#they are actually absolutely fucking blank

[poppy-metal]

i just feel like being involved with tashi, art, and patrick comes with rules!! for example, u can’t be left alone with art bc although patrick is mean and nasty when he fucks u, it’s art that gets pussydrunk to the point where he’s absolutely mindless. and u cant be left alone with him bc for just as pussydrunk as he gets u get cockdrunk so it’s just hours of art either eating u out, fucking u in various positions, humping each other, or u suckling on his cock and if tashi and patrick aren’t there to control it, y’all go until art’s cock is red and sensitive and he’s shooting blanks and until ur pussy is throbbing and pushing out the many loads that have been dumped inside her! really the only way it ends is when one of yall passes out from exhaustion methinks 🩵

the visual of being so full of cum it pours out of you in a stream just made my head blank. art probably has a short refractory period too, and can cum multiple times in one go before he gets soft, his cock red and raw as it fucks a fourth load into you. its actually crazy how much cum he can expend, sometimes when tashi's watching she just reaches out and squeezes his balls in wonder, just cupping them to feel the way they clench and unclench as they empty a little more cum. squeezes them again when hes done like, "they're still full." ignoring his pitiful whine, "can you go again? i wanna see."

and he can, even though his cock is sensitive and weeping it still twitches weakly inside you, and even if it feels so good it almost hurts, he drags his hips back and forth again and again till he feels - till tashi feels - his sack tightening again. moaning into your neck, as he fucks into the sloppy hole he's filled to the brim with cum leaking around his cock and making wet sloshing slaps echo into the room with every thrust inside.

tashi uses it as a punishment more often than not. making art rub his cock raw inside you until you're both so limp you'd agree to anything she asked, completely drained for the evening afterwards.

#ask #hhhhh cum. plays w it #art donaldson smut #tashi duncan smut

[dilatorywriting]

Truth Potion

Vil Schoenheit x OC x Rook Hunt Word Count: 9.7k

Summary: Truth Potions should be banned from the proximity of any and all far-too-attractive people for all time. Least of all when dating one of them who would be far to keen to use said lack-of-filter to his advantage.

[OC Archive]

🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content! WARNING for References to a Character's Previous Death

READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ

The potion exploding in her face was nothing unusual. Saya had been cursed with cat ears, and fluffy tails, and all sorts of strange ailments at this point. It was like there was a target on her back that the universe had put there saying ‘hey! You! Don’t let this poor idiot escape a single potions lesson unscathed!’

What wasn’t familiar was the strange, staticky lull all throughout her mouth. Making her tongue feel light as a feather.

“That didn’t taste very bad,” she mumbled to herself, and then wondered why she’d muttered anything at all. “But I guess a lot of things don’t taste as bad as I was expecting them to.”

“Oh?” Deuce coughed, good-natured despite his own singed eyebrows. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “Cum.”

And then immediately screamed into her hands like she was being murdered point blank. She gasped against her palms in horror. Because she did not just say that. Out loud. In public.

“I didn’t mean to say that!” she wailed. “I haven’t even told Vil that! And he’s the one who’d actually want to know!”

She clamped her fingers over her mouth again and screamed louder.

“Oh my god,” Ace chirped, like this was the greatest gift God could have ever gifted him and all of mankind. “You got truth dosed.”

Ro blinked in worry from his place at the desk nearby. “Is she going to be alright?”

“No!” Saya wailed.

“Quick!” Ace beamed, dashing forward like a hound after a hare. “Ask her everything you’ve always wanted to know! Before it wears off!”

“Or before she kills us,” Jack scowled under his breath.

“I would never kill you,” Saya said, serious. “I don’t think I could. You’re too beefy. But you’re too nice too. The best. Right behind Deuce.”

“Oh,” Jack rumbled, gold eyes going wide and then quickly shooting away.

“This seems a bit like we’re taking advantage…” Robyn mumbled, looking guilty.

“Thank you,” Saya huffed. “Because—”

“Do you like me, yes or no?” the redhead blurted as fast as he could, and then immediately looked terribly chagrinned about it.

“If anything happened to you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I wish you were actually my brother so I could finally have something good in my stupid genetic pool.” The words tumbled out like the shrapnel from a bomb—wild, and uncontrolled, and loud. Saya squawked in indignation. “Robyn Starling!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I just—I needed to know!”

“Fuck you!”

“Out of everyone in this room, who would you wanna fuck the most?” Ace piped in, like a rabid little demon.

“Jamil!” Saya blurted, and immediately covered her mouth in horror. Said Vice-Warden’s head popped up from his place hovering over his own cauldron, and he immediately looked like he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear from their entire plane of existence. But then, like some kind of absolutely malicious trick of fate, the words just kept coming. “Or Professor Crewel.”

“Someone go get Schoenheit,” the man in question groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Quickly.”

.

.

“A truth potion?” Vil muttered, rubbing his thumbs along a dot of blue smeared high along her cheekbone. “That’s all?”

“That I can tell,” Professor Crewel sighed.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Saya grouched, and then seemed to reconsider. “Actually, that was probably when I killed myself the first time around. But this is pretty up there.” Another pause. “Worst day of my life so far.”

Vil fought the urge to dig his fingers into his temples. He could already feel the stress headache forming. The last thing he needed was the add new wrinkles on top of that.

“How long until it wears off?”

“Hopefully no more than a day,” Crewel hummed, considering. “Perhaps sooner, if you can get her cleaned up quickly enough.”

“He can never clean me quick enough,” Saya complained past the shield of her fingers. “He always ends up fucking me in the bath, which is entirely counterproductive. Especially when he’s the one complaining about tight schedules. Like, sir, it’s your own fault you’re late. You didn’t have to spend half an hour with your tongue up my—”

Vil clamped a hand over her mouth and Saya looked grateful beyond measure.

“Please just get her out of public,” Crewel sighed, looking like he’d aged ten years over the course of the afternoon. “Before I have an aneurism.”

Saya said something else against Vil’s palm, but thankfully it came out too garbled and flat to comprehend.

“Of course, sir.”

The House Warden dragged his miserable, red-faced girlfriend out the office doors and down a back hallway—determined to skulk away to Pomefiore as stealthily as he could possibly manage.  

“God, what I wouldn’t give to be in the center of a Schoenheit-Crewel sandwich,” she sighed once his palm was off her lips, and then immediately paled from head to toe, like a ghost. “I might actually kill myself again.”

“Do not even joke about that,” he snapped.

“Can it be a joke if I’m under a truth spell?”

“You know,” Vil smiled, poisonously poised and vicious, “Perhaps I should go back and let you make your offer in person, hmm? I’m on decent enough terms with the Professor. Perhaps we can make an arrangement, if you’re being so truthful in the moment.”

Saya tucked both hands over her mouth and allowed herself to be herded back towards the elaborate, Pomefiore dorms in silence.

.

.

The bath that followed was entirely unsexy, and Saya nearly bit through her bottom lip in an effort to keep her bubbling complaints under wraps. Vil practically dunked her like a rag against a washboard, and she couldn’t help but think that he always got a bit like this—a bit too upset, a bit too mean—whenever her untimely demise was brought up all over again. Which, on one hand, she couldn’t blame him. Whenever Robyn talked about his own death, it made her stomach fall and her hair stand on end. And if Vil had done what she had—Well. She’d be upset too. So she sat politely and quietly in her towel until the stupid potion got the better of her. 

“I just don’t get it,” she said into his glacial sneer. “It’s not like it matters.”

“The fact that we’re having this argument yet again when you can’t even physically lie about it tells me you need more therapy than there exists on this godforsaken planet.”

“I am a little broken,” she shrugged, and something in the model’s amethyst eyes went so terribly sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I meant it. But I shouldn’t have said it. I don’t like upsetting you.”

Vil sighed and reached out to dry her hair, gentler now. Scrubbing the soft towel over her short, blonde, waves in little circles.

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll reward your valiant efforts by not pushing all of the things I would so love to use this opportunity to push.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she hummed, leaning into his kneading. “Not if it’s you. Not really, at least. Even if it is embarrassing.” She paused, and he watched her try to physically swallow down the words in her mouth before they came tumbling out anyways. “Your cum tastes good, by the way. Well, not good. Not like, I don’t know, candy or whatever. But like, not bad at all. I thought you should know. Because I said it earlier, but you weren’t around. And now you are. And now I also need to throw myself out the nearest window.”

The startled laugh that ripped out of his throat was entirely less dignified than he would have liked.

“Is that so?” he trilled, beyond amused. “I suppose I’m glad my healthy diet has been useful for… other unexpected benefits, as well.”

Her face screwed up like he’d forced her to drink rotten milk and he couldn’t help himself from feeling hopelessly fond at this miserable, sopping wet, little wreck of a person.  

“Anything else you’d like to confess?” he grinned. “While I have your full attention?”

More nose scrunching. “What do you want to know?”

It sounded like the question had to be pried out of her mouth with pliers. Vil’s smile went a little wicked. He dropped the towel to his bedroom floor so that he could dig his fingers into her damp hair.  

“What’s your favorite part? Of all the things I’ve done to you?”

“That you’ve loved me,” she said instantly, and that teasing mew melted off his face in a heartbeat. Saya looked positively stricken. “Oh my god, please. Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I love you,” he chirped, mocking, and she made a gagging noise. “But as touched as I am by your sentimentality, I had meant on the more physical side of things. It’s so hard to get your honest feedback.”

“I thought you liked that,” she said, a bit mulish. “The whole ‘stubborn’ thing. Having to pin me down.”

Saya watched the round, black circles of his pupils jump and dilate. The twist of his mouth went smug and warm—familiar. In all the best and worst possible ways. 

“Is that why you do it?” he cooed, a dangerous lilt to his voice that had goosebumps dancing down her spine.

“Not completely,” she mumbled, gaze slipping away and cheeks going pink. “I think some of it is just—just me, too,” she gulped as his nose trailed down her neck. “That’s really distracting.”

“Is it?” he drawled.

“I just said it was!”

“You’re so lovely to me, do you know? Working so hard to try and meet my tastes,” he said against her collarbone, and she shivered. “What else could I do for you, I wonder?”

“You do more than enough.”

Vil couldn’t help but feel flattered at the ringing truth in that proclamation, but he pushed forward nonetheless. This was a golden opportunity not to be diminished—not even by the charming warmth of their sentimentality.

“But I could always do more. Tell me—I’m always open with the things I’d like to do to you. What’s something that you’ve always wanted to try.”

“DP,” she burst out, and then immediately ducked her head to shriek against his shoulder. “Oh my god, please forget I just said that. Well, don’t forget it. Because it would be—really, really—I just. Oh my god!”

“You weren’t kidding then,” he tutted, warm and calm, dragging a soothing palm against her lower back, “when you mentioned the professor and I earlier.”

“I mean, only a little. I’d never be able to look Crewel in the eye again. It wouldn’t be worth it. Especially when I think he’s just starting to like me.”

Vil huffed. “He adores you.”

“Yeah, more like he’d like to hit me with a-door.”

“I can see this isn’t the time to address your self-worth issues,” he droned, and then worked to shift back into the direction he’d been so carefully coaxing. “But either way. You were saying? Something about being taken by—"

“I know it’s not practical!” she immediately squeaked. “Like, I am fully aware you only have one dick. And also, like, I love you. I don’t have any desire to like, go around fucking some other random person just to, I don’t know, satisfy some weird fantasy. Everyone has their like, Thing that they’re like ‘wow. That’d be super hot. Will never happen. But damn.’ And that’s just—I don’t know. Mine.” A pause, to take her breath. “Also, like, it takes two to tango. Or, well, three in this case. And I’m still reeling over the fact that I’ve managed to trick one person into sleeping with me, let alone two.” 

Vil couldn’t hold back his snort. “I’m certain you could find more than double that on this campus alone who would be more than willing to step in to fill the role at a moment’s notice.”

She crinkled her nose. “Even if that was true, I still love you most. I don’t want other people.”

“And if I found someone suitable to partake in this? Someone who has perhaps displayed a keen interest in the past and who I trust enough to involve? Someone who’s already proven more than enthusiastic about the topic?” Vil asked, and he watched her eyebrows jump up in startled confusion. “Would that be amenable then? If you had that on top of my fullhearted approval and support?”

Her brow furrowed, clearly taken aback. “Who the fuck are you talking to about screwing me?”

Vil snorted another laugh.

“My, you’re feeling crude today.”

“It’s this stupid potion and you know it!” He watched that tight little tick in her brow grow deeper as she dove into the depths of her thoughts, searching and searching for an answer he was sure she’d find. All of a sudden she choked. “Are you talking about Rook?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually, kitten.”

“But he—” she gaped. “He doesn’t—I haven’t—” she spluttered. “He doesn’t even like me. I bet he’d hang my head over his fireplace if he got the chance.”

Vil barked out a laugh. “That would certainly be the highest of compliments.”

