leafwateraddict · 1 year ago
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I’ve spent thirty minutes trying to figure out what possible flavor of icecream that sans was eating in that speedrun joke clip from the undertale emails and i think im starting to realize how actually insane I am about this stupid skeleton
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elllisaaa · 1 month ago
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ateez when their s/o gives them cutness aggression
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-> words count : 963 words
-> genre : fluff
-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.
-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !
-> author's note : @mjilv gave me the idea of doing an ateez version so here it is ! hope you'll like it !
-> masterlist | ateez masterlist
svt version | ateez version
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KIM HONGJOONG
cause of the aggression : hongjoong coming home very sleepy after a long day working at the studio.
actually, it’s more the way he latches on you as soon as he spots you that melts your heart.
you immediately wrap your arms around him and bury your nose in his hair, then you leave a string of kisses on the crown of his head. 
even after so many hours working, he still smells so good and you’re a little jealous. 
and hongjoong is too tired to try and stop you from doing your thing, on the contrary, he relaxes even more in your embrace, quietly humming in satisfaction.
“how was your day joongie ?”
“so much better now that I’m with you.”
PARK SEONGHWA
cause of the aggression : seonghwa proudly showing off the new lego set he just built. 
you had always thought that your boyfriend’s passion for lego was endearing, but the way he always seeks out your approval on everything he adds to his collection makes you want to keep him with you forever. 
so instead of paying attention to the piece in his hands, you squish his cheeks and kiss his lips repeatedly instead. 
seonghwa whines a few times, asking you what you are doing but honestly, he loves the affection so he quickly shuts up.
“now, what were you saying, baby ?”
“i’m not sure i wanna talk about legos now. can you kiss me again instead ?”
JEONG YUNHO
cause of the aggression : you know the golden retriever energy he has ? yeah, that is enough.
because why does his whole face light up when he finds you in the cereal aisle at the grocery store, showing off the new ice cream flavors he’s been wanting to try. 
and you don’t care that you’re in public because you just need to show him that you love him.
so you grab his arm and stand on your tippy toes to be able to kiss his cheeks as many times as you want.
and yunho’s giggles as you do it don’t help calm you down.
“what was that for ?”
“don’t act like you don’t know how cute you are, jeong yunho.”
KANG YEOSANG
cause of the aggression : you know the way he’s looking above himself sometimes ? that is literally the cutest thing ever wtf ???
so when you pass behind the couch and your boyfriend does that, you cannot help the urge to bend down and leave a trail of kisses along his forehead.
yeosang sometimes doesn’t understand you, but he loves your kisses so he lets you do your thing. 
when you finally let him go, you notice his red ears, and you chuckle lightly before giving him a real kiss on the lips.
“i’m never getting used to this.”
“good, i want you to be surprised everytime i come out of nowhere to give you affection.”
CHOI SAN
cause of the aggression : san pouting at you because you don’t want to sleep with him due to the unbearable heat of the summer. 
you were already sweating like crazy, and you didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night all sticky because your boyfriend wasn’t able to keep his hands off of you.
but the way he was pleading you with his whole face was too cute to ignore. 
so you simply sighed as you settled in his arms again and went to kiss his pouty lips. and as soon as you were done with your attack, san was all smiley again.
“you’re such a child.”
“maybe, but you love me.”
SONG MINGI
cause of the aggression : his big smile, the one that makes me want to kill myself because he’s too fucking pretty for this world. 
when he’s smiling like that, it’s already hard to manage, but when that smile is directed at you, it’s impossible to pass on the opportunity to kiss his whole face.
so you don’t hesitate to cup his face in your hands and press your lips against every inch of his skin.
and his smile doesn’t leave him as you go on, his own hands going down to grab your waist.
as soon as you’re done, he’s pressing a kiss to your own lips, and his eyes are filled with love.
“i really don’t deserve you.”
“you do mingi, you deserve the world.”
JUNG WOOYOUNG
cause of the aggression : we all know how cute he is when he’s taking care of kids so seeing him be all lovey dovey with your little cousins makes your heart flutter. 
as soon as wooyoung said his goodbyes to the little girl because you had to go, you’re all over him.
he doesn’t understand what’s happening, and he’s whiny at the beginning, trying to push you off of him.
but he progressively gives up on his plan and simply lets you do your thing. 
and when you finally let him go - and breathe some fresh air - he cannot hide his cheeky smile.
“something’s wrong with you, i swear.”
“as if you’re not just as crazy !”
CHOI JONGHO
cause of the aggression : once again, the smile. like, his big gummy smile… killing myself again.
no but how can you resist him when he’s smiling at you like that ?? you can’t ! 
so even if he didn’t ask for this, you kiss his face as many times as you can before jongho starts to protest. 
but both of you know that it’s only to try and keep his composure, because he loves it when you’re showering him with your love like that.
but he has a reputation to hold (he has none but you let him believe it because he’s cute).
“all of that just because of my smile ?”
“don’t play dumb ! you know very well how weak i am !”
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-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.
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ateez taglist (fill in this to added) :
@sharonxdevi @hann1bee @lil-kpopstan @heevllog @lichyuu @foxinnie8 @lovelyuyu
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saetoru · 1 year ago
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FIRST KISS — GOJO SATORU.
contents. fluff + mutual pining if you squint, it’s literally just you being satoru’s first kiss <3, he’s just a loser boy beneath all his facades !!
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it’s summer the first time you kiss satoru. his lips taste like the lingering sweetness of kikufuku. the cicadas are calling, and the sun finds every crevice of your skin to hug.
it’s hot outside—but you don’t mind the heat so much when it’s the fan of satoru’s breath against your skin. you can feel his hands tremble as they finds your hips. hesitant, you note as he pauses a moment before finally letting them rest against you.
“you’re eager, sweetheart,” he hums—because satoru, even dazed from the taste of you, is still persistently himself. large hands are gently cradling the curves of your waist—he’s warm there too, where he holds you and pulls you closer to his chest. he grins when you press a kiss to his jaw, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.
“it doesn’t feel like you’re kissing me while held at gunpoint either, gojo,” you roll your eyes. your hand cups his face, thumb tracing over the swell of his cheek gently.
gojo—his lips, rosy and just a bit swollen, pout at the use of his surname. surely, now that you’ve stolen the innocence of his lips, you can spare him a bit more than that. surely, the intimacy of his given name doesn’t outweigh the intimacy of exchanging breath.
satoru—he imagines the way the name would sound from you, carefully whispered like a secret. everything you do is careful, he’s noticed, everything about you is thoughtful and soft.
more than anything, you’re careful in the way you touch him. you’re delicate in the way you let yourself explore his skin, like he’s fragile and easy to hurt. like all he’s ever known is pain. it’s ironic—someone like satoru should know very little about pain, should never feel the devastating blows at its hands when infinity leaves more than enough room for him to remain untouched.
but you’re funny like that; take him by surprise as you carve out the slant of his cheekbone with your thumb slowly enough that you might almost think your touch is enough to slice the skin.
it’s nice, he thinks distantly, being handled with care is nice. it’s not something this world affords so easily.
“this your first kiss?” he asks shamelessly, throwing you that lopsided grin of his.
am i your first? is what he means to ask. what he wants to ask. what he aches to ask.
is he your first? or are you only his? has anyone else tasted the strawberry of your chapstick? was it a different flavor before it was ever strawberry? satoru hopes he’s the only one to ever explore the flavors your lips might come in—maybe you’ll try cherry next. he’d like that.
“it’s certainly your first kiss,” you giggle, thumb moving down to trace his bottom lip, “i can feel you trembling, y’know.”
not many people catch gojo satoru embarrassed—you do, though. that enough should make you feel like god, perhaps. who else is powerful enough to feel the strongest quake? who else feels the quivers of his hands and the uncertain hesitance under his touch?
no one but you—and you’d like to keep it that way.
his face flushes a little, against his control. even gojo satoru is not above the rush of blood rising to his cheeks, even he cannot stop the hue of color that paints across his face. he’s human, after all—and he deserves to be treated as such: with the fragility of being human.
“no it’s not,” he scoffs, “i’ve kissed plenty.”
“yeah?” you chuckle, admiring the rosiness of his flesh, “name one person.”
“i don’t recall anyone’s name,” he shrugs, hands still making sure to keep you painfully close. if you pull away, satoru thinks he might die—thinks he might never recover from the aftershocks of such devastation. “no one was ever worthwhile enough to remember.”
he’s too much sometimes—but never less than enough. you snort, huffing out a small laugh that rings in his ears and makes him gulp.
perfect—you sound and look and feel and taste perfect. gojo satoru is the strongest, but is he deserving of the one thing this earth has that’s devoid of flaws? he’s not so sure. but he can try to be worthy, and perhaps that’s enough.
“well, then tell me, gojo,” you murmur, gently slipping the bandages from his forehead to fall to his neck. he’s only recently left the sunglasses behind—you like him better this way. you can see the outline of his features better, even if you do miss his eyes.
