#he would be unrecognizable otherwise..

[nutbreadys]

💤💤mimimimimi

[harmonyrae]

Finding a Reason

(Couldn't find artist name, all credit to them❤)

Warnings: depression, dark thoughts, anxiety, hopelessness

~~~~~~

You're not sure how long it's been since you've eaten. Or drank a glass of water. Or washed your hair. Laundry is piled high. Dishes in the dishwasher waiting to be put away for days. Trash cans overflowing. Your life is at a stand still. Everything feels dirty, but you have no energy to clean, no desire to change the conditions of your existence.

You can feel like your body is shutting down. Your heart pounding in your chest from the caffeine you choke down to make you feel something, anything, other than despair.

You take the pills your doctor prescribed. And every day, you wake up feeling the same. The same questions of 'why' plague your mind.

You're curled up in bed, it's well past three in the afternoon, and you haven't eaten. Do you deserve a meal? You haven't done anything today. Why bother, right? The darkness of your room swallows you whole. You close your eyes, trying to disappear into the void.

"Sweetie?" His voice is soft, tender.

You swear under your breath. You knew giving him a key in a moment of weakness would bite you in the ass. You consider pulling the blanket over your head and pretending to be asleep. Anything to keep him from seeing the state you're in or asking questions. But the squeak of your bedroom door makes you jump, you lift your head, and your eyes meet his.

"I just wanted to make sure you're still alive."

His tone is playful, but there's a timidness to his tone. You've never brought up your 'condition' - until recently, you'd hidden it fairly well. But then the cycle began again. The prospect of stepping out of your apartment and into a crowd became too much. Eventually, it got so bad your job replaced you and you had to rely on credit cards to get by once again. Explaining your gaps between jobs was becoming harder and harder. And just because Sylus had more money than he knows what to do with, you hated the idea of telling him about your struggles. It would only lead to more questions. And having to talk about things has never helped.

Accepting help doesn't make you weak, it doesn't make you a burden. You've always known that, but the voice in your head - who has taken on a life of their own lately - has convinced you otherwise. They've locked your logical mind in a cage and you've grown exhausted trying to break the lock.

So you started avoiding him. At first, it wasn't on purpose. Now...

The floorboards groan under his weight as he crosses the room. The mattress dips, and you sense his presence. The warmth you've missed and craved. But at what cost. If he tries to talk, you'll end up shutting him down. Maybe even shutting down yourself.

His finger trails over your cheek, looping around a strand of hair to tuck behind your ear. You cringe away from him, embarrassed by how greasy your hair must feel. When you glance at him, his concern is evident. His brows furrowed, his lip between his teeth. His usual clean-shaven appearance was long gone, along with his usual attire. Rough stubble, messy hair, a t-shirt and jeans. You weren't the only unrecognizable one.

"Come here."

It wasn't a question. You don't move, but you don't stop him from curling an arm around you. He picks you up, as heavy as you've felt lately, the weightlessness is strange.

Entering the bathroom, he lowers you onto the side of the tub. He turns on the water and turns to the cabinet. He pulls out bottles of the expensive body washes he's bought you. You felt bad wasting them on a regular day, so you saved them for special occasions. You hadn't realized he knew were you stored them.

He crouches and holds each bottle under your nose until the ghost of a smile appears. When the scent of cherry blossoms and vanilla flood your senses, your lips twitch. He immediately spins and deposits the rejected bottles in your sink.

You try to fight him when he starts to undress you, so he stops and stares. He waits for you to come to terms with the fact that he's not going anywhere. When he finally has your stained pjs in a pile on the floor, he holds your hand as you step inside the shower. Your chest tightens and you reach out to grab onto the wall. You're dangerously close to doubling over, a sob lodged in your throat. What must he think of you? You smell, you feel the layer of grim on your skin. But Sylus is there, letting his shirt soak through to hold you up. He helps you sit down and kneels beside you.

His hands, trained for violence, are soft and careful as he runs a washcloth over your skin. You close your eyes, a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling. As they wet your cheeks, he uses his thumb to wipe them away. He stays quiet, focused on washing you. When he tilts your head back to run his fingers through your hair, you sigh. His fingers massage your head as he works your shampoo through. He slowly washes away every ounce of dirt and grime. He rinses you with cool water to soothe your flushed skin before wrapping a towel around you, lifting you once again to carry you to the bedroom.

Laying out a pair of clean underwear and one of his oversized t-shirts he kept in your bottom drawer. He grabs one for himself before turning to leave. Once he closes the door, you pat yourself dry and step into your clean clothes. You're tempted to crawl back into bed, facing him again was too terrifying. But you hear your washing machine start. You shuffle to the door and find him tossing dirty clothes in a basket from around your apartment. He sees you emerge and just as you open your mouth to argue, he picks you up again, effectively shutting you up.

When he deposits you on your kitchen counter, you raise a brow. He offers a small smile and turns to open the fridge. You bite your lip as you notice how barren it's become. What's left is either expired or leftovers so old you're unsure they're even still considered food. He doesn't make a sound and just focuses on navigating the devastating sight before him. Finding a jar of strawberry jelly, he returns to your side. He examines the peanut butter on your counter and finds your bread in good condition. He makes a simple PB&J, plates it, and fills a glass with water. He clears a space on your kitchen table, job applications, and unopened mail piled to one corner. He wraps an arm around your waist and helps you off the counter.

He once again leaves you so you can eat without an audience. You can hear him cleaning up your apartment behind you. Tears once again flow down your cheeks. The peanut butter is perfectly sweet and sticky. The jelly offers a bright pop of freshness. When you sip the water, it's like you haven't had a drop in years. You empty the glass in a single go. He picks up the glass and refills it. You hadn't even realized he was right behind you. He watches you finish the second glass in a similar fashion.