At her continued fretting, he leaned closer to tug her in tight and go back to running his fingers up and down her spine. “Naturally it’s your choice, but I can assure you, I’ve heard more than my fair share of soliloquies about the wonders of your bountiful bosom to know he’d be more than thrilled to assist.”

“They’re not even that big,” she grouched under her breath. “But that’s… Even if he was okay with it, what about you?” she asked, nervous.

Vil grinned, sharp and seductive. “Darling, who hasn’t shared something so private with their closest friend, hmm?”

“Uhm, me?” she gaped. “If you ever catch me in a three-way with Ro, please just shoot me in the face—"

“You’re moving away from the point,” he accused, snagging her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now. Tell me—would that be a situation you’d be amenable to?”

She chewed at her lower lip hesitantly and looked up at him through her lashes. “I trust you enough that if you think it would—it would be a good idea, then…”

“This isn’t about me,” he tutted.

“Everything in my life is about you,” she corrected sharply, and then immediately went beet red. “Fucking just—gag me or something. Please.”

Vil laughed. “That can be arranged. But first,” he grinned, moving to slip lithely to his feet. “I do believe I need to have a conversation with my Vice Warden.”

.

.

 “Shouldn’t we at least wait until the potion wears off?” Saya asked, hoping she didn’t sound nearly as panicked as she felt. “And, I mean,” she spluttered. “This all probably feels a bit sudden, right? Like, I know if someone knocked at my door one minute to—to—"

Rook’s answering grin had a shiver running down her spine and Vil reached out to tweak her cheek like an unruly child.

“Nonsense. How else will we know if you’re being honest about the experience, hmm?”

“That’s fair. I do lie about how I’m feeling a lot,” she said, and then instantly bit into her lip with a scowl. Fucking— “But that still doesn’t answer the,” she waved her hand around her head. “The other bit.”

“Ahh, but what predator could ever turn down such an opportunity to pounce when a feast is presented to him, hmm?” Rook cooed, hand over his heart as if he was about to start delivering a grand poem. “Particularly when it is a meal I’ve most looked forward to. And I can promise that I have thought on it long and often, mon chaton,” he smirked—a strange, dark, twisty thing that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. “It is so hard to look away when so much fluttering beauty twines itself so frequently beneath a shared roof.”

Dutifully ignoring the implications of that little statement, she frowned and said, “But you like pretty things.”

Vil frowned right back, but before he could launch into another one of his irritable spiels about self-value, and ‘in the eye of the beholder, blablabla,’ Rook ducked in and scooped her hands up between his.

“There is loveliness in delicacy,” the hunter agreed easily, smoothly. “But there is also beauty in a storm, in destruction. Qu'est-ce que la vie sans la mort? Qu'est-ce que l'amour sans l'horreur? And you, petite tentatrice,” he grinned, “are the loveliest storm of all.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “I’m sorry, but did you just French your way into saying that me being an unruly bitch is hot?”

“Ahh,” he crooned, lifting a hand as if he was about to swoon, “you’ve found me out!” And then that grin was back, sending all kinds of nervous goosebumps racing down her arms. “An easy hunt may speak to one’s skill well enough, but sometimes I can’t help but hope for a chase.”

“You’re unsettling her,” Vil warned, reaching out to twine an arm around her waist and rub soothing circles into the divots of her hips. “I told you not to overdo it.”

“Ah, pardonne moi, pardonne moi!” he lamented. “But I could hardly help myself.”

Vil’s amethyst eyes narrowed, a silent reprimand and threat all in one. You will help yourself, that glare warned. And while the Vice Warden certainly didn’t outright cow to that sneer, he dipped his chin in easy submittance nonetheless.

“Of course, mon reine,” he chirped. “This is a gift! And I will do my best to cherish it so.”

He reached forward and brushed a wayward strand of honey-hued hair from Saya’s eyes—fingers landing neatly on her cheek after to rub at the spreading flush there.

“How could I not? Especially after you’ve trained her so wonderfully.”

Saya gasped in indignation, that nervous blush staining plum red with rage instead.

“I’m not a fucking dog!” She snapped. “And he hasn’t—I haven’t been—”

“We’re working on it,” Vil droned, and Saya started spluttering all over again.

“We are not!”

“Well, we aren’t,” the ethereal beauty sighed, as if terribly put upon. “That is my job, after all. And you don’t make it easy, darling.”

The snarky retort twisted off her tongue with the taste of popping bubbles and lingering herbs, and instead, what came out was a pouty, “I thought that was the point.”

She cursed colorfully under her breath and Rook burst into gleeful laughter.

“Oh, she is just merveilleuse, mon reine. Je suis honoré que vous souhaitiez partager une telle merveille avec votre humble serviteur.”

Vil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Perhaps if you were so humble as you’d like me to believe, you wouldn’t have been so bold in your spying these past months.”

Rook held up his hands with another snicker, as if to say ‘you caught me!’

“But it worked, did it not?” he beamed, and then leaned forward to nuzzle along the underside of Saya’s jaw. His teeth skimmed the delicate, pale skin there and she pressed back against Vil with a squeak.

Vil rolled his eyes yet again and shifted so that Saya could tuck herself up against him in one, long lean line. Like a cat arching away from the wandering hands of an overenthusiastic guest and towards the familiar warmth of its owner. But all that being said, proper socialization was all in the name of the game. And he would be terribly bereft to go lax in his diligent efforts now of all times. 

“Gently,” he reprimanded. “She startles easily.”

“I’m not a—” she squeaked again, and Rook ducked forward with another sharp nip. “It’s not weird to be jumpy. I’d never done anything like this before I met you.”

“Ah, comme c'est chéri,” Rook cooed, as he burrowed in closer and latched his mouth against the hollow beneath her throat, sucking an angry, purple bruise against the pale skin there. “Did you know,” he trilled, popping back with a preening little smirk to observe his handiwork, “that our dearest queen does have quite the love of, ah, how did you describe it?” Rook mused. “Un amour de la corruption?”

“Rook,” Vil sneered, lip curling in warning.

“Not like that’s anything I didn’t already know,” Saya scoffed under her breath, and then squawked when familiar, painted nails dug into her hips.

“What was that, kitten?”

“I—I just meant,” she gulped, cursing that stupid potion with every fiber of her being. “It was—you got excited. When I said I was—that I had never—and you—I—” she trailed off with a nervous incoherence.

Vil hummed against her neck and she shivered.

“This is quite the difference,” he mused, a note of interest curling over his words. “To ask for an answer and to receive one rather than some stuttering, biting attempt at maintaining your dignity. I can’t say I’m opposed.” His hands trailed lower. “Perhaps not forever, but as an anomaly—as a treat,” he smirked. “For all my hard work.” She could feel the blunt, rounded edges of his nails trailing back and forth at the inseam of her thighs. “I do enjoy the ensuing correction far too much to want this new sweetness of yours to become a permanent fixture in our lives, but for the time being…”  

Saya gulped, and she could see Rook’s eyes trace the movement like a fox watching a rabbit’s hole.

“Tell me, won’t you” Vil demanded, head going high once more and some of that haughty, put-upon superiority lighting his eyes. Saya knew that expression, and it meant literally nothing good for her hips or spine for the upcoming days. “What makes this so appealing to you?” He grinned against her hair, sharp. “Wanting to be taken so thoroughly.”

“I—” she spluttered, feeling those awful, terrible remnants of magic dancing around her mouth. “It just—I—” and then that arcana popped with a focus and she was babbling all over again. “It just seems—seems nice. To be wanted that badly to be shared like, like something special. And—being between—the, the warmth of it seems—I…” She was going to die. Melt into a puddle and stain his stupid carpet with her untimely end. “I like to be squished, and held. And being that full seems nice.”

“Tellement poétique!” Rook crooned, looking nearly sparkly-eyed with wonder.

‘I hate this,’ she tried to spit, but instead, “I don’t mind this.”

Vil snorted a laugh into her hair.

“Yes, darling. I could tell.”

His hand dipped past the edge of the towel and brushed pointedly between her legs. He pulled back when she squeaked and held his fingers up with the same air as a teacher offering a demonstration. The wetness on them caught the light overhead—shining and slippery—and Saya tried to bury her face in her hands.

“You’re not particularly subtle,” he hummed, amused. And Saya felt like her blood was about to boil straight out of her veins.

And then, because apparently the love of her stupid life was actively trying to send her into cardiac arrest, she watched through her fingers as Vil stretched forward and offered his hand for Rook’s inspection. The hunter’s gaze tracked the slow, sticky drip of her and his emerald eyes pointedly flickered down to the space between her thighs, still artfully hidden beneath the fringe of the bath towel. And then those too-bright eyes slipped back up to meet hers and he leaned forward to lick a long stripe up Vil’s palm.

“No need for embarrassment,” Rook promised, licking his lips pleasantly. “Neither of us can lay claim to the notion of subtly either, favori.”

“Oh my God,” she choked.

“Ah, ah,” Vil tutted, twisting his other hand forward to pinch at her thigh. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Vil,” she gasped, a bit too close to a petulant whine.

“Better,” he smirked, and then reached up to loose the folds of her little towel, sending it fluttering to the mattress beneath them. Saya shivered at the rush of cold air, and then again when she caught the strange, predatory gleam in their guest’s green eyes. His gaze was like a tangible thing, running over every bit of exposed skin like the edge of a blade dipping along her shaking limbs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she snipped, embarrassed.

“Oh, not to worry!” he chirped. “I’ve taken several!”

“What—"

Vil twined his fingers through the shorter hair at the base of her skull and tugged. “Focus, kitten.”

“I’m always focused on you,” she snapped, potion bubbling off her tongue. And Vil rewarded her honesty with another sharp tug and a dip into a deep kiss. He pressed her down until she was dizzy, and when he finally pulled back with a contented hum and a flickering, wine-warm smirk, Saya felt like she was ready to melt into the bed.

“How do you always look so stupidly put together during sex?” she complained, unbidden. “And I always wind up looking like I’ve been railed halfway to Sunday.”

Vil snorted in amusement. “Perhaps that’s the point.”

His purple irises jumped past her shoulder and then the bed was dipping again. Saya blinked, not even having realized that Rook had stepped away. But then the hunter was back and she squeaked as a pair of deceptively well-muscled arms hauled her up against an unfamiliar and very naked chest. Vil nodded, as if in satisfaction with the state of things, and then eased himself back towards solid ground to also begin the process of divesting himself of his ridiculously intricate House Robes.

A pair of unfamiliar fingers snagged her chin and Saya found herself turned to face a smile that would not look out of place on a shark.

“There you are, chérie,” Rook purred, like a big cat hulking down over its kill, and then ducked forward to press his mouth against hers in a kiss that was like a whirlwind. While Vil kissed like an artform—a perfected, poised, creation that pushed as soft or as hard as he felt suited the moment, Rook kissed like he meant to eat her alive. He nipped at her lips until Saya was tasting copper, and the self-satisfied groan that rumbled from his throat had her nearly vibrating out of her skin.

The bed was dipping again and she felt another set of far more familiar hands work their way around her waist—pushing the leach away and dragging her back across the sheets to sprawl along a lean lap. Rook laughed, pleasantly amused, and pointedly reached up to wipe a speck of blood off his chin.

“Poor thing,” Vil sighed, brushing a thumb along the smear of crimson at the corner of Saya’s own abused mouth.

The poisonous beauty leaned forward to press his lips back against hers. He laved his tongue across the fresh cut there, easing the sting and sharpening it all at once.

“He’s just terrible to you, isn’t he?” he cooed, all mocking softness. “I suppose you’ll never be able to complain about my own methods again, once this is over. I’m not nearly that mean, am I, kitten?”  

“I like it when you’re a little mean to me,” she admitted, eyes darting away in mulish embarrassment.

Vil chuckled against her throat—a warm, satisfied thing. “You’re providing me with far too my ammunition this evening, darling.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “I’m literally never going to live this down.”

“Ah,” Rook trilled, slipping forward to tuck himself up against the skin of her back. And Jesus, she’d known the two of them were pretty substantially taller than her, but being wedged between them like this was a stark reminder of just how teeny she was. “But is it not better to be open and true with the one you love, hmm?”

“It’s not my fault I’m emotionally constipated,” she grumbled.

“Oh?” the hunter mused. “If you provide me with a list of the ones who are suitably responsible then, I would be more than happy to ensure that such a strain upon your person would never occur again.”

“Uhm,” Saya spluttered. “Appreciated, but… I mean, they’re all back in my old world anyways.”

“Ah,” he hummed, ducking over her shoulder to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Quel malheur.”

There were too many hands at her waist, and the pull of it was a bit disorientating. Saya swayed into one kiss and then another, neck craning back and forth—left to right, left to right.

“How would you prefer us?” Vil asked, with all the casual nuance of someone inquiring after the weather. It was going to drive her insane. And holy fuck, holy shit, they were—

“—actually doing this,” she choked, feeling lightheaded and far, far too warm.

