#is this bad

[astrxsee]

y’all i need help after this.. part 1 part 2 bowler!price x bartender!reader

the loud clinking of ice and bowling pins being toppled over filled your ears. it was another wednesday night at your part time job at the alley. your feet were sore from restocking coolers, filling buckets, and greeting customers. usually, you dreaded working here but the past couple of weeks have been… interesting.

your shift was now filled with flirty comments and tense glances. john’s eyes never left you when you were near him, no matter what he was doing. his bright blues followed your body, a small smirk on his face when you meet his gaze.

it was as if he was watching you, making sure none of the old, nasty bowlers touched you. like you were his.

john loved to mess with you, loved to see your face flush around him. he’d try to trip you, get in your way, or make teasing comments about your clothes. his actions always met with a disapproving eye roll from you. on the inside, though, the rush of even just talking to him almost made you pass out.

“hey, y/n, are you good with computers?” john’s deep voice calls from behind you, breaking you out of your haze. you turn around, easily letting a sweet smile onto your face.

“yeah actually, what can I help you with?” you say, with a slight giggle. deciding to be bold, you slide smoothly into the chair next to him. he tries to hide the smile on his face at your closeness.

“think you could go put us in as the winners for today?” his words make you laugh, totally catching you off guard. league wasn’t even halfway over.

“mmm… i’m sorry sir, I don’t think I can do that for you.” you giggle out, giving his bicep a teasing slap. you shake your head as he rolls his eyes at you.

“what, are you doing that bad i have to fix it for you?” his eyes go wide in feigned hurt, gasping slightly. you glance up at the scoreboard, seeing his first two frames were not the best. a stern swat to your thigh quickly has your attention back on john, his blue eyes finding yours.

“watch, now that you finally came and talked to me, princess,” he murmurs lowly, leaning in close to your lips, “I’ll be the best one on the team.”

and when you look back at the scoreboard five minutes later, he’s got four strikes in a row.

———

it’s a lazy sunday morning when your phone buzzes, a text message from april, your coworker, lighting up your screen.

april<3

girl, your man is here with his WIFE??

HES MARRIED

GIRL WHAT she literally looks exactly like you i’m dead

lmao they act like they hate each other 😭

the sudden flurry of texts had your mind racing… he was married but he still looked at you like you were his. you dragged a hand down your face, groaning.

of course he was married, how could someone as handsome and capable as john not be married. all that happened between you two was nothing more than flirting, and that was all that it would ever be.

though, you couldn’t help but to think about him when touching yourself that night.

———

your eyes are trained on the muscles of his back as he leans over to untie his bowling shoes. deciding that it was now or never, once again, you softly sit down into the seat beside him. his lazy, hypnotic smile greedily draws your gaze immediately.

facing him, you finally notice how close you two are. with your thighs and shoulders touching, you can’t help the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“um, we’re about to close, do you want anything else?” you say softly, making sure he knew he was the only one that could hear.

his eyes drop to your hands in your lap as he leans back slightly. you sit there, restless, as his gaze hungrily rakes up your body.

“yeah, i definitely want something else.” john says lowly, his eyes finally meeting yours. looking up at him through your eyelashes, you feel the flush on your face crawl down your neck.

“what would you like, sir?” you ask, voice soft and innocent. you try to play it cool but it feels like you might spontaneously combust on the spot.

he shakes his head slightly, his gaze practically ripping away from your lips.

“a beer. i’ll be over there in a minute.” he remedies, turning his attention back to his shoes. you mumble out a quick ‘see you soon’ before rushing back over to the bar.

you busy yourself with all the tasks you had to do before close, trying to take your mind off john. you try not to think about his pretty blue eyes or his big, strong biceps.

a few minutes later, you’re up at the front helping your boss check out guests. you look up at the bar, noticing john looking up at you already. nervously, you drop what you’re doing and head to help him.

he stands there toying with cleaning rags you had left on the counter, his face giving you a teasing glance. you roll your eyes at him as you come to stand across from him at the register.

“hey, i have something i want to talk to you about.” he says quickly before you can even say anything. your face falls taking on a look of confusion. he’s never talked to you like this before.

“yeah, of course,” you replied, voice filed with nerves, “what is it, john?”

“this is either a really good thing or a really bad thing,” he prefaces, his soft gaze meeting yours with a nervous smile, “you know I’m married, right?”

your eyes go wide as you quickly nod, your mind running a mile a minute. why would he need to tell you this now? your fingers nervously fidget with the ends of your hair as you reply slowly,

“yes, but all this is is just flirting, nothing is going to happen. so don’t worry.” stumbling over your words, you miss the way his hands subconsciously tense at your words.

“fuck, darlin, you don’t know how much i love flirting and talking with you.” his voice low, gaze flitting around your face for any sign that he may have hurt or upset you.

“if i wasn’t married, i would’ve already taken you out somewhere nice. would’ve asked for your number the first day i saw you.” you let out a small gasp at his words, did he want you like you wanted him? did he think about you even though he is twice your age? maybe he thought about you laying next to his wife.

“i think you’re beautiful, princess.”

you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips as you look up at him. the flush on your face growing ever more obvious at his attention.

“i think you’re very handsome, too, john.” you murmur shyly, twirling your hair around your fingers nervously. his gaze on your body was downright hungry, he looked like he’d take you right there if you let him.

“although, john,” your voice becoming teasing, letting your eyes fall obviously onto his left hand, “i don’t see you wearing a ring.”

his empty hand resting on the counter becoming painfully obvious as his gaze drops to it. the supposed permanent band around his finger seemed to be… missing. the look that he gave you was all that you needed to know.

“never have and never will, ma’am.”