Foregoing the stack of dirty dishes in your sink, he leaves the empty plate and glass on the table. He leads you back to the bathroom to brush your hair. Drying your locks with a towel, he braids your damp hair and clips back any strays. Adding a swipe of toothpaste on your toothbrush, he holds your chin and places the brush in your mouth. You take over, gently working the bristles over your teeth. He leaves briefly, returning with a bottle of lotion. He runs his hands over your legs, the lotion quickly absorbing.

He leads you back into your bedroom. You sit on fresh sheets, lowering your head onto clean pillowcases. He settles behind you, an arm resting over your waist. He doesn't hold you tightly. He just offers his hand over your waist. When your fingers lace with his, he moves closer and presses his chest against your back. His heartbeat against your back makes your eyes sting with fresh tears. His thumb traces soothing circles into your palm.

"I'm sorry." You mumble.

"For what?" He whispers.

"I didn't call. Or text. I disappeared. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not..." Your voice cracks.

"You don't have to explain. We can just lay here. I just want to be with you."

A sob escapes you, your throat hurting from how hard you tried to hold it back. His lips greet your neck, gentle kisses so feather light they tickle. You shiver and try to breathe through your nose. He lifts a blanket over both of your bodies and lowers his head to the pillow. You hold your breath as you turn over to face him. He looks at you, surprised but welcoming.

"I feel lost. Barely surviving. And I'm angry. I'm so angry all the time. No matter what I do, how hard I fight, how many pills I take, I always end up here. What's the point?"

He listens. His arms wrapped around your waist, his hands rubbing your back as you speak. His expression remains neutral.

"Why can't I just deal with it? Other people struggle with these things! Inadequacy, trauma, fear, anger, anxiety - why can't I just... I can't do anything, I just..."

He runs his fingers through your hair, unwinding the braid he made so your silky tresses cascade over your pillow. Winding strands around his fingers, massaging your scalp. He doesn't offer a solution or opinion. He just lays beside you, hearing you.

"I had so many hopes and dreams. Where is that girl? The girl determined to wake up every day and do what she loved. The girl who wouldn't settle. I don't know if she even exists anymore."

You turn onto your back and stare at the ceiling. His hand remains on your waist. With his other, he props his head up on his palm. He looks down at you and nods, wordlessly urging you to continue.

"I don't want to just survive. I want to live. But this isn't living. And no matter what I do, I can't... find the strength to try anymore. There's too much "

You hold your breath as you meet his gaze.

"I just want to disappear."

He leans forward and kisses your forehead. Your sobs have built up so rapidly, you start to feel nauseous. So you stop holding back.

Your sobs are broken, ugly, loud. Your brows pinched together so tightly your head aches. Tears stream down your cheeks into your hair. Sylus wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest, letting you sob into the crook of his neck. He's so still, so warm, his arms never flinching or squeezing. Just holding.

As you calm down, a sense the wave of shame and embarrassment looming. You mutter apologies over and over.

"Sweetie?" He whispers, his voice holding more emotion than ever.

He gives you a little space and when you look up at him, you see his own cheeks are wet with spilled tears. Seeing those streaks of tears, the tinge of purple beneath his bloodshot eyes, you nearly start sobbing again. He rests his palm against your cheek and gently holds your face in place to keep your eyes on him.

"I could say all those stupid lines - 'you're strong' 'I'm here for you' 'you'll get through this' - but people say that when they don't know. The strongest soldier can still be injured, they can still be weak. That doesn't mean they are no longer strong. I want to be by your side through everything. But this world is unpredictable, I could be whisked away tomorrow. And I can't control you. I can't tell you how to get through this, so I can't say with certainty that you will."

His thumb swipes over your cheek, keeping the tears from dampening your pillow case.

"Your pain, is real. This wound is deep. You've carried this with you for so long, I doubt you'd know how to be without it. Choosing to live, even choosing to survive, is terrifying. It's hard, brutal even. Carrying on, when you don't believe you have a reason, is even worse. Why fight? Why try? Hope is evasive. Hunting it down is exhausting. And sometimes... it's not a one person job."

He pulls you back to his chest and rolls onto his back. Your ear presses against his chest.

"When you smile, genuinely smile, it's not for anyone. It's a reaction, an instinct, your body showing the world how happy you feel. Or when you cry. Sometimes you don't even know why the tears fall. Shivers breaking out across your skin, a sign that you're cold or that you're body is aware when your mind isn't. A defense, a prompt, helping you return to the present."

His hands stroke your back, your muscles relaxing inch by inch.

"Let me show you what it means to live again. To walk amongst flowers just to take in their scent. To stand in the sun to feel the heat. To dance to the song that makes you smile, blood rushing through your veins as you twirl and laugh. Reminding you that you are very much alive. And you get to choose why. And you don't have to defend it. You don't owe anyone an explanation. Only yourself. And that... is enough. More than enough. You, are more than enough."

You feel as though you should be crying again, but no tears come. No sob rips free from your chest. His heartbeat becomes the only sound you can hear. The steady beat lulls you into a dream, one where you stand in a field of flowers. The sun high in the sky, the warm rays warming your skin. The subtle scent of flowers surrounds you. A gentle breeze carrying petals swirls, chills spreading as the wind cools your skin.

Sylus appears beside you. He offers his hand. You smile, that giddy silly smile that you usually try to hide. Taking his hand, he leads you down a path through the flowers. You know it's a dream, but its significance is not lost on you.

Sylus isn't offering to fix your problems, but rather walk with you as you rediscover your reasons to love life. You know it's a scary prospect, to live for the sake of living. To smile, just because you can. To try again, when you've fallen flat on your face countless times, just because your happiness is worth the risk. It won't be an easy journey, you'll fall again and that's okay. Just as long as you get back up.