“hm?” he quirks a brow, breath almost hitching when his eyes meet yours—since when have you looked at him like that? since when have your pupils housed so much affection for him? have you always done so, and he’s never noticed?
it would be a crime to not have noticed before this, he thinks, a cruel and terrible reality of missing every soft and affectionate gaze.
“will i be long forgotten after this kiss? or has this one finally caught your attention?”
there is no prior kiss to compare yours to—but there never needs to be one after, either. this is the best kiss he’ll ever have, the only kiss he wants to have. no one will ever feel like you, he’s sure of it. no one will ever make him feel what you do, and even infinity is something that cannot protect him from the risks.
but satoru is not scared, not of you—and never with you.
so he grins, tapping his chin in thought as he hums, “give me another, and i’ll decide.”
you scoff in disbelief—amused, if anything, before shaking your head. he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.
“you never change, gojo,” you say fondly, “do you know that?”
“say satoru,” he says quietly. it’s almost a plead—it sounds like a plead.
you smile. it’s an innocent little thing, untouched by the cruelties of life—or maybe it has, and you still find a reason to stay pure. maybe it’s the latter, he realizes, maybe you’re just resilient enough to remain unwavering in the way you love so unapologetically.
“come here, satoru,” you whisper, gently pulling his face closer as you hold his cheeks.
desperately, he needs to taste his name rolling off your tongue—so he comes closer, bridging the gap and kissing you again. and again—and he can’t find it in him to stop.
the same day satoru has his first kiss, you call him by his first name. it’s summer. the flowers smell sweet as the cicadas call, and you put the sun’s heat to shame.
he’ll always stay warm wrapped in you.
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tbh this was supposed to be y’all fucking for the first time but then it just turned into this. alas, we prevail
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nanamiscocksleeve · 27 days ago
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When The Snow Melts
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Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore. A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.
The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes. 
You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.
It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?
As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face. 
You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic. 
It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger.  How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was. 
You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?
A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.
As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage. 
The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.
You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it. 
The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.
By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon. 
You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger. 
You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time. 
The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.
Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.
You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin. 
You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!
There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?
You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?
Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you. 
The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass. 
“Why are you so surprised?”
Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move. 
“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”
“What are dreams if not another reality?”
It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.
His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar. 
“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse. 
He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.
“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry. 
Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks. 
“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”
You blink back tears. “Danger?”
“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”
“Why was it after me?”
Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”
“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”
“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”
“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.
“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”
You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”
“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory. 
“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”
You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”
“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”
You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”
“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”
Silence falls between you both,  the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age. 
“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek. 
“Is this our happily ever after?”
“It can be if we choose it to be.”
“I do. Wholeheartedly.”
Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.
Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.
Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.
Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?
Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.
It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself. 
“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”
A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty. 
“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it. 
“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you. 
“Indeed. All thanks to you.” 
You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy. 
“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”
“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”
“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin. 
“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”
“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his. 
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inbabylontheywept · 22 days ago
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Realizing in hindsight that the only reason I was so skeptical about your camp story is that being covered in a combination of crusty, sticky pink residue and rotten fish oil for days on end while sleeping on a wooden floor in the Arizona heat sounded like such unbearable sensory agony that I wanted to convince myself it was fake, because I didn't want to believe that anybody had genuinely been through that. I'd have walked out of that place with a rucksack of pink ooze and either find my way back to civilization or become crispy pink buzzard chow after day 2.
Like, legitimately, I think about my reaction to that post a lot. The imagery was so deeply unpleasant that I was desperately scrambling to convince myself it wasn't true like I'd just found out my spouse was a serial killer. There was no torture, no death, no hunger or disease, just a bunch of sweaty guys being covered in sticky fruit-flavored slime, subjected to unpleasant smells, and sleeping blanketless on the floor. And you can't even smell! You were spared a good third of it! Yet your experience still horrified me worse than any war story, medieval torture device or horror movie for reasons I cannot hope to fathom.
idk, I've had this ask stewing in my head for months, but I keep forgetting to actually write and send it. In my heart of hearts, I knew your story was perfectly plausible. I was just grasping at straws, praying for you to admit that no, nobody has ever showered in off-brand Gatorade and then not slept for 3 days while being expected to attend uni lectures. It's all untrue, a ruse, a trick, and such things could never happen outside of the cruelest depths of hell. Santa Claus is real, teachers live in the school, babies are delivered by storks, and the pink sauce incident never happened.
My mom pulls me into a warm hug after I scrape my knee. The plastic egg I found under the couch opens to reveal a piece of chocolate. A dollar magically appears under the pillow where I'd put my tooth. All is well. I am safe. The universe is kind, and whoever's running it loves me.
It's a sunny August day and I'm holding a popsicle on the swingset. I'm using my plastic dinosaurs to act out an improvised battle between good guys and bad guys as I sit on the carpeted floor. I'm playing Fossil Fighters on my dinged-up Nintendo DS in the plush brown armchair by the window.
I add the carrot nose to my snowman. Candy plops into my Halloween bag. The speaker on the classroom wall announces that school's out for summer, and we all bound out the door with wild glee, free at last.
Panting, wheezing, I drag my battered form back into the cobbled-together wreckage of my innocence, only one arm remaining with which to drag myself, blood and intestines trailing behind me as the storm rages overhead, washing my entrails downstream. I huddle underneath what remains of my once-pristine shelter from the cold and wet, pulling the shards back together as best I can as the wind howls angrily, hatefully. It's no use. It's broken. It's gone. It cannot be repaired. My innocence will never return to me. The rain seeps through the cracks and lands upon my face.
The rain is pink, I realize, and I cry.
First off: I haven’t actually been on the receiving end of this before and I have to say, it's an almost literally gripping experience. I felt this rat for the last three paragraphs.
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Incredibly well done. Second: If you just didnt' want to believe, that's fine, I barely have room in me for medium fries - a grudge would just pour out the top, too much tea for my cup. But you don't have to like, gaslight yourself into thinking the story is totally normal and believable (I always stretch my stories out a little) or beat yourself up over it for months. I meant it when I said we're good, you and I. It still makes me happy to see a comment or a like or, rarely, a question like this from you.
If it's just something that pops into your mind every now and again, I dunno, don't sweat it. I'd hate to give you a complex. Did I mention that I loved that writing for this? Incredible experience.
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samodivaa · 9 months ago
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Dip it, Lick it
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Warnings - smut, oral (m), overstimulation
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Bucky watches you lick the ice cream before you wrap your lips around it, closing your eyelids and savoring the flavor which dances on your taste buds. You slowly withdraw the ice cream from your mouth and open your eyes. You smile innocently at his rapt attention as you continue to talk about your day while Bucky thinks about those sweltering kisses from your frosty lips―not so innocently.
But then something crosses his face, a thought, a hesitation, and he tries to shift slightly. It doesn’t help that you are straddling his lap on the couch. Not now. Not yet―Bucky keeps eye contact, gazing lovingly at you as naughtiness emanates from his eyes—you stare at him. You have curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that are very pretty and very nice, he loves when you stare at his blue orbits—such divine orbs—not just one shade of color, but...many, with a hint of confusion glimmering, he sees it. Your eyes narrow slightly.
Without taking his eyes off your face even for a moment, but his expression is very strange, he gazes at you as though you are an object a couple of miles distant, or as though he is looking at your portrait and not at your real self at all, with a look of weariness, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take deep breaths, to soothe with oxygen as he wants words to rolls off his tongue. He is hopelessly enslaved by something—lust. This purgatory of the spirit, arousal is something that he cannot hide, not with that huge tent between his legs.
“Bucky, are you listening to me?” “Of course I am,” he says unsteadily. He smiles, wanting your voice aimed at him, he wants his face to absorb the direction of your eyes—but your gaze moves downwards. To his crotch. Your eyes look up and Bucky’s are black as chips of obsidian staring back into yours, two black holes, letting nothing out, not even information. You don’t say anything—at least, not with your mouth. Your eyes tell him a different story. And slowly, clumsily, you lean forward, your lips find his, the coldness of yours and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, disintegrating your entire body. His tongue spears more into your mouth, and the taste of him, mixes with the flavor of the ice cream, sweet—closed-mouth kisses that still feel scandalous, but too delicious to resist.  And you thought that you might be wrong, but then a deep sound comes from him, almost a growl and instinctively you know it is a sound of approval. You chuckle softly when you pull back and if Bucky thought your mouth was dangerous, your chuckle should’ve been classified as a weapon. Sin in a sound. “Turned on by me eating ice cream?” you ask, voice barely audible. You take the ice cream in your month while looking to see his blue eyes soaking you in as Bucky groans and your core melts at the sound, your breath stops as his tongue skims his lower lip. He shakes his head, but there's something more than lust in his eyes as he stares at your lips. He wants more. “I. Will. Try. It. On. Your. Dick.” As you draw closer again, his eyes widen a little at the boldness of your words. You punctuate each word with a chilly kiss along his jaw, making your way to his ear. You bite the lobe, and Bucky’s cock twitches as the fingers of your free hand drift lower, from his abs, to his stomach. The slight touch of brow sweat-coated, his breathing uneven. He moans against your lips. His metal hand slides down between your legs and he presses a fingertip against your knickers. You just keen and your hips buck forwards. His body is on fire, his hands move to your hips, encircling your waist and pulling you onto his cock, seeking friction. Bucky runs three fingers along your covered cunt, soft folds through the thin cotton fabric. He wants to stroke you slowly, but you suddenly pull away to rise on your feet just to kneel between his legs seconds later—a tremendous rush runs through Bucky’s body, as if every cell is electrified at once, he even has to bite his lip to not moan at the sight in front of him, why is he so desperate? “Bucky” you whisper, breaking him out of his trance. 
