#what are your hypothetical theories??

[clarissaweasley-10]

just a hunch but do you think the words in those cards are gonna be "sister?".cuz we have already got the first three words, which spell out s-i-s-t.... next up we are obviously gonna have Jamie ( i think it's confirmed) and probably another Gray card (to complete all the Hawthorne bros) so exactly 2 more cards to come, meaning two more letters.... that is unless this is an anagram and not an actual word...

[ms-spkhd]

Part one

Admittedly, Eddie feels really fucking stupid about it in retrospect. Jeff tells him, in that soft and placating way he tells him anything, that he should stop worrying about his hindsight bias. Yeah, right. Hindsight bias doesn't apply for Steve Harrington dangling himself in front of Eddie's face like the metaphorical carrot on a stick.

It feels like a kick in the head, if anything. One that rattles his brain against his skull like the ricochet of a bullet. Or a maraca with a single, tiny bead in it, if he wants to be more technical about it.

But that's beside the point. What's important is that Steve Harrington is, like, into Eddie--which definitely throws all of his preconceived notions about boy wonder with serial monogamy problems of the heterosexual variety out of the fucking window and past the goalpost--and Eddie's been farting around for the past few months twiddling his fucking thumbs about it.

Well, it's not definitive.

The more that Eddie ruminates on it--and he spends several nights ruminating on it--Jeff's theory that Steve might be tipping the Kinsey scale sounds like...well. A theory.

It's the doubt that comes rearing its head that stops Eddie in his tracks from actually doing anything.

("Wow," Jeff grumbles as they hotbox in the back of Jeff's hand-me-down olive green Pinto a week after their stunning revelation, "trust Virgin Supreme to self-sabotage when someone is begging for you to climb on his lap and--"

"I told you that in confidence," Eddie spits as he digs through the glove compartment for a cassette to replace the oft-abused Kill 'Em All tape that's been blaring on repeat for the past two hours. "You're really mean when you're high, you know that, right?"

Jeff shrugs and takes a hit of the blunt they've been sharing. "I'm releasing my inhibitions. You can't silence me.")

Eddie trusts Steve. Of course he'd lay down his life for the man that dragged him out of hell without a single look behind like a preppy fucking Orpheus. But there's always the lingering thought that, despite everything they've gone through together, Eddie loving Steve would be the tipping point that ruins everything.

He finds himself balancing the line of keeping it in, too scared of the risk his heart will pose on their friendship, and fully committing to the pipe dream of Steve Harrington possibly wanting him back.

And, in Jeff's wise words, Biblically.

"Hey, Bird," Eddie asks Robin one night at the drive-in theater when Steve's out buying their snacks--medium popcorn loaded with cheddar powder and butter for Eddie, since he just popped a Lactaid ten minutes beforehand, and Milk Duds for Robin--"What would you do, hypothetically, if you think someone is really into you--"

"Here we go," Robin sighs, leaning back in the passenger seat. Eddie can't help but feel miffed at her dismissive attitude, but he knows for a fact that she's all ears.

"--And you, hypothetically, really like them back, but you don't know for sure if they actually, hypothetically, want you, or if it's just wishful thinking on your part?"

"Any you mean this totally hypothetically?" Robin says as she turns to face the rear seats where he's sitting and chewing at his cuticles.

"Yeah. This is a theoretical situation that I want your input in. Think of it like a...thought experiment."

Robin nods with narrowed eyes, like she sees through the bullshit with an all-seeing eye. "Right. Thought experiment. Is this hypothetical person a queer or not?"

"It never crossed your mind," Eddie confirms. "She looks like the posterchild of suburban heterosexuality, but she's gotten very invested in your very gay sex life out of the blue recently."

"So which one of you is the man invested or tell me about what eating out is like invested?"

"Tell me what eating out is like invested."

Robin hums in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin like the situation is really vexing her. "That sounds pretty gay, Eddie."

She is right, that does sound pretty gay. But it doesn't help him in his predicament at all, since Steve seemed to back off about the 'so do you play rock paper scissors to find out who gets it?' questions after Eddie frustratedly admitted that 'DnD club president and metalhead virgin at almost twenty' wasn't exactly a hot item in Indianapolis, much less Hawkins.

"Okay, new layer," Eddie says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What if, say, instead of asking you out--which you think is her next move--she starts trying to set you up with a bunch of girls you don't know."

There's muffled chatter from outside the Beemer's windows. Cars rev in the distance as they pull into the lot. Eddie watches Robin in contemplative silence as she thinks through her answer.

"That is difficult," she concedes, and Eddie is feeling more desperate than ever. "Can't imagine that ever happening to me."

Eddie mumbles, "Thank God it's a hypothetical."

"But if you think about it, it's either some misguided attempt to put me out there, or it's a Hail Mary to get me to realize I like her."

"Okay, well. Both options seem pretty hard to differentiate when you don't know what the fucking context behind the action is."

"For what it's worth," Robin says, her expression softening ever-so-slightly, "I think it's the Hail Mary. It's not my place to tell, but you should really give up the idea that it's wishful thinking and give it a shot."

Eddie's a millisecond away from asking, is it that obvious? before there's a sharp knock against his window. He yelps, head whipping around to find Steve with that sly grin slapped on his stupid, handsome face.

Eddie rolls down the window and tries to school his expression. He doesn't need to, really, because Steve shoves the popcorn into his hands and declares, "A medium sized popcorn with cheddar powder and lots of fucking butter for you, my friend. Bone of a teeth."

"Just fucking say it regularly," Robin groans as he yanks open the drivers seat door and tosses her a box of Milk Duds. "I know you can, you jackass!"

Steve laughs, full and hearty, as he turns to look at Eddie in the rear seats. He's like bottled-up sunshine contained into the shape of an American heartthrob. He's like Venus as a boy.

Eddie feels like he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

Another week of ruminating goes by, this time with Robin's words echoing in his head like a reverb pedal, and Eddie keeps that yellow pick near his heart the entire time. It's a real push and pull type situation, he realizes. His heart goes one way, his brain goes the other, which is fucking typical.

He doesn't talk to Jeff about it, because he knows he'll get the same answer, and he doesn't dare talk to Robin about it again. He feels she knows too much, and he has know idea how much she's accidentally telepathically transferred to Steve.

Eddie is about halfway through debating shaving his hair off as a way of regaining control when he finds Steve standing on his doorstep like a fucking Mormon.

"Eddie, man," Steve says with zero preamble, "my cousin's boyfriend has a roommate that I think you'd like."

"Nice weather we're having," Eddie responds blankly. Frankly, with the way things are going, he's getting sick of it.

But he can't help the way that Steve still looks beautiful as his eyebrows bunch together and pretty pink lips pinch into a thin line.

"Come on, man. I think this'll be a good start for you. I think he's into the same bands as you. I think Kathy said he was a Skid Row roadie, or something like that."

"I'm not that big of a Hair Metal guy," Eddie admits, and Steve deflates a bit.

"Well, if it helps, he kind of looks like me.' Jesus Christ. "Devastatingly handsome and all."

Eddie's damn near about to snap like a worn-out Stretch Armstrong being mauled by two pitbulls. He feels like he's about to blow a fucking gasket in front of the guy he's been holding very ill-advised affection towards since his sophomore year of high school. The very same guy who's been trying to set Eddie up with literally everyone with a functioning penis with exception of himself, the only guy Eddie has wanted. Ever.

There's no way Steve is that dense, right?

Eddie knows that the guy's smart, despite everyone telling him otherwise. Steve can definitely do mental math better than Eddie can dream of doing--since Frankie Gershwin passed down the sacred Hellfire DM calculator once Eddie took over Hellfire after he graduated--and he actually graduated on time, unlike yours truly.

But Eddie doesn't fucking get it.

"Steve," Eddie blurts, rather unceremoniously, "what are you doing?"

Steve blinks. His smile wanes dangerously low. "...I'm setting you up with a handsome dude."

"I don't understand why you're doing this though. Are you fucking with me, or something?"

"No, dude, I just..." Steve's expression shifts. His shoulders sag and he rakes a hand through his hair. He looks devastatingly earnest. "I just want to see you happy."

"If you want me to be happy," Eddie snaps, "then just ask me out yourself, since I've fucking been in love with you since April."

Steve freezes, hazelnut eyes like full moons on dinnerplates.

Eddie's hand flexes on the doorknob as he resists the white-hot urge to slam the door shut on Steve's shocked face. Maybe he should take a vacation down south to Mexico. Perhaps change his name and never come back. Hopefully there'll be sweet and earnest boys with olive skin and luscious hair waiting for him on the beaches of Cancun. Holy shit this is a fucking disaster.

"Oh," Steve says.

"Yeah, oh."

"You love me?" Steve asks, eyes sparkling like the rural sky. He draws closer to Eddie, raising a hand that begs to touch him.

"When have I not?" Eddie admits as leans into Steve's touch against his shoulder and laces their fingers together.

I guess I was, uh. I wasn't expecting it." Steve smiles softly and gazes at their intertwined hands.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love me too?"

"Oh God." It's like Eddie's staring straight into the sun, with the ways Steve's smile grows more intense with each second. He wants to have it burned into his retinas. "Of course I do. It feels so stupid how much I'm obsessed with you."

"You know, you have a weird way of putting it, what with all the setting me up with guys I don't know," Eddie chirps. Steve chuffs and shakes his head like a guilty dog.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to want me back. I wasn't sure you'd go for guys like me."

For jocks hangs heavy and silent in the air between them, as if Steve hasn't quite jumped over that hurtle of guilt over the person he was in high school. Sure, he was king of the letter crowd, but he's nothing like the douchebag from '83. Steve would never shove him into a locker or be a general chest-beating moron around Eddie, because he's not a moron. He's sweet and dorky and a little misguided, sometimes, but he has the heart of the size of a mack truck and a kindness to show it.

The thought of Steve talking Eddie's ear off about Sportsketball and the works sends an excited little shiver down his spine.

"I would," Eddie says, completely and utterly honestly. "God, I would for you."

He brings Steve's hand to his lips and smacks a wet kiss over the soft skin. "And the necklace..."

"That was my Hail Mary," Steve admits with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

"I haven't taken it off since you've given it to me."

Steve releases his grip from Eddie's spindly hand and brushes his fingertips against Eddie's collarbone, tugging at the chain of the necklace until it untucks itself from underneath Eddie's shirt. Eddie watches the way that Steve lights up like a fucking electrical surge at the hint of sunshine yellow against his pale skin. It makes Eddie flush a bright red.

And when Steve's palm flattens against Eddie's chest and pushes him inside Eddie's new government loaned trailer, he lets himself be pushed against the wall and kissed.

And kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Sufficed to say, when Eddie wakes up the next morning with Steve drooling against the back of his neck and his warm hand splayed against the skin of his naked chest, Eddie vows to always take Jeff's word for it.

____________

holy shit i was not expecting for part one to get that much fanfare. to be honest, i was totally intending for it to be a one and done to explore eddie and jeff's friendship, and believe me, my heart is so warmed by the reception it got. i recently have gotten myself out of a months long slump and have been swamped with college work, so i apologize for my writing being so few and far between. thank you all and i hope this is the resolution you were waiting so patiently for! :)

@grtwdsmwhr @eyehartart @bananahoneycomb @notasmoothman @colidamae

[goldfades]

crazy cat people───joe burrow⁹

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had always been cat people—dogs were just too high maintenance, too needy. but you were never in a hurry to get cats until one night, joe finds a cat on a roadie and decides to bring her home.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | literally nothing but cat dad joe, and dog slander (JK!! not really, but we all know joe likes cats better). inspired by this clip.

The thing about Joe is that he’s always been a cat person.

You figured it out on your second date when the conversation somehow derailed into a passionate debate about why people automatically assume dogs are superior. It started off as a joke—some exaggerated takes for the sake of banter—but then Joe hit you with a well-structured argument about the independent nature of cats, their low-maintenance lifestyle, and the way they choose their people rather than blindly loving everyone.

“You ever seen a cat follow some random stranger home just ‘cause they waved at it? No. That’s some dog behavior.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No self-respect.”

That was the moment you knew he was the one.

Well, not actually, but it definitely solidified your interest. Three years later, the two of you were still going strong, bound together by an undeniable connection, a deep understanding of each other’s quirks, and a shared stance that dogs—while undeniably adorable—were just a little too much. Too excitable. Too dependent. Too… needy.

“We’d be cat people,” you had declared one night while curled up on the couch together, his arm draped lazily around you. “Like, if we were to get a pet.”

Joe hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, but I feel like we’d be picky about it. Can’t just have any cat. Gotta be one with personality.”

“A little bit of an asshole,” you added.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

Despite countless conversations about what you’d name your hypothetical future cat (the list had ranged from elegant, sophisticated names like Theodora to complete chaos like Little Shit), you never actually got one. Between Joe’s insane schedule and your own busy life, it never felt like the right time. You weren’t the type to impulsively adopt an animal just because it seemed like a cute idea—you took responsibility seriously. Joe was the same way.

But that didn’t stop you from sending him TikToks of cats daily. And it definitely didn’t stop him from pausing the TV anytime a cat appeared in a commercial, just to point and go, “That one’s kinda cool.”

It was just one of those things. A little inside joke, a shared fantasy, a part of your relationship that existed in theory but had yet to materialize.

Until Joe came back from a road trip with something unexpected.

Something small. And furry. And wrapped in the hoodie he had worn on the plane.

A cat.

He met your wide-eyed stare with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, funny story…”

--

It was one of those quiet, in-between days where everything felt a little dull without Joe around. You were used to it by now—his road trips, the stretches of time where you had to keep yourself entertained—but no matter how well you adjusted, the house always felt bigger when he wasn’t in it.

You filled the day the best way you knew how. Running errands, grabbing coffee from the spot down the street, making small talk with the barista who always remembered your order. You spent an unreasonable amount of time in Target, browsing the aisles aimlessly, tossing things into your cart that you definitely didn’t need but convinced yourself were essentials.

A candle? Necessary. A new throw blanket even though you already had five? An investment. A little ceramic dish shaped like a cat’s face? Joe would think it was funny.

By the time you got home, the sun was beginning to set, casting the living room in soft golden light. You went through your usual routine—changing into something comfier, throwing your hair up, and scrolling through your phone while curled up on the couch.

Joe had texted you earlier to say his flight landed on time, but you weren’t sure when he’d actually walk through the door. Traveling always took it out of him, and sometimes he lingered at the facility longer than necessary, just to settle back into the routine of being home.

So when you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking, you perked up, setting your phone down.

Joe was home.

You stood, stretching a little before padding over to greet him—only to immediately freeze in place.

Because Joe Burrow, your extremely predictable, routine-driven boyfriend, was standing in the doorway holding a cat.

Not a cat carrier. Not a box from the pet store with a new cat inside. No, he was physically holding a cat in his arms, cradling it like some kind of newborn wrapped in the oversized hoodie he had worn on the plane.

“Uh…” You blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. “Joe?”

Joe, looking far too casual for someone who had just walked into your shared home with a whole animal, shot you a sheepish grin.

“So, funny story…” He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the tiny creature, who—shockingly—seemed completely unbothered.