[erissheiress]

you and Feyre surprising Rhys with breakfast in bed on a rare day off <33

being mates with the high lord and lady came with difficulties, both Feyre and Rhys having responsibilities up to their ears, but especially poor Rhys

so when he does get a rare day off, what better idea could you and Feyre have then to make him his favourite breakfast while he sleeps soundly. breads, cheeses, fruits, pastries (homemade of course) displayed perfectly for your wonderful mate, after you stopped giggling and stealing kisses from eachother ofc

waking him up with kisses, the dark-haired male smiling as he stirs, waking to his two beautiful mates and a tray of his favourite foods greeting him :)

safe to say grateful is an understatement! and he was more than happy to show you both how grateful he was once all the food had been cleared away <3

[hyunsvngs]

I was sitting in class not paying attention and just thought about virgin boy jisung asking u shyly if he can touch u, just touch u, it's his first time touching boobies and legs of a girl and he's barely breathing or talking as he wanders over the body with his hands, hesitant to go further but u just encouraging him to touch wherever he wants and it's so quiet and intense bc he's just feeling u with soft hands ....until he barely touched your crotch and cums in his pants and now he's embarrassed as shit and won't stop whining 💔💔💔 my loser jisung .......

🍄anon

i love virgin jisung

“can- can i touch?” his eyes are wide, unsure, and one palm hovers over your chest. you’re naked, save for your panties, and you’re sat on top of his bulge. he’s probably the hardest out of anyone you’ve ever been with, and you can feel it throbbing beneath you. still, he’s polite, and you nod. his hand immediately moves to your breast and he sighs, hips kicking up a little. "'s soft."

"yeah?" you giggle, but you're cut off by a breathless noise leaving you when jisung's hand grips you firmer. his thumb swipes over your nipple and it's your turn to squirm, hips grinding down just a tad onto him. "ah- sensitive there, baby, careful."

"it's sensitive?" he asks, licking his lips. "you have nice tits."

"you're just saying that 'cause you've not seen any others," you grin, and jisung shrugs with a smile of his own. "do- d'ya wanna touch my pussy, sungie? just get a feel for it, and-"

"yeess," he whines, nodding eagerly. his spare hand moves to your panties, thumb fiddling with the little bow on the front until you finally grab his hand and push it into the fabric. you're wet, embarrassingly so, and his eyes widen further when he feels the slick clinging to your folds. "ah- shit, do you normally… get this wet?"

"no," you admit, and jisung moans pornographically. you exhale a breath when his fingers move over your slit, one finger just barely dipping into your hole. it clings to him, tightening around the digit, and he gasps, hips canting up.

"i- you're tight, fuckin'-? baby, baby," he's babbling, and you jolt on his lap when he bucks his hips again. with an alarmed noise his eyes are rolling back into his head, and you're confused until you feel the telltale gush of wetness beneath you. did he…? he gasps, wet fingers leaving your underwear to grip at your ass. "i- i'm sor- sorry, shit, fuck- baby, baby, i came, i came! i'm sorry, i'm sorry!"

[burymagdalene]

I don’t even care… I don’t..

[zerodaytesttape]

another caldre writing that literally had 0 reason but I wanted to write it and it's been in my drafts for like a month.. i didn't proof read this so idk if it even makes sense, but I need it outttt of my drafts😭

NSFW AND RELIGIOUS/HOMOSEXUAL URGES GUILT

andre’s hands shake as they run down cal’s body, sliding under his shirt. ‘don’t do this,’ he thinks, but his fingers move anyway, tracing over cal’s ribs, feeling the way his chest rises and falls. cal sighs softly, and the sound is like gasoline poured onto the fire already burning inside andre. ‘fuck, stop,’ he tells himself, but when cal makes that tiny whimper, andre’s whole body reacts. he can’t stop now.

his hand dips lower, fingers brushing the waistband of cal’s pants, and cal lets out this quiet, breathless moan that makes andre’s skin crawl. not because it’s bad, but because it’s too good. too real, too "this is actually happening. 'this is wrong,’ he thinks, but he keeps going, pushing past the guilt that’s clawing at his chest. cal arches into his touch, his hips pressing up, and andre’s throat tightens. every noise cal makes is like fuel to a fire he can’t control, each one hotter, heavier.

“sir,” cal whispers, voice playful and slightly-laughing at the teasing nickname. andre’s hand falters, his mind racing. ‘don’t fucking do this, dont be this way, don't be a stupid fucking f-ggot.’ but he already is. he’s been that from the moment he started staring at his best friend a little longer all the way up till he kissed cal for the first time, from the moment he let himself get lost in it. he feels dirty, repressing every part of himself that feels wrong, but his body won’t stop.

"shut up," andre barks, his face blank, he genuinely wanted cal to shut up, he couldn't take the guilt anymore. cal giggles in return.

he then gasps as andre’s hand dips lower, just barely brushing below his waist, and the sound hits andre like a punch in the gut. ‘stop,’ he thinks again, but cal’s soft moans, his shaking breath, it’s all too much. it feels like the walls are closing in, like the world is collapsing around them, but cal’s the only thing holding him together. he stares at the pale scars on cal's hips and feels sick, he's really doing this, he's really THAT close to cal that he can see those, he feels horrible.