His heart races as you reach for his waistband, sliding his sweats enough to free his cock. His dick is straining against his briefs with a wet patch forming from the precum, and you watch as his dick springs up and then falls slightly, reaching his stomach. He stares at you apprehensively, and you wrap your much smaller hand around his length, hearing him suck in a breath as you lick the ice cream again before leaning down to kiss his tip, he almost cums at the sensation of the coldness hitting his cock. Perhaps his breathing eases. Perhaps he looks a trifle more peaceful, despite his eyes rolling beneath their lids. In this moment, his mind is between two elements: one, excitement, the other, focusing on not cumming on the spot. He tries to pay attention, but the kiss with your cold lips is electric and pulsing—his loud moan makes you waste no time. You pump his cock a few times as you bring the ice cream into your mouth once again, swirling your tongue over it before pushing his dick down your throat. His cock is so large that you have to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it so you decide to focus on sucking only the tip. “Wait, stop…I-I need a moment” he nearly sobs out the words. His eyes are open, face flushed, ragged breathing which he fails to hide, his extraordinary earnestness and self-control is non-existent, he can’t keep his composure while trembling all over. An impossible pleasure goes through him, making him gasp, legs start to quiver with the impending orgasm—he has a whole body shudder while finishing and you're so mean so you keep sucking his tip.
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catcze · 1 year ago
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OKOKOK BUT LIKE
Your idea about a reader who doesnt like tea BUT still drinks it just to spend time with wrio, and then they come clean eventually PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE that boy would cry </3 i need someone to write this omfggg
GOTCHU GOTCHU I GOTCHU BABY
Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!
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This, all of this, starts because you're too polite. Too polite to refuse your boss' offer of tea one afternoon after sorting through files together, even though you cannot stand the stuff.
It was because he was very kind about it, you reason to yourself. Not to mention it's widely known that he's very fond of the drink. How would he feel if you refused? One cup wouldn't hurt. It's just one cup.
But turns out that it was not, in fact, just one cup. A few days after forcing yourself to drink the tea without cringing, after you've once again found yourself sorting and organizing papers in his office, he asks if you'd like tea again. So you gulp. And you say yes. Like an idiot. And now you're knee deep in the lie that you're as into tea as he is.
It's not all bad, though. Though you had taken his invitation out of politeness at first, you had found that his grace is actually very fun to talk to. He's much less rigid than other employers in the past, and you'd even dare to say that the atmosphere during tea is rather friendly.
Wriothesley lets you talk his ear off about whatever has caught your fancy recently— whether it be a new book you've read, or some news you've heard from the surface, he always listens whenever you talk. He gives you his full attention, nodding and asking questions where it's appropriate, sometimes even sharing bits and pieces of harmless gossip from around the fortress, too. And over time... well, you've found that you've become more willing to grin and bear the taste of overpriced hot leaf water, if just to be able to hang out with him. He's funny, what can you say. And nice. And he seems interested whenever you talk. And it 's definitely a plus that he's easy on the eyes too.
But the problem is that there is this guilt that weighs in your chest whenever you come over for your regularly scheduled tea time (regularly scheduled tea time!!! archons, the lengths you're going just to hang out with him) that only grows when he proudly shows you whatever new tea he's acquired for the both of you to have.
Wriothesley always gets this excited gleam in his eye, like a dog with a stick, and you'd be a monster to stomp on that excitement. So you nod, you ooh and you ahh and you always compliment the tea after, pulling flowery words and pretty descriptions out of thin air because even if it's just flavored water to you, he likes it.
Doesn't stop you from feeling guilty, though.
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"I'm telling you—" Wriothesley says one fateful meeting for afternoon tea. You've yet to even touch your cup, but he's practically already finished half of the teapot. "I don't mean to assume, but I really feel like Jurieu and Lourvine? I really feel like those two are seeing each other, and just using their work as a cover," he sighs, taking a sip of his tea. "Not that it's even an issue if they are, but— hey, you okay? You're looking a little... unsettled, there."
And it's probably true. You've been sitting and debating if today was finally the day you're going to come clean. You've been pinging the thought around in your head before you've even stepped into his office. Worn you lip and the inside your cheek with nibbles as you feared how bad it could go.
You've no doubt that you look bothered. Your hands are gripping the teacup so tightly you think you might accidentally crack it any second.
"I... I have to tell you something," you blurt out, not meeting his eyes. The abruptness of it leaves him blinking.
"Is it the tea? If it's not to your liking, i can find a different blend," he offers, and you groan.
"No! Wait— yes! I mean, yes it's the tea but it's not—" the words come out a mess, and you're flustered. "It's not the brew of the tea I don't like. It's just that... I... Idon'tliketeaperiod." It's a jumble of words, slurring together as you spit it out so fast you barely understand what you said yourself. But you said it! You finally said it— oh, you can feel the guilt come off you like a weight, and you slump back into the seat, exhausted by the sheer effort it took to say that.
Wriothesley's lips are parted, brows furrowed as he looks at you, clear confusion on his face. "You don't... like tea?"
You shake your head weakly. "Nope."
"At all?"
"At all."
He pauses, like he's trying to process the concept of it. Then he laughs a little, finishing his cup in one swig, and leans back against his chair. He looks a little defeated, a hand running through his hair, mumbling under his breath that, that sure wasn't what he expected to hear.
"You could have told me sooner, you know? I do have more than just tea down here in my office. I can't imagine how many weeks you've had to put up with it."
You groan, hiding your face in your palms and cringing, because talking like this was not your definition of fun. Telling the guy you found attractive (despite his penchant for the worst tasting drink in Teyvat) why you stuck around was not what you had readied yourself to do today.
"I know," you say. "I just... It was to be polite at first, but overtime i found hanging out with you fun. You're nice to be around, and to talk to, and you listen to me talk even if I ramble. And..." you sigh, one hand coming to rub your temple, still hiding your face away in embarrassment. "And I don't know— drinking all that leaf water was worth being able to be around you. Or something. Ugh."
You're ready to be evicted from the office. For Wriothesley to toss you down the stairs and out his door or something. You're not expecting him to laugh, to sport a blush high on his cheeks. He clears his throat when you look at him in surprise, but he can't wipe the small smile from his face.
"Honestly, when you said you had something to say, I had expected it to me more along the lines of that," he admits, running a hand through his bangs. You're silent, still rather lost on what to do next, what to do now that the man you're smitten with had practically admitted to having wanted to hear a confession out of your mouth.
Wriothesley reaches across the table and gently plucks your untouched teacup out of your hands, bringin it to his own lips. You can still see his smile behind it brim.
"Well, if you still want to see each other, I'm not opposed. How does this weekend sound? We can go someplace that serves more than just 'leaf water', so you can enjoy your drink too."
The blood rushes to your face and your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. A date. Was he asking you out on a date?
"Yeah, sure," You respond when you get your mouth to work. Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest— you're excited. "This weekend works."
And Wriothesley's eyes gleam. He sets the teacup down, and that smile is back on his face. "Sounds good, sweetheart."
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pigeonpeach · 9 months ago
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Love potion yandere <3
Cw: dub con, suggestive themes, drugging, yandere themes,
Prompt: You recently received a potion from a strange old lady you helped out. You helped her pick out a cute bunny plushie for her daughter and even helped pay for it. As reward she gave you that potion and payed you back. Telling you it will show wether or not someone loves you. If they don’t, then they will act as if nothing happened. But if they do then it will strengthen their love to the point they cannot resist showing affection to you. You were in fact: quite perplexed who to use this on. So you saved it for later.
Well later came.
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Jean
You were preparing tea for your boss Jean when you got curious. She’d bene eyeing you for some time now so you wanted some answers. The potion came up again as you contemplated it. There was no way you could but… ohh… could anyone blame you. Yearning for someone is truly frightening. You yearn for her touch, to sit on her lap, to be her wife.. oh you just want to know.. maybe just a drop. Just a little? Half a drop maybe?
You caved. Who could blame you. You were horrible with signs and you needed to know. You didn’t put much. A single drop. Nothing more. You watched her lift it before the guilt overtook you.
“Wait! I just realized I didn’t use the right tea bags! I’m so sorry.” You said. She put the cup down looking at you concerned.
“Its no problem. I can drink this one. I’m not that picky.” She chuckled. You however still sweated.
“B-but I really insist I must get it right before you have it!”
“Is it poisonous?” She asked confused and skeptical.
“Of course not. I just.. this cup was… i- i um… its a really experimental tea I bought and I don’t know if you would like it.” You said nervously. You looked like a vein would burst at any second from your stress.
