#*insert gibberish noises*

[beanofspace]

Vi is for Bee

Violet is for Bi-olet- *badumtsh*

And a Jaune ☺

More-a so down below :0

Its just close ups hi owo

She stares into your soul...

(2/3)

Next up: the moth filled with spaghetti 👍

[iwonderwh0]

Another fic idea:

Connor accidentally transfers from his body and temporarily exists as non-physical entity in Hank's devices

Starts with situation where there's something that requires Connor to be connected to computer via cable (like for example to manually delete some CyberLife junk that slows down the system and lost its purpose) and needs Hank's help to be there and do what it takes, because Connor needs to be in stand by for this to work, so he's just sitting/lying next to him completely limp with caple connected to the back of his neck.

At some point something goes wrong and Hank's computer goes into restart, and when it loads Hank notices that first this CL maintenance program loads in, then blank text document opens on his computer and in a matter of seconds text appears, first some unreadable wall of symbols, then normal text, something along the lines of

"Hank, are you there? I'm afraid my program is running on your computer. I'm trying to move but I'm not sure if it's going through. Am I moving right now?"

Then

"If you're there please write something, I can't hear you."

Hank will stare at the screen, then at motionless Connor next to him, when he look back at the screen there'll be another couple of messages asking him to write something and from the way they're written and the speed at which new text appears it'll look like an escalating panic – from just asking Hank to write something it'll turn into begging to at least interact somehow with the computer, at some point within merely a second they'll start to appear too quickly to read. Hank'll grab keyboard and as fast as he can write something, maybe first just gibberish to write something asap, then delete it and write

"Connor?"

New wave of about a ten new lines of text will appear, most of which just repetition of the general message of "yes, I'm here"

"Can you hear me?" Hank will ask at loud, then type it after not getting any response

Another wave of lines of text with general message being "No, I can't hear you. I can't see you. I can't move." and "please don't leave me", desparation slipping through the lines

Hank will ask if he can do something to fix it

"I don't know" will appear on one line after another in some slight variations, then

"Can you connect some mic and headphones? I can't find any available."

Hank will look around the room, then type "wait, I'll go grab some" to which another wave of desperate "Please don't leave" appear in response, then "when will you get back?"

Unsure if he should go search for headphones at all Hank will type

"3 min"

Then search for headphones

"Connor?" He'll call again, hearing some noise his headphones "Hey, hey, can you hear me now?"

"Yes. I can hear you, but I can't move. I don't- I don't feel like I have any body at all"

"So you're in my computer... How did that-"

"Am I still connected?"

Hank moves to check that Connor has cable securely connected to the port on the back of his neck, and on the other side it's just as properly inserted into according port on the computer. He carefully moves Connor to confirm that one more time.

"Did you feel that?" Hank asks

"Feel what?"

After initial panic when both of them get slightly calmer they'll come to realisation that in order to allow the kind of changes they were about to make android's mind is basically temporarily transferred into another device, in their cases Hank's computer, but due to some mistake in process, computer went into a restart, so no transfer back occured + some component burned down making transfer back temporarily impossible (unless it's replaced). Or idk how it works, it's actually against my headcanons, but fuck it. The point is that this will take time to replace it, because it has to be ordered as something custom that can't be found as it is available the same day.

Without the need to move actual physical body (that occupies most of the resources) actual "mind" is not so big so it can even run on a phone, which is exactly what happens next. (Don't attack me, it's a silly little story idea, so let me have fun)

So for a couple of days or up to a week Connor exists within this non-physical predicament, learning ways to interact with other devices (like connecting to cameras that are within same network just to see something, although it's hard to understand the depth (regular cameras are sure different than the ones used for android's eyes)), surfing the web, etc. Basically like in the movie "Her"(2013) but as a temporary measure.

During this time Hank adopts a habit of wearing a headphones (or just one) at practically all times just to keep Connor a company while he's like that, because (at least at first) he's freaking out and is really opposed to the thought of being left alone even for a short time, because without a body and barely any inputs from the real world (compared to usual amount and quality) the experience is way too similar to non-existence and shit is understandably freaky. It seems like constantly having such a company, basically enduring someone else's presense at almost all times can rapidly become annoying and unbearable, but somehow it quickly becomes a second nature instead. In a way it's even nice. Consequently they talk more than ever, often ending up discussing something minor or ridiculous, something they'd never talked about otherwise, just because they're basically getting used to thinking out loud with a company.

Story ends with Hank finally replacing the component that got broken with a new one, allowing Connor to finally transfer back. The image of his body moving for the first time after being completely still for a relatively long period of time seems to me weirdly adorable. Being able to finally move and feel again must be similar to the feeling of wearing the right type of glasses for the first time after living with way too weak ones without realising how fucking blind you actually are. But yeah, it must be about 10 times better than that.

The first thing after finally being able to feel physically present like an actually existing person? A hug. Of course.

[shunshunrika]

Rin Itoshi stares at you during the party as rainbow hues of LED light up your face in fractals. You stare back, doe-eyed, unsure of why you're being looked at with such intensity.

You know him as the guy who is usually aloof and barely gives anyone the time of the day. He's beautiful af, everyone wants him. He knows that they want him. But if won't bat his long underlashes at them. Yet, he sits, slumped back into the couch, surrounded by a bunch of rowdy boys, sipping intently on his can of beer while looking directly at you.

You decide you need to ignore him and focus on the party and the music and the booze, but Rin is smarter than that and even more stubborn. He makes his way to you, one conversation at a time. He has spoken gibberish gossip to 3 people beside you until he finally gets to you and traps you into a talk. Surprisingly, he seems like a good conversationalist.

It isn't until you are deep into some topic that you realize that the party has moved on without you and now you are alone with Rin in the house, with a few passed out drunkards.

"Let's get out of here." he says, grabbing your hand and ushering you towards the door. He nimbly takes your hand and looks at you yet again.

"Is it just me or your name is really pretty, Y/N." he says, his eyes getting glassy.

"How do you know my name?" you ask, your voice rising in panic. He quickly shuts his ears with his hands and after seeing you gawk, smirks at you.

"I'm kidding." He says, raising his hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

"I could really kiss you right now."

"U-uhm?" you hesitate but his hands are already around your waist, snaking up your back.

"Will you let me?" There he goes with his killer gaze again. You can only reply with a really embarrassed face. "O-okay."

He swoops down on you like a starved man. His hands coming closer to grab your neck and tilt your face to give him better access. You let your hands wander and find purchase in his silky hair as you deepen the sultry kiss. The two of you sweat in the humid weather as you can hear crickets fill in the silence of midnight, other than all the sloppy smooching noises the two of you are making. You can taste the beer on his tongue and wonder if he can taste your cherry lipbalm.

You soon hear footsteps and a familiar voice call out to you.

"Oi, Oi, Oi. I'll film this and put it on xxxvideos." It's Shidou who has caught you.

You finally separate after what feels like minutes and try to catch your breaths. Rin and you stare at each other, dumfounded for a minute before breaking out into laughter.

a/n: kind of a self insert drabble because this happened to me in real life lol. minus the kissing part because hahaha I can't, i ran away when I felt the sexual tension build up and he was staring too hard. But damn was that guy just like Rin - bitch exterior, warm interior. I keep seeing him every now and then, here and there, he's pretty.

[nonymous-nb]

I actually did what you asked it took me a bit and the dialogue is a bit different but I did it I don't know if it's short but I did it

No worries if it's short, you did great :D

{insert happy gibberish noises over here}

[funnyexel]

Quiet Tsundere x Reader

A/n: This is a drabble. If you like it don’t be shy, leave a request. In the requests on my page. Enjoy <3333

Masterlist Mega List

Yawning, your locker slams shut. You jump at the sudden action, drowsiness present in your form. He towered over you. Looking down at you as if you’re a lesser being than him. You stared back at him. Silently having a staring contest until you gave in. Yawning once again, you lean against the locker. “Yes?” You grip onto your books as they slowly slip out of your hands. He only looks you up and down. Hitting your books with little effort nearly knocking them out your hand and poking you with minimal force. “I’m tired. I was up all night.” You rub your watery eyes. He walked away from you. Maybe onto his next class but it was beyond you as the bell rang to continue your tiring school day. 

You sat in your usual choice of seats. In the back, you’ve been doing this since the first few weeks of school. The words coming out of the teachers mouth was equivalent to gibberish. You didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand. Sleep was taking over your body as your head met the comfortable school desk. And just like that you were back into dream world. How you ended up sleeping in class was an interesting reason. To think it’d be because of studying or something like that but no. It was because of dumb, never gonna happen fantasies. And with the last person you thought would be in your head in this type of way. How in the world did this happen? Funny story...

“You’re telling me. You have no feelings whatsoever. If he’s not sexually harassing you, they say it’s a sign he likes you.” You roll your eyes at her ridiculous accusations. In your mind, the day he likes you is the day pigs fly. “Mhm. That’s exactly what I’m telling you. He doesn’t utter a word to me. What makes you think he likes me.” You chuckle, hearing how crazy it sounds coming from your mouth. This goes on for days and days on end. Until you’re up at night, thinking if he really does like you. Making scenes and scenarios in your head about confessions, dates and other things.

 And most unexpectedly fantasies about his voice, if it would be deep and smooth or high and premature. It really stumped you. You heard rumors around the school about how his voice is deep and gravely like concrete. Whatever that means, but then again it’s just rumors. Could be true, could be false but only the one the rumor is about will know. On the flip side, his “friends” were noticing his actions towards you as well. It was sudden nonetheless but it was frequently that they would see him around you. He had one true friend. One he knew since the crayon stage. 

He’s the only one that he got comfortable enough around to speak and use his voice. Why is this? He was insecure about his voice. It wasn’t bad or anything but he thought it was super deep, so one day after puberty hit him he decided to stop talking and only talk around those he’s comfortable around. He wanted you to be one of those people. Oh, how it would overjoy him for you to be one of those people. He could talk for hours and hours on end if he had the right person. And in the back of his mind, you were his right person. Corny? Yes and he knew this so he kept to himself. Keeping it well hidden at that. 

The girls that hung around his “friends” hung around him too and he disliked it. These wasn’t his kind of people, they were cool and whatever but not his type of crowd. They started to pick at you while he turned a blind eye. Saying small remarks like “such a pick me girl” and “she came outside wearing that?” It was subtle at first but became more and more obvious. Even though he wouldn’t talk, his body language spoke volumes. With a stare he stopped them from picking at you but it only stopped momentarily. Given they saw how it riled him up and they thought it was hot in a way. Very weird I know. 

“Y/n.” What’s that noise? You thought. “Y/n L/n!” A pair of hands slam on your desk causing you to jump up. They could visibly see the tiredness in your face. “Y/n, go to I.S.S.” They demand. The class inserts cartoon like noises, while you pack up your belongs and make your way to the classroom. You huff as you close the door to your classroom. Sleepily walking to the I.S.S. classroom which is turning into a jog as the hall monitor cracks down on you. They follow you to I.S.S. and close the door behind you. You look at the basically empty classroom with barely anyone in it. 

Sitting down at one of the back desks, you take out a notebook and doodle. A few minutes pass by and a piece of paper slides its way onto your desk. You didn’t see where it came from so you opened it. “how’d a goodie two shoes end up in here?” You lip sync to yourself, now knowing who its from. There lay, the way too familiar bookbag. You sigh and crumple the paper in your hand, putting it in your backpack. Now going back to your doodling activities. This time a paper ball hit your head and landed in front of you. “stop crumpling up my note, idoit.” You roll your eyes and write under his words. 

“you spelled that wrong and I’ll keep crumpling it up if I want to.” You throw it into his lap. He sat at the desk, in front of you to the left. “I know I did, you autocorrect junkie. did you break a pencil or better yet fold a paper wrong.” He was messing with you. “shut up and stop throwing this back, you’re gonna get me in trouble.” You finally go back to your doodling. You feel a minor yet hard kick in your leg. You jerk up ready to place your fury upon the poor soul. He puts his hand up for you to stop then points to the teacher, she was pregnant and out cold. He throws the paper at your chest and turns back.

Frustratingly, you open and read it. “she’s not even paying attention. and you have nothing better to do.” The temptation to crumple this paper is unbearable. “LEAVE ME ALONE!!” You throw the paper at his head, turning your body to the right and continue your doodling. Now in peace, you realize what you’re doodling. It was a mini comic about confessing. Alertly looking around, you rip out the page and shove it into your bookbag. ‘I hope no one saw that.’ You breath out at the thought. You felt little hits at your head, again and again and again. It was slowly getting to you. 

‘can’t this be over already.’ You bury your head into your arms. A soft tap is placed upon your right shoulder. Lifting up your head, an unbothered female rests the note on your desk. You’ve seen her before around the school, she was pretty antisocial as far as you knew. “Those group of girls in the front are staring at you.” At the last word, you lift up the note a bit to get the girls in your eye range. Placing the note on your desk, you reply. “nice to know...you wouldn’t happen to know why. would you?” You drop it on her desk. He stopped throwing paper at you. 

Unfolding her note. “because of your friend. watch out for them, they’re not so...friendly.” You glance at the women again, this time they notice you. “he’s not my friend. but thanks for the heads up. I’m y/n. what’s your name? I’ve seen you around before.” As you pass her the note, he gently places a note on your desk. “This is alot of note passing.” You mutter to yourself. “look at the door, stupid.” Rolling your eyes, you look and see your best friend. A smile creeps it’s way onto your face. “What are you doing?” You lip sync to her. “Class is over come on it’s lunch.” She motions you to come out.

Shaking your head, you receive the note from the girl. “Vera.” You put the note in your pocket and look back to your best friend having a silent squabble with him. You motion for her to stop. The sound of the bell echoes in the class, awaking the teacher. Looking to the ground, a puddle of papers engulf your feet. Thinking fast, you move your backpack closer to the papers and shove them all in your bag. “Ok. I don’t feel like filling in a report so this time, I’ll cut you all lose. Out.” She motions to the door and she didn’t have to tell you twice. You dashed to the door, almost knocking your best friend out. 

Taking her wrist, you pull her to the cafeteria. Sitting her outside at your usual table, she sighs. “He’s annoying....” You slowly nod to her observation. “Just right for you.” She adds to her unfinished statement with a devilish smile. You slap your hand to your forehead and shake your head. She chuckles, leaving to get lunch for you and her. You pull out the papers from your bag. All were blank except for one. 

“This note is for the Idiot who finds it.  You Lack In the brain department. Just so you Know. It Even hurts mY brain to talk tO yoU. Even though I don’t talk.” 

This note made no since what so ever, some letters were written over as if he made a mistake. You put the confusing note in your pocket for later. Feeling the breeze, you close your eyes and relax. “What do you want with Arthur?” A girl in close contact, spits with a noticeable cruel attitude. You open your eyes and they land on the same girls that were in I.S.S. They stare at you intensely. Causing you to answer. “Nothing.” You awkwardly say, playing with a piece of paper. She snatches the piece of paper from you. “Like hell! You’re ugly. He doesn’t like you and would never like you.” 

They encourage her hateful words. “Honestly, she’s the bottom of the barrel.” They begin to cackle at the ‘not so insulting’ insult. It was insulting but not so much for you to go crying to your mommy. Taking their leave. “And him being with you would be the top of the barrel. Wouldn’t it?” A snarky remark leaving your mouth, loud enough for them to hear. “What did you just say?” She turns her head, doll like. Reminding you of Annabelle. “I said, And him being with you would be the top of the barrel. Wouldn’t it?” You repeat yourself but speak slower so it can sink in. 

