated pussy, he wants you to crush him with your pretty thighs thighs.. he wants your thighs to be the last thing he feels + sees before he suffocates and dies a happy man! suguru would keep you spread on his face, not caring about anything else in the world but you and your plushy thighs around his head. buddy probably eats you out like it’s his last, squeezing and helping your thighs trap his face in between them. god, he loves your thighs

suguru wrapped his lips around your pussy again, forcefully pulling you even closer until his nose was bumping against your clit, was that even possible? “s—su.. suguru!” one orgasm, then the next.. and the next after that, he hasn’t even came up for air.. you were worried at how much your thighs caged around his head, worrying about suffocating further. you tried pulling yourself up, looking down at him as your lips quivered. “suguru you okay?—“ no. he was most definitely not! he was struggling 2 breath but he didn’t give TWO FUCKS!! “your thighs.. feel so warm around me. sit back down, princess. i’m not done.. ‘wanna feel your pretty thighs against me again.” “.. but are you sure? you were struggling to breathe i could feel it—“ “sit, princess. i said sit. do i need to repeat myself?” no siiiirrr 🙅‍♀️

𖦹 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

ngl out of everyone here nanami is the most “normal” and tamed if this question ever comes along, my guy would probably answer with something like “they’re just body parts. is there even a reason to pay attention to female assets?” uhm. no obviously not but they’re hot ++ the question is important smartass. tbh i feel like nanami wouldn’t really care, he just.. appreciates you for being there by his side, he wouldn’t really care much about your body and what he likes about it, cuz babe he loves everything about you! such a sweetheart! but in all seriousness, i feel like he’d really be into your tits for some reason.. i mean come on! sometimes if he’s feeling a lil extra EXTRA bold be would sneak a few glances towards your cleavage, swallowing the lump in his throat as he notices you didn’t have a bra on that day. nanami would literally fight for his life and try his best to restrain himself n his desires every single time he would see you in any outfit that shows your cleavage.

i bet there was this one time you guys were about to cook together n you needed help with the apron so he helped you tie it, but then his hand accidentally brushed against your breast LMFAO. poor guy would realize slowly after and start contemplating his whole life and life decisions, apologizing to you sincerely and that he didn’t mean to do that! “kento seriously it’s fine, i don’t mind! if you wanted to touch them, you could’ve said so.” “i told you it was an accident, love. it’s not like that at all.” you chuckled at him before grabbing his hand and slowly bringing it close to your tits, making him touch em as the soft skin of your tits melt into his palm. “soft right?” you cooed, wincing a little when you felt his thumb brushing against your hardened nipple. “..mm.” cmon kento ⁉️ don’t be in denial! accept yourself as a certified tittie liker!

𖦹 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

tbh this guy could love all three of these, like there is not a single part of you he loves more than the other but if he really had to choose.. he would probably be fond of your ass, making him a semi ass man despite him.. probably liking all three! but then again.. lemme just say.. i know an ass/tit man when i see one (n he looks like one but my pick for today is ass) poor choso probably caught himself looking at your ass for a whole minute and he had to slap himself for a second to get himself back to reality, he can’t help it! your body is so hypnotic to him. i bet he’s also the type to give your bottom little taps and pokes whenever he needs something from you (damn) ++ my guy is probably a fan of you taking it from the back also, just like toji! listen listen okay. listen. reverse cowgirl position. lemme tell u he gets SOOO flustered whenever you ride him with your back turned against him, bouncing yourself on his cock while he can’t help but look down at your ass and how much it moved (lolz!) and how well your cunt was sucking him in! choso probably the type to bring a hand up to pull your hair, running his fingers through your hair as he tugs your back to him with your back arched, planting soft chaste kisses on your neck

choso doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable in anyway so he absolutely refuses to even plant a lil smack to your ass, even just a soft one! he would hold himself back n wouldn’t do it unless you wanted him too! if you do.. expect a lot of them coming your way because i bet he loves seeing your ass jiggle LIKEEE ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY NO MORE i bet his cock would twitch inside you every single fucking time he would see the jiggle physics of your ass! like i said.. he’s a fan of you taking it from the back! jiggle physics go absolutely craaaaazy 😝🙏

[randomshyperson]

Heart Drawing - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Dinner with Mr. Heart takes a different turn. Or, what anyone who wasn't a synthezoid would have done at the sight of Wanda in that dress.

Warnings: (+18), purely smut, bottom!Wanda (bratty), rough smut, creampie, strap-on, fingering and oral (w rec),  Westview setting, established relationship, kinda semi-public (?), almost getting caught but Wanda keeps doing magic tricks | Words: 1.169k

A/N-> I can't believe I finally wrote this, it's a fixing of the scene from WandaVision because I always thought it was unbelievable. If Wanda prepared a romantic dinner for me, especially wearing that, there would be no dinner at all. A good Wandavision anniversary for all of us btw <3

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

-&-

Although it was one of the skills she developed first, mental control could be very difficult. Especially if Wanda was experiencing some other strong emotion, such as stress, anger, or sadness. 

Or physical exertion, like a fight with an alien or lifting machines or the like. 

Or just being so close to cumming in the middle of the kitchen.

And you, well, you weren't making it any easier for her. Your hips never faltered in their brutal rhythm against her and every time the fake cock attached to your waist slid between her tight walls, Wanda had the impression that even the magic around the house was failing. 

Her eyes were still red, though - Wanda is still surprised that she has any control when you slide your fingers down to tug at her neglected clit and she's forced to muffle her whimper with a bite on your shoulder.

She's sure she won't be able to keep the two guests static in the kitchen if you keep this up. But the soft protest is little more than a choke; "S-slow down, detka" she gasps directly into your ear.

You adjust the angle, and your hips slow down, but god, you thrust hard enough for the kitchen counter to crack. The dress she called a surprise barely hanging on her body is pushed down even further with the rough motions and Wanda won't be surprised if the the magic fails her once and for all with the reach of her orgasm.

She wasn't complaining, after all, this was the whole point of the night. A misunderstanding about a heart drawn on the calendar had led her to believe that tonight would be an anniversary (of which, she and Agnes came to no conclusion, and Wanda preferred to pretend it was supposed to be a wedding one). She got chocolate fruit and a dress that made you ignore your boss in the other room and force her against the counter as soon as you caught the first glimpse of her cleavage.

Wanda tried to be the voice of reason, even if her voice was hoarse and not very determined. She asked you; "What about them?" but all you did was give her a dirty little smile as you unbuttoned your pants.

"Play your tricks, my lovely little witch." That's what you whispered before sliding into her in probably the only gentle thrust of the night, and well, we're back to the beginning.

Wanda being fucked roughly on the counter in the kitchen while trying to keep the two guests in the living room.

She doesn't know, or think she doesn't know, at least not consciously about how that toy ended up inside your pants. She doesn't think about it, nor about when your hips start to buck and how when you come first, she can feel something hot squirting inside her. She can only mew in arousal, feeling your weight fall on her as you return your movements, faster than before making it impossible for her to hold back any longer. Your mouth finds hers again, and you swallow every dirty moan she lets out as she finally reaches her climax a moment later.

The kitchen, perhaps the whole city, shakes with the force of this orgasm. Wanda doesn't notice, but you're kind of mesmerized by the whole thing. She doesn't even realize she has lost control, still panting and soft under your body but you hear footsteps approaching.

It's your powers that keep the kitchen door tightly shut, and Wanda blinks exhaustedly at the knocks.

"I'll tell them dinner's canceled." You murmur, kissing her cheek before pulling out, the act drawing a gasp from the other. Wanda forces her body to react when you make mention of moving away, her legs hooking behind your knees while she gestures in the air with her fingers glowing red.

"They'll find their way on their own." That's what she says before pressing her mouth to yours again. You smiled into the kiss, saving a mental note to comment that you'd probably lose your job for this. But those were problems for later; right now, you were focused on your darling wife moaning on your tongue.

Your kisses descended to her collarbone, marking the skin gently as Wanda struggled to breathe. Your body soon followed the lead, and you ended up on your knees on the kitchen floor with your face between her legs, taking a moment just to admire the image of Wanda's pussy leaking your mixed cum. 

Your breathing against her was driving her crazy, she moved her hips forward, one of her hands grabbing a handful of your hair and trying to pull you in, but you fought back. Wanda meowed in protest.

"Please." It didn't sound much like begging, and you raised your eyes to her. Wanda blushed heavily at the image but tried to bait you by moving her free fingers to her own pussy, spreading the wetness before sinking a finger in. She whimpered before teasing; "Come on baby, I know you want a taste."

You bite your tongue, but you can't contain the shuddering of your body and Wanda smiles at you, a finger teasing its way in. You try not to fall for it but she mewls as she pushes her finger further inside and you curse quietly before you take action. Your hand pushes hers away, and you sink your face into her pussy before Wanda can complain; she chokes on a moan, her back arching on the counter as you eat her out in hungry determination. Your hands grip her thighs wide open and Wanda struggles to control the sounds, trying to find some ground as she clutches your hair, but all it serves for is to keep your head in place as she grinds harshly against your face.

She is almost robbed of her orgasm the next moment when there is a knock at the back door. It's she who is startled, failing in her movements towards your face, but you groan in frustration at the interruption and instead of stopping the whole thing, the vibration takes Wanda over the edge, and she has to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid the sound that escapes her as the climax washes over her.

She's still trembling on the counter when you stand up, a mess of cum running down your chin that you wipe off with the back of your hand, which Wanda watches with exhausted eyes as you lick it clean a moment later.

