#actually ill expand on all of them later

[kohreeander]

Haikyuu!! but baseball

i started this on twitter but this needs more words for the full brain rot.

volleyball setters and baseball catchers are both extremely important while often being overlooked by casual spectators cause they aren't very flashy

setting in volleyball is extremely important to the offense. they have to be aware of not only where their hitters are, but also where the other team's players are on their court AND figure out how to best score a point. throw in the strict amount of rules they have and you get extremely disciplined players who are also super perceptive.

catchers, on the other hand, literally hold the defense together for the whole game. they are part of every single play, are very base-conscious, and never get a break so they have insane amounts of stamina. if you ever watch a baseball or softball game, pls pay attention to how much the catcher is doing on every single play, you'll be baffled by how much they do.

that being said i know exactly how every setter would catch

kageyama is the definition of a terrifying catcher. he calls all of the pitches himself and he is an asshole about it. he gets a lot of praise for his framing skills that trick even the best umpires into calling strikes. he is acutely aware of each of his teammate's strengths and will adjust them on the field mid-batter to guarantee an out. his fatal flaw is that he got ejected once for arguing with the umps over a check swing (he was right the umps were just bad that day)

suga, on the other hand, is deceptively laid back for a catcher. he has multiple unique call signs that are for the whole team, and often make it harder for coaches to steal their signs. where kageyama almost expects the other team to steal the signs and not pay attention to the defense's movement, suga gets them to move so obviously that they would never be able to guess what pitch is being thrown. like he has noya (ss) move in on the fourth batter, who in their right mind would then call a meatball down the middle?? suga would and it's fuckng insane

noya is a relief catcher. thats it

OIKAWA MY KING he is the perfect catcher. he knows his players perfectly, reads the other teams like open books, is very vocal in each play, is super athletic, looks hot in uniform he's perfect. he's so cocky about his throwing skills that he does run-downs with the ball still in his glove. it's terrifying and monstrous.

yahaba is the relief catcher. he only really gets put in when kyotani is pitching. i can't think of a reason right now but yeah. if he's not catching, he's in the outfield.

kenma is so fucking calm as a catcher. he's very smart and perceptive, but so is the rest of the team so he doesn't have to be as vocal as other catchers. most of the team knows what the play is by how he sets up in the box, and he's. very quick to adapt to strange pitches or hits. he is also not above calling change-ups over and over again on the same batter if it works. he has made many enemies this way I love him

i'm gonna make a dedicated post for semi and shirabu because their catching styles revolve heavily around ushijima, but the gist of it is that semi refuses to call a curveball for ushi so he gets benched for going against the coach's calls, and shirabu is more than happy to only call curveballs.

akaashi. the prettiest boy yes i love him. he is the most stressed catcher in history. he's very good at reading the field, and he is usually the one to call for a conference, not the coach. sometimes he gets too far into his head and makes some wrong calls, but it's nothing a good scream won't fix. his talent shines when he picks off a runner with a pass-ball. and bokuto throws an unfortunate amount of pass-balls.

atsumu is a fucking asshole behind the plate. he is talkative, loud, unfiltered. it is a miracle he has not been thrown out of a game. he will very often steal plays from the other teams. like every game. there is no escape from him. he shines mostly in his framing skills, but don't let that fool you. he will chase down a runner on the third baseline with no hesitation at full speed. he is a terrifying menace and is only made worse when his brother is pitching. both of them find joy in forcing a batter into striking themselves out. they are my nightmare combo.

there are so many teams i cant think of anything else right now.

[kaciidubs]

sooo....i have returned with more crazy shit 😋

i dunno if you read,write,or like tarophilia or whatever its called. its like monster sex basically or just fairlytale sex in general i think.

but anyway i wanted to ask for alien!jisung with human!fem!reader? like a ship crashed into the forest next to readers home in the forest so she went to check it out. when she looked it was an alien boy. brown curly hair with black glasses perched on their nose with a stripped sweater and black sweatpants. she felt bad for him because he was bleeding from his head. she took him in and helped his wounds. after waiting he woke up. they talked since he asked what happened and ended up being friends (kind of)

after months of being friends then best friends, they got together. they were happy and reader liked her alien boyfriend. and jisung liked his human girlfriend. a bit later into the relationship they realized they never had sex. just making out and grinding. no more than that. but one day jisung wanted to eat out reader. she let him of course and when the sweet taste of her cunt hits his tongue he lost it. he went tongue deep into her tight hole. purple tongue trying to find the source of the sweet treat. while reader whimpered and whined about it being too much and telling him to slow down. clenching hard around his tounge. after hours of being down there and reader once again whining about it being too much and no more, he says "jus' one more baby. ill stop after yeah?" before going back tongue deep into her with his pale purple tongue. (he ends up being down there for another hour :])

(p.s. if you dont like this type of stuff it’s totally fine! i was half asleep doing this so dont feel bad and do it anyway since its long :] if you couldnt tell i have a oral fixation ˙𐃷˙)

-🪼

My darling jellyfish nonnie, I love this thought so much - also, I'm 100% a monster fucker [as shown by my Naga! Minho spooktober fic, plus the fact that I'd go on all fours for Werewolf! Chris in a heartbeat] so Alien! Jisung is right up my alley!!

I don't even know how I could expand on this other than sharing more horny-ish thoughts about it; like the fact that not only is his tongue purple, but it's long and he seems to produce more saliva than necessary - since, you know, he's an alien and all.

How the first time reader found that she had more than platonic feelings for Alien! Jisung, was when he discovered the joy of cheesecake and whipped cream - the pure joy that illuminated his face after the first bite, followed by the ecstasy after he finished his piece and looked at her with round eyes that begged for more.

Perhaps their first kiss, how it came about after watching Howl's Moving Castle [or, rewatching it, in her case] - the credits hadn't been running for more than two seconds before Jisung's face came into view and his lips were on hers. It didn't last long, and it was obvious that he didn't fully understand the connotation behind kissing when you questioned his very sudden, but not unwelcome, move. "Happy!" He'd reply, as small, fluttering chirping noises emanated from him - a sound she'd grown familiar with to understand it was something that occurred when he was, indeed, happy.

And then, it was when those timid, innocent touches of a curious first, actual, kiss turned into chasing that feeling of desire and need - the moment where best friends and something more became blurred, but neither one of them cared. It was when Jisung learned that feelings could be acted upon, that kissing wasn't the only way humans expressed their passion, and that maybe there weren't that many differences between your kind and his.

At least, not when it came to pleasure.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 15

Author's Note: Darrrrrlllllliiiiinnnngggg guess who's back from jail the debilitating cycle of mental illness?

Seriously tho, thank ya'll for sticking with me I have not been able to write more than a couple paragraphs a day lately. Please enjoy meeting a couple familiar faces, as a treat.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

-----------------

Giving the High Lords’ their powers back is, surprisingly, the easiest part of the next hour. Reaching into your power well, untangling the threads of each of them, swirling together within you is easy compared to getting them to agree on anything. They all stand there, in what’s left of the Throne Room, yelling at each other about what’s to be done about your father. Rhys and Helion want him dead now, the Cauldron returned to its resting place. Beron and Tarquin want to go home and be done with the whole mess. Kallias and Thesan want to try and muster their armies, in case of all out war. 

By this point its all a jumble of nonsense in your ears. You’re so tired. Rhys, with his powers returned, is healing nicely from the wounds you’ve inflicted, and despite all he’s endured, he’s the one holding you upright as you lean into his side. It’s taking all your energy to just keep your eyes open, to not give into the warmth that radiates from his skin, and sink into it. 

“We are wasting time!” Helion agrues.

“What he does in the Human Lands is no business of ours!” Shouts Beron.

You’d snarl at him if you had the energy; every time he opens his mouth you wish you’d had the presence of mind to give his powers to Eris instead, but the headache from holding all that had gotten so bad you’d thought your head might actually burst if you didn’t expel as much of it as you could. As is, Tamlin’s powers still prowl beneath your skin; finding him will be a challenge you’ll have to face later, once this threat is finally over.

Rhys’s hand strokes your side soothingly as he comes to Helion’s defense, his snarl making the room shake. He is a sight to behold at full power, everything about him seems to dim the impressive powers around him. Wisps of shadows twirl around his body, twining around your own in exploration. A welcome darkness. You’d like very much to fall into it and not think about any of this for weeks and weeks.  

“We are getting nowhere with this,” Kallias insists. “Let us return home and send out spies. We are of no help to anyone if we end up dead because we went in blind.”

“We cannot wait that long,” Helion presses. 

“We won’t need to,” Rhys says, flicking a bit of lint off his shoulder. “My spy should be here with news any minute now.”

Even you crane your head up to look at him, surprised. He hasn’t moved from the Throne Room, is only now dressed because he summoned something from a pocket realm, when would he have had the time?

He merely winks at you as he says to the others, “Once he arrives, we will make our decision.”

“And we should trust a word from your spies?” Beron snarls. “As we should trust a story about the Cauldron from her.” He’s been rather pissed that a female had wielded his powers, and has taken every opportunity to take a shot at you since getting them back. As if diminishing your ability cleansed them of whatever womanly germs you may have gotten on them. 

“I gave you those powers of my own free will, I can take them back any time I desire,” you warn. 

He has the good sense to step away from you, at least, even if his disdain is palpable.

“The next time you look at my mate like that,” Rhys snarls so low the lights in the room start to wink out. The stars that usually glitter in his violet eyes shrink, pupil expanding until it’s nearly black. “I’ll separate your head from your shoulders.” His shadows deepen, swirling around him.

Mate. The word clangs through them like a warning bell and there are various reactions of disgust and surprise. Helion claps him on the back in congratulations despite the others’ response.

You brush a mental hand over the thin thread that connects you to Rhys, testing to tell yourself that it is real. The loss of the bargains is visceral, it feels as if there’s a gaping wound in your soul, poking around in there feels like touching an exposed nerve, but beneath it, glittering like a million stars, is that tether. The one you suspect might have been the only reason you’re still alive at all. 

Rhys opens his end of it to you, the door of adamant thrown open far wider than it had ever been before. “Are you all right, Darling?”

You could cry from a thousand different things right now, but the fact that you can hear him, feel him like this makes you close your eyes for a brief moment and relish the fact that Hybern hadn’t robbed you of this too. “I thought…” the memory of that dark power holding you down, tearing the bargain apart, flashes across your shared mental space before you can shut it out. “I wasn’t sure this would still be here.”

Rhys’s anger flares down the bond as the memory plays out before him, the arm around your waist tightening. “It will always be here. Nothing, no exiled king, no Mountain, no damned Cauldron, will ever change that.”

“Even if I did punch you in the face?” You quip, eyes blurring with tears. 

His deep rumble of a laugh flows down the bond, fills it with glittering starlight. It is such a contrast to the dark lord mask he still outwardly shows the other lords. Looking at him, they can only see Darkness Incarnate, a creature of shadows and malevolence that keeps baring his teeth when someone gets out of line. Yet here, between your two souls, he is gentle and kind and bright. 

“Maybe if you’d broken my nose it would be different, I am known for my good looks after all,” he returns. “So I suppose it can be overlooked.”

You’ve almost forgotten the other lords are still bickering until Rhys’s remark makes you snort and Beron turns to glare at you. It’s only because your mate flashes his teeth at him with a growl that he keeps from pointing it out. 

You could have stayed like this, warm in both his physical and mental embrace, had a male with wings not entered the room. Fae came in all shapes, sizes and colors, your travels had shown many of them to you over the years, but you’ve met very few with wings like these. The leathery membrane is reminiscent of a bat’s, with a large apex talon at the tip; when folded behind him, the talons make it look like horns are growing out of his shoulders. He weara]s black fighting leathers, fit tight to his muscled form; a sword sheathed between his great wings, a single, ornate dagger strapped to his thigh. You know him to be with Rhys solely from the shadows that mist over his frame, drifting through his dark hair to shroud his face as he enters, his powers not entirely unlike your mate’s.

The male’s hazel eyes flick immediately to Rhys, his features mostly schooled into cold indifference, but you note the briefest flick of relief as he takes in his High Lord.

“Don’t tell me you only brought the Shadowsinger?” Helion asks with a pout.