~~~~~~

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙:

@trishiepo0

@not-so-quite-human

@kitsunetori

@babyx91

@libriomancer

@lilyadora

@crowskitten22

@letharue

@silverbrain

@alastor-simp

@drama-trauma

@0tterteeth

@mysticcollectionvoid

@godzillaglitter

@godoffuckedupcats

@klmpun

@ariallaisawesome

@spidy-spider01

@m00nchildwrites

@plsdonttakemyname

@hauntedbysmutm0

@withering-dream

@lostwingz2236

@simpfortheseven

@bubbleteakittyy

@freddy-2002-blog

@sylus-hunter

AN: This has been in my drafts for a while. I started writing it to deal with my depression and cried a lot while writing it. I'm still very much not okay, but writing has helped me focus on something less negative. Sylus has become more than a comfort character to me. He's sometimes the only thing I smile about. I'm grateful for finding LADs when I did. I'm glad I started writing, even if it's cringe sometimes. And I don't think I can really express how grateful I am for everyone who likes, shares or comments on my writing. You've given me more hope than you'll ever realize. Thank you.

[cloversnstrawberries]

"palentine" parental!platonic yandere!supervillian & gn!neglected!hero sidekick!reader [oneshot] ! !

intro | masterlist

description; You and Malpractice spend your first Valentines day together. You just don't know it's Malpractice you're really talking to, and not local college student Jenny Schüler.

additional notes; hi!!! happy valentines day :)) since malpractice seems to be the most popular, he gets valentines day special privileges. don't mind how I have an actual cupid character I could use. you're getting terrifying plague man and his inherent desire to adopt reader on the spot.

warnings; Child abuse, neglect, and generally immoral conduct involving reader (done by the agency), possessive behavior, violent thoughts/plans to kill, overprotectiveness, corpses, talks of decomposition processes and dehumanization(?) (involving Malpractices 'puppets'), manipulation, mentions/plans of kidnapping, and if there's anything else I missed, please let me know!! the moment i write something, i'm afraid it disappears into the void :[

w/c; 2.8k

Malpractice has never been one for holidays.

Of course, nowadays holidays were a much bigger event then they were in his time. Especially Valentines day, which had morphed into something nearly unrecognizable (from his point of view) than the minor holiday he once knew it as.

Before he was... well, what he was now-- when he was still lesser than, still human; he'd get the occasional card with a silly pun on the front every one in a while, usually given by a co-worker out of self-imposed societal necessity.

But other than that, there was never much stock put into the occasion. Personally or otherwise-- as compared to now, where it was practically impossible to walk into a store and not see some sort of gaudy display. Full of red, white, and pink-- hearts and glitter that transfers to your skin.

At least, that's what Malpractice observes from afar. He's not much for stepping into your run of the mill Pharmacy these days-- not even with his macabre sort of puppets, made from some of the more in-tact cadavers he can snag from the local Morgue.

He tried not to let them be seen by anyone besides you-- there was always a chance that someone who knew who the cadaver had once been, who knew of their death; would be around.

Besides, there'd be no need for it-- unless he simply wished to spark terror. It's not like he had a prescription to be filled, after all.

Which, at the moment, he was actively avoiding-- he was avoiding making himself anymore known than necessary. Because if he did, than he's sure he'd scare you half to death.

You were such a delicate thing in his mind, and he often likened you to that of a baby bird. Because, in his mind, you really were. Fragile, even if you could sustain quite a beating out in the field.

The field you shouldn't be anywhere near, if he had it his way.

But, as it was, the agency had their claws stuck deep into you. Not emotionally wise, but legally; with you being in a sort of... ward of the state position, was the most comparable term he could manage.

Malpractice wished to dig his claws deeper, deep enough to rip whatever influence the agency had over you and take you for his own.

Metaphorically, of course! Oh, Lord knows he'd never hurt you. He'd find a way where you don't get sick with being around him-- get to a point where you won't be afraid of him afterward.

That wasn't quite in the immediate future, sadly. He had to stand by and wait, be patient-- he'd never been one to rush, but something about you made him feel an uncharacteristic amount of restlessness.

Maybe it's the fear that, if he waited too long, you'd slip through his fingers. You weren't made for the work you were being put through-- even if you weren't as young as you are, if you were of an adequate age for this sort of career,

You were still much better suited as a medic, maybe like he had been. Stay back in the medical ward-- you didn't have a flashy sort of power. But, then again, maybe the agency wanted to keep you as beaten down as possible;

Hoping that the little aches and pains that kept you up at night would make you less of a threat than they perceived you as. All because you had such a unique ability; he'd treasure it, just as he'd treasure you once he got you safely into his arms.

Unlike that blasted agency, that made you feel less than. That put you under a strict curfew, only allowing you waltz around on your own for a few hours at time-- even then, you'd have to alert them at least a week beforehand.

It was that controlled sort of 'freedom' that you despised, and had told him on multiple occasions.

...Or, to be more specific, had told various different 'puppets' the same complaint over the few short months he's been visiting you personally. You never knew it was the same sort of mind behind all the bodies, but with how you told every single one-- that was enough to rest his case that you hated it.

You hated how the agency tried to make you feel like you had a choice in the matter, when you really didn't. When your ability to go outside unmonitored and 'off the clock' was dependent on either how well you'd be preforming, or if the person reading the request had any semblance of empathy left in them.

Recently, you've been using all the time allotted to visit these puppets. You believed each to be a different person, unless you were a better actor than you caught on. Each having a different story-- to both enter, and subsequently leave your life before another cropped up shortly after.

Oh, how he hates to see you saddened by your 'newfound' friend having to skip town... but he'd try to wait until the very last minute until he did so. To the point where spots of necrosis were beginning to appear in more visible areas.

You never commented on the smell of death that'd follow the puppet during your 'last' meetings, maybe you'd become used to it-- with how you were, how your life had turned out.

But today, it was thankfully overcast; Malpractice was able to guide the puppet directly to the secluded, forested grotto he usually meets you in. That cut the commute about by about 10 minutes, since he didn't have to try and weave the puppet through the most sunless path possible.

When the puppet got to the grotto, you were already sitting on the crumbling stone bench in the middle of it. You didn't notice him-- until the puppet cleared its throat, and your head swung around to face him.