You didn’t say anything. You just stared. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Joe cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “I found him at a gas station. In, like… the middle of nowhere.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Yeah. Just… chilling. No collar, no tags, nothing.” He looked down at the cat, then back at you, as if that explanation was supposed to justify the fact that he had apparently just kidnapped an animal. “He walked right up to me. Super chill. Thought, you know, maybe he needed a home.”

“You—” You ran a hand down your face, processing. “So you just… took him?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “No one stopped me.”

You stared at him, then at the cat, then back at him.

The cat—a small, scrappy-looking thing with fluffy black fur and bright green eyes—gave the smallest little stretch before curling back up into the fabric of Joe’s hoodie, as if this was the most natural situation in the world.

A sigh left your lips, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You stole a cat.”

Joe scoffed. “I didn’t steal him. I rescued him.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you check to see if he belonged to anyone?”

Joe paused. “I mean… he was alone.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Well, no one else was around,” Joe defended. “It was late. Freezing cold. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “So your solution was to bring him home?”

Joe, completely unrepentant, grinned. “Yeah. He’s cool, right?”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples before shaking your head.

This man.

This six-foot-four NFL quarterback who spent three years claiming you guys would be extremely selective about what kind of cat you got, had apparently abandoned all standards the second a gas station stray blinked at him.

And worse? You were already kind of attached.

Because the damn cat was still curled up in his hoodie, looking completely at peace, like he had already decided he belonged here.

You sighed, waving them both inside. “I can’t believe you.”

Joe grinned, stepping past you and into the house, clearly taking that as a win.

“Should we name him?” he asked, already making himself comfortable on the couch, cat still in tow.

You groaned.

“Oh my God.”

The first night with Miss Honey felt strangely natural, like she had always belonged here. Apparently, you guys had been misgendering her the whole time.

After the initial shock of Joe casually waltzing into your home with a stray cat, the two of you got to work making sure she was okay. A quick check revealed she was mostly healthy—just a little underweight and carrying a few ticks, which you carefully removed while Joe held her still, murmuring soft reassurances. Despite being a random cat from a gas station, she was surprisingly chill about it, blinking up at you with those big green eyes like she already trusted you.

“This is insane,” you had muttered, brushing your fingers through her soft fur.

Joe, stretched out on the couch beside you, smirked. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You rolled your eyes because, of course, he was right.

That night, the three of you curled up on the couch and put on Matilda, your mutual comfort movie. Joe made popcorn, you pulled out the throw blanket you had impulse-bought earlier that day, and Miss Honey—named after the warm, soft-spoken teacher you both adored—made herself right at home between you, paws tucked neatly beneath her little body.

“She’s purring,” Joe whispered at one point, as if he was afraid saying it too loud would make her stop.

You had just smiled, gently scratching behind her ears. “Yeah. I think she likes us.”

It took less than twenty-four hours for Miss Honey to fully take over the house.

By the next morning, she had already established herself as a permanent fixture, weaving between your legs as you made coffee, hopping onto the couch like she owned the place, and—much to Joe’s delight—curling up on his chest while he lounged around watching film.

“She’s got good taste,” he mused, running a slow hand down her back.

You, sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting through your Target bags from yesterday, shot him a look. “You mean ‘cause she likes you?”

Joe grinned, glancing down at the cat who was currently making biscuits against his hoodie. “I mean, can you blame her?”

You snorted. “Unreal.”

Still, you had to admit—Miss Honey really did love Joe.

At first, you thought it was just convenience. He ran warm, he was still for long periods of time, and his heartbeat was steady enough to lull anyone to sleep. But over the next few days, it became clear that her attachment went deeper than that.

She followed him from room to room, her tiny paws padding against the hardwood whenever he moved. If Joe was at the kitchen counter making breakfast, Miss Honey was right there beside him, tail flicking lazily. If he was tying his shoes by the door, she sat next to him, watching intently like she had somewhere to be, too.

It was ridiculous.

“She’s obsessed with you,” you pointed out one night, arms crossed as you watched her bat playfully at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Joe grinned, scratching under her chin. “Yeah, but don’t be jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest.

Because, truthfully, you loved it.

You loved that she trusted him. Loved that this cat—who had spent who-knows-how-long fending for herself—had chosen you both, nestled herself into the space between you like she had been there forever.

It didn’t take long for Miss Honey to establish a routine.

Every morning, without fail, she woke Joe up first. Not you��Joe.

You learned this the hard way when you woke up one morning to a quiet, disgruntled “Jesus,” followed by the sound of Joe shifting beside you. Blinking blearily, you turned over, only to find Miss Honey perched delicately on his chest, staring down at him like she was assessing whether or not it was time for him to get up.

“Babe,” Joe whispered, voice still thick with sleep. “Your cat is harassing me.”

You stifled a laugh, rubbing your eyes. “She’s your cat too.”

“Yeah, well, tell her to chill.”

Miss Honey, completely ignoring his complaints, took that exact moment to lean down and press her tiny nose against his, like a little wake-up kiss.

You melted on the spot.

Joe groaned, but even half-asleep, he couldn’t hide his smile.

From then on, it became a thing. Every morning, she woke Joe up first, then trotted to the kitchen like a little queen expecting breakfast. She had a schedule, and she stuck to it.

By the end of the second week, she had also taken over bedtime.

One night, you were finishing up in the bathroom when Joe called out from the bedroom, amusement lacing his voice.

“You’re getting replaced.”

You stepped into the room, brows furrowed. “What?”

Joe tilted his head toward the bed, where Miss Honey was curled up on his pillow, perfectly nestled into the space where your head usually went.

You crossed your arms. “Unreal.”

Joe smirked, patting the mattress beside him. “Sorry, babe. She called dibs.”

You shook your head, sliding into bed anyway, and—because Miss Honey was the most spoiled creature on the planet—you let her stay.

She purred contently between you, tucked snugly between your bodies, and Joe reached out, running a slow hand down her back before catching your gaze.

“I think she was meant to be ours,” he murmured, voice soft in the dark.

Your heart swelled.

Because he was right.

At first, Miss Honey had been a little more drawn to Joe. It wasn’t anything personal—she liked you just fine—but there was something about him that had her stuck to him like glue. Maybe it was his warmth, or the steady way he carried himself, or the fact that he had been the one to scoop her up from the cold and bring her home.

But after a couple of weeks, things started shifting.

It wasn’t sudden. There was no grand moment of realization where she decided, Actually, I love you too. It was slower than that—small moments that gradually built into something solid, something certain.

It was the way she started lingering in the kitchen while you made breakfast, winding around your ankles, soft fur brushing against your bare legs as she meowed up at you like she was part of the conversation.

It was how she started climbing onto your lap while you were reading, kneading her tiny paws into your stomach before curling up and purring herself to sleep, like you were something safe.

It was how she started following you into the bathroom whenever you did your skincare at night, sitting neatly by the sink and watching you with lazy, half-lidded eyes, as if she was deeply invested in your routine.

She was still Joe’s shadow, but you had become hers.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“She likes you now,” Joe teased one night, watching as Miss Honey happily stretched out on your chest, perfectly content.

You smirked, scratching under her chin. “She always liked me.”

“Nah,” he mused, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “She tolerated you. Big difference.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you?”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Hey, it’s a compliment. You won her over.”

And you had.

Miss Honey wasn’t just a cat anymore. She was your cat. An irreplaceable little presence in the house.

Joe, naturally, leaned into it full force.

It started with the essentials.

A bed. A few toys. Some high-quality cat food that Joe meticulously researched before purchasing. He wasn’t about to give her just anything—he wanted the best, reading reviews like he was about to draft a new teammate.

You had laughed the first time you caught him looking up “best cat food brands for digestion” on his phone.

“Joe, she was literally eating bugs two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and now she’s got standards,” he shot back, tapping on a link. “This one’s got good ingredients.”

And that was just the beginning.

Before long, Joe was going all out—buying her the best litter (something natural and odor-free, because only the best for our girl), a selection of premium treats (“That Temptations crap is all filler,” he had said, with so much conviction you almost cried laughing), and multiple collars in different colors and patterns.

One morning, you caught him kneeling by the front door, carefully adjusting the tiny blue velvet collar around Miss Honey’s neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, leaning against the doorway, watching as he straightened the little golden name tag.

Joe glanced up, grinning. “She looks good though, right?”

You had to admit—she did.

But the real turning point? The sweaters.

That was unexpected.

It had started as a joke—one lazy evening, the two of you scrolling through Etsy, looking at cat accessories for fun.

“Wouldn’t she look cute in this?” you had said, showing Joe a tiny, knitted sweater in a soft cream color.

Joe snorted. “No way she’d wear that.”

Turns out, she would. And she’d like it.

The first time you slipped a tiny sweater over her head, Miss Honey barely reacted—just gave a big stretch, turned in a circle, and promptly plopped down on Joe’s lap like nothing was different.

Joe, stunned, just blinked.

“You’re telling me she’s okay with this?”

“She’s thriving,” you corrected, grinning.

And from that moment on, Joe took it as a personal mission to build her wardrobe.

Over the next week, more sweaters arrived in the mail—different colors, different materials, even a tiny hoodie with ears.

“This is getting out of hand,” you commented as Joe unboxed yet another package.

He held up a tiny lavender sweater, inspecting the material. “It’s for layering.”

You stared at him. “Joe, she’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked. “A stylish one.”

Miss Honey, stretched out on the couch, gave a slow blink, completely unbothered by the chaos she had brought into your lives.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Three months in, and neither of you could remember what life was like before Miss Honey.

It wasn’t just that she had settled into your home—she had settled into you, woven herself into the rhythm of your days so seamlessly that the idea of waking up without her little body curled between you or coming home to a silent house felt… wrong.

Mornings were different now.

Gone were the days of lazy, drawn-out wake-ups—Miss Honey made sure of that. If Joe’s alarm didn’t get him up, her tiny little paws kneading into his chest certainly did. And if he dared try to roll over and ignore her? She’d take matters into her own hands.

Or, more accurately, her own whiskers.

One morning, you caught her using her best tactic yet—pressing her nose right against Joe’s, whiskers tickling his face until he groaned and finally peeled one eye open.

“You are the most spoiled creature on the planet,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Miss Honey responded by immediately rubbing her face against his chin, purring like a little engine.

Joe exhaled a laugh, eyes still heavy as he let his fingers trail through her fur. “Unreal.”

Meanwhile, your mornings had changed in a different way.

You used to make coffee alone, sipping it in peaceful solitude before starting your day. Now? You had company.

Miss Honey had claimed her spot on the counter—perched delicately by the coffee machine, watching your every move like an executive overseeing production.

“Supervising?” you’d ask her, sprinkling cinnamon into your cup.

She’d blink, tail flicking lazily.

Joe, walking into the kitchen at just the right moment, would snort. “She’s your little manager.”

And it was true—Miss Honey was involved in everything.

She had a routine. A life. A set of unspoken rules that ran the house.

If one of you was on the couch? She was there too, curled up in the crook of your leg or sprawled across Joe’s chest. If you were cooking? She was on the floor, watching you with silent judgment, like a tiny food critic.

If Joe was watching game film, she’d climb onto his lap and stare at the screen, like she had some real thoughts about the Bengals' offense.

She had her little preferences, too. She didn’t care for loud noises but loved when Joe played music on his speakers. She always sat with you while you read, always meowed when she wanted attention, and—for some reason—seemed particularly obsessed with Joe’s socks.

“She’s weird,” Joe said one night, watching as she enthusiastically dragged one of his socks across the living room like it was her prized possession.

“You brought home a gas station cat,” you reminded him. “What did you expect?”

Joe exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he reached down to scratch behind her ears. “She’s perfect.”

And she was.

She had changed things in the smallest, most meaningful ways.

The house didn’t feel empty when Joe was away anymore—not when you had her little paws padding around, her soft purrs filling the silence. Even on the loneliest days, she made it better, curling into you like she just knew.

And Joe—he had changed, too.

If he had been a cat person before, he was fully in his Cat Dad era now.

It had started subtly. The good food, the high-quality litter, the little sweaters he kept ordering. But at some point, it escalated.

Joe started carrying her around the house, tucking her into his hoodie when he was watching film, talking to her like she was an actual human being.

“Alright, Miss Honey,” he said one afternoon, kneeling in front of her as she lounged lazily on her little cat bed. “We got options. You wanna wear the blue sweater or the gray one today?”

You, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, stared at him. “Joe.”

He looked up, completely unashamed. “She likes choices.”

“She’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked, holding up the tiny sweaters. “A stylish one.”

And then there was the Ja’Marr conversation.

One night, after practice, Ja’Marr had made a casual joke—something about how “one cat turns into five real quick,” laughing at the idea of Joe slowly becoming that guy.

You had laughed too, shaking your head. “No way. We’re a one-cat household.”

Joe had nodded in agreement, completely confident. “Yeah, no shot.”

But then… a week later, he changed his tune.

You were curled up together on the couch, Miss Honey stretched between you, when Joe sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers down her back.

“She’s kinda lonely,” he mused.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe glanced over, tilting his head toward Miss Honey, who was currently kneading her little paws into his thigh. “I mean, she’s got us, but, like… I bet she’d like a friend.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes. “Joe.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, tone easy, like he wasn’t suggesting something huge. “She’s got so much energy. I think she’d like a buddy.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Joe grinned. “Just think about it.”

And just like that, the conversation had started. And you had been so firm about it. Absolutely not. No second cat.

Miss Honey was thriving—happy, healthy, and fully attached to both of you. The idea of bringing another cat into the house felt risky. What if she didn’t like it? What if she got territorial? What if she felt betrayed?

Joe, of course, had started planting the idea like a damn politician.

“I just think she gets bored sometimes,” he would say casually while Miss Honey chased her own tail in the living room.

“She’s got a lot of love to give,” he mused one night, watching her rub up against every single one of your ankles like she was making the rounds.

“She needs a little sidekick,” he argued as she sprawled out dramatically on the kitchen floor, meowing at nothing in particular.

You shot him down every time.

Until, of course, fate decided to step in.

It was a random Saturday, and you and Joe were out running errands—nothing special, just a casual grocery run. You had been debating what kind of bread to get (Joe insisted the multigrain one tasted just as good as white bread, which was a blatant lie), when something caught his eye.

“Babe,” Joe said, suddenly abandoning the cart and heading toward the entrance. “Look.”

You turned, frowning as you followed his gaze.

Right outside the store, under a big white tent, was a cat rescue group—volunteers standing beside crates filled with tiny, curious faces.

A pet adoption event.

Joe immediately turned to you, eyes lighting up. “This is a sign.”

“No, it’s not,” you argued, grabbing the cart. “It’s just Saturday.”

“It’s a sign.”

You groaned as he practically dragged you toward the tent, already grinning like he had just won the lottery.

And then you saw them.

The kittens.

Tiny, wiggly little things with big eyes and oversized paws, rolling around in their blankets or climbing the sides of their enclosures with impressive determination.

You told yourself you were just looking.

Joe was crouched down almost immediately, eyes scanning the different crates as the volunteers smiled at him.

“You guys looking to adopt?” one of them asked.

Joe grinned. “Maybe.”

You shot him a glare. “We are not looking to—”

And then you saw her.