“Please relax, you look way too stressed over this. I’ll have a sip and tell you my thoughts.” She took a sip before you could interject. She put the cup down as she swallowed it. A smile graced her lips. “This is great actually. It has such a lovely taste.”
You felt relieved.
“Do tell me the flavor, this is excellent stuff I’d like to buy some myself.” She said.
“O-oh I’ll go check!” You said nervously.
With that you left as you clutched your heart. It seemed she was fine. Did… that mean it didn’t work? Or did she not love you? Oh well. What matters is that she’s fine and you got your closure without risking your job. You decided to try and come up with some exotic and outrageous flavor to tell her as you killed time in the library.
Meanwhile for Jean she felt herself growing restless. Her hands tingling as she slammed her fist on the table. “Where is she! Where is she!” She felt so fustrated. Her heart raced. Her mind blanked as it was filled with thoughts of you. She needed you this instant. She sat up from her desk as she vowed to find you herself.
Coming into the Library she found you dusting the shelves.
“O-oh Jean I’m sorry I got carried a-woat?!” You gasped as she suddenly lifted you into her arms and carried you off. “M-m-m”
“Don’t speak. I just… want to hold you right now.” She said, her voice as so stern, it was nothing like the woman you were talking to a hour ago. Her face on your neck taking a deep sniff making you surprised. “You’re so soft.. were you always this compliant? You didn’t even resist when I picked you up, you just went along with it.” She chuckled, her laugh holding a slight sinister feeling to it.
“G-grand master?” You squeaked. She seemed elated.
“Just call me Jean.” She said carrying you off to her office. You couldn’t help but wonder if even one drop was too much. But at least you got your answers… for her sake you hope its not permanent
Diluc
Maybe you were in over your head. You made muffins for the household and offered him one, you made sure it was his favorite, blueberry cinnamon. He thanked you and ate the whole thing. He even ate most of the muffins. They were gone before midday. But you knew it wouldn’t harm anyone who ate it. You had been hassled by Adelinde for the recipe when Milly came rushing to you.
“Ma-master Diluc requests your presence immediately.” Milly said urgently. You were a bit puzzled by her reaction. But you obliged heading to his office. You barely got the door open before you were suddenly pulled into a tight embrace.
“You… what did you do to me?” He growled. You tried to squirm as you panicked slightly.
“H-huh? W-whats going on? I- oh!” You were suddenly lifted as you pinned you to the wall.
“Those muffins… you.. you were already so tempting and now I can’t get you out of my mind. So what was it? A aphrodisiac?”
“I-it shouldnt be having those effects. I only did one drop… i just… wanted to see if you felt the same way.” You fessed up quickly. You were very conflicted, on one hand this was very scary, but also kind of hot. Being pinned against the wall, your crush pinning you and desperately pressing himself into you. Oh it was a battle between your sense and your heart.
“I knew it. You could’ve just asked you know? You have no excuse now.” His voice was so growly. Your body tingled as he spoke directly into your ear. “You’re going to take responsibility here. You are going to mine. I’ll make sure of that.”
Dehya
You had the biggest crush on Dehya. You hired her for a expedition you went on with your students but you ended up head over heel in love with her. Now that it was over you tried to find any excuse to spend time with or hang out with her. You wondered if sometimes she got annoyed or hated you because you worked for the Akademiya. But with that potion however you figured you would have a clear shot of figuring it out. Of course she wasnt a test dummy. You tested it on a lab rat who became quite cuddly with you. The rat survived with no damage done mentally or physically. So while you two were staying at inn together you slipped a drop in her cup.
“DEHYA!” You gasped as she just lifted you into the air, as if she were offering you to the sky, the. Lowering you to her chest. Then repeating that. You realized she was using you as s weight.
“Heh, you’re so light! It barely feels like I’m moving a muscle.” She smiles as you froze, not wanting to fall.
“Dehya please put me down this is so embarrassing!” You were quite worried about falling. You already had such a fragile back, you couldn’t worsen it even more.
“Why? You’re so cute like this. Heh, my little researcher is just so light.. makes me wonder how the wind never blew you away.” She teased. You weren’t even that skinny. She was just that strong. “I could keep you, just sling you over my shoulder and take you with me. Carry you around like a purse… a pretty purse. One I could fu-“
“DEHYA! Please put me down! Also are you drunk?” You were quite puzzled. None of your experiments yielded this. The mouse had simply become cuddly, your cat also became clingy for the day. Perhaps it was just the type of love. The mouse and your cat loved you as a caretaker so their love strengthened to make them more dependent on you than they were, her love must’ve been more than you thought.
“Heh.. I slipped out my flask for some firewater mixture I got. Wanted to see if you would have a sip or two.” That was concerning. You didn’t know she could be so devious. It was kind of exciting though… you had always wanted to try firewater.. getting drunk with her seemed like a great way to bond an- “stop thinking so much.” Dehya seemed angry as she swung you around once more.
“Please put me down! Dehya you’ll break something and that will be me!”
“Relax, I wouldn’t break something pretty like you.” She said, slinging you over her shoulder and tossing you onto the bed. You two had separate beds but you figured you wouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight. “So pretty, so pliable and soft. My little researcher..” she purred. You were struggling to maintain your composure or mentally write notes. Her body ontop of you. “Mine.. all~~~ mine. I won’t let anyone else take you. If they try I’ll cut their fucking hand off.”
“Dehya that’s a crime!” You were alarmed. You couldn’t let her do such things. “Let’s just get some rest. You clearly need it!” You attempted to roll away but she blocked you.
“Mm i’d get away with it.. there’s plenty of spaces to hide a body in sumeru.” She purred as if that wasn’t the most sinister words you’ve heard from her.
“Dehya! No! No murder no using me like a purse, and no-“
“Are you trying to leave me.” She growled.
“Dehya i can’t even get up right now.” You sighed.
“Good. I’m going to use you… like a pillow. We can do more fun stuff when I’m sober. Besides… I wanna do it under the stars. And also so anyone nearby can hear you calling my name~” she giggled. You weren’t actually too Against that. That actually sounded kind of hot to you.
“Please just lay down so you can sleep!” An Idea popped into your mind. “I’ll give you a kiss if you get ready for bed and promise not murder anyone!”
“Just one? Nonono I want more than just kisses her.”she said smugly. “What’s stopping me from taking some right now? You clearly don’t mind.” You sighed.
“I’ll… go on that starry night date of yours if you just comply here.”
“You mean the one where I’ll f*ck you?”
“Yes.”
“Deal.”
Neuvillette
Truth be told the potion wasn’t for him. You had a crush on someone else and when they asked for some water you dropped that in there.
You didn’t know it was for the Iudex of Fonatine. Not until you were dragged into his office and he curled himself around you in his more.. dragon like form. His tail was massive spanning what must be several feet, you couldn’t measure it though considering the way he curled himself, tail included, around you.
“Mine… mine..” he growled as you stood still and shaking. You liked the Iudex sure but you knew he was way out of your league. Apparently he wasn’t.
“S-sir… i- i have work…” you weren’t sure how to get out of this. His grip was tight. His bigger body wrapped around you as he sniffed you. You couldn’t get a inch away.
“Mine.” His growl was more deeper.
“Sir! I-i can’t.. ngh..” you gasped as he held you so tight you had difficulty breathing.
“Say it.” His voice was more stern than you had ever heard. The kind of tone he’d have when dealing with a unruly court.
“S-say what?” Your voice trembled. You wondered if he could kill you with this grip.
“Say that you’re mine.” His voice reverberated throughout your body, making your hairs stand on end. His grip only getting tighter as you became more alarmed.
“I-I’m yours… I’m yours!” You pleaded. To your relief he lessened his grip letting you breathe. However he started instead to.. bite you. You jolted feeling his bite at your neck, it was more like a nibble but it was still a alarming sensation. “S-sir! We’re in your office..” you wished you never used that potion at all. Maybe instead thrown it away. You might not get out of this in one piece.
“I don’t care.. I want you…” His tongue lapped at your sweat as if he was… bathing you? Do dragons clean themselves like cats? Maybe not but it was a jarring sensation. “You’re mine.. I’m not going to let anyone else have you.” He growled as his hands on your uniform pulled it open.
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lightless-flame-official · 7 months ago
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gerry keay (classic flavor):
skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life
eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers
his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:
- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.
- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.
- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.
- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.
he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.
black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.
we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.
the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.
sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.
he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.
gerry keay (tmagp):
goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.
we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!
no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.
the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.
loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."
he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.
his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.
there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.
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harque · 6 months ago
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" debt "
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💭 . . . 0.6k "whenever you're ready." aventurine pov, gn!reader, angst, mild spoilers (aventurine's real name + backstory), pre-relationship, starvation
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Aventurine was charming in every sense of the word.
He was handsome, a poker shark, always the life of the party, and a better friend than some might guess. He was well-learned about finer things: liquor, gems, and numerous other small, but interesting tidbits that could start a conversation. But he doesn’t know how to be a boyfriend. Or, really, how to be anyone who isn’t on the verge of falling apart.