"I'll send her away." You mutter, evidently against your will to get off her. When Wanda mentions protesting, you offer her a wink, your hands busy hiding the toy back in your pants. " We'll carry on upstairs."

She tries to stand up on shaky legs while you answer the back door to the nosy neighbor. By now, Wanda's mind is so dizzy from a good fuck that she doesn't even care if Agnes was able to hear anything.

[daycourtofficial]

Now I’m in exile seeing you out

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 4k | warnings: none

Summary: a follow up to you’re losing me - You've reached your tipping point where you can't forgive Azriel's constant choice of work over you. Can he fix things? Or did things get wildly out of hand and it's too late?

Author’s note: you guys loved part one, hopefully this offers a satisfying conclusion 🥰

2k celebration masterlist

Your new apartment was quiet, not even your neighbors were making noise. You had grown accustomed to the silence the past few months - Azriel always being gone had left the house a certain way - too large, too quiet, too much without him. This silence felt different.

It wasn’t full of expectation - of wanting Azriel to come through the door or expecting him to treat you like he did in the before.

Now you’re in the after, your finger feeling light from the lack of the ring on it. Fae don’t usually wear rings - a human custom that Feyre had told you all about, one that Azriel found quite romantic.

“So that way when we are buried and our scents are gone, if anyone found our bodies, they would know what we were.”

His words were romantic, but now the tan line on your finger just made you feel hollow, as if this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Any sound you made just echoed through the too empty space - you had foolishly gotten rid of most of your previous furniture when you and Azriel bought a house - your new furniture not arriving for a few more days. Feyre had found you this apartment rather quickly when you showed up at the River House in the middle of the night, uncertain of where else to go. She and Rhysand had agreed to let you stay there until you found a place of your own and they also agreed to not tell Azriel where you were.

“We could start fresh,” you had said to him, mainly wanting a good enough reason to throw out the couch you’ve had for half a century. But now all the new furniture was left behind, in a house too big for one occupant, probably laughing at your past words.

A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look through the peephole to find Feyre standing outside with a large plant of some sort. You unlock the door, letting her in. She gives you a soft smile and hugs you, the absurdly large plant making it somewhat difficult to get your arms around her.

She chirps a greeting to you, rubbing your back gently as you pull back from her. She knew why you had done it - you spent several nights over the past year on her couch crying to her over Azriel and his lack of time for you.

Behind her came Rhys, carrying several buckets of paint, rollers, tins, tarps. Your eyebrows raised, “is this your new art studio, Feyre? Are you going to teach Rhys how to paint?”

She giggles and Rhys rolls his eyes at you, setting the things in his arms down before kissing you on the top of your head. You lean into his touch before he pulls away, softly telling you, “we’re helping you paint the place - white walls are boring.”

In the days to come over the next week, you had multiple visitors. They all made you feel better while they were here, but whenever they left you felt that Azriel shaped hole in your heart all over again. Cassian had been the first after Feyre to visit, barreling into your apartment, nearly squeezing the life out of you once he got in the door, upset he had to wait so long to see you.

“Cass, it’s been four days.”

“The house’s not the same without you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Cassian gave you a look that you didn’t like, and the two of you were teetering on the edge of the forbidden. You had asked Feyre to tell everyone they can come visit, but not to talk about Azriel in any way.

Unfortunately, much of Cassian’s life involves Azriel so he had a much harder time than everyone else. Any time he’d veer into Azriel territory, he’d quickly go, “oops” and cover his mouth very quickly, as if he had cursed in front of a child.

Elain had visited the next day, offering to help you prepare some potted window plants. The two of you walked through the Velaris markets, Elain prattling on about different kinds of plants. You knew she was trying to distract you, help you pick up the pieces of your broken life. So you picked out different plants for your windowsill, the weight of them in your arms much lighter than the weight of your emotions.

It was hard wandering the streets with Elain - this city felt so much like him, the streets littered with cafes the two of you frequented. Elain, whose presence you enjoyed greatly, felt like a stabbing reminder of what you lost.

You know Elain came in with you when you got back to your apartment, repotting the plants into the window planter she brought. Fresh dirt covered their roots, allowing them to grow in their new place. You can’t remember what Elain spoke about, just nodding along with her until you eventually found yourself alone again.

Each day brought a new member of Azriel’s family to visit, and you loved them, truly loved them, but it was hard to feel like they were coming for you as opposed to coming on behalf of him. You knew they loved you, despite whatever was happening between you and Azriel, but your interactions were always colored with him in the background.

You had been expecting Nesta to show up when you opened the door to find Azriel looking back at you.

You were a bit surprised at the restraint he maintained waiting so long, a whole week passing since you had left, but you said all you wanted to say in that note. You wanted him to feel awful, to finally see how you were feeling.

You just hated that it came to this to get him to see you.

He looked terrible. His shadows were pooled at his feet, darting towards you with affection, dancing around you. His wings were practically dragging on the floor, his shoulders sagged, his hair was a mess. His eyes looked lifeless, his jaw covered in stubble.

Good.

“Azriel,” you bit out, not an ounce of affection in your tone. “May I help you?”

“I want you to come home.” His words were clipped, agitation clear in his voice.

“This is my home, you may come in for a few minutes if you want to talk.”

You didn’t really want to invite him in, wanting him to stand outside your door, feeling as unwanted as you had for so many months. But you had new neighbors, and you weren’t sure you wanted to find out how nosy they were with this conversation.

The sight of him made you so angry, but a tiny part of you wanted to reach out to him, running your fingers through his hair, and coax him to come to bed so the two of you could actually sleep.

He shut the door behind him before turning back to you.

“Please, come back. I’ll be better.”

Your hands nestle onto your hips, your jaw rotating in annoyance. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He sighs, his feet moving of their own accord across your floor, pacing back and forth on the hardwood floor.

“Was I not enough for you?”

His words send you into a tailspin of rage, your vision going red. “Azriel,” you say, voice rising, “that’s a funny thing to ask, when you were never there! I gave you everything. Endless excuses, endless empathy. I spent so much time telling people that what you were doing was okay, that I forgot it wasn’t! You weren’t there!”

His hands run down his face, shaking his head in denial. His shadows swirled the room, and you could hear them whispering to him, but what they were saying you couldn’t make out.

“You’re the one who decided that everything I had wasn’t enough for you.”

Your words hit their mark, and the Illyrian before you halts and removes his hands from his face, looking nothing like the formidable soldier he was, but rather the boy he had been. You take a deep breath, opening your door once more behind him.

“I needed you to risk something, I needed you to choose me.”

You stop forward, pushing him through the threshold.

“Most of all, I needed you to choose yourself, too.”

You shut the door on him, leaning your forehead against the wood. The place was suffocating you with its silence. It was a new silence, compared to the one you’d wait in while Azriel was off.

This one felt full of hope and possibilities.

-

Three decades passed since that fateful night, but you could still see Azriel’s eyes in the shadows some nights. You hated burning candles - the way the shadows flickered and danced reminded you of the shadows that curled your fingers, the ones that kept you company whenever Azriel spent too long away.

You had dated here and there since Azriel - none of them lasting more than a few years. They were fine - all attractive, all nice, but they all ended for one reason or another. One moved to a different court, which you didn’t want to do. Another’s mother didn’t like you and it just didn’t work out after that. Several relationships fizzled out because there just wasn’t a spark between you two. You felt cursed, unlucky in love, destined to be alone.

Or perhaps destined to always be heartbroken.

It wasn’t all bad - you just weren’t lucky with romance. You had fallen back in love with Velaris a few years after leaving Azriel, the city lights coaxing you back. You had actually considered leaving entirely, the city feeling too much of him.

Until one day, about five years after you left, you had walked the Sidra one night, the reflections of the street lights giving the city and the river a new glow.

It enchanted you, waking you up from the stupor you had been in for so long.

After that, you spent a lot of your time around Velaris - running events for the city, making friends with several of the business owners. It felt good to find a new support system in the city - one not connected to your ex boyfriend.

You clutch your coat tighter around yourself as you weave through the streets of Velaris, heading back to your apartment. You walk by some apartments, a few men standing around outside, their boisterous laughs making you feel uneasy. One of them starts calling for you, but you ignore his words and walk faster.

You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned a corner hoping he’d stop following you.

“Leave her alone.”

You knew that voice - the deep timbre one you heard in occasional dreams, calling to you even after all these years. You stop your fast walking, turning just in time to make eye contact with those hazel eyes you’ve been dreaming of forever. You can’t run - he’s already stopped still at the sight of you, as if time was stopping for this unexpected reunion.

He stands behind the guy who was following you, his face peering over the male’s shoulder at you.

“She your bitch?”

Azriel’s growl shocks you, and the male turns, allowing his siphons to glow bright in the night. The male stops his chuckling, replaced with deep apologies, running off in the other direction as Azriel moves closer to you, and the two of you start walking in the direction towards your apartment.

The streets are quiet as Azriel follows your lead, his boots scuffing the cobblestone street. It felt strange to be next to him again, the wind rippling against the skin of his wings a sound you never thought you’d hear again.

He clears his throat, “sorry about them.” He gestures behind himself before adding, “I saw them yelling at some female and just wanted to keep anything from happening.”

You look up at him, drinking in his appearance. Thirty years had passed since he came to your apartment that day - since you yelled and screamed at him. You had wanted to yell more that day, but you were so drained from how things ended, you just wanted to move on. He looked much the same - his jawline sharp, his large nose littered with the freckles you loved so much. They were more prominent now, likely a result of the summer sun. His hair was a little lighter, cut a little shorter than you remembered it, the curls lightly dusting the top of his forehead.

