#when i say fluff... i mean fluff

[peachylynnie]

what jewelry they like on you

word count: ~300-400 per lead contains: lads men x non!mc reader, established relationship, they all adore you, jewelry descriptions, fluff, suggestive themes (sylus, rafayel, and caleb), and did i mention fluff? make it toothrotting. a/n: it's midterm season so headcanons it is. again, these are headcanons so i'm not saying i'm right. just my silly little interpretations. inspired by my impulsive buy of a bracelet the other day. no, my wallet hasn't recovered. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! tagged: @vvintqz (a little headcanon for xavier, lmk if u want me to stop tagging) lads masterlist

sylus

necklaces all the way

has a preference for silver chains with red or black charms

it's his signature colors on your pretty neck

loves it even more when the charm rests between your collarbones

if you want his nose to bleed, wear a long necklace

yes, the one that goes all the way down to your chest

but if you really want to get him going

wear a choker

doesn't even have to be a chain type or have charms

if it's a choker, he'll fold, like dogs to a bone

you can't blame him

it enticingly accentuates the rest of your neck and collarbones, the two places he likes to leave marks on

don't worry if you're hypoallergenic (like me)

he only ever gets you the finest of materials, even if you point out the cost

not that you mind or anything

"sylus," you whine.

you're going to be late. again. all because of this silver-haired man who's refusing to leave your neck alone.

"sylus!" you gasp when he tugs down the choker, his dewy lips taking advantage of the newly exposed spot.

you're starting to regret wearing a choker (not really). you thought it went well with your outfit. and it did! it added a little pop to your look, and you were excited to wear it for the first time in a while.

"hey!" you squirm in his embrace when you feel the poke of his teeth. "no marks!"

"does it really matter, sweetie?" he asks nonchalantly before continuing his assault on your neck. he loves how his tongue occasionally meets with the smooth fabric of your choker. "this," he tugs on it some more, eliciting a soft whimper from you. "will cover them."

sighing, you make a mental note to apologize to your friends for being late when you meet them.

xavier

earrings

especially studs or the mini drop ones that come in cute graphic designs.

there's just something about the way the adorable little charms hang from your ears

really, he thinks they complement your face shape

and he loves to cup your face whenever

but when you wear the ones that are star-themed

he's looking at you as if you're the one who hung them up in the night sky

seriously, he's never seen anything more beautiful

it also strokes his jealousy (?) in a way (cuz yk he's all abt the stars)

but that's worth like...less than 1% of the experience

he just really loves seeing you wear them

don't worry if your ears aren't pierced

clip-ons are a thing, and he'll make sure to get that ones that are both high quality and comfortable

he also loves watching you put them on

his cheeks hurt from smiling too much. he tries to cover his rosy face when you lean towards the mirror.

you're adjusting the backing of your new star stud. furrowing your brows, you tilt your head to the side for a better look.

xavier swears he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life. here you are, making something so simple as adjusting an earring look so skillful and charming.

"done!" you secure the backing and spin around to show your boyfriend. "what do you think?"

"yeah," he nods softly. "i think you're glowing."

you giggle and embrace him tightly.

"thanks for surprising me with them," you chirp, peering up at him.

the stars on your ears shine. no different from your eyes.

"anything for you, starlight," he whispers, stroking your cheek with a thumb. "anything for you."

rafayel

bracelets

listen

we all know this man is a FIEND for our hands

i may not have all of his five-star cards

but tell me why it is that in all the ones i have, he's YEARNING for our hands at some point

jumps at every chance to help you put one on

has a thing for cuff bracelets

like the metal swirly ones that hold a jewel in the middle

they exude the sense of royalty in a way (he's a god so)

most definitely has designed some for you too

and by some, i mean numerous

what's really heartwarming about that though is that he collects the materials himself

the amount of seashells he has preserved for you

but back to him being down bad for our hands

there's something about the way cuff accompanies the bare skin of your wrist and gently presses against your pulse

he's in heaven whenever he nuzzles against your wrist and feels the cool metal graze his heated skin.

"wait," you squint at the bracelet rafayel just secured around your wrist. "did you design this?"

"yup," he answers with a puffed chest. "good eye, cutie. how'd you know?"

you roll your eyes lovingly.

"first of all, i'm your partner, raf." turning your wrist, you admire the intricate swirls of the cuff. "second of all, your works normally have a trademark."

"oh?" he grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, his lips already tracing your wrist. "and what would that be?"

you try not to shudder when his siren eyes meet yours.

"isn't this from one of your lemuria collections?" you shakily gesture towards the sapphire seashell crested on top. "you always reference lemuria in your works, right?"

"wrong," his tongue darts out, savoring your quickened pulse as punishment for your incorrect answer. "it's not just lemuria i always reference in my works."

he tightens the cuff.

"it's you, cutie."

zayne

rings

he loves the subtlety of them

especially the ones made out of thinner bands

they bring out the beauty of your fingers

he loves the way they shine whenever you move your hands too

let's say the two of you are at a cafe

sitting across from each other and reading novels

except he gets distracted (in a good way) whenever your flip a page

your ring glimmers in the sunlight that's peeking through the window

oh wow, not only is there a halo over your head, there's a halo around your finger too

he can't help but reach out at some point

and trace your left ring finger

imagining what it would be like to gift you one

a simple one that conveys an impactful message

one he hopes you'll say yes to

and bound not only both his and your left ring fingers

but also your souls to each other

"zayne? are you alright?"

he snaps out of his thoughts, lifting his chin from his palm.

"sorry," he apologizes as smoothly as he can. "could you repeat that?"

you smile endearingly. his heart beats rapidly.

"i asked if you were alright."

"yes," he answers before clearing his throat. "yes, of course. why?"

"oh, it's just," you giggle. "you're still tracing my finger."

zayne immediately retracts his hand.

"sorry," he apologizes again. this time profusely. "did i make you uncomfortable?"

"no, no," you immediately reassure. "i liked it. it's just you were doing it for a while..." you pause before continuing. "i thought you were checking for dead skin or something."

zayne blinks.

"you thought i was checking for dead skin?" he repeats incredulously.

you nod slowly. now it's your turn to be flustered.

at that, he chuckles with a shake of his head and returns to tracing your left finger, ignoring your amusing assurances about how you always wash your hands thoroughly.

yes, he's most definitely going to marry you.

caleb

anklets

this totally wasn't inspired by that one scene in the main story where he pins our leg down with his evol

nope not at all

i don't know what you're talking about

he likes the ones that come with dangly charms

this is because he can hear you whenever you move

interpret that however you want

but really, he loves how the sound gets louder and louder

because that means you're moving TOWARDS him

he wants to gift you a whole bunch of charms

specifically apple and sky themed

it's over for him if you wear it while your legs are exposed

that man is on the floor, his hands haphazardly roaming up and down your bare skin

and when he notices the anklet with the charms that he gifted?

it's over for you

his fingers are slipping underneath the anklet, wrapping around your ankle, and pulling you to him

where's his face at?

uhhhhh

you're trying to control your breathing. you really are. but it's hard to when there's a man, an incredibly gorgeous one with lavender eyes deep enough to engulf you whole, settled in front of you, specifically in between your legs.

thankfully (not really), he hasn't done anything yet. he's just kneeling there with his metal fingers snaked around your ankle and his eyes transfixed on the anklet you decided to wear.

"uhm," you start, nervously shifting on the couch. "is there something wrong with my ankle, caleb?"

he finally looks at you. you can't tell if he's angry. definitely not with your foot resting against his broad shoulder.