The rest of the room finally falls silent as the male steps up to the table you’ve all been arguing around. Rhys claps him on the shoulder in greeting, your mate’s posture relaxing at his presence.

The male returns the gesture, the hand he reaches out scarred beyond any repair. “M’lord.” There’s a bit of teasing underneath the tone, as if he says it in joke, perhaps that is why Rhys flashes him a grin in return.

“Well?” Thesan questions. 

“My spies and I have tracked Hybern back to a temple in Spring,” the male says, turning away from Rhys to face them. “Troops are prepared to move, but no one has yet. I couldn’t get any closer.”

You run your fingers over your damaged throat in thought. He has the Cauldron still, why not use it?

Helion asks as much before you can say it aloud. 

“I couldn’t get inside, his shields are extensive. If we are to engage him, we’ll have to draw him outside.”

“With what army?” Kallias returns.

“We have an Illyrian legion and a squadron of Darkbringers standing by,” he says with a nod to Rhys. 

“Ah, so you did bring Cassian,” Helion says with a grin. “I was hoping I’d see a pretty face after being in this cage for so long.”

Beron snarls softly under his breath in disgust. 

“I can break the shield,” you say. 

“Tore through Amarantha’s like butter,” Helion agrees.

Rhys’s attention is now glued to you, as is the Shadowsinger, hazel eyes assessing the way his lord holds you. 

“I can go in first, take the shield down, and you all can come in behind me.”

“And let you lead us right into a trap?” Beron snarls. 

“Would you prefer to go in first?” Tarquin returns.

“Helion and I will be right behind you,” Rhys says slowly, as if he’s still thinking through the details. 

“I can cleave any surprise spells beyond the shield,” Helion confirms.

“My troops can provide cover, if Hybern’s men move,” Rhys continues. “The rest of you can follow along behind. We’ll distract Hybern while…”

A shiver runs inadvertently down my spine at thought, but I force the words out anyway, “While I drain the Cauldron so he can’t use it.”

Rhys nods, a string of affection trickling down the bond. “Once Hybern and his troops are dead, or captured, we send the Cauldron back to its resting place, and we all go home.”

Kallias rubs a hand wearily over his face. 

“I don’t see why all of us have to risk our necks,” Beron snarls.

“Because we don’t know what else he has up his sleeve,” Thesan returns. “We’ve all been in the dark to the outside world for the last fifty years. He could have anything.”

“He doesn’t have his whole army moved in yet,” the Shadowsinger confirms. “We have to move now.”

Tarquin sighs as he leans his weight against the table. “Let us be done with it then.”

You sigh with relief. It’s almost over. This nightmare is, mercifully, moments away from over. All you have to do is tear down a shield and drain the actual, life giving, Cauldron.

The terrifying, cold, bottomless Cauldron that had swallowed you and spit you out. The very thing that had tied you to Hybern’s will and nearly cost you your mate. And you wanted to, somehow, take that power from it so it couldn’t be wielded?

You are in over your head.

You never should have suggested it.

But how can you not? Even with all their powers restored, none of the High Lords can take power from anyone, or anything else. That is a gift that belongs to you and you alone. It has to be you.

By the time you pull yourself out of your thoughts over the ancient artifact, the other lords have filtered out, leaving you alone with Rhys and his spy. It’s only when they’re gone that Rhys releases you, so he can throw his arms around the other male. It is far more affectionate than you have ever seen him be with someone aside from yourself. 

“Az,” he half sobs into the other male’s shoulder.

“You idiot!” The other snarls, even as those scarred hands grip so tight to the back of Rhys’s shirt it looks like he might tear it. “What were you thinking!?”

Rhys’s response is still more sob than laugh, but there is some humor in it nonetheless. “It worked didn’t it?”

“I’d thought I’d never see you again, you stupid prick!” 

When they finally pull away, Rhys is grinning. “Az, you should meet my mate.”

You’re still standing there awkwardly, and probably looking like you’d been tossed under a wagon, if you’re being totally honest with yourself, and the only thing you can think to do is give a little wave. “Hi.”

He looks back and forth between you two, shadows drifting off his shoulders, slithering around his dark boots like snakes as they come to appraise you, much as Rhys’s own powers had that night on Calanmai. Though these are colder and more methodic in their search than your mate’s had been.

“Y/N, this is my brother, Azriel.”

“Who’s blood is all over your hands?” Azriel asks by way of greeting.

It’s an effort not to tuck them behind your back under his scrutiny. “A little bit of everyone’s really,” you mumble.

Azriel shoots Rhys a look that has your mate grinning, “She killed Amarantha.”

“Well, then, it’s nice to meet you,” Azriel replies, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a grin. 

“You two will get along well, I think,” Rhys says, and judging by the warmth he’s flooding down the bond you know he really means it. This is important to him. 

“You make it a habit of killing dictators, Y/N?” Azriel teases.

“Well we are on our way to kill my father, so I might be,” you return.

The shock on his face is enough to make you grin, even as Rhys slaps Azriel on the back and says, “We should go find Cass.”

Cass turns out to be one of the tallest males you’ve ever seen, bearing the same dark wings as Azriel, long brown hair tied back out of his sun kissed face. While Azriel had remarks on Rhys’s absence to make, this one merely barreled into him as soon as he caught sight of him, nearly taking them both to the ground in his attempt to bear hug him.

Azriel takes up the space beside you, watching them with the same cold indifference he looked at everything. “Careful, he’s a hugger.” Was the only warning you got before the giant of a male released Rhys to sweep you up into a hug of your own.

You awkwardly pat his large back once your feet manage to get back on the ground. “Uh hi.”

“You’re much prettier than he is,” he says when he pulls away, a shit eating grin plastered to his handsome face. “You sure you want this loser?” He jerks his thumb in Rhys’s direction for good measure.

Rhys grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back against his chest. “Don’t mind Cassian, he was dropped as a baby.”

“I was not!” Cassian returns. “Thrown out into the snow sure, but no one ever dropped me.”

“His head’s so big you wouldn’t have noticed if he had anyway,” Azriel returns.

Rhys chuckles as they turn to square off each other, shouting obscenities. “I know they’re a little much-”

You run your fingers over his arm where it’s braced against your collarbone, the weight of him at your back solid and reassuring. “This is pretty much what I’d expect of anyone related to you, honestly.”

He gives your shoulder a teasing pinch, “Brat.”

“You endured all this for them,” you say in a more serious tone. “You gave all of yourself to make sure they were safe. They’re important to you, so they’re important to me.”

He kisses the top of your head in thanks. “I can’t wait for this to be over, so we can go home and you can meet the rest of them.”

For that, for them, you can do this, you can go up against the Cauldron. You give his hand a squeeze. “Let’s get this done then.”

----

The crunch of every dead piece of grass under your feet sounds like an alarm bell. The rustle of the trees, the quiet of the nearby birds, it all feels as if it’s screaming your location right to your father.

You draw a deep breath as you creep forward, then another as the Temple finally comes into view. Hybern’s shield around the building is a lot less visible than Amarantha’s had been, yet you can feel it. There’s a buzzing beneath your skin that grows the closer you get to it, the air tinged with a hint of overripe fruit.

“Hello, Daughter of the Void, have you come to play another game?”

You freeze, a shiver running down your spine. 

Behind you, Rhys and Helion pause too, watching the area ahead of you warily. Cassian had produced armor and weapons for both of them, their swords still sheathed at their backs. Rhys reaches a hand up to grab his at your movements, but neither mention hearing the Cauldron.

“Darling?” Rhys asks mind to mind to avoid being heard. “Are you all right?”

Your stomach is in your throat, it’s an effort to swallow. “Yeah,” you lie as the phantom touch of that icy water brushes over your skin. Cassian hadn’t found armor for you, just a pair of more practical clothes and boots. Helion had offered to cast a shield for you, but his efforts had been for nothing, your body had swallowed up the shield like it was starving for any bit of new power it could reach. Still, you wish you’d found something, anything to make you feel a little less powerless against what you were up against.

“Just thought I heard something.” In a few more tentative steps, you’re at the edge of the shield.

“Come, come and play, Sweet Nothing.”

You reach out a hand, even though it’s shaking, and let your claws slide into place. They’re still a little distorted from Spring’s powers, you skin a war of fur and scales as the warring powers fight for dominance.

You can do this. Your mate is right behind you. His brothers and their winged armies just above the treeline. You are not alone to fight Hybern this time.

“Once we’re through, let Helion go ahead and check for protection spells,” Rhys cautions.

“I didn’t see any before,” you muse.

“He wasn’t trying to keep you out then,” he reminds. “But he knows that you’re against him now. We have to be ready for anything.”

You square your shoulders. You can do this.

The shield splits under your claws as if you’re shredding paper, your hand tingling with the sensation of a thousand needles as you draw all that power into you. After holding the powers of all the High Lords, this is nothing in comparison, even if it is stronger than Amarantha’s. You don’t stop pulling it into you until you no longer feel the buzzing of it against your skin.

“We’re in,” you say to Helion, who strides past you far more confidently than you felt he should be.

Especially when it’s so… quiet.

You tilt your head, listening. There are still no birds here, but there is no waiting army either. Hybern had plenty of soldiers when you’d seen him last, too many to cram all inside the Temple, even with the ones you’d misted under his orders. It shouldn’t be this quiet.

Helion’s head tilts to the side as he too considers the stillness. 

You can’t smell any spells at work, or see any other types of shields.

“Come, come and play,” the Cauldron beckons. “We have so much more to learn from each other, Little Death.”

Why have no army in sight with something this valuable out in the open?

Why leave something you could hear within reach?

You glance back at Rhys, by the look on his face its clear he too knows something is wrong, but he still can’t hear that it’s wrong. 

“Come.” It starts like a second pulse within your chest. 

“Come.” Then the hair on your arms raises.

“Come.” The ground trembles, but still no one but you notices.

Because you were remade. It knows you and you know it. And that’s the only way you have time to run and push Helion out of the way before Hybern uses the Cauldron to send out a blast of pure energy that hits you right in the chest.

_________________________________

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[uchihaharlot]

Hello! I hope you are fine <3🤲💗

I wanted to ask you about some Uchiha HCs as parents (especially Shisui haha). Idk, things like "How they would react if their Y/N told them they were going to be parents" or "How many children would they have if they had them and how would they treat them?"

🥹 mmm Shisui. Yes. 🙌🏻 Since I’m in a fog, I’ll choose Obito and Shisui — I will probably add more later and reblog then. Focusing more on Shisui though.

(I sort of expanded on this a bit. Leading up to birth etc).

Suggestive themes — mostly N/SFW; pregnancy reactions; and some other cute shit idk how to categorize. Ok yea, I went a bit crazy on Shisui, he’s my blorbo.

Obito:

• Even if it’s planned, he’s going to spiral. It worked on the first time? Duh, Uchiha. Really just stupid luck.

• ‘Already?’ — Obito; ‘….I mean…that’s what happens when you have sex..’ — her. She’s so patient though with him.

• Obito will spend the next few days not necessarily moping, but in minor distress. The whole thing about having a baby this soon, even though it was planned. Has really got him thinking.

• ‘I need to get my shit together.’ He’s not wrong, but they’re not in a bad place. All the financial matters were sorted out before she even went off the pill. She’s going to spend a lot of time easing his worries when he should be settling hers.

• He thinks they can’t have sex anymore 😂 ‘I’ll hurt the baby.’ This woman will have to coax him to satisfy her needs and being hormonal, he’s going to get scared and cave.

• Every time she’s sick, he’s sick. lol. Obito is one of those husbands that are sympathy ill when their wife is unwell, pregnant or not. Though the morning sickness he had worse than her.

• When she actually starts showing, the tables are turned. Obito can’t keep his hands off her. This is amazing! ‘I put that in you…’ —🫠 👈🏻 her. Yea, he did, that big dummy stuffed her good.

• When she is too big to do anything for herself, Obito takes center stage in everything. He matured rather quickly, strange how the prospect of becoming a dad alters an individual.

• 😅 Hit it from the back too rough and ultimately the orgasm she had made her go into labor (I know this is false advertisement but it’s Obito, he’s that guy).

• Nearly passes out as his wife is sprawled up on the stirrups, looks anyways and dear lord, ‘are you recording this?’ She says. Yea, he is. Unintentionally the sharingan populates and he might as well.