You had hardly spoken to much of his family recently, your new job and not living in one of their properties making it quite difficult to schedule dinners and lunches. The last time you saw any of them was either when Elain visited you about six years ago or when you saw Cassian in a coffee shop, a tiny babe in his arms some odd years ago.

You had caught glimpses of the inner circle over the years - a wave to Feyre across a restaurant, the sight of Rhys’s smirk through a window, the bookshop clerk down the street mentioning Nesta. Glimpses of their lives, but you never allowed yourself to stop for too long to get caught back into their orbit.

You had once been so integrated into the family, but it was hard to continue when you pulled away from Azriel. They loved you, you knew that, but they were his family and it never felt quite right without him, every one of your conversations with them overshadowed by the lack of Azriel. So, you had pulled back. It’s not what they wanted, it’s not what you wanted, but it was what you needed.

So many things were the same, but he somehow looked lighter, as if the weight of the world weren’t on his shoulders anymore. It made him look so free and so beautiful.

Maybe he found someone who could finally help against his demons.

“It’s quite alright - I actually should thank you for that and for walking me home. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking home alone after that.”

You two continue on in silence, the only sound your shoes against the cobblestones and the fae moving about on the streets, heading off for their nights to start as yours ended on this strange note. The silence was lingering for too long, old emotions stirring beneath the surface. You had to break the tension.

“Is Cassian a dad now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened before throwing his head back laughing. You had almost forgotten just how beautiful that sound was. Almost. “Fuck no.”

His chuckles bounce off the streets of Velaris as he mutters, “but he and Nesta still fuck like they’re desperate for one.”

“But I swear I saw him out with a kid with wings a few years ago.”

Azriel stops to think for a moment before squinting his eyes a bit, “do you remember the issues we had with wing clipping?” You nod, remembering how just the details of some of the things Azriel’s seen at the hands of his people made you queasy. “We helped a few of the women escape the camps - we’ve been trying to make safe spaces for them to live in to prove to the males that they don’t need them. It’s slow, but we’ve got a few dozen living in and around Velaris.”

Wow, you thought. Your smile is genuine as you congratulate him, “that’s impressive, Az!” He shakes his head at your celebratory tone. “Really, I know progress is slow with them, but that’s great.” You beam up at him before scratching the back of your head, “but it still doesn’t explain the kid I saw.”

“A few of the females brought their kids with them, and Cassian likes to spend time with each of them one-on-one. He says it’s a good excuse to get ice cream, but I think he just likes seeing them have a present male in their lives.”

You two continue winding through the streets, a cool breeze lifting through your hair. It was so odd to be here with him, odder still for this to feel normal. Azriel clears his throat, his voice a bit uncertain, “I’ve been uh delegating more.”

You pause, feet stopping on the road. They’re just words, nothing more, but Azriel’s never delegated. A true perfectionist to his core, he never even considered delegating any task Rhys asks of him. You turn to look at him, his hazel eyes looking back to you full of regret and longing.

“I’ve been uh, using some of the spies under me more. I’ve been trusting them with more important work.”

The two of you reached your apartment door, the same one Feyre had painted silver all those years ago. You can hear his shaky breath as he continued. “I don’t deserve you. I never have. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t-“ he sighs. “I don’t deserve you, but I do deserve love.”

His voice breaks at that and some piece of you shatters all over again at how poorly he was treated to never feel like he deserved anything good or kind.

“This is coming out all wrong,” he huffs, tugging lightly at some of his hair, “but Madja’s been helping me for a long time. I- it’s so hard to let me be deserving of love. I always felt I had to earn it. I felt I had to do the impossible things asked of me and that would finally make me worthy.”

He sighs, a slight thump from the door as he leans his forehead against it.

“I am worthy of being loved. And so are you.”

His hands are shaking, but his shadows wrapped around them, forming something similar to tight fitting gloves, offering some kind of security to him to continue.

“If the damage is too much, I understand. You can tell me to fuck off at any point. But if… if you would let me, I’d like to.. I’d like to show you that I’m trying. That I’ve been working on myself.”

You continue to look up at him, gobsmacked at this confessional from him.

“It’s hard. I couldn’t make progress overnight, hence my long absence. But I have made progress. I’ve uh actually been taking days off. I started going on trips to Day and Summer a few years back. I read three books at the beach a few months ago, actually.”

He laughs at the absurdity of his trip - a vacation. Something he’s never done. To spend days on his own, nothing but a book to keep him company is all you’ve ever wanted from him.

A pause. A breath. But he keeps going, needing to get his jumbled thoughts out of his head and into yours.

“It’s been a long time, but I think about you every day. I’ve probably made a fool of myself out here, but if there is any way you aren’t seeing anyone and if any part of you misses me at all…” He trails off, his fist lightly hitting the door. “I just wanted you to know that I’m trying. I’m bettering myself. I am better. I know it’s late, but..”

He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Your silence was eerie, leading him to keep talking, his words unable to stop.

“I just- I never wanted things to get here. I was foolish, and I didn’t appreciate you. It took you leaving to realize I could not continue like I was… I can’t.. Let myself hurt the people I care about anymore.”

You stay rooted, pressed against the door, not moving.

They were just words, the same things that hurt you over the years of broken promises and missed dates. But they’re so thought out. He’s had thirty years to mull things over, and he feels so much lighter than before.

You’re conflicted, but the optimist in you wins out as your voice finally finds you.

“Show me.”

-

Every Sunday for several weeks at 8 AM Azriel would stand on your doorstep and knock gently. You would open the door and he would present you with a bouquet of flowers - varieties of colors and species made their home on your dining room table as the weeks go by.

The two of you stroll through the city. The city you loved so dearly and for so long, parts of it feeling impossible to look at without thinking of the male next to you.

He would usually open up with some story about Cassian or Rhysand to break the ice. Then he’d tell you about his week - where Rhysand had sent him off, what he did on his days off that weren’t Sunday, anything that stood out. The two of you wander the streets, only stopping for occasional treats to eat while continuing your walk.

As the weeks go by, he starts filling you in on the past thirty years. For a long time, he saw Madja almost daily. She began providing him with herbs that helped regulate his moods, helped him sleep better, and helped him feel better. She also began having him comb through the deepest parts of himself he tried to forget, the memories of that little boy abandoned in that dungeon. He’d also tell you about how the rest of the Inner Circle was doing - Feyre and Rhys were trying for a baby, Elain was traveling a lot, Nesta and Cassian were… Nesta and Cassian.

Now he only sees Madja every other week, and she seems quite impressed by his progress. She should be, you think, he’s a far cry from the male you kicked out of your apartment all those decades ago.

After a few weeks, you began opening up to him as well. How hard it was to leave, your relationships in your time apart, how empty everything had felt without him, how you’d developed some strong friendships in the years apart.

“I had to pick up the pieces of myself too, Az.”

His heart pangs with guilt, but you reach out for his elbow, eyes bright with beginnings.

“I always wondered what I’d do if you came back to me, but I never thought you’d be how you are now. You seem so… light?” Your voice comes out more like a question, and you chuckle. “You just seem so different, but in a good way.”

“I feel different. I feel like I’m not… like I’m not that little boy anymore. Like I don’t have to prove myself to be loved. If not by you, by someone.”

His words linger in the air and you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest at his words.

“I do want it to be you, though. If you’d have me, that is.”

Your heart wanted you to lean forward, wanted nothing more than for you to wrap yourself in his embrace. But before either of you could move forward, you had to know, one way or another.

“Why did you keep pushing the wedding back?”

Your voice was soft and shaky, but the question had been lingering on your mind for so long, it was on the tip of your tongue every time the two of you met up.

“I couldn’t tell you before because you would have been so nice about it, but I- I thought I was ruining you. I didn’t want you, so kind, so wonderful, to be tethered to me for all eternity. But I was too selfish to let you go. I still am, I suppose.”

He shrugs, his shoulders folding inward toward you, his wings drooping a bit. “I know now how ridiculous that sounds, but I.. wanted you but I also wanted better for you.”

He turned toward you, his skin shining like gold in the sun. He was radiant - a word hardly ever used for him before. He looked as Helion does, as if the sun was redirecting its rays through him.

“So I became better for you, for myself, for my family.”

And that was what you needed to hear. It was never about you (in many ways it was), but at the end of the day, you always wanted what was best for the both of you.

And he became that.

On a beautiful summer day, you stood on your tiptoes, your hands reaching upwards to pull his face into yours.

And by gods even his kisses felt lighter.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

People who asked for a part two: @piceous21 @itsswritten @leeknows-wife @12344321heyyy @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @naturakaashi @janebirkln @slut4acotar @kaitttttttt @queerqueenlynn @anuttellaa @dee-writes-smut @bunnyredgirl @historygeekqueen @michealharrypotter @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @dyingsinglecuzimfangirl @crazylokonugget @yearninglustfully

Thanks for reading 💕

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 11: The One About the Heart of the Ocean

My father is a big history buff. He fancies himself a bit of an expert about the U.S. Civil War, U.S. Presidents, and World War II. In fact, he’s gifted me with the Useless Knowledge of which four U.S. Presidents were assassinated while in office (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, and Kennedy – you’re welcome for that little addition to your own Library of Useless Knowledge).