“Of course,” Vil smirked, amusement playing across his face. “Unless you want us to stop.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” she squawked, and then buried her face in his shoulder in humiliation. Rook laughed, chiming and musical against her collarbone.

Vil reached around to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her rump and squeeze. “Well? You haven’t answered me.”

“…You in front?” she asked, tentative. “So I can…”

“So you can?” he pressed, dragging her back and forth between them in a horrible, torturous grind.

“So I can kiss you,” she mumbled, pink from the tip of her chin to the roots of her hair.

That upright, royal smugness melted from his face for a moment in a wave of golden fondness, and he ducked in to press a sweet, soft kiss to her lips—his hands coming up to cup her cheeks and run gently through her mused hair. She could hear Rook let out the most besotted little sigh, like he was watching a favorite scene from one of Neige’s romcoms.

“Ah, l'amour vrai,” he breathed, leaning forward to hook his chin over her shoulder. “I never will tire of the sight.” 

“Mmm,” Vil hummed, pulling away from her mouth with a lingering nip and a long, deep drag of his tongue along hers. “I suppose not, if I have any say in it.”

Saya blinked—dizzy, and warm, and jaw still hanging slack—and Rook laughed at the startled look on her face.

“Meaning he’d like to keep you forever, mon coeur,” he chirped. “So such a treat on the eyes will never have an expiry date.”

“Oh,” she whispered, still far too dazed and only falling further into that horrible, hot spiral when Vil’s fingers shifted back down to her waist to pull her back into that slow, smooth, grind between them. It was awful, and wet. And surely she was making a hideous mess of the sheets. And their thighs. And all of it. But neither of them seemed to mind, only groaned low against her skin as the blonde beauty rocked her and back and forth, and back and forth, and back and—

“Still alright, kitten?” he laughed, leaning forward to suck another dark mark against her throat.

“I want that,” she blurted, and it came out shivery and far too high. “Being—” Son of a—No! No! She had some dignity left! And stupid fucking truth potion or otherwise, she wasn’t going to let him tease her into saying— “Being yours forever.”

Another kiss, so deep and strong it had her collapsing back against Rook’s chest with the push of it. She whined against painted lips and she felt the hunter’s pleased rumble along her spine in return.

“Si réactif,” he sighed, dipping down to the other side of her throat to lave a matching mark to one Vil had only just bitten into her skin.

Vil hummed again, deep in his chest—lips trailing from her mouth, down her chin, and all the way to her collarbones. “Isn’t she?”

“Okay, okay,” Saya squawked, fighting a shiver when Rook’s hands curled around her front to cup at her chest. “Can we stop talking out how stupidly squeaky I am and just—just get on with—"

Two of Vil’s fingers curled up into her in one, sharp thrust and she gasped.

“What was that, kitten?” he cooed. “I couldn’t hear you—” another brutal thump thump thump, another strangled exhale, “over whatever—” gasping, and gasping, “you were trying,” Saya squealed, hands coming down to tug fruitlessly at Vil’s wrist as he drilled up into her over, and over, and over—“to say?”

She bucked against his grip and then Rook’s palm was slipping forward to press down hard just below her naval. And she could practically feel the tips of Vil’s fingers grinding up against the hand at her abdomen. Full, and tight, and so, so—

The hunter’s other hand dipped low between her legs to rub tight, focused circles against her clit and the winding, spring of heat in her gut just about snapped. Hard, and fast, and sudden. And then it was gone. Those crafty, wet fingers slipping away to stroke along her flank instead. Saya threw her head back against Rook’s shoulder with a whimpering gasp. She bit into her lip and pressed her fingers over her mouth in a bid to trap some of the horrible, embarrassing noises trying to sneak off her tongue. To trap the complaint, that she could feel bubbling up along with those awful, terrible mews. Because if she ever, in all her life, let a whiny, little ‘why did you stop?’ pass her lips, Rook Hunt would never let her live it down. Ever.

She breathed through her nose, counting slow and steady as she tried to drag her head back out of the clouds. And just when she thought she was settling that horrible, heat addled, fog into something manageable, the grinding started again and she squeaked.

“Wh-What are you—” she choked, twisting down against a third finger. A fourth.

“I know that normally you prefer a bit of a sting,” Vil said, and Saya was nodding along with the bubbles of that godawful potion before she could help herself. There was a twitch in Rook’s fingers along the dip of her spine, and she could feel his nails dig into the skin there like he couldn’t help himself. “But this is something new, darling. So it’s better safe than sorry, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t be sorry,” she blurted, and then cursed under her breath. “Probably.”

Vil chuckled, indulgent, against her cheek, and then curved his fingers in a way that had her seeing stars.

“Another time, perhaps,” he trilled, soft, and went back to scissoring back and forth. A steady, slippery grind to ease their way.

There was a curious hum at her shoulder and then Rook’s fingers were dancing back around to tap at Vil’s steadily rocking wrist.

“May I?”

Those heavily lined eyes narrowed for a moment, considering, and then he slowly shifted his hand to make room for Rook’s own, slipping two fingers aside to leave a soft, warm space between them.

“Carefully,” he warned, firm.

“Bien sûr, bien sûr!” Rook trilled, delving forward too fast, and too quick, and not in line with his sweet, little reassurance at all. Saya squeaked and clenched her thighs shut around his hand. Hips stuttering on the rapid thump, thump, thump of his knuckles meeting her folds. She arched away with a gasp, toes twisting in the sheets and head tossing back and forth in a tight, strangled little mewl.

“Slower,” Vil snapped, and Rook sighed like an unrepentant child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Yes, yes. As you say, mon reine.”

The brutal pace grew more tempered, more constrained, and Saya’s muscles slowly eased out of their rigid arch. Vil hummed, approving, and deftly began to twist his own fingers again in time with Rook’s enthusiastic exploration.

“Angle yourself a bit more towards the front. And a touch to the right,” he coached, and then there was familiar pressure against a tight, far too sensitive part of her that had Saya keening. “Ah. That’s it then.”

“Merci, merci, Roi de Poison,” Rook beamed, “for your marvelous guidance, as always.”

“Please, just—” she begged, twisting and bucking against the mess of hands between her legs. Because she couldn’t—it was all—there was so much—and— “It’s fine. I’m ready. Please. Can you just—”

There was a sharp pinch at her hip that had her whining and flinching away.

“Don’t rush me, kitten,” Vil chastised. “You know the rules.”

“Of course I do,” Saya snapped, more of those same, terrible truths popping along her tongue like fizz off a soft drink. “And breaking them is the only thing that gets you to actually fuck me nine out of ten times. So of course I—"

Another wicked sting at the inside of her thigh, and Saya yelped.

“My, you are an unruly, little thing aren’t you, favori?” Rook cooed, nails raking up and down her pale skin like he wanted to etch those stark, red lines into her flesh like a tattoo. “Your darling Queen adores you so much, and this is how you repay him?” There was a near-feral, hungry spark in those emerald eyes that had her trembling. And suddenly Saya felt very much like a rabbit trapped between the jaws of a cackling fox. A feisty, smirking predator who just wanted any excuse to chase, and pounce, and bite—

“Enough, Rook.”

 Another sigh, long and lamenting. And Saya shivered against a fresh wave of goosebumps.

Vil hooked a finger beneath her chin and pulled her forward into a slow, syrupy kiss. His tongue traced steadily along hers, lining her teeth, pricking her canines, twining round and round until she was easing back against him with a soft sigh.

“There you are, kitten” he hummed, pulling back with a thin, sticky trail of saliva—keeping close enough that it didn’t have quite enough stretch to snap and break between them. He cupped her cheeks between his palms and Saya did her best to ignore the stripe of thick, slippery wetness that rubbed along her skin. “I think we’ve teased you enough for one night, don’t you?”

She nodded, still a bit too shivery and teary-eyed. Trembling like a leaf in the wind. And Vil leaned forward with a sweet coo to offer her another kiss.

“Do you still want this, darling?”

Another nod. One that she probably would have offered even without a Truth Potion coursing through her veins. Because, yes. It was a lot. But—but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? And Rook was still a bit, well, himself. And Saya still felt like he was two steps away from sinking his teeth into her throat and never letting go. But she trusted Vil to stay the Hunter’s hand—to keep them both in line. So she twisted her fingers through his own, finely manicured ones and leaned forward to press a soft, tremulous kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“There’s my good girl,” Vil hummed, an indulgent, little smile curling his red lips. “Now, how to best go about this…”

Manicured fingers rose to clasp firmly along the line of her shoulders, and then Vil was easing her back flat against the mattress. Her head landed with a soft ‘thump’ against Rook’s thighs, and immediately the hunter’s hands were curling into the loose waves of her hair, raking his nails along her scalp until she was shivering all over again. Vil slid his palms down along her sides to cup under her rear and raise her hips off the pooling, silk sheets. One curved further along her lower back to keep her aloft, and the other ran down her legs one at a time, hooking one calf around his waist and then the other.

He shifted forward on his knees until he was looming over her and ducked down to press another deep, breath-stealing kiss into her lips. And then he was rocking forward and slipping in slow and smooth. Saya whined against his mouth and he nipped softly at lower her lip in reprimand.

“Relax, kitten.”

She whined again and tried to shift her hips to better accommodate the familiar stretch, but Vil dug his fingers into her side to keep her firmly in place, tapping one, painted nail against the dip in her waist like a reprimand. She stilled under that firm grip all at once and Rook trilled something enthusiastic and saccharine sweet in her ear.

“Si bien entraîné,” he cooed, peppering kisses all along the curve of her jaw, up her cheek, along the bridge of her nose. “Si adorable,” another wave of pecks along her forehead. “Tu le prends si bien, favori.”

Saya scrunched her nose beneath the endless press of fluttering lips, ticklish, and Rook laughed—bright and fond. He leaned in closer to run the broad flat of his tongue along her lips instead and Saya fought a complaint, because that would just open her mouth up to the rest of him. And going by the spark darkening that emerald leer of his, that was exactly what he was hoping for.

Vil shooed the hunter away with an exasperated wave of his hand and shifted his palms back along the dip in her spine.

“Up, darling.”

He rolled back onto his knees and Saya shifted obediently alongside him—letting herself be swooped up from the long, lean sprawl and into his lap. She wobbled a bit and dug her teeth into her lip to focus on keeping her balance. It was an odd sort of position. Normally when Vil settled her in his lap, she was flush with his thighs. Pressed core to core so that he could grind her down along his length and whisper terrible things into her ear that made her melt. Now, she was situated far further up—sticky clit bumping against the firm muscles of his stomach and thighs shivering into an arch. Like trying to hold a rising trot on a horse.  

Vil ran a soothing hand up and down her trembling sides.

“Good girl, doing so lovely for us” he hummed, pressing her closer and encouraging her to grind low, slow circles against his abdomen. Saya fought a shiver and bit her lip harder. “Stay just like this, hmm?”

She nodded, jittery but determined, and he smiled indulgently against her throat.

Amethyst eyes flashed towards their guest and Vil dipped his chin—an order. And then Rook was draping himself along her back once more, hands curling around to knead and pinch along her chest like he couldn’t help himself. Squeezing handfuls of soft, squishy flesh between his palms, rolling pink peaks between his fingers in sharp, overenthusiastic twists, and panting near-indiscernible obscenities into her neck all the while. Vil shuffled them around until they were situated to his liking, smacking at Rook’s limbs whenever the hunter tried to readjust himself or slip too close too soon. Two sets of hands dug themselves into her hips, and Saya could feel the hot, blunt press of Rook at her back like a brand. He sighed, whimsical, against her shoulders and rutted short, aborted thrusts against her rear—leaving smears of tacky, warm precum in his wake like a signature. Saya could feel it cooling in sticky trails all along her skin, but Rook seemed more than merry with the idea of letting it pool there, thick and messy, until they were stuck together at the hip from it.

She was still pressed up at that awkward angle, still rubbing those soft, wet, maddening circles right where Vil had told her to. And even though her thighs were really starting to ache, Saya realized oh. Like this, Rook could drive right up into her, couldn’t he? They both could. And then, after she was wrapped up between them like a lock and key, they would be able to pass her back and forth so easily, and—

Vil rocked up into her in one quick, sharp thrust and Saya’s attention was immediately snapping back to him on a high-pitched keen.   

“Focus, kitten,” he chastised. “Just for this part, at the very least. So that we can make sure everything’s going the way it should. And,” he pressed, flicking at her nose, “because you will be telling us if anything hurts. Understood?”

The potion popped in her mouth with a vengeance, and she found herself pouting, “But I like when it—"

Vil nipped at her lips to stop the words in their tracks, but Rook was already gasping delightedly in her ear.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he chuffed, amused.

The House Warden propped his chin against her shoulder to press a wet, lingering kiss beneath her ear. And with his teeth still scraping against her skin, he canted his head back to shoot Rook the coldest, sharpest look she’d ever seen him level at the hunter in their bed.