• Holds his son for the first time and cries. I think most men do, he’s the most precious thing in this world. Obito didn’t think he could ever make up for what he did in the past, but this one human. This tiny, itty bitty baby boy might just be his Hail Mary. That he could even bring something so good into the world makes him soften even more.

Shisui:

• Family man. 100%. They’ve been trying, and it’s not taking. Not because they’re incapable of it, both healthy and young. He’s just so busy. The days they end up trying don’t line up with her cycle and I mean they’re not just going to not have sex. Any chance he gets to put a bit of him and a little Uchiha inside her are precious moments.

• Firm believer in holding her legs up for a half hour 😂 ‘it has to marinate.’ Big eye rolls from his wife, who just lets him do things his way. After a few months, she finally begs him to just take a week off when she’s the most susceptible of his seed taking root.

• The mere idea that she is rearing and ready to go has Shisui taking his wife at the most unexpected of times. Maybe a week off was a good idea. Needless to say, the house chores are piling up. She wasn’t particularly fond of being shoved head first in the dryer either.

• ‘Making baby is the fun part…’ is his excuse when she chides him for it. Dear lord, this man shooting blanks and still trying.

• Then the unimaginable is announced, well not unimaginable but it felt like too long to actually confirm they were successful. Shisui from this point forward makes sure his pregnant wife gets everything she wants and then some.

• There is no shock period. This was all planned, Shisui is eternally grateful that his wife will be ushering their next of kin into the world. All the hard work is on her now and he is going to make sure she is treated like royalty.

• Though he questions some of her cravings, ‘…really? Ok….’ He won’t judge her, but goddamn it’s not something he’d eat.

• Copious amounts of pampering. Spends ridiculous amounts of money to have her swollen feet pedicured once a month, if she doesn’t want that he will do it himself. Her care is nonnegotiable and she is getting big with life inside of her! She needs some reprieve from the constant drain on her body.

• We aren’t even going to lie, they pretty much have sex up until the baby is born, though not like how Obito did. It’s maybe twice a week, which is less often but enough. If she’s not in the mood for it herself, she would offer to relieve him. Though he might feel guilty, so he would just use his mouth in return if she wasn’t opposed to something less invasive on her aching body. She’ll agree, Shisui is talented in those regards.

• She was making tea in the kitchen when her water broke, Shisui was out on a mission!!! She had to get Itachi to send word of bird and less than an hour he’s back. Exhausted and tired, he made it for the birth. He knew that he shouldn’t have taken that mission but she was adamant he do what he felt necessary for their village. Such a understanding woman!

• Is planting kisses to her forehead, cheeks and lips whenever she starts pushing. Holds one of her legs when the baby is finally crowning, and watches the miracle of birth. The fruit of their passion and love is wayfered into this big world. So beautiful and precious. A son, I often hc Shisui would name his first son Kagami. (I’m pretty sure the series alluded them being related).

• 🥹🥹🥹🥹 👈🏻 shisui 👉🏻 🥴😴 his wife after labor. He is wholly enamored at the tiny being in his arms. Takes the time to figure out which features their baby got from who. Undoubtedly this kid has his mop head of curls. Her nose and eye color, his eye shape and ears. 100% them.

[fatuismooches]

I've written a few pieces about Dottore with a fragile! reader which you can see here, here, and here. I wanted to expand on this concept a bit because the brainrot is real.

You befriended Dottore at the Akademiya (I think the same reader from this piece too) and life was good. Those 20-page papers were a pain but dorming with your lover made it all better.

Until you begin to feel a bit off. Headaches become more frequent, and you start to feel a bit more dizzy than usual, but you chalk it up to just stress. Being a scholar is no easy task, after all. At first, Dottore seems to believe this as well too. (He has forced you to down the most disgusting medicine to make you feel better after all.)

Only this time, the medicine seems to have no effect. All you can hear during the lectures is the pounding of your head and ringing of your ears. After classes, the only thing you can manage to do is flop down onto your bed while you listen to Dottore fiddle with some parts. He doesn’t let you leave until you feel better. It may be some kind of new bug going around, he hypothesizes.

Even after a while, you don’t feel better. It feels like your whole body aches if you even move a muscle. The food tastes like nothing and you struggle to hold your hand still to even write a sentence. The worst part is that you can’t hide your predicament from your lover. You two literally live together in the Akademiya after all. The only thing that baffles your lover, is that he can’t seem to understand your sudden condition. He makes you stay in the room and forbids you from doing anything extraneous. 

The only problem is, you have missed dozens of classes already. And whenever you go, the professor always ends up calling you out in front of the whole class for your dropping eyelids. The less-than-polite words of your fellow scholars ring in your ears.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when the higher-ups tell you that they’re kicking you out of the school. If only the Akademiya actually cared about their students. You’re very, very, very tired on the way back from the office, holding onto the walls for support. As much as you want to stay with Dot, since you were kicked out, you can’t live in the dorms anymore. You feel far too ill to live by yourself much less get a job, so your only choice is the local hospital.

Perhaps this is where the more… illegal activities begin. Hospital fees are no joke, you know. Someone had to pay to keep you there, and neither you nor Dottore had that kind of money. So really, no one would notice if a few people started disappearing, right? Dottore’s always wanted to dissect a human body. It would be quite educational as well as worth the money. And the classmates who made fun of you? They’d meet a similar fate.

But the doctors there aren’t much help either. So you just spend your days either by yourself, maybe passing the time with a book he lent you, or with Dottore whenever he visits. Runs tests on you without the staff knowing because there’s no way he’s trusting them, but it was to no avail. You let Zandik do what he wants because it was hard for you to care much anymore.

Also - you bawling your eyes out about how miserable you feel because of this stupid sickness. It ruined your life. You can’t do anything by yourself anymore. Your smile is virtually gone. What if he leaves you, you cry. You’re useless to him. It’s at this point, that Dottore swears that he would cure whatever illness you were afflicted with. No matter the process or the atrocities that he would need to commit. No matter who gets hurt. No matter the insults that get hurled at him. He would see to it that you were back on your two feet, cooking, fighting, studying, whatever you wanted.

Also - Dottore bringing you to Snezhnaya after Pierro recruits him. Only thing is that you’re in a coma at this point so you don’t wake up until a few years later. Waking up to the sight of three other Dottores’ in the room almost shocked you back to sleep. At this point with all the fancy technology and funds he has, your health has been better than your school days.

Also - the clones kind of being in awe of you. All they’ve seen of you is your sleeping form. Only Prime actually knew you. So that’s why you always have at least one of them following you around wherever you go. Prime is amused at this. Okay, and remember when the Omega Dot said that he was the most selfish clone of them all?? Him hogging you from the other clones. Nah because I don’t think he likes the other clones very much. Wants to keep you to himself so the clones absolutely dread whenever Prime leaves them alone. He hates when you ask the other clones for things. Smirk drops rather quickly.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

the counterpart

• chapter 1 — a welcome threatening stir

rating: explicit. please don’t skip straight to (future) smut parts though, i’m currently learning chess just for this fic /hj

word count: 4,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of ‘y/n’)

cw: alcohol, occasional cussing, reader is a smoker (she plays chess and lives in the 90s, how do you expect her to have healthy lungs in these conditions?). a LOT of tension, viktor is a certified brat tamer. i think that’s it — please come yell at me if i missed anything. basically just a silly little chess rivals (sort of) au.

i am finally writing this multichapter and i hope it will be a fun read for you and an excellent torture for me. i have a vision but i don’t know how to make shit perfectly executed. we’ll see how this goes. an ao3 link will be added later. any feedback is highly appreciated.

part 2

⸻

You weren’t obsessed with him. 

With the way his tongue would click against his teeth so astutely irritating — a gesture you grew to define as some brief foreplay before said appendage touched his palate precisely one torturous time, whispering a victorious ‘check’. With a crease dissecting his forehead — a rare occasion you managed to grasp only twice: the first time being your failed attempt to capture his queen, and the second — a recent one, at that — being a foolish way you’ve lost a freshly converted into a rook pawn: concurrently the most humiliating way to jeopardize an intellectual sparring. 

You weren’t obsessed with his bizarre contemplative humming, nor with his Czech last name — needless to mention the disheveled mayhem of dark hair: Viktor was just a mere enigma you fancied to occasionally demerge — sneakily, patiently, with a positive passion to it. Habitually in a private ambiance of either his or your dorm room, though actually more commonly his — something about it simply screamed peace, as contradictory as that sounds. Sweetly quiet, relatively neat, with a never properly made bed being the only truly concerning mess in it.

That apartment was the embodiment of a grandmaster’s mind, and it certainly had all the chances of belonging to one at some point: if only he kept up with the meticulous tactics you were (secretly) so jealous of. 

“Envy is a waste of time,” he unkindly reminded you one particularly languid evening, “you should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.” 

That reproach got into your ambitious head. Call it a reality check or a simple first impression — since that encounter was also the first one you two had ever shared.

Though could someone really blame you? You didn’t need humbling. Well, not any more of that crude one, at the very least — a local college chess club had more than enough of it to offer. You could consume their disdain for weeks and it still wouldn’t make them run out of it — they had plenty in stock specifically for women. That much was obvious the second you appeared before those arrogant, prejudiced fools. You stepped in there innocently hoping to enroll, but stormed off with a genuine intention to commit homicide — a manslaughter, to be precise, and god weren’t you going to be merciful. 

‘You can’t enroll without a rating,’ hissed that bespectacled, caricaturely tall boy — all heavily starched collar, stupid chequered tie and a handful of dirty blonde hair plastered across his forehead. 

Bullshit, you thought, gathering every last ounce of your forced politeness, who needs a rating to enroll into a college fucking chess club? 

‘We don’t accept amateurs,’ assented his not any less grimy interlocutor, his expression a tad bit more bearable. ‘Please, leave,’ he demanded, lancing your face with his hostile eyes. 

Well, it’s a good thing you accept ill-mannered bastards, you almost muttered, fists clenching hard into a white-knuckled disaster. 

And perhaps you were even willing to negotiate, to have their best players all lined up in front of you — each waiting for a turn to be relentlessly put in his place by you; and you would certainly show them — quick, efficient and dangerous. You would force them into submission — professionally so, in a way that would make them all wonder whether the next Judit Poglar has decided to bless them with her presence. 

Because, sure; you were certainly many things — an excellent mind, a trickster, a fanatic, but that list never included an amateur. The mere fact someone even dared to insult you in such a way — and without even sparing you one game of chess — was, frankly, deeply humiliating. 

So you decided to let your pride win. Walked out of that damned club with an ostentatious huff, heels clacking loud enough to muffle their demeaningly misogynistic brouhaha — a tacit protest, an addendum to your passive-aggressive ‘good luck, gentlemen’. 

They didn’t want you — fine, whatever, you didn’t want them either. You’ll find yourself a counterpart soon — not any less intelligent, and, most importantly, respectful. They’ll come crawling back to you once you gain a rating, mourning their loss and pathetically begging for sweet mercy. You could already imagine the holes rubbed through the nice fabric of their dress pants from all the kneeling you’ll make them do. 

Besides, Jayce had already promised to introduce you to someone decent. ‘He’s sweet,’ he assured you, a friendly arm wrapped around your tense shoulder. ‘Incredibly smart,’ he proceeded with his wholehearted praise, proud grin so wide the corners of his mouth were definitely hurting. ‘Somewhat awkward,’ he mused, raising one eyebrow in consideration, ‘though I’m not entirely sure it’s awkwardness, per se, Viktor is simply… pensive.’

Viktor. Your eyes squeezed shut, offering the restless imagination a brief opportunity to brainstorm. A competent, pensive and sweet chess lover: what would his temper turn out to be like? Does he have a rating yet? What if he’s already playing professionally? Perhaps he even has a title? 

Jayce’s next comment didn’t offer you much help though. 

‘He’s handsome too,’ he whispered, a shit-eating smirk wiped instantly off his pleased physiognomy. Elbows become offensive weapons between the ribs of unfortunate matchmakers, you see. 

Either way: the deal was sealed. You were going to meet Viktor the next chance you get, and Jayce’s upcoming birthday has provided you with precisely that convenience. 