But, more importantly, my dad has instilled in me the importance of a timeline. The idea that, if you’re collecting information, it’s vital to keep it in chronological order, that way you can look at it, (try to) understand it, and theorize about what happened before and after an event. If the facts are out of order, the conclusion you reach may be in error.

My father and I also like to solve True Crime together. When he visits, we spend hours on the porch studying some random, usually cold, true crime event. We timeline the shit out of it, connect the puzzle pieces together, and exclaim in the end, “We’ve solved it!” I suppose that is part of what keeps me interested in Lukola – not that there is anything criminal in Lukola, except perhaps the “Single White Female” that pops up behind Nicola from time to time – I just enjoy the game of trying to put the pieces together.

Lukola has become a rather intriguing puzzle, don’t you think? It’s definitely one to which I do not have all the pieces. I do, however, enjoy collecting the information and chronologizing it, and now I find it enjoyable to scribble my thoughts out on Tumblr.

So, how did I get here?

Well, it started with boredom and ended with a timeline.

My first entry to the timeline?

July 20, 2024.

What happened on that date?

Well, nothing spectacular really, except JVN posted –

HOLD UP!

HOLD THE FUCK UP!!

OH SHIT!!

YES!

YES, you guessed it! After blowing JVN off for at least three, maybe four, posts in a row, I’m finally getting around to dedicating an entire entry to Their Royal Highness.

JVN is such a fascinating creature. I mean, you get beautiful, witty, and intelligent wrapped into one human being. Oh, and they are kind of a catty bitch, too, and who doesn’t love one of those? That’s why they're the Heart of the Ocean on the USS Lukola; they just give off this very rare blue diamond vibe. Well, that, and because something they did marks the focal point – the heart – from which the rest of my timeline branches.

*I will cut in here to note that I am referring to JVN as they/their in this entry as their Instagram bio indicates they accept “they/he/she.”

Okay, back to July 20.

On that date, JVN posted to TikTok their version of the Charli xcx “Apple” dance. You know that annoying TikTok trend that took over our summer? Yeah, that’s the one – the same one Antonia tried doing – she just couldn’t pull off the JVN version of it. Dear girl couldn’t come close to matching JVN’s “enthusiasm,” and JVN’s version was only made more enjoyable in that they were seemingly mocking Antonia!

But, all’s fair in love and war, right?

JVN’s bestie, Nicola, had already spent the entire summer subtlety combating Antonia over social media. The vibe in the fandom was that Antonia was always trying to one-up Nicola, with Nicola always coming out the victor. I’m sorry, Antonia, you just can’t beat some perfectly timed BTS drops.

So, why did JVN’s TikTok post intrigue me? It wasn’t because it was that amusing. It was because they’d done something I hadn’t noticed before – they’d taunted Antonia on a public forum.

Curious, that.

Now, I’m not saying it was the first time JVN mocked Antonia, but July 20 was the first time I noticed it. That date is the heart of my timeline, but it does not have to be the heart of yours. We can all start at different times but still reach the same conclusions, so long as we keep the information in order.

You would think one wouldn’t mess with the “girl friend” of your best friend’s “best friend,” at least not publicly. But, here was JVN shamelessly mocking Antonia on TikTok. And, just so we’re clear, the public opinion of what JVN was doing with this TikTok is available to view in the comments of their TikTok post. It wasn’t just me that came to this conclusion – and JVN has left these comments up for four months at this point.

JVN’s “Apple” dance was only made more interesting the following day – July 21 – when they included it in their Sunday Dump post on Instagram.

And, Nicola liked it.

Hmm, things were becoming curiouser and curiouser.

Let’s not even pretend that Nicola isn’t street savvy and didn’t understand the context of that video. And, let’s definitely not underestimate the length of her claws.

To be honest, I hadn’t paid too much attention to Lukola since mid-June. It was an “it is what it is” thing for me. Even though I believed the relationship between Luke and Nicola was complicated (see my first blog for that story), Luke had also apparently disappeared into the summertime sun with his friend group, which included Antonia.

Something about JVN openly making fun of Antonia, and Nicola, at the very least acknowledging it with an Instagram like, made me realize something in Luke’s situation must be shifting.

What have I said about little changes? That deviations in modus operandi are what make people start giving the side-eye to a situation.

And, side-eye I did!

I started paying attention to JVN and, on July 25, they posted a series of photos on TikTok and Instagram showcasing “What I would wear if you invited me to your…” We will fast-forward through all the slides until we get to the last one, which read, “…just got dumped and going to take 8 shots dinner at Lupe’s in SoHo.” Was it possible that JVN was hinting at a dumpster fire at the Soho Farmhouse?

If you don’t know what the Soho Farmhouse is, it’s the place where Luke and his friend group, including Antonia, frequented, probably on Luke’s dime (*insert wicked laugh – oh, and a disclaimer that this is all speculation).

Funny that Nicola liked this post on Instagram, too, and it wasn’t even buried in a Sunday Dump.

At this point, JVN had really sparked my damn interest. Like, dear one, what are you hinting at?

On July 29, Deux Moi creeped out from under its rock and reminded the fandom to hate Luke by rehashing Papsmear. Thank you, we needed that. I mean, half of us almost forgot how much we hated him! That’s me being a sarcastic tart, by the way. If we were to fast-forward to today, I’d argue that Luke was the most darling thing to come out of Bridgerton.

Any ways, again, thank you, Deux Moi, for those suspiciously timed Papsmear pictures because they aligned perfectly with the pap pictures People dropped the following day – July 30.

Yep, I am talking about those strangely awkward pap pictures of Luke hanging out in the murky waters of Sorrento with Antonia. Oh, and let’s not forget the video footage of that encounter, which I am sure still upsets and confuses people to this day. In fact, I know it does because, as I was researching this, I had a couple of people get annoyed after I asked them to view it. Funny thing is, that shit never bothered me (I didn’t say that it didn’t later confuse me!). The first time I saw them, I was like, “Luke is not into that girl at all,” and my next thought was, “I wonder how old these pictures are because I would have sworn JVN was hinting at something.”

Now, this story wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t address the rumor portion of it.

First rumor? That Antonia set up the entire Italy pap photo-op because she seemingly knew where to find the cameraman. So, let’s discuss that video everyone seems to hate to acknowledge exists. In the video, you can see Antonia maybe looking in the direction of the cameraman. She then leans into Luke, either to whisper something to him or to reach for something behind him. In my opinion – and this is strictly my opinion – it looks like she’s pretending to reach for something over his shoulder. Still shots of this interaction are the photos People published, presumably because Luke and Antonia looked like they were cheek to cheek.

Okay, notice I said, “first rumor,” because, yeah, there’s a second rumor, too! But, it fits snuggly into that first rumor. Almost immediately – because that’s how fast the Lukola Sleuths get to work around here – rumors began to circulate that Antonia was following on Instagram the photographer that took the Italy pap pictures. In fact, several people I’ve spoken to swear that they witnessed during a TikTok Live a host prove that Antonia was following this photographer. That’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it? Yeah, it fucking is.

Let’s keep moving.

That same day, we had that video drop of Luke watching fireworks, at night, with sunglasses. Speaking of sunglasses, I guess Luke found those motherfuckers because he sure as shit didn’t have them while floating around in that dirty ass water. Any ways, at the end of the video, Rory appears behind Luke, looking in the direction of the camera and smiling like a condescending, sneaky little shit. Now, who was the cameraman? Well, a possible suspect would be Antonia since she was not seen in the video. Go figure.

Alright, so that day finally ended and on July 31, JVN posted to TikTok a cutesy video of themself at the market titled, “When you catch someone trying to sneak a pic but you were born for these moments.” They prance around the market and randomly look at the cameraman (Mark) with a smile and a pose. The caption reads, “I welcome sneaky pics but I can’t guarantee I won’t sneak some back or put on a show for you.”

WAIT A MINUTE!

Did JVN just inexplicably confirm Luke was getting papped by his own friends?

Yeah, I kind of think JVN did.

And, Nicola liked this one as well when JVN posted it to Instagram on August 8.

Didn’t I tell you JVN was a fascinating creature? And, to be honest, JVN only gets better as this Lukola ship continues on its voyage.

Oh, strangely enough, a few days after the Italy pap crap, Luke returned to London alone. The friend group became unsettlingly silent, and Nicola started to get really, really loud – Chaos Week was incoming! And, so were some more JVN crumbs (and nicely timed clap backs).

[revelboo]

Holy guacamole finding your account is like finding the holy grail. Thoughts on tfp shockwave??

Oh, no. I feel so bad for him. Casual TF fans can just see him and Whirl and vaguely wonder why they look so different and not know the horrible lore implications…. I miss those happy days and unfortunately I do know, so you have to suffer too for asking.

Point of Extinction

TFP Shockwave x Reader

• Routines to ground him. An exact number of swipes with a cleaning rag after disinfecting his work station after another failed experiment. Routines to keep him busy so his processor can’t dredge up those broken fragments that make no sense to him. Confusing flickers of memories that are and aren’t his. “Enter,” he says, using a servo to slide a tool back precisely where it goes. Order. This he can control.

• Antenna flicking up as the vehicon enters his lab, a box in its servos. And that snares him. Two hands like he’d had. No, that’s not right. Helm tipping down to stare at the cannon at the end of his arm, there’s a moment of disconnect before he’s back. Did he have two hands once? He can’t remember. Logical steps. That chaos isn’t his, it belongs to a stranger. “The counter.”