“She’s small,” Vil said, like a warning. But there was something else there too, underlying. Something curling, and dark, and possessive that Saya wasn’t really sure what to make of. “So you need to be careful.”

She couldn’t see Rook’s reaction from over her shoulder, but whatever stare down they were locked in felt like it dragged on for an age. And then, finally, Vil was relaxing against her with a nod and drawing the both of them back into the little cradle of limbs he’d so deftly constructed.  

“Go on then,” he ordered, in the same, haughty tone he might use for making demands of an unruly student. “She’s waiting.”

“A crime I shall never be able to repent for,” Rook crooned, and then dug his fingers along Saya’s hips until she was carefully arching away from Vil’s with a soft hiss.

It was a bit of an awkward balancing act at first—trying to keep herself from tipping too far forward or too far back. To keep Vil between her legs without slipping off entirely while also bowing her spine enough to give Rook the access he needed. He panted along her shoulder, biting and licking as he went in a way that made her think of rabbits and predators all over again. She could feel the steady, blunt pressure of him as he rocked forward bit by bit. Careful, just like Vil had demanded he be. Saya shifted against the strain in her legs and gave a tentative swivel of her hips, trying to coax him into seating himself deeper. And, naturally, Vil was there in an instant to nip admonishingly at her throat and tighten his grip until she kept herself still once more.

“Be patient, kitten.”

I am being patient, she wanted to whine back, but in that moment, Rook hit a point where the resistance seemed to give way all at once, and she was sliding all the way down against the both of them with a noise like the air had been knocked straight out of her lungs.

Vil groaned, low and punched out, against her neck, and Rook hissed from behind his teeth.

“Si serrée,” he gasped, hips rabbiting up fast—once, twice—like he couldn’t help himself, and Vil snapped something under his breath that Saya was too out of her wits to make sense of. Because it was so, so much. So tight, and hot, and the pressure was just, so, so—

She panted around them and dug her nails into Vil’s shoulders hard, hard, hard. He didn’t even flinch.

“Alright?” he asked after a moment, mouthing gently at the hollow below her collarbone as he glanced up at her from beneath heavy lashes.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, jerkily, dizzily.

“Nothing painful?” he coaxed, and Saya shook her head until her hair was flying around her cheeks. The pressure and the tight, tight, tight, tight of it was almost too much to bear. Teetering precariously along that ledge of ‘too much.’ But it was also so, so good—

“It feels—”

“Go on,” Rook teased, voice a bit tremulous and breathy, and she could feel the words slither along the shell of her ear. Vil shushed him sharply and then pressed another encouraging kiss to her throat.

“Don’t mind him, darling. When you’re ready.”

“It’s nice?” she managed to choke out, when Vil shifted a bit at her front and it sent a tidal wave of all sorts of unfamiliar pressure through the rest of her. Lovely, and full, and different, and—

“Ah, avez-vous entendu que, mon reine?” the hunter tutted. “We are but ‘nice.’ That doesn’t sound like much of a resounding success, no?”

“No,” Vil hummed on a wry sort of agreement that sounded like nothing but trouble. He shifted again, giving an experimental rut of his hips as he did so that had all three of them shivering on a moan. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. How unfortunate.”

“Very nice?” Saya spluttered out frantically.

“Oh, come now!” Rook mewed, and she could feel his fingers reaching around to dig into her hips and gently begin to pull her down. “Surely we can do better than that, mon reine.”

“Surely,” he echoed, gaze flitting pointedly over her shoulder to whatever expression was curling over their guest’s face. Vil’s eyes narrowed again, but that swimming, dark something from before was absent. Now, it just looked like a challenge. Saya could feel Rook’s smile widen against her cheek. “Keep to my rhythm,” Vil demanded, giving another sharp, deep, push that had Saya dipping back on a gasp. Rook chirped in delight.

“I will, as always, endeavor to follow your lead in all things, mon reine,” he trilled, letting his own hips jump forward in response. It was too hard, too quick, and Saya yelped when the force of it nearly toppled her out of both of their laps.

“Rook.”

“Apologies, apologies,” the hunter cooed, giving another, gentler thrust. “I was too eager, I’m afraid.”

Vil huffed under his breath and then started up his own, measured grind. He twined his fingers along Saya’s hips and pulled her down at each upward press. Meeting his thrusts in time so that they struck long, and deep, and hard along all the familiar, sensitive places that he knew far too well. It took a moment for Rook to match it—to push in as Vil eased out. To rut just hard enough to have her whining and gasping but not squeaking in discomfort. And Saya was dying. The press of the two of them was so, so much. She felt out of her skin—like her pulse was a match to the pressures in her belly and those alone. She raked her nails down Vil’s back until he was hissing with it and Rook trilled in delight.

“Next time,” he sighed, dreamy, and stuttered on a thrust. “Ah, la merveille de sentir tes griffes dans ma peau,” he crooned. He bit at her throat, hard, and Saya choked on a squeak. “What I wouldn’t give—”

“Focus, Rook,” Vil snorted, reaching a hand down between them to rub tight circles against Saya’s clit until she was shivering.

“Ah, désolé, désolé,” the Vice Warden chirped, and then drove up hard enough to nearly send her sprawling all over again. But this time he kept his fingers firm around her waist, hauling her down against the pair of them just as sharply. And Saya keened.

Vil didn’t even bother to chastise him this time, his own head falling back on a startled grunt at the tight, tight heat—his hips catching on the slick drag of it and nearly tugging him under. He dug his fingers in alongside Rook’s and pulled her down harsher. Until Saya was hiccupping on every thrust and panting desperate, whiny sentiments against his shoulder. That curling, clawing warmth in her gut spiraled higher, and Vil’s eyes caught on hers like a shark scenting blood in the water.

“Almost there, kitten?” he breathed against her cheek, wet and fast. “We do have an audience this, time, don’t we?” he cooed, pupils pulsing so wide and blown that they nearly swallowed the amethyst there in its entirety. “So we’re going to have to make it count.”

And then his fingers were working over her clit in earnest and Saya squealed.

“Vil—”

“Louder.”

She gulped, nearly choking on air, and that potion bubbled in her veins like a promise.

“Vil.”

“Can’t hear you, darling.” Which was absolutely rich, coming for the man currently pushing words past his throat like he trying not to gasp for breath. Like every other sound coming out of him wasn’t some airy, punched-out groan.

“Vil—"

“You can do better than that, kitten.”

Saya’s very rightful complaint broke into a squawk when Rook drove up harder. When the two of them met in the middle in perfect sync—in a perfect, terrible pressure that was far too much. And she wanted to scream, and scream, and—

“That’s it, darling.”

Saya wailed, tucking herself tight against Vil’s chest like she could crawl inside him if she pushed hard enough. That she could live there forever alongside the staccato thump thump thump of his heart at her front, and Rook’s at her back, and—

The spring snapped and Saya was tumbling over the edge all at once. Rook moaned, low and long, from over her shoulder and Vil cursed under his breath. Both sets of hips stuttered at the tight, tight clench and then, as she was still trembling, and panting, and seeing stars, Vil groaned and released deep inside her in a familiar, wet, wave of heat. Rook followed not a moment after, sighing, and gasping, and pushing forward as far as he could go.

It took a long, long time for her to come down. And even after that, Saya was still shaking, and shivery, and far too oversensitive. Rook shifted at her back—still tucked up as deep inside as he could manage. Still wet, and warm, and heavy—and she winced at the tender sting of it. Vil’s lips traced a soft, sweet pattern against her temple, murmuring reassurances that she still wasn’t quite in the right mind to make sense of, and then he was gently easing her off the both of them and back down towards the sheets. Carefully, carefully. Saya’s thighs throbbed, and then the rest of her gave an answering, sore flinch. All the way down to the core of her. She was sticky, and aching, and there was a pool of white, tacky, wetness cooling between her legs that she could feel trailing down, down, down. She shifted with another flinch, hoping to take some of the pressure off her hips, and Vil’s hands reached down to slot a pillow beneath her lower back.

“There you are, darling,” Vil hummed, tucking her gently between the pair of them so she could curl up into his side, mess be damned. Rook draped himself delicately along her back, rubbing circles into the bruises by her hips and cooing soft, low sentiments into her hair. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

Saya grumbled something drunkenly incoherent into his chest and Vil chuffed in amusement against her flushed cheeks.

“Une prestation magistrale,” Rook encouraged, still a bit warbly, a bit breathless, and licked a long, lazy line over the sweat beading along her skin. “Truly, I have never witnessed such perfection in human form, mon coeur.”

Saya’s head lolled forward on another, soft hiccup and she snuggled in tighter—embarrassed. Limbs loose and shivering.

Vil’s hand trailed up and down her arm in slow, measured strokes.

“Too much?” he coaxed, concerned, and Saya managed to shake her head until he was laughing at her under his breath. “Ah. Just enough then, I suppose.”

She took a moment to just breathe—to take in the familiar scents of Vil’s lingering cologne, the soft, floral breeze of his shampoo, the lavender musk that was just him. And overlaid amidst all that cozy comfort was the smell of cypress and pine. Of ozone, and leather, and sprawling forests. Saya scrunched her nose nervously against Vil’s collarbone for a moment, taking in another few, deep breaths to steady herself. And then she turned back onto her side, wincing all the while. The hands at her hips faltered, and with careful, cautious movements, she managed to flop all the way over without squeaking even once.

Saya peeked up at Rook from beneath her golden lashes, nervous. And then slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Uhm…” she spluttered, quickly averting her gaze and ears going pink in chagrin. Despite how innocent it was in comparison to all the things that they’d just done—what they’d done to her. “…Thank you.”

And then she was ducking back into the safety of Vil’s arms far too quickly, wheezing in discomfort when it tugged at muscles she didn’t even know could ache. She burrowed back into his chest with a sniffly little whine that was far too teary for her pride to admit, and Vil was immediately back to cooing and carding his fingers through her hair.

The House Warden smiled into her mused locks for a moment longer before letting his sharp gaze dart back to the hunter sprawled out beside them.

Rook had a hand delicately raised to his cheek, as if he could trace the imprint of Saya’s kiss with his fingertips alone. His green eyes had gone wide with surprise, and there was a strange, curling, spark blooming in them that Vil knew far too well.

“Oh,” Rook whispered, sounding choked. Like his heart had grown enough to swell past the cage of his chest, to press hard and welcoming against his airway like it couldn’t help itself. Ready to steal the last breath it could. Ready to take it willingly.  

Vil snorted into Saya’s hair and let her press herself in an exhausted puddle along his side, right where she was always meant to be. He closed his eyes, feeling the pleasant, sore twinges in his own muscles as he settled back against the pillows. A moment passed in silence, and then another. And then, predictably, Vil could hear the soft shft of Rook slipping closer along the mattress—feel the dip along Saya’s hips as the hunter draped himself over her back like a cloak.

Saya stiffened for a moment in surprise, but then was slipping back into sleep between one, soft breath and the next. Vil tucked himself against her nape and felt the brush of Rook’s hands as he reached forward to clutch at the teeny, shivering blonde between them like a lifeline. Vil sighed again and let himself be lulled into a dreamless doze alongside her.

They could discuss the future another time. 

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x OC #Vil Schoenheit x OC #Vil x OC #Rook Hunt x OC #Vil x Rook x OC #vil schoenheit #Rook Hunt #My Writing

[pastelpinkkadan]

My most blunt, controversial ACOTAR opinions. Nothing is safe, nothing is sacred. Mind the tags for your own peace of mind please.

P.S.: Absolutely not directed at any other blog/person specifically. Just general fandom/shippers.

Elriel/Gw*nriel:

Gwyn is not that important of a character. She is a secondary character whose main purpose in the story was to be Nesta’s friend. She has no connection to any overarching plot. She could literally never be seen again in the books and all the main plot points would still work.

People have inflated Gwyn’s character and importance solely because they ship her with Azriel. And they ship her with Azriel because 1. She is the only other single female character (besides Elain) that he has interacted with. 2. Gwyn is enough of a blank slate for people to project/self insert themselves into and thereby romance themselves with Azriel 3. Gwyn has only been shown in a positive light, with only positive personality traits (good friend and can wield a sword) so there’s no REAL controversy on her character/personality. Because there’s not enough to actually have any controversy.

If Gwyn was actually that important, Emerie would also be as important, if not more so. But 90% of time Emerie is forgotten by the fandom. Even to the point that the theory of an Illyrian plot is somehow given to Az and Gwyn, rather than Emerie. The two people that, arguably, have the least skin in the game concerning that theory. And the reason Emerie is this pushed out of her own potential story line is because she isn’t shipped with Azriel or another Fae male.

If there was no Bonus Chapter Gw*nriel would not exist. Or at the VERY least, it would be acknowledged as the crackship that it is. Because outside of the BC, there is nothing in the main ACOSF to accurately ship them to the degree that the fandom does. Elriel, however, still has several books where canon scenes have taken place. The BC is absolutely not needed to show that Elriel have feelings for each other, we already knew.