It still happened rather spontaneously — you can’t mentally prepare yourself for an encounter you don’t quite know what to expect of. Sure, Jayce’s complaisant flattery was still at your service — a source not exactly reliable, yet somewhat welcomed nonetheless: though only because you lacked any other information about this Viktor persona.

But you decided not to upset a dear friend on his birthday. Acting like Jayce was bearable to be around was a part of your gift, after all. 

Unfortunately, the fact he was born on an awfully steamy July day wasn’t helping you accomplish that; you squinted, drowning a glass of that disgustingly warm bourbon, a couple of melted ice cubes in it slightly diluting the once-rich taste of liquor. The man of the hour had quickly dissolved into a mess of infuriatingly noisy people after only reserving you a quick hello, shiny eyes already evidently tipsy — either from all the attention or the contentious quality of the booze this bar had to offer. 

You didn’t dare to complain. The tab was on a birthday boy, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Knew better, yet still stared right at Jayce’s laughing physiognomy, grin so blindingly toothy it had you regretting ever sojourning this feast of life. Not that you had anything against attending birthday celebrations; but a cramped bar, a cheap drink and not a single minute spent with a man you came here for weren’t exactly your ideal perception of said… festivity. Not to mention that Viktor was terribly late — though your darling mutual acquaintance was in no state to properly introduce you to him anyway. You slipped out of your bar stool, rubbing an erratic little pattern into the weary skin of each heavy eyelid — but the sleepiness didn’t magically dissolve under the persistent pressure of your fingers. If there existed a thing you hated more than cocky men and bad booze — then it certainly had to be feeling hot, and this awful place has kindly reminded you of precisely that long forgotten loathing; air so sticky it was melting your brain into a tired, dysfunctional mush. 

Somehow you managed to find an exit before the headache became borderline unbearable, letting the evening greet you with a chilly slap on precisely that slick place where a damp blouse kept clinging onto your sweaty back. Summer sure was relentless this year — the outdoors didn’t offer you much of that crispy gentle breeze, but it was still not nearly as suffocatingly hot as inside that grimy shelter for drunks. 

Shaky hands slid inside the pocket of your pants, fumbling frantically with the contents of it: glistening candy wrappers, ringing keys and a handful of coins. Took you long enough to finally feel the shape of an old lighter, the spark wheel of it so terribly rusty the callus on your thumb started stinging as soon as you laid it on that rough little bump. 

With a sigh, you fetched a folded pack of Camel out of the same stuffed sack, the state of said poor thing utterly matching its owner’s — all ruffled, messy, with the bottom of it barely still intact. Well, fine, perhaps that last trait was not precisely pertinent to you, but your rear was hurting quite palpably after an hour spent sitting on that awfully uncomfortable stool — which meant that relating to your poor box of cancer sticks was inevitable. 

The spark wheel gave in after a few insistent pushes, and within seconds you were taking your first greedy drag, back pressed tightly against the cool wall; providing you much needed support for taming a headache with a smoke break that would undoubtedly cause a new one in an instant. The filth filled your lungs with sweet relief, and you let the sedation run slowly through your veins, squeezing the filter in an affectionate little embrace of trembling index and middle fingers. 

And then your private moment was ruined. But not abruptly in the slightest, with just one simple call of your name – the most careful of all interventions, surprisingly quizzical and polite, heavily accented at the edge of the very last syllable. Still had you choking ungracefully on your tiny nicotine snack, filling the silence with awfully inelegant coughing. 

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” spoke your pensive intruder, causing you to sharply turn around, back clinging off the wall in one unsubtle movement. 

That’s how all meaningful formal meetings happen. Unfailingly when you least expect them, or, even worse — when you stop expecting them at all, with every thought banished from your utterly relaxed mind. They sneak up on you under shitty bars, giving you a slight vertigo and then offering a polite smile to make amends, gripping the handles of their canes with pent up awkwardness. And god were they peculiar intrusions — matching your silly, much too improper manner to wear corporate clothes for a night out, with just a few buttons of their tight vest undone; limbs lanky, but not inept, eyes brimming with pretty copper right onto your astonished frame. Made you randomly embarrassed about your chipped nail polish and messy hair with just a mere presence of their flawlessness: you knew you were facing a tease before you even managed to acknowledge his appearance, brow raising curiously in a cautious attempt of a greeting.

“Well, you did startle me,” was the first thing to leave your mouth after the coughing assault had ended, lips stretching lazily into an involuntary grin. “How do you know my name?” 

His eyes — oh those big shiny tormentors — widened in surprise, and one sinewy hand crawled somewhat haphazardly up his chest, fingers catching the knot of a red tie to pull on it firmly. To either adjust it or to make the clearing of a tender throat easier — you couldn’t quite place it, yet still watched him in silent astonishment, tasting the bitterish taste of tobacco on the tip of your tongue. 

“Well,” he parroted your tone with sharp accuracy and proceeded with distinguished sass, “I believe a certain someone has introduced us to each other… in absentia, so to speak.” 

Oh. So that was your new charming counterpart? Bravo, Jayce — there was actually something truthful about your flattering for the first time. 

“For I am Viktor, in case you’re still confused,” he obligingly reminded, abandoning the brief fidgeting with his tie to offer you a handshake.  

You gulped, almost extending a dominant arm to accept it, but some weird foreboding had once convinced you that to twine your still smelling of cigarettes fingers with a stranger would be somehow perceived as crude — and so you clumsily caught his palm with your other, less nimble limb. Let the heat of his touch engrave into your hand, eyes swirling the tiny mole above that defined cupid’s bow, making you feel stupid for stealing that innocent of a peek. Had you forgetting about the still stuffed into your mouth cigarette as it fell open in oblivious awe, almost dropping a decent bridge of ashes onto his pretty shoes.

Regaining the lost composure, you managed to introduce yourself in a manner similar to his — not that it was necessary since he seemed to remember what to call you exactly, but the gesture still felt right — you’d vowed to treat people with politeness and liked to think that it was going quite well for you. 

“So,” he uttered somewhat approbatory, withdrawing his hand from your tender clasp, “normally I don’t… tutor. But Jayce was rather insistent I try — and he’d also assured me that you’re quite passionate about the subject.” 

You huffed, letting out an undefinable sound of confusion. Not without a mixture of evident irritation to it, if you were to be frank — but that was entirely justified. A tutor? Is that how Jayce really took it? 

“I’m not looking for a tutor,” you sassed matter-of-factly, angrily inhaling from your cigarette. “I’m looking for a counterpart. What makes you think that you’re competent enough to teach me anything at all?” you inquired with candid hostility, watching him go limp in silent panic. 

You’d vowed to treat people with politeness and didn’t care if it wasn’t going well for you anymore. Quite a drastic change of plans, to be frank.

“Oh, I am not claiming that,” Viktor rushed to object, and the way a few strands of hair started shaking treacherously as he wagged his head had almost caused you to crack a pretentious smirk. But he quickly soothed the unkempt curl and proceeded with his explanation, “I was simply told you might need some help. Why the unnecessary attitude?” 

“Because you were told wrong,” you practically spat the smoke into his face, lips smacking together with an audible pop. It made his textured nose wrinkle with a fed up sigh, entertaining you with an ungainly attempt of waving that livid cloud away. 

“And that’s my fault… how, exactly?” he mumbled with an utterly puzzled glare, and you scoffed in silent rejoicement, leaning slightly closer to divert yourself with more of his emotiveness. 

“You should have paid more attention to what Jayce told you,” you jumped over his rhetorical question paying it no mind whatsoever. Though, as you were reminiscing on the events of this exact conversation — your own audacity made you wonder how Viktor managed to refrain from slapping you across the face that very instant. The shitty booze must have turned out not so shitty after all — it sure gave you the nerve, and you were holding onto it a tad bit too tightly. 

But your new companion didn’t take that well. His thick eyebrow protruded into a furious arc, lids twitching slightly at the outburst you were so pathetically proud about. Both hands returned to the handle of his cane, as if getting ready to transform it into a weapon — and he leaned his whole body weight on it with a displeased gasp, accented voice obtaining a lower, more threatening edge to it. 

He’s sweet, you scoffed, ready to press your forehead against his like an uncivilized animal. It’s not like you were acting much better than that anyway. 

Well, at least Jayce didn’t lie about the handsome part. 

“I’ll have you know that I was, indeed, paying attention,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “and if you wish to quibble over the words that do not even belong to me — then fine: be my absolute guest, but do not except me to align with your enthusiasm and partake in useless insults.” 

He cleared his throat again, evidently reluctant to indulge in whatever spectacle you were so clearly asking for. That man didn’t deserve your resentment, but now you certainly deserved his, and so you backed off, fingers twitching haphazardly as they curdled around your cigarette for one last awkward drag, lashes fluttering with palpable nervousness. 

“I was told you needed a tutor — and I sincerely apologize if your request was miscomprehended,” Viktor sighed, and you blinked at him in baffled reverence. Wishing oh so desperately to burn your  always looking for trouble tongue with that still somewhat smoldering tobacco stick. 

“No, I…” you gasped in response, but Viktor held a soothing hand up, stopping you from puking out more of that guilty incoherent nonsense. 

“Please, allow me to finish,” he demanded, and you obeyed — a mere culpable inch away from accidentally swallowing the filter still filling your mouth with a sharp savour of smoke. 

And your submission was appreciated right away. 

“So, as I was saying,” Viktor returned to his lecture with a distinguished cough, “I’m sorry if your request was miscomprehended. But it certainly wasn’t miscomprehended by me, which makes your reaction somewhat… unfair, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” you yielded, nodding in weak agreement. “Yes, totally unfair.” 

“To say the least,” he was quick to add, emphasizing the last word especially heavy.  

“To say the least,” you parroted in response — just like a tamed misbehaving brat. And that’s precisely what you were — humbled, put in your place and sorry. You were sorry, and it made you quiver as you timidly chewed on the inside of an already half-eaten cheek, frantically counting the numerous scratches on your shoes. Doing anything to escape the gentle orbs undressing you off your very flesh in an attempt to find something even you doubted was still there: some prudence. 

“So, with that being said,” Viktor summarized, and you heard a resonant click of his cane against the concrete, “I suggest you take out your anger on someone who’s responsible for the incorrect wording.” 

You dared to abandon your defeated position, head tilting slightly upwards to witness his departure — just as languid as this completely disastrous evening; no offense to Jayce and his special day, of course. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he smiled, politely nodding at the establishment before you two, “I still ought to wish that someone a happy birthday.” 

So that’s how you lose both a battle and a war. He’d just taught you a valuable lesson — and here you were, so appalled to the idea of being tutored. Oh how the tables have turned. 

You reached out a hand for him, preliminarily putting out that damned cigarette to the sole of your messy shoe in a chaotic rush. Grazed his shoulder with a fleeting touch — so cowardly unsure if you were even allowed to pamper such luxury in these conditions. But he showed you some mercy — allowed it to linger there, slightly dipped into the curvature of his clavicle, awaiting your next move with a didactic frown. 

A look of a man who’d put you in a checkmate before even pulling out a chess board. 

“Viktor, I’m sorry,” you muttered with the most sincere remorseful look your face could even master, “I’m terribly sorry, actually. I shouldn’t have—“ but he interrupted you, eyes drifting playfully to the hand still invading his precious privacy. 

“Oh, shit,” you cussed under your breath, hastily pulling it back as if it was leprotic, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Please, continue,” he insisted softly. Gave you a few seconds to finish crumbling into stupid tipsy pieces and stepped back, all of his attention centered precisely on your earnest apology. 

Oh, nevermind, someone please scratch the ‘showed you some mercy’ part.  

“I was rude,” you confessed (as if it wasn’t obvious enough already). “Unacceptably so. I’m not exactly… good with social cues — but it’s no excuse, I should never have said that. Especially within the first five minutes of meeting you,” the words were flowing out of your mouth so naturally — surprisingly smooth for someone who’d normally take three to five business days to come up with a proper atonement (or even consider the necessity of one whatsoever). 

“Do you think I could somehow… make it up to you?” you hit him with your most pitiable arrow, the one you were saving up for special occasions when you really did mean to somehow atone for all the damage, eyes two pretty things seeking his forgiveness with a sporadic, perplexed blink. But they saw none — he’d frowned, hummed in consideration, and then tormented you with silence for just a few more everlasting seconds, making you sink your lips softly into the edge of your nail and scrape some polish off of it. Squinting instantly at the awful, chemical taste — and Viktor finally gave up. 