“fuck, andre,” cal says, the nickname fading, his voice cracking, and andre can’t breathe. there's no nickname to block that it's andre whose actually doing this, his fingers curl around the waistband, but he hesitates, his mind screaming at him to pull away. ‘you’re not supposed to like this you’re not supposed to feel this way get the fuck off of him.’ but he does feel that way, and he doesn't move. he can’t stop himself. it’s like every noise cal makes drives him deeper into something he doesn’t want to admit to, something that feels dangerous, something that feels too fucking good.

cal’s hips shift under him, pushing up into his touch, and andre closes his eyes, trying to block out everything he���s feeling. but it’s impossible. he feels every inch of cal, the way his body trembles, the way his breath hitches, and it’s like they’re both caught in a spiral they can’t escape. ‘i’m not supposed to want this,’ andre thinks, but he does. god, he does. he hates himself for it, but he can’t stop.

cal moans, soft and broken, and andre feels like he’s suffocating, like he’s drowning in the heat of it all. ‘dirty. i’m so fucking dirty.’ every touch, every sound is like another match thrown onto the fire, and andre feels like he’s burning alive. but he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. the star of david necklace that he threw into the lake years before still burns in his memory as it burned his chest whenever he thought about kissing his boy best friend, he feels disgusting.

the thought of all of this is making andre aggressive, violent, a bit too rough with the way he moves and grabs at his best friend. the way cal laughs in response infuriates him more.

despite his anger, andre’s hand slips lower, hesitating for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. ‘don’t. don’t go any further,’ he thinks, but cal shifts beneath him, pressing closer, silently begging for more. andre feels trapped, pinned under the weight of his own mind, but he can’t stop. cal’s skin is warm, soft under his fingertips, and every small noise cal makes pushes him closer to something andre’s been fighting for too long.

he takes a shaky breath and slides his hand fully below cal’s waist and under his boxers. cal gasps, a quiet, breathless sound, and it makes andre’s stomach twist. ‘fuck,’ he thinks, his heart racing. ‘i’m really doing this.’ but instead of feeling worse, instead of the guilt crashing down on him, there’s something else, something that feels almost like relief. cal’s body is trembling, his breath coming in short, quick bursts, and andre can feel the heat radiating from him.

“andre…” cal’s voice cracks and it makes andre’s heart stutter. cal’s fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, and something shifts. andre leans down, their lips brushing together as he whispers, “i’ve got you.” his voice is rough, but softer than before, like he’s finally giving in.

“andre, jesus christ dude- fuck,” cal breathes out, and andre can feel his resistance melting away, slipping through his fingers. ‘i shouldn’t…’ but the words are gone, lost in the way cal feels, the way he arches into andre’s touch, the way he makes those quiet and desperate noises that andre can’t get enough of.

"cal shut the fuck up, fuck-" andre commands as he squeezes at cal, the rush of guilt and aggression rising in his chest. he wanted to scream and yell and beat cal until he was nothing but mush.

he slides his hand out to unzip cal's fly and he feels cal’s body tense beneath him, and for a moment, everything freezes. but then cal moans and andre moves before he can think about it. ‘god, i hate this,’ he says to himself, fully. but as he looks at his best friends face, his pale skin, his light eyes, his stupid structure, there’s no more fighting it now. he will have to give in and deal with the guilt later.

“you’re good, cal, it's okay,” andre murmurs, his tone switching fast, kissing him again, deeper this time, letting the warmth of the moment take over. cal’s breathing hitches, his hips rocking up to meet andre’s hand, and andre feels that heavy, suffocating guilt slip away, replaced by something better, something that feels right.

cal lets out another breathy moan, and andre’s head spins, his pants feeling suffocating, cal's scent making him feel safe. every sound cal makes is like fuel to the fire, every gasp and whimper pulling him further in. ‘fuck, i can’t stop now.’

“you like that?” andre whispers against cal’s lips, his voice low, and cal nods frantically, his eyes glazed over, barely able to form words and he smiled crookedly.

“yeah- yes. i- yeah,” cal breathes, his voice shaky as he laughs at his stupid stammering. andre watches cal, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his fingers feel as they curl in andre’s hair. there’s no turning back now, no holding onto the doubt that’s been eating at him for months. cal's face rushes with red as he feels heat pool in his stomach and sweat bead down his cheeks, "fuck- this is so wrong," he laughs. but instead of andre stopping and stressing again, he laughs too.

'this is okay. it has to be. its not wrong, not anymore' he thinks, the thought making him feel safe.

"it's okay you idiot, it has to be. doesn’t feel wrong to me, cal. not anymore.” he says, his tone joking and sweet, the words making cal feel safe as he laughs in return.

[lovezbrownies]

Hm...

From the moment of their birth, Emperor Wei Xian and Empress Consort Li Zhen were destined to be bound together, their fates sealed by the ancient rites of royal bloodlines. Wei Xian, the son of the late Emperor, inherited not only the throne but also the unshakable guarantee of royal status, his lineage a direct thread to imperial power. By contrast, Li Zhen’s ascent to royalty came not through blood but through the fate-twisted rings of betrothal that connected her to Wei Xian, a bond woven not out of love but out of duty and strategic necessity. In the court’s eyes, their union was not one of passion but one of governance and power, where emotions were secondary to the cold logic of imperial consolidation.

Their relationship, while free of the entanglement of romantic love, thrived on mutual respect and understanding. Each saw the other not as a spouse, but as a partner—a tool in a grand game of chess where loyalty was traded for power, and affection was secondary to the maintenance of the empire. For years, they played their roles dutifully, each aware of the other's presence but never crossing the threshold of intimacy. There was no romance between them, only a friendship forged by the needs of the kingdom and the understanding of their responsibilities.

Yet, despite the absence of love, they managed to create something rare: a successful partnership that bore fruit in the form of Crown Prince Wei Jin, a child whose very existence was a testament to their ability to fulfill their royal obligations. Raised with an almost overbearing affection, Wei Jin was showered with treasures, education, and love—though it was the kind of love a royal child might expect, not the love of two parents who had ever held hands out of tenderness. They gave him everything they had in the way of wealth, status, and opportunity, though still maintaining a formality and distance in their interactions.

It took years for the Empress Consort and the Emperor to even begin to view each other beyond the formalities of their roles. What began as a business transaction of sorts gradually evolved into a subtle camaraderie, one where they could function as allies in a vast, intricate court, watching over their son as they steered the empire through turbulent waters. It was never about passion, never about a deep emotional connection—but, in their own way, it was enough.