It was adorable, seeing how your face lit up. He'd thought that with all your 'new friends' coming and going, you'd become bitter. Develop a hardened shell, like he thought you'd already have by now--

However, with every new puppet, you were still as friendly yet disbelieving as you'd been while meeting the last. Like you just couldn't believe someone would want to be friends with you.

This puppet had been a jane doe, around her early to mid 20s. Due to the colder weather, this one had lasted longer than most; and it almost hurt him to know that eventually, the puppet would begin to rot despite his precautions-- and he'd have to find a new one.

You were rather attached to this one. Despite himself, he hopes he'll be able to keep this puppet until he can reveal himself-- only a few weeks more, and you'd finally be safe.

"Sorry for making you walk in this weather..." You started with, a sheepish, apologetic smile on your face, as the puppet sat beside you. "Not a problem, I'm more than willing to risk a cold to see you. I know how... rigid your routine can be."

With a little nod, you hummed before casting your eyes down and saying "Oh-- uhm, thank you." You always got flustered, whenever Malpractice-- or his puppets, he supposes-- shows you any sort of care.

Like you weren't used to being a priority-- because from what he'd seen, you very much were not. He'd even read parts of your intake records made shortly after the Agency took you in; they'd considered euthanizing you like a dog. That caring for you might've been too resource heavy-- until the sick bastards realized they could find a use for you and your unique ability.

It made him ill-- emotionally speaking, he obviously doesn't get physically sick anymore. He's practically the physical embodiment of it, it'd be silly if he could catch a cold like your normal, every day joe.

The unintentional stretch of silence was broken, as you jolted slightly-- as if remembering something. You swung around and grabbed something sitting by your other side--

Then, you turned to the puppet, and held your hands out. In them, was a little mesh bag of tin-foil wrapped chocolate hearts. The kind that'd be sold near the checkout lane at a grocery store during Valentines.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I just got you this." And-- oh, you looked so proud. He knew you didn't get much freedom at all, and you must've sneaked by to get this.

You may have have even stolen it-- there was a little bit of guilt lingering in your eyes, along with a strange sort of fear. Fear of rejection, he supposes. That whatever you'd gone through to get this wouldn't be worth it.

The puppet's hand reached out, before retracting slightly-- immediately, you noticed. Your little smile fell "Do-- are you lactose intolerant? I'm sorry--" And Malpractice laughed--

Not the puppet, so much. He's sure that, if you were a little older; better trained in your position, then you'd realize something was off with it. Some strange, uncanny value to it.

It wasn't cruel, he made sure of that. It was endeared, of course it was-- but he could never manage to quite quell the madness inherent to his tone. Not while he was laughing, at least.

"No, no not at all." The laughter died down, and the puppet gently took the bag of candy in its hands. He held it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and in his mind, it truly was.

A gift from you. He always treasured these sorts of things, but the previous gifts had been things you picked up off the ground-- pretty rocks, little knickknacks, an unordinary plant...

But this, you must've gone far out of your way to get this. And to just give it to him... he wonders, had you gone out with the intent to get it? No matter what, to just have something to show for valentines day?

After a few moments, Malpractice remembered that he should probably respond. The puppet looked at you-- fear and concern obvious in your eyes, deathly afraid that he'd reject the gift.

A soft smile broke out on the puppet's face, before he sighed and looked down. "Well, I don't have anything for you, is the problem--"

It wasn't a regular occurrence, you cutting him off. The Agency had all but tortured that possibility out of you, trying to make you into a perfect little cog more than the child you were.

Despite all that, your true nature shone through. You could never truly smother a children's light, he supposes.

"No!" You waved your arms frantically, shaking your head. You calmed down quickly, looking a little embarrassed from your own outburst. "No-- Uhm, I mean... well, you don't have to get me anything. I just wanted to do this for you,"

Malpractice went to respond, but it didn't seem like you were quite done just yet. He waited patiently, as you continued "Oh, and-- and I have something else." You dug into the pocket of your bland, practical gray coat; part of the few pieces of civilian clothing the Agency was willing to provide you with.

When he has you safe and sound, away from those (soon to be dead, if he had his way) maniacs; he'd be sure to let you express yourself however you'd like with your clothes.

He wouldn't force you into generic garments, given to you out of pure necessity.

You fished out a piece of paper from your main pocket, handing it to the puppet. It was an envelope-- handmade by the looks of it, held together by staples and closed with a small piece of scotch tape.

He turned it over to the flat side, finding it addressed to this particular puppet, written in shaky and inexperienced cursive. Jenny, he'd had you name it-- he did this often, with puppets. He'd have the puppet ask something like "well, what name do I look like?" And the first name you said, he'd take it-- the puppet would always respond with something like "Wow, are you psychic? That's actually my name!"

A shame, it was addressed to this false sort of person. This walking cadaver he took control in order not to scare you-- one in a line of many, but hopefully one of, if not the, last one.

Maybe next year, he'd receive an envelope addressed to himself. Maybe he'd even let you use his human name. He could help you with the cursive as well, even if it'd result in him basically addressing it himself.

He hasn't used the name in so long, hasn't felt attached to it for even longer; but with you, he doesn't think he'd mind you knowing him by it. To have an envelope handed to him, addressed to Maxwell S. in his own handwriting.

The puppet hummed, and flipped the envelope back over. He took his time, trying to use the puppets limited fine-motor skills to avoid ripping the handmade envelope.

Even if it was plain in nature, and not perfectly done by formal measures-- he'd still hate to mess up your handy work. It took some time, but eventually the tape was pried off and he could open it.

Inside was an index card, something you must've nabbed from the office section of the Agency; probably like the rest of the materials, if he had to guess.

It warmed his heart, to think that you'd risked so much-- even if they were meager supplies by most's standards, you'd really done a wonder with what little you had.

On the blank side was a little drawing, of a tiny cartoon version of you-- hugging this particular puppet. When he flipped it to the lined side, the words 'be my pal-entine?' were written in bright crayon, the letters alternated between green, yellow, blue, and red.