You’d realized it was your first time hearing him laugh much later. It was, indeed, a thing to remember — all raspy, strangely domestic, not malicious or willing to destroy you any further. And yes — technically, he was laughing at you, but if that’s what you’d get every time this man filled the air with that soft laughter — then you may as well become a circus employee just to figure out how to make him emit more of it.

“All is forgiven,” he assured you, shaking his head, “the second you made that face, actually. But no more of that, please. If that’s how you plead — then I’m afraid I might someday forgive you something utterly unacceptable.” 

He’s sweet, you sighed, an unsure smile returning plastered across your face once again. 

Perhaps you should start listening to Jayce more often. 

“But back to your request,” Viktor was quick not to let you turn into a puddle on that still scorched by the sun ground, “a counterpart — is that what you need? Why not join a chess club, then?” 

His question didn’t mean any harm, and he obviously just asked it out of sheer curiosity — yet it still made you feel a tad bit demeaned. Not by him, of course, just by the fact those arrogant fucks still dared to coexist without you. 

Perhaps they would be willing to reconsider if they saw your behavior tonight? 

You sighed, shrugging off his query. “I tried to. They didn’t let me because I don’t have a rating.”

“Really? Well that’s just strange — since when does one need a rating for it?” his confusion was genuine, eyes widened drastically as if he’d just heard the biggest absurdity of his entire life. 

“That’s what I said,” you whined in a tone of a natural gossip-girl, almost ready to chain-smoke the entire rest of your pack now that you were reminded of your misery. 

“I see,” Viktor hummed, stroking a thumb over the line of his sharp chin in deep scrutiny, “hm, I’m certain I’ve never heard them demand a rating for enrollment before. A club is not a tournament, after all.” 

“Wait, are you a member of our chess club?” the realization quickly absorbed you, but Viktor didn’t quite catch on to your astonishment. 

“Yes,” he dryly confirmed, “yes, I am. Not that I spend much time there though — those gentlemen are simply… how do I put it politely? Mediocre. Incompetent. I don’t like careless opponents — what’s the point in playing them if you can picture how exactly you can win within seconds?” 

Within seconds. You froze in apparent disbelief, trying to figure out whether he’s bluffing or actually being serious, awaiting tensely on something — anything —  that might indicate a joke. But not a single muscle on his pale face twitched into a smile — he’d responded with a look as awfully inquisitive as yours, unsure of what exactly you expect him to do. 

So he does mean it. In that case, he’s either very full of himself — or these boys are, in fact, that hopeless in chess. And something kept telling you that it most likely was the ladder.

“I’m jealous then, I suppose,” you offered him a safe answer, toying thoughtlessly with your poor, rusty lighter. 

“Please don’t be,” he protested with a careful plea. “Envy is a waste of time. You should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.” 

Bold of him to assume you might envy his skills. Well, yes — you were definitely beaming with envy, but he didn’t need to know that just yet. 

You snorted, almost letting that toxic conceit take over whatever pieces of common sense Viktor had just punched back into you — and his words dwelled, slinking through your skull, filling you not with thirst for vengeance, but with inspiration. It gave you some time to form a decent comeback, so you used it wisely: by delivering precisely that kind of answer, eyes rolling playfully at his discreet lecture. 

“I don’t envy your tactics,” you informed him, gracefully holding your head up, “I envy the fact you have someone to show them to.” 

And that boy smiled again, forcing your light vertigo to return — but not out of tipsiness or so-called ‘arrogance poisoning’. 

“So do you,” he whispered, and watched you derail with the most victorious countenance known to a man. Reminding you nonchalantly that he doesn’t need a single chess piece to have you in a stalemate. 

That muggy bar might’ve offered you an experience of being trapped in a figurative, impossibly narrow coffin, but Viktor’s presence was the thing that truly made you feel like an actual cadaver — all empty thoughts, and stiffness, and skipped heartbeats. 

But Jayce forgot to mention that your new competitor was also deeply laconic. 

“Meet me in the library next… Friday, if you’re available?” he wasn’t generous enough to award you with any more seconds to recover from this exchange, impatiently expecting a confirmation. You could only manage a non-verbal one, nodding weakly at his offer. 

“Say… somewhere around noon?” he mused, and you instantly nodded again, waiting obligingly for his next suggestion. What a pleasure it is to do business with you! 

“Perfect,” he snatched the words out of your mouth, already half-turned to the bar entrance, “please bring a board, and I shall bring the clocks… Yes, the library should suffice — it’s not like a game of chess requires much conversation either way. Now, please do excuse me — I really need to steal Jayce away for a minute.” 

You watched him vanish into that devilish, so utterly unfitting for a man of his kind place; eyes nailed into his back as the crowd of feasting people swallowed your new interlocutor. Letting an excited little breath slip past your open mouth, escorting him with an uncoordinated wave of a shaky hand — a rather silly, excessive gesture since he wasn’t able to see it, and yet it still felt right — like a perfect little farewell to strengthen this newfound friendship with. 

That’s how you met your counterpart — or, perhaps, that’s what you used to see in him once. 

What you were still oblivious about — is that this man will conquer you in much more capacities than just the game that brought you two together.

⸻

tags (please let me know if you’d like to be added to them) : @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

[moorishflower]

Apropos of the Addams family post from a few weeks back: Hob meeting Gomez and them immediately vibing. Freak4freak friendship. Taking one look at the horrific sublime and wanting to kiss it with tongue

GOD yes like I have trouble imagining writing Hob meeting Gomez Addams actually because the IPs are so different but if he ever did it would be IMMEDIATE recognition. Same hat vibes. Have you beheld my big beautiful spouse? Behold them and despair (the despair is lovely this time of year)

Like can you imagine Hob attending ANY function in the Dreaming, either as the Dreamlord's husband or his consort? Normal McNormalman wandering around amongst gods and fey and nightmares and angels and being so painfully ordinary and HUMAN that he loops back around to being just. The cryptid in the room. Everyone whispering to each other, "Does anyone know that guy? Who is that? Did he sneak in?"

Hob just happily chatting away eating canapes and mingling and discussing footie with satyrs and shit, and finally some asshole god or demigod strolls on up to him and clears their throat, and demands to know "Who are you? Why are you here? You're just some human."

And Hob blinks his big beautiful brown cow eyes and he says "Oh! I'm here with my husband! Here he is now!" And just simp mode activates IMMEDIATELY. Dream standing there in full nightmare regalia glowering daggers at whoever has dared to impugn the honor of HIS husband, visibly bleeding shadows while the unfortunate guest contemplates how swiftly their mortality is about to be ripped from their still-conscious body, and Hob tucks his arm through Dream's, "How's your night been so far, baby? Good party, the brownies seemed very interested in the latest scores for Manchester, think they might be close to setting up a league of their own, dunno who they'd play against though. Christ, you look fantastic tonight. Doesn't he look fantastic? We should definitely dance later, imagine how you'd look on the floor with all these shadows around you. Phwoar. Are you thirsty, darling?"

"Wine will suffice."

"Sure, love, be right back. Nice talking with you, mate!" And off he trots to the refreshments table, and meanwhile Dream has expanded to roughly 1.5 times his normal height and living darkness wreathes him in an aura of cold sweat and midnight shivers, and he has to lean down almost at the waist to address whoever this unfortunate SOB is. Blinking slow and deliberate, like a lizard eyeing a mouse.

"You are lucky. My husband is in a charitable mood. If you ever speak ill of him again. It will not be his mercy you must seek."

And Hob comes back with two glasses of wine right as Dream is straightening up, and the unfortunate god or demigod looks like they're about to simultaneously weep and piss themselves, and he gives Dream his drink and then in a smooth and seamless motion gets his arm around Dream's waist and dips the 8ft tall nightmare man. Logically, and based on their respective heights, it should not be that easy, but Dream is visibly enjoying it.

"My sweet," Hob is murmuring into Dream's clavicle, "my darling, my Dream. Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?"

"Yes. But tell me again."

And at this point Hob's would-be detractor takes the opportunity to flee, just as Hob is planting a line of smacking kisses up the Dreamlord's neck. "Beautiful," he's saying, "ravishing, stunning, awe-inspiring."

And after that there's a sort of flyer or pamphlet that gets circulated through a bunch of supernatural circles, with Hob Gadling's name and description and picture, THIS IS THE PRINCE-CONSORT OF THE NIGHTMARE KING, HE IS ALLOWED AND ENCOURAGED TO BE HERE.

[lovingdabeessss]

Mini ramble cause I’m tired I’ll expand later probably

Blake and Weiss have trouble with their emotions because of their different kinds of abuse they’ve experienced but they still clearly have them, you know? They talk about them and they talk about it a lot their was a whole arc that was just them talking about their emotions very loudly at each other so having the emotions or expressing it doesn’t really bother them that much

or at least not in every environment, Yang and Ruby are the safest space they got they’ll fight each other to the death around them if they’d let them if you want to have unsavory emotions and unsavory words they’re the two people they’re both comfortable doing it around

It seems like they’re biggest issue with having negative emotions is how other people perceive them and how others react and putting up a front around others unless really comfortable

(What an incredible life changing experience it must’ve been to have that kinda safe space with people who care about you for no reason other then because they do and not for any ulterior motive after so long of not feeling like that to love someone so much you could safely hate them and they’d still ask you include you in ever conversation, it’s like that one measurement of love and comfort where if your kid complains and whines about things you make them do to you then they love you and think your safe to be around and if they’re silent and obedient and distant they think your not)

However with Yang and Ruby it’s not a front they’re not pretending to not feel the emotions they’re actually just not feeling them

They’re refusing to outright

Ruby doesn’t vent till she’s in a universe where GRIM DONT EXIST and then the emotions overwhelm her so much she DIES

Yang does let herself have negative emotions but ONLY anger which is controlled and specifically when she can take that kinda heat she expresses anger not only with the acknowledgment of the risk to herself but also often when other people are also already upset

Yangs semblance is clearly designed to make it easier for her to take hits for others this expression of anger goes along with the fact that it lights her on fire and makes her big and bright she’s making herself a bigger target

Cough cough not subtle metaphor cough cough YOU KNOW LIKE WHAT YOU DO AGAINST BEARS?!?! GOLDILOCKS!?!?!? Cough cough not subtle metaphor cough cough

(And Yang and Ruby will sometimes have breakdowns because of this where everything totally boils over and they have no way of dealing with it and they end up sobbing but even then they usually manage to do it in a closed off room)

Their lives have been centered completely around becoming huntresses and surviving through and killing grim it’s been their whole lives if the grim are attracted to negative emotions it doesn’t matter if you don’t show it on your face it’s GETTING you

To be a hunter you have to choose either:

1- go fucking crazy (all of the teachers at beacon for whatever reason)

2- be good enough at your job to be mentally ill (qrow)

3- DIE

So they just couldn’t feel shit cause they didn’t hav the skill level as children to allow that and survive

And obviously they do feel these things but it’s SOO repressed (Ruby I believe less so but it’s still beneath the surface so she’s good)

Blake and Weiss had a ton of shit to worry about but Blake was always more focused on other people as enemies and only had to personally worry about that after she joined the white fang and learned how to fight and I GENUINELY believe that the forest with Ruby was the first time Weiss’s isolated SKY CITY looking ass ever saw a real grim in person and not her sisters fake ones

And I think this is just really interesting because of how long it might’ve taken Yang and Ruby to realize the difference between their partners and them and why I think it might’ve led to interesting interactions but they’d probably never outright talk about it with them because it might lead to emotions

[svgvru]

i am literally begging you to expand on the pregnancy kink with suguru thirst right now, holy shit. —yuanology

✮ THIRSTIN' OVER...SUGURU! dw pookie i gotchu!! | lets just start off with the fact that ftm! or amab!—suguru geto has a breeding kink, alr. like he has this obsession with the warmth he gets from your cum in him, sometimes he'll ask you to plug his hole with your cock when the both of you r going to sleep. he's always felt so cold. he's always felt so bitter, and just negative. he consumes the worst parts of human life after all, its reasonable that he'd become obsessed with the only thing that can keep him warm and happy. and you know another thing that makes him happy? children. it might just be his hormones, that make him enjoy taking care of children n being around them, but he did take in two five-year-olds, so whats the problem with wanting more?

that's likely the reason why he's so obsessed with having you cum in him. even if he can't get pregnant, he has the fantasy of being round-bellied with your kids. they're adorable, right? why not? and it feels so warm everytime. he'll beg for you to fill him up every time, and if you don't fuck your cum into him he'll cry. he's also the type to fuck your cum back into him if it starts to drip from him. and if you buy into it??? oh, get ready for a mess. phrases like:

"fill me up, please!"