"nothing's wrong, pips." he speaks after an eternity.

you sigh in relief. eager to get out of this compromising position, you try to put your foot down. keyword: try.

"caleb, what-"

"when did you put the charm on?"

"oh, uh," you notice him looking at the anklet again, but more at the apple charm. it has a snake coiled around it. "a while ago? i think as soon as you gave it to me."

he breathes in sharply.

you think it's over when he releases you. you're proven wrong when he grabs both of your ankles and drags you to the end of the couch, his chin dangerously close to your core.

"you really don't make it easy for me, pips."

[canisalbus]

doodled your little guys!!! I have so many thoughts about them. As someone who lives in Italy it has been absolutely wonderful seeing your characters express the country's culture and history!!! It's not often that I see characters be based off Italian history in such an artistic manner.. But that might be me living under a rock, LOL. Anyhow, keep doing what you do, YOU ROCK!!!!

.

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[fatuismooches]

Dottore's unofficial fan club is working on their next biggest accomplishment - fanfiction of him and his lover.

The rumors and whispers of what Il Dottore and his segments got up to in their labs were some of the most spoken-about (and overused) pieces of gossip that new recruits found themselves petrified by. What do you mean he did this? And that?! Oh, the horror!

However, wherever these kinds of words happened to be spoken, a loyalist of the Harbinger was bound to pop out somewhere and vehemently refute any such statements with their heart, soul, and mind. Although such people seemed crazy at first, quite a few of them existed, much more than what anyone who had any surface level of the scholar would guess. After all, how else could they write over a hundred-page handbook of their Harbinger? Their dedication to their craft could possibly rival Dottore himself!

Their Lord Dottore had so many things to admire, so many traits spread across his various segments. They could only worship from afar, but also, they had another person to appreciate - none other than the only person who he held fondness for, his utmost beloved - you. It was a critical point in the fanclub, seeing how sweetly their Harbinger treated you, and how you kept him on his toes. Well, now they could add "loving partner" to the list of things they loved about him! What joy!

As such, today they had gathered to continue working on the next installment in their writing, more specifically - "Dottore x [Name] - Valentine's Day Oneshot" (the title had yet to be determined). With serious expressions and pen and paper in hand, they had begun their work.

"Do you think that the Lord Harbinger would be interested in such a day in the first place?"

"Well, considering my Lord let [Name] put mistletoes and wreaths during the holidays on the lab doors, I don't think he would be completely opposed to the idea." A chorus of agreement from the others sounded in response.

"Alright, alright, listen to what I have so far!"

—

["Oh Dottore!~"

The man could hear the cheery and excited voice all the way down the hallway before the person even entered the room. Of course, there was only one possible person this voice could belong to, only one person could have the gall to act like that toward him. Nearly bursting through the door, they spoke once more.

"Are you ready?!" A wide smile stretched onto their lovely face, save for some small pants. Dottore, with his back turned, could safely hide a small smile, despite his seemingly unbothered hums.

"Not a moment too early or late. Exactly on time," he mused, listening to [Name]'s skipping footsteps approach from behind him, fully expecting the warm arms wrapped around him.

"Well, I definitely don't think you forgot either. But I think you're just excited to eat some of my sweets again." [Name]'s face nuzzled into his back as they giggled, tilting their head to peer at his calendar. It was filled in with a work-related thing listed nearly every day, but more importantly, the fourteenth had a time slot set specifically aside for something unnamed. The only person who could ever guess correctly would be Dottore himself and his beloved of course.

"Perhaps I am. What then?" Dottore turned around to face [Name] properly, their face now snug into his chest as they looked up with shining eyes, his hand stroking the top of their head.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to take all the chocolates before you, Dottore!"]

—

"Wait wait wait, don't you think [Name] would refer to Lord Dottore in a more affectionate manner in private?"

"I did think of that, but I wasn't sure what else to use..."

"Alright, try this then."

—

["Well, I guess I'll just have to eat them all before you," [Name] teased him, his real name flowing from their lips freely, making the Harbinger catch them in a kiss.]

—

"Oh yes, that's perfect!" The agent squealed, delighted at how the ship was sailing. "Okay, let me skip ahead a bit!"

—

[The couple had found themselves in the kitchen, utensils and ingredients surrounding them. The two were a capable duo that got along with ease, their minds seemingly in sync with each other. Soon enough, the cookies had been finished and left to cool on the counter. The plain yet sugary cookies looked scrumptious, and were it not for his lover's insistence to decorate them, Dottore would have already finished his share.

Not wanting his beloved to get too tired, he hoisted them onto the table to rest their legs and stretch a bit. With a smile, [Name] took his hand and pulled him closer, not even flinching at how dangerously close the beak of Dottore's mask got to their face (they had become accustomed to the peck of it by now.)

They placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, letting out soft giggles when he returned the favor. The scholar's hands wandered down from their shoulders to rest on their thighs, squeezing them.

"Why don't you focus on the other sweet treat, hmm?" They teased him by suddenly pressing a finger full of icing to his nose, to which he scoffed and pulled back at the cool sensation. Wiping it off, instead of tasting it, Dottore smeared it near his partner's mouth.

"Hey! You're not-" Their protest was quickly quieted when Dottore pressed his lips against theirs, licking up the delicious frosting as well.

And so, [Name] and Dottore had a lovely Valentine's Day.]

—

"Archons, that was a great story!" The others nodded resolutely in concurrence.

"I wonder how my Lord will actually spend it with [Name]..."

—

Meanwhile, back in reality some interesting things were happening.

Firstly, you had indeed invited Dottore to bake with you, but numerous things had gone wrong (as you had expected to be honest.)

The two most notable are when you both ended up caked in flour (instead of icing) and when you had turned your back to your beloved for only a bit, and he later presented you with his cookie.

"Y-Your cooking will put me in my grave," you coughed again, "quicker than a-any illness would." There was no romance to be found here. It was dead. Even his absolutely precise measurements couldn't save him.

Ah, and of course you couldn't forget the segments' arguing that happened yearly on who received the best box of cookies. You had to yell at them as they became pouty.

It was a chaotic Valentine's Day.

—

When you conveyed this one day to a few curious agents, they looked unusually stunned.

"So... Lord Dottore cannot cook?"

"Lord Dottore is banned from the kitchen unless he has your explicit permission?"

"The Lord Harbinger isn't suave?"

"O-Our fanfiction is... i-inaccurate?!"

"Oh, the horror!"

"Fanfiction...?" You were a bit confused but you tried to alleviate their worries.

"W-well, I'm not sure why you'd be so worried about this... but you can rest assured that Dottore and I had a sweet Valentine's Day. He did help me bake cookies when I watched his every move! Naturally, he also made sure I didn't get hurt. Even when we got splattered with flour, I threw some more at him for good measure, and you know what, he got back at me too!" You laughed, remembering how he too could be playful.

"And I gave sweets to all the segments too and they were quite happy, even if they can be stupid and silly sometimes! They're all so smart, but sometimes they're complete idiots. That's just how they are, and I love it. "

"Besides, the more Dottore messes up, the more time I get to spend with him. It's silly, but I actually like it. But don't tell him that. He'll figure out my evil plans," you joked, not yet aware of the tears bubbling in the agents' eyes at your and Dottore's heart-throbbing and passionate love story.

If there was one thing that the agents got right, it was the love you and Dottore had for each other - imperfect - yet you wouldn't have it any other way.

