#{{ this concludes my ted talk }}

[liverpool-enjoyer]

are there any relationships in your uefa high au? If so, who are they?(my English is not englishing rn)

yeah!!! thanks so much for asking i love talking abt my lil guys :D

so theres leo n neymar. rn theyre jus friends, n tbh they dont even KNOW that theyre crushing on each other yet. but boy do i have plans,,, (tho of all the ships theyre admittedly probly gonna be the most of a slow burn)

then luka n sergio!!! sergio is crushing HARD. like almost pathetically. n eeeeverybody n they mom knows except for luka,,, oh man is he fuckin in for it

n then theres both mullendowski n,,, uh insert the ship name for lewandowski n reus here i cant remember it off the top a my head. so BASICALLY robert n thomas dated for literal years but then they broke up n now robert dates marco. theres a bit more to their dynamic but i dont wanna ramble too much lmao

n alisson n virgil!!! theyre not officially dating; theyre in a weird kinda limbo phase. not dating, but too close to be considered friends

n then theres some other like background ships!! like for example my best pal daniel aka @yudgefudge is a trentbappe guy so i plan on giving them a few mentions (i uh havent gotten to it yet but,,, dont worry abt that). n if anyone comments that they wanna see a certain ship i try to squeeze em in :))

[minidisaster93]

Alright kids sit down and let me tell you the importance of sunshine.

Like physical sunshine.

I like so many others am a night owl.

I thrive at night time.

Hell I work nights.

It's thanks to a mix of social anxiety and dash of chronic insomnia as a young child that has led me into being the pure embodiment of vampire lifestyle I have today.

Pale ass skin to prove it too.

Now all this was fine until one day I woke up to the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my entire existence.

I laid down... Pain

I sat up .... Pain

I walked.... Pain

I thought my bones were screaming!

Each movement had me on the brink of tears and feeling like I could collapse into a pile while simultaneously making the Lego breaking noise. We all know the one!

Four days I put up with it because on top of apparently wanting to imitate the life style of a cave dweller I decided to be stubborn and not want to bother the doctors with my issues....

WORST IDEA I CAN TELL YOU THAT

After finally coming to terms with the fact I'm an idiot I got my ass to the GP and after blood tests and painkillers you know what the issue is.

Well if you paid attention to the opening I'm sure you'll have guessed.

Vitamin D deficiency.

Yea... A lack of sunlight cause my skeleton to want to vacate its flesh suit.

So take it from me.

GET SOME SUNSHINE

[cb-writes-stuff]

Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all night!

They wear a-

snrk

A mushroom cap

SJEKWKFKSKDSKD I love that

[jokingmisfit]

I think the funniest thing to happen with me and this website is that when I joined way back when I told myself I would watch Supernatural, Sherlock, or Doctor Who out of spite for how much they consume this website. I told myself that I wasn't going to be persuaded into watching them, that the fanart and memes would do nothing. That being said I started watched Supernatural a few years back because of a destiel comic I wanted to understand better, then I watched Sherlock because of video essay someone wrote on how he represents autism, and now I'm watching Doctor Who because of a fanfic that crossed my page that I couldn't stop myself from reading. Honestly, I don't know why I told myself I wouldn't watch these shows(they're all so good), but I think it's hilarious that despite my best efforts, I am in fact a contributor to these fandoms now. And I completely blame Tumblr.

[the-travelling-witch]

Something I keep coming back to when thinking about Jamil is that, among the OB! Students, he might be the one who’s twisted from a disney “good guy” as much (or even more) than from the respective villain. And yes, I’m well aware that none of the characters are very one-note Disney villain, but with Jamil it just strikes such a chord with me.

Of course, he represents Jafar who has always resented being second best and who betrays the sultan to overtake the Nr. 1 position and all the power that comes with it. And during Book 4 (and now also Book 7), we can see Jamil equally backstabbing Kalim and planning to continue with the other housewardens and the headmage. That’s not a hot take, I understand that (whaaaat Jamil is twisted from Jafar?? Who would’ve guessed /j)

But with Jamil, I feel like his motivation for striving for power is a little different. For someone who has grown up in the world of the Asim family and has been with Kalim his entire life, I believe Jamil equates power with his actual goal in life: freedom.

So when he says “You really are my genie of the lamp, Azul” it felt sooo ironic to me, because it’s you! You are the genie, Jamil!

Just like the Genie’s “phenomenal cosmic power, but itty-bitty living space”, Jamil objectively has a lot of intelligence, talent and drive to excel at something, yet the space he has in which he can live and cultivate those aspects of his personality is very, very limited.

Both characters are also forced into their prison by the circumstances of their birth. Jamil was born into the Viper family, Genie was born a genie, and now they have to spend a lifetime of granting the wishes of other people.

For them to gain the freedom they so desperately want, both characters rely on the mercy of the people they serve, who they are useful to. But deep down they know their wish won’t ever be granted.

Genie has been promised his freedom a lot of times, just for the person’s third wish to be for their own gain after all when push comes to shove. Jamil has heard Kalim call him his best friend, just to turn around the next second and demand something else of him, wielding his power over him once more.

Besides, even if Kalim did give Jamil his freedom (if he even can, considering his family might step in), it’s shown that Jamil cares very deeply for his family, so I don’t think he would consider it “freedom” if his family was still serving the Asim household, which has an even slimmer chance of ever changing.