“Can we help you?” Quinn says, placing the food on the table and standing by you with her knee on the seat. “Listen here, skank. He doesn’t want you.” You roll your eyes at her. “Yeah, I can tell. I’m not interested in him. You can knock yourself out. Metaphorically.” You sigh and take a water from the tray. She gets visibly more frustrated and mad at your unbothered state. Scoffing loudly, she leaves you alone. Glancing at the surroundings, people were gathering around you. They soon realized it was just a disagreement and go back to their business. Quinn was very surprised at how you handled the situation.

Surprised that you even responded to her. “I’ll beat her up.” You chuckle at your best friend. “Words can’t hurt me.” You breathy huff and lean your head in your palm. Secretly staring at her approaching him, smothering him. ‘He looks so uncomfortable.’ You stop staring at her and look at him. He catches your eye and you revert your eyes back to Quinn. She was staring at you the whole time. “I’m not interested in him, she says.” She mocks you, even adding her own commentary. The end of the day came pretty quickly. The halls were practically empty as you went to your locker for the rest of your stuff. 

“I just had to get held back by that teacher. Wasn’t I.S.S enough for them?” You say to yourself as you put your stuff in your backpack. The click of your lock, set about some rapid footsteps coming towards you. You looked and two people grabbed you by the arms. “Let go of me!” You yelled in her face. She laughs wickedly as you get dragged into the bathroom. They striped you of your bookbag and threw you into the stall doors. Your back hit harder than it sounded. As they started to beat you up, you reached into your pocket and pull out your taser, tasing someone in the ankle. 

They dropped down to the ground and this was your chance. Hurriedly crawling to the bathroom door, you push it open. At that moment, you got away. A tight grip is placed upon your ankles with all your might you hold onto the door frame and scream to the top of your lungs. All the while, one of them were pulling your ankles with all their might. Your hands gave in as soon as another pair of palms gripped onto your ankles. Your screams echoed from the bathroom for a moment until an inhuman slam came across the door. Silence filled the restroom, you laid on the floor bruised up and lightly bloody as they stopped their movements to the new person. 

Hearing yelps of surprise, soon enough you were being lift up bridal style in strong arms. Your left eye refusing to open, you stared at him with your right. A heavy sigh of relief, left your lips as you leaned into him a little closer than before. The far too familiar sound of cheap paper crumping fills your ears as he sets you down on the nurses table. The nurse wasn’t there but the door was unlocked. He got some band-aids and alcohol. Sitting on a chair next to the table, he patched you up best he could. You avoided eye contact with him at all costs. “This is awkward.” His voice shook you to your core. Though you were already shaking from the recent events. 

“y-yeah.” Voice low and sore from screaming. He finished, putting all the stuff back, placing a ice pack to a huge bruise on your leg and giving you another for your eye. You stayed quiet for the most part, but you reached into your pocket and held out the crumbled note to him. He looked to you and took it. Leaving the ice pack on your leg, he unfolded it and immediately saw your writing on the bottom. “I like you too.” He lip synced your neatly written words. Shoving the note into his pocket, he gazed into your eyes with hopefulness. “can we leave?” You state, feeling like someone is watching you. He offered you a ride home which you gladly took, having already missed the public bus. 

You both talked the whole ride. Getting used to his voice. He took you to get some food. Throughout the ride, you both established that you’ll keep this relationship on the down low. Arriving at your home, you invited him in but he politely declined. “I’ll see you in the morning?” You leaned in the window and nodded with a smile. “Bye.” You flash one last smile before turning and walking to your front door. Putting in the passcode and entering the house. Walking into the kitchen you but your fast food bag on the island and took a sip of your drink as you dialed a frequent number. “Quinn. You will not believe what just happened.”

[luvteez]

easy

pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader genre + tags: smut, idolverse | studio sex, fingering and the audio is being recorded, rings, reader and hongjoong are both idols and have a collab track with bang chan, bang chan sadly does not make a guest appearance in this but there is a mention of his name (yes this was a necessary tag) wc: 1.1k

“You sound much better now. Let’s retake the chorus.”

The lyric sheet in your hands is crumpled up and slightly damp from your sweaty fingers. Not that you need it anyway, because the lines are simple to memorize and you went through them a dozen times before setting a foot in Hongjoong’s studio to record them for the upcoming collaboration with him and Bang Chan, but it’s hard to get your brain to work when you’re sitting on Hongjoong’s lap with three of his fingers buried inside of you knuckle-deep. 

The familiar instrumental blares out of the speakers again, but you’re too dazed to process it completely. Hongjoong seems to notice that. He props his chin on your shoulder before peppering openmouthed kisses on your neck. His fingers start to move once more, albeit slowly, grazing all the right spots that send you to the stars and have you twitching uncontrollably.

“C’mon, baby. Sing your lines,” he mouths against your neck before nibbling on that patch of skin. You moan at the slight sting, bucking your hips forward in the hopes he’ll quicken his pace. He doesn’t.

“I’ll give you what you want once we’ve finished recording your part,” he promises, and you know he’s telling the truth. You still harbor enough self-awareness to realize that out of the ten attempts you recorded so far, not even once did you manage to sing the entire chorus in one go without breaking into sobs or forgetting the words. 

If this is Hongjoong’s wicked way of making you slowly lose your mind, it’s working. 

“I make you say wow—” your voice wavers when he sharply curls his fingers, hitting your sweet spot with full force. As you struggle to keep your head in place, all colors start to bleed in one another in your vision. “—look at me now—” You’re pretty sure you were a beat off when you sang that part, but he doesn’t comment on it. His fingers stop dead in their tracks after that motion, causing frustration to build up in you. As much as you want to complain, you don’t. You keep focusing on enunciating your lines as clearly as humanly possible given your condition because you want to be done with the recording session, good for Hongjoong, and good enough to be allowed to cum. 

But then he goes hard. 

Hongjoong wraps his free arm around you tighter as you begin writhing in his lap, his fingers thrusting in and out of you in a brutal pattern. You don’t need anyone to tell you that what you’re saying now is pure gibberish mixed in with moans that are too obscene for anyone’s sanity, nor do you need anyone to tell you that your eyes are glassy. 

“Come and wat—” you cut yourself off with a loud moan when he ups his torture by ruthlessly flicking his thumb on your clit. The last remains of a logical train of thoughts are down the drain when Hongjoong groans against the crook of your neck, the vibrations going straight down to your throbbing core. “Please, I can’t anymore. Let me cum,” you cry. Bang Chan can wait another day to get your parts to insert into the final mastering. 

To your dismay, Hongjoong begs to differ.

“Again. Do that last part again.”

His fingers don’t slow down as he untangles his other hand from you to replay the instrumental and shove the mic closer to your face. Then it strikes you; Oh God, the mic. The realization that every sound you’ve made is being recorded hits you like a brick wall all over again. 

You doubt Hongjoong will delete all the audios that aren’t even eligible for the final cut. However, you trust him enough to save those recordings in a file that only he can access. 

But what if? What if he accidentally sends Chan the audio where you’re quite literally begging him to cum? What if your moans aren’t the only sounds audible in the recordings? What if you can also make out the indecent noise of him fucking you good with his fingers alone? What if that accidentally wasn’t accidental at all? 

You’re so lost in thoughts that you miss the beat. “Stop clenching around me and start singing,” Hongjoong orders and scissors his digits to get his point across. Noticing how you probably aren’t capable of finding the right timing to sing, he counts the beat for you in a tone too husky for your liking. 

Your line is about to come up, but then his other hand reaches down between your legs — the hand that’s decorated with rings — and he grazes his pointer against your clit, making sure the cold metal of his ring touches you two. It’s the last straw that throws you over the edge, tightening around his digits and panting out mindless words as he fucks you past oblivion. 

The music slowly fades into the background as your heartbeat starts to fall back into a steady rhythm. When you open your eyes, the mic is pushed to the side and Hongjoong is looking down at you in awe. 

“I never knew someone could cum that fast just from a few fingers,“ He speaks up, pulling his fingers out, all drenched in your release. “Never knew someone could cum this hard.”

“It’s the ring.”

“The ring?” he echoes. You blink at him in confusion before it eventually hits you like a truck. 

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Quiet.” 

You keep your mouth shut. Hongjoong is still looking down at you lovingly, but you know the damage has been done already. His eyes don’t give him away, but the edge in his voice is more than enough of a confirmation that his ego was badly bruised. 

“It took you ten minutes to come,” he states nonchalantly whilst taking off his rings one by one. You gulp, terrified of what’s about to come.

“Let’s beat that record. This time, without any rings on.”   

[olliedollie1204]

love is blind (everything fits oneshot)

Logan has a test for Janus.

Pairings: Romantic Loceit

Words: 2,839 words

honestly the entire reason i decided to start publishing this WIP was because I was sitting on this prequel oneshot that i desperately wanted to publish ajhdhsj. AU is Everything Fits, which you should most definitely read bc it is My Baby.

(Read it on AO3!)

“This is a very difficult decision, indeed,” Logan muttered. His eyes were narrowed, his brow was furrowed, and his lips were downturned. All signs that he was in serious deep thought.

Cautiously, he reached out his hands to grab the two items he had been looking at, weighing them in his hands and inspecting them more closely.

“What do you think?” he asked over his shoulder, turning around and holding the two objects out in front of him.

“Regular Cheerios or Honey Nut Cheerios?”

Roman and Remus looked at him from their position in the shopping cart. Roman babbled gibberish and waved his arms around, while Remus sucked on his fingers and kicked his legs out.

Logan hummed thoughtfully. “That is a good point, Roman,” he replied. “Although Honey Nut Cheerios are the less healthy option, the likelihood of the two of you actually eating your food as opposed to throwing it on the floor will increase exponentially if the food in question is yummy. And I think we can all agree, Honey Nut Cheerios are yummier than regular Cheerios.”

Remus interjected with a series of wordless squeals, pulling his hand out of his mouth and waving the spit-covered fist in the air.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting that we could pair the regular Cheerios with a healthier yummy food option, like bananas?”

Remus made a loud noise that sounded like an affirmation.

“A very good compromise, Remus,” Logan stated, dropping the regular Cheerios in the cart and kissing his sons on their heads. “Thank you both for your input.”

The twins smiled up at their Daddy, Roman leaning backwards in an attempt to place a sloppy kiss on Logan’s chin. Logan melted.

“Thank you, Rollypolly,” he cooed, his usually intelligent demeanor quickly losing the battle with his desire to babytalk his sons, and with that, he pushed the cart out of the grocery section of the Walmart.

“Before we go, I would like to browse through the infant section, in order to find the two of you some suitable outfits for the upcoming warmer weather,” Logan informed the twins, eyeing down at them as he walked through the aisles. They took one look at his face and broke into laughter for no reason Logan could think of. Nevertheless, Logan couldn’t keep up the stern facade; baby laughter was the most contagious sound in the world.

Despite Logan and Janus knowing from the start that they wanted twins (that was not the sort of thing that was left up to chance when going through a surrogate), there were minor complications to the parenting process that the two new fathers had to learn through trial and error.

For example: they had to dress the boys in different outfits.

It was simply a strategic move: even for twins, the physical similarities between Roman and Remus were striking. Same dark brown eyes, same curly auburn hair, same breathtaking smiles that took up their entire faces— and now Logan had to physically drag his focus away from his boys before he knocked over a display rack of sunglasses in his distracted stupor. The point is, they had to forgo dressing the boys in identical outfits, or else there would be no telling who was who.

Still, Logan thought as he maneuvered the cart into the infant section, part of the fun with babies was dressing them in the cutest clothes ever made, and the Croft-Sanders twins had many corresponding outfits that were sufficiently distinct while still being adorable. They often wore clothes that bore phrases like “Thing One” and “Thing Two”, “Prepare For Trouble” and “And Make It Double”, or “I’m With Stupid” and “I’m Stupid” (Janus thought those two were particularly hilarious, despite Logan’s amused disapproval.)

He browsed idly, flipping between pairs of overalls before his eyes fell onto a rack of simpler onesies. They were plain, each one a different solid color in a variety of hues. He normally would pass them by for something with a bit more flair, but the two hanging next to each other right in the front caught his eye… for a specific reason.

Logan looked at them for a second, the gears turning in his head, before he grinned, pulling the two onesies in question off the rack and placing them in the cart. The twins gurgled as he leaned over them, and he pulled back to give each of them another kiss on the head.

“Pay attention to Papa’s reaction when he sees your new clothes,” he confided in them. “I suspect it will be very funny.”

~

Later that evening, Logan was standing in the kitchen preparing dinner when he heard the door slam, two arms wrapping around his waist before he could react.

“Hey, handsome,” a voice purred in his ear, and Logan rolled his eyes, whacking one of the arms with a dish towel.

“Please release me so I don’t burn our house down,” he replied, straightening his smile into something neutral as he turned around to face his husband.

Janus grinned. “If you did, we could collect on the insurance and move somewhere nicer.”

Logan rolled his eyes again. “Yes, along with the myriad of backup funds we currently possess, I do think that uprooting our impressionable young children and separating them from all they are familiar with is a fantastic idea—”

His retort was interrupted with Janus pressing their lips together, which Logan was happy to reciprocate.

“Speaking of our children,” Janus said as they pulled away, and Logan still got a certain thrill in his chest when Janus said our children, “where are the little gremlins?”

“In the playpen,” Logan replied, biting the inside of his cheek. “Will you check Remus’ diaper? I changed Roman’s earlier but Remus didn’t need it, and I suspect he will by now.”

Janus sighed. “I’ve been home for five minutes and you’ve already got me doing the dirty work.”

“Thank you, Sanders,” Logan sang, ignoring Janus’ complaint in favor of moving away to turn off the stovetop.

He continued to bustle around the kitchen, but his attention was on Janus, who entered the living room where the boys’ playpen was set up.

“Alright, Reemypop,” Logan heard him say. “Time to face the music—”

He stopped suddenly. Logan waited in anticipation.

“Croft,” Janus said in a voice devoid of emotion.

Logan hurried into the living room, where Janus was looking down into the playpen. The two locked eyes.

“You must think you are very funny,” Janus remarked dryly. Logan couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face.

“Remus is wearing the green onesie,” he responded oh-so-helpfully, once again ignoring Janus’ statement.

“And I assume,” Janus deadpanned, “Roman is wearing a red one.”

Logan hummed. “Excellent deductive reasoning.”

Janus leveled his husband with an unimpressed look.

“I never expected to be mocked for my colorblindness by my own husband,” he finally said.

Logan flashed him a grin. “Come on, Sanders. Surely you’re able to tell the difference between your own sons.”

With that, Logan settled into the rocking chair, folding his arms and looking at his husband with amusement.

Janus looked from him, to the twins, to him again. He sighed, but Logan recognized that look in his eyes: he was ready to play.

“If you insist,” Janus drawled, before leaning forward and picking up the boys in one swoop. They made happy noises at being lifted in the air, and even more so when Janus pressed a kiss onto each of their heads.

He expertly turned them around so they were facing Logan, their backs tucked into Janus’ arms.

“Wave goodbye to Daddy, because I’m going to kill him,” he told the boys cheerfully. They each waved a hand in Logan’s general direction.

“No, don’t—” Logan protested, trying to quell his laughter. “They’ll remember that years down the line, you know.”

“Good. At least their therapists will find them interesting.”

He looked down at the two babies in his arms. He lifted each of them up and down, as if weighing them. They paid absolutely no attention to him: the one on his left continued to wave at Logan, while the other attempted to squirm out of Janus’ hold altogether.

“Remus,” Janus cooed. Both boys turned their heads in his direction.

Janus tsked, and waited for their attention to drift before he tried again. “Roman?”

Again both boys turned back to look at their Papa. Logan snickered softly.

“Darn,” Janus muttered. “I definitely thought that would work.”

He paused in thought, before sighing. “Well, Daddy said Remus probably needs a diaper change. So…”

He leaned forward to give each of his sons a preliminary sniff. Logan wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant, but usually necessary, task.