[jemmo]

i don’t want to jump the gun, but i think hwang daseul might have just done it again. two episodes in to let free the curse of taekwondo and i am obsessed. more than obsessed. transfixed. this show feels special in a way hwang daseul’s touch only can give, and just using these two episodes to compare to her previous works, i love that i can already spot the continuity in the kinds of stories she tells, the messages she portrays and how she portrays them. she just knows how to let her characters exist in harmful and difficult places and show how their experiences affect them while also just showing them as normal human beings. it is so so easy to overdramatise these kinds of stories that have these difficult topics and have it be so surface level, but she has never done that. instead, she shows how those experiences shape a person and how they go about living in spite of them. all the way from where your eyes linger to now, she gives us characters that are wholly themselves and not just the traumas they have gone through and i just adore that. i can’t remember what i was talking about specifically, but i remember talking about this sentiment and how it actually helps to build empathy in an audience as opposed to just showing a difficult topic at the most surface level bc you think that makes it accessible and easier to understand and hence empathise with. i don’t think that ever works. it’s only when you do what hwang daseul does, when you give us characters we can get to know and fall in love with and care for that you help us to empathise with their experiences. it’s hard to understand the weight and the hardship of experiencing something traumatic, but when something bad happens to someone close to you, a family member or a friend, you understand and feel that pain astronomically more. that’s what hwang daseul manages to do. and more so, she makes you feel that while also seeing these people as people. you get to see them away from the hurt, you see them smile in moments of happiness and you see that too with people you’re close to, and you feel even more how special and important those moments of happiness are.

and that’s why, whenever hwang daseul is at the helm of something, i will be seated from start to end with endless boxes of tissues ready. i can’t wait to see what else this show has in store.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

“Do you like the snow?” Kokushibo asked, his three pairs of eyes gazing momentarily at Muzan before flicking back down to the floor. He sunk deeper into his bow, waiting silently. It was an odd question to follow up an order for a mission, yet it had slipped out nonetheless. Perhaps because he’d just been brought into the Infinity Castle after being out in the snow all evening, but it’d been the first thing on his mind.

“The snow?” Muzan repeated. His tone was surprisingly full of inquiry—and maybe he was holding back from reading Kokushibo’s mind, or was asking purely through courtesy (unlikely, but possible), but he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yes,” Kokushibo agreed.

“If I like it…” he mused, shaking his head. “No, I never cared for it. Is there a point to this question?”

“No. Apologies, Kibutsuji-sama.”

“Ah. Well, then—“ He signaled vaguely with a hand and, with the strum of a biwa, Kokushibo was teleported back outside. His steps sunk into the thick layers of snow as he began to walk towards the nearest village.

Meanwhile, Muzan had himself transported to a town where one of his crafted families were. As he walked idly down the streets, the snow crunched under his feet and seeped into the cuffs of his pants. He frowned down at the footsteps that walked in all directions. When he glanced up, he was met with a row of small snowmen, twigs sticking out as arms for the army of snowballs.

“Do I like snow?” he asked himself, gazing, confused, at the snowmen. “No, no I don’t.”

The sound of chattering brought his attention back up, drawn to the laughter. A little girl, whom he recognized as the one he was meant to be the father of, ran towards him, mindless of how the snow and mud splattered against the hem of her dress.

He crouched slightly, picking her up when she jumped onto him.

“It snowed!” she informed him, unnecessarily, a wide smile splitting her face. “Can we play outside before dinner? Can we? Please, Chichiue!”

“Mm? Did Kaa-chan say that was alright?” he asked, feigning excitement and patting her head.

“Yeah! She said ten minutes!”

“Ten minutes, it is,” he assured her, and placed her back down. She giggled, picking up a clump of snow and tossed it at him. Instinctively, he dodged it, and she pouted.

“You’re no fun!” she told him, then went off to play on her own, shouting something about making a forest for the snow people.

Muzan watched, conflicted. A memory, somewhere in the back of his mind, nudged him. Quietly bothering him, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. As he watched the daughter that wasn’t quite his begin to roll in the snow, he gave in, closing his eyes with a soft exhale. His breath was visible before him, but he didn’t see it, instead transported centuries into the past. Back when he had been his daughter’s age, equally elated over the concept of snow.

—x—x—

“But I want to see it—!” Muzan protested, his whining loud despite the frailness of his body. His nurse fretted over him, shaking her head.

“No, no, you’re not fit for it! You’ll catch a fever if you step out,” she told him, pushing him gently back into his bed. He was small, not just because he was a child, but even more than the average for his age. Recently, his appetite had been low, and with winter at its peak, his condition had worsened. Yet he was immediately awake at the mention of the snowy wonder he’d yet see for himself.

Grumbling, Muzan wiggled out of the covers, pushing the weight of them all off. The air outside the blankets was chilly, and he shivered, but persisted. “So? I’m always sick!” he all but yelled. “I’ll get sick either way! I wanna go!”

“Muzan-chan,” the nurse tried. She retrieved one of the blankets and draped it over his shoulders. “Your mother won’t be happy.”

“I don’t care!” he decided. “Okaa-san would understand!”

“But…”

Muzan turned to her with wide eyes that were full of longing, a pout forming. “Just a couple minutes? I never get to do things.”

The nurse struggled with herself for a moment, then sighed, sagging. “Alright. Five minutes. I’ll find you some clothes, you can’t go out in that.”

A few moments later, Muzan stumbled outside, bundled up in scarves and several layers of haori. The nurse held his hand tightly, gently helping him step into his shoes and then onto the snow. Red eyes alight with wonder, Muzan gasped and prodded tentatively at the snow with his foot. When it formed a cavity in the bright white mound, he laughed and stomped down, the widest of smiles splitting his face when the snow went flying.

“Careful, Muzan-chan!” the nurse warned, not quite letting him go even when he began to waddle through the snow. His excitement was palpable, his breath visible in the air where he spoke.

“It’s so cold,” he remarked, his cheeks and nose bright red—a contrast to his pale skin. However he seemed unbothered by the temperature, even elated by it, uncaring for the sacrifice if it meant being outside. “Ne, can I play?”

“Ah… You’re not well, yet, so be cautious,” was his answer. But the nurse reluctantly let him go, keeping close as he giggled and spun in a slow circle.

Abruptly, he sank down, poking the snow with a finger. He sucked in a breath and pulled his hand back. “It’s so—“ he started, then plunged his hand in, laughing breathlessly at the iciness.

“Don’t do that!” the nurse chided, crouching and pulling his hand out, wrapping it in one of the scarves. “You’ll give yourself a frostbite.”

“But it feels funny!” he said, only to be distracted by something else. He stood, slowly, then hurried off to soothe his curiosity. His enthusiasm was ceaseless, smiles bright and full of life. They ended up staying out for ten minutes, until Muzan began getting dizzy from all the movement.

As he was ushered inside, shoes pulled off and tucked back onto bed, he began recounting his adventure. His mother listened patiently while the nurse made some tea, readjusting the blankets so they were up to his chin.

“It was so cold, and really mushy, and kept getting on my clothes, and then it melted and—and then I made people! Out of snow! And we got sticks and put them in the snow for arms, but then the people fell apart—but, but then we made even more, and then there was a bunch of footprints in the snow—“ he said, without even stopping for breath. His face was still tinged red where the air had bit his skin, and he seemed as if he’d run miles for hours. But his happiness was infectious, and his mother couldn’t resist the smile that followed her understanding hums.

“Is that so?” she asked, when he finally paused to catch up with himself.

The nurse returned with tea for all three of them, and they helped Muzan drink his first. When he finished a few sips, he nodded.

“It was super fun, I wanna go outside again tomorrow!”