So yeah, I find the inspiration Jamil’s character takes from the Genie so interesting and at the same time it makes me want to tear out my heart. Please, he deserves so much (peace and quiet most of all) and I want to give him everything ㅠㅠ

[nonavesimus]

the difference between harrow and ianthe is that harrow is a pathetic wet cat (affectionate🖤🥀) while ianthe is a pathetic wet rat (derogatory💕)

[lemomix]

once again another post from my ava/avm era lmao

wonder who my boy second is so mad at,,,

anyhow, ciao !! crunch on this or smth :3

[nagitosstolenhand]

@lesbiansanemi mentioned wanting some of my genderfluid akaza thoughts so HERE THEY ARE.

okay first of all i LOVE any form of trans exploration on hakuji because he already goes through his whole childhood ignoring anything that didn't have to do with her dad or taking care of him, social rules and taboos aren't something they cared abt because they all seemed stupid and pointless and they weren't gonna help her dad get better so why should she care about them. and already being branded a 'demon child' by people means any abnormalities he did notice abt himself he probably just wrote off as 'yeah, i am a freak, what tf are you gonna do about it' (and even if they did want to express how they felt the only one who'd they ever trust want to tell would be their dad, and she knows, she knows, he'd just smile at them, and ruffle their hair, and tell them that he loves them anyways, but he'd worry. and he shouldn't have to worry about them. so she can keep it to herself, for dads sake) but then he goes and dies. (and its her fault isn't it. her and this stupid world that they live in. why couldn't he have had a normal kid, a kid without fangs who didn't feel like they did, who wasn't so useless they couldn't even pickpocket without getting caught. why did someone as deserving of a good life as his dad get stuck in this shitty world with a kid like her.) and then the next few years they're barley cognitive enough to even move let alone to try and process or consider any feelings they might be having.

but then they meet keizo, they meet koyuki. and for the first time in her life they have time to think about things other than survival. it's also the first time he's ever worried about societal rules in any form, because people already bad mouth keizo, they badmouth him for associating with hakuji. she can't make that worse by trying to express all the messed up ways they feel. but keizo notices her being distracted, being distant, and asks. and he wants to tell him, wants to tell him so badly how she feels, and so, she does. they tell him how they don't feel how they should feel, about being a boy, how sometimes they brush out koyukis hair and help her get all prettied up when shes doing well to cheer her up, and suddenly they want to grow out her hair like koyukis, to do her own hair in those hairstyles theyve made up for her. how sometimes keizo calls him 'son' and it makes him feel the happiest he's felt in years, but other times it makes all their insides cringe and their breath feel off kilter. how he likes being a boy. he does. it's fine. but sometimes he,,, wishes he could also be a girl, or be neither, or both. and they know it's not normal and theyve never talked about it before and. and keizo just, smiles at them, and ruffles their hair, and tells them he doesn't quite understand, but if they feel like a boy, that's fine, and if they don't, that's fine too, cause they're still hakuji, and he and koyuki care about him either way. (and hakuji knows, they know he's a bit worried too, but that maybe it's fine that's he's a bit worried, he's allowed to worry about them. it's okay.) and then they talk to koyuki too, and she says the same thing. and she says she thinks hakuji would be a very pretty girl if she wanted to be one, and then she squeaks, and her face turns red and she hides her face in her hands and starts stuttering around the rest of her words and. and hakujis never felt happier.

and then koyuki asks them to marry her, and says she doesn't mind if hakuji is a man, or a woman, or something else entirely, cause she wants to marry them. regardless of anything else. and now they're getting married, he still doesn't quite understand who he is, or how he feels, but it's okay, because they're happy, the people that matter know her and love her, and she's happy.

and then of course, there's poison in the well. and hakujis life comes crashing down.

and THEN they're a demon, they're akaza now. and akaza doesn't remember anything about gender or whatever feelings their human self had. that doesn't matter to them anymore, she's a demon, and she can shapeshift to fit however they want now, if he feels like having longer hair and larger breasts, he can. if they want short hair and smaller breasts, they can. if they feel like having a vagina, or a dick, or some combo of the two they just can. and no one really cares, akaza certainly doesn't, theyre fine as they are and shift whenever they feel like it, she's got other things to do and worry about now.

AND if we wanna get into some renkaza aspects, along comes kyojurou, honestly any version works, transfem kyo, transmasc kyo, another brand of enby kyo, or even just cis and gay kyo, and you get kyojurou surviving the initial fight with akaza where akaza looks one way, and then when akaza shows up again and again, and they look. different. at first kyo assumes maybe they just didn't notice things about akaza in their original fight, or maybe akaza just felt like growing their hair longer for a bit. but something about them changes or goes back to how it was almost every time akaza comes pestering him and so eventually he just up and asks.

and akazas like 'oh yeah i shapeshift to suit however i feel like looking, one of the many benefits of becoming a demon' and kyos like 'so, you just. feel like looking different, so you shapeshift?' 'yeah pretty much' 'but you're constantly changing your, um.' 'what? my tits?' 'your more gendered traits. is there a reason you do that?' 'you humans are so uppity about gender and how you think men and woman should look, why should i care about that, i feel like looking a certain way today, so i do that, easy as that.' 'ive referred to you as a man and you haven't had any problem with it?' 'you can call me whatever youd like kyojurou, doesn't much matter to me' 'do you, remember what you, originally were?' 'nope, and i don't care, it doesn't matter to me now, and it doesn't change the fact that this is who i am now,' and then conversation continues and veers off onto other topics.

and the AFTER THAT if it's some brand of trans kyo they're definitely gonna be stewing on that for a WHILE. until akaza eventually picks up on it and starts picking at what's bothering kyo like it's an open sore, and if she finds out what's been bugging kyo. immediately trying to crack kyos egg into a million tiny pieces. even if it's with cis kyo, it's still definitely gonna make them think because yk, somewhat repressed queer person meeting another brand of queer person who's unapologetically out and doesn't care about societal gender or sexuality norms, is gonna raddle the bars of your brain into confronting things about yourself and how you feel.

BUT YEAHHH that's most of my genderfluid kaza thoughts (tho most of them apply to any brand of trans kaza) i LOVE this hc and i love trans akaza in general and i hoped you liked my thoughts on them <3

[idjits-areus]

I can see why Dean's the way he is.