• Watches the vehicon set the box down and immediately retreat. Unwilling to stick around. They fear him and he understands the concept, but it’s not a thing he really understands. Illogical emotion that can control a mech, twist them into making wrong decisions. Emotional decisions.

• Lifting the lid, he stares at his newest specimen. Number 13. A human. The little creature is slumped at the bottom of the container, breathing but still. The last twelve earth creatures had been smaller, too delicate to survive long. This isn’t what he expected the vehicon to bring him, only specifying something more sturdy than the birds, cats, and lizards he’d been provided before. Something that will last long enough to get conclusive data.

• Reaching in to nudge it before he carefully picks it up in his servos and lifts it free of the box. It’s warm against his metal flesh, his antenna angling forward as the creature stirs. Makes a noise of pain as its eyes open and land on his single glowing optic and stay there. Leaning in to study it as its breathing begins to speed, its eyes widening. Reacting with some emotion. And then it screams, the sharp unexpected sound nearly enough to make him drop it, servos tightening on it until it’s clawing at him, wheezing. Antenna back, he puts it back in the box. “Silence.”

• Heart racing, you scramble to press against the wall of the box you’re trapped in as far from the pointy metal, nightmare as you can get. That one glowing red eye is still staring at you as it makes a noise. “Experiment number 13. Human.” That thing has no mouth you can see, but you can hear it just fine as you slide down to pull your knees tight to your body. Experiment? Where are you? What happened? The last thing you remember is leaving work late.

• “Wait- please I’m not supposed to be here.” It’s speaking to him and he hesitates in reaching for his data pad. The other twelve hadn’t been sentient. Unable to answer his inquiries except by going under his blades. Tapping his cannon against his thigh, he shifts to stare in at it again. Wide eyes stare up at him, the little nails of its fingers digging into its arms. “Please.” Illogical pleas to sway him to release it, voice taut with emotion he can’t identify. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Its voice breaks and that off balance disconnect flares again. A memory his and not his. Had he said those same words? In that same terrified tone? He’s not sure, but he’s frozen.

Next

[kingsonne-zedecks]

More Eurylochus content.

Something that I think isn't talked about enough in Epic conversations is what it means for Eurylochus to be Odysseus's right hand man, his second in command.

The second in command isn't supposed to be a perfectly obedient follower who never questions their Captain. He is supposed to be a second brain, a fresh set of eyes, someone that Odyssues can rely on to help him chart a surer course (metaphorically and literally). And yes, the second in command supposed to disagree with their leader when they are making a bad decision—to be the voice of reason. Eurylochus is the go-between for Captain and Crew, advocating for both.

And Odysseus doesn't listen to him. Ever. In full speed ahead Odysseus acknowledges Eurylochus's concern to some extent, but that's the last time. The more time passes the less Odysseus pays any attention to Eurylochus's concerns, until we reach Luck Runs Out. At which point Odysseus is done and decides to shut down Eurylochus for good. Its also the last time Odysseus chooses to run his plan by Eurylochus before enacting it.

Here is where the Bag comes into play. Odysseus comes down from Aeolus's palace carrying the wind bag and attempts to brush off Eurylochus and the crew when they ask about it. He did not need to do this. He could have just explained what it was from the start, but Odysseus is done sharing his plans and having them questioned.

As a result he is on the back foot once the winions claim its treasure. Only then does he explain. We know he's telling the truth from the perspective of the viewer, but the crew has no such guarantee. For all they know the storm inside is just a lie, a cover up, an excuse. Its not like they don't know that Odysseus lies.

At this point the Bag almost becomes a symbol of the fracturing trust between Odysseus and Eurylochus. Its a plan and a decision that Eurylochus was excluded from, and then Odysseus literally keeps himself awake for nine days guarding it. From an outside perspective that's super concerning. Its proof that Odysseus doesn't trust his crew, that he doesn't trust Eurylochus. If he did then he would have done the reasonable thing and traded off guarding the bag with Eurylochus so he could get some sleep.

I personally don't think Eurylochus opened the bag with treasure as his motivation. I think he was driven by his growing distrust just as Odysseus was. He couldn’t take Odysseus's explanation on faith anymore and needed to know what exactly it was that was driving Odysseus to such extremes to protect.

Luck Runs Out and Keep Your Friends Close were the death knell for trust between Odysseus and Eurylochus. Scylla and Mutiny is the conclusion of that shattered trust.

"If you want all the power you must carry all the blame!"

Eurylochus would have shared that burden with Odysseus. Would have shared the weight of the guilt and the lost lives of their friends. But Odysseus wouldn't let him.

[yuwuta]

Wow I have been nonstop thinking about tennis king yuuta and his little baby boy I’m going to kill you (affectionate) - @yuutito

teeheeeeeeeee….. here’s some more, aleks :’) enjoy :))))))

“Everybody thinks he looks like me, but I don’t see it that way. Maybe it’s because every time I look at him, I see my wife and I’m reminded of her […] I’m a little biased so I see her in everything.” 

You find yourself with tears welling in your eyes the more you read into Yuuta’s latest magazine interview. Between his sweet quotes and the pictures of him with your son, it’s taking everything in you not to burst into full-blown tears. 

Your boys look so handsome. You and Yuuta shared your concerns with publicizing your child at such a young age, but you two came to the conclusion that you’d rather have the control in the narrative than to let private family pictures be leaked uncontrollably. As another point of reassurance, Yuuta’s career provided him with just enough lime-light to be a household name without the crazy fame and criticism that came along being a true celebrity. Besides—Yuuta talked enough about you and your son in press conferences and interviews that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. 

The article wasn’t entirely about you, or your family—or at least, you’re sure it wasn’t intended to be; you knew your husband had a knack for rambling about his loved ones, even where work was concerned. As you continue to read, you find a segment where the author compared Yuuta’s current statements with something similar he’d said about you twelve years ago—at the very start of his professional career: “If I owe this [winning Gold] to anybody, it’s my girlfriend. She’s always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I wouldn’t have qualified or even thought to qualify if it weren’t for her.” 

It feels like you and Yuuta were just two kids in love back then. You didn’t think it could be more than that—you didn’t think you could love Yuuta more than you did all those years ago, but somewhere along the way just being in love wasn’t enough to describe it; Yuuta became your partner, someone you loved fundamentally, but also because you couldn’t stand to see yourself without him. And just when you thought you couldn’t love anyone nearly as much as you love him, you turn the page to a picture of your husband and son peeping through the holes of a racket and your heart feels full. 

When you scan the image more closely, you realize that it isn’t just any racket—it’s an old one, one you’d given to Yuuta as a gift probably back in high-school. You had no idea he’d kept it, but you suppose you shouldn’t be all that surprised; Yuuta is nothing if not sentimental. 

“Ah, there she is~” Yuuta’s voice cuts through your thoughts. When you turn, you see him, with your baby boy on his hip, sliding the back porch door closed. 

Both boys approach you with a smile on your face, and you set the magazine aside to sit up in the lounge chair to greet them. Yuuta presses a kiss to your forehead, then your lips before you do the same to your son. Immediately after, he reaches his arms out for you, and Yuuta chuckles, “You wanna be with your mama? Can’t blame you, I missed her, too.” 

He hands the baby off to you, and takes a seat on the other end of the chair, reaching over to coo at his son as you smother his face in kisses. 

“How was the farmer’s market?” you question, letting the baby settle into your lap. 

“Good, he picked out some very bright peppers, and we got some more strawberries, know you’ve been craving them,” Yuuta smiles, reaching over to pat your son’s head, when the closed magazine catches his eye, and he reaches for it, quickly flipping through, “Ah—I guess that interview’s out. He’s grown so much, even though it was only a few months ago.” 

You find the blush on his cheeks beyond endearing. Yuuta always finds room to be bashful no matter how many times he’s waxed poetic about his love for you, or his family—his cheeks always stain pink like the first day you met him. 

“It’s sweet. You’re sweet,” you smile, sparing a hand to run through Yuuta’s hair, charmed by the way he leans into your touch, “I didn’t know you still had that racket.” 

“Of course, I keep everything you give me,” he says, earnestly. He closes the magazine and scoots a little closer, taking advantage of the proximity and of your touch to lay his head on your shoulder, “Did you… read all of it?” 

“Almost, but no, why?” you question, with a light-hearted grin, “Did you say something that would lead the world to believe you’re somehow even more in love with me? Because you might already be past the threshold, dear.” 

Yuuta hums. He reaches to take you son out of your lap and carefully shifts himself to that he’s laying down, his head on your lap, and the baby in his arms, happily giggling and cooing as Yuuta holds him up. He lowers and raises him back and forth a few times, nuzzling their noses together when their faces are close, before sitting him up on his chest.

Then he tilts his head up to look at you, wide, love-filled eyes blinking slowly before he says, “Maybe… depends on if me saying I want more kids is past the threshold or not.” 

[unclewaynemunson]

CW for body issues and negative thoughts surrounding weight gaining

Cold autumn air has fallen over Hawkins for the first time in months. Steve reaches into the back of his closet to find his favorite sweater, the dark red one that his grandmother made him when he was in his junior year. The wool still feels just as soft in his hands as it was last year.

He pulls it over his head, welcoming the warmth it immediately gives off around him, but it feels tighter than he remembers it being. He pulls and adjusts the fabric, then gives himself a critical look in the mirror, and - fuck. It must've shrunk somehow. He messed up his favorite sweater.

But... The last time he wore it, on that one cold night at the end of April, it still fit him perfectly. He remembers that night clearly: they were all sitting around a campfire in the trailer park for Wayne's birthday, and Eddie had kept looking at him like that sweater was causing all kinds of unholy thoughts - partly the reason why it's Steve's favorite.