“Maybe another day,” his mother suggested. “You rest well today and tomorrow, and we’ll consider. How about that?”

“…okay,” Muzan pouted, but agreed, burrowing into his blankets. “I’ll sleep now!”

“All right, then,” his mother said, amused, and patted him gently. “Sleep well, and you’ll see the snow in a bit.”

She and the nurse left the room once they were sure he’d sleep, taking the tea with them. Muzan tucked his face under the blankets, bringing his hands up to his cheeks and feeling how much colder they were.

“Like the snow,” he said to himself. “I love the snow!”

That night, his dreams consisted of snow in the summers when he was allowed out for small bits of time—the snowmen he’d made now with arms that stayed, relaxing in the shade beside him. Every year, he must go out when it snowed. He’d make sure that it happened. One way or another!

—x—x—

“Chichiueeee!”

The whiny voice brought Muzan back to the present and he hummed, glancing down at the little girl that tugged on his pant leg.

“Yes, Teruko-chan?” he asked, pushing away his impatience to bend down.

“I’m cold!” she said with a huff. “I wanna go inside!”

“All right.” Muzan scooped her up into his arms, wandering towards their house. “Where’s your mother?”

“Kaa-chan’s making dinner, and she saw you outside so she said I could play with you,” his daughter informed him, wiggling in his grasp. She pressed her cheek to his, and he felt the coolness in her skin, reminding him of when he’d pressed his hands to his own face.

“Is that so? Then why don’t we go inside to eat?” he suggested, and pushed the door open. The little girl immediately squirmed from his arms and dashed off to the kitchen where, presumably, the food was being made. He tapped the snow from his shoes, then took them off as he entered. The door closed behind him, and he remained at the doorway for a moment, gazing aimlessly at the hall.

At dinner, he assured his wife that he’d eaten lunch late so he’d eat dinner later. He sat patiently at the table, glad for the clouded-over sky because it allowed him to walk freely in the snow today. As he waited, he gazed curiously at his daughter.

“Did you like playing in the snow?” he asked, stopping her from shoving too much food into her mouth.

“Yeah!” she said happily, batting his hand away. “But the snow was super cold, so I don’t wanna go tomorrow. One day is fine! Tomorrow, I can sit by the fire and have milk.”

Her mother laughed softly. “I thought you liked the snow?”

“Not for long times,” the girl said matter-of-factly, shaking her head. “I like making the snowmen and stuff, but then it’s too cold so I wanna go back in.”

“Ah, well, I like the snow,” Muzan piped up, as the dishes were collected to wash.

“Why?” his daughter asked almost judgmentally, a perplexed frown plastered on her face.

Why? Muzan paused. “It’s nice?”

“Boring!” The little girl ran off to her mother, shouting, “Kaa-chan! Chichiue’s boring!”

“Don’t say that about your father!” was the distant response from the kitchen, the clattering of dishes and the sound of water following.

Muzan’s previously pleasant expression dropped with the absence of company, and he murmured something about going to sleep early, trudging to the bedroom. He wasn’t sure if it had been the snow, exactly, that he’d loved as a child. Or maybe it had. It was hard to say. Such small things hardly mattered to him, now. Now, he could go out whenever he wanted. So maybe he didn’t care for snow. Such trivial things were unimportant—and liking it or not, it came only briefly each year. Ah, well, he’d avoid the snow tomorrow and have Nakime bring him where he needed to go, instead of going on foot. Perhaps the girl had a point—he should just stay inside; the snow was too cold to actually enjoy.

Goodness, such a bother for something like snow. What was he thinking? He had other things to worry about.

The thoughts were shoved aside as he entered his study room and picked a book from the shelf. He’d go to the library tomorrow and continue browsing through the books. The blue spider lily was at utmost importance now. Unless it thrived in the snow, he shouldn’t let himself get distracted again. He’d better tell Kokushibo to not ask such things anymore.

[losver07]

I WROTE SOME WOLSTAR YAYYY (idea from this post)

tw: religious trauma, internalised homophobia & mild swearing

But What If

“Moony?”

He lays in the silence for a few seconds, part of him hoping he was heard, part of him wishing the darkness would swallow him whole.

“What is it?,” comes the answer, muffled by the sound of bedsheets ruffling with movement. Remus is now looking at him, face pale in the moonlight. He takes a deep breath.

“What if they're right?”

The werewolf furrows his brows, still half-asleep and confused. For a second, he thinks he might be talking about quidditch, or something related to one of their classes, but he doesn't find anything mildly coherent, so lets Sirius speak.

“Who?”

“The muggles,” he whispers back, letting his gaze wonder anywhere but the other boy's face. Right now, he can't bear to see Remus and talk to him at the same time without completely breaking down. And he doesn't want that. “What if there is someone up there? Not God, just... someone. Something.”

Remus, now aware of what's about to come, sits up on the bed and casts a silencing spell. He still whispers, however, when he asks:

“Does that scare you?”

Sirius closes his eyes, trying to distract himself, like one would from a bleeding wound.

“It shouldn't, shouldn't it?”

Remus forces himself not to give him a lecture, not to tell him about the church convincing its members trough fear and torture, about the inquisitions and persecutions. He figures Sirius already knows everything he needs to know. He's seen the books on his nightstand.

“It's okay to be worried,” he tries. Sirius doesn't buy it.

“Yeah,” he laughs, the volume of his voice rising along with his sarcasm, “especially if you've broken, like, every single fucking rule good people are supposed to follow.”

“But you love breaking rules,” Remus smiles, trying to ease the tension. “It's what you do, you can't be blamed for it.”

“But what if I can? What if these rules actually matter? What if I deserve to be punished?”

That's when Remus realises, he actually believes in what he says. He's not scared it might be true, he really thinks it is, that some day he will have to face everything he's ever done wrong, and deal with the consequences.

“You don't.”

The problem, he recognises, is that even though Sirius is an angel directly descended from heaven, in the mirror of his mind he sees a demon.

“No, you don't,” he insists. “If they are right, I will die and go to hell and you will go to heaven and I won't be able to see you again. They won't even have to torture me, I'll just be left alone on a corner thinking about you, and it will be enough to make me regret everything I've done, to everyone.”

He's crying now. They both are. Each one staring at a different point in the bed curtains, trying to make their breathing sound even.

“Padfoot...” Remus whispers. He wishes he could hug Sirius, but doesn't reach out. He can't.

“I don't want that, Moony,” the long-haired boy says, with a voice as thin as a thread.

“I know,” Remus answers. “It's okay. That's not going to happen, okay?”

He's not sure he believes it now. But he has to. He needs to.

“I'm sorry,” Sirius whispers, voice wet with tears.

“It's fine,” he keeps promising, and finally finds the courage to lay back down, next to Sirius, and pull him into a hug.

“I'm so sorry, Moony...” Remus hears as he buries his face in a sea of black curls, brushing against his cheek to remind him where he is, to make him forget about what could come after this. He is here, they both are. And that's enough for now.

“Me too,” he says. His shoulder is getting wet with the salty tears of a pair of sea-blue eyes, and he thanks whatever God is seeing them for it. He's grateful he can cry now, he can hug and he can worry and he can love. He's glad he's afraid of losing this, because otherwise he may not try as hard, feel it as much as he does now.

And that's good. That's the only good that matters.

“I love you,” Sirius sniffs, holding on to Remus as if he were about to lose him. And maybe he is. Maybe they'll lose each other, but for now they have the chance to fear together. And that's enough for now.

“I love you too.”

[henke-penke]

Morning.