"make me mommy..." *trust—he's crying "i can be a good mommy!"

"make me round wit'your cum!"

...are phrases that he's constantly moan in your ears! and hes always so polite and end with a high-pitched 'please!'

phrases like:

"lets make a baby, yeah?"

"i bet you'd be a pretty mommy."

"want me to get your tummy round with my baby? bet you'd look gorgeous."

...that you say to him would get him cumming n fast.

(he lowkey loves feminization...he just does that shit on accident. "im a good girl, i can take it!" he's a SLUT) he'll beg you to fuck him till he's sticky with cum and can't think. i mean he has fantastic stamina as a sorcerer, it'd be a perfect match.

꒰ n: idk what else to write. ill probably come up with something else later. actually...i feel like i went overboard lol. hope i did this justice 😀👍🏾 ꒱

[sunnixsunshine]

Gonna just post this all together lol uh big post, lots of words, whatever, enjoy

Anyway, meet Roronoa Hikoboshi and Orihime! Hikoboshi resembles Zoro’s dad, he takes over the restaurant eventually while Sora is off sailing, Shinjiro is off sailing, and Takehiko is just causing massive amounts of problems to every type of authority out there lol. Orihime is actually Pudding’s daughter, her only child in fact. Idk, Pudding just eventually gets over Sanji(good, hes way too old for you sweetie tbh; narratively I enjoy their story but ooooooof couldnt she have been at least 18?), meets a new gentleman whos just as kind to her. He, too, has an interest in baking and they open a bakery together, which eventually moves to the exact oart of the All Blue where Sanji resides. Hikoboshi and Orihime meet when theyre 15/16 years old and immediately theyre pretty infatuated. With Orihime being a fairytale and love at first sight kind of gal and Hikoboshi being just as much as a hopeless romantic as his father. When the two want ther parents to meet—its pretty awkward at first lol

Hikoboshi and Orihime is directly inspired by the myth and Tanabata festival itself. As I said, Hikoboshi more so resembles his grandfather Arashi. Orihime is supposed to look like her father the most, however I wanted to play with the idea of her resembling Big Mom a bit? Mostly just the hair honestly, which starts off as brown but as he gets older it gradually changes to pink. Which makes me think about the possibility of Pudding maybe holding some kind of issues against her early on???? Idk but I would like to explore the idea! Btw, their moles are supposed to reflect their respective stars’ positions, Vega and Altair!

But anyway heres my designs for Zoro’s parents. Arashi was s two swords style user trying to work his way up to three swords style before he died. He grew up an orphan on the very outskirts of the village after both of his parents passed away when he was roughly 10. Tera grew up on the same island but she wasnt born there, her father bringing her there when she was eeeeeh like 4-6. She didnt grow up in the village though, in fact she didnt up grow up having a home town to name, she doesnt know where in the east blue her family is specifically from, they camped out in a tiny cabin in the wood with a few other bandits. She gets lost a lot, which is where Zoro gets it! She actually ended up having to choose between “carrying on the family business” (being a thief) or Arashi, and she chose Arashi because she’s actually really bad ar being a bandit. They met when they were 18, married a year later, but it took four years to finally have a family of their own. And turns out Zoro is the only kid they ever would have. Quick little details; when Arashi was fatally wounded by the pirates attacking the village, his swords were both essentially destroyed and later buried with him. And so was his earring. Same with Tera, who had genetic illness, Huntington’s disease, however she actually died of pneumonia in the winter time, but her Huntington’s symptoms were prevalent and Zoro was aware of what was going on. She, too, was buried with her earring, two of Zoro’s earrings specifically just being replicas in memory of his parents. And gonna state it outright here: no Zoro doesn’t have Huntington’s disease, but it is a fear of his that he pushes off to the back of his mind constantly. Tbh I just think it makes him more human as a character to have such a natural fear, idk.

Something I kinda REALLY wanna expand on is my idea of Arashi and Koushiro having a relationship somewhat similar to Zoro and Kuina; Arashi being a few years younger than Koushiro who has actual training to begin with, Arashi having no formal training, just his parents’ swords that they left behind. Now neither of them even knew they were like distant cousins, to Koushiro Arashi is just this younger kid with an obnoxiously loud desire to go above and beyond to learn two swords style when he doesnt have any formal training nor does he even know one swords style! Koushiro finds Arashi annoying and even talentless—and yet for several years they met in a field so Koushiro could pass his formal lessons onto Arashi. Arashi couldnt learn at the dojo because he couldnt afford it. The lessons would stop once Koushiro is being prepared to take over the dojo one day and also when he meets his future wife—so hes about 21 give or take, Arashi is around 17 at the least. Their relationship was mostly bickering because Koushiro doesnt like Arashi’s rash attitude and tendency to goof off. And Arashi found Koushiro to be uptight and too grown up. Arashi never could surpass Koushiro in a dual, both one sword style and two sword style. Hes just always been several steps behimd Koushiro and that’s what pushed him to train more. Fast forward to present day, and honest to god Koushiro NEVER connected Zoro to being Arashi’s child. For one thing, he didnt know Arashi had a kid, thats how strained they became, and another, Koushiro, to be fair, doesnt even see an ounce of Arashi in this kid whatsoever. The ego and eagerness to go above and beyond, sure, but what little kid ISNT like that?? Anyway, it comes as a shock and a part of him feels more obligated to take care of Zoro after having witnessed Arashi’s death himself years prior when Zoro wouldve only been a toddler.

[maryonaccross]

Hello. I know that team Black blames the Greens over why Rhaenyra's reign as queen was awful, however even in a AU world where Viserys never re-marries and Alicent doesn't exist.

Rhaenyra would have stil been a terrible queen.

Viserys never taught Rhaenyra how to rule. He should have been raising her in preparation for a leadership role by having her in the small concil, teaching her the art of politics and what she needed to do to maintain peace in the kingdom. Whoever Rhaenyra would marry would have to agree to live in King's Landing. So. Rhaenyra could remain by her father's side and learn her role as his heir.

2. Rhaenyra never took her role seriously. She believes firmly in the divine right of kings and that she as a Targaryen is claim enough for her to take the crown, despite her knowing that her cousin Rhaenys was denied and she would have been a more effective ruler then Viserys.

3. Rhaenyra's recklessness contributes to her downfall. She does whatever she likes and doesn't care about the consequences. She heavily relies upon her father and later Daemon to bail her out then not accept any personal responsibility for her getting herself into this meses.

4. All of Rhaenyra's children are illegitimate. Her eldest by Harwin Strong even by Daemon, because her first husband isn't dead. The real reason she sequestered herself on Dragonstone was to hide her children away because she cannot handle any criticism. Her answer to it is violence. That always ends well. LOL.. looking at you Maegor.

She has isolated herself political. Not trying to expand or gain influence outside of her very limited family circle. No allies means no help when she needs it.

People in the realm may not have been thrilled with the idea of a female ruler but they would rather have Rhaenyra as queen then see Daemon as king. His violent reputation was known to all. So. What does she do? Marry the very person the realm was against and make him consort.

5. Rhaenyra's ego and her vanity was her downfall. She never thought about her position from an idealistic standpoint. What she could do to improve the country and make the people's lives better. usher in a golden age. She wanted power for power's sake.

Rhaenyra's rule was always destined to end badly but with Daemon by her side, being her enabler and corrupting her with his nature. It is no wonder centuries after her death she was still despised in the country.

To me Aegon’s “I tRy sO haRD” attitude to being the kings firstborn son is the equivalent of Rhaenyra’s “ I learned that I have to earn my inheritance” mentality towards being the named heir.

I hate what the writers did with Aegon’s character (TGC is the only saving grace) but I fundamentally disagree with the common notion that show Aegon and Rhaenyra are polar opposites of each other because they are both equally unsuited for the role of the heir and share a equally unserious attitude towards the job. (At least Aegon is able to admit he’s ill suited while Rhaenyra gaslights the shit out of herself “earned my inheritance” my ass, you did nothing.) I agree 100% with all your points, I even made posts about some of them but this sums it up perfectly. Neither Aegon or Rhaenyra are aware of the responsibilities of their position (Nyra might have been in the first few episodes but got bored pretty quickly when she realized she’d actually have to stuff and make sacrifices for the realm), they don’t form good alliances (although at least Aegon did his duty in marrying Helaena and having legitimate heirs which Rhaenyra doesn’t have a single one of) or try to endear themselves to the people they will one day rule.

The advantage Aegon has is that he has advisors around him (Otto and Alicent and most of Viserys’ small council) that have ruled the realm peacefully for years in Viserys stead while Rhaenyra’s only source of political inspiration is Nepobaby Daemon who couldn’t hold any small council position for the life of him and who firmly believes that having a dragon and “being the blood of the dragon” is all it takes to rule.

About Viserys, there’s this really interesting post that explains how Viserys tied both fractions to him by never finalizing his decision of naming Nyra heir and always keeping his decision vague.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 14: “Feed me poison, fill me til I drown”

Read it on Ao3

- Time & the Chain

- Summary: Time grows ill by no ordinary sickness

CW for poisoning and all the horrifying symptoms that come with it (including vomiting and severe shortness of breath) and kidnapping

———————————-

The inn has become outrageously loud.

Time isn’t certain when it went from the usual hubbub of gathered humanity to an overwhelming cacophony of noise. All he knows is that he needs to get away from it. Now. Before he gives in to the urge to curl up on the floor in fetal position.

Strange. He can’t recall the last time he yearned to do that.

It has been years, to be certain. Years since a small child hid in a Castle Town alleyway because it had all, very suddenly, grown to be too much.

Time drags in a breath that doesn’t fully fill his lungs and pushes himself to his feet. If he steels himself, perhaps, he can look purposeful rather than panicked.

“What’s up, old man?”

Legend is staring at him from where he sits on a bench, wedged between Wild and Hyrule. He raises an eyebrow.

“You heading to bed already?”

Time tries to smile. It comes out feeling more like a grimace.

When had it grown so cold in here?

It feels as though the winds of Snowhead have swept in through the swinging double doors. He shivers slightly and the small movement makes the pounding in his head a hundred times worse.

“I’m actually headed outside,” he says, his own voice sounding strangely far away. “I just need a bit of air.”

They’re all watching him now, varying levels of concern on their faces.

“Are you alright?” Sky asks.

Time nods. “Don’t worry about me. It’s just a bit stifling in here is all. I’ll be back in soon.”

Most of them still look worried, but he can hardly afford to stand here, assuring them of his good health. The room is closing in now and blurring slightly at the edges. If he doesn’t get out soon…

With a desperate sort of abruptness, Time turns on his heel and heads for the door.

The main streets of Castle Town are still busy. The inn is relatively out of the way, though, situated snuggly in the back of the town. Few people come down here and Time is glad of it. With a sigh of relief he leans back against the wall.

…only for his legs to give way seconds later.

The ground tips beneath his feet, his stomach lurches, and suddenly he finds himself on his hands and knees. He stares down at the cold cobblestone, trying vainly to comprehend what has just happened. He had been fine a half an hour ago — he had been fine mere seconds ago, save of course, for the sudden onset of a migraine and the dizziness and cold and the way the room had surged and shrieked like a monster let loose…but those had been…

Time’s eye widens slightly. A series of shives rage through him, sudden and unbidden and terrible. They make his teeth chatter so hard he has to grit them together to keep from biting his tongue.

Something is wrong, he realizes, somewhat dazedly. Very wrong. He has suffered enough illnesses, enough injuries to know this one is not normal.

But his head has begun to feel heavy, his thoughts as sluggish and thick as the fog of the Lost Woods. And though he grasps for it, the answer he seeks hovers just out of reach.