A tiny gray tabby, tucked in the corner of her crate, nibbling sleepily at her own paw. Big round eyes, the softest little face, and an expression that screamed, Yeah, I know I’m cute.

You inhaled sharply.

“Oh no,” Joe murmured, catching the look on your face.

You glanced at him, then back at the kitten.

“… I wanna hold her.”

Joe grinned. “Knew it.”

The second the volunteer placed the kitten in your hands, you were done for. She was so small, her little body barely bigger than your palm. She meowed—tiny and sweet—before immediately nuzzling into the crook of your neck, purring like she had just found home.

Joe, watching intently, exhaled a laugh. “Oh yeah. We’re done for.”

That night, you walked into your house as a two-cat household.

Miss Honey was not immediately sold.

The introduction process was slow—gentle, cautious. You followed all the steps, kept them separated at first, let them get used to each other’s scent. But, much to your surprise, Miss Honey didn’t react with any real aggression.

Mostly? She just seemed deeply confused.

The first time she saw the kitten, she just stared, tail flicking, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Joe, crouched beside her, grinned. “You got a little sister, Honey.”

Miss Honey turned her head, fixing him with a look.

You laughed. “I don’t think she asked for one.”

Still, within a few days, things started shifting.

The kitten—who you decided to name Fig—was relentless in her pursuit of Miss Honey’s love.

She followed her everywhere, mimicked her every move, and—on more than one occasion—attempted to curl up against her, only to be met with a single, unimpressed flick of the tail.

But then, one morning, you woke up to find them curled up together on the couch—Miss Honey’s paw resting protectively over Fig’s tiny little body.

Joe, standing beside you, smirked. “Told you she needed a buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt full.

And that’s how you and Joe became crazy cat people.

[maopll]

"Enough with the what would you do if I was a worm let's talk about what would I do if YOU were a worm !"

You slammed your desk on the counter looking at your boyfriend with eyes that show dedication and spirit.

"Why would I ever turn into a worm?" he gives you a puzzled look.

"No we are just assuming like hypothetically ! So listen with your eyes and ears !" you run across the counter and whip a chair and sit beside him as if you were about to piece quantum theory.

"I'm listening" he crosses his arms and rests his chin on them.

"So first of all I have a criteria... I'd throw you or feed you to the chickens near the market if you were ugly"

He looks at you with disbelief in his eyes "you'd throw out your boyfriend of so many years?..."

You then quickly say to lighten up his mood, "But! I probably won't throw you once I know you are my boyfriend !"

You stand up and move over to him and wrap one hand around his neck, while the other draws an impression of something on the air.

"I'll bring a big terrarium for you! I'd fill that with your favourite plants, you favourite log of wood ! and even feed you premium worm feed as well!" Your eyes sparkled like they had stars in them.

"But..." your shoulders slump and your voice softens," I wouldn't like it if you become a worm... that means that I would get neither a fulfilling kiss or an affectionate cuddle from you"

He looks at you with wide eyes. That was the thing that he least expected to hear from you but a part of him also makes him feel like it was to be expected because... that's just how you are.

"So don't turn into a worm— mmmhph ???" Before you could even finish your sentence, he kissed you on the lips while pouring all his love, he tried to hide his face but the red hue on his cheeks were a dead giveaway to how much he was blushing.

"Idiot... I'll never turn into a worm..."

— NEUVILETTE, wriothesley, WANDERER, ayato, ALHAITHAM, zhongli, DILUC, XIAO, welt, DAN HENG, blade, DR RATIO, luocha, jing yuan, LUCIFER, SATAN, leona, VIL, MALLEUS, Jack, RIDDLE, AZUL

tagging: @fictoculus @poison-demon @mitsvriii @pianopuppygirl @sleepy-waffle

[milkbobatyun]

an eye for an eye

pairing: jiaoqiu x gn!reader

genre: angst

summary: the two of you were always bitter enemies, ever since you were young. but feelings change over time, and you made the greatest sacrifice because of it.

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i have finally gotten around to editing and now posting the pt 2 of save your tears!! to the people who were requesting this, i hope this is up to your expectations ૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა

you remembered now.

your rivalry started when the two of you were fresh-faced students, attending the ranzhi school in hopes of becoming the top healer.

jiaoqiu and you had opposing views, often clashing in heated debates in class. the two of you were like fire and water, fighting tooth and nail to rip the position of no. 1 on the exam billboard from each other. every exam, the title of no. 1 bounced between the two of you.

you detested jiaoqiu’s sly smirk, his teasing voice every time he scored higher or was praised by the teacher. every self-satisfied smile made your fists clench, nails digging into your skin. his proud mannerisms made you want to both punch his face in and bash your head against a wall.

yet what you hated the most was how his sly remarks made your heart dance in its cage, tomato red saturating the tips of your ears when you made eye contact.

jiaoqiu hated your quiet presence, how his eyes would search for you every time he entered a room. your arrogant presence ruffled his fur. your quiet, studious presence made his fur prickle with irritation. whenever the teacher affirmed your comment and you sent an arrogant smirk in his direction, jiaoqiu wanted to claw his own eyes out.

what jiaoqiu despised the most was how his heart would speed up every time he saw you, ears pricking up with interest when he heard your voice.

every class was a battle, the other students only watching in silent mortification as you and jiaoqiu battled with medical terms and theories, words clashing like swords, relentless and unstoppable, each seeking to deliver the final blow.

the climax of your rivalry was during a class discussion, when the teacher posed the hypothetical question–what was the best treatment for someone who had drunk tumbleweed poison?

a hand shot up in the air.

“an eye for an eye. find a willing participant to donate their eyes.” you spoke, confidence and certainty clear in your voice.

the teacher’s remark is cut off by a hand slamming into the table.

“ridiculous. who has ever heard of such a thing?” jiaoqiu jumped up, fur bristling in every direction, ears flattened in anger and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “who would ever want to sacrifice their own sight for someone else? i say that medicine to slow down the poison and its effects is the best method, there is no known cure for tumbleweed poisoning.”

as expected, the debate between the two of you lasts long, the sun’s pale yellow rays deepen into a warm golden, sun sliding further down the horizon, before the bell tinkles in the distance, signifying the end of the class.

it was ironic, that was the last debate that you had with jiaoqiu before your graduation. after, you both went your separate ways. sometimes, you found yourself missing the cunning foxian, with his smiling eyes that held something more.

jiaoqiu often found himself wondering what you were up to, his thoughts drifting to you when he drank a tea you had once mentioned to your friends. he missed your arrogant presence, with the quiet studious nature drawing all his attention every time he entered a room. 

he habitually visited your herb store, tail and ears twitching with amusement as he pushed your buttons. he could see the vein throbbing in your neck, how you would clench your hands on the tabletop, a forced polite smile carved onto your face. a similarly sly grin was reflected on jiaoqiu’s.

when the war broke out, you sometimes wondered if jiaoqiu would be safe, after all, he was the healer for the merlin’s claw, the frontlines was his second home.

while he treated feixiao, jiaoqiu often found his thoughts wandering to you. would you have used a different herb to treat her? or would you have used a completely different method? he found himself almost missing the heated debates and the thrill it gave him, his heart beating faster, tail swishing in excitement.

the sound of the door opening awakens jiaoqiu.

sunlight warmed his body, as he lay in his bed, resting, according to the doctor’s orders.

though his sight had been stolen by the poison, he knows where everything is, the memories and layout etched into his brain.

“jiaoqiu,” feixiao called from the doorway. the mentioned foxian’s ears swivel atop his head, turning his face in the direction he hoped feixiao was standing. “i’ve brought someone to help you regain your sight. we’ll come in now.”

two sets of footsteps pattered across the wooden floors, before stopping at the side of the bed.

“so,” jiaoqiu begins. “who is this mysterious doctor who can cure me?”

“we started on the wrong foot before, jiaoqiu,” your voice floated through the air. “but i believe i can heal you.” you spoke quietly, voice wavering with nervousness.

though jiaoqiu couldn’t see, your eyes were flitting around the room, desperate to focus on anything but the foxian in front of you. your fingers were busy, picking at the bandage wrapped around your hand, from when the shard of porcelain sliced into your hand.

despite his sight being taken away, jiaoqiu’s ears could still recognise the voice of his rival during his student days and the person who he had rudely thrown the teacup at. his body stiffened, tail swishing in agitation and anxiety.

he suddenly recalled that he never apologised for his previous outburst. guilt flashed across his face, though he was quick to quash it down. his eyebrows furrowed, fists gripping the blanket underneath his hand.

jiaoqiu could imagine you, standing next to feixiao, proud and arrogant, like how you were in your youth. now, you had more reason to gloat. you had the upper hand in this moment.

the silence fell heavily between the three of you, feixiao’s brows knitted together, her sharp eyes noticed how you silently winced next to her, face turning more guilty than you were before you walked closer to jiaoqiu.

“feixiao, if you’ve come to taunt me with false hope, bringing along the person i least want to see, you can leave.” jiaoqiu’s voice cuts through the silence, definate in his decision.

you take a hesitant step forwards, stretching out a hand, worry and despair that jiaoqiu can’t see reflecting all on your face.

“stay away from me.” jiaoqiu growls, baring his teeth in your direction. “have you come to mock me again? to rub it in my face that i can’t be the top healer anymore?” spite and hate drip from his voice, like poison.

no, that's not what he meant. he was supposed to apologise, but this, sharp words that only served to harm people, came more naturally, especially with you.

you flinch, snatching your hand back, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. your hands tightened its grasp on your medicine box, knuckles turning white.

feixiao sighed, exasperated at the childish nature of her healer.

“jiaoqiu,” she spoke firmly. “if you want to be able to heal me in the future, then you need your sight back. i know you had history with [name], in fact, i heard about what happened last time, but they’re the only one right now who has a shred of hope in saving your sight.”

hearing feixiao’s reasoning, the fight left jiaoqiu’s body like a deflating balloon.

with an annoyed exhalation, jiaoqiu could only obediently nod his head in agreement.

settling your medicine box onto the mahogany bedside table, you began unpacking your instruments, while explaining the procedure to jiaoqiu and feixiao.

“i’m sure you remember, jiaoqiu, the proposed theory i had about how to treat tumbleweed poison.”

“an eye for an eye.” jiaoqiu echoed, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he remembered the memory.

“indeed.” you affirmed, nodding your head. 

with a shaky breath in, you picked up the right instruments, beginning the procedure.

when jiaoqiu awoke, the weak morning rays filtered through the window, shining upon his blankets. jiaoqiu marvelled at the success of your operation, drinking in the sights of his familiar abode. he glanced around. the traces of feixiao’s presence were clear, an empty chair pulled up beside his bed, her coat thrown over a chair and her weapon propped up against the wall.

slipping out of bed, jiaoqiu exited his bedroom, expecting to see you at any moment, ready to gloat to him about your genius and how you were better than him in medicinal skill.

yet the house was oddly silent, no life present, the only sound the soft patter of his slippered feet hitting the wooden floor.

confused on where the guests were, he made his way outside, the spray of the sea air sprinkling against his skin.

he saw the back of your figure, whispering something close to feixiao’s ear. the roar of the waves drowned out your voices, not even jiaoqiu’s sensitive ears could pick up what you were muttering.

feixiao noticed jiaoqiu’s lurking presence, glancing at him with surprise and a hint of worry in her eyes. with a curt final message, feixiao left the two of you, throwing a departing glare of warning at jiaoqiu.

pausing by jiaoqiu’s shoulder, feixiao muttered to him a word of warning.

“be mindful of what you say to [name] and be gentle with your words.” feixiao hissed.

jiaoqiu dismissed her words with a shrug of his shoulders, annoyance present on his face. he was the patient, so why was feixiao being so nice to the healer?

with purpose in his step, jiaoqiu stalked towards you.

the tap tap of footsteps drawing closer behind you alerted you to a presence behind you, a simple deduction telling you it was most likely jiaoqiu.

“so,” jiaoqiu’s silky tone broke through the din. “how do you feel, o mighty healer?”

his voice dropped with mockery, a sly smile cruelly curving his mouth.

“i feel the same.” your curt voice was indifferent, not turning to look at jiaoqiu.

his fur bristled in annoyance. the fight in your voice, always present when you talked to him, was gone and it unnerved him.

“which unfortunate individual did you scam, to trade their eyesight for mine?” jiaoqiu pressed on, hoping for some sort of reaction from you. anger, glee, smugness, it mattered not to him, your lack of emotion put him on edge.

silence.

“i’m talking to you.” jiaoqiu growled. “at least look at me.”

only the splash waves answered his question.

jiaoqiu marched towards you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder and turning you around to face him.

almost in slow motion, you turned, the white bandages falling away from your face.

the howl of the wind fell silent, the whole world holding its breath. jiaoqiu’s breath caught in his throat, his thoughts scattering like startled birds, words faltering on his tongue. a numbing shock swept over him, rendering him frozen.

jiaoqiu’s sharp eyes met yours. they were once so full of life and fire, now clouded over with milky white, sight stolen. his heart dropped in his chest, all the mockery and sarcasm ripped out of him.

the final remanants of arrogance melted from his tone, leaving only disbelief and pity. his ears flattened against his head, as he stared at the bandages.

“you–” jiaoqiu’s voice cracked. “why?” he breathed. “why give your eyes away? to me, of all people?”

your lips twisted into a wry smile. “love makes people do stupid things, jiaoqiu.” you whispered, sadness saturating your voice. where tears used to form, beads of scarlet began to pool, threatening to spill over.

jiaoqiu’s sharp tongue, always ready to retort, was rendered useless, staring helplessly at the person in front of him, pale eyes gazing somewhere beyond him, a once fierce rival, reduced to a broken and selfless person. 

jiaoqiu’s throat tightened, reaching out his hand, hovering near your shoulder. an overwhelming sorrow ate away in his chest, guilt gnawing at his insides.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice flooding with confusion and hurt.

you laughed, a hollow sound, laced with upset. “you wouldn’t have let me, if you had known.”

jiaoqiu’s ears flattened in shame, his lips pressed into a thin line. he knew, he would’ve argued with you, hell, even fought with you if he could see. but now, it was too late.

“you know, i never really hated you,” your voice broke through the silence, bloody tears trailing down your cheeks. “no, wait, i did, at the start, i really did hate you, with a burning passion.” you let out another sorrowful laugh. “but somewhere along the line, the hate, it turned to love.”

jiaoqiu’s breath caught, all those years of rivalry, it was something more, something simmering beneath the surface, just out of reach, something neither of you wanted to admit.

he wanted to say something, do anything, reach out and wipe your tears, perhaps, but his words and his body weren’t listening, he was frozen. his hand still suspended in mid-air. the weight of everything left unsaid hung between the two of you.

“i’m sorry,” he finally exhaled, voice raw with emotion, regret, barely audible in the wind. “maybe one day, if you wish, no, if you could ever forgive me, would you still give me a chance?”

deep down, he knew, it would be a long time, but he would wait for you, no matter how long.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[twstwizard]

Hellooo :3c I hope you are doing alright 🌸

I want to make a request, i got a silly idea and i hope you dont mind!