"Alejandro always woke up first."

A fluffy little drabble I wrote based on a one word prompt (of which there were many that sparked inspiration)

[busterbby]

am I really about to be the first nsfw request on this blog... sorry for being a whore. can you write general ichiro nsfw headcanons pretty please 🙇✨️

lol dw anon. I too am an abolute whore for Ichiro. though who can blame us 😔 but I shall try !! This is my first time ever posting nsfw, so I hope it works!! haven't actually written much nsfw on my own, but I want to get better~ (and also I'm horny lol). but please enjoy!! and lmk how it goes!

— general nsfw hcs.

nsfw. gn!reader. ichiro. 18+ only ; minors do not interact!!

Ichiro . . . is a gentleman, in and out the sheets. a very sweet and attentive sorta lover (though at times a tease)

sorta like candlelight or rose petals on silk sheets. like moonlight that kisses you tenderly. a cute lover through and through; he wants to pleasure you first and foremost

(really though, he's still a dork deep down. still a nineteen year old loser with a huge crush)

he’s definitely a little awkward at first since Ichiro hasn’t had much experience in the past with these sorta things; most — almost all — his knowledge comes from hentai and adult visual novels, Ichiro embarrassingly admits

(and he definitely learns that some of the stuff in porn does not translate well to real life; but it's fun and you guys have a good laugh about it)

his hands seem hesitant when they roam up your shirt — heavy as they are on your skin, gentle yet. his dimples your hips or thighs, sweet; he fumbles a bit with the condom as it slips from his grasp a few times, Ichi a little (a lot) embarrassed; and, Ichiro seems to waver, when he pulls back from a kiss. his warm hands up your shirt, hot breath tickling your lips; and, as much as his eyes say, they still shake uneasy. are you sure?

but he only wants to reassure that you want this as much as him! and- man, trust him. Ichiro wants it very much. He just.. doesn't know; it's your guys' first time after all! and he wouldn't want to make the first move if you weren't entirely ready yet

but he’s a quick learner! there’s definitely more confidence later on, when Ichiro takes off his shirt so swift and smooth, when he shoots you that handsome smile — softness in his gaze

(and he gets cutely proud of himself when you cum like three or four times)

he’s a giver, first and foremost; Ichi is attuned to your needs. it’s just- he loves taking care of the ones he love!! call it his older brother instinct or whatnot. and he’d try to not cum until you do so first

you don't have to go down on him, Ichiro insists. but well, he's not opposed either. he's a little filthy inside, and he hates that he loves the look of you down in between his legs oh so much

very attentive to all your little sweet spots and what makes you cum. though sometimes, he can be a total tease with that too

he’s gentle too!! his little touches are so tender yet hot — never too harsh. especially if you're smaller than him. he could never be too rough (unless you're into that sorta thing)

more of a switch, really; ichiro doesn’t have a particular preference, and he’s more than happy to try out new stuff, especially if it's something that you're excited about (what can he say? he loves to please)

he’s not very loud since Ichi tries to contain himself. Sure, the house is usually empty — that, or Ichi makes extra sure to lock his bedroom door. but he doesn’t think he can ever look his brothers in the eye if they accidentally heard anything

(which is highly unfortunate since he makes the prettiest of sounds

but sometimes, a particularly load moan will slip through, and the flustered look on his face, the red blush to his cheeks, is the sweetest thing. God- did that really just come out of him??)

he does that sappy thing, where Ichi will trace his fingers up your arm and then hold your hand sweetly; he'll give it a little squeeze too, and somehow, it always makes his heart skip a beat each and every time

and he grunts your name underneath his breath during climax. a little raspy, a little rough; he says it with so much love. your name rolls like velvet off his tongue

he never does moan too loud though, but it's just enough for you to hear and make your heart tremble. they’re hushed, like a secret meant only for your ears

always mindful not to leave hickies anywhere too visible! maybe a bit lower on your collarbone, or on your inner thighs, but Ichi would never want to embarrass you or make it too showy. Unless he's feeling a bit more confident that day, of course. perhaps a little jealous too

but, ichi does get a tinge flustered, mostly very dork-ily happy, when he sees the marks on your skin. they're very pretty on you.. ( and hickies look quite good on him too! so make sure to give him lots and lots. they just suit him so )

and he likes to cuddle afterward, always. you’re just so warm in his arms, within these sheets. and it almost feels like your heart beats are entwined, breaths too; that's the romantic in him

[dootznbootz]

Don't get me wrong, I hate the telegony with every FIBER of my being. HOWEVER!! I feel like there's so much yummy angst potential with Odypen.

Like?? Imagine Penelope holding Odysseus' dead body. And it reminds her so much of when he'd fall asleep in her arms, in their bed holding an infant Telemachus. Because little baby Telemachus wouldn't stop crying so he had to be held in his papa's arms :3

But he's still crying to this day,, crying in the background, sobbing, hugging his mother from behind as she's holding her dead husband. Her husband that she waited 20 YEARS for. Her husband that's literally been threw hell and BACK, yet who never gave up because he wanted to see HER and their SON!!

He could've stayed with Calypso, he could've stayed with Kirke, he could've. But he DIDN'T. And I know damn well the moment he came back, and she saw him, she SAW on his face he's been threw shit. And imagine that, imagine the pain of someone you love more than the Sun experiencing that. Imagine that, and they did all of that, to see you.

People undermine that Penelope loves Odysseus just as much as Odysseus loves Penelope. It's been 20 years. She had every right to assume he's gone or get remarried. But she didn't. She had faith the entire time.

And she waited so long, and he went threw so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching.

And for Telemachus, who never even KNEW his father. To suddenly see him again, to see how happy his mother is, how happy he is. Just for some bastard he has to call his half-brother to kill him. Telemachus knew so little of his father, only the stories Penelope told him. And now, sadly, it'll stay that way.

Telemachus and Penelope would fucking despise Telegonus. They've been waiting so long for this man, and this man has waited and had to go threw so much. All three of them did not go threw all that just for Telegonus to kill him. I don't care if it was an 'accident'. It doesn't matter if the killer didn't want to do it, it matter's that the victim's family lost someone they FUCKING LOVED.

Penelope would NEVER marry Telegonus, and Telemachus would never marry Kirke.

But Odysseus death gives us some JUICY angst. I hate it. But good god it scratches that angst-loving part of my brain SO GOOD. 😼

Feel free not to answer since this is a rather long ask/ramble :'D And ye, take care Mad! <3

Oh, also, just so it's not ALL just angst, a few Penelope and Baby Telemachus headcanons/shenanigans? They mean the world to both Odysseus AND me 🥹

So, this is a really fun ask...But I don't think you're going to get the answer you'd like from me :')

As many folks know, I am a big lover of fluff and very soft stuff. I have angst but even then I would consider it more hurt/comfort in a way as I do plan for the "comfort" to be what's most important :) I also just think of "angst" as just the "something that makes sense storywise".

The Tele-GONE-y to me, is just blatent whump. Not really my cup of tea.

Also the Tele-GONE-y has the whole bullshit about Odysseus doing fuck all in random war, getting married and having children with a random af woman, before coming back to get killed. So that's just...ew. All of it is ew.

And I don't even like the idea of Telegonus existing in any form. At most, Telegonus would only exist in my mind as Polites' son. (not based on Epic at all. This Polites is my own special guy. He's my lil weird goober of my own design reeeeee) My dear friend thehelplessmortals is the only person who I feel explores it in a way that makes sense to me and seems canon.

As you put it into words:

"And she waited so long, and he went through so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching."