He probably thinks it's a lot easier to bottle up his feelings than to share them with others. That way he doesn't have to burden them or even acknowledge it. Because vocalizing his feelings makes them real and if Dean doesn't vocalize it then they couldn't possibly be real. Then it's all just in his head and heart.

This is also a reason why he doesn't like therapy. If he doesn't talk about it then it never happened. And if it never happened then he's good.

John's the one to blame for this to be honest. Dragging them across the United States in search of Azazel, leaving Dean alone with Sam in motel room with him for days with limited money and no clear return date. Dean essentially became both parents to Sam. He had to appear strong for Sam who was so little at the time. And, like, the whole reason Dean became this "perfect little soldier" was because A: he didn't have a choice, B: he learned young to just push down and ignore his feelings, and C: it was a way for him to feel useful and to do something good. A way for him to put all his attention on something that wasn't his mess of a life.

He puts on this brave "macho man" persona all the time because he wants people to see him as okay. That he isn't hurting on the inside. That all the deaths of the people he cared about over the years doesn't affect him. That Hell didn't affect him. Or Purgatory. Or Apocalypse Micheal. Or Mary. Or Amara. Or every single apocolyptic event that happened because if them. And, like, those are just a few things. There's so much more. He rarely lets anyone in through the cracks he has. He doesn't like to let himself be vulnerable. Probably thinks that someone would use it against him, knowing Dean. That's why he has the "no chick-flick" rule. It's not because it's girly. It's because he'd rather not acknowledge his feelings.

That's also why he never truly allowed himself into a relationship after Cassie. Once she left because of what he did for a job, he just didn't have it in him to go through that rejection again with others. Lisa is different. She knew and didn't leave him when Sam got caged. It was actually Dean that left her because he put her in danger. All because he stayed. And to him? That feeling was probably worse than the rejection from Cassie. And I think that's why when Cas truly starts becoming a part of the group that he starts to let himself feel something. Cas was already in and he wasn't going anywhere so Dean could've seen it as safe. I'm not trying to make this a destiel post. I'm just trying to state a point. That the only way he'd feel safe starting anything that wasn't going to be a one night stand was with someone who was already in.

And there's a lot more I could say. Could probably even write an essay lol. I'm leaving it here though. I think that, just maybe, you see and can get my point. That understanding why Dean is who he is isn't hard. You just have to piece some things together for it to make sense.

[tsscat]

Like also I understand the sadness of being a creator and only getting likes on your posts and not reblogs and people on here should in general support creators more and not taking them for granted, but ultimately people can do what they want and are not morally obliged to do anything. I guess the one thing I’d say is that people should understand that if they want to encourage creators they need to show them appreciation and ultimately reblogs = more appreciation and exposure. But people are allowed to make their own decisions

[liverpool-enjoyer]

boutta watch arsenal vs city n ive never wanted a game to tie so bad in my LIFE

[acewolfmen]

Here's my full take on this.

My current belief is that unless there was a rerelease of Turbo-time cabinet, I believe they all content the same fatal coding flaw. The cause probably (definitely) being due to Turbo's ego. That also has the side effect of destroying some other game or tech nearby that is possible taking away from his attention.

I think there was a big missed opportunity in the second movie to have shown maybe a forum online discussing how it's almost impossible to find a work one, pepper in people remembering Turbo-times going out of order in similar ways. Plus maybe a group of people dedicating their time to trying to find a working game or restore one. And if that doesn't make sense, just think of it like Al in Toy Story 2 looking for a woody doll.

But what do I know, I'm just a random turbo fan

Bonus! Who's to say this exact same thing hasn't happened to other arcades that got a Sugar Rush game. Don't you think someone would have mentioned their favorite character being King Candy at some point online and the developers be like- "King what?"

do you guys think every turbo was coded with hatred in their hearts or was the one in litwak’s just especially fucked

[violentalbino-real]

RAHHHHHH to be enveloped within the arms of someone twice my size, to have my entire back covered by them and to have their arms wrapped around my shoulders all cozy like. oh boy. rrrrahhjjhgjh….

[seaemberthesecond]

I have such a visceral reaction to fandom acting like Kakashi was wrong, or worse, piteous for all the time he spent at the Memorial Stone. It genuinely makes me lose my mind and this take is EVERYWHERE.

Naruto (the story, not the boy. but also the boy) is about how love is never wrong. It's never wasted and it doesn't have to be deserved. To then turn around and paint Kakashi's love and devotion to Obito and Rin as stupid and shameful is ????

Rin and Obito represent two lives that were ended too soon, two children who died in a bloody war they should never have been in. Kakashi mourns them, and continues to mourn them years after their death (supposed, in Obito's case) because they were his friends and he loved them, they were his comrades that he fought a war with and they died because they were cannon fodder for an ever-churning war machine.

Kakashi's refusal to "let go" and "move on" is, I would argue, a radical act. It is an extension of his those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum ideology. In a world that treats children as expendable soldiers, cheap and replacable, Kakashi refuses to see his fallen comrades like that. He carries them with him because they weren't expendable. Not to him and not to the people who loved them. By going to the Memorial Stone, Kakashi keeps his teammates memory alive. By continuing to mourn them, he does not let them be forgotten, just another couple of names in a sea of dead. They were people, they had lives and dreams and hopes and now he is the only keeper of their memory. Even in death, he will not abandon his comrades.

And this choice is vindicated!! This is what gets me the most!! Not only is Kakashi keeping Obito and Rin's (and his father's!!) memory alive by passing on Obito and Sakumo's nindo what eventually leads to Naruto saving the world, but it is personally vindicated too!! because Obito comes back to their side!!! Kakashi's love and faith and devotion all these years were not misplaced!! Obito gets to die a hero a second time because Kakashi raised children who held to Obito's ideals and he was only able to do that because of how closely he held Obito and Rin's memory and sacrifice.