So, Aventurine’s initial reaction to your confession was not at all soft or romantic. His knee-jerk response is to withdraw. If there was any truth left in him, you were uncomfortably close to unearthing it and he wasn’t prepared to deal with the carnage built up underneath his delicately cultivated persona yet. He does, however, understand love. He is not heartless. He had been loved, when he was younger. He could not love you now. What more did he have to offer?
His sister loved him, his people loved him—the harsh sun, coarse sand, and fleeting rain all once adored him as if he were their own. Kakavasha was very loved, but there is no sense in loving dead things. Aventurine was needed. He likes that.
Aventurine likes and wants to be needed, because being craved, sought after, desired or even admired by someone, no matter the person—makes it easier to twist the game in his favor. He can control others by being relied upon, can make them want him. As long as he could trick other people into thinking he was indispensable, he was safe.
(He carved away pieces of himself to sell as commodities, a fine cloth for the wealthy to wear until there was nothing left, no remnants of his former self, just a hollow shell to be discarded.)
You didn’t need him. He doesn’t feel safe. You know he isn’t who he parades himself as, and he’s scared.
You were too patient. Too gentle—he sees you, the wolf in the clothing of a lamb, prowling the edge of his enclosure. (My friend, we are one in the same, why do you insist on living among them? You cannot hide. You are not like them. You can layer all the pleasantries you like on top of your appetite, try to bury it, but it is always there. I know how to get it out. Kakavasha, aren’t you starving? Do you eat in secret because you can’t bear the thought of becoming an outcast?)
He sees a lover with lips that drip sweet rot when open. You lean closer, pressing a chaste, warm kiss to the birthmark on his wrist right above his watch and oh—like the pathetic, wretched sheep he was, Aventurine wants so desperately—but he was too wary of taking more than he was allowed.
“I understand," You said as you pulled away, replacing your mouth with the pad of your thumb. His pulse raced as you traced his veins. “It’s about time for me to go, anyways. Whenever you’re ready, come find me, alright? We’ll talk.”
(Come closer, come closer. The table is made, the world is your plate, I will give you everything so you will not have a need for anything. Indulge freely in my bounty, savor the flavors and feast to your heart’s content. No, even then, you are not filled, you still hunger. Do you ever stop wanting more? Do you ever feel satiated? When your belly is bursting, when your teeth are stained with the juices of the hunt, is your thirst ever quenched? Never. Never.)
With an even and calculated tone, he simply responds, “Of course. I always keep my promises.”
The smile on his face was nonchalant. It is only his hands that betray him, trembling behind his back when you leave.
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© harque — all rights reserved — notes & reblogs are much appreciated ¡¡¡( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!! thank you for reading!
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woncon · 1 year ago
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➳ the case of the missing cookie
➶ stray kids ot8 x gn!reader 。˚ °
-ˏ` ✎﹏ where one of your boyfriends ate your cookie and you need to find out who was the thief, so you kiss everyone.
➴ genre: fluff, poly, slice of life, non-idol au
: ̗̀➛ warnings: mxm interactions (ofc), one punch, a lil' bit suggestive if you squint, a few pet names, a lots of kissing (꜆ ˃ ³ ˂)꜆
⌨ :: 2.8k words ♡ ︵ . .
⁀➷ special thanks to @honeytwo for helping me translate this fic into english, correcting my grammar and other mistakes. thank you for everything! °♡̷•.
➳ stray kids masterlist | main masterlist
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You've been keeping your cookie in store for a while now. You're searching for the glorious ocassion to eat it, and finally the time has come: your university assigment is all done, checked and sent, and you're ready to celebrate your success with having the tasty chocolate chip cookie.
The box is surpisingly light. You rip off the plastic cover, and your heart skips a beat. Your cookie isn't there, just a few little, orphan crumbs. You stare at them in disbelief, as if they would be able to point at the offender with their fingers. Half an hour ago you took a dreamy look at the cookie, because you were reassured by the knowledge that you can have it soon.
But one of your boyfriends was faster than you. Someone meanly ate your small treasure, your favourite sweet, which you guarded like how a mother would her tiny, innocent baby.
You throw the empty box on the kitchen counter, and you decide, you'll find and unveil the perpetrator. The crime happened less than thirty minutes, you just need to find the lips that taste like cookie, and then... There will be consequences, for sure. No one can eat your cookie without punishment. With that definite thought, you furrow your brows, nod and already on your way to investigate.
Minho wanted to take a look, if there's enough canned fish for the cats. That's why he goes to the kitchen. Where an unexpected you grabs him firmly and kisses him angrily and intensely. His tongue cannot resist, it's a miracle that your nor his hip doesn't hit the kitchen counter or one another. He grabs you by the hips and when he could truly have a taste of you, and take the lead, you pull away to take a breath.
You breathe onto each other's mouth after the kiss ends. Minho gives the now less furious you a questioning look. Usually, you're not the passionate one and you feel a little embarrassed in his arms, so you quickly get out from his lightsome hug.
"I'll explain later," you mumble the promise.
So, Minho can check the cat food with the memory of your lips on his mouth and heart, and you your other partners.
Your next target, who you find is Felix, sweet Felix, who wouldn't touch your cookie, 'cause he wouldn't want to hurt you this way. But it's possible that he accidentally ate it, and he didn't know the cookie was yours, so you definitely need to kiss him. It's a must.
You sit down on the sofa next to him in the living room. He's playing video games. You're still blunt from the kiss in the kitchen, so you shyly and gently pull his shirt to get his attention. Felix pauses his game, turning to you with interest on what you would want. But before he could ask you, you lean into him, crashing his lips with yours in a slow, sensual way. He tastes sweet, but not from the cookie, rather the raspberry flavored gummy bears laying next to his thigh. You're happy that you have no reason to be angry at him, and in addition you can kiss his perfect lips.
You leave his warm lips with a smile. You feel more calm and self-conscious.
"You can continue playing. That's all I wanted."
Even if you want to leave, the boy with the glittery, loving look and with galaxies shining on his face won't let you.
After a few more kisses and a giggly freckle pampering session later, with lips a little numb, but oh so loved, you go to the studio, 'cause Chan is surely there. You're ready for the next kisses to find the cookie flavor on someone's lips.
As with Felix, you wouldn't assume that Chan ate your cookie with malicious intent. Although when he's doing hard work and he gets hungry, Chan doesn't pay too much attention to what he's eating at the moment. He could eat it without knowing it was your cookie.
Before you open the door, you knock properly, and after his tired voice invites you in, you step into the room. Chan turns to you in his chair. He flashes a gentle smile, but his dull eyes show you that he is exhausted.
"You need a break."
"Yeah, yeah." Chan sighs while drumming on his thighs, sinking into his chair.
"If you continue like this, you will fall asleep on the keyboard." You step closer, running your fingers through his soft hair, massaging his scalp which he accepts with a relieved groan. Suddenly Chan pulls you into his lap and you cling to his shoulder with a surprised squeal.
"No, if I use you as a pillow."
Chan's smile widens and grows into a lovely grin as he cuddle you like a joyful yet sleepy koala, hiding his handsome face in the crook of your neck, imitating snoring sounds. You giggle at his playfulness, fishing his face out.
For a few silent moments you just watch him in deep awe. Chan caresses your back in slow circles and you give in and kiss him. He didn't eat any cookies, but he drinked one or two mango flavored energy drinks.
"Was this my goodnight kiss?"
"Not necessarily. You can get more, if you go to sleep in the bed."
"Im gonna save, then go. I promise." He press a light eskimo kiss on you and smiles widely. "Okay?"
"Uh-uh. You have ten minutes. If you're not with Seungmin by then, no more kisses for you."
After you threaten him, you leave his comfy, warm body and the room to search for your next boyfriend and potential cookie thief. Typical workout music emanates from one of the rooms: you enter there.
Changbin is on the rug, doing sit-ups in a loose athletic shirt. The TV shows the actual task and the remaining time. The music rumbles from the speakers. The boy is sweaty, his biceps streching perfectly. You're just in luck: he has a half minute long break right now. He just lays there like a starfish, panting heavily until you sit down on his stomach, pulling him up to your lips by grabbing the front of his cloth. His sigh is muted by your roaming mouth. It doesn't bother Changbin, he really enjoys how you randomly yet lovingly kiss him, how close you are. You don't mind that your chest is pressed againt his and your shirt getting a bit sweaty from the thight contact.
Changbin is very sexy, such a biscutie and a talented kisser, but he didn't eat any cookies recently, instead he had fruit flavored ice cream. The coldness is gone, but the taste is still fresh-like on his tongue.
"What's up?" He asks in a raspy voice which sends shivers down your spine. He strokes your sides lazily as the timer won't run out soon, as he can offer himself to you as long as you need him. You wanted to keep your mission as a secret, however you didn't know that Changbin would look at you like that, interested in whatever you want to say.
"Somebody ate my cookie, therefore I taste everyone. Lucky for you, you aren't the one." Your hand strokes his chest, touching every muscle beneath the sweated cloth, slightly lingering a bit on his abs.
Changbin smirks.