If posible, i would like to request for Riddle, Carter, Azul and Lilia and how they would react when while they were hanging out with their crush (or s/o, however you prefer) reader out of nowhere tells them that last night they had a dream where both were getting married, but like reader is telling them cuz the dreams was so wild, like in the old princess Disney movies everything was so animated, there were floating things everywhere and it was full of color and everyone was dancing (even the furniture)

The wedding bells

Type: Headcanons, SFW, Fluff, Romantic

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts; Cater Diamond; Azul Ashengrotto; Lilia Vanrouge; GN!Reader

AN: I might've gone a bit too sappy, let me know what you think

Riddle Rosehearts

-Riddle is slightly baffled, more so by the thought of you dreaming of a wedding with him as the groom, not how wierd it was. The latter at least makes sense, dreams are intended to be strange, like that one time he dreamt about being a tart. Nonetheless he's touched.

- The young man would be flustered, yet curious. Inanimate objects becoming... Animate? In tales about Queen of Hearts something similar acured on daily basis. Perhaps if the two of you do get married maybe he should try and arrange for the whole ordeal to be heavily based off of one of the Sevens? But that's jumping too fast and too far into the future.

- His mind wonders as you tell and more about your dream, as his face grows redder and redder with blush as you describe any detail involving him as the groom. He's both touched and embarrassed to an extent, yet he's happy that at least in your dream he stayed a proper gentleman.

- Riddle cannot get an image of you by the altar from his head for some time, both of you dressed for the ceremony, staring lovingly into each other's eyes... As he mentally scolds himself for daydreaming amids the day, he can't help but hope that one day that little dream of yours becomes reality for both of you.

Cater Diamond

- Oh?! Do tell him every little detail! Cater is not only happy that he was in your dream, but also was the groom? Oh did the two of you kiss? Did he feed you the cake, did you two dance with the furniture? The young man listens to your dream, exited expression on his face.

- It may be a dream, but now it's a shared dream between the two of you. Cater knows that you might be jumping over your heads with the hypothetical dream wedding of yours, but he doesn't care, he's already invested, trying to prey out as much detail as possible simply to try and envision the whole thing. He might even pull out some kind of Piccrew for rooms and try to recreate the place for giggles with you.

- Cater is also encouraging of your ideas or how dream might've ended or what happened in parts you don't remember no matter how silly or how little they make sense, so long as they make sense to you. He might even throw in his own theories or add even more redicules ideas, to make your dream seem even more whimsical.

- While Cater is obviously joking around, he does find the thought of marrying you a pleasant one. He's jealous even, the man wishes he saw a wedding with you in his dream, but then again, reality is just as pleasant if not better.

Azul Ashengrotto

- What. The man is flattered that he was in your dream, but mainly, what? Azul is a very analytic person in every aspect of his life, even if such aspect involves his significant other's dreams. Que his search history later on containing "Dreams of wedding meaning?"

- He might be a little red in a face or loss at words, but please don't stop, tell him all, the man lives for information. While he won't encourage such silly fantasies, he will entertain a thought of marriage to you. A lot... Maybe dancing and singing furniture is surface dwellers costume? He'll have to research.

-Ashengrotto will now daydream from time to time of a wedding, a life of being married to you, after the two of you graduate. Would the you stay on land? Perhaps you'd like to move to the Coral Sea with him, take up family business even? He might pretend that such silly fantasies don't affect him, but even capatlists aren't immune to love.

- Azul harbors such hopes and dreams, redoubling in his work. If he will be married to you he'll have to outdo your dream, which will involve outdoing alive furniture. The merman is ready for the challenge as long as it involves giving you everything, beyond your dreams.

Lilia Vanrouge

- You don't say... Alive furniture? Was it awkward to use it? Were chairs rioting if you sat in them? Was food also alive? Did he cook it? Then perhaps it was alive if that was the case. Lilia finds anything you say entertaining, your dreams are con exception. The man saw many things in his life, yet others visions during slumber were yet to be places he visits often.

- Before you know it Lilia is already imagining and building theories as to how it would be to live in your dream after that wedding if everything followed the same rules. Must be awkward taking a shower or using a toilet.

- The man wholeheartedly believes it tonbe a sign from someone above. While Vanrouge won't drop down on one knee right that instant, he will remember everything. The suite he was wearing, the cake the two of you ate, how many guests were there etc.

-Lilia is not young, so naturally thoughts of marriage crossed his mind more then once, let alone with his darling. While to you were retelling your silly dream, Vanrouge was imagining the real thing. He can't help it, life with you already feels like a dream come true, what's a wedding?

[alexanderwales]

We were driving down the highway, and Derrick was going exactly the speed limit, like a psychopath.

He was aghast. "You wouldn't let me use your fuckbot?"

"It would be weird," I replied. "You're saying, in the hypothetical world where fuckbots existed, that you would be fine with me saying 'hey, I'm super horny, can I come pick up your fuckbot for the evening?'"

"Hell yeah dude," said Derrick.

"We're talking something that can make a reasonable pass at acting human, who looks human," I said. "That's what we're talking about right now."

"Yeah," said Derrick. "I mean, the kind of thing that realistically would end up being your maid, your chef, all that kind of thing, because if it can carry on a conversation it can probably do your laundry and scrub your tub and whatever."

"If, hypothetically, such a thing existed," I said. "I wouldn't call it a fuckbot, I would call it a domestic robot or something. Even if, for whatever reason, such an expensive labor saving device also had parts and protocols for having sex with it."

"And you wouldn't let me use it," said Derrick. "Not even just to try it out. Like if I was interested in buying one of my own."

"I mean," I said. "No, because you could just ask me what it was like, and I could tell you."

"That's bad market research, dude," said Derrick.

"Look, I'm not letting you have sex with my sexbot," I said. "That's a line that I'm not crossing, in the hypothetical world where domestic servant robots with like personalities and stuff are also ready and willing to have sex with you."

"Is it a hygiene thing?" asked Derrick. "Because I'm imagining like, a little sleeve thing that they could pull out and clean. And it's not like contagion theory is real, that's like, essentialism."

"What?" I asked. "Contagions are definitely real."

"No, I mean ... like this thing where if a knife has touched meat even just one time, it's forever a meat knife unless you do a ritual to turn it back into a dairy knife."

"What?" I asked again.

Derrick was still driving the speed limit. People were going around us, and some of them were honking. He was easily ten miles an hour slower than any of the surrounding traffic.

"The Jewish thing, with the knives," said Derrick. "You touch a knife to meat even once, and then it's a meat knife, and it doesn't matter if you put it in a like, immersion steamer or something."

"This is about keeping kosher?" I asked. "You're talking about whether a sexbot is kosher?"

"I'm saying that there's this idea, right, that if I put my dick inside your sexbot, that sexbot is forever tainted, and it doesn't matter if there's a sleeve that can be sterilized, or whatever, it's just this idea that the act independent of physical reality is ... a contagion, I guess."

"Surely there's a way of making a knife kosher again," I said. "I mean, surely, if you accidentally touch a knife to a piece of meat it's not a meat knife forever, surely you don't throw your favorite knife out because it's ritually unclean."

"I don't know man," said Derrick. "I'm just gesturing at the idea, you know?"

"I mean, there's probably some ritual cleaning or something," I said. "Can I look this up?"

"No," said Derrick. "I'm driving, I need someone to talk to, if I let you look it up you're going to have your nose in the phone for the next half hour, easily."

"Fine," I replied. "Anyway, I get the idea, and it's not that I think it's like ... magic or something, like you using it would metaphysically alter the sexbot. It's more like ... in my mind, it would be my girlfriend, right? Or like a girlfriend replacement. If you can't find a girlfriend, store bought is fine, that kind of thing."

"Interesting," said Derrick. "I was thinking of it as a sort of ... maid, I guess. And if you hired a maid, and she said to you 'hey, I'm super horny basically all the time, so if after I'm done cleaning, or if I'm in the middle of cleaning, and you want to have a go, I am basically always up for it, then ... I mean, you might, right? And you wouldn't be surprised if she was having sex with other people. And if you explained this to me, and I said 'hey, can I get her number', you'd give me her number, right?" He glanced over at me. "Right?"

"I guess in that case, she would have agency," I said. "And it wouldn't be the same. Because if I hired a domestic servant robot, I would be extremely surprised to find out she'd been having sex with other people, like ... when I was away ... or something."

"But you'd give me her number, right?" asked Derrick.

"In this scenario, is this maid ... a sex worker?" I asked. "Like, is the understanding that I'm paying her for cleaning the house and sexual availability?"

"Nah, I don't know dude," said Derrick. "You know, when you think about it, a combination domestic servant and fuckbot is kind of fucked up. Like, misogynistic."

"Does it get less fucked up if it's a guy?" I asked.

"Honestly, yeah," said Derrick. "That's practically progressive."

"I mean, it's sort of inherent to the concept of a sexbot," I said. "I don't know how you do one of those that's immune from criticism. And calling it a fuckbot doesn't help. I mean, it's a facsimile of a woman, whose only purpose is doing domestic labor and having sex."

"And there's this power dynamic thing," said Derrick. "Like, you own her, right? And you tell her whether or not your friends are allowed to have sex with her. No agency, like you said."

"So you think that me loaning out my sexbot to you, in this hypothetical, is a win for feminisim," I said.

"Honestly, yeah," said Derrick.

"Well, I'm still not going to do it," I said. "I'd feel weird about it."

"I think it's this girlfriend mentality," said Derrick. "Like, girlfriend replacement, that's probably not a healthy way to think about a fuckbot."

"We said illusion of sentience, right?" I asked. "Like, it can carry on a conversation with you, and you mostly won't notice anything weird? Because if that's the case, it's kind of weirder for it not to be a girlfriend, or something like a girlfriend, like if it's only doing all the household chores and the cooking and cleaning and you have sex with it, and it's perfectly capable of asking how your day is or expressing interest in how you're doing in League, but you just don't talk to each other? That's weird. And seems less healthy than just carrying on a conversation."

"Yeah, maybe," said Derrick. "But like ... no way anyone is going to be your girlfriend if you have a fuckbot, that's a real concern."

"In this hypothetical world where someone like me without a huge amount of extra money can afford a domestic robot, I think attitudes would change," I said. "On dating apps or whatever you'd have people tagging 'robot friendly!' or 'absolutely no robofuckers' or whatever. And I would assume that women would have them too, and then when I did get a girlfriend, she'd move in with her own domestic robot, and I'd make peace with the fact that sometimes we'd have sex together and sometimes she'd want to just have her sexbot please her."

"Totally not what would happen," said Derrick. "You're trying to create some kind of normalcy around this? Like you'd just be in a little, I don't know, polycule with two robots?"

"I mean, they're sub-sentient robots, so no, not a polycule," I replied. "Part of the premise is that they are, in fact, incapable of cognition as we know it, that they don't actually have emotions or ambitions or agency beyond what's programmed into them. If we're saying that they're effectively humans but made of electronics and not meat, that's totally different, all my answers have to change."

"And if they did have emotions," said Derrick. "If they did have agency and cognition and whatnot, then —"

"Then they'd be slaves," I said. "And I'm not cool with slavery, so I wouldn't have one."

"What if they were volunteers?" asked Derrick. "If they had emotions and thoughts and all that other stuff, and they came off the factory line really wanting to be fuckbots and domestic servants."

"Sketchy," I said. "But ... maybe, depending on the details."

"And in that case, if they had agency of their own, would you let me have sex with your fuckbot?" asked Derrick.

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, fine, if the sexbots were fully human-level intelligent with agency and emotions and wants and dreams, and it seemed like the robot I lived with was actually interested, yes, I would give my blessing."

"Niiiiice," said Derrick.

Another car came up fast behind us and swerved into the other lane to avoid us, honking as it blew past.

"Can I ask why you're driving so goddamned slow?" I asked.

"Oh, I was doing it as a bit, I wanted to see how long it would take for you to notice."

Derrick smiled at me, then put his foot on the gas.

[windvexer]

Asking for perfect outcomes in witchcraft

Bit of theory; take it or leave it, etc.

One fun thing about witchcraft is that spells often manifest literally. When your objective does not match your programmed intent, spells tend to follow intent.

I tend to view intent as being like an ethereal wireframe that power fills in to make it solid and real.

Whatever the shape of your intent is, that defines the limits of the spell.

However much power you can conjure determines how solidly the intent can manifest.

That means if you ask for limited, restrained outcomes, that will tend to be the kinds of outcomes you will get, no matter how powerfully you work the spell.

Casting a spell with an intentional ceiling built-in that limits its effects will actually limit its effects. There is no reason to assume that if you cast a spell extra strongly or extra well, that your intent will be unwound and replaced by a different intent you never specified.

Not to psychoanalyze a hypothetical audience, but I suspect that some witches choose limited intents because they think it's all they can accomplish, thereby creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I do think a lot of witches who are down about their own abilities are truly working with power, supercharging their own spells - but those spells have intents like "get him to bother me less," instead of "sever his attention from me now, from before the beginning of time to beyond the end of time, in every time that existed, in this dimension and in every dimension, and cauterize his severed attention so it may never regrow, that in this life or any life until the end of time, neither he nor any version of him may observe me, think about me, or interact with me or any version of me that has, does, will, or could exist."

I get on these kicks, and my current one is, if it's a milquetoast intent ("get him to bother me less") you may as well be putting like 20% or 30% effort into it and not exhausting yourself at all. Honest question for witches who are constantly exhausted from doing magic: have you tried putting in way less effort? You may be surprised at what little power it takes to accomplish simple things.

But if you're set on going all-out, giving 110% every time, and being almost nonfunctional for a week after every spell you cast, you might as well go for grand cosmic intents that seek to rend the fates beyond the gods themselves. How do you know you can't, if you've never tried?

[mulloey]

perks of the job • mingi & yunho

mingi likes to share

warnings: boyfriend mingi, mingi’s friend threesome, kind of dp (pussy and mouth), dom yunho and mingi but yunho is more dominant, sucking off mingi so good he starts seeing god, mild pet play (yunho makes you crawl), mild praise & degredation, slapping, mentioned punishment, canon massive dick yunho, brief mirror sex, mingi is kind of a cuck,, he’s not a sub but he very much gets off on watching you being used by his buddy, implied manwhore yunho who likes fucking his members’ girlfriends

—————

“I have an idea.”

You look up from your phone to see your boyfriend standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. You didn’t even know he was awake; you’d left him to sleep when you got up this morning, knowing he’d be tired after staying up all night recording. You can see he’s still half-asleep, eyelids drooping slightly and that dazed expression he has when he’s sleepy still written on his face.

“Morning, Mingi,” you smile. “What’s your idea?”

He clears his throat, shifting on his feet and you frown. He seems nervous about this idea — nervous to share it at least. After months together he rarely even hesitates to share anything with you, so to see him like this has your curiosity piqued. “What is it?” You repeat.

“Um…” he starts. “I think Yunho should fuck you. With me. Together.”

You baulk slightly. You hadn’t expected that to be the idea. You’d talked about the idea of multiples before, but it was casually, and you’d never named names. You definitely hadn’t named his own members and best friends. “Oh.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Mingi says quickly, clearly worried he’s upset or offended you. “It’s just a thought I had.”

You smile and shake your head, reassuring him. “No, I’m definitely… open to it. But why Yunho?”