Then, it flees entirely, replaced instead by sheer panic.

He can’t breathe.

He tries, fighting to draw precious air through airways that suddenly feel too tight. But he only manages a half-breath that leaves him feeling dizzy. Desperately, he inhales once more.

But his lungs don’t expand to welcome the air he craves. Instead, the pounding in his head intensifies. And in the next moment, his stomach rebels violently. He pitches forward and vomits.

There’s blood in it, he notes, blearily. That’s more than a little worrying.

Or it would be if he could think past the immediate conglomeration of dizziness and pain and a hazy sort of directionless fear.

A shudder rages through him. His body decides it no longer has the strength to hold itself up. He collapses sideways and his surroundings tip with him, streetlights smearing golden light across a navy sky, buildings elongating unnaturally.

For a terrible moment, he is certain that he’s falling. And maybe he’ll keep falling, down, down, down into endless darkness and he’ll be trapped again, imprisoned in a world that won’t remember him, a world destined to be destroyed.

But then his shoulder connects painfully with something hard and he realizes he is lying on the cobblestones.

Still fighting to breathe. And now to swallow. It feels as though his entire throat is closing itself off. Soon he won’t have any air at all.

This has all escalated rather quickly, he thinks with an absurd, giddy sort of mirth. And to think all he had wanted was fresh air. Unfortunately, for him there is none to be had.

Another round of shivers come, tearing his aching body apart, stealing what little breath he still has. It drives away the odd hilarity, brings back the panic of before.

He needs to get up. He needs to find help. But even speaking seems an insurmountable challenge.

Time squeezes his eye shut. His fingernails are sharp against his palm, but the pain grounds him, keeps him awake. And somehow, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he has to stay awake.

Nausea roils in him again. He gags, tasting blood and the remnants of dinner. Dimly, he wonders how long ago it was when he sat with the other heroes, listening to them laugh and tell stories over bowls of warm stew. It feels like an eternity has passed since then. But he doubts that that is true.

Either way, the thought of food makes his stomach protest. There is nothing left in it now to expel. Yet his body tries anyway, violently. Clearly, it wants whatever is inside of him, out.

Poison.

The realization finally breaks through. But it’s too late to entertain the fresh wave of panic. He is fading now, the taste of blood pungent on his tongue, stones cold against his skin. Even if he had the strength to do more than lie here and attempt to breathe, it wouldn't do him any good. He doesn’t know how to deal with poison. He’s never had to learn.

Footsteps sound now. He registers them, distantly, through a fog he can’t find his way out of. Then, voices reach him, muffled by the whirring in his ears.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s still breathing. I can hear his wheezing from here. Pathetic.”

“Besides, we never wanted him completely dead, remember? Just very, very close. Now, come on. You know what to do.”

Hands grasp his arms and roughly haul him up. Ropes snake around his wrists and pull tight. A cloth finds its way into his mouth. And all the while his every instinct screams at him to run, to struggle, to fight. But his limbs are leaden, unable to even keep him upright. He slumps heavily in his captor’s grasp.

“He won’t last much longer without the antidote.”

“Well, we don’t have much longer before the others worry and come to check on him. We go now. He’ll last until we get where we need to be.”

They begin to drag him. His feet are uncooperative, unable to even catch on the stones as they move forward. Darkness dances tantalizingly before him. He tries and fails to take another breath.

“It’s better this way,” he hears them say faintly, in the moments before he plunges into oblivion, “to keep him in this state. The Hero of Termina…he isn’t one you should underestimate.”

[fictionadventurer]

@ellakas I'm so glad you asked!

Zachary Taylor is one of those presidents that no one talks about in history class. But the thing is, in the 1840s, everyone was talking about him. He was the war hero of the Mexican-American War. The war itself (a blatant land grab by President Polk) was unpopular, but Taylor emerged as a beloved hero, because was a really good military commander, and because stories emerged about how humanely he treated Mexican prisoners.

Taylor was so popular that both political parties asked him to be their candidate in the next presidential election. He had never held political office. Never shown interest in politics. He had never even voted in a presidential election before! (His reasoning was that, as a military man, he didn't want to serve a commander-in-chief that he had voted against). Yet he was eventually persuaded to run--and win--as the Whig Party candidate.

(Fun fact! His wife, who had no interest in being a politician's wife, prayed that he'd lose the election. Taylor also showed his religious convictions by refusing to be sworn in on a Sunday, so his inauguration was delayed by a day, leaving the US president-less for twenty-four hours).

Even after he was president, Taylor had no interest in playing politics. He wanted to serve the country, not the party. He refused to play political games, purposely not appointing some of the big names of the party to his Cabinet so he could have more diverse voices representing a wider swath of the country. Still in the military mindset of "I give orders and people obey", he was frustrated that he was constantly questioned by Congress, and was very much at odds with them.

The big issue of his presidency was the fact that the US had just gained a ton of land from Mexico, and they had to decide if they'd enter the Union as slave or free states. Since Taylor was a slave-owning Southerner, the Southern Democrats hoped he'd side with them. But Taylor didn't want to expand slavery. First, because it's dumb--it's not like we can grow cotton or sugar in New Mexico or Arizona, so why would we even need plantations? But also because he was coming under the influence of some of the most vocal anti-slavery New York Whigs. To the great anger of the Democrats, Taylor said he wanted California to enter immediately as a free state, and would prefer all the territories to be free states. Before the issue could be resolved, he died. He got violently ill after Fourth of July celebrations in 1850 (because the White House water was still contaminated by human feces), and died five days later, after only a year and a half in office.

A year and a half isn't much time to make an impact. But I'm still fascinated by this president. He was a wonderful mess of contradictions. He was a Southern slave-owner who joined the Northern anti-slavery party. He was against all talk of secession--on the grounds of "I spent forty years serving this country and I want it to stay in one piece"--even though his son-in-law was (I'm not kidding) future president of the Confederacy Jefferson Davis. As a slave-owner and US military leader in the 1800s, he logically can't be a totally good guy, yet I get the sense that he was genuinely trying to be, in the context of his time. And he was showing signs of further character development. If he had lived, who's to say what he could have become, what he could have done?

But we'll never know, because his death left the country in the hands of Millard Fillmore, possibly the most aggressively mediocre man ever to become president (though I have high hopes for Chester Arthur). He actually has a pretty amazing origin story. He was the son of a dirt-poor farmer who apprenticed him to a cloth-maker in what became an indentured servitude situation. He scraped up enough money to buy his freedom and return home. Growing up, the only book he had to read was the Bible, until he turned 17 and bought himself a dictionary. At 20, he started taking adult classes to finally get the education he'd been denied; his teacher was a woman two years older than him who he eventually married. He became a lawyer, and then went into politics, serving in the New York State Legislature. He authored no significant bills. Made no big impact. The main traits people noticed about him were "tall" and "good-looking" (Queen Victoria did later call him the most handsome man she'd ever met). He was just kind of... there.

He was picked as Taylor's vice president for much the same reason Taylor was recruited as presidential candidate--he was moderate enough to appeal to both sides of the polarized political spectrum. New York was the home of the most vocal anti-slavery Whigs, but Fillmore was moderate on the slavery issue. As vice president presiding over the Senate, people mentioned he was "very fair" in how he let both sides speak. And that's like...the best people can say about him.

The question of the slave states eventually produced a bill that came to be known as the Compromise of 1850. Taylor--the enemy of compromise--was against it. Fillmore, a few days before Taylor's death, stated he would support it. After Taylor died, his entire Cabinet resigned rather than serve under a president who supported the Compromise. When the bill passed, Fillmore signed it into law.

The Compromise stated 1) California would enter the union as a free state; 2) the slave trade would end in Washington D.C.; 3) The other territories would decide for themselves if they wanted to allow slaves or not. Most importantly, it put the Fugitive Slave Act into effect, requiring all citizens, even in Northern states, to help return runaway slaves to their owners. The North was outraged over the Fugitive Slave Act; they wanted nothing to do with the practice of slavery and now the government was forcing even free states to support the institution. This law was meant to bring together both sides and prevent war, but it probably had the opposite effect, deepening the divide and hastening the plunge toward armed conflict.

This has led historians to speculate--if the more forceful, principle-driven Taylor had lived, could the path to Civil War at least have been delayed? No way to say, of course; maybe Taylor's solution would have made things worse. But the contrast between these two presidents is so fascinating. In Taylor, you have the apolitical war hero who sticks to his guns--the increasingly anti-slavery slave owner. Meanwhile, Fillmore is a bland politician from the most anti-slavery state who refused to speak against slavery--a man who never really achieved anything because he never really stood for anything. They're such complex characters, full of irony and contradictions, and I'm outraged that my history classes completely skipped over them on the way to Lincoln.

[royboyfanpage]

roygarth headcanons and motifs?

Okay I wanna just give a disclaimer that I am not a Garth expert, I've only really read him in Titans comics (though I did read Tempest 1996 specifically for this ask), also Roygarth isn't my OTP, I do ship it but it's not something I've thought about in great length, so my apologies if I've gotten Garth's character wrong or if my interpretation of the ship is different to yours/OOC. Also I've not made any in depth ship posts before, I'm more of a passive observer of ships, so apologies if this sucks ass generally.

For it to work in canon, a very strong aspect of it would have to be communication. Roy doesn't always pick up on when he's done something that's upset someone, and Garth can become quite vocally angry if someone upsets/hurts him. I really wish that the progress they'd made in Titans (1999) #16 was expanded on in later comics because I think if they got past that initial barrier of miscommunication they could have such a good relationship. They're actually pretty similar in some ways, they both love very strongly and are fiercly protective of the people they love, but there are differences, too. Roy's very much an immediate reactor in a lot of cases, he reacts immediately when something upsets him and forgives just as fast, whereas Garth can let things fester/build over time and then eventually lash out in a much angrier way, so communication is definitely the most important aspect.

I don't think that they'd ever be the perfect honeymoon couple, there are always gonna be some things about both of them that drive each other insane. I can't see Roy completely dropping all the teasing, and I also can't see Garth suddenly becoming totally okay with it because Roy's explained he's only kidding. However, I do see it becoming more of an exasperation rather than actually pissing him off, and if they were to get closer I could see it becoming more mutual, good-natured teasing. I also think that they'd get better at resolving arguments too, and that they wouldn't escalate as far once a mutual level of trust's been built up. I think Garth kinda has an expectation that people are out to get him sometimes or that they underestimate his worth, so once that's been addressed and Garth's assured that Roy has no ill-will or negativity towards him then he'd be less likely to lash out and more understanding that that's just Roy's way of showing affection.

It's absolutely a slowburn relationship that would take a lot of time to develop. They're not gonna wake up one morning and realise they love each other and should date. I think, if anything, Cerdian would be a really good way for them to actually fall in love with each other (let's say for the sake of this, Cerdian's fine and Garth and Dolphin split up). I think being able to bond over being parents would absolutely open new opportunities for their relationship, and one of the things Roy looks for in a romantic partner is how well they get along with Lian, so another parent would definitely be a good choice of partner for him, especially since Garth already adored Lian even before Cerdian was born and he and Roy had their talk in purgatory. Plus them co-parenting Lian and Cerdian would be adorable.

I still think that the nicknames would persist, but they'd definitely become more terms of affection as they entered a relationship. Maybe not Gill-head specifically since Garth's explicitly stated he doesn't like that one, but other affectionate fish-related ones for sure. Also they'd keep calling each other Speedy and Aqualad affectionately.

Aaand from a more fanon-y perspective, I think Roy'd definitely be the one to initiate much of the physical affection. I 100% see him as a hugger, so I can imagine him just pulling Garth into hugs or dragging him over to the sofa to cuddle. Garth I can see as more of a spontanious kisser. Both of them go bright red whenever the other surprises them with affection. Also they should do the percabeth underwater kiss.

Anyway this is a family

[etherealcheol-mp3]

White Carnations, Red Roses (and other perfumed words I hide behind) [TEASER]

Pairing: Seungcheol x reader (ft other svt members)

Genre/warnings: fluff, humor, sorta enemies to lovers, misunderstandings, flower shop owner!Y/N, landord!Seungcheol, tags will be updated later on when the actual fic is completed

Word count: TBD

Summary: You were just starting to foolishly believe that your move to a new city wasn't as bad as people had told you it would be. You had your best friend as your roommate, your new flower shop was running relatively smoothly after the grand opening, and everyone you had met so far had been nothing but kind to you. And then you met Choi Seungcheol.