Janus leaned back. “No dice.”

“That’s good, at least,” Logan offered.

“That’s good, at least,” Janus mimicked, making a face at his husband. He looked down at his sons again, eyes narrowed.

“Okay, Sanders,” he muttered, making Logan snort. “Figure it out.”

He gently maneuvered the three of them to the floor, laying the twins side by side on their backs and sitting criss-cross applesauce in front of them.

He studied them closely. Left Baby reached out to him and made grabby hands, while Right Baby was focused on trying to insert his entire foot into his mouth, both of them babbling adorably.

“Now, Remus is more likely to ask to be picked up than Roman is,” Janus reasoned, pointing a finger at Left Baby; his finger slid over to Right Baby as he continued, “But Roman never tries to chew on his feet like Remus does, so the data is inconclusive.”

Janus tapped his chin, apparently deep in thought. He reached into the playpen, scrabbling around for what he needed for his next test.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, emerging from the playpen and placing the item in between the boys.

“Who wants the Dragon Witch?” he cooed. The twins whipped their heads in unison, eyes wide as they both caught sight of their favorite toy: a green stuffed dragon with a witch hat on its head.

Logan hummed deeply. “I must admit, that’s a good strategy.”

Janus shushed him without looking, his eyes on the boys as they both reached out their hands.

Left Baby reached the toy first, grabbing the tail in one pudgy fist and yanking it towards him. It tottered over, falling on its side just out of reach of Right Baby.

Deceit smiled. Now all he had to do was wait for Right Baby’s reaction. If Roman took a toy, Remus wouldn’t care in the slightest; if Remus took a toy, however, Roman would cry and scream like there was no tomorrow.

Sure enough, Right Baby began making a series of noises that were not quite cries, but were well on their way there.

“Yes!” Janus hissed, pumping his fist slightly. “That one’s Roman, and this one is—”

He cut himself off as Left Baby made a loud, short noise at seeing his brother start to cry. Still gripping the Dragon Witch by its tail, he swung his arm out as much as he could, and the toy flopped into Right Baby’s space, without Left Baby having to let it go.

Immediately Right Baby stopped crying, and he strained for a few seconds before managing to grab the Dragon Witch by its puffy nose. The two brothers stayed like that, holding the Dragon Witch between them, as they turned to face their Papa again.

Janus was gawking at the display. “Of all the times you two could’ve learned how to share, it had to be now?”

Logan hummed in response, preoccupied with taking several photos of the adorable scene. He watched with amusement as Janus’ brow furrowed in concentration, before he gave a triumphant laugh as he got a new idea.

Janus slowly raised his two index fingers, swirling them in the air above each of his sons.

“Here comes the tickle monster!” he growled playfully. The twins were both ticklish, but Remus specifically would squirm and flail and shriek whenever Papa would pretend to be the tickle monster with them.

Apparently Roman had caught onto that mindset, because both boys let out an identical series of squeals at the sight of the fingers hovering over their bellies.

Janus smiled, unable to stop himself from giving the boys a few seconds of tummy tickles, Logan snapping pictures all the while.

“Smile for the camera, boys,” Janus cooed, “because in about ten years we’re gonna use these pictures to embarrass the crap out of you.”

Logan snorted. “Please stop saying things that will scar them in the future.”

Janus only grinned, eventually pulling back his hands and peering down at his children.

“Maybe I could just leave them like this,” he pondered aloud. “I love them equally. I don’t need to know which one is which.”

“Are you admitting defeat?” Logan asked.

Janus scowled. “Never.”

“Then answer the question!”

“Fine!”

The two men glowered at each other.

Finally Janus broke eye contact, and, taking a deep breath, pointed his finger yet again.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo—”

Logan burst out laughing.

“No, no, no, no, no! I refuse to let you use Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo to determine which of our children is which!” His voice rose in pitch as he laughed incredulously at his husband.

Janus ignored him, continuing his game as Logan fell into hysterics behind him.

“My mother told me to pick the very best one and you. Are. It!”

His finger landed on Left Baby.

“That one’s Remus,” Janus declared.

Logan slowly stopped laughing and peered over Janus’ shoulder, eyes following his finger.

“Janus Sanders…”

A pause.

“That is Roman.”

Janus groaned, slamming his fist on the carpet. “No! Fu— falsehood!”

Logan sidestepped, reaching around to pick up Left Baby— Roman. He held the child up to Janus’ face.

“Roman is wearing red,” he said slowly, as if he were teaching his sons about colors as opposed to his husband. “Can you say ‘red’, Janus?”

Janus scoffed, leaning forward to pick up Right Baby, otherwise known as Remus.

“And Remus is wearing green,” he confirmed, rocking the baby into his chest. His son sighed adorably, and Janus pressed another kiss onto his head. He looked up at Logan, who was pressing his lips against Roman’s head simultaneously.

“You are a bastard, Logan Croft.”

“Takes one to know one, Janus Sanders.”

Janus stuck his tongue out at Logan. Remus mimicked him, causing both men to drop the act as they cooed over their son.

Until they wrinkled their noses in sync.

Janus’ eyes shot up to Logan’s. “Do you want me to—”

“Yes, please,” Logan finished with gratitude. Janus sighed, carefully standing up without jostling Remus too badly.

“How long until potty training?” he asked over his shoulder, exiting the living room and heading in the direction of the nursery.

“The answer will only disappoint you,” Logan replied, settling back into the rocking chair with Roman in his arms.

He smiled down at his son, placing yet another kiss on his forehead. He caressed Roman’s head as the baby babbled into his chest.

“Good job, Rollypolly,” he murmured, and as he slowly rocked the chair back and forth, his fingers traced the crown of Roman’s head to find the hidden birthmark that Logan used to tell the twins apart.

His fingers found nothing.

Logan paused in his rocking, and looked down into his son’s face. He gently brushed back his auburn curls, eyes searching for the distinguishable mark that lay beneath his hair.

Nothing.

Logan blinked. That was impossible. Roman definitely had a birthmark— small and temporary, certainly, but he had one. So why…

Logan’s gaze dropped back to examine the baby in his arms. “Roman?”

The baby stared back at him with wide eyes, scrunching the fabric of his bright red onesie in his tiny fist.

“... Remus?”

There was silence for half a second before Roman— before Remus— broke into loud peals of adorable giggles, his tiny smile growing wide as he laughed in Logan’s face.

Logan couldn’t help it. He started laughing, too, slightly sleep deprived laughter that made his chest heave, jostling Remus and causing him to laugh harder, which caused Logan to laugh even harder, on and on and on.

Several minutes went by before Logan was able to stop, and even then he had needed to close his eyes in order to avoid falling back into laughter at seeing his son’s happy face. He almost lost it again when he felt Remus batting at his face with uncoordinated hands, but he managed to calm the two of them enough to stand up from the rocking chair.

“You are a troublemaker,” he murmured against his baby’s head. Remus made little noises that sounded like agreement. Logan gave a contented sigh, a sheepish grin growing on his face as he realized what he had to do next.

“Sanders,” he called down the hallway, carrying Remus to join his Papa and brother, “I have to confess something…”

[cinnaminsvga]

Wish on a Fish | Namjoon

→ summary: namjoon’s got fish-shaped pastries on the brain, and you’ve got namjoon-shaped space in your heart. you both learn to make do. → genre: fluff, humor → words: 3.9K → a/n: i had this in my wips since october 2018 and i decided to finish it because it’s loving namjoon hours (but when is it not?) also this was inspired by this galaxy brain quote from the man himself: “ain’t no fish inside”

“Y/N has a crush on you.”

The owner of the voice giggles when Namjoon lifts his head up in confusion, a sticky note with various mathematical equations hanging precariously from his forehead. An unflattering doodle of what appears to be a worm with Yoongi’s face has imprinted itself like a makeshift tattoo from where his cheek had rested upon his notebook. None of that information explains what year he has woken up in, what dimensions he has slipped into, nor why Hoseok has decided to tell him this very unlikely factoid when he was clearly busy with his guilt nap.

[guilt nap (n.) when Namjoon has kept his eyes open for an extended amount of time, to the point where colors start making noise and numbers start looking like letters, so he sleeps in various public places to reboot his brain; hardly ever works but he still tries.]

“Whuzzat?” Namjoon asks, verbose. The sticky note is on its last dredges of stickiness, and Hoseok watches it flop down from its perch and into his friend’s agape mouth. Hoseok plucks it away kindly, but Namjoon doesn’t even seem to have noticed its disappearance.

“You look like shit,” Hoseok replies instead, pulling a chair beside Namjoon and carefully pushing aside what appears to be a glass of curdled milk. Hoseok’s nose crinkles in disgust. “Dude. Was this the milk tea from free Boba Tuesday?”

“Yeah?” Namjoon blinks owlishly. It appears that his brain hasn’t fully awakened yet, because he goes to grab the cup and bring it to his lips when Hoseok saves him by plucking the offending object out of his hands too.

“Namjoon. Free Boba Tuesday was three days ago. It’s Friday evening. This is three-day-old milk tea.”

“No way. You’re kidding,” Namjoon says, peering into the cup and making a startled face at the solidified mass. He jiggles it in wonder, beholding in its jelliness. “Wow. Do you think I could donate this to the bio labs? I heard they were looking for more e. coli samples.”

“Why the fuck would this have e. coli in it? Unless you took a shit in—“ Hoseok begins, but clamps his mouth shut when it looks like Namjoon is about to defend himself. He backtracks, “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Why are you here again?” Namjoon grumbles, trying to salvage his crumpled notes by smoothing them with his hands. He rips one of them in half, and he gazes at the mess with the eyes of a defeated man. He sighs. “Look, I’m really busy right now. I don’t have time to get roasted AND study for finals at the same time. You’re gonna have to schedule an appointment with me.”

“As much as I enjoy making fun of your poor hygiene and self-care skills, I have a reason for being here. Like I just said, I came here to tell you that Y/N has a crush on you,” Hoseok repeats, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Heard her talking about you in the labs this morning.”

Namjoon stares at him. Hoseok watches in worry as his friend’s irises start to become unfocused slightly.

“Dude,” Hoseok says, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you hear what I said?” Namjoon thankfully blinks back.

“Yeah. Okay, thanks.” Namjoon finally says, before grabbing his notebook to see where he left off. He doesn’t notice that his notes are upside down when he begins to write gibberish that must only make sense to him. Hoseok thinks he can see the word ‘churros’ somewhere in there, but he isn’t 100% certain.

Namjoon continues, “Do you think the cafeteria is still open at this hour? I don’t think I’ve drunk water in two days.”

“Okay, thanks? That’s all you have to say to my jawdropping discovery?” Hoseok exclaims, pinching Namjoon’s cheek. The Yoongi doodle on his cheek smudges from his fingers, making him appear even wormier than before. “Y/N is in your Chemistry class, right? The one with the serial killer professor?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon hums, scratching out the word ‘churro’ and replacing it with ‘grilled cheese’ instead. The amount of concentration on his face is disconcerting, to say the least. It looks like he’s writing down a grocery list beside his calculus homework. “Professor Kang isn’t a serial killer, by the way. He’s just stressed.”

Hoseok gives his friend a once-over, disbelieving. “Yeah, I can see why you’d defend him. Takes one to know one,” he snorts, grimacing at the pit stains lining his friend’s gray shirt. “Honestly, Y/N must be a serial killer herself if she thinks you’re worth any sort of attraction. You smell like the market, dude.”

“Speaking of, do you know what I want from the market right now?” Namjoon drops his pen, leaving an unfinished doodle of another portrait of wormy Yoongi screaming in terror under the heat of a magnifying glass. Hoseok reminds himself to tell his hyung to lock his doors later that evening.

“Uhh… No?”

“Those silly fish cake things, with the red bean,” Namjoon murmurs, determination set in his jaw. He stands up suddenly, slamming his notebooks closed and stuffing them into his backpack. In his hurry, he knocks over the cup of curdled milk tea all over the library floor, and Hoseok half-expects it to start melting the carpet like acid. “It’s funny though, because why the hell would they shape them like that? Ain’t no fish inside… Why would they try to deceive us like that?”

“Dude, you okay?” Hoseok asks, slightly worried for his friend but not worried enough to feel bothered to stop him from potentially running into oncoming traffic.

“Need a snack. Be back,” Namjoon says, rushing out of the library in a speed uncanny for the long-legged man. Hoseok watches as he reaches the front entrance of the library exit, before he inadvertently stops in his tracks, and looks back at the still seated Hoseok.

Hoseok raises a brow. “You forgetting something?”

Namjoon opens his mouth. Closes it. Scrunches up his face like he’s just released a fart. Then, “Hey. I just rhymed. That’s cool,” he says in awe of himself, before finally making his way out of the library without waving goodbye.

Left behind to contemplate his friend choices, Hoseok heaves a heavy sigh, staring forlornly at the abandoned doodle of worm Yoongi. He shakes his head, defeated. “I tried, Y/N. I really did.”

——***——

Namjoon makes his way to the market, after a quick stop to his apartment for a change of clothes. He had only thought to change when a woman and her young daughter had taken one sniff from his general direction and ran quickly into a nearby shop to avoid his cloying stench. He at least had the decency to give the duo a sheepish look before scuttling off to his apartment in embarrassment.

Now slightly better smelling but not any less sleep-deprived, Namjoon enters the nearby open market with an agenda. He passes numerous food stalls, almost being tempted by the loud aunties to buy every single food product that he can fit into his ink-stained hands. He can’t afford to settle for any other sugary product, not when he already has his eye on the main prize.

His torment does not last long because over in the corner of the street where a long line has formed, he sees the sign for freshly cooked bungeoppang.

He hurries over, almost tripping over his own feet when he makes it to the end of the line. For whatever reason, the entirety of Seoul has also decided that they’d also like to eat some bungeoppang today as the line was over 30 people long. Namjoon glances at his watch, seeing that he only has 5 hours left until his next final and he desperately needs to finish revising the last chapter of his notes.

He sees the stall for hotteok close by where the line is significantly shorter. He’s partially debating on switching lanes and settling for his second favorite treat when he sees a familiar head of hair standing by the bungeoppang stall, seemingly debating the same thing as himself.

It’s you.

“Damn, what a line…” Namjoon hears you say to yourself, gazing longingly at the piping hot red bean goodness. Shaking your head, you sigh deeply, ready to leave bungeoppang-less. You’re just about to walk out of sight from Namjoon when he finally thinks to call out to you in greeting.

“Y/N! Over here!” He calls out, and he wonders if you’ll hear him over the sound of the crowd. Surprisingly, you turn around swiftly at the sound of his voice, able to pinpoint his hoarse voice anytime and anywhere. Your cheeks darken when you see him, apparently blind to the fact that he did not look the least bit decent with his dark eyebags and the telltale sign of dried drool on the side of his cheek. To you, he’ll always look gorgeous, even underneath the dingy fluorescent lights of the night market.

“Namjoon? What a coincidence to see you here!” You greet back, walking towards him with a skip in your step. To the chagrin of the five other people behind Namjoon, you insert yourself beside him and into the line for the bungeoppang. Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind, but that could also be the fact that his brain was running on 2 hours of sleep and three cans of energy drinks, but who can say?

“Same here. Are you here for a pre-exam snack too?”

“Sorta,” you hum, smiling. “I was about to ditch this place for the kimbap place near the Arts building because of this line, but then I saw you here so I guess I’ll brave the wait time with you.”

“Oh, sorry to interrupt you from your plans, then.” Namjoon sounds genuinely remorseful, and you have to force yourself not to coo at his crestfallen face. “I just wanted to say hello, you know?”

“It’s no problem, really. I really did have a craving for some bungeoppang, so it’s not like I’m losing anything. Besides, I miss talking to you, so it’s no big deal,” you say the last part quietly, eyes turning downwards in embarrassment. “It’s just… I haven’t seen you in so long.”