And it's just TOO heartwrenching for me :') I can't do it. It's honestly such a horrifying scenario that I got nauseous the first time I heard about it. (that's not even getting into the gross out of character marriage circle and Odysseus fucking around away from his family)

For me, I cannot see Circe (my Circe definitely) as a mother regardless. She wasn't made for motherhood. Also Odysseus and her only have sex once in my writing in exchange for his men to be turned back into humans. (as it's only stated explicitly once in the Odyssey)

The Odyssey also says that Odysseus' line only has one son each. That's Telemachus. (OdyPen can have a daughter though! >:3 Girldad Odysseus is very tasty for me)

If you're just into the angst of Odysseus' death, I got a bit of that though :'D

Penelope being 75% Naiads will live a long life. And Odysseus, being her husband, gets the advantages of having a magic Water wifey and that affects him in how he will live a long life as well (Calypso also gave him ambrosia/nectar to keep him alive. as he was nearly dead when he washed up.)

BUT. He is mostly mortal. He lives way beyond what is normal for Mortals but still.

His hair now fully gray. His breathing raspy and slow. He's slow to move...

Penelope lives a bit afterward. Sleeping and taking comfort in their nest that cradles her as she sleeps. She feels him everywhere. She grieves him endlessly.

Their nest starts to wilt. Only when she goes too does it come alive again.

And for some random Penelope and Telemachus headcanons :P

Nereids have lined bioluminescence, while NAIADS have spots. Like the black spots on the beloved rainbow trout 🥹 (they don't have the black spots. they just have spots that glow in their own control lol)

Telemachus gets "spots" from both his mama (naiad scales/glowbit) and his papa (freckles) 🥹

It's what they use to communicate underwater. And it's nice because even if you're not full naiad and don't have as many scales, you can still communicate as it's about the flickers :3 (Odysseus can understand these to a degree)

Very rarely do they "just randomly glow" as you know, don't wanna give away your thoughts. But it's cute because Odysseus will occasionally have a lightshow when one of them is dreaming.

I know a lot of people have Penelope see Odysseus in Telemachus constantly, and while she does to a degree, she is actually one of the few people who really emphasizes that he's his own person. You don't have to be good at whittling, you make such beautiful pottery. You like green, not orange. You don't have to pick that color when it's not your favorite and because other people simply get excited about you being like your dad sometimes. That type of stuff.

You take care too, Dear Anon! :D

[teddybeartoji]

please don't be mad if i don't read your angst (esp if it's without comfort) i really can't fucking do it lmao you're all just godly fucking writers and i kinda wish you guys sucked more bc you're all breaking my heart:((((((((((((((

[lennsart]

Thank you to everyone who voted on my previous poll, there were more of you than I expected :D

And the winner is The Knight and the Hare chapter 2 ! I did kind of expect it, but I was pleasantly surprised by how many people voted for the 'Four apology' wip hahaha. We must all be on the same wavelength, because those two are the closest to be done !

(I do intend on finishing these three wips though, don't worry if you didn't vote for the winner, it will come !)

So, how is the demanded chapter going, you ask ?

Please make them stop talking. I thought this chapter would be shorter than the other, but I'm not even at the conclusion yet ! I will try to contain it under 5k words... But no promises !

In the meantime, can I interest you in a teaser snippet under the cut ?

(tw : brief mention of gore/violence, but it's not actually happening)

[...] Now Warriors was rushing towards the beast, vainly trying to push it away, terrified that his second of surprise and confusion had resulted in the loss of a life—

Another ally victim from a friendly fire, someone Warriors could have known that had been taken away by this horrific war again—

“ - Let him go ! ” he yelled, pushing against the wolf without managing to make him move at all. “ He’s not dangerous, we talked ! ”

And as he was expecting the worst case scenario, the beast slowly turning to him with blood pouring from its mouth, falling back to the open throat of the lifeless corpse laid before him...

Wolfie, whose muzzle was clean, threw him a flat look that was so human, so unimpressed that Warriors almost felt embarrassed.

Of course, this was Wolfie, not a monster. They were in random woods, not a battleground, and Legend was unconscious... Nothing else.

The captain took a shaky breath, terrible thoughts tainted in red still haunting his mind.

He was fine, they were fine.

“ - We're both stupid, ” he admitted, trying to keep a stable voice that wouldn't betray his state of mind. “ He attacked me because he thought I'd do it to him first. I don't think he's dangerous, he was scared. ”

Just scared, like Warriors had been, scared to wake up with a blade in the guts, scared to have seen a betrayal coming and have done nothing about it on the account of being reasonable...

Now, all of these thoughts were turning in his head and he didn't know what was right anymore. He just held onto Legend's tone, how sincere he had sounded, "what the fuck is going on ?"

" We, we really need to talk, and I can't do that if you maul him, ” he concluded.

[allfortzu]

hand in hand

-- nayeon / tzuyu. 2.7k, fluff, slightly suggestive ; celebrity!tzu. MEN DNI

to be in love is to know love.

nayeon loves being in love. 

she loves that fluttering feeling in her chest; loves how it makes her heart soar and skip and all of the stupid things that come with it.

how her mind ever only wanders to one person now, and how she tries to distract herself from it only to be distracted by it. 

really, nayeon loves knowing that she's in love. 

kookeu must feel it too, because he huffs and leaps off her lap, unable to ignore her tapping foot. 

if it were any other day, she'd pout and wail for him to come back — but right now, she's brimming with so much giddiness she can barely fathom any emotion that isn't pure excitement. 

when tzuyu texts back, nayeon's heart bursts. 

tzuyu

almost done with the shoot :)

call her lovestruck or smitten; deeply infatuated, even — nayeon is all of these things at once. 

she grabs her keys in one hand, her racing heart in the other, and sprints out the door. 

i'm here, i'm here. 

she probably breaks every speed limit on her way over and then some, and when breaking speed limits is no longer an option, she risks a parking ticket and runs the rest of the way. 

the path is dark and they’re all covered up, but nayeon wouldn't be nayeon if she didn't know what true love looked like. 

“tzuyu.”

she's clad in a cap and mask, hidden from prying eyes. though, nayeon couldn't possibly miss that familiar shine. 

“unnie!”

she isn't sure how many steps it takes for her to reach tzuyu because her legs move before she can start counting. nayeon pummels into tzuyu with a puff. they both stumble with the force, but tzuyu keeps her stance steady enough to engulf nayeon just as forcefully right back. 

they don't kiss, not yet; nayeon throws her arms over tzuyu's shoulders, and tzuyu gathers her up in kind, laughing, chest fluttering. 

she inches down the brim of her cap when nayeon presses eager lips to her cheek, over her mask. the polyester is cold and rough, nothing like tzuyu's skin, much to nayeon's dismay, but it is enough. tzuyu giggles, shy and slightly wary; nayeon nuzzles in anyway. 

“hi to you, too, stranger,” tzuyu muses. “were you waiting for long?” 

nayeon buries her nose into tzuyu’s neck. it was a little long, but she'd be willing to wait longer if need be, if it was for tzuyu, so — “not at all,” she says. “you finished early today.” 

tzuyu's eyes curve, crinkling adorably at the corners. “well, i had very important things to do after.” 

“that so?” nayeon beams. “what kind of important things?” 

“you know…” tzuyu drawls.

“do i now?” 

“yeah,” tzuyu drops her voice. “like… kissing my girlfriend, and all that.” 

nayeon laughs. “you make it sound so scandalous.” 