The first time you caught the Emperor's attention was entirely by accident. You had started as a lowly servant in the royal palace, tasked with the simplest of chores—scrubbing the stone floors and washing the walls of the royal halls. It was thankless work, yet it offered you a rare glimpse into the world of the empire’s most powerful figures. The Emperor, aloof and unapproachable, would often pass by without sparing a glance at anyone, his face as stoic as the stone walls you so often cleaned. But it wasn’t his attention you sought—at least, not in the way the palace’s courtiers did. You were here to work, and work you did, diligently, with quiet purpose.

But then the epidemic struck. A strange sickness began to spread through the palace, like a dark fog that crept into every corner of the kingdom. The royal family, fearing contamination above all else, locked themselves away in their private chambers, cutting off all contact with anyone, including their own advisors. The imperial physicians were baffled. No one could figure out what was happening, and the court was in a state of panic. News of this mysterious illness reached even the furthest corners of the empire, and whispers began to circulate, laden with fear.

The royal line must remain untainted, the court murmured, as the Emperor and Empress refused to leave their rooms, their status demanding that they be kept safe at all costs. They insisted on a complete quarantine, drawing a sharp line between themselves and the rest of the kingdom, unwilling to risk even the smallest chance of infection. Everyone else—commoners and noble-born alike—were left to wait, helpless, as the disease spread.

But to you, it wasn’t a matter of panic. You had already figured out the cause of the illness. It wasn’t some invisible enemy—no, it was something far simpler. You knew the signs immediately. The symptoms were unmistakable, and it took you mere hours to identify the source: the WillBorn flower.

The WillBorn flower, once thought to be harmless, had spread across the kingdom like wildfire in the unseasonably humid weather. The bloom had always been seen as a decorative flower, harmless and pretty, admired for its delicate petals and subtle scent. But, unknown to most, when the weather turned humid, the WillBorn flower’s petals released microscopic spores into the air that caused debilitating fevers in those who inhaled them. Those who passed too close to the flower during the summer heat found themselves ill within hours. The fever was violent and feverish, but it could be treated, if caught in time. The problem was that no one knew to look for it, and now it had begun to spread through the palace like wildfire, causing unnecessary panic.

But you, the lowly servant who had once swept the floors and dusted the walls of the palace, noticed something different. You saw past the hysteria to the root of the problem. You didn’t wait for permission, nor did you wait for the imperial physicians to come to some miraculous conclusion. You took matters into your own hands.

You were no healer, but you had grown up surrounded by the ancient knowledge of herbs and remedies—passed down from your mother, a healer in her own right. You’d learned not only to clean the palace’s grand halls but also to notice the small things: the subtle changes in the air, the faint scent of the WillBorn flowers, and the way the humidity seemed to linger in the courtyard, heavy with the promise of sickness. You had recognized the symptoms immediately.

When the fever began to spread through the ranks of the palace servants, you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t sit by and wait for the royal physicians to muddle over their theories. Instead, you began to act, quietly but surely. You spread the word to anyone who would listen, telling them the cause of the sickness—the WillBorn flower’s spores, harmless in the right conditions but a deadly catalyst in the humid heat.

At first, they didn’t believe you. They dismissed you as a mere servant, unworthy of attention. But when you began to treat those who had already fallen ill—using nothing but simple herbs and methods you knew worked—there was no denying your knowledge. You went from room to room, seeking out those stricken with the fever, and within hours, they felt better. You used simple poultices, cooling teas, and herbal remedies that calmed the fever and soothed their symptoms. Word began to spread through the palace as if on the wind: "There is a servant who can cure the sickness."

As the days went on, you didn’t just wait for the sick to come to you. You took it upon yourself to visit the lower servants, to seek out those in the hallways or kitchens who had fallen ill, and you treated them yourself, without hesitation. You took the remedies to them directly, applying your knowledge without asking for permission, without waiting for anyone’s approval. You went to the kitchens, to the stables, to the servants’ quarters, to wherever the sick lay, and you offered them relief.

This was no longer just a matter of cleaning the palace or serving in the background. You had become a figure of importance, someone whose knowledge was vital to the survival of the palace. Slowly, the whispers grew louder, until they reached the ears of the Empress and Emperor themselves.

The Emperor, who rarely took interest in such matters, began to hear your name. It wasn’t the simple work of a servant—no, this was something different. You had not only saved countless lives but had done so without asking for recognition. You had taken the initiative when no one else would, and that was rare in a palace so full of politics and courtly games. The Emperor, who had once been so indifferent to the comings and goings of his palace staff, began to take notice. The courtiers, of course, were less than pleased by your sudden rise in prominence, but none could argue with the results you brought. You were no longer just a servant—you had become a healer, a figure to be reckoned with.

The Empress, always shrewd and calculating, heard about you from her inner circle. She had been in seclusion, her worries tied to the health of the imperial line, but even she couldn’t ignore the growing murmurs about your actions. To her, you were both a threat and an opportunity—someone with the rare kind of independence and knowledge that could either be used to her advantage or pose a challenge to her carefully controlled world.

One day, as you treated yet another servant in the dimly lit corners of the palace, the Emperor’s shadow fell across the doorway. You looked up, startled, only to find his piercing gaze fixed on you, his usual indifference replaced by something more discerning.

“You,” he said, his voice as cold as the marble floors beneath your feet. “You’ve been helping the palace staff without permission. Without approval.” There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity—an observation.

You didn’t flinch. “Someone had to do it, Your Majesty. No one else was moving quickly enough.”

He studied you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his scrutiny. His gaze seemed to pierce straight through you, as though measuring you with the same cold precision that made him such a formidable ruler.