The sweater can't possibly have shrunk lying unused in the back of his closet for months. It didn't shrink; Steve has grown.

Suddenly, he looks at himself in the mirror and sees a whole other person. He zeroes in on all kinds of details he had never paid much attention to before, and he wonders how he could've ever missed what was happening to him: his expanding belly, the fat that has gathered around his hips, his stretched-out thighs... His upper legs are looking more chubby than muscled now that he stopped swimming regularly, and his sweater is tight around his upper arms and too narrow over his belly, the imprint of his belly button clearly visible in the stretched-out fabric.

He has no idea for how long he has been staring at himself when the bedroom door opens and Eddie comes in, still roughly brushing a towel over his wet hair. He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Again, Steve wonders how he could ever have missed the way his body changed, especially next to Eddie: Eddie, who has always been lean, on the verge of being scrawny, his ribs almost visible underneath his tattooed skin and not a single curve in sight.

Eddie freezes in his tracks when he notices Steve, his eyes hovering over the red sweater. Steve feels caught, exposed under Eddie's gaze. He must be coming to the same conclusion that Steve had reached a minute before: that Steve's best days are behind him. That he's getting fat and that his body will only deteriorate further from now on. That he stopped taking good care of himself. That he's only going to get uglier with age.

'Sorry,' he's quick to say when Eddie won't stop staring. He turns his body away from Eddie's gaze, and starts rummaging around in his closet to find something with a looser fit. 'I didn't realize it wouldn't fit anymore, I'm gonna get changed right away. I suppose the red isn't really your color, but you can have it if you want to, I'm sure it'll fit you perfectly.'

He feels hands grabbing the underside of the sweater from behind.

'No.'

'What?'

He turns around, facing Eddie again, who now fists his hands into the sides of the fabric instead.

'Don't you dare take this off. Only one person is allowed to do that from now on, and that person is me.' There's a look in Eddie's eyes that Steve only recognizes from very different settings, like when he used to get home after a run all sweaty, or when one of them sinks to his knees in front of the other.

'What is happening?' he mumbles under his breath.

'You, in this tight sweater?' Eddie's voice is low and breathy. 'You are a fucking dream, Steve Harrington.'

Steve takes a step backwards, but Eddie's hands stay plastered right where they are.

'Are you making a fool of me?'

Eddie frowns and he finally lets his grip on Steve's sweater go.

'Why would you think that?'

Steve huffs, needlessly gestures to his own body. 'I look ridiculous!' he points out, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. 'It doesn't fit anymore, I let myself get fat, I'm getting old and ugly, I–'

With one step, Eddie is right in front of Steve again, shutting him up by placing his index finger against Steve's lips.

'Not another word,' he says. 'I don't want to hear you talk like that about yourself ever again. You got it all wrong, you know. I mean, don't get me wrong, you were already hella sexy in your jock days, but your soft pillow belly is, like, the closest one can get to heaven here on earth.'

It should be too much, it should sound insincere because of how dramatic it is - but Steve is used to Eddie's dramatics and he can see that Eddie is being one hundred percent serious right now.

'You are the sexiest man I know, and every pound you've gained is a beautiful one. You are gorgeous, Steve – and you will keep being gorgeous and sexy in every shape you'll get.' His hands are roaming over Steve's sweater again, comforting and hungry at the same time. 'I do have to ask you not to wear this sweater outside of our house, though. It'll cause riots. People might die because of it.'

He looks dead serious saying it, and Steve can't help but laugh before he tugs Eddie closer and presses their lips together.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓣HE FROST REMEMBERS ࣪˖ ִִ h.k

artblock has one weakness: creation. it just so happens that you decide to make your final hurrah, the greatest work of your life, out of winter’s most gentle gift. and, the frost remembers. . ۫︎ ︎ ︎︎

⺡ ࣪˒ ( ☃️ ) ･ 2k

𝓹airings ˒ snowman!kai x art student!reader

𝒢 ; fluff ˒ angst

𝔀arnings ˒ fluff, angst, mentions of past deaths, chubby!reader, kai is in fact a man made of snow, more of a drabble, not proofread yet (i’ll get to it when i wake up from this big ol nap hehe)

✎୭ ashlynn's note i want to thank @aduh0308 and her lovely brain for this one! this was such a beautiful idea that i honestly was so nervous about executing. i hope i pulled it off well enough!! it was supposed to have a way, way heavier end, but honestly as much as i love the poeticism of that ending, it just wasn’t right for this fic. hehe now i press post and knock out!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The snow winks at you differently, today.

Jaw tight, you kick and tread through heavy snow piles. The air is like glass on your cheeks and snowflakes wet your head where they come falling down over you, but faulty paint strokes and the heavy weight of a paintbrush in your hands smear over it.

No matter how you plan before sitting down to create, it just falls flat. The colors are flat and wrong, the shapes don’t bloom into story, and…

None of it looks good. It’s as simple as that. You are shit at it, and it’s what you’ve chosen to do for the rest of your life. When you’re not able to make something worthwhile, even for a grade? 

You don’t create much for school, and you create nothing at home. All that will come from you putting brush to canvas is wasting the hours of your day away. All that will come is creating something that further solidifies your failings. Maybe you aren’t the worst, but you are a lifetime away from the best. That doesn’t get you anywhere; so what is the point of it? It’s pointless. You are doing something pointless with your life, and you are only going to hate it more each time you drag your feet into the classroom you once loved to slather paint on canvas. And then, when you take that long walk back home that leaves you an awful amount of time to think, you come to one conclusion.

You can’t create. Not if you want to preserve that talent that you once had. Or, at least your ability to believe that you have it. If you pick up your tools and from it create something awful, then your fear becomes real. So, you can’t.

 Today, you’ll create your last piece. Something impermanent, that you can kick down and move on from. Then, you’ll drop out, and find something else. Maybe someday, you’ll find what you used to feel for your first love again. You hope so; you’ve watched it leave you with each frustrated swipe of the brush and felt it go when your throat would tighten at the sight of your finished projects. Losing that love is something featured in stories since the dawn of humanity. But, losing this love is different. You can’t go and speak with it, nor can you plead with it, and you certainly cannot touch it to drag it back. It’s something wholly inside of yourself, and you find it impossible to reach. You’ve tried forcing yourself to paint, you’ve tried breaks, and you’ve tried waiting for inspiration. Still, it’s so far from your touch.

You blink a stray snowflake out of your lashes and stop. The little patch of snow is flat and twinkles with morning—it’s perfect. For a moment, you admire it. Then you get to work.

Handfuls of snow melt through your cotton gloves. At some point, your fingers go tingly and then unfeeling. The snow is powdery and loose, but that’s no matter to you. You compact it down into something solid and pack it into smooth-edged shapes. Around you, just beyond the thick focus that you let fall over you when you work, people bustle by. Some stop to watch you, the ice crystals like glitter captured in the form of the sculpture catching their eyes as they pass. They move on when you don’t entertain them, though.

All you know is the sweet song of a mourning dove cooing, and the working of your hands. You don’t think much further than that; what comes from your carving and shaping is a misty, shimmering wisp of consciousness. Whatever had been brimming in your blood, you let it go—let it take shape.

You give a little here, adding chunks where it’s missing, and take a little there, carving when your heart suggests it. It grows and claims space for itself. It seems that it’s never enough; every time you intend to take a step back, you find just one more thing that needs your fixing.

When you do finally dust off your gloves, snow clinging to the fluff, you’re stricken to the spot—hit right in the gut with a roll of something you haven’t felt in so long. In the angles of the shoulders, you see flashes of resting your head there like they were built just to hold you. In the column of the neck, you feel the pressing of your lips against the warm skin down the side of it. In the pretty splay of the hands, you feel the appreciative, devoted pressure of hands roaming and kneading the plusness of your belly and thighs, holding them with reverence even when you didn’t see them as something to revere.

And, in the face, you see him held  everlasting in the wintery serenity of the snow: your dead boyfriend.

Tracing the lines of him, you swallow hard. He’s exactly as he was in life, but he is unmoving. His eyes are all twinkling with ice particles, and not with the alive, benevolent light that you remember. When you tug off a glove, itching to feel the shape of his cheek once more, he’s sickeningly cold to the touch.

You run your finger over his cheek, as soft as you remember it, and down the length of his nose, heart aching at the little bump on the bridge of his nose as you find that just as you remember it, too. Looking up into his eyes, you can almost feel the weight of his gaze the way it feels in your memory. 

His lips are crisp against your mouth. Maybe you look mad to a passerby, but you want to remember the shape of his lips, too. You linger there for a few moments. Just long enough for you to pretend, and then you let your lashes flutter back open and bring your mouth away from the snow.

Sitting still, lifeless, he does not smile that easy smile he should. The one he used to, when you’d steal his lips in a chaste kiss. Your heart, having soared up into the snow-heavy clouds as light as air, sinks. Of course, he doesn’t. The only place that his smile still lives and breathes in is your memories. You just ache to see it somewhere else at least once more. That’s all.

Tugging your glove back on to save your pale fingers, you try to dull the twinging in your chest and the bitterness that closes around your throat. You’ll go home, and you’ll begin trying to forget your art. You don’t kick it down like you’d come here intending to, though. Not this one. What a beautiful last work it was. Huffing a curling breath of frosty, silver air, you take one last look at him.