“Well Elain gave by TruthTeller, so Elriel isn’t end game!” Is one of the stupidest reaches I’ve seen. TruthTeller was always, OBVIOUSLY, meant to be something lent to Elain for the war. It wasn’t a permanent gift, and Az didn’t say it was. He said he wouldn’t use it TODAY, implying he would expect to use it again in the future. Imagine -

“Well Gwyn gave back the books Nesta recommended to her, so they obviously aren’t friends.”

Thats what y’all sound like. It’s just purposely misinterpreting things in a scene that obviously aren’t there for the sake of your ship. It’s disingenuous and not at all the win you think it is.

You cannot call Azriel an incel/fuck boy for Elain and then ship him with Gwyn in the same breath. If he’s all those things with Elain, he’ll be the same for Gwyn. She is not magically going to make him “better” or a gentleman. Actually, he’s already a gentleman. He just didn’t have sexual thoughts about Gwyn and y’all can’t stand it.

Same vein, but if Azriel had had those sexual thoughts in the BC about anyone else besides Elain there would have been no issue/debate.

If a Gw*nriel book did somehow happen, it would 1000% be for fan service/peer pressure. No previous books have set it up, even the main story in ACOSF. Elriel has been setting up since book 2. It makes sense. Anyone who says it doesn’t just doesn’t want it to happen, mostly because they don’t like Elain. And that’s also mostly because they can’t see themselves in Elain, so they lash out.

Saying Elriels are delusional is the wildest thing, because Elriels have the most canon scenes spread throughout the books, Elain and Azriel have interacted with each other positively the most and the longest, and they are the only potential couple that actually bluntly like each other. They exist outside of misinterpreted bonus chapters and “what if” theories with no real backing.

Elain:

Whether anyone wants to admit it or not, part of the Elain hate IS misogyny. The amount of hate this character receives, compared to what she has actually done in the series, is entirely undeserving. She has received the same level of hate, if not more, than Tamlin, any of the ACOTAR villains, and Nesta, who is still a very controversial character. And for what? Liking Azriel, and not wielding a sword while doing it, apparently.

Elain liking flowers does not determine who she’ll end up with. For fucks sake we didn’t know Nesta liked to read smut or was great dancer until her book. And neither of those things determined her partner. It’s just what she likes. Same with Elain.

Nessian/ACOSF

The idea that Nesta will leave Cassian and make her own court is stupid.

Being anti-ACOSF but Pro-Nesta is a streeeeeetch, because all of Nesta’s actual good character development came from ACOSF. Like, did you like that she was angry and unhealed before? Because that’s where she would still be without all that happened in ACOSF.

People don’t understand the intervention that HAD to happen with Nesta in ACOSF. And I would even venture to say that most people against it have never HAD to have a real intervention with someone to that level. The level of, go to rehab/therapy or you are not allowed to be in my house/take up my resources. Because you will not get better on your own, you will only hurt yourself or others and I won’t enable you anymore. It’s a difficult decision that but often it is NECESSARY. Speaking as someone with several addict family members.

El*cien/Lucien:

All the theories about an El*cien plot line are completely focused on Lucien, and ignore everything built up with Elain. It’s always about Lucien figuring out his heritage, becoming some High Lord of one of the courts, or something with the Band of Exiles. Elain doesn’t have to be involved for any of that to happen. She’s pushed to the side in her own romantic story line. Nothing about her Seer powers, or the fact that she’s apparently been gaining spy abilities, or her place at the Night Court.

Lucien fans make me hate Lucien more than Lucien ever could.

The poor Lulu mindset can die.

While we’re at it, the theory that Elain likes Lucien so much that she avoids him is also stupid. That makes no sense. She loses her boldness around. She got better WHEN HE LEFT. All of Elain’s most powerful moments are when Lucien isn’t around. And that says something.

People cling to 1st book Lucien so much, but he has not been that way SINCE book 1.

Tamlin:

Tamlin already got a redemption arc when he brought Rhys back to life. He doesn’t need another one, and he certainly doesn’t need a full book.

The Tamlin/Elain ship is stupid and only benefits Tamlin, not Elain. Once again placing Elain to the side of her own romance, much like El*cien.

ACOTAR:

If you hate everyone in the IC, you don’t actually like ACOTAR. They’re the majority of the books, including half of ACOSF. And it’s actually really stupid to hate the IC and still pretend you’re an ACOTAR fan. Because, again, the IC is the MAJORITY of ACOTAR. Please read something you actually like.

If you hate the entire main story and main characters of ACOTAR, but like one or two characters, you don’t like ACOTAR. You see yourself in a character, and want the story to reflect what YOU want to happen to that character (ie, yourself), and can’t handle that it didn’t. You don’t actually like the ACOTAR series. Again, maybe it’s time to read something else.

3 Acherons x 3 Bat Boys isn’t cliche. It’s a pattern. It’s a literary motif. It’s a theme. It is a pattern that SJM has naturally set up, the fact that you can see and assume that Elriel would be apart of that just means you can recognize basic literary devices in a fantasy novel. Which is the POINT.

I have no intention of debating anything. I’m just stating my opinions on my blog, like everyone else gets to do. So take that as you will.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

#acotar #acosf #elriel #elain archeron #pro elain #pro elriel #elain x azriel #anti gw*nriel #anti el*cien #pro nessian #nessian #pro inner circle #pro ACOSF #pro acotar #pro elain archeron #elriel supremacy

[enjolraspermettendo]

Les Miserables Fanfic recs✨️

I tried to make a selection, my absolute favourites have a heart next to them ❤️, but my les mis fics bookmarks have 17 pages, so you know, there are still other amazing fics that i didn't include (part 2 maybe?). I also realised while making this list that most of these fics are actually very well known, but still, they're great 🤷‍♀️ I'm an angst enthusiast, be warned.

( I'm trying to also tag the tumblr accounts of the authors: if you are one of the authors and I missed your url and want me to add you or if you want me to remove you dont hesitate to contact me! )

❤️ World Aint Ready by idiopathicsmile @idiopathicsmile

Enjolras presses his lips together. He already looks pained, and Grantaire hasn't even opened his mouth yet. That's got to be a record, even for them.

"I need a favor," he says at last.

"With what?" says Grantaire. "Ooh, are you forming a cult? Can I join? I'd be awesome at cults, I just know it." He ticks off his qualifications on his fingers. "I love chanting, I look great in robes—"

(High school AU. Grantaire the disaffected stoner is pulled into a cause bigger than himself. Or: in which there are pretend boyfriends for great justice.)

Part 1 of World Aint Ready-verse

To Fold the Sheet by Lyres

“Can you say one good thing about the season?”

Holding out his soap-sud covered hands until Grantaire tosses a towel on top of them, Enjolras hums in thought. “Not really,” he says, once he's dried off. “Just don't have a lot of happy memories of summer, I suppose.”

(In which Grantaire attempts to make Happy Summer Memories, and Enjolras is endlessly patient.)

History of Melancholia by Squash (JeSuisGourde) @meta-squash

Grantaire deals with his depression by documenting it through photography as he and Enjolras try to wade through life with mental illness. It doesn't make it any easier for him or Enjolras, though. It's the blind leading the blind as they try to navigate the waters of depression.

A series of moments in no particular order, showing the paths that Grantaire's depression and addiction has taken him on and the ways he has tried to survive.

Submission (Going Down, Down) by ddeadkennedys

anyway, enjolras hated grantaire at first. enjolras isn't an asshole, he's not a gatekeeper or some sort of shitty elitist, but grantaire was uninspired, hopeless despite all that potential. a waste. but then that whole thing went down, and shit changed, and if grantaire thought he couldn't get enough of enjolras' attention before, now that enj is only mean to him for fun he's a fucking junkie for it.

Part 1 of the revolution is my boyfriend

Keep It Kind, Keep It Good, Keep It Right by lady_ragnell @theladyragnell

“You aren’t going to ask me if I’m okay?”

“You aren’t. Believe me, I know the signs.” Grantaire sighs, and his breath mists in the air like cigarette smoke. “They love you in there.”

“And out here?”

“You know that’s not a fair question.”

Forget Me Not by Opium_du_Peuple @just-french-me-up

Enjolras loses four years worth of memories after a nasty car accident. Though he still remembers who Combeferre and Courfeyrac are, he also finds himself with a herd of friends he doesn't remember meeting. Friends who are exactly what his blank mind needs to recollect his missing memories.

or : the amnesia fic no one asked for.

i'm not the moon (i'm not even a star) by serinesaccade @serinesaccade

“The amnesiac has questions,” says Grantaire. Boyfriend grips the wheel. “Don’t worry, we’ll start with the 200 dollar Jeopardy trivia.” A semi roars past them. “What’s your name?” The perfect sinew and bones of his fingers relax. “Oh,” he murmurs. Just like that, defenses lowered. “Enjolras.” “Cool,” Grantaire says. “I’m Grantaire.” Something happens to Enjolras’ face which, if you zoomed in, might be considered a smile. “I know.” “How long have we been dating, Enjolras?” The almost-smile is gone. The gameshow metaphor has become too apt; someone’s lost it all. “That’s complicated.” Well. Grantaire should’ve known some part of this fairytale was too good to be true. He’s best friends with a streetsmart renegade and someone who wrote him a welcome-back-to-consciousness poem in godawful blue icing on an orange frosted cookie cake. There are nearly ten people who were waiting for him to wake up in a hospital room. Of course his inexplicable relationship with his supernova hot, socially conscientious boyfriend is ‘complicated.’

thirteen days and fourteen hours and a dozen minutes by Potoo

"Enjolras,” Grantaire gasps as delicate fingers brush over his chest, an airy quality to them, “what do you want?” Because Grantaire would serve him the whole world on a silver platter, and it would never be enough.

“You,” Enjolras states, his voice clear and severe, “I want you.”

Enjolras discovers one by one what his friends think about Grantaire. He is rather surprised by their words.

Also: body worship porn.

Metropolitan Art by ryssabeth @avagueambitioninyourerection

Paris is his home.

❤️ Wrap your fingers round my thumb by Ibbyliv

When Éponine leaves in the morning, he’s already feeling much better. No really, he is. He makes a cup of coffee and even showers. The sun is shining brightly –even though it’s mostly late in the afternoon than morning but he has no one to apologize to, no reason to excuse himself for being a lazy ass and not finishing that painting for ages- and he’s humming a catchy tune that has been stuck in his head while he wipes his hair dry with a towel. He opens the door because he feels good enough to take the trash out, and everything’s alright, even the odor coming from the plastic bag, until he hears it.

It’s a cry, a wail, desperate and heartbreaking as if something tiny is trying to cause its lungs to explode and is on its way to success. Grantaire looks around, not willing to accept what he feels coming, before lowering his eyes on the floor. In this moment, Grantaire swears, he's so fucking wasted. * Enjolras leaves to work abroad for a year. When he returns, he finds out that there has been a new addition to their group.

A Series of Progressions by AnnaBolena @annabrolena

Modern AU in Paris in which most of Les Amis are students and all of them are sort of slow on the getting together aspect of relationships, with sociopolitical commentary and medical jabber peppered in between.

how sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by Tegami @furtherfish

He could have shrugged and that would have been it. Say that he just found it precious. But Grantaire was Grantaire and he never could keep himself from oversharing and he was already dizzy with the way this night was going, so he told the truth. “The first thought I had when I read that poem was ‘If someone would ever call me “sweet boy” and mean it, I would probably pass out.’” OR: E & R are being ""casual"". Grantaire attempts to break some of their habits. Enjolras reads some angsty notes R left in his copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. Then they fuck

❤️ Hotel California by sunflowerbright

'You can check out, but you can never leave' - Reincarnation!AU

❤️ Paris Burning by thecitysmith @thecitysmith

In a world where cities are personified, the City of Paris has been missing for centuries, driven away by the horrors of war and the worst humanity has offered him. Enjolras dreams of meeting Paris, and leading him to a better tomorrow. What he doesn't know is that Paris is now a cynical drunk who calls himself Grantaire.

❤️ Thirty-Two Times by Ark @et-in-arkadia

Marius, looking chastised but sad, says, “Is there nothing then for romance, Enjolras? It seems a strange emotion to be struck with, distracting as a fever, if it means nothing.” It is Grantaire who answers first. “Nothing means anything, Marius,” says the cynic. “Yet who would ever die for his country if he did not love some person who lived within it?”

❤️ Once We're Kings by raeldaza

Their kingdoms have been at odds for centuries, so what will be a greater 'fuck you' than to send hapless knight Grantaire as their representative for Prince Enjolras's queen choosing ceremony before he is crowned King? Grantaire disagrees, but he doesn't seem to get much of a say in the matter. No one is really expecting anything to come of it, but trust Enjolras to defy expectations.