"Jisung was really suspicious when I went out on break."
"Thanks for the hint!" You kiss his puffy face, then get up.
The last time you were with Jisung, he was clinging to you, and he was demanding not just hugs, but attention. You were trying hard to calm him down. You reassured that when you finish your task, you will give all your hugs to him. Is it possible that Jisung ate your cookie out of revenge? Hopefully not.
But where could Jisung be? He was probably seeking hugs from somebody else. There's no better place for this than the big bedroom, where Seungmin sleeps. You approach the room on your tiptoes, quietly opening the door into the semi-darkness.
On the bed, under the big blanket hill, you can hear peaceful snoring. Smiling, you get closer, climbing on the bed. Paying attention not to kneel on anybody, and when you sucessfully make your way behind your closer boyfriend, you nest yourself to his back. You immediately recognize Seungmin from his scent, his messy hair and the soft way he snores. You lean over his shoulder to place a light kiss on his cheek. He couldn't eat your cookie unless he's a sleepwalker, which is completely out of the question.
However, the boy who sleeps next to Seungmin, maybe. Jisung maybe. You need to find out, that's why you're here. You can't cuddle up with the lovely duo and just rest, you need to know whose fault it is that you can't enjoy your celebration cookie.
You approach from the other side of the bed. Jisung's head is fully in Seungmin's chest. He got as close to him as possible.
"Hanie... Jisungie... Baby..."
You kiss his shoulder, fondling his back, softly calling his name.
"Huh?" Jisung turns your way, his tone is dripping from deep sleep. You kiss his lips. The kiss is slow, dripping with honey like his dreams. Sweet, but not from the cookie, more like the hazelnut chocolate that Changbin probably saw him eat earlier.
"Y/n..."
"Just sleep, baby." You rub your nose on his neck, when his head slumps back on the pillow.
As you climb backwards on the bed, wondering where you should search for your remaining two boyfriends, an unexpected loud noise comes from the bathroom followed by muffled swearing. Something hit the ground with a loud thud.
You become scared that something bad happened, for example the hair dryer fell on the unlucky Jeongin's or Hyunjin's feet, but that's not the case. You can see that when you open the door hurriedly. It was just the comb on the ground and Hyunjin's feet look fine - as fine as feet can be. He bends down for the fallen thing.
"Is everything alright?"
You ask in a whisper, the door clicks behind you. You let go of the doorknob, and grab the towel. You want to help dry his locks, they don't look ready for combing yet.
"Yeah."
Hyunjin is a strong-minded guy, besides his overwhelming charm helps him reach what he desires. For example, you on the top of the washing machine rubbing his hair, while he is between your thighs.
Or even the last cookie...
Hyunjin hums from the pleasant feeling as you try to dry his hair. He puts his hands on your waist, drawing you a bit closer. Then he sees your shirt.
"You're wet? Did I make you wet?"
"No. Changbin did. I mean, this is his sweat."
"What did you do?" Hyunjin mouth turns upwards into a smile, his left eyebrow frows in a teasing manner. Devilishly angelic.
"Nothing bad." You feel the heat beneath your cheeks as you poke his nose and stop the hair drying.
"Nothing bad, huh?"
Hyunjin's eyes gets smug and excitedly dark. His gaze is on your lips, touching you with his look first only, then dulcetly devouring your lips by savouring them.
Hyunjin's kisses are magical. He also magically diverts your attention from your cookie-finding quest. He didn't eat your cookie, you don't taste it, however you can't make yourself move from his embrace. He's a born talent: with his kisses, he easily distracts you from his nimble fingers working their way beneath your shirt, then with proficient and successful movements he takes it off you.
When you lean back to protest, Hyunjin lifts the material over your head, then throws it into the laundry, so he can hug your bare waist smirking pleasantly. The air feels heavier in your lungs as his fingers draw circles and unrecognizable shapes on your side.
"Hyunjin..."
Your sigh bursts into laughter as he tickles your sides and your naked belly.
"Stop, stop! Hey! Hyunjin!"
When your vehement protest bears it's fruit, Hyunjin cheekily yet lovingly smiles at you.
The door opens, both of you look at the arriving Chan. He isn't surprised, just looks at the two of you with a dreamy smile. Hyunjin and you are one of his favourite people, and seeing you together always makes his heart beat faster, while he smiles like a teenager experiencing his first love.
"I came for my promised goodnight kiss."
"Can I have your hoodie in exchange?" You want his black hoodie so bad. Though the air was hot a minute ago, it's still cold for your uncovered skin. "You won't need it anyway. The boys warmed up the bed so much, it feels like it's burning. You won't be cold."
Chan doesn't nod, just pulls his hoodie off his head. While he does it just for you, you can catch a piece of his brawny stomach, 'cause his shirt slides up a bit too. The view is satisfying indeed.
You happily pull on the relic which smells like Chan and feels like his hug around your whole torso. You still smile when you give him your goodnight kiss. Chan hums gratefully, caresses your cheek, then he gets a kiss from Hyunjin too, gently grabbing his not dried locks.
The conclusion hits you like a train: there is only one boy left who could eat your cookie.
Jeongin. The sassy, naughty Innie.
"Do you know where Innie is?"
You get down from the washing machine with the intention to track down the thief. No longer his identity, but his location.
"He went to the market."
Hyunjin finally uses the hairbrush.
"He should enjoy it while he can."
Your eyes become dark and threatening.
"What happened?"
"He ate my cookie. The last cookie."
Chan hisses. "Woe to him. Come, hug out your anger from me and Sungie, while he isn't here. Maybe it will help."
"Okay."
Chan gets behind Jisung, and sensing the big, comfortable body's heat, the boy turns around and clings onto the older with a content whine. You settle down on Chan's other side, cuddling up to him, listening to his heartbeat. As his heart calms down, he began to snore quietly as he sinks into sleep. You smoothly pat Jisung's hand, trying to focus on that and not imagine how you'll chase Jeongin with your slippers when he comes back.
Your cookie is holy and invulnerable.
You can't stay idle for long, you get up, tuck your boyfriends, then you leave the bedroom and you don't stop until you're in the living room where the freshly showered Changbin, Felix and the cats are. They're chilling on the sofa, watching one of the many Bruce Willis movies.
You sit down next to Changbin. The frustration is too much, you huff and your head land in his shoulder, the tip of your nose softly touching his neck. Maybe the stress wouldn't follow you there. Changbin's hand softly strokes your thigh as his other hand lays on the top of Felix's knee.
"Have you found Jisung?"
"Yes. But it wasn't him. It was Jeongin. He isn't home yet."
"What are you whispering about?" Felix curiously leans closer, rubbing the purring cat's head.
"I found out that Jeongin ate my cookie."
"What will you do to him when he arrives?"
"I'll kill him. I just don't know how yet."
Changbin tries to hide his smile. You are really cute when you curdle like that, 'cuz it's clear that you won't fulfill those threats.
As if somebody told him to come in, the thief arrives. You, your two boyfriends and the cats can hear the front door's opening, the key clinks, the coat swishes, the shoes tap on the floor, and there is one more person in the house.
"YANG JEONGIN!"
You're very fast, getting to him by seconds. Your mouth is a strict line, and in your eyes, the betrayal and the wrath swirls when you punch his chest, offended.
"You ate my cookie!"
"Ouch!" That's his reaction. He doesn't protect his body from you, you can easily use him as a pounching bag if you want to. But even if you're grumpy, you get interested in the thing he is holding behind his back. It's rattling. In turn, as hard you try to see, as committed he is to hide it from you.
"Please, don't kill me. I didn't know that cookie was yours, 'm sorry that I ate it. But I brought a whole pack just for you. Can you forgive me?"
Jeongin shows you the box of cookies, while he looks at you with the most precious puppy eyes and makes a little pout which melts your heart instantly. That's the guilty Innie's speciality.
You accept your gift, then you softly sigh. You're reconciled, you don't resent anymore. You can be easily reassured. You even press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, so he knows that you forgave him. Jeongin smirks widely, his eyes turn into mischievous half moons.
You're pleased and proud too, 'cuz in the end you found your missing cookie and solved the case.
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genderkoolaid · 1 year ago
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I'm sorry but you people have demeaned the word lesbian so badly... the LITERAL definition of a lesbian is a NON-MAN who likes NON-MEN. How is that so fucking hard to understand? Not you specifically, but people like you have made it into something it's not; the whole "bi lesbian" and "straight lesbian" shit, saying trans men can date lesbians (which is literally just transphobic), straight up just saying lesbians can date men???? MEN???? DO YOU NOT HEAR YOURSELVES?