However, you’re not really embarrassed––not quite. It is well known around your circle of friends that you have a massive crush on the Biochemistry major, much to the confusion of everyone who knows you. Not to say that Namjoon was terrible, but when you stop to think about how… out of it he was, it’s kind of hard to imagine why you would want to pursue a relationship with him. Dozens of people have already tried their hand at confessing to him, but to no avail. The dude is as dense as a rock, and perhaps that is part of the appeal to you. You always have been a bit of a morosexual.

Besides, you have an advantage: you’re blinded by a misplaced determination for all things Kim Namjoon. In your eyes, all it takes is a few psychological tricks to get his head out of his ass, and you are set for life. If treating Namjoon like a psychology experiment seems unethical to others, well. Let’s just see who is crying when you eventually snatch his heart and win his hand.

If Hoseok had promised his end of the deal, you know that he’s planted the seed in Namjoon already. Assuming things are going according to plan, then Hoseok should have told him about your not-so-secret crush on him, so Namjoon should be aware of your attraction to him. At a glance, Namjoon doesn’t seem to be treating you any differently, but that could just be his way of being polite. Or, you know. He could also be an idiot. Passing him at the market only means another opportunity for you to butter him up and make him yours.

“I miss talking to you too,” Namjoon replies, dimples showing from how hard he’s smiling. You feel your heart jump up to your throat and fall back down to your ass.

“Really? Could’ve sworn that you’ve been avoiding me. Haven’t seen you in two weeks!” you say accusingly, both as a joke but also for real. The hurt is probably evident on your face, even to the likes of Namjoon.

He pouts ruefully at you. “Aw, you know I don’t mean to. I have six finals this term, and I’m terribly behind because of all the extra-curriculars I’ve had to take. You know I could never avoid you on purpose,” he says, brows furrowed in concern. If that isn’t enough, he pulls the rug from under you by brushing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes and tucks it gently behind your ear.

Unbeknownst to the lanky brunette, his words and actions have caused you to start combusting on the inside with unbridled endearment. How the actual fuck could he say that shit with a straight face? And to your weak and fragile heart? Right in front of your bungeoppang? The nerve of this guy! There’s no way that your feelings aren’t unreciprocated––your plan must have worked!

You take a shaky breath, gathering your thoughts. As much as his words seem like an indication of his feelings, you have to make sure. You didn’t survive all these years as one of your university’s top student researchers without knowing the importance of testing your hypothesis. You need to run some tests first before coming to a conclusion.

“Speaking of avoiding friends… I haven’t seen Hoseok in a while. I miss hanging out with him and Yoongi,” you say as nonchalantly as you can, observing Namjoon from the corner of your eye. Namjoon nods in agreement, stepping forward as the line begins to shorten bit by bit. You can almost see the vendor flipping the cakes in their flat iron griddles from where you stand.

“Me too. I saw Hoseok just a few minutes ago before I left to go here. Haven’t seen Yoongi since that party at Seokjin’s, but that’s about it.”

“Oh? You just saw Hoseok? Did he say anything… in particular?” you ask. You feel sweat beginning to build along your palms, and you have to grasp the ends of your sweater to keep yourself from fidgeting. You wait with bated breath as the boy thinks of a response.

“Yeah actually. He mentioned something about you too––wait, hold that thought,” Namjoon stops himself, and you only realize then that you’ve arrived at the front of the line. He turns to you expectantly. “You wanna order first?”

“Huh?” You stare at him dumbfoundedly, your brain fighting to catch up with your surroundings. It isn’t until you hear the irritated sounds of the impatient customers behind you that you manage to snap out of your trance. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I just want one original flavor please.”

“I’ll have three,” Namjoon says, and neither you nor the vendor says anything about the amount he has ordered. Who was anyone to judge him and his fondness for fish-shaped pastries?

Just as you are about to hand over your own payment to the saleslady, Namjoon shoves a bill over yours, nudging your hands away. You squawk indignantly, your protests bubbling underneath your tongue before he gives you a firm look.

“No buts. I’m paying this time as an apology for ignoring you over school,” he says, grinning. You hear the vendor giggle at the two of you, remarking how cute the two of you are. “Thanks,” Namjoon replies, leaving the change for the auntie as a tip. The flush enveloping your face refuses to die, even as the two of you exit the market together.

“You really didn’t have to pay for me,” you mutter, nibbling the treat and letting the warmth envelope you in the cold weather. When you glance at him, you see Namjoon take a huge bite of his first fish cake, cheeks bulging in what most might have found unattractive. You, on the other hand, have to keep yourself from swooning in delight.

“Of course I did,” Namjoon says, or at least, he tries to. He speaks with his mouth full, but luckily you’ve lived with rambunctious males all your life and have learned the fine art of deciphering words even with chunks of food in the way. He successfully swallows the pastry down thickly, and you have to stop yourself from ogling his throat for too long. “You’re my friend, and I care about all of my friends.”

At his innocent admission, your mood is shot down almost immediately, the icy feeling of disappointment running down your back. You’re just his friend, your brain echoes unhelpfully. Your excitement a while ago had been premature––he had only said those sweet words as a friend. At that realization, you drop your gaze down to the pavement, unwilling to show him your sorrow.

Namjoon slows in his walk, noticing your sulking almost immediately. “Hey, you alright?” he asks, patting your back as the two of you stop at a crosswalk. You force yourself not to flinch at his touch.

“Um. I’m fine. Sorry, I just started thinking about the final I have tomorrow,” you lie, keeping your voice steady. The fact that your plan had failed before it even had the chance to begin makes you wonder why you had even thought you would be able to get Namjoon to like you back in the first place. What is the point, when others have tried before you and have failed miserably? What makes you special?

It’s hard to let go though, not with how gentle and kind his touch is as he smooths his hand over your shoulders, rubbing gently. It’s hard to not fall in love with this gigantic dork, with his wire-framed glasses and his ill-fitting flannel shirt. Hell, even the stupid doodle of Yoongi as a worm on his cheek is cute as fuck. Everything about this stupidly endearing genius makes you want to try and try again, even if failure is just around the corner.

Maybe the biggest idiot at the end of the day is yourself. Love really does make all of us stupid, and you are just another victim of one of Cupid’s arrows. That bow-wielding diaper-wearing man can kiss your ass, you surmise.

“Finals suck, but I know you can do it,” Namjoon says with painfully genuine confidence. You ignore the way your heart seizes, biting the head of your fish cake with much more force than necessary.

The two of you cross the street in silence, your forearms touching occasionally as you get closer to the library. You know that Namjoon is probably going to head back there, so you’re about to say your goodbyes and run to your dorm and sing along to some sad Adele songs when Namjoon’s voice stops you once more.

“Hey. I forgot to say a while ago, but I was just about to tell you about Hoseok before we got our bungeoppang,” he says.

You freeze immediately. In those crummy k-dramas, this is always where the girl gets her heartbroken, you realize. Under the streetlamps of a cool spring evening, with no one else in sight. Just you, him, and the remains of your dignity all over the floor.

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection that you are sure that will follow. You grit your teeth, already rehearsing the jokes you’ll have to say to numb the incoming pain. You’ll have to pretend that everything Hoseok said was just a stupid rumor, that there is no way that you could ever have a crush on him. The both of you will laugh, with him unaware of the way your heart has begun to crumble into tiny pieces with every huff of air you inhale in his presence. You ready yourself, and you tell yourself that you’ll get over it.

But the rejection doesn’t come. Instead, you’re hit by a freight train.

Namjoon is totally serious when he says, “Hoseok told me it was Friday today and that Free Boba Tuesday was three days ago, but I checked my watch and it says it’s February 20, which is a Wednesday. Do you think he was messing with me?”

You gawk at him. You clear your throat. “I-I’m sorry, but what?”

“I’m not crazy, right?” Namjoon pulls out his phone, showing you the home screen where it clearly says the supposed date today. He points at it, finger trembling with an inordinate amount of vigor. “Am I blind? That says February 20!”

Your heart, which once was ready to burst, slowly reassembles itself with frightening speed when you finish processing his words. No, it is not because you have been reinvigorated with the hope of possibly having your attraction reciprocated, but rather, because you can’t believe you have ever decided to give your heart away to a man who didn’t even know that today was, in fact, April 5. Oh my god.

There is absolutely no need to fear that Namjoon might be swept away by someone else, because only you would be dumb enough to have a crush on someone so absolutely, mind-bendingly, idiotic as him.

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah?” he looks at quizzically, neck tinted a soft pink from the cold. The soft glow of the streetlamps gives him a soft halo as he proceeds to stuff his mouth with a large bite of bungeoppang. He smiles through the fullness of his cheeks, dimples ever-present and endearing as they always have been.

Your mouth opens, then closes. Your resolve to confess to him has long since dissipated, but your adoration for him does not waver in the slightest. All you feel is fatigue and a dire need to snuggle into your warmest blankets and dream about fish pastries and a lanky, bespectacled man. Pursuing Namjoon can wait another day, maybe when both of you are a bit more lucid and free from all your pressing assessments. For now…

“Namjoon, I want you to go home and take some rest, okay? If I hear from Hoseok or anyone that you’re still cooped up in that library, I’ll ban you from bungeoppang for the rest of the semester, is that clear?” Your voice is authoritative, but the tenderness in the way you caress his cheek gives you away. Namjoon swallows his bite, blinking owlishly at your sudden display of gentleness.

“O...okay?”

“Good,” you nod firmly, patting his cheek once more and swiping away some stray red bean on his lips. Your fingers burn where they touch him. You step away from him, heading towards the opposite direction. “See you soon, Joon?”

“Y-yeah?” Namjoon stutters out, still at a loss from your odd behavior. “See you, Y/N.”

When you are nothing but a speck of blue amidst a sea of darkness, Namjoon brings a hand to where your fingers had brushed his lips, tapping against it thoughtfully as he stares after where you had been moments ago.

He smiles to himself, shaking his head. “Nice rhyme,” he chuckles, walking away from the library and towards his own apartment. Even with his mind still foggy with math equations and chemistry nomenclature, his heart still manages to do a flip at the thought of seeing you again soon.

Only two finals away.

[wokeastroke]

Oubliette

Tirian had never expected to own a dungeon. He never saw the need. When a man kills, when a man steals, he is either killed or beaten within an inch of his life. Why would he want to keep them? Why torment them further when a beheading was arguably cleaner, less expensive, easier?

But the beast had long since turned his mind into it’s stomping grounds. It’s violent and eternal brain set on very simple and easily accomplished goals. It recognized the enemies about it, the weak ones, the loyal ones. And it recognized itself. When Tirian’s black, dead end eyes met the shining, glittering ones of Riva Ban’dinoriel, there was kinship. The predator that had taken her was a cousin, a sister in murder that thrives on the more subtle methods of domination. In a way it felt weaker, it’s slithering, snake-like appearance easy to stomp underfoot. But never would the bull stomp upon the snake, for fear of the poison in its fangs.

“Oh Tirian, do not look at me with those dark eyes. I’m tired of feeling like you’re going to sling me upon my table and ravish me. Or kill me.”

Tirian scoffed at the doctor, sitting upon her much-to-big leather chair, writing in her leather bound notebook. He was, conversely, seated on a hard wooden stool. Of his own choosing, as before they ever descended into the bowels of Ghostlynn, he needed clarity. It appeared a hard wooden surface under his ass was helpful in that regard. “Never either, Riva. I adore you but I wouldn’t want to break you. And gods know we’re close as can be without blood in the mix.”

Riva made a noise of annoyance. She never enjoyed being told she could not handle something, even if it was a coupling she had no desire to enjoy. Sex was a tool, as much as any drug, and only one had ever enjoyed Riva’s attentions without ulterior motives driving the doctor’s movements. The very thought brought a sigh to her precious lips and a purring from within her, her own beast remembering and appeasing itself with that memory. The doctor scratched a few more things into her notebook, in a script that she’d developed for note taking of this caliber. The symbols were foreign, the entire book looking more like the scratching of a madwoman than the murderous, bloody examination of a gift she and the broad elf before her shared.

A gift, she called it. As it was. It was through the beast that she’d survived being locked underground with a beast of nightmares, it’s mouth vomiting viscous purple slime and it’s wails loud and haunting enough to drive most mad. She tittered to herself, drawing a flick of an ear from Tirian. Perhaps it HAD maddened her. What other than a madwoman would claw her way through half a mile of dirt, stone, and mud with nothing but her nails? She’d broken, that terrible day. And then she’d been remade. A darling, precious doctor turned into a... well.

Tirian cleared his throat, pulling her from her musings. As much as he enjoyed sitting still and watching her quill’s large and ridiculous feather bob and bounce, he did not come down here to watch it. He was here for another reason entirely, one that left his knee bouncing impatiently and his brows furrowing further with each minute he was made to wait.

Riva was the master of the Oubliette, a dark pit where the worst of the Blackrose Duchy found themselves. The worst that could not be turned towards something useful of course, or be caught and gifted to the more elegant dungeons of Vynlorin. Killers had their place, beneath Lord Felo’dorah. If they could not be tempered, would not submit to the king of murderers, they were no better than rabid dogs. They were worse, as even Primrose had been capable of controlling the hounds of the woods. No, this scum had no purpose other than one, one he and Riva had begun to take part in together. A strange sort of bonding, one part madness, another part hunger. Altogether, purely violent. Tirian had come to make good on this violence, to enjoy it to its fullest in a place where not even the guard could save their shared prey.

“You’re taking too long. Make your notes when we’re finished, but I’m hungry now and I know you are too. Get up, let’s go.”

Without waiting for her, Tirian rose to his feet. The room they were in was dark and cold, burrowed and constructed beneath the grounds of Ghostlynn by a thousand worker rats, all vehemently loyal to their god-queen. Tirian’s lip curled up, exposing his teeth in disgust as the vermin skittered about, on various tasks for her. They gave him a wide berth, respectful distance. They were loyal, yes, but not stupid. Even the lowliest rodents knew predators when they saw them, and he was more deranged than any they knew. Riva stood soon after, dusting her already pristine surgeon’s scrubs off. She gave another sigh of annoyance, but he could see it in her eyes as she gifted him a small key. Her shining, predatory eyes. She wanted this as badly as he did, perhaps more so. He could contain his hunger for a time, a week, two. But madness could not be contained. He knew for a fact that Riva fed her beast multiple times a week, sometimes twice daily she indulged her devilish delights. For a moment he wondered what it would be like, to be beneath her scalpel. He shuddered. There was sharp pain, the drag of nails or gnashing of teeth. And then there was the clinical precision of the Good Doctor’s blades. They were not alike.

He inserted the small key into a hole within the center of the wall. Twice to the left, once to the right, pull, once more to the right, push. A delicate system of gears and pulleys allowed even someone as small and thin as Riva to push the great slab of stone inwards. The wails began almost immediately. Men and women screamed and writhed in their cells, the light of even the small office unbearable after so long spent in the dark. Cells lined both sides of a long hall, rats still scampered about in the endless task of feeding, watering, and ventilating the shit-stink of the place. The last task, it seemed, was near impossible.

Their prisoners howled and cursed and gnashed their teeth. Knowing only the beast eyes of rats, their swarming caretaker, they had long forgotten the sensation of foreign bodies. However the malice was palpable. Neither the lord nor the doctor ever came here for good things. Tirian started down the hallway, head held high, as if to rise about the scents and sights of filth and mud. It wasn’t that he was disgusted, no, he was their lord. Even the prisoners of his lands would see him as he must be. Strong, tall, untouchable. They did not deserve his kindness, so none of it graced his face.