The puppet stayed quiet-- you were getting antsy, afraid of upsetting your friend. You leaned forward a little, Malpractice catching the movement out of the corner of the puppet's eye. Your brows furrowed, as you hesitantly asked "...Do you like it? It's not weird, is it? I've never really had a friend to do this with--"

You made the most adorable little squeak when, suddenly, the puppet surged forward and threw its arms around you-- it was cold, freezing to the touch; no way to retain body heat, but you didn't mind regardless. You leaned into it, despite the obvious shiver that ran through your entire body.

Sad, how he couldn't really feel what the puppet was. Oh, how he longed to hold you in this way, truly-- to feel your warmth, hear your heart beating and the blood rushing through your veins.

To know you're alive, you're safe within his arms. That you're far away from any wretched creature that dares to try and hurt his little bird.

Something annoying, something nagging that he thought he'd long since killed-- whispered in the back of his mind, telling him to just have the puppet pick you up and carry you back,

The impatient, quick-to-act sort of thought process he was known for when he was first reborn. It'd been hard to control the urges then, to act on every little whim just because he could. Just because nobody could feasibly stop him, not in a way that mattered.

The puppet held you a little tighter, and you said nothing of it. He presumes that you hold may have tightened as well, with how the puppet shifted in such a way as it did.

"So..." You said, muffled slightly as you pressed your face into the shoulder of the puppet. "Does this mean.. you, uhm, accept it?" Oh, you were so adorable that Malpractice felt like he might die right then and there, if it was possible for him to die at all-- of course.

The puppet didn't retreat, simply held you there as you melted into its cold, unnatural embrace. You must've felt it, how strange the skin felt due to the chemicals used to keep it fresh-- you either didn't want to upset them, or just plain old didn't care. Seeking any sort of comfort, not caring if anything seemed amiss.

Almost as an afterthought, too caught up in the moment-- Malpractice remembered to respond. You must've been so relaxed, so touch-starved, that you didn't notice the sudden shift in your friends speech patterns. How Malpractice didn't bother to keep up the facade of modern speech.

"Why ever would I not, especially when you've gone through all the trouble you have?" and you hummed, a soft laugh muffled by the fabric of the puppet's functionally useless coat. "...So you like it, then?"

The puppet, almost robotically, guided their fingers over your hair-- a comforting gesture to you, but it only made Malpractice feel anguished-- that he couldn't truly be here, couldn't feel you held within his embrace.

"Of course, little bird."

[jikooklove9795]

I do believe they’ve been in a long term romantic relationship for a long time. One point that us jikookers tend to avoid (with good reasons, it’s filmed by a saeseng) is the clip of what looks like JK holding a woman seen through a window? What do you think that was about?

Hi arundhati94-blog!

First of all let me make it clear that I'm not going to ignore any of your or others asks regarding Jikook. The only condition to all those sending in the asks is to be polite and respectful towards Jimin, Jungkook or any other members. Otherwise I'm very open to discussions regarding Jikook and will try my best to respond to you guys.

Now let's get into the discussion, shall we? So, do I think that its Jungkook in that video?

NO. I don't.

Why I think its not Jungkook and the video is not of his apartment?

There are many reasons. The first one being the crap quality of the video with the faces of the man and woman in it completely wiped out thus making them unrecognizable. All the phones out there offer a much better quality. So, how come we get a video of this poor quality? How come in other photos which they leaked of him alone in his house the quality is better and the angle is completely different? The second reason is regarding the apartment in the video. The apartment rented by BH is in the ground floor, has a courtyard and is surrounded by a high fence. In the video the wall panel seems to be in different places and the windows are different too. Another difference is the apartment in the video has a vase while Jungkook's apartment has a lamp in that same area but not a vase.

Another thing which is highly suspicious is the timing of the video and the length of it. I have heard the narrative that its a video from Feb 2023 cause the man in the video had bangs and long hair similar to Jungkook during the early months of 2023. So, why keep it in the wraps for almost 7 months if it was originally captured in February? Why not release it straight away? Whatever damage, the people behind this video intended to do to Jungkook will be the same irrespective of the time of its release. Be it in Feb 2023 or before the release of Seven or before 3D or his album. And they only managed to capture a 14s or 15s long video? Where's the before and after clips? Very hard to believe they couldn't capture more.

This video was done intentionally to make the audience believe that it was Jungkook. Hence, the similar but not the exact apartment, the video being so grainy that its impossible to identify the people in it however make it look like the man has a silhouette similar to Jungkook, a doberman. The open curtains get me every time. Cause this was around the time Jungkook complained about being stalked, had a video of him taken at the gym. So, they want us to believe that Jungkook would have his curtains open if there was a "supposed gf" at his apartment??!!

So, that video is either of another couple or intentionally set up by other people to sabotage him. I'm leaning more into the latter option.

I highly doubt its a sasaeng video cause of why they didnt release it immediately after it was captured in Feb 2023 (since they claim its a video from Feb) and cause of how they posted this video and then vanished. There was a tweet on X a few days before the weibo video was released warning the fans about a fake video to sabotage Jungkook and not to believe in it.

We need to remember that they work in an industry which has a dark side ruled by people who are capable of such deeds. I don't wanna share much about this but its not impossible. So, always trust the artist you stan rather than questionable sources.

Now let's talk about Jungkook denying the gf rumors.

He was on Station head when he was getting repetitive messages asking him if he has a gf and this was how he answered them:

Now to those that'll say "but he didnt deny the video, would've been a fling, would've broken up". He already knew what storm was going on and chose to address it. He could have chosen not to. And the Jungkook I have seen so far would have clearly admitted if he had a gf. Cause don't you remember the AHL Jungkook guys??!! He was just starting his career at that time. But he didnt hide that he had a gf before. I still remember that conversation cause of the words he used.