At the end of the day, I think people criticize Kakashi for paying "too much" tribute to the dead because they think it made him a bad teacher or because he "lived in the past," and I just don't think either of those things is true but I guess that's for another day.

But yeah, to conclude, tl:dr, Kakashi's visits to the memorial stone are emblematic of his commitment to honouring his teammates and keeping their memory alive, a choice that is ultimately vindicated by the narrative and to paint it as pathetic/short-sighted/unwarranted goes against the themes of the show. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[swimmingdinosaurballoon]

Got rejected as a potential play partner recently, and that is OK.

So something happened recently that normally I would just forget about it a day or two after, but I figured it presented me with a perfect opportunity to share something that is very important to me as well as the kink community.

Recently I met up for the first time with this potential Lee I have been talking to online for a few weeks. Our talks online had good chemistry, and even our facetimes went well.

The day we met, our date seemed to go fine at first, but eventually I did notice that she felt off. It was as if she just didn't really wanna be there, and I was not sure why. I asked if there was something I said that made her uncomfortable and she said no. Our date concluded, and we said our goodbyes with the promise of talking later to see if we would like to set up some sessions.

She messaged me 30 minutes later, saying she decided to meet me on a whim, almost on an impulse, and that she never really intended to go that far. She never really wanted to set up a session and was just seeing how far she could go before backing out.

As confused as I was, I simply said "no worries. I completely understand. Best wishes on everything and let me know if you ever changed your mind".

And this brought to mind a concept that I think many people in the community seem to not understand...NOBODY OWES ANYBODY NOTHING.

Lees; you don't owe any Ler a session. If you do not feel comfortable at all, no matter the reason, you do not have to accept to any demands from anyone wanting to session with you. Remember that "NO" is a full sentence.

Lers; you don't owe any Lee a session. If you don't want to tickle someone, no matter the reason, you don't have to. Plain and simple. But in that same vein, if a Lee says no, then you don't need an explanation. No is no. You aren't going to be every Lee's cup of tea, and that is OK.

I only bring this up because I have seen far too many posts lately about Lees saying they felt pressured when they rejected a potential Ler, and were asked to give an explanation. You don't owe an explanation to anybody. And Lers, you will have Lees that reject you. It is part of the game. And that is OK. It is not an indictment on you. Sometimes you simply do not connect, and that is ok. You simply have to respect their wishes and move on.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[apteryxparvus]

your ‘just a little bit’ suspicious roommate

Pairing — Jiaoqiu / Reader

Word count — 5,191

Content warning — drinking • Astral Express shenanigans

Summary — You’re just trying to survive university life. Your new roommate? Definitely not a vampire. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself—until a drunken, accidental makeout session definitely confirms some suspicions.

Now, you’ve got to explain everything to your friends... who are definitely not going to let it go.

"As we all know, garlic is a well-known vampire repellent," March rambles, her finger waving dramatically at the screen, the laser pointer dancing over a grainy image of garlic. "And as we've discussed before, your smoking hot but totally shady roommate, has yet to touch the stuff—evidence number... what, four? Five? But regardless, this undeniable truth, along with everything else we've gathered so far, solidifies our theory."

"And with that," Stelle chimes in, crossing her arms with a smug grin, "our TED Talk has officially concluded."

"Here are our references," Caelus says with exaggerated politeness, as he presents a final slide filled with sources no one’s going to actually check.

You stare at the screen, watching the poorly edited image of Dracula with pink hair and yellow eyes—somehow eerily resembling your roommate. You blink a couple of times, unsure whether to laugh or question your life choices.

“First of all, the fandom wiki page for Count Chocula is not a proper source,” Dan Heng says, voice flat. "Second of all—no. Just no. Now, can we please go back to the movie? You know, the one that doesn’t involve… whatever this is?"

"I can't believe none of you care about this!" March exclaims, throwing her arms up in frustration. “Our dearest friend is living with a bloodsucker!”

You roll your eyes, digging further into the pile of blankets you're buried under, one hand grabbing buttery popcorn from the bowl. "I don’t care. I just want to see how the movie ends."

"The ending isn't that interesting anyway," Caelus says. "The family’s all dead. They’ve been dead the whole time."

"Caelus!" you shriek, leaping out of your seat. Popcorn explodes into the air, scattering across the couch and floor. Dan Heng groans, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Without hesitation, you lunge at Caelus, who barely flinches as you grab a fistful of his hair and give it a solid yank. "You cannot just spoil a movie like that, you absolute moron!"

"Ow, hey—it's a classic twist, not my fault you’re slow—"

"Get off him, you heathen!" Stelle rushes to the rescue, only for you to snap at her hand like an angry feral cat when she tries to pry you off her twin. "Did you just—did you bite me?!"

Moments later, the three of you are a tangled heap on the floor—Stelle trying to wrestle you off Caelus, you stubbornly clinging to his hair, and Caelus, smirking like he’s above it all despite being squished under your combined weight.

"Am I interrupting something?" The voice is smooth, sultry. You freeze mid-pinch.

Jiaoqiu is standing in the entryway, leaning casually against the doorframe that divides the open kitchen from the living room, his expression an elegant mix of bemusement and mild confusion.

"No! No, absolutely not!" you blurt, untangling yourself with record-breaking speed and shoving Caelus aside. Scrambling upright, you snatch the remote from March and begin button-mashing like your life depends on it. The TV stubbornly scrolls through several slides until one final image—the ridiculous Dracula with suspiciously pink hair and honey-colored eyes—flashes on the screen.

You freeze. The room freezes.

Jiaoqiu arches a single perfect eyebrow, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Interesting taste in… presentations."

You can feel your soul actively trying to leave your body. "It’s just… uh…" You scramble for an excuse, words tumbling out in a panicked jumble. "March! March really wanted to, uh, dive into the intricacies of garlic and Dracula! For—um—for some very important in-depth cultural research!"