“Tirian, if you would, our subject for this morning is a man seen poisoning the crops of your furthest village. Crops that you know are already meager. Their output has been slowed by at least half, and will likely be so until Primrose is sent to usher new growth.” She spoke in a crisp and clipped tone, all pretenses lost as she had already given into the snake in her eyes. It cared for nothing but it’s venom and the venom’s effect.

“So close to war, all crops will already be taxed to feed our men, the alliance’s men. Do they not know that they will simply die second?”

“He speaks in gibberish, most days, yet appears to believe that a life served in undeath is payment enough for his services. Immortality, it seems, is too holy a grail to give up. Even if the means by which it is given are unholy.”

“He is mistaken if he believes his life will be anything other than cut short.”

They lapsed into silence as Tirian led them down the damp and dark hall. The wails of the damned had lessened now, returning to the pitiful mewling, the animals crouching low in their burrows in an attempt to escape the ire of the twin pair of beasts in their proximity. None had the mind left to hurl even insults. A result of the mixture of drugs and restorative that was mixed into their food by the very doctor that stalked them. Enough to ensure they died only when it was wished. At a short clearing of Riva’s throat, both stopped before the cell of a man dressed in ragged farmer’s wear.

It appeared he had not been given a change of clothing when he arrived. None the entered this hell were. His beard had grown unruly and matted, his hair hanging long and dirty and in his face. He did not react as the gate was unlocked and opened, a large and intricate lock falling to the ground with various metal noises. That alone seemed to startle the man. He rose from the ground, a mad dash for the entrance that only served to earn him a fist to his jaw. He fell backward, hitting the ground hard asTirian rubbed at him knuckles, growling slightly as the popped and cracked from the surprise usage.

From the ground, the farmer could only look up and blink in the darkness as the pair entered the cell and stood side by side, looking down on him. Riva spoke first.

“Hello, Mister Demps. I must admit you are looking worse for wear. It has only been a week since your internment, you know. What have you been doing to yourself?” She was sure to keep Tirian within fleeing distance. Proud as she might be, she knew her physical limitations well enough to know to avoid being within grabbing distance. Better to simply watch as Tirian worked, until he was prepared for her own brand of feeding.

And work Tirian did. He stepped forward as the good doctor spoke, taking the bruised and weakened farmer by the throat and twisting his arm behind his back. With this control over the mute fellow, the elf was able to shove him against a nearby wall, holding him steady with a steady application of pain.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” He observed as the man only gasped and murmured. A turn of the head and the night eyes given by the void clarified the reason behind this trait, however. “You took his tongue.”

Riva tittered as she worked behind him, her voice the only sound that told that he was not alone in the cell. “He shouted awful, hurtful things when he was placed within the cell. You must forgive me, but insults must be met with punishment. I believe he has long learned that screaming will not aid him. Tirian didn’t look convinced, even as the doctor arrived beside him, a silver syringe held between delicate, gloves fingers. The needle proceeded dreadfully slow to Demps’ bulging neck, likely for her own enjoyment. The bull didn’t at all kind, as the fear radiating from the farmer was enticing in its rawness. What did the doctor do to the fellow that could neuter him so? He found he did not want to ask.

Instead he breathed in, the antennae-like tendrils on his head weithin as they soaked up the raw terror from their meal. They always seemed more lively during feedings. Then, all at once, the needle found Demps’ carotid artery. Even to the lord, this seemed ill advised, but she was the expert here. The blue liquid pumped from the syringe and into their shared prey’s bloodstream, diffusing almost immediately, traveling to the brain, seeking the neurons that would activate-

Tirian groaned aloud as the concoction worked its magic. The sudden burst of vile and primal fear that coated the cell made his legs shake. The light gasp from behind him was evidence of Riva’s own reaction to the stench. The aroma he’d come to associate with energy, peace, sleep. Food. He stepped back, throwing the farmer to the ground and standing away. His shoulders heaved with his heavy breaths, his head growing light. Riva stepped beside him, grasping one of his strong arms as her own sort of feeding took it’s toll. It always did, for her. Her body was weak, as if her mind was the only muscle she sought to improve. Besides her ass, of course.

He found himself intoxicated as the human scrambled to the wall of the small cell, turning his face and closing his eyes as the wails and moans began to leave his throat unbidden. He looked down, noticing a tightening in his pants as his heartbeat quickened. He always got like this after feeding.

Riva fared no better. Her legs failed her, and only her grip on Tirian’s muscles arm was keeping her afloat in this sea of control. She didn’t care for fear, emotion, especially human emotion, was a waste unless utilized. But the sight of her control, her mastery of chemicals and minds, was orgasmic. Her tongue escaped her open mouth. Her tongues. She’d long ago split the muscle in two simply because she thought it would look good. Her smile was gone, replaced by a look that any would describe as hungry. Horny. But neither wanted sex. They wished to feed. And only when Riva finally patted his arm, signaling that she was fit to burst with the emotion of control, of subjugation, did Tirian raise a hand to the man against the wall.

Long ago, he had had to be close to his meal to devour them. His eyes and mouth had been the only point fear could flow into him, where sustenance could be gained. But he’d grown, since then. He was a bull, a lord, and he would not sully himself by coming closer during his feast of the senses. The power radiating from him coalesced in a simple point upon his palm. It flowed from his eyes, over his tongue and teeth. Cold and dark and sinful, it washed across the room at an unspoken command. Eventually, the energies that eddied and slithered across the ground met the prey, as it sat there and begged the gods for forgiveness with a tongue that could no longer speak. Tirian answered, instead.

“Do not beg the gods for release. In this moment, we are your gods. Tell whatever deity takes you who sent you to them.”

The draining process was swift, pulling the raw mass of terror from within his soul and sucking it across the cell. It was an ugly form of writhing screams and dripping piss and tears. The very essence of fear and anxiety rolled within the air until it was dragged back into the lord’s eyes. The sound was not unlike a predator breaking the bones of its catch to suck the sweet marrow away. It was was gone in an instant, and Tirian’s eyes and mouth were as ‘normal’ as a void elf’s could be an instant later. His hand dropped as he turned away, uncaring of the outcome of the broken, shell of a beast that sat within the cell.

Demps lay against the far wall, having curled into a ball to protect himself. When the attack was over, he merely sat up and stared at the pair. There was no life in his eyes, no pain, only the clear confusion that one feels when they know they must feel something else. He would never feel this anxiety again, damned as Tirian was to a life without fear. This proved a blessing, however, as Riva leveled a pistol to his chest.

The shot rang out, answered by the cries and screams of the forgotten, freshly reminds that beasts stalked their unwilling home. Their prison. The hole blown into the man’s chest cavity was ragged and wide, large enough for a rat to crawl within. It appeared this would not be far off, as Tirian could already hear the screeches of hunger and skittering paws.

“I’m leaving. See you again in two weeks, Riva.” He murmured before stalking off into the darkness. Riva called back a moment later, speaking in her regular, energetic, sing song voice.

“Oh do wait for me, Tirian! Who knows what sorts of monsters lay here, hiding in the dark?” Doctor Riva Ban’dinoriel tittered as she stepped lightly, neatly skipping from the Oubliette.

[lizzy-frizzle]

Here’s the second piece! It stars one Deidre Hunt from @smallest-turtle

Lizzy was walking around the ishgard markets, looking for anything interesting.

[Hmmm. No, no, that’s gaudy, no, ew do people wear that?]

She sighed, exasperated, “Nothing. Nothing is good enough to get for Sadu. Maybe I should just make something?”

There was a light commotion as the most horrendous shroud accent tears through the scuffle, “I didn’ do anythin’!”

Lizzy, having spent most of her youth in the shroud, recognized it immediately, but to ishgardian ears it must’ve been gibberish.

Lizzy steps toward the noise, and pushes her way through the crowd, the source of the commotion was a young hyur woman was grabbed by the arm of an ishgardian market guard.

“Um, hello, is there a problem?” Lizzy asked the guard.

The guard takes a step back, “I, uh, oh Lizzy. I caught this one stealing from the stall.”

Lizzy looks at the woman, then back at the guard, the guard was easily twice the height of her, “Mhm. Well, I can take it from here.”

Lizzy stares the guard down, knowing the guard doesn’t want to just let this go.

He takes a moment, and begrudgingly throws the arm down, “Fine.”

Lizzy takes a breath, “You know, I’m just saving you.”

The guard looks confused, but waves it off, and walks on.

The woman turns to Lizzy, “I had it und’r control!”

“Well, I don’t think a person with the echo should be composing themselves like that.” Lizzy measures the woman with her eyes, “Wait, how old are you?”

“18, why?”

[This is a child.]

“What’s your name?” Lizzy asks, as gently as possible.

“Deidre.” she starts analyzing Lizzy, “Who’r you?”

Lizzy shudders, [This child speaks like my grandmother.]

“My name is Elizabeth Frizzle, but you can call me Lizzy, everyone does.” Lizzy stops for a second, “Wait, Deidre, that name...Aren’t you the one the scions have been getting to curb the primal threats recently?”

Lizzy knew that there had been others, and honestly was happy to let them take over while she focused on her more romantic endeavors.

“Ye, ‘ave you any idea ‘ow frustrat’n it is?”

Lizzy parses the information on her ears, “Uh, yea, the scions had me take down a couple primals, then I was pulled away by some issues elsewhere, then more issues, and I suppose you took up my responsibility.”

[If I had known they would make a child…]

Lizzy continues, “Hey, would you wanna come with me while I shop around?”

Deidre was about to turn and run.

“Hey, I’m not going to force you to fight anything, I just want some company while I shop, my chocobo isn’t allowed in the city, so I don’t ge-”

“-Chocobo?” Deidre perked up.

“Oh? Yea, her name is Valerie. I’ve raised her forever, I don’t leave home without her.” Lizzy looks at Deidre, “Would you like to meet her?”

The hyur nodded, and started following Lizzy.

Lizzy begins to talk as they walk through the market, “I’m looking for a present for my girlfriend.” she stops to check out some jewelry in a stall, “Normally these kind of markets can have hidden gems, but I haven’t found anything today.” she holds the focus of her necklace out to show Deidre, “Sadu got me this necklace, and even got it engraved, and I can’t find anything nearly half as meaningful for her.”

“Wha’ kind’o girl i’she?” Deidre asks.

“She loves to fight, she challenged me to...7? Or 8, fights before she accepted my date proposal.”

Deidre nods knowingly, “Why’nt get’er a new weap’n?

Lizzy stops, shocked, “Why didn’t I think of that...”

[Sadu has always used that staff though, I don’t know if she’d like a new one. Maybe the gesture is enough though?]

“Ok, let’s go somewhere else then, you can teleport yea?” Lizzy looks at the scars on Deidre’s arms.

“Ye!”

“Alright, let’s go to Gridania then. They make the best staffs.”

With that they were whisked away.

~New Gridania~

“So, I think a staff with this one tree...” Lizzy trails off, half-talking to Deidre, half-thinking of what she needs.

“Do y’always talk t’ yourself?”

“Well,” Lizzy starts to defend herself, but alas, “I guess I’m so used to traveling alone I do...huh.” Lizzy thinks about it for a moment, “Well, anyway, I got the wood I needed.”

With a flash, Lizzy starts carving the wood into a staff right there. The movements being rapid, but carefully calculated, the form of a beautiful staff forming. A thin pole, with the focus point having wings and twin serpents coiling up to a slot where a gem should go.

“Now I just need to get a special type of diamond.” Lizzy stops, “Hey, I’m gonna go fight a god real quick, can you stay here for a moment?”

“Uh, sure?” Deidre sat down on a log.

“Alright,” Lizzy disappears.

Deidre notices the dark blue chocobo standing there, waiting for her owner to return. She beckons her over, and the chocobo gently sits down and rests her head across Deidre’s lap.

10 minutes later, Lizzy re-appears. Now she’s holding a pristine looking diamond.

“Wonderful.” Lizzy takes out the rod and inserts the gem.

“Who’d y’fight?” Deidre asks.

“Kefka, that stupid clown always uses diamonds in some of his attacks, so fighting him allows me to get them for weapons.” Lizzy stops, feeling nearly insane, “They’re really good weapons.”

“Ah, can I meet y’girlfriend?”

“Uh, sure, I don’t see why not. Have you been to the Azim Steppe?”

~Dotharl Khaa~

As soon as Lizzy spots a specific Au Ra, she leaps into her arms.

“SADU!”

The smiles on both their faces is near infectious, and Deidre can’t help but smile at the sight.

Sadu let’s Lizzy down, “I wasn’t expecting you to visit today!”

“Well! I made you something!” Lizzy notices the standalone hyur among everyone, “OH! This is my new friend, Deidre. She’s from the Shroud too.”

Sadu looks at her, “Are you strong?”

Lizzy begins to scold her, “Sadu, she’s a child.”

“And children can’t fight? She looks like she can topple some beasts.”

Deidre confidently says, “I bet ah’ve kill’d more than y’have!”

Sadu nearly steps back, “What.”

Lizzy translates, “She thinks she’s killed more creatures than you.”

Sadu nods, “See? That means I should challenge her.”

Lizzy gets a worried expression, “Can I at least give you your present first? I think you’ll love it.”

“You got me something?” her eyes flicker with excitement.

“Yea! Actually, I made it.” Lizzy takes out the diamond infused black mage staff, “Here!”

Sadu takes it, and examines it. Carefully tracing the notches and patterns in it. After a moment, she casts a spell on a nearby shrug, igniting it instantly.

“Ooooo, I like this! The magic flows so easily, and so potently!”

Sadu hugs Lizzy again, this time punctuating it with a kiss.

She let’s go of Lizzy, “Thank you so much!”

Lizzy seems lost in a daze, cheeks flushed.

Sadu turns her attention back to Deidre, “Ok, so about that fight then?”

[kaylathekittykat225]

Power House of My Heart // Wally West X Reader

Warning/s: Robin being a dick ;), school, mentioning of studying (come on, it’s summer, we don’t talk about this time of year)

Word Count: 3,305

Yeah we’re back! *Insert Clap* Back again!

Much later in the say, but what else is new but being hecking busy. If any of you guys want to request anything, message me! I’m open to most anything! I have a Steve Harrington x reader coming up next, kinda cutting away from my Young Justice theme, but I am swinging back to the batboys, cause they are my weakness, as is fluff, so I am half tempted just to write fluff the rest of my life.

Here’s my Masterlist.

Have a happy Saturday!  -----

It was a random Friday night, and all through Mount Justice, not a creature was stirring not even a- "Sweet baby Jesus almighty!"

The hall was quiet and still except for in the lounge, where you sat on the couch, hunched over your biology book, groaning for the umpteenth time since you sat down to read the chapter. The rest of the team was out and about enjoying the beginning of the weekend while you worried about your Monday test.

And no matter how much you tried, your brain was not accepting the gibberish filled book trying  to explain to you that the Golgi Apparatus was the power house of the cell. "Or was it the Endoplasmic gobbligoop?" You flipped back a few pages, only to read that one, there were two Endoplasmic Reticulums and neither of them were the power house, and two, that you were totally screwed for this test.

"Dammit, Mitochondria, Mitochondria, Miko te replica..." You shut your eyes as you leaned your head against the back of the couch, trying to furiously rub the familiar stinging starting to form in your eyes. "Don't you cry, don't you dare cry," Ever since the beginning of the year, you could not wrap your mind around the college Biology course you had forced yourself to take, questioning once again why you decided to take college level sciences in high school.

"Why am I so stupid?!" You stood up, shouting angrily as you started to shuffle down the hall to Wally West's room. Your sneakers scuffed against the floor, the noise echoing around you until you stood in front of the metal door. Keeping the packet under one arm and the book held in your hand, you lifted your opposite hand to knock, only for it to swing open before your knuckles could brush against it.

"Wow, you are three minutes later than what I predicted." Robin cockily grinned down at you, leaning his weight against the door frame, even if he was skinny, he still blocked the view of the room.