❤️ Your Heart on Your Skin by zade @racetrackthehiggins

Grantaire’s first flower appears when he is two years old. It’s late, for a First Bloom, considering some children are born with their First already etched above their hearts, but Grantaire’s parents are warm and loving and wait to see what sort of child they have born unto the world. His First Bloom, when it comes, is vibrant patch of yellow carnations. He is too young to know what it means, and his parents don’t tell him, just—withdraw, and a much smaller patch of yellow carnations appears on his mother’s ankle. -- Soulmate AU where things in your life appear as flowers on your skin, and people with hard lives have a lot of flowers to show for it

Tetris by chapstickaddict

Cosette is Enjolras' half-sister. His father slept with Fantine and then buggered off to be with his wife. Then Enjolras found out. One day he sees her- and he knows its her- and doesn't know what to do. Enjolras is Cosette's half-brother. Her mother slept with a married man and died of a broken heart and weary soul. Then Cosette found out. One day, she finds him-and she knows its him- and doesn't know what to do. Then Marius happened...

Silence Is the Speech of Love by lady_ragnell @theladyragnell

Grantaire's life has a pattern: he pays his respects to Aphrodite, he goes to work, he loves Enjolras and provokes him because he can't bring himself to do otherwise. That seems unlikely to change, at least until Enjolras speaks out against the gods and ends up cursed. Grantaire does his best to help him, but it turns out it's just as hard to love Enjolras up close as it is from afar.

Part 1 of The Speech of Love

❤️ I Believe In Nothing but the Truth and Who We Are by Whreflections

"Under the wine, Grantaire smelled like smoke and summer nights. His dark hair curled in a chaotic mess around his face, his neck below pale and soft. The first time they met, the first time he drew the scent into his lungs, he ached with the need to mark that stretch of skin, to card his fingers through Grantaire’s hair so very gently before tilting his head back so Enjolras might mark his bared throat and make his claim. He resisted then, telling himself that to act on instinct alone was the arena of an animal; he was a man of intellect, and he could choose." As an alpha, Enjolras has known Grantaire to be his mate since he first came to the Musain, a truth he does his best to bury. With his devotion already promised to France, he tells himself he cannot risk dividing his loyalties, cannot risk a bond that would pull so heavy on his heart. This is what he's told himself a thousand times, but when Grantaire needs him, his careful resolutions may not be able to hold against the strain.

His Love Letter by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade @shitpostingfromthebarricade

Your Wednesday regular appears right on time and orders the same thing as he does every week, but something's different today.

❤️ Here's looking at you by illuminate

“So domestic trouble rather than treason?” Floreal said. “I’m not saying one precludes the other.” Enjolras said, which came out more pained than he had intended. “Are you suggesting Grantaire sold national secrets to a crime lord because you were a bad boyfriend?” Floreal asked. Her tone was bemused, but there was a glint in her eye that turned the comment into mockery. “No.” Enjolras snapped, stung, and then didn’t say more. Spy AU. Grantaire removes his tracker and disappears the same night Lamarque is killed in his office. Enjolras is left behind, trying to figure out what happened and why Grantaire didn't tell him anything.

❤️ Meanwhile, A Glacier by standalone

“I’ll go.” He says it without brashness or deference. Just a statement. “Where?” “You want to climb the Forty,” he says, and Enjolras can’t deny it. “I’ll go with you.”

❤️ It's Not the Same Anymore by ShameDumpster @shamedumpster

Grantaire is a bookstore clerk in his late twenties, and to everyone’s eternal disbelief, a father. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone from his former group of friends, after a falling out cleaved him from the ABC, but everything changes when Enjolras walks into his bookstore. Can they rekindle their friendship, or something more, while they both come to terms with how their lives have changed over the past decade?

Part 1 of INtSA-verse

❤️ Combeferre's Tattoos by standalone

Enjolras clunked down three lowball glasses of whiskey and a bottle of soda water. “We have already established, ‘Ferre, his freedom to leave us. Can you please stop bringing it up and instead give him some incentive to stay?” Combeferre cocked his head to the side, as if amused at Enjolras’s crankiness. “Such as?” “He seemed to like you shirtless.” ‘Ferre nodded. “Then perhaps someone should take my shirt off.” or When the universe gives you Enjolras and Combeferre, who the hell are you to ask questions?

Part 1 of Tattoos AU

❤️ In Defiance of all Geometry by idiopathicsmile @idiopathicsmile

Amis House might not be the biggest student co-op, or the fanciest, but it's got something all its own. Specifically, smoke damage on the kitchen ceiling from that time Courfeyrac lit a political pamphlet on fire. In which there are secrets, pining, pancakes, and revelations, and sometimes the shortest distance between three points is not a triangle but a circle.

Part 1 of IDOAG-verse

❤️ We still got time (Raise your hopeful voice) by RavenXavier

“Excuse-you!” came Grantaire’s offended voice from the other side of the room. “I would make an excellent wife, Monsieur Lesgle, should I choose to! I have all the qualities of one!" (In which Enjolras slowly falls in love, and Grantaire takes the time to explore what feels right.)

Musagetes by defractum @defractum

"You've had sex," says Grantaire, just to clarify. He gives Enjolras an obvious look up and down, as if he's trying to imagine it right now: Enjolras having sex, Enjolras in the act of having sex. The curve of his mouth gives away his smirk; it's Grantaire though, so his smirk is two-thirds mocking and one-third self-deprecating. In which Enjolras has sex, has casual sex, and doesn't talk about it; in which Grantaire speaks better through art.

❤️ Through the Narrow Place by revolutionbarbie

“What brought you to Paris?” Montparnasse asked. “A train, ostensibly. And a bus.” Grantaire leaves Poland for Paris, content to remain alone forever if it means that he'll be safe. He goes to work and he comes home and he doesn't think about how few people there would be to miss him should he disappear. When he meets the Friends who gather and plot at the Cafe Musain, he realises how much he has been missing and though their leader is reckless and arrogant, Grantaire can't help but be drawn to him.

❤️ A Thousand Miles by kjack89 @kjack89

Some couples had a morning breakfast routine. For Enjolras and Grantaire, it was coffee. Come rain, shine, or hectic schedules, they still made time every morning to have a cup of coffee together. Sometimes that time saw Grantaire perching on the counter in the bathroom while Enjolras gulped his cup in the shower; other times, it was the two of them in bed long past when they were supposed to get up, wrapped in blankets and each other. Some days those precious few minutes were the only time they saw each other, and they treasured it. Even when Enjolras was out of town on business, they called or Facetimed each other to share their morning cup of coffee. It was the one consistency in their lives that Grantaire could count on.

❤️ Hēbē by illuminate

“You cannot feed on a citizen without their consent, because that would be an attack on their person - and their Rights, I am sure. But you cannot risk revealing your nature and so you cannot ask for permission. Luckily, you have me, who am already aware and quite willing.” The chair screeches loudly as Enjolras pushes himself away from the table. ”Come now, Apollo, let me be your cupbearer.” Grantaire implores; his tone somewhere between teasing and honest. “No, we are not doing that.” Enjolras growls. (In short: Enjolras has trouble feeding himself, because he is too busy planning the revolution. Grantaire finds out and is more than willing to help.)

Part 1 of cupbearer

Enjolras looks down at where Grantaire’s hand holds the pack against him and doesn’t bother to take hold. “If you were Combeferre,” he says, “this would be the part where you tell me these things will kill me.” “If I were Combeferre, I’d be inside and you’d be bothering someone else,” Grantaire snaps. He snatches the pack of cigarettes back and extracts one, leaving just two inside. It is with sharp, savage movements that he jabs it into his mouth, lights it with the silver Zippo, and then offers it to Enjolras.

love is in the air, i just gotta figure out a window to break out by tamquams

#les miserables #les mis #grantaire #enjolras #combeferre #bahorel #courfeyrac #joly #feuilly #marius pontmercy #cosette #eponine #bossuet #gavroche #jehan #fanfictions #fanfic

[snowyquokka]

MONSOON - L. MINHO

cw - mature themes MDNI, fem!reader, brothers best friend!Minho, swearing, angst, fluff (kinda?), mentions of alcohol, mutual pining, somewhat proof read, yada yada yada

wc - 3k

a.n - I FINISHED IT. im not sure how many parts there’ll be but here’s this for now :)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Your heart is beating at the same frequency as the music blaring through your ears whilst making your way to the front door of the shitty little run down frat house. You’ve managed to throw back three rounds of vodka shots without puking and you were feeling a bit proud of yourself. But you have enough self respect to know when to call it quits. The cheap liquor did it’s intended purpose. That purpose being forgetting about someone.

Or not. 

You roll your eyes drowsily as you push your way through the door and onto the surprisingly somewhat empty porch. Plopping down on the top step, you pull out your phone before pressing the only emergency contact you have. 

“Aw you do care enough to call me,” Jisung’s grin is present in his soft voice.

“Mhm, yeah care- sure. Erm, busy?” There’s some muffled laughter in the background followed by some shuffling before he finally answers. 

“I- are you-“ he cuts himself off and whispers something incoherent, “Scale of one to ten?” Due to your recent lack of responsibility, as Jisung calls it, he’s set up a scale system to determine how wasted you are. 

One being buzzed, tipsy at best. 

Ten being, well, absolutely plastered.

“Eight and a h-half?” you hiccup. 

More muffled whispers are followed by, “What am I going to do with you.” and “Send me your location,”

-

After what seemed like an eternity of being surrounded by makeout sessions and college kids blowing chunks into the nearby hedges, a familiar car finally pulls up to the curb. 

You stand up, albeit a little too fast, but you still make it to your feet. The sound of a car door slamming rings in your ears, leading up to warm, gentle hands carefully lifting your arm over their shoulder in order to help get in the passenger side of the car. 

“Han- Minho?” Big brown eyes stare into yours as he leans over you and buckles your seatbelt. His expression’s blank, but it always is when he looks at you. 

Minho looks at you for another moment before shaking his head, as if he’s snapping himself out of a trance, and shuts the door.

-

It was only about halfway to your dorm that you realized you didn’t have your keys and your roommate was out for the night.

“Ughh.” You whine and Minho eyes you like you’re crazy. 

Maybe you are. 

Crazy for leaving your stuff at home.

Crazy for catching feelings for your brother's best friend.

Crazy for trying to drown him out of your thoughts with shitty tequila and obnoxious music. 

Crazy for actually thinking that you could distract yourself, let alone forget about him.

“Hello? Earth to her majesty.” he pokes your shoulder.

“Fuck off,” Please don’t stop talking to me.

“Ah, see I like bothering you too much for all that,” he glances from the road to your curled up form. Your ‘defensive pose’ as he likes to call it. It’s not the first time he’s seen you absolutely shitfaced.

“Wanna tell me why you’re throwing a fit over there?” 

“No key,” you mutter and press your head against the cool glass of the window, reveling in the way it soothes your massive migraine.

“No k- what are you talking about? You went to a frat party with no keys? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Minho lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh, making you curl into yourself tighter. He sighs softly and prays that Jisung won’t kill him for taking you home with him.

“Why are you smiling like this is funny? None of this is the slightest bit funny. You could’ve been hurt and then I would-” he snaps his mouth shut and grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white.

-

There’s a small amount of pressure on your stomach when you wake up and the sound of light purring fills the room. You peek your eyes open cautiously until you spot the orange and white cat resting on your lower abdomen. 

“Soonie,” you hum with a smile. 

Wait. Soonie?

You sit up fast making Soonie dart off the bed in surprise. 

You’re in Minho’s bed. And not for the reason you would’ve preferred. 

You’re engulfed in his scent, tangled in his sheets, hair spread across his pillows. You wonder how many girls he’s had here before and mentally gag at the thought.

“Morning,” Minho nods as he sets a tray with a bottle of painkillers and some water on it next to you.

Memories of the night before flash throughout your head and your cheeks flush red with embarrassment while your hands run down your face.

You made a fool of yourself in front of Lee Minho. This is a new low for you, you think. 

But then again this isn’t his first time tending to you and your drunken stupor. 

Maybe not in his own home, and maybe without you knowing but he’s done it enough to be well versed with handling you.

You down the water along with one of the capsules and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, trying as hard as possible to avoid Minho’s gaze. 

“Better?” He whispers. 

No.

“Mhm, fine.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it now or-”

You climb out of his bed groggily, “I don’t want to talk about it at all, actually.” Minho does a double take and you realize that your dress slid up your leg and exposed almost the entirety of your legs, dangerously close to your core. 

He looks away long enough for you to fix yourself before clearing his throat. “That sucks because we’re going to.” His annoyance is obvious, the tips of his ears pink from being flustered. As much as you really really want to push his buttons, your head is pounding and you feel simply, well - gross.

“I uh- I went and bought you some stuff so you could go shower,” he says, almost as if he read your mind. He rubs the back of his neck nervously with a grimace.

You look at him with a confused expression, “Huh? I’m sorry, I must not have heard you correctly.” Minho rolls his eyes at you. “Don’t argue with me. Just go,” he points to the adjacent door which connects his room to the singular bathroom in his one bedroom dorm.