A/N: i hate writing summaries oh god i promise this fic won't be as bad at the summary makes it sound...anyway !! hi ! new fic on this blog that i haven't really touched in a l o n g time. hopefully, i don't give up on this fic and get back to writing like before but these are just simply baby steps for me so we'll see how this goes. please let me know what you think and if you'd be interested in reading this fic because i could use the motivation lmao. other than that, thank you for reading this and cheers to new beginnings !!

Perfumed Words (floriography) - "Once a form of clandestine communication, the language of flowers was a silent dialogue — an unspoken way to converse with friends, lovers..."

Flowers are said to represent many different things. On a basic level, they can express love, happiness, gratitude, condolences, congratulations, well wishes, and more. To those who look a little deeper, each flower has its own unique meaning and representation. It’s these more intricate meanings that make owning a flower shop so fun to Y/N. People will come in every day searching for flowers to fit a multitude of occasions and only deem the ‘prettiest’ ones worthy of their money, not at all aware that the bouquet they just purchased for an anniversary is full of flowers that represent rejection, foolishness, and ill-nature. Of course, there are the people that want to hear all about flower meanings and how to best express their desired message, but after moving to a bigger, more urban city in order to expand the once small flower shop owned in your hometown, the amount of patience customers seemed to have to hear about the symbolism of the flowers they picked had greatly lessened.

You grunted softly, dropping the large bag of potting soil on the ground. The new shop had only been open for about two weeks but there was still a desperate need for organization in the back areas, hidden from the view of customers. “That was all of them right?” Chan asks as he pants lightly, leaning his side against the wall of the storage room. Chan was one of your only part-timers and a lifelong best friend. Growing up next door to one another in a neighborhood full of teenagers and newborns almost guaranteed a solid friendship as you were the only two kids around the same age who also went to the same school. Chan had helped you learn to ride a bike and you had cried while playing hide and seek one time since it had been close to an hour and you hadn’t found him. As you got older, you stayed close and Chan was one of the biggest supporters in your life when you decided you wanted to open your own flower shop. 

You laughed breathily at the boy next to you who was now dramatically trying to check his pulse. You push his shoulder gently as you move to walk back out to the front of the store. “I bet you regret saying you would go to university in the city now, huh?” Chan snorts at that, wrapping his arms tightly around you from behind to trap you in a bone-crushing hug, rubbing the side of his face against yours for good measure. You try to escape but he only holds you tighter, earning a loud groan from you, “Why would I regret moving with my bestest friend in the world? School has nothing to do with my undying loyalty to you,” You can’t help but laugh at that, finally freeing yourself from his arms and turning to face him. “Cut the shit, Lee Chan, we both know you’re only here because I have an extra bedroom in my apartment and could give you a job.” His shit-eating grin doesn’t falter as he extends his arms out for another hug, “Exactly what I said! Undying loyalty!”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile on your face. “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you show me that undying loyalty of yours by watering the plants in the greenhouse for me,” You smile sweetly while pushing a water spritzer into his chest. The way the smile on his face drops at your words makes you laugh lightly. He grumbles a bit but grabs the tools he needed and heads to the back door, raising his middle finger without turning back as you call out a sweet ‘Thank you!’. Chan was younger than you by a few years and the time for him to start university just so happened to overlay the time you decided to move the location of your shop for a much-needed expansion. You were lucky the area you settled on wasn’t too far from where you currently lived and Chan was even luckier that his dream school wasn’t far either. The small commercial strip you found with a space for rent seemed too good to be true at first. The area was popular and well developed with a large variety of stores surrounding yours. So far all the owners you had met were friendly and welcoming too. 

You were almost immediately invited to game night by the owner of the coin karaoke, Soonyoung, who was two shops down from yours, and the manager of his place, Seokmin, looked as if he would cry if you declined the offer. When you agreed and met up with them later that night you met the co-owners of the souvenir shop across the street, Jeonghan, and Joshua, and Chan hit it off with the part-timer of the record shop who everyone called Vernon. The two found out they were both attending the same university in the upcoming semester starting in just a few weeks and you felt relief that Chan wouldn’t be completely on his own. 

Everyone seemed to get along with one another and you were excited to slowly start joining the group for future get-togethers. The one person you couldn’t seem to get a clear read on was the landlord and property owner of the shops. You had met briefly twice: when you expressed interest in the vacant lot and when you signed your lease. Seungcheol was his name, and he always seemed to be in a rush whenever you met him, always leaving as quickly as possible with a tight smile and tired eyes. He was around the same age as you and the other shop owners and you assumed for a guy in charge of so many tenants he was just understandably busy. 

You were mindlessly sweeping behind the check-out counter in the front of your store when the small chime of the bell above the front door drew your attention. You called out over your shoulder without fully turning to face the person, “Hi, I’m sorry but we’re closed for the day,” resting the broom against the wall, you brushed your hands off on your green apron and turned around to give the person your full attention. “I can’t even come in to see how you’re settling in?” The question catches you off guard, as does the presence of Seungcheol lightly stroking the petal of one of the white carnations on display. He looks up at you after a bit, cocking his brow slightly with a warm smile. He looks relaxed today, not as rushed and fidgety as your prior encounters, and the tan short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing hugs his previously hidden biceps wonderfully. 

You blink once, then twice before you let out a soft, “Oh.” Seungcheol moves his hand from the delicate petals and crosses his arms over his chest while turning to face you fully. “I didn’t know you’d uh, didn’t know you would stop by…today,” You don’t know why you feel so nervous under the man's gaze but the light chuckle that leaves him makes you feel weak in the knees. He begins to walk up to the counter you’re still standing behind and you feel your eyes widen slightly. “I like to surprise my tenants every once in a while. Make sure they’re getting their money’s worth from their rent.” You nod slightly at that, looking down at the counter between the two of you to avoid his gaze. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense, I mean you-” he cuts you off with a gentle yet firm tone. “I also make sure they’re following the rules. They’re very strict here.”

Your head snaps up to meet his. His face looks serious and you can’t help but furrow your brows at his words. “Rules?’ You question quietly. He nods and his face holds the same serious expression as before. “This is a strictly business-only zone during operating hours. We can all be friends and whatever else when stores are closed but outside of that it’s rivalry and competition only.” You tilt your head in utter confusion and let out a “What?” that ends up being the loudest and most stable word you’ve spoken to him so far. The corner of his lips twitches just slightly upwards at that before he continues. “Every month rent is due, this isn’t news,” You narrow your eyes as he speaks, unsure if you’re going to like where this goes, “However, the shop with the highest sales for the month gets a benefit.” You raise an eyebrow at his vague explanation and cross your arms over your chest. “What does that have to do with rent, or being friendly with one another during business hours?”

Seungcheol sighs with a shake of his head, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans before meeting your eyes with a look of amusement. “Let’s just say the benefit is good enough that some good old-fashioned business rivalry and...sabotage, I guess you could say, is perfectly normal. If you don’t want to see your little flowers cut up or your water supply blocked then I would suggest you stick to the rules.” You let out a scoff of disbelief as he finishes. “I find it really hard to believe any of the people I’ve met so far would do anything like that, and I also find it insane that you would even allow it if it ever did.” 

Seungcheol smiles at your words, enjoying the anger he can see beginning to grow. He leans over the counter slightly to get even closer to you before he speaks lowly, “You don’t know me or anyone else here like you might think you do. I really hope you’ll be able to last long enough to do that, but from what I see, you and your little flowers won’t make it to Christmas. It’s not like your sales would help you anyway.” You glare at him and clench your jaw at his words. You’re stuck in a trance of anger and disbelief and don’t even realize he’s walked away and out the front door until you hear the light chime from the bell once again. You’re unable to move as you replay the scene again and again in your head, only being brought back by Chan dramatically exclaiming his relief at once again being in a building with air conditioning. He sees your rigid stance and feels his eyes widen at the expression on your face. 

“Y/N…are you good?” He asks hesitantly, unsure of what he missed while he was out. “I’m good,” you let out a deep breath as you meet his eyes, “I just need to go pick up a few things.” Chan looks confused as you walk past him to the back office space and grab your things, ready to leave. “What things?” He asks, following behind you and quickly ridding himself of his matching green apron as you quickly walk to the front door, flipping the open sign to display ‘Closed’. “Just some things to help me prove an asshole wrong,” You speak casually with a smile that Chan recognizes all too well. “Shaving cream or duct tape?” He asks in slight fear of the answer, letting out a sigh of disdain at the answer. “Lemons.” 

“Oh fuck.”

[skybristle]

Someone somewhere is evil, why, how

Was it maw?? Idk I got bad memory

Explain

I will be watching

rbs > likes

I hesitate to call anyone evil because they all just kinda have their own crazy interlocking mental illnesses that drive them to do terrible things to and with eachother. that said. YEAH MAW IS. I could argue Starlight is the main perpetrator becayse maw wouldn't have hurt another iterator without her influence butttt you asked about maw so I will respond.

maw, even for an iterator, has a hell of a God complex going on. immense greed and solitude driving her to maintain the cult of her colony. she was actually a very generous god, if ruthless, but Hella xenophobic to both other iterators whom she considered lowly in comparison to her divine splendor and also anyone trying to immigrate into her colony as it upsets her sense of control.

this is. uhm. kind of a problem since around when she's built is when the great equalizer really hits full force and ancient kind is scrambling for any space avaliable. ash is a clusterfuck ATM, sparks is full, and maw has used her puppet admin to close immigration. and their group is fairly isolated. so. like. yikes ! they start scrambling for space on sparks and keep building on top of her, and at some point have to expand horizontally and extend her structure. sounds cool! except when you consider theyre doing the construction while she's fully awake, the extra processing power is overclocking and overstimulating the shit out of her, all while she's trying to tend to a mega colony. it's fucking hell and she begs ash to do something to get maw to share the burden, anything to make it stop. and. hold on I wrote a broadcast abt this

so maw basically says "L get fucked" because she refuses to submit to lower gods who can't even control their people. this kind of is the root of all of sparks trauma and hrr eventual actions against her and ash but this is abt maw.

after mass ascension... she kinda has a crisis because. no worshippers! so naturally she creates purposed organisms to inhabit her can. however it eventually goes arwy and they start ripping eachother apart. and maw just finds this cathartic and is like 'oh really? let me show you real carnage' and just keeps bioengineering more insane shit. in her own little bubble ignoring everyone 'below her' for a very long time. hypocritically she also fucking hates sparks soo much for her false seniority and her superior power [from the expansion maw directly caused....] and other things but. that doesn't really matter until later and sparks is terrified of her so they don't interact.

this is a side point but the gladiator campaign happens somewhere around here. Hella busted slugcat in her brutal can who must impress her to escape. they end up 'fightinf' her [trying to survive her boss fight long enough] and they're the one to bite and break her antenna LOL

until.... overseers of pale pink manage to squeeze through her can, and, eventually, Starlight reaches her and speaks of her [and whispers] work to get them off the string. u see maw wouldn't care but both of them are soo vulnerable and just ripe for the taking! and God is she desperate to fufill her complex. they mainly want her help for the ability to bioengineering to break iterator internals, most primarily the arm to free the puppet. so maw makes them kneel and beg for divine aid [or starlight anyways. yes it is as homoerotic as you imagine]. they kind of drive whispers away and just loop into eachothers worst desires. driving starlight deeper into her irrational and desperate impulses and maw deeper into violence and wrath rather than godlike benevolence. maw basically loaded starlights gun and gave her threats to remove herself from her structure credence.

so eventually they turn on whispers, who's fallen out of use to them and is already growing more fearful and growing wise. the final catalyst is them spotting colorburst being sent to ash as an attempt to wake him and invoke his seniority to stop them by whispers.

maw sends the purposed organisms she designed to whispers can and they rip their puppet free. against their will. but they get the chance for one final scream, an emergency broadcast that becomes complete pandemonium for their group...

anddd I'll cut it there. more questions r welcome but this post is getting Hella long