Stelle chokes on her soda, snorting audibly. "Oh, absolutely. Garlic research. Very academic."

You whip around to glare at her, betrayal etched into every fiber of your being. "Stelle."

She just shrugs. "What? I’m backing you up."

"Yeah, real convincing. You’re totally selling it," March wheezes, barely holding back another laugh.

Jiaoqiu clears his throat. "Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your… research.” His tone is polite, barely concealing his amusement. "I have some client work to finish, so I’ll be in my room. Have fun."

He turns to leave, his footsteps unhurried, but just before he disappears down the hall, he glances over his shoulder. His golden gaze locks with yours, a faint smile playing on his lips. "By the way," he adds smoothly, "that Dracula edit? A striking resemblance."

Your face burns hotter than the sun as he strolls away, leaving you mortified and very much on the verge of curling into a ball forever.

You bury your face in the nearest blanket, muffling a loud, frustrated groan. March leans over, whispering, "So… about that garlic test..."

The morning after, once your friends have cleared out—leaving behind only the faint smell of coffee and a suspiciously large pile of crumbs—you find yourself at the sink, scrubbing the last of the dishes. The kitchen is quiet now, save for the gentle clink of ceramic against metal.

You’re rinsing the final mug when Jiaoqiu steps out of his room. You don’t hear his footsteps— he’s always freakishly quiet—so when his raspy morning voice cuts through the silence, you nearly drop the mug into the soapy abyss.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

You whirl around, and suddenly, all those memories from last night come rushing back—March’s presentation, and, most importantly, the fact that he saw it.

Your face heats up. Your neck burns.

You manage to croak out a greeting—something between a “good morning” and a choking sound—but the words trail off as you take him in.

Jiaoqiu has always looked unfairly good—but right now, it feels almost absurd. In the soft morning light, he’s effortlessly flawless, like he just walked off the cover of some magazine. His pale skin practically glows under the sunlight. His hair, messy from sleep, somehow falls perfectly into place, and his golden eyes catch the light, sharp and vivid, drawing attention without trying.

“I assume you had a good time last night,” he says, suddenly right next to you, voice teasing.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Sorry if we were too loud,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s alright,” he replies. “This apartment is as much yours as it is mine. Here, let me help finish this faster.” Without waiting for a reply, Jiaoqiu grabs a dish towel and starts drying the remaining mugs. The two of you work in a comfortable silence, the clink of the dishes the only sound between you.

When you’re done, you wipe your hands on a towel and turn to him. “We made some Songlotus cake. You just woke up, so feel free to grab some. And there’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

He gives you a small nod, eyes soft. “Thanks.”

What you definitely don’t mention is that March—with Caelus acting like her evil mastermind sidekick—turned a few of the crispy cakes into garlic landmines. Powdered, minced, pureed—she threw in every form of garlic known to mankind, probably hoping Jiaoqiu would take one bite, and dramatically burst into flames. Or, at the very least, recoil like someone slapped him with holy water.

After pouring himself a cup of dark coffee, Jiaoqiu sits down at the table. He takes a slow sip, golden eyes flicking to the leftover cakes in the middle of the table. In your peripheral vision, you watch him reach out for one, holding your breath as he picks it up. He inspects it, almost as if he’s solving a particularly tricky puzzle. He sniffs the air, and your stomach drops—does he smell the garlic?

(You’re pretty sure March and Caelus tried to mask the scent with an absolute overkill of vanilla extract. Or was it almond extract? You don't know, and frankly, you don’t want to know. But what you do know, it was probably a huge mistake, all of this.)

Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem alarmed. Maybe he trusts that your friends wouldn’t sabotage baked goods, or maybe he’s just so committed to his side-job as a nutritionist that he refuses to waste a perfectly good breakfast. Either way, he takes a bite.

You pretend to be extremely invested in wiping down the counter, sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

And then it happens.

Jiaoqiu freezes mid-chew. A split second later, he’s coughing and his eyes are watering, as if someone blasted him with a full can of pepper spray. Wheezes echo through the kitchen as he struggles to swallow. With the last of his dignity the can muster (not that much, by the way), he takes a massive gulp of his coffee, his expression somewhere between betrayed and horrified.

“You and your friends… seem to have… interesting taste in food, as well,” Jiaoqiu manages to rasp out between coughs, his voice strained. You shrink where you stand, guilt simmering beneath your skin. Was March right in her theory? Or perhaps, did you take things too far?

Awkwardly, you step closer and give Jiaoqiu’s back a light pat, cringing at your own inadequacy. The man is choking on a crime against baking, and all you can do is offer this sad little pat. Internally cursing your friends, you grab one of the cakes and take a small, cautious bite to see if they’re really that bad.

And oh. Oh no. You immediately regret it. The flavor assaults your senses with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. It’s salty, sweet, sour, and umami all at once—a culinary abomination that defies all natural laws. 

You gag as minced garlic chunks battle for dominance against unmelted sugar granules, creating a texture so horrifying you nearly spit it out on the spot.

You can’t believe you made Jiaoqiu eat this. All because your friends had convinced you he might be a vampire. A vampire. And for a split second just now, you’d actually believed them. Why? Because he choked on the garlic cake? Anyone with a functioning palate would choke on this monstrosity.

"Shit—I'm sorry." Without a second thought, you snatch the plate of cakes and chuck it straight into the trash, refusing to even look at it. You’re already composing a furious text to March in your head—because if you’d taken a bigger bite, there’s a very real chance you’d have keeled over on the spot. "I can make you something better," you offer hurriedly. But Jiaoqiu just waves a hand, his expression tired, his face somehow even paler than usual.

"Can you pass me the medicine bottle from the fridge?" You nod quickly, opening the fridge to reveal a shelf lined with identical small vials, each filled with a thick red liquid. You grab one and hand it over.