He pauses and tries to gather this words, “See, the thing is I didn’t really get a chance to get you clothes…” Lie. “So you could just, I don’t know, wear some of mine?” You stop mid walk and turn on your heel to see Minho with a hoodie and sweats in his grasp.“Please cooperate with me for once.” You sigh and hold out your hands for him to place his clothes in them. 

“This is the stupidest idea i think I’ve ever heard come out of your pea-sized brain,” you grumble and stalk into the bathroom unbeknownst to the massive smirk adorning Minho’s face.

-

You were right when you thought you’d look absurd. Of course you were, anyone could look at you and tell you wouldn’t fit in his clothes. You step out of the bathroom, freshly showered and teeth brushed.

You’re practically swimming in his shirt and you had to tie the drawstring on the sweatpants so tight that it was a literal struggle.

“You were in there for an hour.” He deadpans.

“How’d you know what shampoo I liked,” you ignore him and ask as he eyes you. His gaze drags up your body as you run your fingers through your damp hair.

“I don’t know. Lucky guess?” Minho shrugs it off and folds his arms over his chest.

“Okay then,” you roll your eyes and copy his stance. You two stay silent for a solid ten seconds until he finally speaks,

“This is ridiculous.” He says as he glares at you.

“If anyone’s ridiculous it’s you.” 

“Me? You’re the one being an ungrateful brat,” he steps closer to you until you’re face to face, “I’m the one who came to your rescue. I could’ve told Jisung no, could’ve said I had better things to do than save you from yourself.”

You shake your head, “Then why didn’t you? I’m obviously just a bother to you, aren’t I? A burden that you can’t wait to be freed of.”

Minho furrows his brows, “Bullshit. That’s complete and utter bullshit and you know it.” 

You inch closer to him so your chests are pressed against one another. “Do I, Minho? Because it seems like you only enjoy being a dick to me,” your hands curl into fists at your sides. Never in the four years you’ve know him would you have ever expected to have an actual argument with him. Usually it’s all meaningless jabs at each other, but right now you can tell that it’s more than that.

Minho’s eyes search yours as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “Don’t fucking do that,” his voice comes out in a harsh whisper. 

“Do what?” 

“Act like the fucking victim of the situation you put yourself in,” His expression has grown agitated which only pisses you off to no end. You decide you’ve had enough and turn away from him to collect your stuff. “What are you doing?” 

“I am going to text my roommate and she’s going to take me home.” You don’t bother looking at him as you speak, grabbing your phone off of the nightstand and typing out a ‘send help’ message to your roommate. Before you could send it though Minho has yanked your phone out of your hands. “Seriously?” You huff. He holds it above his head as you poorly attempt to reach for it.

“No. Until you can have an adult conversation with me you aren’t leaving.” 

“What, are you gonna hold me hostage? Tie me up?” You realize that was the wrong thing to say when a smug smirk tugs at Minho’s lips.

“You’d like that too much. Wouldn’t you, princess?” Your breath catches in your throat as you fall dead silent. You’re still leaning against him, using him as leverage to get your phone. “Cat got your tongue? Never thought I’d see the day where you’d fail to find a snarky response. Always need to have the last word, don’t you.”

Your brain is so fuzzy, a mix of emotions jumbling your thoughts around. You slowly stand flat and remove your hands from his arms with palms on fire from the contact with his bare skin. 

“You’re a dick.” You say while you take a few steps away from him.

“So you’ve said.” Minho stares at you with ice in his gaze. He slides your phone in the pocket of his hoodie and folds his arms over his chest. “You can go when you tell me why you’re doing it.”

“Doing what?” You say though you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You are quite literally self destructing. Why?” He narrows his eyes at you, waiting for you to explain yourself. Unfortunately for him, it’s going to take more effort than that to get you to spill.

“That’s none of your business. Now give me back my phone, I want to go home.”

“No. I’m not just going to sit back and watch my best friend’s sister practically kill herself over something that is probably meaningless.” You keep backing up as he walks towards you until you collide with the wall behind you. 

How cliche.

“Just tell me so we can move on with our lives. But just so you know, I will not hesitate to keep you here as long as I have to until you help me understand why you’re acting so stupid when we both know that you’re far from it.”

Minho leans in closer, invading your space and allowing himself to be as close to you as he’ll ever be able to. He cares about you more than he cares about himself. His best friend’s little sister. At this point he’s a walking romance book trope. 

“It’s nothing I’m fi-” Before you can utter another word Minho has his index finger pressed against your lips and an eyebrow raised. 

“I’m going to give you another chance to rethink your words. Choose carefully.” You roll your eyes, prompting him to drop his hand.

“I’m trying to get over something.” You look down at your hands as you refuse to make eye contact. 

“Something or someone?” You sink back against the wall. 

You weigh your options: you could either lie to him, or you could confess and hope that you don’t die of embarrassment when he rejects you. 

“Someone.” When you finally look up at him you’re surprised to see his boba eyes clouded with - jealousy? No, you’ve got to be imagining it. There’s no way. 

“Who?” Are you imagining it?

“Just..someone.” Minho shakes his head as if saying ‘not good enough.’ But you’re not backing down that easily, this is just too good. So you do the next best thing: you mess with him.

“It’s someone from school..?” you wince, the statement coming out as more of a question. 

Minho’s eyes narrow and he finally steps out of your way. He stares at you dumbfounded before pulling your phone out of his pocket and holding it out to you. As you reach for it your fingers graze his and you’re reminded of the situation you’ve put yourself in. 

“Like I said, meaningless.” Minho’s voice pulls you out of the endless rabbit hole that is your stupid, insecure brain. 

All of this for nothing, he thinks. This whole time he was dumb enough to believe that you had feelings for him but instead you were treating it like a joke.

“Whatever, come on.”

-

Two weeks have passed since you woke up at Minho’s place. Two weeks have passed since you came home trying to determine if you were being delusional or if he actually got jealous of the idea that you were thinking about someone else. 

But hey, even if he didn’t actually feel that way you figure it’d be fun to play with him. 

Why not? It’s all harmless anyway. What could possibly go wrong?

Luckily for you he’s supposed to be at Jisung’s place, where you happen to have just made a surprise appearance at. Your top tier excuse? There’s family drama that you want to gossip about with him. 

Now you’ve finally comprised a seemingly fool proof plan to get a reaction out of Minho. You threw on his hoodie and a pair of shorts before leaving the house. 

To your delight when the door opens to reveal Minho sitting on the couch he looks like his eyes are about to pop out of his head. He can’t believe you even kept it, let alone willingly wore it. He wonders if it still smells like him or if you washed it, ridding it of any traces of himself.

“Hi, Sungie,” you pull your brother into a hug and make eye contact with Minho over Jisung’s shoulder. 

“Why are you- I mean don’t get me wrong, I love it when you visit but like…you never do.” Jisung pulls back and gives you a skeptical look, preparing himself for whatever you’re about to ask him for. 

“You never invite me,” you pout and slip past him into the living room. “Did you hear about auntie?” You say, turning to Minho before continuing, “You remember her, right? The one with all the cats, tried to get you to take them all? Yeah, you remember.” You smile before sitting next to him on the couch. Meanwhile Jisung - completely ignoring your babbling - has moved into the kitchen to make you a cup of tea, just like any other time you’ve shown up at his place unannounced.

Once you can tell that he’s out of earshot you look at the boy next to you who is painfully obvious in trying not to look at the exposed skin right underneath where his oversized hoodie, that could be classified as a dress on you, stops.

You look down at your body with an amused pout, “What’s the matter?”

Just as Minho was about to open his mouth your brother comes in with your tea, setting it down on the coffee table in front of you. 

You thank him before crossing your legs and sinking backwards into the couch. You play with the end of your sleeve which goes an inch or two past the tips of your fingers as you wait for someone to speak.

Just as you thought you’d be playing the quiet game for the next three hours Minho answers your silent prayers.

“So, I decided to take a BDSM test,” he says just as you took a sip of tea, you almost choke on it but manage to cover it with a cough.

Jisung’s complaining is drowned out by the words that have been engraved in your brain for the past two weeks,

“What. You gonna hold me hostage? Tie me up?”

“You’d like that too much. Wouldn’t you, princess?” 

Touché, you think. This little game has gotten ten times more interesting.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

tags: @skzstarnet @godslino @seungseung-minmin @myseungsunglove @azuna-sz @solisyeah 

#snowyquokka #skzstarnet #stray kids #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz reactions #skz reader insert #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #lee minho stray kids #lee minho x reader #leeknow #lee know #lee minho #lee know x reader #lee minho angst #lee know stray kids #lee know fluff #lee know imagines #lee minho skz #lee minho fluff #lee minho fic #skz fic #stray kids imagines #skz angst #stray kids fluff #skz

[lemon-natalia]

Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 51

Gideon just absolutely adoring the idea of her mother growing up, talking to her all the time … and Wake explicitly had her as a tool. to murder her. to unleash someone to kill Gideons biological father. oh this is so fucked 

this is a complete sidenote but i cherish every little bit of info we get about baby Gideon and Harrow, its so cute but so heartbreaking, and they hurt each other in the cruel ways only little kids can

also!!! Harrow had Gideon’s blood on her from their fight. so she really did unlock the Locked Tomb? but i’m still slightly confused since Mercy mentioned the blood ward needed ‘a thanergy burst’ from someone’s death alongside her blood to mimic the Emperor’s, which was to my understanding why they were planning to kill baby!Gid as well - how did Harrow get in with just the blood? did the 200 souls she has tagging along count?

A.L. is Alecto, and calling her a monster pretty much confirms that she’s the body in the Locked Tomb! also the Lyctors are hardly good, moral, people - what kind of person was Annabel Lee to terrify them so much, for them to consider her a ‘monster’? moreover what actually was she, that apparently John couldn’t even kill her again

and if those weird black eyes were originally Alecto’s … thats another hint she seems to be more than human

oh this guy is SUCH a bastard, he knew that there was a way to achieve Lyctorhood without killing the cavalier, and he still let them do it. and Harrow, through … whatever she did to her brain, achieved it. i’m guessing this is what Palamedes was talking about when he asked if Harrow had ‘finished the work’ 

which does beg the question as to why he didn’t tell them. he says that it was ‘easier’ not to, and he ‘thought he was doing the right thing’ - but given he’s asking for Mercy’s forgiveness here, i really don’t know if he’s being genuine. but if he is, i’m very curious as to what situation could warrant not telling them about this being in anyway close to what (at least, he believed) the right thing

'[Ianthe’s] expression was blank, no emotion at all’ i wonder how Ianthe feels about this. she didn’t seem to care much for Naberius, but still being lied to like that can’t feel good. or perhaps, upset with herself on an intellectual level for not realising that ‘true Lyctorhood’ could be achieved?

'Nobody has to be punished anymore for what happened to humanity’ who exactly is the Emperor punishing with this war, he doesn’t seem to be achieving anything at all with it, let alone any form of retribution 

oh shit this is the murder then! here we are finally, i really didn’t think Mercy would be the one to do it

'Leaving me an orphan again’ Gideon has gone through a ridiculous rollercoaster of revelations and emotions right now, she just met both of her biological parents for the first time and saw them both die in the span of half an hour. fun!

also Harrow has been privy to absolutely none of this information, i feel like if anything was going to break her faith in the guy it’ll be that there was technically no need for Gideon to sacrifice herself - it will be very interesting to see her reaction if she eventually finds out 

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #harrow the ninth

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

Sorta bringing this back from the past, but I just saw the MC scandalous painting ask and was laughing for like 20 mins, I really do hope it makes it in to the story😂😂

Buuut, I wanna ask, how would the RO react to their family members looking at the painting after they (accidentally) left it out

(For the ROs who live alone, maybe their and MC kid?)

Haha, I remember that one. Still one of my favorites!

I am also going to write this under the impression it's at the dating stage of the relationship so that it makes more sense.

Cassandra: Does her absolute best to hide the portrait from her dad, only issue is that her dad, being the military man he is, occasionally does routine inspections around the house to make sure everything is in order and nothing needs to be taken care of before it becomes a problem. This has her moving the portrait periodically throughout the house to avoid him coming across it during his inspections. She considered putting it in a lock box but he would probably ask her whats inside and she is a TERRIBLE liar.

So, when the day unfortunately comes and General Guerrero finds a wrapped up portrait of MC's half naked ass in a broom closet; he is so unamused it's not even remotely funny. Well, for Cass at least.

Because while this might come to your surprise Alejandro actually does have a sense of humor. And make no mistake, he finds MC's audacity and utter stupidity of sending this to HIS house, to HIS daughter sort of funny. He comforts Cass by casually asking why does she even find MC attractive when they look so scrawny in the portrait she hid in a closet. Girly is is embarrassed she can't even form a coherent sentence, she just gets super red and covers her face. He can't help but laugh, he finds her embarrassment, punishment enough for her keeping this thing in her house without telling him.