Do you think this Jungkook who was just starting his career who openly talked about his dating experience and how he wanted to get tattoos even though Yoongi asked him not to cause it'll be frowned upon by the fans, will be afraid of admitting he had a gf? I don't think so.

But the crowd was quick to spin more narratives when he denied having a gf. They accused him of being a f**kboy going around sleeping with women. He saw all this and decided to show up a few hours later after denying of having a gf. This time he went head on denying the allegations and even exposing himself to an extent (I was shocked) by posting this TikTok trend:

He captioned it:

So, he chose to do a Tiktok trend which was pretty old by that time and captioned it as "I go the other way".

Those who are gonna say "He just did the trend in the opposite way hence the caption". STOP. Cause we all know its obvious what he meant when he captioned it like that when the singer was mentioning names of girls. He could have done it the opposite way without the caption. And he deleted it after a few minutes after he was sure that those that cared about him got the meaning behind it.

Now he has done something similar like this in 2019 when he was wrongly accused of dating Mijoo.

This was the first time he appeared on a live after the whole circus. It looked like he came there to make that exact statement. It was out of the blue. And the choice of his words were more specific to be exact. Even Hoseok was confused. You can take it however way you want. Either simply like Jungkook complimenting Hoseok or just try to connect the time he opted to say it. A time when he was rumored to be dating a girl. After Jungkook has shown us all where his interest lies in, which is obviously not with a girl but with a boy for whom he wears his heart on his sleeve. I choose to believe the latter option.

You can watch the live here. Jungkook appears at the 24 min mark. Just notice his face and expression when he says "I never thought I would fall for a man". He's letting us know through these small moments. Just read it with the bigger picture taking timing into the context.

Also, let's not forget how he answered this question:

Q: How would you describe yourself in five words?

🐰: I'm still me

This was in Festa 2019. "I'm still me" is a famous line from the gay movie Love, Simon released in 2018. He posted the "I'm still me" artwork too. And the name of his documentary:

Read it along with how he has used songs in his GCFs which are all either gender neutral or with the "he" pronoun.

Named his flower bouquet "Various Loves"

He chose to work with CK. Apart from being a fan of the brand the partnership is special to him cause CK's values resonates with him.

And CK is very LGBTQ+ friendly using LGBTQ+ models. They have partnered with various NGOs in support of LGBTQ+ advocacy, equality and safety.

And the day Jungkook broke the Internet with this:

So, let's listen to what Jungkook says and trust him instead of a blurry video. Cause he has been honest and transparent with us as much as possible. Let's give so much love and support to this boy

Have a nice day arundhati94-blog!

Credits to the owner of the video

[airas-story]

Prompt: If they were already in a relationship, how would Stephen react to the ransom video from IM1?

If I remember right, the ransom video was never publicized, since it was sent to Obie trying to extort more money out of him to finish the whole 'kill Tony' thing. Pepper saw it while retrieving those files, but I can't imagine Stephen would be in that position.

It’s not until after that Stephen sees it. After Stane is dead and gone and his sins buried where no one will find them. Tony’s going through the evidence and Stephen’s there, more as emotional support than anything. When the video plays, harsh voices speaking in a language Stephen doesn’t recognize, Stephen looks over, curious to see what Tony’s found.

He freezes. 

Tony’s in the video. Dazed, confused, bandages wrapped around his chest and blood seeping through. Stane’s name stands out in the otherwise unrecognizable speech.

But Stephen can’t look away from Tony’s figure. He’s a doctor; he’s seen terrible injuries before—worse than what Stephen sees now, given how much of Tony’s injuries are hidden by bandages in the video. But he’s never seen those injuries on someone he loved and it makes it all so much worse.

“What is this?” Stephen asks, his voice comes out hoarse.

Tony looks up, startled. “Oh, this was the ransom video the ten rings sent Obadiah. Apparently he didn’t pay them enough to kill me and they wanted more.” He shrugs as though it means nothing. It doesn’t.

Stephen had hated Stane before this, but now… now he knows that was nothing.

[miiilowo]

got some developments for people who like arlo's antique books btw

I'm not sold on what exactly happened yet, but Arlo had some horrific near-death experience & is now extremely paranoid and afraid of death. generally existentially terrified and traumatized

They're from out-of-town and moved to Uncanny Valley because he loooooves horror and weird surreal bullshit and thought it would be interesting. probably not the wisest choice though

The store isn't quite sentient or anything, but whatever bullshit is going on there makes it so it inherently knows whoever owns the shop. As long as they're on the premises and arent away from it for too long they can't be physically hurt

Arlo absolutely hates working there but Since they can't be hurt and therefore cannot die, they stay for the trade-off

People consistently dying or otherwise being unrecognizably transfigured DOES bother him quite a bit (and used to be a larger emotional problem considering the trauma), but he represses it real real hard, grits his teeth and deals with it because it's easier to just get things over & done with than to go through the effort of changing or saving people. they are too used to throwing people under the bus to really care anymore (or so he thinks) but there's some deep buried part of them that is really really upset by it. surely this will end well

since uncanny valley is Strange Everywhere, common supernatural deaths are something people are kind of used to

The bookstore functions more like a thrift store, which is why there's a whole assortment of items instead of just books, though those are what's encouraged the most to be donated. one man's cursed trash is another's cursed treasure

[velvetures]

could i request a ghost x “strawberry/cutecore/hello kitty” reader?! basically just everything is pink and they are super bubbly :>

pls and ty 🙏🏻

Simon "Ghost" Riley & Cutecore/Hyperfeminine Aesthetic

a/n: I loved this request... but it was my first attempt at the aesthetic/vibe as a whole and I'm not sure if I hit the mark. I used this pic as my inspo. ):( Summary: What it's like for Ghost to have an "everything in pink, please." gf, and what kind of feelings go along with it. TW's: suggestive content 18+ ONLY, established relationship, possessiveness?, def not proofread (the usual), fem!reader.