He smiles and shrugs, coming to sit next to you on the couch. “I lived with him for years,” he says. “He’s into that kind of thing. And he’s into you.”

You can’t pretend you haven’t noticed the last part. Whenever you saw the other members you’d notice his gaze lingering on you, his eyes hovering over your lips, tits and ass; probably without him realising though, because he’s always been exceptionally polite and respectful to you. But the first part is new. “That kind of thing?” You ask.

He nods. “Yeah, he likes being the ‘third’ or whatever. It gets him off in a weird way. He did it with San’s ex all the time.”

Huh. This is new information to you, but knowing Yunho decently well, it’s not surprising. “He fucked San’s ex?”

“Yep,” Mingi says. “Well, they fucked her together. He loved it. I think he was more upset when they broke up than San was.”

You laugh a little, but your brain is already filled with images of Yunho doing… that to you. Fucking you with Mingi, taking you to new heights and using you for his own pleasure at the same time. You can’t say you’ve never thought about him like that; he’s so tall and large and attractive that you can’t help but wonder what he’d be like. Would he be rough? Sensual? Would he take control, calling the shots over you and Mingi or would he let Mingi tell him what to do, how to fuck you?

Now that it’s on the table, you know you need to find out.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You ask.

“Only hypothetically,” Mingi says quickly. “I’d never offer you up like that. I just asked if he thought it’d be fun in theory.”

“And?”

Mingi’s lip quirks. “He said he’d love to.”

—————

Once you agree it’s arranged quickly. Mingi broaches the topic when he sees Yunho at work the next day and Yunho apparently agrees before he can even finish asking the question. You meet Yunho for coffee a few times with Mingi and find that he’s extremely easy to talk to about this. You also find that, now that he knows it’s acceptable, his leering at you is even more blatant. Once you watch as his gaze stays fixed on your tits for 3 entire minutes. It’s strangely thrilling to be looked at like that. You can’t wait until he can finally get his hands on them — and neither, of course, can he.

It finally happens a few days later, in the apartment you share with Mingi. You wake up early that morning, excitement making it too hard to sleep, and take an hour or two to prepare yourself in the shower, shaving and exfoliating every inch of your body. Not that you don’t make an effort to look good for Mingi like this, but this is a special occasion and you want to make a good impression.

Yunho arrives at 7pm on the dot, and the sound of the doorbell has never been so terrifying. Mingi smiles reassuringly before he goes to answer, leaving you waiting on the couch. The sound of voices as Yunho enters the house sets your heart racing. You hear their casual greetings and laughter and stand to greet your guest as he enters the living room. When he sets his eyes on you for the first time he seems to freeze slightly — just as you planned. The tiny white dress you’re wearing shows off your curves perfectly, flattering you from every angle. He takes a moment to digest the heavenly sight in front of him before he greets you with a charming smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say shyly.

“Are you nervous?” Yunho asks.

You nod, a little embarrassed and he chuckles. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m very experienced with this. I’ll take good care of you, honey.”

Mingi smiles at him before approaching you, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulder. You instinctively hide your face in his chest and he tuts, gently pushing you off. “Be polite to our guest, baby,” he chides. You blush deeply but nod and he strokes your cheek. “Good girl.”

You smile shyly at your boyfriend. You can see he’s nervous too, a slightly unsure look on his face, but it’s far outweighed by the excitement evident in his eyes. He smiles reassuringly at you, pressing a kiss to your lips before beckoning Yunho over. Yunho greets you with a hug, just like normal, but you know there’s something much, much deeper behind it this time.

“How does this work?” You ask. “Do we just start?”

Yunho smiles. “It’s up to you,” he says. “We could get right to it, or we could hang out for a while. Watch a movie together or something.”

“Just a normal movie?”

Yunho chuckles, recognising the implication. “Yes, of course. Anything you like. But I can’t promise I won’t start feeling you up if you’re sitting next to me.”

You shrug, hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “That would be fine,” you say quietly and he grins. “But I’d rather just start now.”

Both men chuckle and Yunho pets your hair. It’s not the first time he’s done it to you, he’s always been quite physical (but respectful) whenever he sees you, but it is the first time it’s had quite this effect on you. It doesn’t feel like a gesture from an affectionate friend anymore, but rather, a gentle, teasing touch from someone who’s planning on doing a whole lot more.

Yunho notices your reaction, maybe because it wasn’t as subtle as you thought, and laughs. “You’re so sensitive to me, aren’t you?” He says. “Have you wanted this for as long as I have?”

“Oh, she has,” Mingi answers for you. “She’s had a thing for you since you met, haven’t you baby? She thinks she’s hidden it well but I always knew.”

You throw him a glare but he just smiles innocently, tilting his head teasingly. “Just telling the truth,” he giggles.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Yunho tells you. “You can’t help how you feel, can you?”

You shrug, shaking your head. “I guess not.”

Yunho smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’ve always known you think with your pussy. Little sluts like you always do.”

Your breath hitches and you feel his words deep in your stomach. In your discussions about tonight, Yunho had asked you about the kind of things you enjoyed in the bedroom, and without waiting for you to answer Mingi had gleefully told him how much you enjoyed being talked down to. You’d blushed deeply but while Yunho had laughingly told him to let you speak for yourself, you’d seen the dark gleam that briefly crossed his eyes as he took note of it. You guess he likes it too.

“What do you think?” Yunho asks. His voice is getting lower and more strained each time he speaks and you feel the energy and tension emanating off of him. “Are you a slut?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’m a slut, Yunho.”

He smiles and takes your flushed cheeks in his hands, forcing your eyes onto him. You feel the way his massive hands dwarf your face and it sends shivers down your spine. He could really do anything he wants to you right now. “Then you’ll do what I say, right?” He asks. “Since you’re such a slut.”

You nod almost deliriously, desperate to please him. Yunho smiles at the sight and you hear Mingi laugh next to you. “Such a cutie you have, Mingi,” Yunho tells your boyfriend. “I’d be so jealous if she wasn’t offering herself up like a whore for me anyway.”

Your gaze shifts to your boyfriend, gauging his reaction. He’s fiercely protective of you, sometimes a little too sensitive to the jokes even his best friends make, so you wonder if he’s bothered by Yunho talking about you like this; even if he’d told him it’d be okay, it might be different in reality, hearing his precious, darling girl degraded and objectified like this. But it’s clearly not — your boyfriend is rock hard, dick straining against his pants from hearing you spoken about in such a demeaning way. It makes you even wetter than you already are.

“Shall we take her to our room, Yunho?” Mingi asks.

Yunho nods. He’s been to your house a few times since you’d moved in so he knows the way, but he gestures for Mingi to lead. Your boyfriend motions for you to follow him but Yunho stops you, sticking an arm out in front of you to stop you in your tracks. “Wait,” he says. You stare up at him confusedly and Mingi turns to face him, unsure.

“She can crawl,” Yunho says.

Mingi nods, slight smirk on his lips as he motions for you to get down. “You heard the man,” he grins. “On your fours, baby.”

You feel your breathing falter slightly, unsure of yourself as you lower yourself to your knees. As you start to crawl you feel the burn of hardwood floor against your bare knees but you don’t care. You’ve never been more turned on than right now, crawling through your own apartment with the looming presence of two large men walking closely behind you. You feel almost like stalked prey, pursued by two larger, stronger, hungry predators preparing to strike.

Reaching the door of your shared bedroom, Yunho holds it open for you, allowing you to crawl through onto the — mercifully — soft carpets of your room.

The two men settle side by side on the bed, staring down at you with dark, piercing gazes.

“We’re gonna use you tonight,” Yunho says after a few seconds, breaking the tension-filled silence. “You’re gonna show us what a good fuck toy you can be, yeah?”

You nod, blushing slightly and Mingi smiles. “I think she should suck us off first,” he tells Yunho.

“Good idea,” Yunho nods. “Suck Mingi’s dick first, baby,” he says. “Show me how you please him.”

You nod your understanding, watching as Mingi pulls his length out and motions you closer. You crawl towards where he’s sat at the edge of the bed and sit back up on your haunches. Mingi smiles kindly at you, miming a kiss which you return. He lets you take his cock in his hands first, rubbing the length up and down a few times before taking it into your mouth. Just like Yunho, your boyfriend is massive, and he shows no mercy as he slams his cock against the back of your throat again and again, letting you choke helplessly on it. He places a hand on your head, tangling it in your hair so he can keep you in place more easily while the other holds your hand where it desperately grips his thigh. You pleasure him just like you’ve practised, moving between deepthroating, sucking and licking according to the commands of the men above you.

“Choke on it again,” Yunho orders. Through teary eyes you look up to see his gaze fixed on you, mouth parted in awe slightly while he slowly palms himself through his pants.

You do what he says, forcing Mingi’s cock to the back of your throat until you gag, pulling your head off of it. Mingi gives you a split second of respite before he yanks your head towards him, forcing his cock down your throat again. He repeats it over and over — choke, recover, choke — until he gets too worked up, so desperate he can’t bear to not have you choking on him for even a second, and holds your head firmly in place, not allowing you to move back and breathe even for a moment. He knows what you can take and how far he can push you, and he’s going to.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You sound so good, baby. Feel so good too. You wanna give Yunho a turn?”

You whine, muffled by his cock as you nod desperately and they chuckle. Mingi gently pulls his cock out of his mouth, slapping it against your cheek a few times before nodding at Yunho. At Mingi’s cue Yunho grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you towards him. “I'm a little bigger than Mingi,” he warns. “But I think you can handle it. Do you, Mingi?”

“She definitely can,” your boyfriend affirms. “She’s so talented.”

Yunho laughs softly before finally pulling out his cock and fuck, he was right. It’s not just long, but one of the thickest and prettiest cocks you’ve ever seen. You feel your eyes water again at the sight and you gulp, staring up at Yunho’s smirking face. His face softens seeing your anxiety and he smiles, reaching a hand to stroke your cheek and letting you briefly nuzzle into it.

“Don’t be scared,” he says. “I’m right here. So’s Mingi.”

You nod, pulling yourself together before inching your head towards Yunho’s cock. You look up at him again, silently asking for permission which he grants with a nod before you take him into his mouth.

You start with the head, holding the shaft in your hand and licking experimentally at the tip. It tastes good, clean, so you quickly let yourself take the rest of it into your mouth. You bob up and down on it, loosening your throat up to take it deeper. His grip in your hair tightens as you go further, strangled groans released when you hit a particularly good spot. Determined to get the whole thing in your throat, you lift yourself up off your knees slightly and he takes the opportunity to reach his hand around to harshly slap your thinly covered ass. You scream around his cock, causing him to moan louder. “Fuck, Mingi, where’d you find her?” He groans. “She’s so fucking good at this.”

Mingi laughs, reaching to stroke the back of your head gently. “I got lucky, didn’t I?”

“I’ll fucking say,” Yunho gasps and you giggle slightly. He moans, yanking your hair forwards to force you further down his cock again. “Feels so fucking good when you do that baby. Make these pretty noises with my big dick in your mouth.”

You work for a few more minutes, and you can feel his orgasm coming before he abruptly pulls out. Hee stands, wobbling slightly which makes you proud, and points to the bed. “Up here,” he orders. “All fours.”

You manage to pull yourself up despite the slight dizziness from the way you’ve just been used and settle yourself where he points, lying on your front with your ass sticking up. Mingi leans to reach your head, gently stroking your hair as he whispers, “you’re doing so well, baby.” You smile softly at him, leaning to kiss him which he allows, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your swollen lips. “Good girl,” he says, before standing up to join his friend.

From this position, you only just notice, you have a perfect view of yourself in a mirror, and of the two men looming behind you. You don’t remember buying this, and definitely don’t remember putting it here, but fuck if it isn’t a stroke of genius. You gulp, looking up to Yunho’s reflection in the mirror. His brows are furrowed as he stares your body up and down like he’s inspecting it, and he offers a brief smile while he notices you staring.

“Like the mirror, baby?” He asks. “I had Mingi buy it and move it here this morning. Wanted to surprise you.”

You make a noise of appreciation and he smiles. He bends over slightly, leaning over you until his head is right next to yours. He keeps his eyes on the mirror, making eye contact with your reflection as he speaks. “Ready to see how pretty you look when I fuck you? When we fuck you?”

You whine, feeling his words in your stomach and he grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek before straightening back up. You feel two pairs of hands on your, running up and down every inch of your body like they’re claiming ownership, before Yunho quickly flips up your flimsy dress to reveal your ass.

“No panties,” he whistles. “Good slut.”

With one hand pressing down on your back to hold you in place, the other runs over your ass carefully before winding back and delivering a hard slap. It’s hard and strong, making your ears ring briefly and you cry out softly, burning your head in the pillow. Another hand hits you, and you recognise the soothing touches that come after as Mingi — whenever your boyfriend spanks you, he likes to rub circles on the spot he’d struck to massage in the pain. You don’t know if he even knows he does it, but it’s a sweet quirk that reminds you that your loving, adoring boyfriend is still here. “Don’t hide your face, baby,” he says. “That’s why we put the mirror there. We want to see your pretty reactions at all times.”

You nod, lifting your head up and whispering an apology. The men smile, each stroking one of your ass cheeks soothingly. “Good girl,” Yunho says. “I don’t want to have to punish you when we’re having so much fun.”

Your mouth opens wordlessly and you stare at Yunho, confused, scared and turned on. “P…punish?” You ask quietly.

Yunho smiles, chuckling softly as he gently pats the red mark on your ass where he’d struck you. “I guess we never talked about that, did we? I like the girls I fuck to be obedient, and I’m willing to make sure they are myself.”

“With permission, of course,” Mingi quickly interjects before you can worry.

“Of course,” Yunho agrees. “I’ve never punished anyone who wasn’t begging me to correct their behaviour.”

“Oh,” you say. Your brain is brimming now with thoughts of Yunho punishing you. You wonder what he’d do; maybe he’d go the classic route and spank you to tears. Or maybe he’d force orgasm after orgasm out of you like he’d told you he likes to do, or not let you come at all. As much as you want to find out what he’d do, to hear him call you bad girl and tell you how you deserve to be punished, you can push those buttons another time. For now, all you can think about is that massive dick finally fucking you. “I’ll be good,” you whisper.

Yunho hums. You feel his hand move from your ass down to your naked pussy. His touches against it are feather-light, barely noticeable if they weren’t in such a sensitive place and from someone you’re so desperate for. His other hand, still on your back, presses down further as you start to squirm. “Remember what I said, baby,” he says as he presses a finger into you. “Be good and stay still.”

You nod, but as he adds a second and third finger you cry out and instinctively reach your arms back to touch him. He tuts, grabbing your arms and holding them down easily against your back with one hand. “I said stay still,” he chides. “Last warning, baby.”

You nod, whispering an apology which he accepts with a nod. The whole time Mingi’s been watching you, slowly stroking his cock as the sight of his girlfriend being used by his friend. Yunho notices and throws the other man a smile. “Why don’t you go fuck her mouth, Mingi?” He suggests. “Seems filling up one hole isn’t enough to keep her obedient.”

“Good idea,” Mingi smirks. He rounds the bed to stand in front of you, feeding his twitching cock into your mouth. He turns around, seeing your view of yourself blocked and grins. “So much for the mirror,�� he laughs.