"Robin, can you please move?" You looked up at the young civvie dressed teenager, your homework not giving you the chipperiest attitude and not wanting to deal with Robin. "I just want to ask Wally for some help and then I'll be out of your greasy hair."

"Wha-you-I do not have greasy hair!" He ran his fingers through his hair, almost trying to prove you, or himself, that his hair was in fact not greasy. With Robin lifting his arm to check his hair, this gave you the perfect opportunity to sneak under his arm and into the room he was safe guarding from you.

"Hey, Y/N, what brings you to my luxurious castle?" Wally hung over the edge of his bed, his feet kicking the air while his hair almost brushed the floor and his face grew redder every minute with the blood rushing to his head. "Pop a squat babe, let's see what the Wallster can do for you." He flipped himself up to sit upright, his hand reaching towards you for the packet you still had hidden under your arm.

Instead of handing it to him in his hand like he wished, you quickly rolled it up and smacked his over the head with the packet, a whine coming from his as he glared at you for attacking him. "That's what you get for calling me babe, just help me with this Biology will ya, I don't need your flirtatiousness or Robin's grease infecting me."

"Ooo, bio, my favorite," He happily squealed as he ripped the packet from your hand, uncurling it and reading through it as a fast speed, muttering to himself every few words, "Fish, buoy, seagull, hormones, air horns, assholes-ow! You need to quit hitting me!" His happy green eyes turned their glare on you, rubbing the back of his head where you hit him again.

"Don't talk like that, just explain to me what I don't understand."

"Well that's just it, what's not to understand? You're just learning basic cell components and those are simple memorization of the components and its function." Wally rocked his weight around, jumping the bed up and down as he shifted his full attention to you. "So, what's the RER and what does it do?"

His childish grin graced his face, but that wasn't what caused your mind to be swiped clean, it was as if the last three hours of studying didn't happen. "Th-the what now?"

"Rough Endoplasmic Reticulum?" Robin muttered inaudibly from his corner of the room, his mouth shoved into his palm, keeping his words mush to your ears, while Wally recognized the confused look on your face as one of loss. "Uh, okay, I guess...let's start this way then, Y/N, where are the ribosomes made and what do they do?"

Ribosomes, you remembered seeing that word before, it helps..."make the DNA in the nucleus?" You asked, looking for a trace of the correct answer in his eyes, praying you at least remembered that for next week's test.

Wally happily nodded, his grin getting bigger as his hands gestured for you to go on. "And they...they um..." Uh-oh, blank brain again..."Dammit," Groaning, you sat forward and dug your palms into your eyes, counting to ten to keep yourself from bursting into tears.

"Hey, hey Y/N, you got this. I know you know this, you're just over thinking this, settle down and let your brain know what it knows." Wallis hand ghosted over your thigh before gently squeezing just above your knee, his touch hesitant, judging everything he was doing based on how you reacted.

That's just it, what did you know? You knew your name, your birthday, your parents.

You knew Wally had gorgeous granny apple green eyes, always had a sparkle of mischievousness behind them ready to burst.

You knew he had a gentle soul, a heart of gold, he was too kind for this world.

Too kind to you.

Too patient.

You were an idiot compared to him. By the time he was thirteen, he built himself his own build your own Flash machine, is one of the smartest kids in the League, and you didn't know why he bothered trying to help you understand this horrible subject he got giddy just thinking of that you knew you would never comprehend.

You could barely remember that the power house of the cell was the nucleus.

"It's the mitochondria, you idiot." Robin finally pulled his mouth out of his hand, the comment coming much harsher than anyone anticipated. Crap, how much of that did you actually said out loud?

You turned to Wally to see his reaction, but his focus was glaring at his best friend and his comment. "What?" The heat left your face, your throat drying out and closing.

"Robin, shut up while you -" Wally stood to his feet to try and stop his best friend from running his mouth, his instincts telling him to speed over before this got any farther with insulting someone.

"Wally, if she's going to have a test on Monday, I might as well tell her she's wrong and probably screwed for the test." The speedster sped over and slapped his hand over Robin's face, but...not fast enough. You heard every word he said, and you knew every word was really.

That's something you knew.

That you were stupid.

"The ribosomes help make proteins." Before you could see the look on Wally's face, you bolted, leaving the room while it sounded like Wally yelled something about "dick" at his friend, kind of rude coming from Robin, it was also warranted.

You ran down the empty and dead hallways, your book and note book left in the room, your eyes  were fixed on the Zeta tubes, too far away and seemingly getting farther away from you as you ran faster. The quick pitter patter of feet sped behind you, Wally calling after you and running to catch up with you. "Y/N, wait!"

"Home!" You yelled at the Zeta tube, kicking the systems operating board as you ran in to keep Wally from following you. Your center was balance was thrown off and you somersaulted over your body, your body dematerializing and then rematerializing. The golden rods swimming in your eyes as you tried to find your bearings.

Your body slammed into a door in front of you, the Zeta Tube dropping you where you wanted to be, but for some reason it thought that you lived in a closest. You weren't fricking Harry Potter!

You didn't bother to push the door open, you felt safe, this was your safe space, this was where you came to cry. Yes, you had a cry space, because no one needed to see you cry. Tears finally rolled down your face, your body knowing where you were, your safe space.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit. I'm such an idiot!" Screaming at the top of your lungs in the tight space helped a bit, but not enough to suppress your angers.

Anger at Robin.

Anger at your homework.

Anger at yourself.

You drew your legs in closer to your body, latching your hands together to hold your legs tightly to your chest, muffling your sobs in your knees, your face hidden behind your legs, your mouth pressed into your knees and your eyes staring at the light shining under the door to keep your mind focused on something other than your pain.

The door swung open, almost ripped off its hinges, revealing a silhouette of a well-built young man with his arm drawn back, the other held a bow with an arrow pointed right at you. "How the hell did you get in here!" He held his posture for a few seconds longer while you stared wide eyed into the crystalline eyes of Red Arrow.

"N/N?" His face fell in shock as he looked down at you, dropping his bow as he shoved the dresses above you away and knelt in front of you.

"Roy!" You leapt forward into his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he pulled you out of the closet, your legs instinctively going around his waist as he stood and walked over to the bed with you held tightly in his arms. "Roy, I missed you so much." You cried into his shoulder, your fingers held tightly to the back of his collar for dear life.

"I have you, N/N, I got you, don't worry." He whispered in your ear, his grip around you tightening around your waist, his big hands running up and down your back, sending goosebumps along the path of his hand. "What's wrong, N/N."

You muttered into his shoulder, but he couldn't catch what you said, sobs still shaking your body, his unusually gentle gestures not calming you down as fast as he had hoped. "Breathe, Y/N, breathe, in and out. Match my breathing," He slowly breathed in and out, keeping these movements slow and thought out, having to take care of your panic like attacks before.

You slowly listened to what he was telling you, you got you breathing under control and your sobs stopped but the tears never did. "Robin's being a dick." You finally whimpered into his shoulder, your hands now just clinging to each other instead of strangling him through pulling at his collar.

"You don't know how much I agree with you," Roy chuckled quietly, chuckling at the knowledge he held close to him ever since his best friend trusted him with his identity.

The room remained silent for a while longer, your tears dried across your checks, and you could feel your eyes all red and swollen, sensitive whenever you blinked. "Roy," He hummed back in reply, his check pressed into your hair, and his body gently rocking back and forth to the silent tune stuck in his head. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

He gently pushed your body away from his, his arms leaving your waist to gently hold your face, holding your eyes with his own. "Who told you that? Do I need to go stick someone with an arrow through at your school?" You shook your head, your E/C eyes never breaking with his clear crystalline eyes.

"No, but Robin just said-"

"Hey, Y/N, you are not stupid, do you hear me? Stupid is not a word in your world. Who convinced Dinah to train her even when she was just a regular girl? Who is the youngest person ever to join the League? Who can best Batman at hand to hand contact? Who sends fear into the hearts of every villain in Star City when they hear the name Y/S/N?" You tore your eyes away from him, knowing everything he said was true, but you never wanted to admit it.

"Me."

"Yes, exactly, Y/N, you. School had never been your strong suit, and I am so proud of you for getting this far, but that doesn't mean you're stupid. That means your brain is focusing on street smarts, on how you could get out of a situation if it went south. The same smarts that proved to Dinah that you could best her on the first try." You groaned and hid your face in his chest.

"I just wish Wally could see me the way you do," You mumbled into his chest, feeling Roy press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, a calm wave washing over you almost immediately.

"Hey Speedy, no need to hog all the good-looking girls!" A childish voice chuckled, followed by you being sweated away from Roy in a flash faster than lightning.

"Wally!" You knew as soon as his chuckle filled your ear and you were already speeding down 5th Avenue that it was Wally using his supersonic speed to get away from Roy. Your arms instinctively found their way around his neck, pulling yourself closer to his body, hiding your face where his shoulder and neck met. "Wally stop!"

But he only got faster, the grip he had on your waist got tighter the faster he ran, either ignoring your pleas or not hearing the over the roar of the wind.

"Wally, please," your voice got lost in the wind, your focus now on the dark spots littering your eyes, his super speed causing him to cut through the air like a bullet, cutting any air from coming to you off. "Wally," Your mind was shutting down, you could feel the air around your, but had no way of breathing any in.

All you could see was your surroundings zipping around you before you passed out.

<<<>>>

"Y/N! Y/N! Come on, wake up!" Your senses were slowly coming back to you, you could breathe again!

You sat up in shock, gasping for air to allow it back into your system. Except you ended up chocking on the air you got into your lungs because you couldn't get it fast enough. "Whoa, calm down there Nellie, don't need you passing out on me again."

Looking over to your right, you saw Wally squatting down next to you, his goggles hanging around his neck, his grin cutting his face in half, although it held a hint of relief in it.

You growled at him mid cough and shoved his head, successfully pushing him over in anger, his squirming in surprise by your outburst. "Why's you do that you idiot?" Words finally left your mouth after you calmed down, and they shot at the ginger faster than Roy's arrows.

"What'd I do!"

"You nearly killed me because of you recklessly using your speedster abilities!"

"Oh," His demeanor shrunk and he sat back on his ankles, shifting his body to allow his legs to fold under him to sit more comfortably, his green eyes continuing to scan your face to see if anything was wrong. "I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I was mad and forgot you weren't used to my speed, I just got so mad when I saw you and... And I'm sorry about what Robin said, I thumped him on the head real hard."

You chuckled at his comment, imagining the very unhappy Robin complaining about being hit on the head. "You don't need to apologize for him, I'm stupid at science and he's perfect. Can't blame him for his perfect qualities." You explained how you felt of the younger vigilante as you pulled your legs close to your chest, curling yourself into a ball.

"Robin only thinks he's perfect and amazing, and the only person I know who is perfect is, well you, Y/N," The words stumbled out of his mouth, and not as gracefully as he wanted, but his words caused you to go as red as Wally's hair with blushing.

You looked at your lap, trying to swipe your hair out from behind your ear to hide you bright face and smile. "Th-thanks, Wally, you are too. Perfect, I mean." You looked up at him, watching as his red gloved reached forward to brush the giant clump of hair blocking your face back behind your ear.

"Y/N,"

"Wally,"

The two of you accidentally spoke at the same time, finally able to break the tension that hung between the two of you and brought a laugh out of you. You managed to tell him that he could go first in between spurts of laughing. "Well, Y/N, you see for a long time now, since I actually saw you take both Rob and Conner down within seconds of each other, I couldn't help but find you very hot in that moment, and since then I've like, likes you. You know, liked you like you. I just...didn't want to tell you because I saw how close you were with Red Arrow."

You couldn't help but look at the ginger in surprise, "You think I'm with Roy?" He nodded sheepishly, his hand going to rub the back of his neck, he seemed ashamed of himself, almost like he through t he was getting between you and Roy. "Well, Wallace Rudolph West, it is a pleasure to meet you, I am Y/N Y/M/N Harper." You smiled at him with your hand extended towards him, waiting for the handshake you offered, and awestruck look on his face, bringing out your smile. "Roy's my older brother."

"O-oh." His eyes still wide from when you announced your name, finally shaking your hand even if it wasn't really needed.

"Honestly, I don't understand what people see in him, he's way too hard headed to find attractive." A grin finally cracked his face, relief rushing over you as Wally finally started laughing and his body relax, the tension again dissipating.

"Y/N, can...can we, I-can I...kiss you?" Your face heated up as you nodded, the two of you leaning closer together until Wally closed the space between the two of you capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was not heated, you both were too nervous and you were too inexperienced to do anything, but it lasted long enough for when you pulled away first, you tried hiding how out of breath you were. "Wow," You breathed out, your lips pulled into a smile.

"Awesome," Wally smiled back at you, his face losing some of his blush while yours got redder. "You look so cute, all nervous and red." He chuckled, gently tapping your nose.

"Stop," You giggled as you shoved his hand away, hiding your face in your hands.

"Hey, I'm only telling the truth." His hand grabbing for yours and pulled them away from your face. "And you know what I think?"

"Hmm, what?"

Wally leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours one more time before answering his own question. "I think we should do this kissing thing more often."

[hilllsnholland]

If you still take requests: CEO!Tom being rough with you on his office desk

This is the hottest thing I’ve ever written please send me a Torah 

SMUT BELOW 

Papers flew in the air as your body hit the desk. Pens and other knick-knacks made a crashing noise as Tom cleared more room for you. His lips attacked the skin under your blouse, his teeth nipping the flesh with eager. You whimper at his touch, his fingers skillfully unzipping your pencil skirt and sliding it to the floor. 

“Darling you can’t come to work looking like this and expect me to behave,” Tom says lowly, his eyes squinted in lust. 

“Then tell that slut Lily to keep her tits in her shirt.” You growl and pull at his curls. 

Lily was another assistant in the building and she was one to push the dress code a bit. The other day Tom was looking at her a few moments too long for your liking so you gave Tom something to really stare at. You wore a skin-tight pencil skirt and that white blouse that was a bit see through that drove Tom crazy. He couldn’t wait for your lunch break, he asked you into his office and locked the door. 

“Oh, is my baby jealous?” Tom bites harshly at the top of your breast. “I only have eyes for you darling.”

His voice was music to your ears. Tom was sexy and knew exactly what to say to make you melt. You quickly unbutton his shirt and kick his trousers down leaving him almost naked, only his briefs hanging tightly over his built body. His hard-on member was pulling the fabric so it was slightly see through. You audibly sigh in satisfaction, grazing your hand over him that made him deeply inhale. 

“Can I prove to you that you’re the only one I want.” He bucks towards you while your hand squeezes his cock through his briefs. 

“Go for it,” You look up at him through thick eyelashes and he attacks. 

He pushes you firmly on your back while your legs dangle over the front of the desk. Tom kneels down, pulling your soaked panties to your ankles and running his tongue across your slit. A ghost of a moan passed through you, chills covering your skin as he worked his magic into your pulsing heat. His lips made beautiful smacking noises against your pussy, his tongue dipping between folds and ravaging you for your taste. 

“Better than fine wine,” Tom says, tilting his head above your mound so you can see his arousal coated face. 

“More,” You whine and clench his head between your throbbing thighs. 

Tom chuckled, his tongue dancing over your clit to tease you more. You threw yourself back onto the wood, yelping in pain but it came out the same time as a struggled moan. Tom had inserted one finger in you, slowly toying with you and curling against your walls. At this point you’re just a mess to him, your body is radiating sex and you can’t stop the nonsensical gibberish that was coming out of your mouth. Tom lifted to his feet, one finger still keeping your lust going and flipped you onto your stomach. 

“Ready?” You knew he warning you for what was coming next but you nodded your head hurriedly.