“Interesting,” he muttered, stepping back as he allowed you to continue your work. “You’ll be needed, then. If you can keep the palace standing, I suppose we can’t afford to ignore you any longer.”

As the days passed, the Emperor's interest in you deepened. At first, it was a fleeting glance, a subtle inquiry into your methods, perhaps out of curiosity or simply the need for a solution in a time of crisis. But soon, it became something more—a pattern. He began to seek you out, more than just for matters of health or feverish remedies. Your practical knowledge, your keen ability to assess and fix problems, seemed to transcend the boundaries of mere medical expertise. You were becoming indispensable.

It started with small things. The Emperor would approach you in the palace gardens, casually asking your opinion on some minor matter of administration, perhaps the allocation of resources or a particularly troublesome official. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a passing conversation, a ruler simply seeking the perspective of a lowly servant. But you soon realized there was a method to his inquiries. Each time, his questions grew more specific, more pointed, as if he were testing you—gauging your intelligence, your judgment, your understanding of the world that lay beyond the royal walls.

“You seem to have a keen understanding of the inner workings of the palace,” he said one afternoon, as you stood beside him in the quiet courtyard, the sun low in the sky. His voice was casual, but his words carried weight. “Tell me, what do you think of the current state of the southern provinces? There are rumors of unrest. Do you think it’s a matter of poor governance, or is something more at play?”

You hesitated for only a moment before answering. It wasn’t an easy question, and the complexities of such matters were far beyond the scope of your usual responsibilities. But you’d seen the royal records, heard the whispers in the halls, and the solution seemed clear enough to you. You spoke, carefully laying out your thoughts, offering a perspective grounded in practicality and intuition. The Emperor listened intently, his gaze never leaving you, as if he were studying not just your words but your very demeanor.

“I see,” he said after a long pause, his voice thoughtful. “You’ve provided a perspective I hadn’t considered. Perhaps it’s time to rethink our strategy.”

From then on, your advice became more sought after. Whether it was in matters of the military or the royal court, the Emperor seemed to value your input more than anyone had ever expected. Whenever a situation arose, one that was difficult to navigate or full of uncertainty, he would find you. You were no longer just the humble servant cleaning the palace halls—you had become a trusted advisor, albeit one in the shadows, far removed from the grand, gilded halls where the true power resided.

Your input, it seemed, always shifted the balance. You corrected the course of decisions that had once seemed irreversible. You steered the Emperor’s advisors from dangerous paths, suggesting strategies that saved not only face but the kingdom itself. The decisions you made, the words you offered, became the pivot around which many crucial moments turned.

One particularly tense situation arose when an incident with a group of royal officers escalated into a near catastrophe. They had been investigating reports of a rebellion in the northern territories, but their methods had been heavy-handed, and rumors of torture and unjust arrests had begun to spread. The Emperor, caught between the need to maintain order and the desire to keep his reputation intact, was at a crossroads.

It was you who offered the solution, though you hadn’t been asked. In the quiet of the Emperor’s private study, after a long, arduous discussion with his generals, you proposed an alternative approach—one rooted in understanding and diplomacy, rather than brute force. It was a gamble, one that many of the Emperor’s advisors dismissed outright. But the Emperor, by then, had come to trust your instincts.

“Do you truly think this will work?” he asked, his usual cold demeanor softened by a hint of curiosity.

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Yes, Your Majesty. Sometimes, it takes less force to correct a misstep than more of it.”

The outcome, to everyone’s surprise, was nothing short of remarkable. The rebellion was quelled, but with far fewer casualties than anyone had expected. The Emperor’s reputation as a strong, wise ruler only grew, and it was in large part thanks to your guidance. From that moment on, he seemed to regard you not just as a servant, but as someone to whom he could turn for insight in times of uncertainty. Your role had evolved into something more profound—a confidant.

Meanwhile, the Empress, who had once been the center of her husband's world, began to notice a shift in his behavior. The Emperor, who had always devoted much of his time to her and their son, now seemed increasingly distant. Where once he had spent hours each evening in the royal chambers, discussing the matters of the empire and sharing moments with his family, now he would disappear for hours on end, only to return late at night, tired but strangely satisfied.

At first, she thought little of it. Rulers were busy people, after all. But the longer the pattern continued, the more suspicious she grew. There was something different about him—something in the way he would look at her, but only half-listen, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. His gaze often drifted toward the door, as if waiting for someone else to enter. He would ask about their son, but his attention was often half-hearted, distracted. It was as if a new obsession had taken root, one that didn’t involve his wife or child.

The Empress’ curiosity was piqued, and one name began to circulate in her mind: the mysterious servant, the one who had become so invaluable to the Emperor in recent days. She had heard whispers—rumors of the servant’s quick thinking and sharp mind, of how the Emperor had sought out their advice time and time again. It was hard for her to ignore the subtle shift in the air, the way the Emperor seemed to place more trust in this servant than in anyone else.

She wasn’t one to be easily ignored, and so she made her move. One evening, when the Emperor was once again absent from their chambers, the Empress decided to confront this rising enigma. She would meet this servant, if only to see for herself the person who had captured her husband’s attention so completely.

The Empress had always been a woman of control, a ruler whose power was as sharp as it was unwavering. As the consort of the Emperor, she had been trained to maintain her poise, to guard her emotions with the same precision she used to manage the court. But ever since the mysterious servant had entered their lives, her carefully constructed world had started to tremble at the edges.

It had begun slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. The Emperor, normally so steadfast and aloof, had started to change in subtle ways. She had watched him, noting how his gaze lingered a little longer on you, how his voice softened when he spoke of you. These were things that didn’t escape the notice of a woman who had been married to him for so long. Yet, what truly piqued her curiosity was the way he would blush. It wasn’t something the Emperor did—he was a man who kept his composure at all times, unflappable in the face of any crisis. But lately, he had been blushing. The slightest mention of your name, or a glance toward your direction, and the Emperor would flush a deep red, his usual stern expression faltering just for a moment.