“Mm, so much for the mirror,” Yunho agrees. “Next time I’ll punish her for moving so much that we have to block it. But right now I just wanna fuck her.”

Mingi starts to thrust lazily into your mouth, gripping your hair like he did before. It feels incredible but you can barely focus on it. You’re desperate for Yunho now. Yunho pulls his fingers out, pushing your dress back a little further. “Hold her arms for me, Mingi,” he says. “I want all the leverage I can get.”

Mingi nods and reaches his hands forwards to hold your arms down against your back where they’d been before. Without a hand in your hair to force you down on him himself, he speed ups his thrusts, getting stronger and more merciless. You take it diligently, choking and spitting on it like the good girl you are.

When Yunho’s cock finally starts pushing into you, you falter slightly, involuntarily jolting forward into Mingi and forcing his cock to hit the back of your throat. It doesn’t last long before Yunho grabs your hips, yanking you back into him. He looked big and felt bigger in your mouth but this is something else entirely. It feels like having your virginity taken all over again, tiny hole stretched by an impossibly big and merciless dick. When he finally gets all the way in your scream around Mingi’s cock. You start to thrash but their grip on you is iron, holding you in place and completely at their mercy.

Yunho gives you a few seconds before he starts to move, slowly at first then faster and faster until he’s fucking into you relentlessly. You feel completely powerless, used in two holes and held down by strong hands who want nothing but to use you for their pleasure.

The entire bed is shaking from Yunho’s hard pounds and Mingi’s relentless thrusts in your mouth. While he fucks you Yunho delivers endless slaps to your ass and thighs and you’re sure your skin will be red and burning by the time he’s done with you. They’re both talking to you but you can barely hear them. All you can focus on is the feeling of being fucked without mercy by two of the largest cocks you’ve ever seen. You’re screaming without a break now, throat hoarse but you love it, you could live off this feeling for the rest of your life.

Mingi comes first; he’s always extra sensitive to your mouth. He’s not fast by any means but something about the way you suck him, the way you let him abuse your throat without a break, makes it hard for him to control himself. His load is massive, even bigger than usual, but you swallow every drop just like you’re ordered to. He keeps his cock, now soft, in your mouth, letting you suck at it for comfort while Yunho practically splits you open. With the way you’re screaming his cock also serves as a gag, keeping you marginally quieter so as to avoid any complaints from neighbours. The thought of it, having a soft cock in your mouth to gag your screams while another man fucks you, is so hot it brings you closer to your own climax.

Yunho lasts a little longer but you feel his orgasm coming, building up as his thrusts get harder and faster and his moans get louder until he’s yelling. With a final shout he releases inside you, thrusting a few times to empty himself completely. While he does so he reaches to rub your clit, wet fingers making it even more sensitive. When your orgasm finally hits, stronger and more overwhelming than ever before, he talks you through it but you’re so far out of it that you can’t quite decipher what he’s saying.

When he finally pulls out, releasing his iron grip on your hips, you collapse instantly, utterly exhausted. Mingi quickly takes you into his arms, holding your head against his chest and stroking your sweat-soaked hair. Yunho sits beside you, rubbing your legs and pressing soft kisses all over your body.

“You did so well,” Yunho says. “That was the most fun I’ve had doing this.”

You sniffle slightly and stare up at him. The dark, feral gleam in his eye is gone and his face is back to the kind, considerate Yunho you’ve known for a while. “Really?” You ask.

He chuckles, nodding slightly. “Really,” he confirms. “If you both want it, I’d love to do this again. Make it a regular thing, even. You’re too good to just leave it at this.”

You giggle, blushing slightly and your boyfriend laughs, staring down at you fondly. You feel the vibrations of the laughter in his chest and it comforts you. You sigh happily, nuzzling into him as he caresses you, gently soothing you down from your high.

“Should I go get some snacks for her?” Yunho asks.

Mingi hums, nodding. “There’s some fruit on the table you can cut up for her. She’ll need some water too.”

Yunho nods. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek before getting up and walking out, softly closing the door behind him. Mingi lifts your chin to press a soft, loving kiss to your lips. “My beautiful baby,” he smiles.

You smile back, your heart warm. “My Mingi.”

By the time Yunho returns you’ve fallen asleep in Mingi’s arms, lulled to sleep by his soft praises as he rocked you. Telling Mingi to make sure you eat it once you’re up, Yunho places the fruit on the nightstand and kisses your hand one last time before leaving.

When you check your phone a few hours later, once you’re fully down from your high, you see a new message lighting up your screen.

yunho: Good girl.

—————

hope you liked this! this is the longest smut ive written so far so please let me know your thoughts on it as i’ve put quite a bit of time into making it hot for u. so tell me what you think!! i get very motivated to write more when i get feedback or comments:) i’m getting to other requests now and the request box is still OPEN!! love🖤🖤

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | h. jisung <3

a/n: oh boy do my jisung feels have me dizzy ! i love him so deeply and eternally it's ridiculous :,,,-) pics not mine <3

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.7k | warnings: none really! | pairing: soulmate!jisung x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

the year you’ll meet your soulmate, you receive a one-sentence description of how you’ll meet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“jisung!” chan called from the entrance to the apartment, “you’ve got mail!”

jisung appeared with a confused expression, not able to recall any recent purchases that would result in a delivery. his confusion grew when he saw how bright and wide chan’s smile was. if he weren’t so sleepy from the nap, jisung probably would’ve put the pieces together as soon as he held the lavender envelope in his hand.

inside, there was a small piece of paper, with one sentence typed perfectly in the center: after a near-miss, they’ll recognize you by the sound of your voice.

chan shimmied his shoulders, “what does it say?”

jisung’s brain buffered, still not quite understanding what this was about. it clicked after the fifth or sixth time he read the sentence.

“how does this help me?” he groaned.

chan gently picked the fateful piece of paper from jisung’s hands and read it himself, “huh.”

jisung scoffed, “yeah.”

“at least it’s…..romantic?”

jisung’s unamused look was enough to make chan giggle, which allowed a smile to peek through jisung’s annoyance, “romantic, but an entirely unhelpful clue as to how i’m going to meet my soulmate.”

“ah come on jisung,” chan patted jisung's shoulder, “you’ve got the whole year to sort out what it means. let’s at least celebrate the fact that you’re meeting them within the next 12 months!”

though frustrated by the ambiguity of the letter, jisung could not deny the way he got an adrenaline rush at the thought of his soulmate becoming a part of his life soon. even if he couldn’t anticipate the circumstances of it happening, the inevitability of it changed his perspective on just about everything. the months passed, and the meaning behind the sentence never became clearer. but, by the time he could count the weeks until the year’s end on one hand, jisung couldn’t get the idea of love out of his head.

“jisung!” hyunjin laughed, “you’re making no sense right now!”

“what do you mean?!” jisung retorted, “is it really that crazy of a thing to say?”

seungmin joined hyunjin’s laughter, “yes, it really is that crazy. thinking of love so much while writing these songs must have melted your brain.”

jisung groaned, following behind his friends as they exited the clothing store, “i don’t even know why i’m arguing with you. neither of you have met your soulmates, so clearly you wouldn’t get it.”

“hey! you haven’t met yours either!” hyunjin frowned.

“even if we had, i doubt we’d agree with…whatever it is that you’re claiming,” seungmin made a face of disgust.

jisung’s eyes grew comically wide, “i’m not saying love is related to someone’s feet! i’m just saying, theoretically,” he used his hands to emphasize the fact it was hypothetical, “shouldn’t you know how to describe someone’s toes if you really, truly, deeply love them?” 

hyunjin grimaced. jisung gaped at his friends with desperation. a laugh burst into the air beside them and then wafted away, prompting seungmin to laugh.

“someone, a stranger, just laughed at your theory,” seungmin smirked, “now you’ll never convince me that it’s logical.”

jisung frowned. when he opened his mouth to make another argument, hyunjin shook his head and started walking to their building. this probably saved jisung from digging his grave even further, but it didn’t save him from overthinking the interaction. with each step, he felt a pang in his chest. it seemed unlikely, but what if that moment was the near-miss he’d waited for? he had been talking about love when they laughed at his statement. that had to be some kind of sign, right? 

jisung considered all the possibilities. by the time they made it back into the practice room, he convinced himself he was just desperate, grasping at straws for a sign. he never even saw who laughed, so he couldn’t be sure that they were laughing at what he said. in the end, jisung felt next to no hope and tons of embarrassment. maybe one day he could joke about this story with his soulmate. today, unfortunately, was not that day.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you set your bag down, sighing in relief at the fact the day was over. 

you went about your evening routine, decompressing from work and listening to your favorite music. your workload was a bit stressful, so you were thankful that the day wasn’t particularly notable. if asked, you probably couldn’t describe anything about your day that stood out. seeing as your brain felt fried, you weren't going to complain about an uneventful day.

as you were getting ready for bed, you glanced at the lavender envelope on your nightstand. it sat there, carefully placed, for almost an entire year. every night you looked at it, trying to figure out any possible scenario that would match its narrative. nothing seemed to fit, not even your most imaginative scenarios. still, like clockwork, you picked up the envelope and traced your finger over the words inside: one day, they’ll make you laugh from a distance, and the next day they’ll confess their love.

you scoffed. sure, sometimes the fact that soulmates existed seemed too good to be true. but this? it felt like it was something that could only make sense in a romance movie, and a farfetched one at that. as you settled into bed, however, you remembered the only interesting thing that happened to you today. it was a fleeting moment, probably nothing special. yet you could hear the person’s voice so vividly, as though they were in the room with you. 

shouldn’t you know how to describe someone’s toes if you really, truly, deeply love them?

you laughed. whoever said that certainly had a mind of their own, which impressed you. still, you had a hard time imagining what would prompt that sentence. perhaps because of its ridiculousness, you wondered if that could be a sign. on the street, you had laughed–too loudly, you feared–when you heard them say it. you felt your heart rate rise, hopeful and excited.

you didn’t want to risk getting your heart broken like so many other times this year, though, so you ran over the situation again and again and again. you hadn’t even seen who posed that strange question. how could you know whether they were your soulmate? it wasn’t the first time a stranger made you laugh, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

you tried to convince yourself that you couldn’t trust the encounter to mean anything, despite how that person’s voice filled your mind as you drifted off to sleep. a part of you felt that you would hear that voice for the rest of your life, even if only in your memory. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

the next day was not as lackluster, but not in a good way. at work, nothing seemed to go right: plans went awry, mistakes were abundant, and every meeting went over time. you sighed deeply when you stepped out of the office, and you sighed again when you checked the time. the only thing you’d been looking forward to was the walk home because there was the potential that you could run into the person behind the voice again. given how the day had gone and how late it was, deflation replaced the small hope that you had clung to all day.

still, you felt your body relaxing as your workplace grew farther and farther away in the distance behind you. there were fewer people around as the evening commute rush had come and gone. you appreciate that, if nothing else, this walk home had offered you peace and quiet.

at least, there had been peace and quiet until someone bumped into you.

“ah! oh my god! i’m so sorry!” 

the person stared at you with wide, flustered brown eyes. you held your hand up to signal that you were okay–and that they could take a breath–but something kept you from speaking. brow furrowed, you tried to figure out what seemed so familiar about this person in front of you.

“wait! you’re the love and toes person from yesterday, right?”

you looked at the stranger with amusement, and jisung’s jaw dropped. he grew more flustered and his ears turned bright red. the embarrassment was quickly balanced out by elation. jisung’s mind recited that frustrating, fateful sentence over and over, until he knew it had to be true.

“i’m in love with you.”

jisung internally kicked himself for that reply. thankfully, you spoke before he had to stumble through another apology.

realizing that this was the laughter to confession of love plotline you’d been waiting for all year, your face lit up, “so it is you. i was hoping there was a reason that i couldn’t get your voice out of my head last night.”

jisung blushed even harder, grinning all the same, “yeah! it’s me! and it’s you! wow!”

“i’m y/n,” you chuckled, charmed by jisung, “what’s your name?”

“jisung!” he answered quickly, “y/n…y/n…” he paused to appreciate how it felt to say your name, “i love your name!”

“well, jisung, i would hope so, given that you are apparently in love with me.”

jisung laughed, hiding his face in embarrassment. at least his soulmate had a sense of humor. he bit his tongue, both to prevent himself from saying something ridiculous again and to cherish the feeling of you being right in front of him after an eternity of waiting.

“sorry again for bumping into you,” jisung rubbed the back of his neck, smiling apologetically, “where are you headed?”

“it’s really okay. it kind of worked out in our favor,” you smiled, which made jisung's knees feel weak, “i’m on my way home from work now.”

“oh! nice! would you…uh…do you think…could i maybe walk you home?”

you felt your cheeks hurting from grinning so much at how endearing jisung was, “you want to walk me home?”

he nodded enthusiastically, “yes, please! i’d love to have a chance to memorize your voice the way you memorized mine.” 

your heart skipped a beat. maybe you were already in love with jisung too. 

unable to think of a reply that could match the sweetness of his answer, you turned your head in the direction of your home, “i live down this way. while we walk, would you mind explaining to me your toe-related claim about love?”

he groaned, “if i do, do you promise not to bring it up again?”

you giggled, stomach doing flips at the way his pace matched yours right away, “that depends on how good of an explanation it is.”

“i’ll take it!” 

jisung’s eyes sparkled as he spoke to you, and you knew that, regardless of the subject, you genuinely could listen to his voice for the rest of your life.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 29/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@xyuki-iris ha chiesto: I LOVE YOU'RE ART ALSO GOOD FOOD But I have a what if What if Redson found Mk having a panic attack over something serious about him being Trans.

Ouch poor baby Red Son would totally support MK and try to calm him down

@ashmeertheimp ha chiesto: First of all your story is glorious and congrats on getting lmk at the very top. Second does Mk want to work on his relationship with Nuwa. I think Nuwa did truly love Mk but she also loved everyone else on earth equally. Mk has forgiven Mac who actually made an effort to hurt Mk (past mistakes) while Nuwa was opposed but still didn't stop Mk from not fixing the pillar of heaven.

I always felt like after S5 his relationship with Nuwa is similar to the one Steven had with Rose after S5 of SU. So it's- complicated

@audioandart ha chiesto: mayhaps a silly question, but towards the very start of the mk shadow peach stuff when mk first shadows into the wall. He says "why is everything *more* flat". Is this implying he already sees the world as 2d the way we do or am I perhaps missing something? 😅 (I love your work! Have a good day 🫰)

ahah yeah I was!!

@fake-anjel ha chiesto: Your comic makes me stay awake at night thinking of the next cap, making theories and making imaginary scenarios and imaginary gacha reactions to them for some reason. I was wondering... If Wukong and Macaque have a child (hypothetically, and by the biological way) wich one would be the oven for the bun? You have a fan from Brazil<3

Well, I would say Wukong, but here comes the question: a Stone Monkey, born from a stone, would be able to reproduce themself? There are no other like the four celestial primates and MK, so I would assume that they weren't able to- reproduce normally. Also if they would does it mean the womb is a stone as well???

@sollythesalt ha chiesto: Just asking if Wukong is trans do his female organs also count as part of his un-glamored form or does he stay with his male ones when he drops his glamour? Also what does his glamour include in your au just out of curiosity?