From his lashes, clumps of dusty snow fall like fairy dust. You furrow your brows, and more comes tumbling down. It crumbles and crumbles, falling from his eyes to reveal deep chocolate, and then from his face to reveal warm flesh, and then he shakes it off the rest of him.

He shakes it off the rest of him. 

Your mouth goes dry, looking up at his eyes, and he looks at you back.

“Love?”

The sound comes from his chest like both a potent balm and the sharpest blade. It melts into your skin and nurses the hurt there, and it cuts them right back open. Hearing the name you’ve not heard for so long in his voice—you reel.

“Kai?” you say. Your voice wobbles like your legs do. Aside from the both of you, the rest of the world goes hushed and still. 

He furrows his brows, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. Your skin prickles at the warmth. He’d been so, so cold just a moment ago. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he asks.

You want to sit here all shaken, but you can’t. Not when he’s standing before you in the flesh. Standing before you real. Opening up your arms, you crush him between them and press your face into his chest. Puffing your breaths, your nose and cheeks sigh relief at the warmth that seeps out from him, and in that you know he is solid.

“Woah,” he says, trailed off by a soft laugh. Kai wraps his arms around your waist and rests his cheek on the top of your head. “Hugs, baby.” 

For a few moments, something between just a split second and an eternity, you hold him and he holds you. It snows and snows down on you. When you finally pull back enough to speak to him, you say, “You’re real. Oh my god, you’re fucking real.”

With a raise of his brows, he says, “I’m real. Right here. I’m right here.” He runs a quick hand through his hair and drags his hand down his face to show it.

Opening your mouth, you close it right back up to decide which of the infinite things you want to ask him. “I…” you start. “Kai, you were dead. You were dead, and now you’re standing… right here in front of me. I don’t…”

In the sweet, dorky way that tugs at memories, one corner of his lips turn up into a slight smile. “I guess I was. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes your cheek in his hand. “I never left you, darling. Maybe you couldn’t see me like this, but I never did. I promised you that, didn’t I?” When your face crumples, an awful twisting of your features that you fight to contain, he curls his fingers over your hand and brings it up to his cheek. “Feel. Feel, I’m real, aren’t I? Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry, because I’m here.”

Your heart thunders and storms, and your cheeks sting with tears. Swallowing it all down, you say, “I missed you so much, Kai.”

He reaches up to brush snowflakes off your hair. “I know. I missed you too.” When his eyes fall on you and your shivering self, he says, “I was there with you the whole time.”

It hadn’t felt like that. If he was alive inside you, you didn’t feel it. All you felt was hollow. And if he was in the world around you, that felt empty, too. But, he’s here now, and it doesn’t feel so much the same. “How?” you say, shaking your head. You wish you could have felt him. “Where?”

“Everywhere, love. You didn’t go one day where I was not there. In the frost, I was there.”

You don’t know what that means. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how that might be possible, or if it’s even the truth, or if this is some kind of miracle spun with the silver threads of the fates. Whatever it is, he stands in front of you now. Nothing else really matters much but that.

“Do you want to go home?” you ask. Out here, this moment feels fleeting. All you want is to be there, in the same place where you’d made your lives together, so that you can solidify it and keep it safe from the world. 

Peppering kisses all about your face, he snorts. “Look at your nose. You should’ve been home hours ago.”

You let your eyes flutter shut in the onslaught of his lips against your skin. “I know,” you mumble. Then, you would’ve snarked about his worrying. Kai was always worrying over you, and you’d crinkle your nose and demand that you’re doing fine.

Like this, though, you don’t mind his doting so much. Not now, and not ever again, you think. Not when he, hewn from snow and brought to life by your kiss, is utterly real and utterly alive in front of you. Not when he is the art in your life.

You think you might go home and pull out your paints.

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note AHHH i don’t know how to feel about this one.

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[saphronethaleph]

Carida One

“Is… something wrong, Lord Vader?” Commandant Vex asked, trying very hard not to swallow.

Or sweat too loudly.

Or give off any other indication of guilt, laxity, or something that would lead Darth Vader to decide to terminate his employment – and him – with a single gesture.

Vader didn’t respond, all his attention on a screen, and Vex took a deep and steadying breath before checking what was on the screen.

It… was nothing, really. The input report of one of the recent cadets. Joined up two days ago as part of a group from the same Outer Rim world, high aptitude marks in proprioception and the highest reflex scores Vex had ever seen… but it didn’t look like anything was strange about it. Except that Vader was reading every single line of data, examining every photo, like he’d found some kind of hidden source of truth that had been concealed from the entire galaxy until now.

“This cadet,” Vader said, abruptly deigning to take notice of Vex again. “Cadet 421. What is your impression of him?”

“Well – he’s…” Vex began. “That is, Lord Vader… he’s talented? A little quick on some of the answers, I suppose, at least that’s the impression my interviewer had – the man thought that perhaps Cadet 421 was lying about specific details of his past.”

“Which details?” Vader asked.

“Principally, that he had permission to leave his home,” Vex said. “It’s not a major issue. We deal with worse all the time, and with incoming cadets from the Outer Rim-”

“Enough,” Vader interrupted, only it didn’t qualify as interruption when it was Vader. It was simply a declaration that your sentence had reached a conclusion, and he was not going to take any discussion on that point. “You took a DNA sample, I take it?”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Vex confirmed, nodding nervously.

“I will be leaving with it,” he said. “For clarity, that means I will be leaving with the DNA sample. I will also be leaving with all records of the DNA sample; the academy will not be permitted to retain the sample.”

The blank black eyes of his visor stared at Commandant Vex.

“Cadet 421 is under my personal protection,” Vader said, evenly. “If he dies, so do you. If he is severely injured or otherwise harmed in any way for which you or anyone in the Academy can be blamed in any fashion, you die. So will anyone responsible. I recommend putting a note in his file that you will take care of all disciplinary interactions with Cadet 421. You will not appreciate the consequences if you fail in any way. Have I made myself clear?”

In a great many ways, he had not.

But in one specific way…

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Commandant Vex said, swallowing again.

“Good,” Vader said, turning to sweep out of the room.

Then he paused.

“Which cadets did he arrive with?”

“420 and 419,” Vex answered.

“Darklighter…” Vader said, out loud. “Interesting.”

Then, with a swish of his cape, he was gone.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Luke said, with a sigh. “You’d think if the Empire was so good they could just rely on us realizing it, rather than telling us three times a day.”

Biggs winced.

“Shavit, Luke,” he said, much more quietly than his friend. “You know the academy proctors will come down on us like a ton of duracrete if any of us talk like that.”

“They will?” Luke asked. “Really?”

“Yeah, you saw what happened to Yancit, right?” Biggs said. “He got put on hard physical training for three days just for moderately defeatist statements.”

He shook his head. “You’ve got some kind of charmed life, man. I’m just glad to stay close enough that some of it rubs off on me.”

Luke chuckled, a bit nervously.

“If you say so,” he said. “What do you think it is, anyway?”

“Could be your sim scores,” Biggs guessed. “You’re doing even better than me behind the stick, and we’re both way ahead of everyone else… it’d be a weird thing to give you some kind of pass on, though. Like they’d want future ace pilots to be down on the Empire?”

Luke shook his head.

“I mean that… I mean that the Empire should just be obviously better,” he said. “And I mean obviously – it shouldn’t even be a question about whether it’s the best option. You shouldn’t have to tell people. It should just be obvious. Right?”

Biggs looked distinctly worried.

“That would be dangerous enough to say on Tatooine, Luke,” he pointed out. “That’s getting towards the kind of thing that would earn a visit from some kind of enforcer. They’d say the Empire is already that, and if you’re complaining about it, that’s the problem.”

Several months later, Commandant Vex felt like biting through his tongue.

Cadet 421 – cadet Skywalker – and his associated group of friends like Darklighter and Klivian were causing a lot of trouble. It was trouble that was… not the kind of trouble he’d feel comfortable telling a HoloNews channel was trouble, because it was all to do with the cadets earnestly saying that the Empire should be doing things the Empire was supposed to be doing already.

Under normal circumstances, he’d have gone ahead and placed the troublemakers into solitary confinement already – if not disappeared them, remanding them into the custody of Imperial Intelligence or the Internal Security Bureau to never again see the light of day.

The problem was, if that happened, Vex would never see the light of day.

He practically jumped out of his suit as the door to his office swished open.

“Commandant,” Vader said, without preamble. “I am taking several of your cadets for my own personal squadron. Effective immediately.”

“Oh, no,” Vex said, then remembered who he’d said that to. “I mean – just as you say, Lord Vader? Who?”

“Cadet Skywalker,” Vader said. “And anyone who he is closely associated with. Any friends of his. I will look over their scores myself before their transfer is finalized.”

Vex felt like sighing in relief.

He would have been considerably less happy about the situation if he knew that Vader’s reason for the transfer was to get the various cadets out of the academy before Imperial Intelligence or the ISB made the same connection he had.

But he didn’t know that, and what he didn’t know wasn’t going to get him sent to a black site for at least another three days.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

If it's not too much to ask, could you do 3, 8, and 14 from that list? I think they would work together really cute!

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x Bard!Tav

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Astarion, Asexual Angst

Warning: Tav has a shitty ex, allusions to past coerced sex (if unknowing at the time), mild acephobia

Prompt(s): hiding face in neck, shielding the other one with their body, putting an arm around the other’s waist

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: My first thought was pain. Apologies.