Of course, the Empress would never admit to any feeling of jealousy. No, she wasn’t bothered by the Emperor’s sudden fixation on you. After all, their relationship was based on pragmatism, on their shared duty to the throne. Nothing more, nothing less.

But still… she could not deny her intrigue. What was it about you that had such an effect on her husband?

So, one evening, as the moonlight streamed gently through the palace windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors, the Empress summoned you to her chambers. She did not ask; she ordered your presence with the subtle authority that came naturally to her. The call came as a soft command, a hint of something more beneath her measured words.

“Come to my chambers,” she had said, her tone a delicate balance of formality and something else—something less defined, but unmistakable. “I wish to speak with you.”

You were, of course, dutiful, accustomed to following the Emperor’s commands without question. But this was different—this wasn’t a summons from him, but from the Empress herself. It was rare for her to take such an interest in someone so beneath her in station. You found yourself wondering, with a mix of curiosity and unease, what she might want from you.

When you entered her chambers, you found her sitting by a delicate tea set, her expression as calm as ever. Yet, there was something in her gaze—something probing, something searching—as if she were trying to uncover a hidden truth.

“Sit,” she instructed, and you obeyed without question. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of her stare as she studied you, her eyes flicking over you with sharp calculation. “I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice a silken thread that carried no hint of the power she wielded, “about my husband. He’s been… distracted lately. Not that it’s any concern of mine,” she added quickly, waving a delicate hand as though to brush aside the thought. “I simply wonder—what is it that you do to him? To make him… act so differently? His demeanor has changed. He speaks of you with such admiration. At times, I’ve even seen him blush at the mere mention of your name.”

You were taken aback by her candidness. It was rare for anyone to speak so plainly with you, let alone the Empress. She wasn’t one to mince words, and her request was clear: she wanted to know what you had done to her husband, or rather, what it was about you that had caused such a shift in him.

“I… I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty,” you stammered, unsure of how to respond. “I’ve only given my advice when asked, and tried to be of help wherever I can.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and something else, something almost predatory. “And yet, he speaks of you as if you are more than just a servant. He speaks as though you are… a confidant. A friend.” She paused, studying your face carefully. “I’ve been wondering, you see, if I might find out for myself what has him so… captivated.”

There was a slight pause, the air thickening with an unspoken tension. The Empress wasn’t just asking about your relationship with the Emperor. She was testing you. Pushing, probing, trying to discern the effect you had on him. And something deep inside you understood that this wasn’t just about curiosity—it was about something much more intricate. She wanted to understand if you had the same effect on her.

She smiled, though it was faint, a glimmer of something wicked in her expression. “Tell me a story,” she said softly. “Tell me about your life. Your family. What is it that makes you… you? I want to hear it from your lips, not from the Emperor’s praises. Perhaps if I understand more about you, I will understand why my husband holds you in such high regard.”

You hesitated, not knowing whether to comply or remain silent. But her invitation was too warm to ignore, too open in its intent. You found yourself speaking, telling her the story of your life—how you grew up in the countryside, the humble beginnings of your family, your mother’s legacy as a healer, and how you came to the palace seeking only a small, quiet life. You spoke of your childhood, of the struggles and the simple joys, of the love you had felt for your family and the sense of duty that had driven you to serve.

As you spoke, you could see the Empress listening intently, her gaze never leaving your face. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a cold, calculating interest. She was learning about you, about the person who had caught the Emperor’s attention. And as you spoke, you began to notice something strange—a change in her. Her expression softened, her eyes less rigid, her posture becoming just a touch more relaxed. She was no longer the distant, calculating Empress, but something more… human. She seemed intrigued by your story, captivated by your sincerity.

By the time you finished, the Empress was leaning back in her chair, her fingers gently tapping the armrest. “It’s no wonder he’s taken such a liking to you,” she said, her voice a soft murmur. “You’ve captured his heart without even trying.”

Her words struck you like a bolt of lightning. You had never intended to do so, never aimed to steal the Emperor’s affections. But it seemed that you had, by mere virtue of your presence, drawn him in. And now, the Empress—who had always been the embodiment of control—was looking at you with a mixture of fascination and something darker, something more complex.

But the shift in the Empress’s demeanor did not end with this conversation. Over the coming weeks, you found yourself summoned to her chambers more and more often. The Emperor, too, continued to seek your counsel, pulling you into his orbit with increasing frequency. You were no longer simply a servant—you were a confidant, a trusted advisor to both the Emperor and the Empress. Your life, once so simple and solitary, had become entangled in the intricacies of the royal family.

The Empress, however, was not content with simply learning about your life—she wanted to know you. She wanted to understand the effect you had on her husband, and in doing so, she found herself drawn to you in ways she hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t long before she, too, began to feel the pull of affection. It was subtle at first, a flicker of something that she could not suppress, but it grew with time. She found herself looking forward to your visits, seeking your advice not just as a ruler but as a woman, someone who was learning to see you not as a mere servant, but as something more—someone who had become indispensable to her life.

And as the days passed, your duties became a blur. You were constantly moving between the Emperor’s chambers and the Empress’s, giving advice, offering counsel, and, more and more, becoming the center of their attention. The once carefully maintained distance between them began to dissolve, replaced by a shared affection for you that neither could resist. The Emperor, who had once been reserved, now blushed at the mere sight of you. The Empress, who had been his unwavering partner in strategy, now found herself captivated by your presence in a way she had never expected.

You had become a pivotal force in their lives, and neither of them could ignore the pull they felt toward you—toward the person who had unknowingly become the object of both their hearts.