"I think I’ll take this in my room," Jiaoqiu says, holding the small vial as he turns toward the hallway.

"I’m sorry for ruining your morning," you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

"It’s—" Jiaoqiu pauses, his expression softening just enough to ease the weight on your chest. "It’s alright." He reaches out and pats your head gently, ruffling your hair. "I’ll be fine."

The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time you return from a grueling day at university. Between March’s relentless pestering—complete with even more outlandish theories—and the soul-crushingly dull lectures from your professors, all you want to do is crawl into bed and hibernate until the semester ends. Unfortunately, that’s not an option. Three assignments loom over you, their deadlines inching closer.

The apartment is eerily quiet, but Jiaoqiu’s shoes are neatly lined up by the entryway. The guilt from this morning rears its head again. Is he still locked up in his room, recovering from the monstrosity of a cake you let him eat? You shake the thought away. No spiraling, no distractions. Tonight is for coursework.

With a tired sigh, you settle on the carpeted floor of the living room, leaning your back against the couch and setting your laptop on the low coffee table. The university’s digital platform greets you—an overwhelming grid of assignments and unread announcements. You skim through the options, settling on what seems like the easiest one: “Cultural Analysis: Xianzhou Alliance and the Legacy of the Abundance Wars.”

You plug in your earbuds, selecting a relaxing playlist, and settle into the task at hand. Hours slip by without you even noticing. The topic—the Third Abundance War—seems endless, each paper you open just a little more confusing or irrelevant than the last. You only get up once to restock on energy drinks and snacks, fueling yourself for what feels like a marathon of academic misery.

Groaning, you slam your laptop shut after yet another fruitless attempt to find a decent source. The deeper you dive into the history of the Xianzhou Alliance, the more it seems like you’re wading through layers of conspiracy theories and folklore instead of actual research. Despite the importance of the topic in Xianzhou history, finding proper sources seems impossible.

The amount of nonsense you’ve had to close—websites dedicated to the monstrous Borisin creatures, the mystical Foxians, and other equally questionable topics—is ridiculous. You’re pretty sure if you handed in a literature review about that nonsense, not only would you be the laughing stock of the class, but you’d be expelled on the spot. 

They're just legends, and there’s nothing scientifically sound to back them up. But here you are, wading through a swamp of unreliable sources, praying for anything that remotely resembles actual history.

A hand suddenly pats your head, and you nearly jump out of your skin, heart leaping into your throat. You yank your earbuds out, startled, only to find Jiaoqiu grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself.

"You scared me," you grumble, swatting his hand away. 

You take a second to really look at him. He seems better now—the sickly paleness from earlier has faded, replaced by a touch of color in his cheeks. His golden eyes are bright again, brimming with that quiet amusement that always makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.

"Were you working on something?" he asks, leaning towards you, his curiosity piqued.

You nod, slumping slightly as you glance at the time. "A stupid assignment... due in—" you squint at the clock, the reality sinking in, "—in two hours and a bit." You let out a long, defeated sigh. You’re done for. There’s no way you’re getting this paper done in time. No proper sources, no coherent thoughts, and you’re still a million words short of the required word count. You're cooked, completely and utterly cooked.

"What is it about?" Jiaoqiu asks, settling down beside you on the floor, his presence warm and close.

His proximity catches you off guard. The faint scent of jasmine fabric softener lingers on him, mingling with something subtler, something metallic that you can’t quite place. It’s faint but distinct, enough to draw your focus for a moment. You shake it off and try to redirect your attention to your laptop.

An idea suddenly strikes you, and you swivel your head toward Jiaoqiu—only to freeze when you actually realize how close he is. Your faces are mere inches apart, close enough that you can make out every flicker of gold in his irises.

“You’re a Xianzhou native,” you blurt, your voice rushing to fill the sudden silence. “Any chance you know something about the Third Abundance War? Because I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find proper sources, and—well, I’m sure you can see how that’s going.”

“Let me see,” he says, reaching over to take your laptop. You freeze, a wave of secondhand embarrassment crashing over you as the screen comes to life.

It is utter chaos—over fifty tabs open, grouped and color-coded in a system that only makes sense to you, with labels ranging from “Decent Source” to “Probably Fiction” to “Absolute Nonsense, but Fun.”

He clicks on your assignment draft, and your soul momentarily leaves your body. A grand total of 400 words stares back at you—two solid citations, a lot of filler, and way too many angry swear words sandwiched between half-baked sentences.

He spends a few minutes reading through your draft, face scrunched up in concentration. Every now and then, he clicks his tongue or tilts his head, eyes lingering on certain sentences for far longer than you’d like.

“It could use some work,” he says finally, in a tone far too gentle for the absolute travesty he’s just witnessed. Some work, he says, as if it doesn’t need to be exorcised and erased from existence. You’re too terrified to reread any of it yourself, unsure of what kind of unhinged caffeine-fueled nonsense your brain had conjured.

“Yeah, no. Better to start fresh,” you mumble, already highlighting and deleting the entire document before he can respond. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring intently at the now blank page, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

 “Perhaps you could focus on the Lux Arrow?” Jiaoqiu suggests scrolling through a couple of tabs.

You frown, tilting your head at him. “Lan’s Sky-Shattering Lux Arrow? Isn’t that just a myth?” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. You’d stumbled across mentions of it earlier—both in academic papers and in… less-than-reliable historical mythology blogs. From what you’d managed to piece together, it was either a groundbreaking piece of artillery technology that changed the tides of the war or an overblown legend with zero basis in reality.

“I can suggest some sources,” Jiaoqiu offers. His fingers swiftly fly across the keyboard before he pauses, scrolling through a list of results. “Here,” he says, pointing at the screen.