It was supposed to be a good night. You sought, you found, you looted which meant a warm place to sleep, plenty of food and celebratory atmosphere. Astarion had even gotten his hands on wine he wouldn’t turn his nose at. Everything was perfect, until a new bard began to play.

The second you heard his voice, your hair stood on end. Hoping against hope it was just your imagination, you turned your attention to the performance. A familiar half-elf took center stage, armed with a lyre and devastating smile; Ronan.

Your whole body froze on the spot as old feelings rushed back to you, a mixture of shame, anxiety and the sensation of being so utterly small.

“My love? Are you alright?”

You blinked, realizing Astarion was standing next to you, concern clear in his eyes.

“Yes,” you said, automatically. “Just, taken by surprise is all.”

He frowned, unconvinced before following your eye line to the stage.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

“I, ah…yes,” you said, your hands starting to shake. “We used to be…together. It was a long time ago.”

There was no point in lying, but Gods why did you have to have this conversation now? And why were you acting like this? It had been years. You had moved on.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Astarion reached out, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

The effect was instantaneous. Whatever tension your body held melted away. The speed of your heart slowed. The scent of rosemary filled your lungs and you remembered where you were, safe and sound.

He pressed a kiss on top of your head, taking a deep breath of his own.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, nothing like that. He didn’t do anything on purpose.”

Astarion’s grip on your tightened ever so slightly. You didn’t need to look up to know he was staring daggers across the room. His hold on you was likely the only thing keeping Ronan’s neck out of his teeth.

“Meaning?”

“He never forced me to do anything,” you assured, trying to remain calm for both your sakes. “I always said yes. Being intimate is what you’re supposed to do when you’re in a caring adult relationship. He wasn’t abusive or cruel, so there was no reason for me to say no…even when I didn’t really want to.”

“That’s reason enough,” Astarion said, firmly.

“I know that now,” you amended. “At the time though, it didn’t feel good enough. We had more than one argument on the subject. Eventually though, I came to the conclusion that, if it weren’t for the feeling of obligation, I never would have said yes in the first place. He wasn’t happy about that and we ended things.”

“Less than amicably I imagine.”

You had to laugh. “Understatement.”

Astarion remained silent for a long moment, his fingers rubbing absent minded circles into your skin.

“Explain to me then, how you can confess all that and still claim he didn’t hurt you.”

Something hard twisted inside your chest, as if he had pressed his finger right into the tear of an old wound. “I wasn’t as if he were holding me at knife point,” you said, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Like I said, I didn’t know saying a blanket no was even an option. Sex is well…expected at a certain point. I can hardly blame him for not questioning the script society had laid out. He just–”

“Made you believe you needed an excuse,” he finished.

Your lips parted, ready to argue, but you found yourself unable to think of anything. Fresh shame rose inside you, but you couldn’t for the life of you name its source. For defending him? For not leaving sooner? For even thinking that your pain was worthy of acknowledgement? All of it swirled together until you became sick to your stomach.

Astarion’s eyes softened, as he pulled you into a proper embrace allowing you to hide your face in his neck. You weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not now.

“I’m sorry,” you said, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t be,” he said, softly. “It’s not a competition, you know.”

Your instinct was to argue. There was still a guilt you felt at having him hold you like this, as if your experience were in any way comparable to his; but, that wasn’t the point. You had been hurt and he wasn’t going to let you pretend you hadn’t. If you didn’t already love him before, this would have sealed it.

You pulled away, feeling your ability to speak come back to you, just in time to catch his expression shift into something hard and dangerous.

You turned in the direction of his gaze, your own stomach turning as you and Ronan made eye contact. He was coming right for you.

Astarion’s whole body went rigid. Instinctively you grabbed his wrist, keeping him from going to the dagger on his belt.

“Don’t,” you hissed.

The clear and present fury in his eyes, cooled at your warning, enough to let you know he wasn’t going to kill Ronan; at least, not right away.

Ronan, somehow, remained oblivious to all of this, his focus seemingly all on you.

“Well, isn’t this a small world?” he said, greeting you with a disarming smile. “You’re looking good. Who's your friend?”

Your lips pressed into a fine line. Either he was an idiot or being purposefully obtuse. Both ground down on your nerves.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said. “Ronan, this is my partner, Astarion. Astarion this is–”

“The ex,” he concluded. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Whatever confident facade Ronan started the conversation with faltered slightly at Astarion’s bold dismissal.

“And really darling, I thought we discussed this,” Astarion continued. “Partner always requires unnecessary explanation. I stand by "lover”, it suits us much better.“

You held back a smile. You had discussed this, at length. Your impression, however, had been that he liked the air of mystery the title "partner” provided. Something about leaving people guessing whether you were partners in business, crime or romance. Apparently, current company required something a bit more obvious.

“Lover?” Ronan questioned, his brow rising. “Changed your mind about a few things then?”

“Not even a little,” you said, coolly. “What do you want?”

He raised his hands up in surrender, his expression a parody of innocence.

“I was simply intending to say hello and catch up. No need to be frigid, but I suppose some things don’t change. Best of luck to you, partner, they’ve got their legs locked tighter than a counting house vault.”

Rage flashed across Astarion’s features as he took a step forward, his body acting as a shield between you and Ronan.

“Would you mind repeating that?” he said, his voice low and full of teeth.

Ronan’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth falling open. You just knew he was about to say something stupid.

“Astarion,” you warned.

He glanced back towards you, his expression intense, but not unreasonable. You knew then, all you had to do was say the word and Ronan would be reduced to nothing but a bag of blood. It was tempting, but not worth it. At least, not worth it while in public with countless eye witnesses.

You shook your head.

He nodded in understanding and turned back to Ronan, his lips parting in an amicable smile.

“It seems you get to survive that comment,” he said, cheerfully. “I suggest you don’t take such mercy for granted. Now, run along.”

Ronan didn’t need telling twice as he shot you one last bewildered look before making his exit.

The second he was out of sight Astarion turned all his focus back to you.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to kill him?” he offered.

You had to smile. “Waste of an evening.”

He considered that, nodding his head from side to side. “I suppose. Still, a little nibble just to scare him wouldn’t hurt anyone. At least, not much.”

“I think you scared him well enough,” you laughed. “Besides, I’m selfish at heart. I want you here, with me, for the rest of the night. No more distractions.”

Astarion grinned, pulling you back into his arms. “If it’s me you want, my love, it’s me you shall have.”

And there he stayed, keeping you safe in the present with the promise of more in the future. The past could not be undone and would no doubt follow you in small and big ways for the rest of your life. The difference was, you had somebody who understood and loved you enough to carry some of the weight. It was more than anyone could hope for and he was yours.

[finisnihil]

One HSR theory I don't really vibe with is that Ruan Mei will become an Aeon and my main reason is that it would antithetical to her character.

Ruan Mei is first and foremost a scientist, she wants to understand the nature of life and she purues this aggressively. Sure, on the surface, it does seem she would become an Aeon. She literally is trying to create an artificial Emanator. However, as a scientist, her entire character is built on change. Life thrives on because species evolve to suit their environment. Science itself it constantly changing as we grow and broaden/sharpen our understanding of things.

Aeons are inherently stagnant beings. Tail confirms as much in the 2.5 event, "Even the Aeons must walk their paths". To be an Aeon is to become the embodiment of a single concept, to pursue a concept so aggressively and to devote so much of yourself to it that it consumes you and removes your humanity to make total room for it. Lan can never kill Yaoshi because Lan's entire ascension can be simplified to wanting to kill Yaoshi. If Lan kills Yaoshi, Lan's path of The Hunt crumbles with the conclusion of that hunt. Nanook is so devoted to destruction they welcome the destruction of themself.

This is why Sunday becoming an Aeon would've been a tragedy, it was a cage he'd never escape from and us defeating him before he reached that point was supposed to parallel the charmony dove of his childhood crashing to its death after being set free.

Ruan Mei couldn't be an Aeon because it would make her a stagnant being and a stagnant being cannot understand life, life changes too much and too rapidly for a stagnant being to understand. This is literally why Yaoshi is the way they are. Ruan Mei would just become Yaoshi.

If any member of the Godslayer Protocol were to become a new Aeon of Life it would be Luocha. This isn't just my Luocha bias talking, the man is possibly an Emanator of Yaoshi.

Emanators, as beings who can access an Aeon's power and be seen as a vessel of an Aeon, are half stagnant. Acheron must remain stagnant because if she doesn't, she'll be devoured by IX. Self-Annihilators aren't in battle to escape IX, they're in a battle to stay as far as possible so IX doesn't consume them, trying not to be dragged even inches closer. Phantylia is a very flexible entity but her stagnation is only being able to invoke destruction from the inside, she always fails in approaches of direct destruction.

If Luocha is an Emanator, part of his stagnation would be his emotion. Mara is based in emotion, with extreme emotion causing major flare ups. Blade and Jingliu manage their emotions and the memories related to control the Mara. Luocha rarely shows extreme emotion, he's perpetually calm and unbothered. The few times we do see extreme emotion, like in his voice line about Yukong, it's abruptly cut off and the tone becomes comical or confusing because he reigns it in so violently.

If anyone were to replace Yaoshi in a bid to reduce their harm, it would have to be Luocha, who harbors a love for life but a hate for Yaoshi's approach to it. Luocha would become stagnant in a way that deviates from Yaoshi's path. He has a ton of Jesus parallels, it would fit if he martyred himself to his god in this way to save those suffering.

Ruan Mei loves life and the study of it too much to ever sacrifice that for Aeonhood. Her Emanators will always be artificial.