And now the whole butch discourse lmao. Sure, maybe in days long past it was a broader term, but today when someone hears the word butch, I can guarantee their minds will jump to a butch lesbian. If y'all want it to be the GBT community so bad then just say so
Also I can guarantee that you were one of the mfs laughing at lesbians who used he/him or he/they pronouns back in 2020 lmao performative ass bitch
Definitions of words do not descend from Heaven straight from the lips of God. We make them up! So I simply disagree with your definition of lesbian, as do many others. Personally, I enjoy the definition of "queer love/desire for women." For one, it centers lesbianism around women, instead of centering it around the exclusion of men. And two, "non-men loving non-men" is a definition which utterly erases nonbinary people. If an agender person is dating a neutrois person, they are not lesbians- or gay men- simply because y'all cannot get your head out of your binary asses for five seconds. "Non-men loving non-men" is a definition that attempts to be nonbinary-inclusive but only succeeds in making nonbinary & genderqueer identities palatable for radical feminism and political lesbianism. Honestly, I would prefer someone who defines lesbian as "woman loving woman" but understands that many people have complex relationships with womanhood while still feeling attached to the label of lesbian, than someone who uses this "NB-inclusive" definition and goes absolutely feral over genderqueers who are Doing It Wrong.
Anyways, speaking of radical feminism: acknowledging male lesbians and mspec lesbians is not "making lesbianism something its not." It is just recognizing the beautiful complexity that has always existed within lesbianism.
The lesbian community- which I'm using to refer to all kinds of communities organized around queer relationships to women & womanhood- has always been a haven for a lot more people than cis women exclusively into other cis women. The idea of sexuality-as-identity is very recent, and the idea of drawing a hard line between people who only like people of the same gender and people who like the same gender and more is also extremely recent. Beyond that, trans men and nonbinary people have always taken shelter under lesbianism. "Butch" in the context of lesbianism has always been a trans* identity, a way for people with a queer gender to find community and safety.
The reason why we have this idea of lesbianism as a strict category with hard borders is..... you guessed it..... radical feminism! And specifically "political lesbianism," which essentially placed woman-only relationships as the only true feminist relationship you could have. "Lesbian" became a political identity because of its focus on woman-woman relationships. But that meant that, for political lesbianism to be acceptable to radical feminism, it needed to conform to radical feminist beliefs about what makes a good feminist. Which meant:
No trans women or fems (because they are too male and probably predators)
No trans men or mascs (because they are too male and also traitors)
No bisexuals (because they are too male by association and are also traitors)
No penetrative sex, or at least no strap ons (because it imitates men)
No kinky sex (see above but with bonus "kink is evil" flavoring)
No butch/femme roles (because they imitate heterosexuality; everyone has to be neutrally androgynous).
I believe that much of modern lesbian discourse comes from trying to marry lingering radfem beliefs with modern attempts at trans-inclusivity. So you adapt the blatant transphobia: now, trans women are allowed in (as long as they are palatable to cis women), because they're women! And nonbinary people can also be allowed in- at first they were woman-aligned, and then later as long as they weren't man-aligned. Being butch/femme is Back In Style, but we have to soothe the gender anxiety that butches cause by assuring everyone that only True Lesbians can be butch, and butches are always women, even if they kind of aren't, but regardless they're definitely not men, because butch has always been a lesbian term (except it hasn't.) The discourse is haunted by the ideas that lesbianism is constantly under attack, more than anyone else, and that lesbian culture is unique and special and must be guarded from (male/-aligned) invaders who are probably also sexual predators.
To say that this is all just "days long pasts" ignores both that, in physical queer spaces there very much still are male lesbians and bi lesbians who are accepted parts of their local communities, and that you only see those days as "long past" because of the impact of radical feminism on lesbianism. The only reason you see these changes as a good thing is because you've swallowed radical feminist ideas without realizing it.
Also, "if you say butch most people will think of butch lesbians" is an extremely silly argument. Literally who fucking cares. If you say "man" there are still a lot of people who will immediately think of exclusively cis men (see: every feminist who says shit like "if men could get pregnant). Does that mean that trans men should just give up their identities because other people don't understand them? You dork?
Anyways. The funniest part of this ask is how damn confident you are that I was apparently hating on he/him lesbians three years ago. Idk how to tell you this but I'm a boygirl gaylesbianbisexual and have identified this way for years. I have been personally terrorized by shitty lesbian identity politics, the same ones you are repeating now, which told me that if I was even 1% male then identifying as a lesbian made me a disgusting predator. Which caused me years of suffering because no matter how hard I tried, I could not ignore my multigenderedness and how that affected my sexuality. Sowwy but you look silly as hell and your argument is bad and you should feel bad </3
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llondonfog · 1 year ago
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Wailing about “you love me so you’ll love my child” but w melleanor and silver
"—and do not let Vanrouge within twenty meters of the kitchens, is that clear, Counselor? Inform the kitchen staff that they have my exact permission to maim him on sight with the nearest sharp object. Oh, do not duck your face like a quivering kitten as if I cannot see that grimace, Counselor— that man has survived much worse and scraped through with life and limb and still persists to terrorize us all with his presence, isn't that right, my dear one?"
From within her arms, Lilia's child coos and babbles something far more intelligent than her trailing, fretful advisors back at her, and she taps a dark painted talon delicately against its plush cheek in fond agreement.
Lilia's child.
Meleanor rolls the words silently within her mouth, holds them there to taste the strange, but pleasant, flavor of their meaning.
Of all the fae in all their lands, who would have ever dared to dream that Lilia Vanrouge would take to a child like a fish to water, or a fledgling to the skies?
She can still hear him now, grumbling and griping so about the burden of children, their helplessness and neediness as unnecessarily weak creatures. In a rare form of mercy, not once did she pry— for how could she, when she knew the answer even if it was not in specifics? When fae were perishing at the hands of humankind's avaricious cruelty, how could she dare chastise him when she was so certain that Lilia's bitterness only existed towards himself?
Her hypothesis had been proven correct when her most trusted General had been present for Malleus' hatching, a softness that she had only seen once before smoothing the harsh lines of his battle-weary gaze. Perhaps she had the right of bias; it was only correct that anyone melt at the sight of her darling son, chirping and mewling miniature fonts of emerald flame.
But that softness had reappeared tenfold when Lilia had knelt before her in the privacy of her chambers where no other fae save for two were ever allowed, revealing the swaddled contents of his cloak with a desperate, fervent need for approval.
He woke for me, she remembers her oldest friend confessing in a voice choked with awe and an emotion that had nearly frightened her (her!) with its intensity. Meleanor, do you understand what this means? He is the son of our enemy, lost and forgotten by time, and he woke for me.
Oh, she had understood as perfectly then as she does now. It was for that reason alone that she had stayed her hand from where it had been readied to smite the child from Lilia's arms, to strip it from existence out of fear that it had somehow bewitched the one fae with more reason to detest humanity than all the rest.
True love was so rare in this world; it had taken her centuries to find her heart's desire. How could she wrest that from Lilia, as he kneels before her and bares his soul, staring down at the sleeping infant cradled in his arms with a delicate strength she did not know him to possess and the dazed look of a parent struck with the dazzling knowledge that the child they hold is more perfect than any creature alive on the earth?
She could not— the proof of which rests in her arms and happily teethes on strands of her gleaming hair, warm and soft and heavy in the sweet way of babes.
"And that is why we cannot allow your pathetic wretch of a father to ruin the celebration of your first blessing, isn't that right— Silver?"
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kissitbttr · 10 months ago
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omg imagine frat!miguel and reader have a pregnancy scare, but lowkey Miguel wanted it to happen, and he gets all pouty
“You’re pregnant?!”
It’s around 9 o’clock in the morning and you had voiced your concerns about your period coming in late and told Miguel about it. The whole thing is freaking you out
“I’m going to be a dad?!” And his tone is far too cheerful for your liking, quickly catching it on and it makes you throw a look at his way,
Which then he notices and clears his throat. “Wait, i mean uhm… Fuck… What do you mean that you’re pregnant?! You’re telling me i’m going to be a dad?!” His voice changes into something more serious. Or at least he tries to be
“I haven’t gotten a test pack yet, but my period is like.. a week late now” You respond to him
“Oh well” his shoulders slump. “Could it actually be that you’re really pregnant? Am i going to be a dad and you’re like…the mom?!”
You eye him suspiciously, searching for any hint of fear or anxiety over his face but you find none. Instead, you watch how he becomes… hopeful?
This, motherfucker.
“Christ” you cross my arms, brows knitted. “You actually wanted me to be pregnant, do you?”
He wide eyed, shaking his head. “Of course not! A baby? Whaaat, Pfft! As if, muñeca. That’s so ridiculous” He laughs a little bit unusual and that only raises your suspicions more,
The look on your face fails him to be a little discreet about it and that’s where he confesses. “Okay, okay, fine! I kind of do!”
A gasp escapes your lip, “you little—“
“But i promise you i didn’t do it on purpose to freak you out, okay!” He changes the subject. In hopes that him wanting a baby could be erased from your mind. “I’m always careful you know that!”
“Back to the point!” You shake your head. “Oh my god… You want me to get pregnant?” The question you find yourself repeating. “You crazy ass fucker! We cannot afford that!”
“I knooow, but a boy could only dream, muneca!” He argues, pouting at you as he imagines how it looks like if you could actually be pregnant. “I just— I don’t know—I just think that it would be nice.. Wouldn’t you like that? A little me or you running around?”