Of all the women that Simon ever entertained the thought of being, one like you didn’t initially even present itself as a remotely interesting option. The idea of someone such much different from himself sounded like nothing less than a good way of fucking up someone else’s -otherwise- normal life by inserting himself into it. You just always seemed so damn happy and excited about even the smallest of things; Practically amplifying the good feelings floating around in the air and blasting them right back at him. Never without something pink on and dressed up like you were minutes away from attending some kind of fairy party literally scared Ghost away from having anything to do with you.

You on the other hand, weren’t exactly sure what it was that made Ghost so averse to speaking to you more than a few words at a time. Yet made it your very private little mission of sorts to snoop and poke around until you found some kind of answer as to why such a massive and expertly lethal man couldn’t bear to stand within arms reach of you. He just intrigued you for some reason or another. Only getting glimpses of the man’s real self in his eyes -the only visible part of him- and having to make your next moves based off of nothing more than gut-feelings and the hope that you were reading his signals correctly.

At first, it crossed your mind that your preferred aesthetic of sorts could be a bit of the problem. For most people it might appear a bit too much, and when looking at Ghost dressed almost head to to in black with a skull painted on his masked face… there was good reason to assume it in the first place. What you didn’t know was that it was so much deeper than your affinity for lace-trimmed socks, Mary Jane’s, pearls, and practically anything hyper-feminine and in a shade of pink. Ghost didn’t believe you were weak or predisposed to acting childish. You held a massively significant job in journalism and worked harder than most people he knew at what you did. You just happened to enjoy everything around you looking like some damn cotton-candy tea party.

What bothered him was your sweet personality and an intrinsic value he held for just how fucking innocent you were towards him and everyone else around you. People could be utterly horrible right to your face, and you’d silently keep the hurt to yourself and never fight back against what they’d done. Revenge wasn’t something you cared for, while it was essential to Ghost’s motivation in his work and private life. For a long time he couldn’t balance his morals of being involved with you at all with the thoughts in the back of his mind about how much he might twist and form you into something unrecognizable. Something a lot less… pink. A person that didn’t enjoy such small little things like how a skirt had small pink flowers embroidered on it, or if the little bows you’d stick in your hair had a lace fringe on the edges.

Oh but how things changed when Ghost finally couldn’t stand looking at you without thinking about how nice it would be to have his arm wrapped around you, pulling you tight up against him to keep everyone from staring. The Lieutenant always had a weak spot for you and your sugar-sweet personality and looks. But goddamn did he start loving the color pink more than a professional murderer should. All the hues and tones of that fucking color began reminding him of you no matter where he was, or what he was doing. For the longest time, he’d been worried that he would be the one that changed you, all the while he was too deep inside his own mind to recognize that you were the one controlling the direction things were headed.

Just looking at you made him shudder with feelings of possessiveness and adoration. Standing there happy as could be with thigh-high white socks and a fluffy pink skirt, all dressed up just to go out to eat at a little late-night pub because he couldn’t stand the idea of having to show his face in the bright daylight. You knew to a certain extent that Ghost appreciated the way you lived your life just a bit more feminine than average… but the depths of his thoughts and ideas about you were surface level to say the least. He just knew what you looked like clinging to his arm walking down the street; His polar opposite and yet so happy to be close to him. A darling smile… pretty and glossed lips… frilly things on almost every piece of clothing you wore and just utterly adorable to him.

Knowing that gave him… fantasies.

Wanting to see all of the things he could buy for you to wear for him. Dress you up almost like his own little doll and get to show you off to anyone who’d look, only to have the pleasure of threatening them to do more than take one good glance. So delectable, squeezable; but for him and him alone. You were the princess Simon didn’t realize he wanted and unlocked this strange and insatiable urge to spoil the fuck out of you with every pretty pink or glittery thing you could wish for, just so he could take you home and watch you try it all on for him while sipping a bourbon on the couch.

Fuck… There wasn’t a better way to spend an evening. Well, almost.

Perfect didn’t count unless he got to see you under him, laying back on pink silk sheets you’d been adamant about buying for his house, watching your eyes roll back with every moment he made. Damn if he couldn’t make it more than fifteen minutes without needing to calm himself down, before needing to put you on your hands and knees so those pretty little fucking faces you made wouldn’t make him finish before he got started. If he was lucky he could leave hot and pink handprints on your ass for making him feel so good. Simon knew you weren’t sheltered. But to him you were still innocent. Kind in so many ways he didn’t comprehend or believe was humanly possible. For fuck’s sake, you allowed him to come into your life.

Him with his scarred hands, bullet holes, shitty disposition. A man who preferred destruction and death for it’s permanence and certainty. Simon, with his need to hide his own face and go by a name that lacked humanity. All of him starkly contrasted you in so many ways it made him spin with confusion and oftentimes guilt. Questioning why he’d been so weak as to touch you in the first place. Allow himself the chance at someone so full of life who could see the world -literally- through rose-colored lenses.

Yet you brought forth happiness and fulfillment that the soldier hadn’t found in his years of searching desperately for a purpose. He found someone he could visually see, and palpably touch who hadn’t been torn down or beaten into submission in one way or another. Sweet and innocent you had found such a simple yet powerful way of living life the way you wanted to. Ghost felt like he could protect you. Not only in the genuine aspect of loving you so much that he got physically ill at the thought of losing you to anything; but also because you were so full of life and love to give to everyone around you. He needed you. Selfishly. Then again, there needed to be more softness and genuine innocence and happiness too. And so long as he was alive and breathing, he’d always make sure you were safe.

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated <3

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

Painting is.......eroticঞ

➺ Character: Rafayel

➺ NSFW. MDNI.

➺ Summary: Rafayel had a plan. An innocent, date night idea. That turned into something...more.

➺ Content: Hand job, kissing, nipple stimulation, blushing Raf.

➺ wc: 600+

To anyone else, this idea seemed like an excuse just to get your hands on him. But it was innocent! He'd tell anyone. Hell, even you thought he had ulterior motives when he'd posed the idea. With a pout and some whining later, you'd finally agree. The idea? This completely normal suggestion?