You grabbed the edge of the desk to hold you still because once Tom enters you there is no way to steady yourself. Tom enters you sharply, his cock filling you up as much as he can and he stops. With a swift hand to your backside you know he’s about to begin. The continuous rhythm of him slamming into you from behind coupled with the glorious feeling of his hands gripping your ass sent you to another world. Your eyes were rolled back and your nails made permeant cuts into the wood. Tom was now cursing your name under his breath, making more forceful thrusts into you that knocked the breath from your lungs. You struggled to breathe, moans and gasps had Tom smiling proudly. 

“Cum baby, cum for this cock.” His right hand grabbed your now messy ponytail and pulled your head to look up. 

“Fuck! Tom!” You squeal as his last thrust made you spill over in euphoria.

You had lost all control, your body vibrated and jolted as the climax took you over. As soon as one was over another was right behind it. Tom held your hips to steady you as your body went through the motions of the crash, his cock twitched inside of you at your movements. You were so involved in your own orgasm you hadn’t even noticed he had came. 

“Tommy, fuck.” You whine again. 

Tom flipped you on your back so you could sit up, the cum dripping down your legs and puddling onto his desk. Tom didn’t mind though, he loved the sight of you filled with his arousal. You placed a hand over your chest while catching your breath. Tom leaned over the desk, sweat pooling at his brow, but he was still smiling blissfully at you. 

“Only have eyes for you.” He says then kisses your bare shoulder. “Believe me now.”

You nod, your mind still in the clouds somewhere. Tom helps you clean up and put on your clothes properly. You know you’re going to be sore later on, the forming bruises on your thighs had proven that. Tom was smiling like an idiot as he took a sip of the water you brought in as an excuse to have the rendezvous. 

“I’ll see you on your lunch.” Tom kisses the top of your head and slaps your ass. 

“I’ll be waiting.”  

[selfships-in-spanish]

I just realized the likely possibility of mermaid Cel and Ona entering a rut or heat while in the company of our pirate boys

Anon, forever sorry for taking so long, but I kind of got carried away… and here you have a 4k little thing of pure smut with feelings :D

Infinite thanks to @tinmiss1939 for helping me out in bits and pieces and adding her own ideas into the mix! I love you, you’re the absolute best ❤️

Enjoy!! :D

It would come unexpected. So many sudden changes in their lives, their environments… Even if it was there was a typical rut/heat season for mermaids, it came early for them both. First Ona, then Cel. 

Richard had taken Cel on deck to show her the weather glass and their other weather instruments. She decided to stay on deck and nap in the fresh air, sunbathing like a happy cat even though she was, as a bewildered Richard put it, ‘half a fish.’  Connor went inside their cabin to cool down after having the unforgiving sun burning his skin for so many hours.   Maybe he could get a little bit of shut-eye while Richard handled things. He never expected to be entirely drenched with seawater the moment he closed the door, just like that. Connor stood right on his spot, sighing. He was weirdly getting used to it by now.

“As much as I appreciate the water right now, because I’m sweating like a pig, what have I done now?” He looked at the mermaid’s tank with a bored expression. He expected to see Ona leaning over the edge of the waist-high tank, with her arms crossed and her tail impatiently thumping on the glass. 

Connor did not expect to see this.

Ona was curled on herself under the water, looking at him miserably. It looked like she was panting, closing her eyes when whatever was troubling her was too much. Connor ran to the tank cursing and clumsily climbed in, not giving a single fuck about how now his boots were completely soaked (he always managed to keep them dry, no matter what). Connor knelt beside Ona’s tail, moving away the snow white hair floating in front of her face. 

“What happened?” Connor gently grasped her face in his hands, looking for answers. He didn’t know jack-shit about mermaids, only what legends said, so he was seriously concerned. She could be ill or in serious danger and he wouldn’t know what to do.

Ona looked at him and let out a whimper, closing her eyes right after. She uncurled herself and let her fin bump into Connor’s back, making him lose his balance and fall forward. One of his hands let go of her face and caught his weight, not wanting to accidentally hurt her more.

“What is wrong?” He paused as a thought occurred to him.  “Why aren’t you hissing at me?” Connor was thoroughly confused by her behaviour. 

Ona’s hands shot up to touch his cheek, his neck.  She let them roam the expanse of his exposed chest to feel his burning skin and blood pumping hard in his veins.  She panted, eyes following her hands, and frowned slightly when she found soaked clothes getting in the way. Growling, she clawed insistently at his clothes, making Connor sputter and grab her wrists. She hissed, letting out more pained sounds that confused and frightened Connor even more.

“Ona, please be still! What is going on with you?” Their faces were close, the water acting as a flimsy barrier between them both, and Connor could see every little freckle adorning her skin as if they were constellations. He could also notice how her cheeks were blushed, lips reddened as if she had chewed on them out of frustration and how she was still panting. Ona stopped resisting, looking at Connor as if she was pleading him for something. It broke Connor’s heart that he did not know what. “Ona?”

Ona broke free from Connor’s grasp and lunged forward at the same time she pulled him in by his face. They fell down inside the tank, splashing water outside, and Connor couldn’t do a thing but follow her with a muffled yelp. Her lips were surprisingly warm, soft, like the breasts pressing on his half-naked chest. She arched her back, rubbing herself on him. Ona bit his lip when Connor refused to open his mouth and let out precious air, but when her sharp teeth nipped him, he automatically opened his mouth to shout. Something like air was pushed inside his lungs and he was able to take a deep breath. Under water. Huh.

Ona’s arms wrapped themselves around Connor’s neck, her nails scraping along his nape, moving to his back and tearing the fabric of his shirt apart. The ripping sound distracted Connor from the kiss, letting out muffled noises until she finally let go. He pulled himself above the surface, inspecting the damage done to his now-shredded shirt and the claw marks she had raked across his shoulder.  He was this close to freaking out.  

“W-what–” He took what was left of the shirt off and stared dumbly at Ona.  

She swam to the other side of the tank and clapped her hands over her mouth.   She looked like she was about the cry.  Connor moved forward, but she shook her head and sank lower in the water until only her eyes were visible.  

At this point, only her distress was preventing Connor from indulging in a full panic attack.  Trying to speak gently, he said, “That kiss was amazing but you don’t look happy about it.  I need to know a little more before I can help and you know I don’t understand spoken Mermish yet.  Can you sign it?”  His comprehension of the mermaid’s sign language was basic but it was better than the hisses, clicks and warbles they used to speak underwater.  

Her lower lip trembled and her eyebrows drew together in frustration.

“What if I help you out of the tank and then you can just tell me?”  Larynxes capable of human speech were one of the surprise benefits of their land forms.  

She scowled at that suggestion.  He also noticed she seemed to flush deeper.  Still looking miserable, she signed something about not being sick but ‘seasons of the year’ and ‘men and women’ and then she made a very rude gesture that she must have picked up from the crew.

“…Who taught you that?” Connor couldn’t help being scandalised at such a crude display. Ona growled, impatient and desperate at Connor’s thickness.

Avoiding further abuse from Ona’s tail was a strong motivator, so Connor tried to break down what she was saying. She said she wasn’t sick, exactly, but she clearly wasn’t well. Her distress had to do with sex and also the season sign was modified by that sex gesture. 

“You’re in mating season and that’s why you feel ill?  Do mermaid have heats?”  He supposed he had an answer in her averted gaze and the nervous way she was twirling her hair into knots.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know where we could find mermen in this part of the ocean.”

She signed again, this time putting more emphasis on the ‘you,’ ‘me,’ and ‘sex.’ Connor looked at her, completely stunned.  

“You want me to…?” and he repeated the gesture of inserting his index finger inside a circle he made with his other hand. Ona nodded enthusiastically, her cheeks brightening even more. “…Oh,” he said, dropping his hands back into the water.  

He blinked and she moved, stopping inches away from him.  God, she was fast. Her lips were parted and she was slightly panting.  Her tail impatiently twitched and flicked around his feet.  As he contemplated the massive mistake he could be making, a small shudder ran through her body again. Another pained whimper made Connor reach out to her and gently grasp her shoulders, searching her eyes for something he did not know.

“I’ve never—I mean I have but not with—and how—“ Once he started talking, Connor couldn’t seem to stop the gibberish falling out of his mouth.  Ona did it for him by laying a single finger across his lips.  She stopped the words, stopped his breath, stopped his heart.  This fierce mermaid did not have to sing to wrap him around her finger.

Ona looked away with a little smile, as if embarrassed for one second, and right back up to his eyes.  The trust Connor saw in her olive green gaze felt like a revelation telling him to worship this little sea goddess. He knew she wasn’t, but right now it felt like it. Connor’s hands traveled slowly from her shoulders to her neck, moving gently to her face. He held her softly, his thumb moving to caress the bottom lip, and Ona let out a breathy sigh. The air hit Connor’s wet thumb and she closed her eyes as if needing to sort her thoughts for a moment. Once she opened them again, Connor was met with an intense gaze full of determination and need.

Slowly, Connor pulled her to him, hypnotized. He really, really wanted to feel her lips again. He needed to taste the salt and sweet of her mouth and soothe those chapped lips with tender caresses.  His lips hovered over hers and Connor savored the moment.

Even if he wanted to go slow, Ona was impatient, needy, and this storm in her gut was getting stronger. She needed him—now, please!—so she closed the final inches by throwing herself into his arms and kissing the pirate’s lips hard. His sweet, sweet mouth was a balm on her ragged nerves but she knew it wasn’t nearly enough. 

Connor felt a fervor run all over his body, letting himself be consumed by her hungry kisses and touches and his own need. He let go of her face to cradle her head and waist and pull her flush to him. Ona let out a tiny noise, almost a whimper, that was muffled by Connor’s eager lips but he still heard it. 

Then, a thought came to him as if he was stricken by lightning.

Connor broke away from the kiss.  “We need to lock the door.”

With an annoyed pout, Ona reached into his boot and pulled out his diving knife.  She surfaced just long enough to hurl it at the door, where the knife embedded itself through the door and into the frame.  “Locked,” she signed, returning to the task at hand.

While Ona explored his mouth with her tongue, Connor felt himself throb at the efficiency and accuracy Ona had with a knife.  Her fierce glare at the door, the economy of movement as she threw, the deadly accuracy—his desire surged just thinking about it. Connor’s ears burned as he acknowledged once again that Richard was right about his taste in dangerous women. He really had the self preservation instincts of a male praying mantis, sweet Lord.

Ona was getting impatient again, being more aggressive with her kisses, and Connor could feel her webbed hands running up and down his naked torso and back. The sea water stung the scratches she left there, but the burning need of her lips won. His hands started to wander themselves, going from her face and neck to caress her breasts. They were soft, plump, a handful and Connor couldn’t be happier to finally hold them and caress them. 

Ona hummed into the kiss, pleased, but it was not enough. She needed relief. She took the hand that wasn’t squeezing her breasts into her tinier one and guided it lower, down her stomach and into her lap. It was bold of her, she knew, but her stupid human needed to get on with it right now.

Distracted by her full breasts, Connor was not paying much attention to his other hand as Ona guided it down smooth scales. When his fingertips brushed something soft, almost burning to the touch, Connor had to break the kiss again to look down. His middle and ring finger caressed some sort of entrance, now visible. He couldn’t  remember anything of the sort there, and he had plenty of times to study the mermaid on uneventful days or before falling asleep. Curious, he stroked the flesh again, earning a moan from the mermaid. Ona let herself fall on her back, arching and chasing after the pleasant contact. Connor felt boldness seize him and he stroked her again watching her reactions closely. She thrashed, panting, and Connor could feel the slick hole throb.

Huh.

Connor dared to slowly insert a finger, feeling the warm flesh clench around it. It was soft, velvety and so, so hot. He could feel the slickness inside of it, rubbing at the walls, and how it pulsed. Ona moaned again, loudly this time, and squeezed his finger even more. She muffled herself with her hands,  biting her knuckles in a way that suggested she was embarrassed by the noises she was making. Her shyness only fueled Connor’s curiosity and lust; It was a rare look on the fierce and stubborn mermaid. He added a second finger, testing the stretch, and rubbed them together until he found a spot that made Ona lose her precarious control to jerk her hips into his touch. She sacrificed one of her hands to grip Connor’s wrist, whimpering. Connor stopped, afraid he accidentally hurt her, but Ona took a deep breath and pulled his hand further inside. Connor almost choked at the sight of his fingers disappearing into her. 

He took the initiative to keep moving his fingers in and out of her, making sure to brush that spot that rendered Ona a moaning mess. He kept going, watching how her chest rose and fell in time of her panting, and Connor couldn’t help but notice how her breasts bounced with the movement. Her nipples were hard, begging to be touched and pinched. As if he was being lured in he took a deep breath and dived into the water, mouth closing over her right nipple. He licked at it, kissed it, nibbled it, sucked it… Ona cried out at the constant assault, his fingers working wonders inside of her. She grasped his head, pulling him in further into her. Her moans and mewls increased, Connor’s fingers being squeezed so tight he was sure he would never get them out. Connor wasn’t sure he could hold his breath any longer, but judging by Ona’s reactions she must be close. He added another finger and pushed in, teasing the bundle of nerves that set Ona’s body aflame.

She came with a cry, going limp and releasing Connor’s head as she fell boneless on the tank’s bottom. Connor gasped for air, panting hard. He looked down at Ona’s face and he was relieved to see she lost part of that frenzied stare. Connor’s fingers were still buried in her and as gently as he could, he pulled them out. He raised his hand above the water, inspecting the glistening juices on them with awe. The slick was so thick that not even water could get rid of it completely, and he really, really wanted to taste it. 

Connor unconsciously stuck out his tongue and brought his hand closer. He was unaware of Ona’s heated gaze fixed on him, following his movements. How his tongue poked out and shyly lapped her juices, how his brows rose in mild surprise as he found the taste not unpleasant, how he cleaned them up as if they were some sort of treat… 

Ona’s little noises made Connor stop and get back to the matter at hand. Now that he had a tiny moment to look her up and down, he noticed the soft entrance where his fingers were in not long ago. It was flushed on the rim and he didn’t know if it was because of the moving water surface or if it was actually twitching. The mermaid let out a breathy sigh making Connor look up at her face.

”Do you need to rest a little bit?” Her cheeks were flushed and she was still panting. Maybe heats were very harsh? Should he go fetch food? Should he–?

Ona rose above the surface, her hands going directly to his trousers. She impatiently tugged at the belt buckles with her eyes fixated on Connor’s. She let out a frustrated noise and looked down, frowning at the complicated human garments. Connor couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He took her hands off him and untied the waist sash, efficiently unfastened the belt buckle and unbuttoned his trousers. Ona clawed at the fabric, pulling it down until she saw the prize she was going for. The mermaid let out a soft sound, feeling herself clench in anticipation.

Ona let herself fall back to the tank’s ground, pushing up her hips. Connor got the idea, moving to push his trousers as far down as possible and kneel astride her tail. He was a few sparse inches from the surface and he could see the long and silky white hair floating around them, and as Connor got closer to her, to her body, her face, it felt as if it was some sort of cocoon. Connor pushed his hips down, slowly grinding his cock on smooth scales and making Ona gasp when the head bumped into her entrance. Ona raised her hands to Connor’s neck, caressing his nape, as if needing to hold herself onto something. She did not push him further down but pleaded to him with her eyes.

Connor obliged her wishes and took himself in hand, guiding his cock on the velvety entrance. Ona bit his lip, not looking away from his gaze as he slowly pushed in. Connor couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment, getting lost on the sensation of such soft warmth engulfing him. Ona’s claws tightened on his skin, sending a mix of pain-pleasure that rocked his entire body. He opened his eyes again to see this beautiful mermaid lost in desire and he decided right in this moment that he would fulfill any wish she may have. She was beautiful, dazzling, enamouring in her unique way, and the way she whimpered when he buried himself inside her completely made his heart thump in his chest.