You feel your heartbeat going faster now, eyes looking at how your boyfriend shyly admits one of his dreams that he would like to fulfill with you,
To be honest, you haven’t really thought about it. You and him are still in college, still messing around here and there. A baby is the last thing on your mind. Hell, that never even made it to your list,
But still, it’s really sweet how he lets you know what he wanted.
“Well i… Never thought of it” You step closer to him, his face looking defeated. You reach out to grab his hands. “But.. Maybe when we’re actually settled, financially stable and out of this shithole… I would love to, Miggy”
His eyes light up in seconds after that. “Really?!”
“Yes. Really” you nod with a smile. “That is if you still wanted to be with me”
“The fuck you talking about of course i do” He feels offended that you would even say that. “I’ll get you a ring right now to prove it to you”
“Ring pop?” You ask with a raised eyebrow,
“Yup” He smiles, wrapping his hands around your waist. “Guess which flavor i’m getting you”
“Green apple” you respond right away. “And no to the purple. Fuck that catfishing grape flavored candy”
“I knew i picked the right girl”
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spinchip · 1 month ago
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Concept: the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu doesn't whisper to Zane. Instead, its "whispers" take the form of popups along his HUD disguised as alerts or warnings. Things like "If you put me down now, your friends will never find you. [OK]” or “Killing these prisoners villagers will increase Vex’s approval and reinforce your reign. Proceed? [Y/N]”
(I like this particular flavor because it really leans into Zane's robotic nature: he can ignore whispers by turning off his auditory sensors or filtering noise, but he can't ignore system alerts.)
Also, the following scene has lived rent-free in my brain ever since I came up with the concept. (Italics are Zane's default OS. Everything else is the Staff.)
>IF YOU ARE GOING TO DESTROY ME, "ZANE" -Move File:"NeverrealmMemories" to Core Memory Functions-WARNING: Attempting to delete, move, or suppress File"NeverrealmMemories" after moving will cause total system failure. Proceed with move anyway? >[YES] -File transferred. -Permanently remove fatal combat safeguards? >[YES] -Safeguards removed. >THEN I WILL MAKE SURE YOU CAN NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU DID, SYSID:ICEEMPEROR
-Connection Terminated.
(I have a few more Ideas for the "Scroll Corruption looks like Computer Alert messages to Zane" idea-ones that really lean into Zanes Nindroid nature, as well as the tech-y appearance of the Dark Ice.) -The Staff did a lot more than just send alert messages: it slowly wormed its way into Zane's code like a computer virus, tweaking a few things. It took great care to remove Zane's combat safeguards, eventually deleting them entirely and ensuing he defaulted to lethal force. It never removed his core directive of "Protecting those who cannot protect themselves" since that was vital to his systems running, but it did reinterpret said directive as "Protect Dark Ice Network and everything connected to it, for it is fragile and cannot protect itself from outsiders". (It also couldn't delete his morality subroutines without causing a crash, so it instead made them a much lower priority and shoved them to the back of his digital mind.) -After 60+ years of being in the grasp of a mechanical being, the Staff now exclusively speaks in the manner of a computer, and cannot adapt to organic minds the way it used to. (The other Staff is not like this, as it's still attuned to organic brains.) -You know those Sci-Fi stories where people are plugged into computers and know every part of the ship/city simultaneously, and can send most of their awareness into certain parts of the network while still being aware of other locations? That's what's going on with the Never Realm during the Ice Emperor's Reign, with the Ice Emperor as the central guiding consciousness/core CPU of the Dark Ice Network. As such, he's not actually sleeping-rather, the Ice Emperor is always monitoring his domain through his Ice and leaving just enough of his consciousness in his body to be able to call the rest of himself back in case he's threatened. (The Staff is a combination of a computer virus and a wireless modem: it is corrupting, but it's also the main point of connection for the Dark Ice Network.) -Since the Ice Emperor can't recharge his power on his own in his current state, the Staff had to step in, tweaking the Dark Ice to drain the vitality of those imprisoned within. (You know wireless phone chargers, or Nikolai Tesla's idea to get electric power from the atmosphere? Similar concept, except with the power source being frozen people and the transmitter being Evil Magic Ice.) -Boreal is the Titanium Dragon, corrupted by the Staff's presence. It too is part of the Dark Ice Network, and serves as Ice Emperor's eyes and ears whenever the Dark Ice can't reach. (If the Ice network used computer program language, Boreal would be known as "Obj_DarkIceTitaniumDrake".) Killing Boreal caused a massive jolt to the Dark Ice Network that destabilized the Scroll's influence, and allowed an opening for Zane's Memory Defragmentation program to kick in. (It had started when Lloyd arrived in the throne room, but the Scroll had diverted that to a minor priority and was actively hiding that set of files until the word "Protect" slipped through, forcing Zane's systems to call up what had been defragmented.) -As a final act of spite for being broken, the Staff encoded Zane's memories of the Never realm to his Core Processing systems, meaning he cannot forget the Never Realm without completely frying his systems and rendering him a lifeless shell. (It might've also made a backup of itself amidst his various repressed memory files, but he doesn't need to know that. It's just sitting there, disguised as a normal .zip file, biding its time.) (I really like genre-blending Sci-Fi and Fantasy, and I thought the idea of "Magic Ice Computer Network" is rad as hell.)
(This song is a big part the inspiration for part of the "Dark Ice Network" idea, by the way. Granted, the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu doesn't assimilate Zane's psyche like Star Dream assimilates Haltmann's, but a lot of the ideas are still there-and the Staff does still integrate itself pretty deeply into the Nindroid's code as it slowly actualizes.)
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I have no words for how absolutely awesome this is in every way. i just keep rereading this and being amazed. the "Dark Ice Network" idea is literally so cool, I particularly love the Ice Emperor being able to monitor the entire land while his body/the staff is the main 'hub' he has to protect. this is aweosme.
everyone look now please
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paper-mario-wiki · 1 month ago
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"no art is good bc it's a misconfiguration of the natural world to suit man's vanity" Is an extremely misanthropic take on art. Is humanity not part of "the natural world"? Can one not make pigments from flowers or minerals? You say that the universe would never align so that a piece of art is made without human intervention, but the universe did align so that it could be made, you just assume humans aren't part of it. I understand that this is some faux-deep shit I'm on, but I love art and while I think good is kind of useless adjective when talking about art in general, to compare the concept of art to a tumor is a pretty bad faith take. Sorry if that was like, ironic or something and I just sent a rant into your inbox for nothing.
your faux-deep shit could never reach the faux-depths of my even shallower faux-deepness.
i think the main problem when establishing this argument in the first place was saying "all art is bad" because someone asked me if i liked any bad art, and i answered using "bad" as a shorthand for "not good". if i had known i'd be getting into this pedantic of an argument about it i definitely would have changed my wording, because things that are "not good" are not inherently "bad", which seems to be where the majority of the misunderstandings of my stance come from.
i'd ask you this: what could be considered "good" outside of something that affects humanity in some capacity? to be clear, you're absolutely right, humans ARE natural, humans ARE part of the world. but the idea of something being "good" didn't exist until humans came up with it.
100,000,000,000,000,000 light years away, two planets crash into each other, each with their own forms of biological life so different from earth's that we would find it difficult to even classify it as life if we were given the chance to observe it, but that doesn't matter because we would have never been given the opportunity to reach those planets anyway under any circumstances. is this a good thing? is it a bad thing? i don't think it's either, it's just something that happened.
because "good" and "bad" are code words used to reflect the societal values of the person using them, they cannot exist in a vacuum.
so if that's the case, and "good" and "bad" only exist to us, what does it mean to us?
well, something "good" is something with objective benefit or subjective enjoyment-- but subjective enjoyment of something can also contradict the nature of its objectivity. soup can be considered "good" because it sustains us and is therefore beneficial. soup can be considered to "taste good" because someone might enjoy the flavor. but "torture" can only be seen as "enjoyable", but it benefits nobody-- even if the person doing it enjoys it. that's just them subjectively enjoying it.
conversely, something can be objectively good but still subjectively unenjoyable, like having a soup that's healthy in a way you think tastes bad! you'd still benefit from it, even if you didn't enjoy the experience. but regardless of whether or not you enjoyed it, what has the greatest bearing on something being considered "good" is its objectivity, as it's something fewer people can debate.
now, all of that being considered, what can "art" do that is objectively good, without it serving some secondary purpose? something that is objectively good can be artistically created, like a children's hospital designed by a genius architect-- but its goodness in that case would be derived from its benefit, with the subjectivity of it being something that only enhances its good.
a piece of fabric, stretched across a wooden frame and painted using colorful oils, creates no benefit objectively, it exists solely in the world of subjectivity. how can something be "good" if the only thing it does is hold the potential (not the guarantee) for a person to look at it, and enjoy looking at it?
more importantly though, is that bad? it's not.
but it is superfluous.
^ please forgive me for typing all of this. im so sorry. it's just so easy to be pedantic. i promise im not a stick in the mud and i love art, i just also happen to be someone who is personally deeply concerned with rhetorically whittling communication down to the bare knob of its meaning (XRA style).
because it is something i find subjectively enjoyable.
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