Can't say he or MC will be laughing next time they meet though.

Valeria: Well, we already know Mrs. Torres saw it.

Valeria is so embarrassed, for MC. It's not like she asked you to do something so stupid knowing full well that she is the youngest of 6 with 5 older brothers and that she still lives with them and her parents. Mrs. Torres is just like Valeria in the sense she can't keep shit to herself, although Valeria manages to keep her shut for all of 4 days which is a pretty decent record. Good thing Val already managed to hide it someplace secret only to her by the time her brothers found out about it. They pester her day and night to see it so they can roast MC next time they see them. (as if they weren't already, idk if I said this already but if you romance Val; her big brothers become YOUR big brothers). Her parents don't really care, her dad didn't appreciate it but trusts his sons will harass MC enough about it, just expects MC to not do it again.

Tomás: He legit has nobody that he would really give a fuck about in his family if they saw the portrait. He isn't embarrassed, he's proud. He would be SO happy if his mom saw it, would rub in how scandalous and just how much of a scoundrel he is with MC. Would get a real kick out of how much she would 'clutch her pearls' at him, literally and figuratively. Would get mad if his brothers saw it because he'd get jealous, probably would punch them or something.

Now if you guys had a kid and they saw it in the future, he would get bashful but tell them not to go poking around his things. No, they cannot ask why he had it hidden in a box under his side of the his bed.

-

Ludovica: Also has no family or anybody to discover it. In the future if she had kids and they found it, she would be mortified. Begs them to forgive her for not hiding it well enough and to forget they saw it. She is unamused when she overhears her staff gossiping about the portrait and how one maid long ago had mentioned it existing and how literally nobody had believed her. Chokes on her spit when her kids ask MC point blank why they were barely wearing any clothes in the picture and if they were cold.

Aurelio: ALSO has no family to uncover it, (omg look at all of these pathetic little orphans, having parents must be a rarity in this world ig).

So, when his kids one day are being a little too nosy in his private study and see his half naked portrait of a young MC hanging right beside his desk labeled "Motivation - 1890" they obviously do the logical thing of screaming for their dad to come to his study. When he does wondering if they got hurt or something they ask him right away why tf he has such a picture displayed there and why is it labeled.

He had responds with something like, "Well, can you blame me for wanting to be productive? Knowing that is but a humble glimpse at what will be my reward when I finish my work, does wonders for my morale. And be grateful your mom/dad looked so great back then or you might not even be here." (He is saying that to tease them, MC still looks great in their older age and he would love them even if they weren't attractive.)

Also adds, "Oh, and it's labeled because that's that years edition of 'motivation'. I made sure I got one every start of the year to keep me honest. New year, new happy little wine drinker me! What? Did you want to see the rest? Or maybe the ones I gave mom/dad? Fair warning, I was wearing even LESS than they are in this picture."

His children then proceed to run out of his study screaming and gagging, he laughs knowing that this will keep them out of his study from now on.

Elio: Okay sort of funny because I actually said in one specific post somewhere Elio actually personally knows Aurelio and I actually think the only person close enough to discover it would be Aurelio. Elio would surprising be shocked if Aurelio found it because he made sure it was well hidden in the attic to avoid MC ever finding out he did actually have it.

He drinks tea and admires it from time to time when MC is away for too long. If Aurelio ever found it Elio would actually be frantic shooing him out of the house and swearing that he will never let him anywhere near MC ever again. Because he knows Aurelio is a charmer and he deep down would feel a little insecure if after he has fallen in love, MC got close to Aurelio and fears he would take them away from him. Even though Aurelio would never do that to him, he can't shake the insecurity and does everything he can to hide it.

Aurelio would want to tease Elio about it but knows it would be a very touchy subject so he shuts up, instead he tease MC next time they have a moment without Elio there. Which might be in a few months when Elio calms a bit and lets his guard down thinking Aurelio might have forgotten or dropped it completely.

---

Thanks for letting me revisit and continue this funny scenario! 💙

#omwat #ask #ludovica #elio #aurelio #tomas #cassandra #valeria

[koldefingre]

The height differences are atrocious, my god get the some step stools.

#aftg #weezer #andreil #theyre idiots your honor #they are actually absolutely fucking blank #nothing behind their eyes #rip Nicky hemmick you would’ve loved pink triangle jokes #Neil jostens eyes are weezer blue #he got that blank stare #it’s the serial killer in him #all for the game #digital art #neil josten #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #drawing #sketch #twinyards #nathaniel wesninski #nicky hemmick #autistic kevin day is real #kevin day

[prolibytherium]

My only request if they do an episode where Mac gets a real actual boyfriend is that when they inevitably crash and burn it’s entirely Mac’s doing. Because A) Lest people forget Mac is as much of a weird little freak as everyone else and perfectly capable of destroying his own relationships B) It would be funny

#Actually I’m lying I have other requests. I also will be so mad if it’s Ryan Reynolds or another celebrity guest I want it to be #an everyman guest actor who can play a really good straightman who is baffled and horrified by what he witnesses #If Ryan Reynolds can do a good job at that maybe I can forgive it but probably not #iasip #mac mcdonald #Though to be clear I DO want everyone else to fucking loathe this guy for absolutely no reason #just hit him with that cold blank stare during any interactions #I have a clear picture in my head so I’m setting myself up for disappointment

[frnkiebby]

3 pixel sewer rats~🎃

#i love them #they’re absolute babies #the fucking cutest #the lighting actually makes frank look pastier than gerard in this era #and i’m cackling #bc for once gee doesn’t resemble a blank sheet of copier paper #i love them sm they’re precious and deserve the whole world #gerard way #gee way #gerard way wednesday #frnkiebby #frank iero #mcr #frnkiero #mcrmy #mcr5 #frnkie #my chemical romance #my chem #ilhsm

[rotisseries]

everyone debates about elmike like oh they're the best of friends no they would never hang out on their own they don't even know each other, when the true answer, much like everything else about them, is that there is so so much and also nothing at all

#they're like siblings. not like. freakishly sweet siblings but like. normal siblings you know? #like a sibling is the most distant person you're ever close to. the most intimate stranger #we aren't in each other's lives by choice and if we could choose we probably still wouldn't choose each other #but also I absolutely can't live without you #I would confide my deepest fears and wants and secrets to you and you find that same confidante in me #but we never talk to each other about our interests and we don't care to hear about them either #everything about elmike is just so. everything and nothing #I love you enough I'd die for you and I don't know a thing about you #you're such an inescapable part of me but we're not even friends #like a blank wall in an otherwise filled bedroom #even though you make up a part of the structure of one of the most intimate spaces in my life there's still nothing of me there #like. do you get it. actually does this make any sense. I think I'm just saying shit #alright wrap it up guys everyone go home this post is actually just nonsense maybe #this is actually about how I view elmike in general though like they're everything and nothing they're so interesting and also so boring #like it's about the insaness of the fact they love each other that much they truly do albeit not romantically #but they don't KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT EACH OTHER. THEY'D DIE FOR EACH OTHER THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW EACH OTHERR #THAT'S THE TRAGEDY. THAT'S THE FUCK OF IT ALL #but also at the same time it's so boring because actually it's just every other bad middle school relationship #where you both haven't realized you're gay yet #so. elmike. everything and nothing #stranger things #el hopper #mike wheeler #elmike

[asfarion]

every time i think abt how unschooling affected me i just get so sad lmao. everyone i can possibly think of has had such a drastically different life experience and i cant relate to anyone because of it. no matter how much i try to explain it, nobody actually gets it. i barely even feel like a human.

#it is a very lonely experience and i cant not recommend it enough to anyone #i gained absolutely nothing from it and im now a totally fucked up 25 year old #all because my folks thought my blank-ass cv with no skills or experience or education past 'home-educated' would make employers salivate #newsflash: they dont!!!!!!!! they actually DO prefer the cv with schooling and qualifications and experience!!!!! #WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT. #and i cant even work ANYWAY bc im so fucked up from it all #i can barely fucking function bc i spent practically my whole life locked in a bedroom by myself #but go off and tell me what an enriching experience that was and how much better off i am for not being Like Everyone Else #luka.txt #im just fucking ranting im so fucking sad and pissed off and nobody fucking gets it

[consumer-o-content]

“Dramatic Irony Should Have Limits: Why The First Arc is the Most Infuriating Piece of Media Ever Created” - an essay on why reading the first arc makes me want to rip my hair out and roll around on the floor

#LIKE WHY #WHY SO MUCH FIREHEART KNOWS EVERYTHING BUT OOOO HES TO NOBLE TO BRING UP IMPORTANT FACTS #absolutely unhinged plot #there are other ways to create tension without completely relying on your main character 1)deciding nothing he knows is important #and 2) being fucking stupid #and don’t get me started on petty shit like cloudpaw #saying that starclan isn’t real?? after reading DOTC before the first arc #that is just #vibration worthy #yes the funnyhaha about it being a cult are pretty accurate in a shit ron of ways #and if you assume dotc is the myth rather than an actual retelling or something then it makes sense #but i’m assuming dotc is just point blank cannon history #so that means their religion is completely real #and therefor that cloudpaw is fucking annoying #so he’s really taking after his uncle in that way #i’m in the middle of the 5th book of tpb series #so i’m holding out hope it’s all wrapped up satisfying #but i don’t think i’m ever going to be able to read it all the way through again because it is teeth grinding #i’ll be adding to this post #cat rambling #warriors #text post #warriors tpb #warriors dotc

[nerdpiggy]

shoutout to the River Twygz being the scariest thing i'd ever traversed in a game when i was a kid. genuinely cool as all hell and freaked me out so delightfully as a 10 year old

#spm #super paper mario #actually there was a lot of shit in that game that was scary #i love things that freak me out by being too cool for me to handle. spm had a lot of those #never forget just walking around blank space of sammer guy kingdom just flipping back and forth trying to find ANYTHING #and coming up with absolutely nothing for like 15 minutes. god i fucking love spm #the music has also really stuck with me especially in river twygz that shit SLAPS #i wanna make something like that

[shoechoe]

When I was a little kid, Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated was my favorite incarnation of Scooby Doo. I would watch it over and over. Even as my memory of it faded I always just kind of regarded Mystery Inc. as the best thing from the franchise by far.

I just finished rewatching it today and I am so angry. That was fucking terrible, what the hell?

#not jojo related #so sorry about this i'm just having a moment here #what was that??? #everything about it was a complete mess #spent too much time dicking around with romances going in circles than actually developing the gang as a proper friend group #literally all the romances were awful i did not like any of them together #they tried to give fred a character beyond a blank slate hot guy leader figure and made him absolutely terrifying. #and then at the end of season 1 onwards it just gets into fucking nonsense bullshit #the last few episodes were definitely trying to be bizarre but it wasn't fun it was just annoying #what even was that final antagonist and fight? what? #also harlan ellison was there which is. okay #i feel so betrayed rn give me a moment #maybe mystery inc is at its best when it's half-remembered from when you watched it as an eight year old

[skyjynxart]

.

#hmmmm #vent cw #dont read this #no seriously i warned you im being a whiney piece of shit #I should probably be worried about the 3-day long panic attack ive had going on #the physical symptoms really are rhe works- the swimming vision the dizziness the tight chest feeling that is uniquely 'anxiety' #and then you add the inability to think for more than like 5 minutes about any given topic #the stress to the point of wanting to cry when things go slightly wrong #but ironically i cant seem to summon any actual anxiety about the anxiety #juat a blank numbness there #really do need it to stop tho as i think its destroying what little appeal as a human i had left at this point #and its seriously hampering my ability to get work done #which i absolutely need to be doing bc if i dont finish my work i cant take on more work #and if i dont take on more work i will officially no longer be paying my bills next month #'sky this seems like talk for a therapist not hidden tags on the tumblr dash' yeah I dont think sitting on this for a month will work #'talk to a friend about it then' hahaha no at least here anyone who reads this fuckin chose to #putting up with me normally is a big ask putting up with me when im needy & anxious & breaking down bc its Too Fucking Much? #lmfao hell no i like my friendship INTACT thanks #a bitch is not about to be a drain on emotional resources when said bitch cannot contribute fuckall of value thats how you make it all worse #and then a month later the therapist cancels so i just keep adding tags to this post bc no one will read them #but i feel like im “talking to someone” #the panic attacks stopped but i have no idea why #i mean im still feeling unusually heightened anxiety 24/7 but its not causing physical symptoms #not like it was anyway #and at least now being anxious makes sense #its a bunch of small to medium shit id probably feel better about if i talked more #but the less i talk and just observe people from a distance unseen the happier people i care about seem so #im literally a fifth wheel so the least i can do is not squeak and alert others to my presence #i really need to get better at art and get faster at working so i can have SOMETHING to offer #oh wow theres a tag limit apparently guess i have to find a new method bc making a new post is begging for attention & I don't wanna do that