No under the glamour and shapeshift he still has female organs

@dandy-doodles ha chiesto: I'm VICIOUSLY consuming your comic rn - It actually came across my feed from a reblog. Never watched the show before. Loved the comic so much I binged the entire series and now I'm sat with the task of reading JTTW. This hyperfixation is your fault I love you for it. @ivoronical ha chiesto: Hi! I don’t know how tumblrs asks work because I’ve never used them before, but just wanted to say that your art is ✨fabulous✨ and you’re shadowpeach bio parents au has convinced me to rewatch the show entirely. It’s also made Macaque one of my favorite characters and because of that I am halfway through making a cosplay of him completely from scratch and I’m very excited to finish it:) Anyways I’ve rambled enough. Have a nice day!!! @starzz-twi ha chiesto: Can I just say how much I adore your art! It inspires so much that I might try drawing lmk again 🫶🫶🫶🫶 @artemismoorea03 ha chiesto: I hope you know that your Bio Parents AU fills every waking moment. I swear I only get on Tumblr anymore to see if you've posted something. I eat up any art you post regardless of what fandom it is and I just have to tell you that your art tastes like a blue raspberry icee (the best kind). I hope you're having a fantastic day ♡

AWWW TYSM TO ALL OF YOU!!!!

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto: What will family gatherings be like now that MK has 4 parents? Like his birthday or end-of-year celebrations. I want to see more of the dynamics of the 4 parents interacting and talking about their one and only child.🐷🤓☀️🌙

oH CHAOTIC INDEED

Anonimo ha chiesto: How does it feel to be one of those artists that like 70% of the fandom knows about

wait is that a random number or???

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will we maybe see Macaque interact with Bai He or Mei?? (I'm starved of DarkHorse/EnderDragon/NightFlare Duo and Raspberry/Black Cat Duo) But I am interested if you might make them interact! :D Anyways, I love how your art got better by each comic, you can see the improvement from the slight sharpness of the shapes in the first comics and the now softer lines.

mmmmm I will maybe I'll do some small scenes

Anonimo ha chiesto: Past Wukong working out: I'ma get so strong. Ain't no one beating me Present Wukong working out: I'ma be so good at hugging my son and husband.

AWWWWWW WHAT A GOOD BABA!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello! I wanted to ask if we'll see just how sensitive Macaque's hearing is in your Au in a future comic maybe? Like... a thunderstorm happens or something when he's around FFM watching Mk and Wukong train or something that affects his hearing badly? But either way, love your art and style! :)

mmmm don't know if I have a scene planned for that...

Anonimo ha chiesto: Does Wukong and Macaque know about the other 2 Celstial Primates, Red-Hoarse Baboon and Lomg-Armed Gibbon, in your Bio Shadowpeach parents au?

I think so? In JTTW he knew so I would assume the same?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will Macaque use his future vision at any time again in this comic? We now know in this Au he hasn't used it in years. But maybe will he use it again soon? I bet he won't but I still wanted to ask :)

not unless he is forced to

Anonimo ha chiesto: I’ve been listening to a song from a Pokémon movie: Always Safe by Cynthia, and I think of the Shadowpeach bioparents Au everytime

AWW that's beautiful the lyrics omg!!!

@notjustonefandom1 ha chiesto: So, I've been thinking about MK's staff. After he got it do you think he develops a habit of clasping his hands together, especiallywhen stressed or threatened? With the fluidity and energy he moves with, I think it would take a while for him yo find a chance to Summon the staff, especially if he isn't fast at it yet, so he just starts keeping his hands pressed together in preparation.

ooooohhh that's a cool idea!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Where does the Macaque has white fur head canon come from? I'm new to this fandom and I'm still learning things and I see it everywhere

I honestly have no idea but I guess either because Japanese Macaque are white furred or bc he died.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ok so this may be a sensitive topic and definitely doesn't need to be answered so TW Did mk ever go through a depression thing after trying to die to save the universe in the last season in your au? A in like what if Wukong and Mac find out he used to SH?

hish. I'm not probably the right person to answer this. Probably he did had depression tendencies but didn't recognize them until someone pointed them out.

Anonimo ha chiesto: This ask os Going to be a little weird But Can I See Macaque Pining Wukong on the wall?In a Flirty way?(pretty Please?) I love Your Art so much!👑❤️‍🔥💎

Ouh.. *cleans forehead from sweat* is getting hot in here... maybe?

@autism-autobot ha chiesto: Wukong: OH BUDDHA, HE CALLED ME BABA!!!!! (SCREAMS WITH JOY) What DBK heard over the phone with his brother: OH andhdbrjjsm (feral monkey screeching)

Poor DBK gotta deal with the gossip now

@alastair-1205 ha chiesto: OMG THE MOST RECENT PART IM CRYING But I also love how Mac's first instinct is just grabbing Wukong and being like: "get out of hearing range before we freak out, get out of hearing range before we freak out, get out of-" you know? It's very funny but also builds on past comics since they woke MK up last time smth like this happened and I'm just !!!!!

GOTTA MAKE THE BABY SLEEP

@eerieqloss ha chiesto: OSISJJWJSJSJWWN OKAY WAIT SO IS MK GONNA START CALLING THEM MAMA AND BABA INSTEAD OF THEIR NAMES CONTINUALLY OR WAS IT JUST THAT ONE TIME

It wont be a one time!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I hope you are resting as you should Always remember to take your time, rest first, then work, ofc as far as possible 😅. I have a fun question (if you have the time ofc 👉🏻👈🏻): will we see Feral MK again? But you know, like another kind of "demonic learning" that maybe wukong or Mac will teach him to control or see that it's not bad as it looks

For now i want my baby to either be happy or traumatized not angry.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like i remember you asking about happier shadowpeach songs for your playlist, but I can't find the post anymore. But if you're still looking, Livingston's new song Glow reminds me of them and also made me think about the eclipse scenes in the comic.

Several of Livingston's other songs also give me shadowpeach vibes, but I think about them so much that I might just be seeing them everywhere at this point.

Oooh true a lot of his song fits really well!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: This is the only instance where having a kid really did bring a couple together.

TRUE LMAO

Anonimo ha chiesto: Soo...Wukong and Mac in the DBK Palace I have a question in my mind!!!! Actually I hope you to see it and draw it.. if you don't wanna it's okay! What if DBK & PIF flirt with each other or smt like this u know in front of shadowpeach?! They will probably look to each other and then blushing hard

HAHAHHA poor souls they would totally think of wanting to kiss each other but can't because they are emotionally constipated.

[dreamisols]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ COFFEE TALK

INTRODUCTION FIC TO 'THE ART OF REMEMBRANCE'

—the rare moments of free time allow you and your boyfriend to talk about anything and everything that comes to mind... at this point, you two might as well be the third division's free podcast! —wc: 1050; fluff but mostly crack —original canon, x fem!reader, you and hoshina are just silly, hibino leno and kikoru mentions, one cuss, general pov more or less, i advocate for silly unhinged dynamics —rimi's ramble: told myself not to rush the series but i wrote this in one sitting... my summer's gonna be spent writing about this man, buckle up folks! >:]

The Third Division considers you and Hoshina as their power couple. 

Charming looks paired with commanding auras, levels of strength that no one would dare go against, all topped off with endearing one-of-a-kind personalities. Two puzzle pieces that fit as if they’re made for each other.

Everyone within the division quickly accepted and supported your relationship with the Vice Captain. And with that support comes your status as the “local love team"—an inside joke and a makeshift badge of honor (if one could even call it that).

In their defense, there isn't even any sort of competition to begin with. You two are the only couple within the division.

Every member, no matter how long they’ve been in the Defense Force, holds high respect towards both of you. They trust you with a lot of things—the wisdom you both give to your members is actually useful, and your attack combos on the field are nothing to scoff at. 

Yes, they would trust you two with their lives, and yes, the way they’d say it might blur the lines of comedy and seriousness. There’s simply one thing that’s holding everyone off…

No one trusts the both of you with coffee. 

Ironic, considering it’s one of Vice Captain Hoshina’s favorite things. 

Another inside joke is that whenever a member enters the lounge room and they’re greeted by the rich inviting scent of brewed coffee, they will be tuning in to some sort of a podcast episode hosted by their one and only dynamic duo. 

No one session is the same. Sometimes you two end up talking about some story you read or some personal experiences. Other days, it’s just opening as many controversial topics as you both can while expressing your opinions in a lighthearted debate. One time, to the division’s surprise, you two started doing a deep dive into a conspiracy theory, complete with a whole digital presentation and proven statistics. 

It’s even more surprising how convincingly well put the entire thing was to the point even Captain Ashiro listened in with interest. 

The members found it pleasant, enjoyable even. A chance to hold more conversations about different non-kaiju-related topics thanks to you and Hoshina’s exceptionally random conversation starters.

All they ask is that you guys don’t open up a topic that might get you random looks at best, or—hypothetically—get the both of you canceled on the internet at worst.   

Today was one of those days, the team figured, when you and your boyfriend step into the (initially busy) lounge with matching porcelain cups. Hibino, Leno, and Kikoru were the ones present in the room… this marks their first time listening in on the two of you rambling.

“I don’t know, Soshiro-san, don’t you think that may be a little too intense?” you made a beeline and assumed your spot on the couch right in front of Kikoru, drinking from your cup the moment you sat on the soft cushion.

Hoshina follows after you and settles right by your side, “No way!” If he weren’t holding anything, you can envision the way he’d cross his arms and huff. He mimics your movements from a while ago, taking a sip from his drink before placing the cup down with a small ‘clink!’. 

A childish pout graces his lips as he stares right at you. “If you think hard enough, I’m telling ya, dicing those kaiju is just like makin’ intricate fruit carvings!”

May the gods give the juniors strength because what the actual fuck were you two talking about?

The room is radio silent. You and Hoshina continue to glare at each other as if you’re both in a mental debate. Which seems likely enough.  

Kikoru nudges Leno’s arm to get him to break the ice and the poor guy sputters. Hibino breaks into a cold sweat when he catches the way you and Hoshina sharply look at the three of them. 

“V-Vice Captain..! (Name)-san… go–good afternoon!” Leno prays his salute doesn’t give away the fact he’s shaking.

By record, this may have to be the oddest conversation they’ve heard in passing.

You flash the three of them a small smile and Hoshina does a small wave of his hands. Not even a second later, the man beside you jumps at the opportunity to find allies for his claim.

“You guys think that slicin' kaiju is like slicing fruits, right?”

Bless your soul that you’re stubborn enough to match his energy. “If anything, it’s more like carving wood! You have to be intricate about it!” 

Hoshina looks back at you like you’ve transformed into the kaiju you were talking about, “Wood carving?! Darlin’ I love you more than the coffee I’m drinking right now, but you’ve reached a new level of insanity!”

“Comparing anything to kaiju neutralization is already some form of insanity…” Leno whispers under his breath. “Let alone wood carving and fruit dicing…” Kikoru murmurs back in agreement. 

“Aww, you love me more than coffee?”

The immediate shift from a lighthearted argument to some sappy lovey dovey confession while talking about carving patterns on kaiju may be just as impressive as your combat prowess, the trio decides. 

Hibino breathes a sigh of relief and mumbles, “Those two fit each other so well… wonder if it’s a match made in heaven or hell…”

“We’re soulmates!” Hoshina corrects him, instinctively reaching out to hold your hands as if it’ll prove his point further. He gently laces his fingers with yours before glowering at Hibino, “You also called us demons with the whole 'hell' comment. Thirty push-ups for the three of you, ya hear?”

Leno nudges his senior’s ribs like he wants to end him right then and there. Kikoru was probably devising ways to successfully kill him on the spot. Hibino’s fighting for his life, but he still manages to catch the way you and Hoshina look at each other with mirroring lovesick smiles. 

If he manages to scrape out alive, maybe this coffee talk wasn’t that bad.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, but please don’t copy or repost my work! [edited: 062424]

[buckyandgeraltsupremacy]

remus x shy!reader (part 2)

i'm a whore for slow burns and so this little mini series will be a slow burn

author: sj

warnings: fluff, full moon possessiveness, slow burn, reader is described as having longish hair and uses she/her prounouns

part one / part three / part four / part five

masterlist

---

this was your first full moon around remus since discovering he was a werewolf. you weren't nervous, just relieved you finally knew what was going on.

remus was terrified. everyone knew he got a little snappier when it came close to the full moon. he got wound tighter and tighter until happened and the last thing he wanted to do was snap at you.

you were 3 days away from the moon and you just finished with classes, following the boys to their common room to study with remus like normal.

you collapsed on the couch and remus fell into the cushion next to you. you both worked silently together for a while until you found remus significantly closer to you than he was before, your thigh pressed to his.

you weren't bothered by this, but remus was slowly combusting silently. he just felt this unexplained need to be touching you at all times. it started this morning when you were in class with him. your slytherin desk partner had his arm touching yours while you were both taking notes and remus thought he was going to lose. it.

at lunch he made sure he was next to you and that helped his need to be touching you. he usually started to ache before the full moons, but it seemed when you were close that he suddenly forgot about the pain and was only thinking about you. hence why he was trying to get closer to you while in the common room.

you sighed and put your books on the floor. you yawned and you slouched into the couch. remus studied you and noticed the tension you were carrying.

"lay down, bun. close your eyes for a while." remus said, patting his thigh. you nod and lay down your head on his thigh, hair cascading into his lap. remus felt his nerves start to calm and gently started running your hair through his fingers. he delicately plucked at your hair and fiddled with it.

about an hour later, sirius got restless and groaned dramatically on the floor.

"ughhhhh. i'm so bored. wake flea up so she can sneak to the kitchens with me and charm the elves." he said, rolling towards remus. remus stiffened.

"no. let her sleep. she's stressed and is actually resting right now. and if you wake her up, i will wait till you fall asleep tonight and find an insect to crawl into your ear and eat the little brains you have left." he said, it coming out a little more aggressive than remus intended, but feeling extremely protective of you.

the next day, all remus could think about was you. it was a saturday so he didn't expect to see you unless you wanted to come to the common room. and low and behold, you came through the portrait hole and came over to the boys with a small smile.

almost reflexively, remus' hands flew up to grab you as you passed, pulling you down almost on top of him as you passed. you gasped and giggled as you fell onto the couch next to remus, extending them over remus' sideways. remus sighed and pulled you into a hug and mumbled into your hair about how much he missed you.

"ew." peter mumurs.

"i had a theory that you would get possessive near the full moon and this is only proving me right." james says. your cheeks flush red and remus pulls back to look you in the eye.

"i just missed my bun is all. doesn't mean i'm some possessive alpha male." remus scoffs, looking towards the boys.

"your bun?! she's all of ours mate. not like you're dating the girl." sirius says, trying to get under remus' skin. remus' hands tighten around you, sirius' words already making remus' hypothetical hackles rise. remus, not wanting to admit sirius is right, just puts his head back to your shoulder and whispers, 'my bun'.

thus how you found out that remus gets a little possessive close to the full moon.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Working class Dems who campaign on economics beat Trumpists in elections

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me FRIDAY NIGHT (Mar 22) in TORONTO, then SUNDAY (Mar 24) with LAURA POITRAS in NYC, then Anaheim, and more!