“some people think it is,” tzuyu says, and nayeon knows she's right. at this point, they've been standing here hugging for so long even this might be scandalous. “i do really want to kiss you now, though.”

nayeon grins her bunny-toothed grin, affection blossoming under her skin and a giggle bubbling in her throat. if anything good could come out of being apart for longer than either of them want, it's that tzuyu's always terribly needy by the end of it — the kind of needy nayeon knows tzuyu only feels for her; the kind of silly attachment she can't say she doesn't adore or absolutely love reciprocating. 

“what happened to taking me out on a date first?” nayeon jabs playfully. 

tzuyu tightens her embrace, a little pleading, but still complying. “okay, dinner date first. then kisses…… then i’m staying over at yours, right?” 

nayeon's expression softens. “i could stay over at yours, too — if it’s easier,” she suggests. 

tzuyu has been talking about this since the day she left for her overseas shoot, but nayeon always feels like her place is lacking. tzuyu’s penthouse is bigger and nicer, and she can't bear keeping her away from her home any longer than work has. 

“you probably miss home.”

“no,” tzuyu insists. “i missed you. and i like your place much, much more.” 

nayeon laughs. “my dingy little one-bedroom apartment?” 

“it's not dingy,” tzuyu frowns sharply. “It's cosy; much cosier than my empty shell of one.” she leads them on their way, walking in the vague direction where nayeon came from and trusting nayeon to guide her if she strays. “and it smells like you.” 

“it smells like me?”

“yeah,” tzuyu says. she slips a hand into nayeon's, then tucks them into her coat pocket. “like home.” 

it's a little too warm for the weather, but nayeon thinks tzuyu is wonderfully lovely for it all. 

//

in the car, tzuyu gets a call. 

nayeon watches her face fall, and she knows why it does.

“it's my manager,” tzuyu announces. she picks the call up anyway. 

nayeon has never been around to hear tzuyu speak to her manager before — they're always talking in hushed voices and different rooms when nayeon's around. she's met her manager briefly, in between dropping tzuyu off at her place or picking tzuyu up from a shoot, but never any longer. 

in the span of two minutes, nayeon realises why tzuyu has never tried introducing them, and why tzuyu never talks to her manager when nayeon's around.  

“i don't care if you think i shouldn't be dating anyone right now,” tzuyu hisses into her phone. “i told you i'm taking a break this week, so i am. you can waste your time waiting for me outside my door, i don't care.” 

nayeon can't hear the other side of the conversation, but by that point, she decides it might be in her best interest to simply tune out the rest. 

when tzuyu hangs up, she tosses her phone to the backseat. 

nayeon debates saying something, but tzuyu speaks up first. 

“sorry.”

at this time of the night, the roads are empty, so nayeon chances a glance at tzuyu. “what for?” 

“you shouldn't have had to hear that,” tzuyu says. “you know i love you, right?” 

nayeon wishes she had more comforting words, but all she can think to say back is: “yeah, i know. and i love you, too.” 

she takes tzuyu’s hand and hopes it’s enough. 

“do they… do they know you're with me?” 

“i’m sure they could tell.” 

“you don't have to force yourself to meet me if it gets you in trouble, you know?”

the grip on nayeon’s hand tightens. “don’t say that — i want to do this. and i don't care if it gets me in trouble.” 

nayeon squeezes back. “but i worry.”

it's not like she never knew this was going on behind the scenes — it was something that was implied the second tzuyu decided to enter this line of work, anyway — but she didn't think it would be so prevalent; that there would be people pestering tzuyu and watching her every move, even those who were meant to be on her side. and she didn't realise the extent tzuyu went to to keep these issues from her, to make sure these problems weren't as big as they were. 

“you don't have to,” tzuyu huffs. “i care about you much, much more than them; i'll always put you first, i don't want you to think otherwise.” 

“i know that,” nayeon sighs. “it's them i'm worried about. i know you want to keep our relationship private, but who knows what they could do?” 

she sees tzuyu open her mouth to refute, only to close it before any words come out. 

they fall into silence until tzuyu breaks it again. 

“what should we do, then?” she whispers, and it's so hesitant it's as if she's already predicted an answer and didn't like it. “i don't want to stop seeing you, if that's what you're suggesting.” 

“i'm worried, not out of my mind,” nayeon gapes. “what i'm saying is that… if you need us to lay low or something, just to get your managers off your back, i'm okay with it. and if i can't pick you up from work everyday, that’s fine, too.” 

tzuyu's fingers tense. “absolutely not. you're the only thing i look forward to after work, how am i supposed to get through the day if you're not there at the end of it?” 

nayeon softens. it's an achingly romantic sentiment she can't bear to ruin. 

“would you just promise me you'll be careful?” 

“i will,” tzuyu assures. “but i'm also ready for whatever they could throw at me, okay?” 

it's a type of determination and courage that nayeon admires, but sometimes she does fear for tzuyu, especially when it begins inching into stubbornness. 

“you could lose your job,” nayeon warns gently. “they could take everything.” 

“that would barely amount to losing you,” tzuyu says. “you're my everything. so — as long as you're here, i'm not scared.”

nayeon's never been strong enough to stay away from tzuyu, anyway. 

“okay,” she says. 

she knows only this one other thing as earnestly as she knows her love for tzuyu. 

“then i'm not scared either.” 

//

tzuyu makes sure her cap and mask are fitted snugly over her face before they leave the car. 

“i can go get the food — it's dangerous for you,” nayeon had told her, but it only made tzuyu want to go with her more. 

“i'll be careful,” tzuyu reassured. she simply winked and pointedly pulled her cap down further. “you're always doing these things for me — let me.” 

nayeon still worries, even though the cashier acknowledges them with nothing more than a tired smile when they walk in.

now, tzuyu squats with her in front of the cold foods rack. she already has two ramen bowls in her hands. 

“should i get a rice ball or ramen?” nayeon ponders. 

“you know a rice ball wouldn't be enough.”

“but i’m craving rice,” nayeon pouts and pokes at the plastic. “and i’ve never seen this malatang chicken flavoured one before.” 

tzuyu tilts her neck back, angling just enough to peer through the tiny slit she'd left between her pulled-down cap and pulled-up mask. she's quiet for a bit, then she takes the rice ball before nayeon has to decide. 

“we'll get both.” 

“both?” 

“yeah, my treat.” 

“... and chuu-hi?” 

“and chuu-hi.” 

nayeon beams. she grabs two cans and holds her arms out to retrieve the rest of their things from tzuyu. it's usually how it goes in places like these — she’ll speak, pay, walk in front, for fear tzuyu might be recognised if she ever does any of those things in public. 

but tzuyu picks the cans from her hands instead and keeps whatever she’d been holding. 

“i'll do it this time.” 

she watches in stunned silence as tzuyu makes a stiff beeline to the cashier. in the middle of an anxious thought, nayeon realises why tzuyu had insisted so adamantly to come along. 

i'm not scared. 

tzuyu shifts in place at the end of the line, but her hands are balled into fists.

for a while, nayeon keeps her distance, cautious to be seen around tzuyu herself — cautious of tzuyu being seen around her. maybe tzuyu had been looking forward to this moment, or at least gearing herself up for it, but nayeon hadn't.

yet, tzuyu’s fingers begin to fidget. 

nayeon can't help herself despite the obvious foolishness. 

she hastily grabs another rice ball and can of chuu-hi, and rushes to the counter. maybe she’ll come off as another unassuming customer. for tzuyu's sake. 

she can't see tzuyu's face, and she's not even sure if tzuyu has any peripheral vision left with the way her cap is pulled down. she worries. 

she tugs on the hem of tzuyu's jacket as subtly, as gently as she can. 

below the counter, tzuyu curls a quiet finger around hers. 

nayeon’s heart settles. 