Gods, she was tight.

“Fuck.” Connor rasped, grinding his hips to chase this wonderful feeling. He wouldn’t last long if she kept up the vice grip on his cock.

Knowing they couldn’t waste any more time, Connor pulled out until only his head was in and pushed inside again, earning a soft mewl from Ona. Her body moved with him, and soon he found himself in a steady rhythm that allowed him to touch her as much as he wanted. But he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her so bad. Her lips were calling him under the sea water, parted open and inviting, and Connor wanted to kiss them, bite them, run his tongue on them and feel their softness on his chapped ones. 

So he did. Connor took a deep breath and dived down to find her eager lips. Her sharp fangs nipped him again but he couldn’t care less about the sting of it. He devoured her, his hips never stopping his now more frenzied pace. He could hear, feel Ona’s moans against his mouth and he would engulf them all, eager for more, more, more– 

Connor needed air. He felt the burn of his lungs protesting at the lack of oxygen, but Gods, he did not want to stop. Not right now. He tried to pull himself out to take another quick breath, but Ona wrapped her arms around him, pulling him flush to her body. Connor had a moment of panic, thinking that maybe mermaids mated like the praying mantis, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. Ona did the same thing as before, somehow she pushed air into his mouth and relieved lungs. Connor felt an exhilarating rush all over his body when he breathed again and that made him moan into her eager mouth. 

His arms wrapped around her body too, not an inch of skin apart, and he slowed down his hips to a slow and sinful grinding that drove Ona absolutely mad in pleasure. She kept breathing air into his awaiting mouth, sharing a slow kiss while swirling their tongues around the other’s. Her webbed hands wandered over his shoulders, his back, lightly scratching his skin, until she found his ass. She grabbed a handful and pulled him into her. Connor moaned, liking Ona getting handsy and loving that she didn’t hide what she liked.

But he had other ideas, too. He was going to make this enjoyable as possible for them both, but especially for her. So he tightened his hold on her and with all his strength, pulled them both above the surface. Connor gasped, pulling in big gulps of fresh air, but did not stop the movement of his hips, now pounding into her as he let gravity help him out.

Ona outright moaned, clinging to him as she let herself be taken in his frenzied pace. Wet strands of her hair clung to them both, Connor’s hair plastered to his forehead, but he found her so immensely beautiful. He pressed their foreheads together, watching enraptured her heated gaze as she let out tiny moans and gasps. Their lips were barely touching, feeling their breaths mingle, and he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Connor shifted his hips slightly and that seemed to hit a spot inside her right on. She threw her head back, claws tightening on his back once again and he could also feel her clenching hard around him. Connor let out a groan, dropping his head on her chest.

“You liked that?” He whispered into her skin. His voice was ragged, arousal coating every syllable. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel so good, honey.” He kept pistoning, in and out, grunting and panting. “So good…!”

Connor could hear the water splashing out of the tank, could feel the amount of slickness of her hole double and fuck, it all felt so good. He licked a strip up from her chest to her neck, tasting the salt of the water and her skin on his tongue. He kissed her, apparently finding a sweet spot she had which made her cry out.

Ona kept grinding down whenever Connor bottomed out, letting out incoherent sounds of pleasure. She was so close, so damn close again and she needed him to keep going, to not stop now because if he did she would go mad. She needed a last push, anything! 

Connor let go one of his hands on her back to tangle it in her hair, grabbing a handful and pulling at the same time he bit down her neck.

That seemed to do the trick.

Ona clamped down on his cock, letting out a gasp before going completely still. She felt that unbearable ache release, replaced by utter bliss and a burning thrill running all over her body. Like when lightning struck the ocean and she could feel the sheer raw power and intensity around her. Her whole body sagged, unable to hold herself up, as if all her strength vanished, but she could still feel Connor thrust in and out, chasing his own pleasure.

His grunts and groans made her whimper, something primal in them, and she couldn’t help but moan with him. Ona pressed their foreheads together again, being able to admire his flushed cheeks and eyes full of unadulterated need.

Ona was still feeling the aftershocks of her intense orgasm when she felt Connor twitch inside her. Gods, yes! Something inside Ona was eager for it, needed it, and with all the remaining strength she could muster, she held his face in her hands and pulled his lips to her once again.

Connor came with a loud groan, his hips stuttering and pressing against hers. Ona could feel the heat of his come inside her, filling her up to the brim. Connor panted hard against her mouth as he felt her milk him dry.. He ventured a look down and softly cursed at the sight. There was so much come that it was spilling out. He should feel embarrassed for spurting such amounts, but in all honesty he didn’t have a chance for much alone time, and besides Ona seemed to enjoy it.

He let out an exhausted sigh, letting his body sag a little. He was still holding Ona in his arms and he was really, really tired right now. He carefully slid out of her, drawing a soft noise from her lips. More come was getting out, its whiteness clouding the water; they would have to change it after this.

But first things first.

Ona wasn’t letting go, seeming happy to be on his arms and his warmth. He could work with that, but right now he really needed to take off his pants and ruined boots.

“I know you’re really comfortable right now, but what about be move over there?” Connor nodded towards the bed. Ona grumbled, tightening her arms. “I know, I know. At least let me get out of my clothes? And then I’m all yours.” Ona perked up at that.

She untangled herself from him, letting herself fall back on the water and stretching like a cat, sighing contentedly. Connor watched her, her floating hair and twinkling eyes. At his lack of movement, Ona lightly bumped his back with her fin.

“Alright, alright! On it!” Connor took off his boots, emptying them of all the water inside and dropped them outside. Ona was always curious about feet and toes, and she immediately turned around so she could inspect him closer. Connor huffed, amused at her antics, and took off the soaked trousers, dropping them next to the boots.

Connor stood up un wobbly legs, still not recovered enough after the mind-blowing orgasm he just had, and climbed out of the tank. Ona pulled herself up on the edge, waiting for Connor to pick her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her further up, holding her as a groom would his bride. Connor walked them towards the bed, letting her softly down on the bedsheets. He plopped down on the other side once he dried himself up a little bit with a spare shirt Richard left lying around. Ona always preferred to dry on her own (which never took too long). Connor could feel drowsiness start to claw at him, tired from the sun, tired from the intense love-making, and he liked the weight on his bed next to him. 

Ona was almost dried by now, even feeling her tail itch in the way she knows she’ll shed the scales and gain human legs. Connor was always mesmerised when that happened. It was as if the tail melted to give way to a pair of perfect human legs, leaving behind a mountain of beautiful and shiny scales. They always stored them away, useful for dark nights.

This time she shed them and pushed them on the fallen quilt. 

Connor blindly pawed for the blanket, throwing it on top of their naked bodies. He moved to make room for her, seeming how needy for contact she was earlier. Ona made herself at home on his chest, nuzzling her cheek on the skin she found and letting out a pleased sigh. She curled an arm around him, her hand on the other side of his chest, and he instinctively held her hand there, the other already cradling her shoulders and pulling her flush to him, thumb mindlessly caressing her.

They fell asleep to the sound of waves and men and women working to keep the ship running. Richard could take care of everything for a little while.

Little did he know that heats lasted for a few days. 

[bitchterra]

Here’s the a sneak peak of the script I wrote for the show Riverdale. This experience has been so amazing I am so blessed!!!

Joobie doo doo: I had to drop out of school when I was four to become an assassin to pay the rent, because my whole family had scarlet fever :/

Betty: wait that doesn’t make since. Do four year olds even go to school?

Joobie doo doo: maybe I was older. I don’t know about numbers. Every time I asked my daddy about how old I am, he would slap me something fearsome.

Archie: you just need to experience the epic highs and lows of high school football

Sheryl walks over and says something that sounds kind of like late 18th century prose, but with Twitter buzzwords uncomfortably inserted in. It is pure gibberish, but nobody says a word. Suddenly a loud, menacing dolphin noice can be heard in the distance- one of the signs of the fish boy killer! The dolphin noise gets louder. Closer.

[maybe-emily-something]

*asking someone to repeat themselves and awkwardly laughing bc I still didn’t get it after the third time they said it

*insert white noise gibberish

*always hearing the ac rattling. always.

*not being able to pronounce shit

Auditory Processing Disorder shite cuz people don’t talk about it enough rip

* Getting frustrating when people don’t warn me before they talk so I can “turn on” my hearing. 

* Needing subtitles on movies and tv shows, not because I can’t hear it but because I can’t understand what they’re saying

* Hearing in perfect clarity what the teacher next door is saying and not a thing of what the kid I’m talking with is saying.

* Losing all concept of how to decipher language when more than one sound is playing

* Feeling like a dick for asking people with accents to repeat themselves so much (guys pls i swear im not racist i just have a hard time with speech guys pls-)

* Looking at people’s mouths when they talk, not because I can read lips or anything but because it just helps me figure out what someone is probably saying.

i hope this makes some modicum of sense kalsjdfakojwhepo

[tenacityblitz]

all the numbers u haven't done

roleplaying habits questions.

1. what’s a grammar rule you find yourself breaking or ignoring a lot?

Offhand I can’t really think of anything?? English is my first language so I don’t knowingly break any grammar rules anyway. Unless possible excessive use of commas counts bc I use commas a lot.

2. are there any languages besides english in which you think you could comfortably roleplay?

Unless Gibberish counts bc I learned that stupid crack language back when I was a kid but good lord I would not have the patience to actually type out a reply like that. 

3. how often do you reach for a synonym dictionary when writing? how about mentally?

Sometimes but not too frequently. Depends on how flowery I’m trying to write something or if I’m thinking of a word but I don’t like the first descriptive word that came to mind for what I’m trying to express.

4. how often do you need to translate your own or the other’s writing with a dictionary or google when writing and reading replies?

Never tbh. Especially since I don’t RP in any other languages, all my RP partners have a good enough grasp on English that I can always tell what they were at least trying to say in their reply.

5. do you listen to music while your write?

I used to need music playing in the background to help me focus on doing drafts, but nowadays I need more silence than anything to help focus and produce what I think is a quality response to a longer thread. Short one or two liner things idc what’s in the background. 

6. do you have ideal writing circumstances when you can do a lot of drafts or tackle really long ones very easily?

I can fluctuate with when I best write. Typically I write better at night when the house is quiet and any noise happening in the house is a noise I make, but I’ve had writing inspiration hit me at any time of the day before.

7. are you a morning, day, evening, or night writer?

Bold of you to assume I’m awake during morning hours that don’t include 5 AM bc I’m still awake haha. When I’m not swamped with commissions to do I typically write better during the day or at night when I’m the only person awake in the house and I don’t have any outside distractions from a person IRL.

8. how does tiredness affect your writing?

Not overly so sometimes, I know there’ve been times in the past where I powered through replies even though I wanted to go to bed just because I was riding the motivation train and I didn’t want to lose it and not get to those last replies for who knows how long. But on Discord at least I often have reply to Discord threads be one of the last things I do before I go to sleep so I go to bed knowing I don’t owe anyone a reply on there.

9. have you ever written a serious reply intoxicated?

Not a serious reply anyway. I’ve been on the dashboard before while intoxicated (ColossalCon East was a prime example haha) but I’ve never really RP’d while that intoxicated

10. how much do you proof-read as you are writing vs. proof-read at the end?

I’ll proof read as I go but also give it one last read before I actually hit publish.

11. when you are writing a reply, how much ahead in the thread do you plan?

Entirely depends on the thread. I could write it on the fly or I could have days to think about it from external factors keeping me from getting to the reply as soon as it comes back to me.

12. is there ever been a time when you’ve had to drop a roleplaying partner because you’ve found their writing style exhausting?

Yes actually, gather round for RP horror storytime haha. Flash back to 2013 while I was still in the Black Butler fandom. I stupidly decided to give writing Sebastian a try at the request of a Ciel I’d made friends with (probably through my old Alois or Lizzie blog). She was a nice enough girl, close enough to my age so she seemed plenty mature, and had been what I thought was a good enough writer to warrant trying my hand at a muse I wouldn’t have otherwise thought to try. Legit within days of me making the Sebastian blog she was getting super clingy in her IC posts making Ciel a whiny baby missing Sebastian, would try and guilt me in IC posts to get on and write with her, and I dealt with it for about two weeks before I deleted Sebastian’s blog without warning and deleted the girl off Skype. To this day it’s the only blog I think I’ve ever consciously deleted.

13. does writing roleplay things in public spaces make you uncomfortable?

Not really? I wouldn’t be crazy about a stranger reading over my shoulder while I was writing bc that’s just weird, but I’ve gone to Starbucks or one of the local malls before on my off days (back when I was still at my last job) and I’d do RP stuff there just to get out of the house.

14. how often do you need to change the icon in your reply while or after writing the reply?

Typically I don’t put in icons until I’m done writing the reply unless I go into the reply knowing exactly which one I want to use, or think of a good one while I’m writing it out.

15. do you first get in the “zone” when writing, or do you start writing and “enter” it that way?

Nowadays I just start writing and then get into the zone after I get the first reply done. Discord replies I can chug out any time of day without difficulty, but for whatever reason Tumblr I have to be in the right mindset for. 

16. what is your biggest obstacle to writing every day, if time doesn’t count?

Back when I was at my last job, it would be getting a lot of writing muse while I was busy at work and unable to get on my own laptop or sneak onto Tumblr on an office computer and at least type out the bulk of a reply (yes I was employee of the month many times haha), and by the time I was able to get to my own computer or be safe enough to get on a work computer, that writing muse would be gone.

17. what’s your inbox count currently? what did you do to get it so high/low?

Right now I have 15 IC asks. I won’t lie, two of them are from last years Valentine’s Day bc I was away at Katsucon at the time of receiving them and by the time I got home I still just never got around to answering the asks, but I didn’t want to delete them either so I just kept them for posterity. Some are from this past Christmas that I was terrible and haven’t answered yet bc I’ve been so swamped with commissions, some are from other random meme’s I’ve reblogged and gotten an ask or two for and also just never got around to. I’m horrible at replying to asks most of the time and I know it but I always appreciate whenever people take the time to send me an IC one.

18. how many drafts is a paralysing amount?

I’d guess I’d say over 15 like para thread replies would make me be like -insert meme song- ‘how could this happen to meeeee’. I’m not quite at that point yet but I’ll get there eventually if I’m not careful lol.

19. if you are writing a wrong reply that’s not working out, do you save what you have to be continued at another date, or do you scrap it and rewrite?

Usually I would just draft what I have and go back to it. I can’t remember the last time I scrapepd an unfinished draft and completely rewrote it.

20. longest reply you’ve ever writen on mobile?

N/A because I don’t do replies on mobile. I’ll send asks on mobile but I never reply to actual IC things while on my phone unless it’s something stupid and cracky or one-liner-ish.

21. does the total amount of threads you have going on matter to you, or just how many you owe?

Doesn’t really matter. I can have one thread with one person, I could have five threads with one person. @shinvcho is an example of the latter lol

22. what’s your thought process when you format? any unspoken rules you follow?

I’ve kept to the same formatting for years and years tbh. I’m too lazy to do excessive formatting beyond italicizing and/or bolding specific words for emphasis and spacing out the start of a new paragraph. Anything more than that to me is just tedious and unnecessary; I don’t want to make it difficult for my partners to read.

23. how does your follower count affect your mood?

Anyone who says they don’t appreciate or enjoy even a small spike in followers is a liar, because we live in an age where validation is held in high regard and it feels good to get the validation of seeing more people enjoy what we do on our blogs enough to put us on their dashboards. But it also doesn’t really matter to me when I lose followers because I have a mutual checker so I can unfollow a mutual back if they did so first so I don’t feel uncomfy still following someone who no longer wanted me on their dash lol.