You lean in to get a better look. It’s a book by Zongguang, a renowned cultural anthropologist from The Xianzhou Luofu’s Grand Virtue Academy. The title alone makes your brain hurt with how dense it sounds, but it has piqued your interest, nonetheless. You’ve studied several of Zongguang’s papers throughout your courses in Xianzhou history, though you’ve never even heard of this specific book.

“It has firsthand accounts from the last battlefield,” Jiaoqiu explains, scrolling through the summary, “and covers topics like the Borisin and the Merlin’s Claw—though back then, General Feixiao was simply called Saran.”

“Wait, seriously? I thought the Borisin stuff was mostly folklore.”

“Perhaps some of it is,” your roommate replies, but there’s a shift in his tone. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the way his voice dips, the way his words slow just slightly. There’s something heavy there, almost like... anger? It’s faint, but unmistakable; and it seems to sharpen when he mentions the Lycan beasts.

You blink, caught off guard by the change. “You okay?”

Jiaoqiu’s eyes flick away from the screen, his features smoothing out like nothing happened. “I’m fine,” he says, voice calm again. “Just... the Borisin aren’t mere legends to everyone. Their methods were brutal, and their impact left scars—literal and otherwise.”

There’s something in his words that makes you pause, like the weight of them belongs to someone who was there. Which is ridiculous, obviously, because he couldn’t have been. Right?

"Alright, March, I’m not saying I believe you," you start, lying sprawled out on Stelle's plush carpet with a giant teddy bear clenched tightly to your chest. You stare blankly at the ceiling, the words barely forming in your head before spilling out. "But something strange happened, and I cannot explain it to myself."

“Oh?” March and Caelus call out at the same time from over by the fridge. You turn your head, and you’re momentarily at a loss for words. March is busy scooping homemade ice cream into bowls, while Caelus... well, Caelus is sniffing and biting into a jade-colored cloth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You shake your head, deciding to ignore his antics. At this point, you've seen stranger things.

"Tell us!" Stelle pipes up. Meanwhile, Dan Heng is across the room, calmly trying to wrestle the cloth out of Caelus’s grip without much success.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe you’re grasping at straws.

“You know that assignment on cultural analysis of the Xianzhou wars?” you finally say, sitting up to better face your friends. "I was having trouble coming up with a good topic and finding sources, so I asked Jiaoqiu for help."

"Go on," March says.

"I mean, I asked him because he’s a native, right? But it’s weird—he knows way more than I thought. And—"

“What’s weird about him knowing history?” Dan Heng interrupts, looking up from where he’s now holding a defeated-looking Caelus. March swats him, shushing him with a glare.

“It’s just—he wasn’t just talking about history. It was like he was living it," you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest. "When he mentioned Borisin, he completely changed. He looked... upset, like he was actively repressing anger."

“Borisin might just be a myth, same as the Vidyadhara," Dan Heng replies, shrugging. "But some people are passionate about their cultural history. Maybe Jiaoqiu is one of them."

“Sure, Dan Heng, but his recounts were too elaborate,” you argue. "It didn’t sound like some history buff talking—it sounded like he was remembering it. And when he talked about General Feixiao, it wasn’t like he was describing a famous figure from history. It was like... like he was talking about a close friend!"

“Oh, my Aeons,” March gushes, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “So do you think he used to be a warrior in the war? Like, was Jiaoqiu out there with a sword, fighting Borisin and stuff?!”

“March,” you deadpan, “that’s literally insane. He’d have to be hundreds of years old for that to even make sense.”

“And?” she counters, completely unfazed.

You open your mouth to argue, but honestly, what’s the point? Logic has never been March’s strong suit, and you’re too tired to debate with someone who just last week tried to convince you she saw a Vidyadhara in the campus library.

“I’m just saying,” she continues. “It’s not that far-fetched. Maybe he was in the war. Maybe he’s like a retired general or medic or something. Or—or maybe he’s secretly General Feixiao! Wouldn’t that be wild?”

“March.” Dan Heng’s voice cuts through her growing enthusiasm. “Stop filling their head with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense! It’s a totally plausible theory!” she protests, crossing her arms. “Right, Stelle?”

“I mean... it would explain why he knew so much, right?”

You groan, burying your face in the teddy bear. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Too late,” March says, grinning wickedly. “We’re already planning the movie adaptation. I’m thinking: Jiaoqiu—secret immortal of Xianzhou, haunted by his dark past. Directed by me, obviously.”

You groan even louder.

You’re staring at the Google Doc sent in the group chat, eyes glazed over. The words blur together, swimming in and out of focus. Caelus and Stelle had relentlessly begged you to try and outdrink them—and you never back out from a challenge. But now, as you stumble home with your phone clutched in your hand, you're definitely regretting your choice.

Your head swims as you fumble with your phone, squinting at the document like it’s written in a foreign language. The room spins, and you find yourself swaying slightly, leaning against the doorframe for support.

The title stands out, bold and impossible to ignore:

March 7th’s top secret investigation protocol 🔍🔴

You blink. Twice. Slowly.

It’s time to face the facts. Your roommate is 100% a vampire. I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion. I’ve been observing for weeks (because, duh, I’m a professional), and the evidence is everywhere. I’m not saying this lightly, but, I’ve seen enough weird stuff to know. And the guy’s practically a walking, talking vampire stereotype. Here’s the definitive checklist. Foolproof.

The headache pounding in your skull intensifies as you scroll down to March’s “definitive” checklist:

Aversion to garlic ✅ Gagged at the garlic cakes. Suspicious. Dietary restrictions ✅ Weird-looking "medicine" in the fridge. Super normal. Definitely not vampire-y. Listen, I’ve seen blood. It’s the same color. Supernatural senses ✅ Remember that time he overheard us talking about him from the other side of the house? Yeah. Explain that. Remembers super old stuff ✅ Talks about the Abundance Wars like he fought in them. “Good times,” he said. GOOD TIMES.