The tension between the Emperor and Empress had always been subtle, a fine thread that held them together in a dance of politics, duty, and mutual respect. To the outside world, they were a model of harmony, a perfect couple—one bound by the chains of royal tradition and the weight of their responsibilities. But beneath the surface, something had changed, something neither of them had expected. Both the Emperor and the Empress had, over time, found themselves falling for you. It was not the passionate romance of fairy tales, but something far more complicated, deeper, and far more dangerous.

At first, they had both denied it. How could they not? They had their roles, their status, their obligations to the kingdom and to their people. You were their servant—a humble, hardworking commoner whose presence had become an unexpected comfort to both of them. You had come into their lives with a quiet intensity, offering advice, providing comfort, and becoming someone they could rely on in ways neither of them had anticipated.

You, the one who had treated the sick with simple remedies, who had shown them how to live with both practicality and grace, were now the focus of their quiet affections. Both had tried to hide it from each other, both unsure of how to proceed, unsure of whether what they were feeling was something they could actually act on.

And yet, day after day, the distance between them grew as you became more intertwined in their lives. The Emperor began calling for you at odd hours, asking for advice on trivial matters just to spend more time with you. The Empress, equally intrigued, found herself seeking you out in the quiet moments of the evening, when she could finally relax and ask you about your past, about the things that shaped you, about everything that made you, you.

It was during one such evening that the unspoken tension between the two monarchs became too much to ignore. The Emperor had been particularly drawn to you that day, hanging on every word you spoke, laughing at the smallest jokes you made. His eyes would follow you around the room, studying your every movement as though trying to memorize it. The Empress, ever observant, had caught onto the way his gaze lingered on you, how the slightest mention of your name seemed to make his cheeks flush.

And she had noticed the way she, too, had started to feel drawn to you. Her heart would race when she thought of you, when she found herself seeking you out in moments when she should have been focused elsewhere. You had become her obsession, as much as you had become the Emperor’s.

One evening, after the Emperor had spent another long hour alone with you in the study, the Empress called for your presence in her chambers. You had no idea what to expect, but you had learned that, with them, every day seemed to hold the potential for something new.

When you entered, the Empress was sitting by the window, her eyes distant but intense. The evening sun cast a warm glow over her, highlighting the sharpness of her features and the calm elegance she always wore. She didn’t look at you immediately, but when she did, her gaze was more piercing than usual.

“Sit,” she commanded softly, her voice like silk, but there was something more behind it. You obeyed without hesitation, sensing that tonight would be different.

“I’ve been thinking,” the Empress began, her eyes never leaving you. “About the Emperor. And about how much time he’s been spending with you.”

You stiffened, unsure of where this conversation was going. “My lady, I—”

“No need for pleasantries,” she interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m not asking you to explain yourself. I want to know about you.”

Her eyes seemed to soften, but there was still that same unyielding intensity beneath the surface. “Tell me your story,” she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she was letting her guard down just a fraction. “Tell me how you became the person you are. What’s made you so… captivating?”

The word sent a chill down your spine. The Empress—usually so guarded and careful—was asking you to reveal yourself. And there was something in her tone that made it clear this wasn’t just idle curiosity. She wanted to understand you, to know you in a way she had never bothered with anyone else before.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing, and began to speak—about your childhood, about the simple life you once led, about the love you had for your family and the sacrifices you had made to get where you were. The Empress listened intently, her expression unreadable, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—a flicker of longing, of desire—that she didn’t bother to hide. And as you spoke, you felt the atmosphere shift around you, the air thickening with an intimacy that made you uneasy, yet drawn in all the same.

When you finished, there was a long silence. The Empress didn’t immediately speak, but when she did, her voice was laced with something new—a depth you hadn’t expected.

“You’re not just a servant, are you?” she said softly, almost to herself. “You’ve changed everything. He’s changed because of you, hasn’t he?”

You didn’t have to ask who “he” was. The Emperor, of course. But there was something in her tone now, something almost wistful. She wasn’t jealous. She was… curious. Interested. And more than a little captivated.

The Empress rose from her seat and walked over to you, standing just a few inches away, her gaze fixed firmly on you. “I’ve never seen him like this. Never. And I know he’s not the only one who feels this way.”

Her hand reached out, brushing gently against your cheek. “And now I understand. It’s not just him. It’s me too.”

You froze, unsure of how to react. She was close now, too close, but the intensity of her gaze left you rooted to the spot. The Empress was no longer the stoic, distant monarch you had once known. She was someone else entirely—someone whose emotions were raw, exposed, and directed at you.

“You’ve changed everything, haven’t you?” she murmured again, her voice soft but filled with an undeniable power. “I never thought I would feel this way, but now… I think I understand.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine. The warmth of her body, the depth of her gaze, and the knowledge of the Emperor’s own growing affection for you stirred something within you that you couldn’t deny. And then, in the silence that followed, it all became clear.

The Emperor and Empress were both in love with you. And neither of them was willing to let you slip away. They had been drawn to you—first with admiration, then with affection, and now, with an intensity neither of them had known before.

And as you sat there, caught between the two of them, a new realization settled into your heart. You were no longer just a servant. You were the heart of the empire. And soon, they would both show you how far they were willing to go to claim you as their own.

Days passed in a blur. The Emperor and Empress both seemed to vie for your attention, each of them calling on you for advice, for companionship, for counsel. You no longer had time for your duties. You were pulled between them constantly, and each time you were with one of them, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of their love, their devotion, drawing you in further. And you found yourself unable to resist.

It was the Emperor who spoke the words first, his voice soft but full of certainty. “We’ve been thinking about this… about you.”

The Empress was beside him, her hand gently resting on your shoulder as she leaned in, her voice low but unmistakably filled with desire. “We both want you. Not just for a fleeting moment, but for the rest of our lives.”

They looked at each other, an understanding passing between them. And then, in an unexpected moment of clarity, the Emperor turned to you with the question that had been lingering in the air for days.