//

tzuyu doesn't forget to give nayeon a kiss. 

in between bites of ramen and rice balls, after countless careful glances around, she leans over and dips her head until their lips meet.  

nayeon hums, pleased. 

“in public?” 

“i said i wasn’t scared,” tzuyu tells her. 

they sit by a river near her apartment, the same one they've sat at since they met. ramen has always tasted better outdoors, and their lips have always been particularly irresistible when they weren't allowed to kiss them. 

nayeon pulls the brim of tzuyu’s cap back down, readjusting it after their kiss had pushed it back. 

tzuyu chuckles. “i'm sure anyone who wanted to see has seen already.” 

nayeon wants to cover tzuyu's hand with hers, but after that stunt, she decides some cautiousness is due. “when did you get so brash?” 

tzuyu smiles. she brushes a finger against nayeon's pinky. “you make me want to do stupid things.”  

nayeon hooks her finger around tzuyu's, relenting. 

she feels something emanating off tzuyu in quiet waves, an uncomfortable uncertainty and restraint in her speaking that she’s never enjoyed. that bashful tone always meant more than it did on the surface.

“you can tell me what's really on your mind, you know? what was the kiss for?”

tzuyu's eyes shift downwards, though her pinky remains still in nayeon’s. she's silent for a long while, long enough that nayeon gets nervous, but she waits for tzuyu to speak first. she's always needed time to collect her thoughts, and nayeon knows tzuyu is still thinking about her when her pinky curls tighter around her finger. 

when tzuyu speaks again, her voice comes out as a whisper, in thoughtful, carefully picked words. 

“i’m thinking about coming out.” 

nayeon’s brows raise, startled. “what?” 

“yeah,” tzuyu says. “i want to kiss you wherever i want, and i want to tell the world about you eventually. we can do all that when i do.” 

nayeon can't help the silly grin that spreads across her cheeks. they’ve talked about it before, in stray comments and idealistic dreaming, in impulsive moments, but even then — only in ifs and imagines, never wants, never when, never with so much certainty. 

“you must be going mad.” 

tzuyu laughs with her. “maybe i am; maybe for you. i’m greedy.”

“you really are going mad.” 

“i know i am,” and she keeps laughing. “but doesn’t it sound nice?”

“it sounds wonderful.”

//

at home, nayeon kisses tzuyu. without reserve, without caution. 

tzuyu sighs into the kiss, melting into her touch. her fingers latch onto the collar of nayeon’s hoodie, tugging her in eagerly.

“i’ll do it next week,” tzuyu says. “i’ll tell everyone then.” 

nayeon pulls back slightly, eyeing the brim of tzuyu's cap. she lifts the cap off tzuyu's head and tosses it to one side. “i suppose there’ll be no need for this anymore, then?” 

it seems like tzuyu takes it as a sign to hold back a little less as well. 

“not at all.” 

she pushes in further, desperate, longing. tzuyu swallows all the air in her lungs and settles all the noise in her mind. she covers nayeon's lips in soft saccharine pecks, then slower, longer kisses, ones that fill her chest with so much warmth it makes nayeon wonder if the cages of her ribs are deserving of such heaven. 

tzuyu reaches over to clutch onto her waist, pulling at the hem of her hoodie to bring them closer. her kisses grow hungrier, fingers eventually dipping under nayeon's clothes to touch skin. 

nayeon can sense the eagerness; the tugging and fumbling and impatient grasps, the recapturing of her lips when she leaves for air, all of the waiting from before spilling over in this singular, infinitely intimate moment. tzuyu breathes out like every kiss is a new revelation; love in its most honest, most earnest, most raw. 

nayeon kisses back with equal fondness, as much as tzuyu deserves. 

she kisses her until tzuyu hums, and tzuyu giggles like she’s in love, like she’s kissing nayeon for the first time all over again, like she’s everything; she smiles and laughs and breaks the kiss between moments she can’t help breaking, and nayeon does too. 

“i want you,” she whispers. 

“you have me,” she whispers back. 

between their mingled words and encapsulating touches, between steps to a bedroom they share and backs to sheets that smell like them — nayeon knows this must be all of love, right in her two bare hands, tender and real and kind.

okay so what if the plot is just abt two people being in love??? that is not a crime! it's been a while since i wrote just absolutely mindless fluff (i always say this but i'm sure it hasn't bc what else do i write) it feels that way at least! i love writing about love

anyway! thank you for reading and interacting! it means the world <3

[ruu-stuff]

Recently read @velvetwyrme and @collegecomics18 's "Flipping Fate" fic and it has scratched my itch for tragedy fluff. Is that a thing? I dunno, i guess i just really love interpretations of UF!Papyrus where it's like, he *could* have been just as heroic and good as UT!Papyrus (cuz they're the same sorta, fundamentally) but his world shaped him in such a way that he had to recreate himself as mean/evil just to survive. The tragedy of someone having to not only crush who they are to keep themselves or loved ones safe, then also having to deal with the consequences of that choice. (Which include seeing yourself how you *could* have been if you never had to make that life changing choice in the first place.)

The fluff part is him getting to be in a place where he can now be what and who he wants to be (which is hard and scary but also beautiful). And honestly isn't that the kind of fluff everyone wants? To live in a world where you don't have to pretend to be what you're not because it's "safer", but instead getting to be who you are and be accepted.

This was meant to be a post to wax poetic about an UF!Papyrus fic but it turned philosophical. Anyway, the fic is good, aches so good, check it out.

[sugarsweetvirgo]

has seto ever accidentally hurt eve

Whether in anger or clumsy mistakes

Kaiba has done a lot of things to Eve, but he's never hurt her out of anger or frustration.

Though Kaiba tends to get frustrated with her quite a bit, he has a sort of self-imposed rule he swears by, which is not touching her when he's upset. He won't poke her, he won't pick her up, he won't grab her, nothing. The last thing he wants to do is accidentally physically hurt Eve because of his own anger, and end up with her not being able to trust him as a partner. Preserving Eve's trust and maintaining their communication is paramount to him, and he understands that his actions during arguments can significantly impact their relationship.

Accidentally? More times than either of them can count.

Despite Kaiba's best efforts, realistically accidents were bound to happen (especially in early AU). While Eve's new body may be very durable, she's still very fragile, and Kaiba wasn't exactly prepared to be handing someone like her when they first started off. Even though he tries to be gentle, he still underestimates his strength, leading to things like pinching her waist when he's trying to hold her or knocking her down when trying to give her a playful poke. He's gotten much better at this over time, of course, but even now occasionally he'll be just a tad too rough and end up causing a bump or scrape. Even still, he absolutely never intends to hurt her, and he's never done anything beyond maybe a scrape or so.

But these are rare occurrences. Kaiba's pretty good about controlling his strength around Eve, as he always keeps their size difference in mind when around her. Him being able to hold her so well is based on a lot of trial and error, and despite his slip ups from time to time, Eve doesn't tend to hold it against Kaiba because she understands that he's genuinely trying with her.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Kill Your Darlings

a depressed author struggling to finish the last book in her bestselling fantasy series lucid dreams into the protagonist in the midst of the narrative and can't get out

she uses her omniscient knowledge to help them win the war and survive, despite not having any of her protagonist's magic powers - but when she starts to change things she can’t predict, and starts to forget her life before, things get more and more chaotic

explores mental health & suicidal ideation

ace MC