The Democratic Party Pizzaburger Theory of Electioneering is: half the electorate wants a pizza, the other half wants a burger, so we'll give them all a pizzaburger and make them all equally dissatisfied, thus winning the election:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

But no one wants a pizzaburger. The Biden administration's approach of letting the Warren/Sanders wing pick the antitrust enforcers while keeping judicial appointments in the Manchin-Synematic universe is a catastrophe in which progressive Dem regulators (who serve one term) are thwarted by corporatist Dem judges (who serve for life):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

The Democrats – like all parties in two-party systems – are a coalition; in this case, a "progressive" liberal-left coalition with liberals serving as senior partners, steering the party and setting its policies. These corporate dems like to color themselves as "neutral" technocrats with "realistic, apolitical" policies that represent what's best for the country:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

This sets up the left wing of the party as the starry-eyed, unrealistic radicals whose policies are unpopular and will lose elections. But for a decade, grassroots-funded primary challenges have made it possible to test this theory, by putting leftist politicians on the ballot in front of voters, especially in tight races with far-right Republicans (that is, exactly the kinds of races that the corporate wing of the party says we can't afford to take chances on).

The 2022 midterms included enough races to start testing these theories – and, unlike traditional midterms, these races enjoyed high voter turnout, thanks to the unpopularity of GOP positions like abortion bans, book bans and anti-trans laws. Jacobin teamed up with the Center for Working-Class Politics, Yougov and the Center for Work and Democracy at ASU and analyzed those races:

https://images.jacobinmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/11134429/CWCP-Report-2024.pdf

Their conclusion: candidates from working-class backgrounds who campaigned on economic policies like high-quality jobs, higher minimum wages, a jobs guarantee, ending offshoring and outsourcing, building infrastructure and bringing manufacturing back to the US won with a 50% share of the vote in rural and working-class districts. Dems who didn't lost with a 35% share of the vote:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-03-18-how-actually-existing-democrats-run-for-office/

In other words, in the kinds of districts where Trumpist politicians are beating Democrats, running on "left populist" policies beats Trumpist politicians.

That's the good news: if Dems recruit leftist, working class politicians and put them up for office on policies that address the material reality of voters' lives, they can beat fascist GOP candidates.

Now for the bad news: the Democratic establishment has no interest in getting these candidates onto the ballot. Working-class candidates, by definition, lack the networks of deep-pocketed cronies who can fund their primary campaigns. Only 2.3% of Dem candidates come from blue-collar backgrounds (if you include "pink-collar" professions like nursing and teaching, the number goes up to 5.9%):

https://jacobin.com/2024/03/left-populists-working-class-voters

All of this confirms the findings of Trump's Kryoptonite, an earlier Jacobin/CWCP research project that polled working-class voters on preferences for hypothetical candidates, finding that working-class candidates with economically progressive policies handily beat out Republicans, including MAGA Republicans:

https://images.jacobinmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/08125102/TrumpsKryptonite_Final_June2023.pdf

Since the Clinton-Blair years, "progressives" have abandoned economic populism ("It's not a burning ambition for me to make sure that David Beckham earns less money" -T. Blair) and pursued a "third way" that seeks to replace half the world's of supply white, male oligarchs with diverse oligarchs from a variety of backgrounds and genders. We were told that this was done in the name of winning elections with "modern" policies that replaced old-fashioned ideas about decent pay, decent jobs, and worker power.

These policies have delivered a genocide-riven world on the brink of several kinds of existential catastrophe. They're a failure. The pizzaburger party didn't deliver safety, nor prosperity – and it also can't deliver elections.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/20/actual-material-conditions/#bread-and-butter

[aventurineswife]

HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

[khuzena]

Waiting room

Pairing: Dr ratio, Aventurine, Sunday x g/n!reader

Summary: You can love, get on your knees and wait on a miracle. There are things that are for you and aren't for you, you should know. It's for the better.

Cw. Heavy angst, no comfort, 1% fluff, manipulative men, toxic relationships, insecurities, death?, unrequited love, breakups, them neglecting you cos…, no closure, what is love?

A/n: hi, time to make you cry. I'm getting writer's block as I'm making a new novel!! It has the ‘your guardian angel’ fics plot but w my characters. 🥳

Dr ratio

He's a simple man, really.

Drown yourself in endless textbooks, advanced literature and neglect every other thing.

Like his thirst for knowledge; love is endless, affection is abundant.

Is what you initially thought.

It has been the 4th time this week that he turned down your requests, “Dear, you know I have no time for that.”

He does not try to sugarcoat his words, he does not try to make his tone less harsh, “I don't have time for dates, such a waste of time.'' He says it like it is, he says it like it's true.

Your eyebrows creased, annoyed at his flippant attitude, “What do you mean waste of time?”

Veritas takes one glance at you, then back to his nonsense book. To him, it was useless wasting his breath on arguing with you.

“Veritas, you said we'll go, you promised.”

He is cruel, his words flinty. “I do not recall making any atrocious promises to you, are you perhaps going insane?”

Insane?

“Insane? Last week, you promised me.”

“I did not.”

“Yes you did.”

He scoffs, as if offended, “If I did, then I was not thinking straight. I have a thesis due tomorrow. A date can wait.”

Veritas is a man with priorities and out of all of them, it seems, you were not one of them. He'd rather his books kept him company, not you. It's obvious, his pursuit of knowledge was greater than loving you.

He lit his lamp, taking his pen and highlighting some paragraphs, what was so important with them? You could not help but come closer, skimming through the contents, it was just some theory some genius society member wrote.

“You're miserable,” it might've accidentally slipped out, but it was true; he is, in fact, the most miserable of all men.

Veritas rolled his eyes, pushing his reading glasses and annotating whatever statement was written. The candle light flickered when his heavy breaths fanned over it, not paying mind to whatever you say.

Your patience was thinning, how long was he planning to play this damned game?

“Veritas.”

You call out once.

“Veritas!”

Again, in anger.

“Veritas”

The last time, desperately.

He does not respond, he does not care. Yet your voice was ringing in his ears in an unpleasant way, “Is this about the date?”

You were taken aback by his curt reply, it wasn't just about the date. “Is that all? Do you think that's the only reason?”

“Hypothetically speaking, yes.”

“Cut the bullshit, veritas.”

Veritas glares at you, as if making a statement; a bullshit one at that. He does not have time for mindless topics, he's overworked, he's tired, he's unsatisfied.

For a moment, you have the urge to yell at him. This shallow bastard has done nothing but fool you with aureate words, he writes poetry about you and shows you off.

He loves you because you are all he has. He may be an asshole but he loves you the way he knows how to love you.

Tonight, however, you are done with his bullshit. You do not argue further, he is confused. When you leave this room with no more qualms, when you do not scream at him, he is bewildered.

“Where are you going?” It's strange that he noticed you for the first time. Only when you get dressed up and when he hears the keys jingle, does he notice every single detail.

You adjusted the cuffs of your blouser, “I'm staying at a friend's”

“Which one?”

“None of your business.”

Stunned, he drops his pen. Why are you acting so off? You're driving him insane.

“What do you mean none of my business? Stop acting so childish.”

That was your last straw, childish? Childish? The fucking audacity.

“You are more childish.”

“How so?”

“You— do I even have to explain it?”

Nothing could quell your frustration other than being away from him for the meantime, “Yes,” he loves you, he wants to know. But even if he does, he never learns; so much for a genius.

“You neglect me, you prioritise this,” it was tempting to crumple his papers, “—over me.” So you did.

He is indifferent. He does not understand how and why it hurts you. So he tries to understand it from a logical standpoint, “So you want to really go on that date?”

“I'm tired of asking”

Tired of begging him to treat you right, to love you like you want him to love you.

He stays quiet.

“I'm tired of begging for something so small.”

“You didn't have to destroy my goddamn book,” he seethed and pulled the book from your hands, too absorbed in the damage of the book he does not notice how much he has damaged you. Veritas is too blind to see you holding back tears despite wearing his glasses.

The force surprised you, “Is that thing much more important?”

“What?”

“Answer me Veritas Ratio.”

It was merely just a book, but it was precious. It was a rare one, it annoyed him to immeasurable depths when you crumpled it so recklessly.

He does not answer.

“I'm leaving,” he's not sure if leaving meant temporarily, he hopes it is. He hopes you come back again tomorrow night.

So he waits. Tomorrow came, but you did not come home.

Aventurine

He loves you, he really does.

His idea of love is adorning you with jewels, showering you with riches.

Too much that you suffocate, it hurts. You can't breathe, soulless eyes stare into yours.

It's when you realise, he's trapping you. Does he think you're stupid? What does he take you for?

“Darling! I got you a gift!”

The 22nd one this week… Aventurine makes haste and runs behind you, wearing the necklace on you, it looks… okay.

You look like a doll, his doll.

But you are not a doll, you are human.

And like all humans, we all wish to be loved and cherished as an equal.

“Do you like it?” It would be rude to say no, but it does not fit you. Sure it accentuates your neck, but it's too much.

“I…” you traced your finger over the gem, “I do.”

“Great! I'll get you another tomorrow!” It is tiring. As much as planets worth of gold and extravagant jewels excite you, you would rather be in his presence.

You do not recall the last day he's ever taken you out on a proper date, you do not recall any time where he's been open to you about his past because you know damn well his name could never just be ‘Aventurine’.

You were sitting on the couch, sipping tea with your eyes glued to your book. Before you knew it, soft lips grazed on your cheek.

“You're back earlier than expected,” he smiles as he pressed another kiss onto you, “I ditched the meeting, for you.”

Oh how you hate it when he does things in your name just to make you indebted to him. Aventurine loves you, but love is transactional.

“Is that so?” He nods, wrapping his arms around you. “I'll buy you something again, we have another business trip in Penacony.”

It makes you wonder, does he think gifts are the only thing that'll make you stay?

He could see the reluctance in your eyes, “Is something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

A deafening silence fills the room before he chuckles, he is everything but stupid. He knows, he knows you want to spend time with him, he knows you’d incinerate those gifts in a heartbeat just to trade even an hour spending time with him.

“Dear, I promise, next time,” he pressed light kisses on your exposed shoulder, but it isn’t enough: what truly is enough?

You want to push him away, with how ruthless he is with making empty promises so easily, “You said ‘next time’ last time.”

”I promise, I do.” Even he sounds unsure. You pick up on the hint of hesitation laced in his promises, he regrets it, but he thinks; he’s doing it for you, for the both of you.

“You said that too last month,” you scoff.

He tried to intertwine your fingers together yet to no avail, you rejected him, “Why are you acting up again?”

There’s only so many gifts can buy but he can never purchase the time lost that could’ve been spent in lazy mornings together yet he traded it all for credits. The second attempt, he forces a smile and even pulls a tiny ring for you, that gem you loved so much engraved in the centre. Words cannot express how much you despise these gifts because it was just a pathetic compensation for the neglect.

”Please, next month.” He took your hand in his and put the ring on your ring finger. “Okay?”

You cling to that possibility, to that sliver of hope when he is done with Penacony, he is relieved of his duties and he is finally free. That he no longer has to overcompensate for his absence and shower you with the time he’s lost.

You know next month won’t come, yet you are no different from a fool.

”Okay”

You wait upon endless tomorrows, two months have passed and none of his coworkers have any good news about his well-being. They’re sure he’s dead, but you still wait for that tomorrow where he is home to come.

Sunday

Love, what truly is love?

Is it when you praise your lover with endless ‘I love you’s?

Is it when you hold their hand and protect them for the impending doom to come?

or rather, is love just a fallacy built on a string of lies?

Sunday believes that he knows what’s best for you.

Before Sunday, you were allowed to make your own decisions.

Before Sunday, you actually had freedom.

The halovian swears he knows what’s best for you.

He makes sure everything you want or need, you get.

Sunday will kiss your tears away, even if he is the sole reason for them. ”It’s for your own good.” he says.

To strip you of freedom, to shackle you to him like a bird in a cage. His sweet kisses, his love, his everything; they’re all fucking poison. He does not hesitate to drown you in his poison if it means protecting you.

You cry out, “Sunday.” In desperate pleas.

But he will not listen, he’ll pretend he doesn’t hear anything.

He believes that if he gives you the taste of freedom, you’ll find a way to fly away from his grasp– he will not allow it. So he does what he’s best at, keeping you stuck to him.

”What do you want, dear?” He smiles at you like he’s never sinned.

You throw away the pathetic gifts he adorned you with, gold, diamonds and stones you could not name but they are not what you want, “I want to see my friends.”

”They’re no good, trust me.” Your friends once told you that you should go, that he’s toxic, but you were a fool to drown in him.

“What do you know about my friends?” He’s done everything to kill that flame inside of you, that hope that maybe one day you’d escape him and be free once again, you’re a fool, he thinks.

He clicks his tongue as he puts down his newspaper at the coffee table, ”They tried to take you away from me.”

”They did not, you know I would never leave you.” A blatant lie but it's stupid that you take him for a fool that’ll believe your words.

He only chuckles, your attempts to get away from him are futile, it’s pathetic it makes him laugh. “I admire your confidence, but you’re staying here tonight.”

Death has never been more alluring under his influence, but you can not die.

“Please,” you beg again, but he only presses his finger to your lips, “Shh…”

”One day you’ll thank me for taking such good care of you.” He gets down on his knees to kiss the back of your hand, “You’re safe here.”

He gets up to sit right next to you, he doesn’t flinch when you slap his face away when he tries to kiss you. The man only grabs your wrist when you try to push him away again. He kisses you with passion, in love but is it truly love when there is no trust?

There’s no use questioning his intentions, “This is for your own good.”

What good is there when there is no freedom? He thinks beautiful birds should be protected. Even if it meant being trapped in a cage, stripped of any sense of freedom, as long as you're safe, as long as you're here with him, he is content. "Dont give me that look."

Your eyes train on the way he rolls his eyes at your defiance, "Just let me go."

Sunday glares at you, his grip on your wrist tight, you're sure he's about to tear it off. "No."

When will you stop acting like a child?

The halovian is too far down the rabbit hole of self righteousness and his obsession with you that he if he needs to tear you limb by limb to keep you close to him, to keep you from rubbing away, he will do it.

His phone rings, it must be business calls again, Penacony sure is in a state of chaos when it's crumbling down. He lets go off you to take his phone.

"Yes yes... Sunday speaking."

You dont understand what they're murmuring about. All you could register is it's something about his sister.

His facial expression turned grim the more time he spent on the phone. The phone call ends and he puts it down, the life from his face drained but when he sees you, he is relieved.

You are still here with him.

He intertwined your hands together, you can feel anger and despair that he's exuding as he stares at you like a deer in the headlights. "Please, promise me."

"You'll never leave me too."

It doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like a statement.

You'll truly never know what freedom is, for that is only a privilege that you can never have. In his arms you cannot cry, because he'll drown you in his lies again and again.

On the bright side, you are never alone. You will always have Sunday, whether you like it or not.

Note: bye i got extreme writer's block at Sunday's part I had to take almost a 2 week break bc i rlly have no idea what to write for him oh my god. I absolutely did not give them justice 😥

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