“Would you have us both?” he asked, his voice unwavering.

You knew, then, that everything had changed. You weren’t just their servant anymore. You were the heart of their world. And with that realization, you understood that this—this love, this strange, complicated, beautiful love—was something that could not be undone.

And so, the night that followed was one of passion, of surrender, of union. The three of you—once separated by duty and distance—were now bound together by something far stronger, something that would hold you all in its embrace forever.

And as the night deepened, the boundaries between you all blurred, and what had begun as an impossible, unspoken desire became a reality. In the stillness of the royal chambers, the three of you found a closeness that could never be undone, a bond forged not just by politics, but by love—raw, deep, and all-consuming.

[porcelanitaa]

Normalize having christian / catholic beliefs and not liking God

[tata-is-the-name]

I just caught myself staring at your pfp for a stupid amount of time. He makes me go insane 😩 you chose your new pfp so well🌸🌸🌸🌸

Don't worry, I catch myself staring at it too. 😩😩😩 I love this picture of him. Make me go *chef's kiss*. I think we feel the same for him. We really do. 😩

Heehee, I changed it fully now. It's now Togame Jo themed. 🥹 I can't help it. I'm currently obssessed with him right now that people who know me also call me obssessed. 😹

I just love him so much 😹 Is it bad to love him tho? 😹😹 jkjk

[heartz4shauna]

lottie x reader where lottie is on the phone to someone (like shauna or tai) and reader is trying to distract her so she'll pay attention to her instead.

Prove It.

Word count: 612

Warnings: none?? reader is a bit cheeky guys idk..

a/n: first little fic thing guys don’t eat me alive ty

Lottie had invited you over to her house for the first time since you started dating. You were parked outside of her house, a little anxious to come in. You shook your head quickly, getting rid of any doubts you had and swung the car door open.

You made your way up her yard, taking in all of the fancy decorations her parents had put up. Hesitantly, you raised your fist and knocked on the front door. Only a few seconds later the door was opened by her maid. “Uh, hi,” you started, a bit surprised it wasn’t your girlfriend who welcomed you, “I’m Lotties friend, she invited me over?” The maid gave a nod and opened the door wider for you to enter.

Upon entering you saw beautiful decor around the house, a clean dining room, living room, kitchen- her whole house was spotless.

The maid tapped you on the shoulder, waking you from your trance. “Her bedroom is just upstairs,” she said, gesturing towards the stairs. You gave a nod, a little embarrassed, “Thanks.”

You started walking up the stairs and you could hear Lottie talking to someone, on the phone maybe? You got to the top of the stairs and took a deep breath as you knocked on her bedroom door. She didn’t answer it, so you knocked again. “Come in!” She called out to you. With that, you pushed her bedroom door open.

You walked into her bedroom, walls decorated with pictures, posters, lights. It hurt your eyes a little bit. Lottie was laying on her bed, phone up to her ear, giggling with the girl on the other end.

She looked up at you from her bed and gave you a smile, “One minute,” she mouthed to you. You smiled softly back and kicked off your shoes. You sat on the end of her bed, trying not to get into her personal space too much.

“No, Shauna. See, that’s what I told her, but did she listen? No, course not. You know what she’s like.” She gossiped to Shauna, giggling in between sentences. “Ugh, I know. Tai wants to freeze her out. She’s just not up to our standard, she says. I dunno, though. She’s a freshman.” She continued, nodding along to her own statements.

You looked back over to her and raised an eyebrow, asking if she’s almost done. She raised her finger and shook her head, “Yeah, one second,” she whispered. You pouted and sigh, she just shrugged with a bit of a guilty look on her face.

You saw this as your time to shine. You scooted over to her with a cheeky grin. “Hey, Lott,” you whispered. She turned her head to you, “Yes, baby?” You shrugged, clearly just trying to wind her up. “Nothin’, never mind.” You answered with a smile. She rolled her eyes at you, “Alright then..”

You sighed and lay down next to her, taking her hand in yours. You glanced over at her, she seemed unbothered, still yapping with Shauna. “Would you love me if I was a worm?” You asked her quietly. Her eyebrows furrowed and she gave you a look, “That’s a really stupid question. Yeah, I would, maybe.”

You sighed loudly and sat up on your elbows, reaching over and planting a soft kiss on her cheek, “You’re so pretty, Lott,” you cooed. Her cheeks went a warm pink and she smiled, “Thank you. So are you, love.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, “You think so?” She nodded, “Course I do.” You smirked slightly, testing her, “Prove it.” She chuckled and said to Shauna, “Hey, I’ll have to call you back. It’s an emergency.”

[burntoutcandel]

A friend's request ...

Maybe I need more friends

[ratnix]

Hear me out

Nevermore musical

A song like the plagues from the prince of Egypt for Monty's religious trauma

The rest of the actors of the Nevermore cast (except for Will and Ada) stand behind Monty's actor, pointing him with their fingers calling him the devil, representing his present

Lights fade

Lights back on

The nevermore cast is switched with Monty's church, pointing their fingers at him calling him the devil, representing his past, showing the origin

Will and Ada try to make him snap out of the song

He lashes out on them

The church members nod satisfied - they were right

Monty yells at the church members

He can't see Will and Ada standing in front of them but they think he's yelling at them

[ellaynaonsaturn]

just woke up and the first thing i do is get on tumblr 💞

[lithominium]

They call it autism cause im in awe of her when shes tisming

[sinceuh-when]

no matter what i know i can always turn to my alternate universes 😍😍🙌🏽🙌🏽

[arikatsthings]

i like reblogging things for the sole purpose of messing with my friends. like hi! We were both supposed to be asleep two hours ago.

oh, look at you reblogging yaoi. i see you :)

it's so fun in a creepy way