You’re about to scroll past, when your gaze lingers on the final item:

Vampire canines? 🚨 Priority check!!! Report ASAP.

Your half-drunken brain latches onto the challenge. You stumble into your apartment, shoes clattering noisily to the floor, and head straight for Jiaoqiu’s room. 

Logic? Gone. Boundaries? Absolutely not. 

Fueled by a potent cocktail of curiosity, adrenaline, and alcohol, you throw open his door without a second thought.

You don’t bother knocking. You just slam the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. Inside, Jiaoqiu is sitting on his bed, casually flipping through a book. His eyes flick up at the sound of the door, but there’s no surprise, no alarm. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he knew you were going to barge in, unannounced, with no warning whatsoever.

He closes the book with an exaggerated sigh. "Something I can help you with?"

“I need to check something,” you announce, voice wobbling as you stumble over to him. Without waiting for a response, you drop onto the bed beside him, far too close, and lean in.

His brows raise in amusement. “Do you, now?”

“Yeah,” you slur. “Your teeth. Lemme see ’em.”

“My teeth?”

“Yes.” Your hand wavers near his face, trembling slightly as you poke at his cheek. “The canines. Open your mouth.”

He doesn’t stop you. If anything, his grin widens, and he leans in just enough to make your heart skip. “You think you’ll find something interesting?”

“I know I will,” you murmur, your drunken determination unwavering. Your thumb brushes against the edge of his lips, and you swear you see his eyes darken.

His mouth parts slightly, and you squint, leaning closer—a bit too close, perhaps. Your eyes zero in on his teeth, scanning for anything remotely sharp or suspicious. And then you see them.

The soft light catches just right, revealing a pair of faintly elongated canines, sharp and glinting like tiny daggers.

Your breath catches. “No way,” you whisper.

Before you can respond—or think—your hand moves on its own, fingers brushing against his teeth. His smirk deepens, and he leans into your touch. Then, without warning, his mouth closes gently around your fingertip. It’s deliberate, teasing, and before you can pull away, you feel it—a quick, sharp prick. You yelp, jerking your hand back, staring at the tiny bead of blood pooling on your skin.

Jiaoqiu watches you, unbothered, his gaze steady as he slowly licks his lips. “Interesting,” he murmurs, his tone almost lazy.

Your head spins. You stare at your finger, then at him, then back at your finger. “You—you bit me,” you stammer.

“Did I?” His smirk sharpens, his fangs catching the light again.

“I—I knew it!” you shriek.

“And now what?” He tilts his head. “Does your little investigation end here, or…?”

You don’t think. You lean in before you can think better of it, your lips crashing against his in a messy, impulsive kiss. The faint taste of blood lingers between you, but you don’t care.

When you finally pull back, gasping for air, there’s blood on his lips—your blood. He licks it away lazily.

“Well?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. “Satisfied?”

You’re definitely putting a checkmark on March’s last list item.

But that’s a problem for future you. For now, you dive back in, ignoring the faint sting on your lips and the little voice in your head screaming that this is a terrible idea.

"Thanks for inviting us," March gleefully says, her voice full of her usual energy. The whole group is sitting around your dining table, chatting and eating.

Jiaoqiu nods casually, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Of course," he replies smoothly. "It’s important to get to know my partner’s friends better. I’ve seen you all around, but it’s nice to connect properly.”

You nearly choke on your drink at the casual mention of “partner”. But Jiaoqiu doesn’t even glance your way, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip of his own drink.

March is the first to react. Her fork clatters against her empty plate as her head snaps up. "Partner?"

Stelle and Caelus exchange a knowing glance, trying and failing to hide their smirks. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, as though he can already see where this is heading.

March leans forward, elbows on the table. "Did I miss an announcement? Since when are you two a thing?”

"You know how it is," Jiaoqiu says. "When you live with someone long enough, you get to know them better. And… sometimes things happen."

"Things? What kind of things, exactly? Spill. Now."

You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "March," you mutter, voice muffled, "please don’t."

Before March can push further, Jiaoqiu rises from his seat with a faint smile. "Excuse me for a moment," he says, gesturing toward the kitchen. "I’ll bring out the rest of the dishes."

When he returns, he sets a dish in front of March first—a well-done steak, neatly plated and still steaming. "For you," he says lightly. His own serving follows, the steak so rare it looks like it might moo if you poked it.

"Apologies if my preference for steak so rare makes anyone uncomfortable," Jiaoqiu says, his golden eyes flicking briefly to March. "I just can’t resist the flavor. There’s something… primal about it."

March freezes. Her expression wavers for just a moment before she forces a tight-lipped smile. You can practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she remembers her checklist.

You shoot him a glare, mouthing, Why are you like this? He simply raises an eyebrow, as if to say, Because it’s fun.

March clears her throat, clearly trying to regain her composure. "You know," she says shakily. "you’re awfully… specific about your preferences."

"Not everyone enjoys their food well done," your roommate-turned-boyfriend adds casually. "Sometimes, a little blood adds that extra something."

A groan threatens to escape you, but you manage to hold it in. "Guys," you mutter, sinking deeper into your chair. "Please, don’t even start."

March swallows, eyes darting between you and Jiaoqiu. Her lips part, but no words come out, just a breath of disbelief.

Jiaoqiu, however, seems completely unfazed. “Cravings, preferences... they’re just part of who you are, aren’t they? No point in pretending they don’t exist." He continues to eat, taking another slow bite of his steak, his smile creeping wider as he watches her, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s getting.

Author's note: i wrote some of this while procrastinating a lab report awhile back, and the amount of revision i had to do because the fic started sounding like a full-blown research paper... yikes 🤧🤧

but yes, here’s my silly attempt at humor. now, if you'll excuse me, i’ll go cry about my resit tomorrow and hope the universe decides to take pity on me and let me pass