Painting his body. Nude.

He knows how it sounds, but truly! His intentions were pure. Rafayel just wanted another way to connect you both. For you to intertwine on a deeper level. And what better way than to strip yourselves of the outside world and only be with each other. Raw. Real.

He was going to paint you too, it was a mutual activity. But all he managed to get out was, "You should paint me naked," and it led to this whole debocal. But, thankfully, with his skill in 'pouting' until you give in', he found himself picking up new paints. Ones safe for skin. Returning to his home, where he found you. Already looking done with said activity. Even though he had convinced you...it didn't seem like you believed him. No matter.

"You know, your cold nature is going to end up bringing a draft in my studio. That'd be very bad for my paintings...then I'd be sad, you wouldn't want that, would you?" He watched with small amusement as you rolled your eyes, walking over and grabbing the paints. Then, your finger sought out the dip in his barely button shirt. Dragging it down the expanse of skin you could see.

"Let's paint."

He found himself swallowing thickly, a dust of red already spreading across his cheeks. To the tips of his ears. His heart beating rapidly in his chest, he was afraid it might explode. Innocent. He reminded himself. This was innocent.

༺༻

He held his breath as the cold of the paint brushed against his skin. Your eyes were glued to him. Focused. As you dipped your finger into the paint again, swirling it around, making unrecognizable patterns on his skin. It was supposed to be...innocent but of course, the first place you'd decided to paint was his chest. Way too close to his nipples. His very, very sensitive nipples. But you knew that. In fact, you knew exactly what you were doing. He could tell by the slight twitch of your mouth when you took notice of the slight rise of his cock. Slow but very obvious until it stood to attention. Leaning just slightly, beads of precum dribbling down the tip.

"Thought this was innocent?" You cooed, moving your paint covered finger to his nipple precisely. Milking a pretty (embarrassing) moan from his lips.

"It was! You were the one who -" his words were cut off by another groan. Your other hand, not covered in paint, grasped his shaft. Giving a tentative tug. "This says otherwise...I've barely begun painting, and you're already hard."

"T-Thats because you're..." he moaned again, his eyes squeezing shut as you gave another tug. "Attacked my weak point. You're being unfair." He hissed, his hips thrusting upwards against his will. "Unfair?" You feigned innocence, giving a few more tugs to his dick. "If anything, I'm being nice for not calling you a pervert for getting hard from this." There was a protest on his lips that died, immediate as you leaned forward. Capturing them. His hands clawed at the fuzzy carpet that lay behind him. But soon, even that wasn't enough. A hand found its way into your hair, pulling you closer as he let you devour his mouth. Hips continued to angle upward, seeking out pleasure. Stimulation.

You let go with a sigh, saliva connecting your lips.

"You're all bark and no bite, Rafayel." You smirked, and he knew then, he was finished. Your hand sped up in ways that he couldn't comprehend as he was left to the mercy of you. Tugging and pulling, teasing every inch until finally he came with a stuttered breath.

Painting himself in a way he hadn't before. With his own arousal.

"Mm, I think this might be the prettiest painting you've ever done."

[b-skarsgard]

Bill Skarsgård’s transformation into the hideous-looking vampire Count Orlok for Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu” was an arduous process — with the end goal of making the Swedish actor completely unrecognizable.

“I was not so interested in Bill’s features, aside from his eyes,” Eggers says of Skarsgård. “The things that make [Orlock] not just an intimidating, masculine human being, is the fact that he’s also decaying and dead. Even the design of the teeth needed to be something that could be fucked up.”

Oscar nominated makeup effects designer David White created over 62 prosthetic pieces that required a team of six to apply. Skarsgård was covered from head to toe, including elements for his tongue and eyes. Only the soles of his feet were untouched.

read the at the link or under the cut

The film reimagines F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent classic starring Max Schreck, whom Eggers wanted to reference when it came to Orlock’s look. One such detail was in Orlok’s hands and fingers. “I wanted to extend Bill’s fingers ever so slightly, and I [asked] David about creating something to push the envelope,” says Eggers.

In coming up with a concept for the hands and fingers, White had one that was quickly scrapped. “I was playing with the idea of soft mechanics to extend them, but they’re really long and they weren’t as dexterous,” he says. The idea was too cumbersome for something that had to be very sharp. Orlok also needed to hold things, open boxes and write letters.

White used a dense material so Skarsgård could feel things. It took a while to get to the final design, but in the end, the nails were a quarter of an inch longer on the tips. They were custom-made to be “gnarly and weathered,” White says. “‘Arthritic’ was a word we looked at, as well as having them slightly unusual in their angle.

“They’re not quite right, as if they’ve been used for so many years.”

In a nod to Schreck’s silhouette, Eggers also wanted Orlok to be hunchbacked. White built a one-piece prosthetic with a thick foam insert. “That took away the weight, otherwise, it would be 46 pounds of silicon,” White says. Breaking down the application, he adds, “The back goes on first, the front overlaps the back, but the rest is all in little sections across the arms and the legs. It’s between 18 to 25 different pieces of muscle which overlap. They were pre-painted and ready to go.”

Orlok’s full reveal comes when Ellen’s (Lily-Rose Depp) husband Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) heads to the crypt and finds the sarcophagus. Orlok is in a state of decay with intricate veining and coloring.

White made it darker on the underside because he’s been lying down, but his front is lighter and waxier.

Florin Lăzărescu, the film’s Romanian folklore consultant, was the inspiration for the blood-pooling color. Says Eggers, “He reminded me that the vampire is often described as being red-faced in Romanian folklore, which was a concept that was very intimidating to do. What David came up with was beautiful, and he did paint jobs where this guy was red as hell.”

White was tasked with creating full body prosthetics, including a penis. “It was a necessary piece to make,” he laughs. Eggers adds, “I was allowed one penis [for] this movie. He rises out of the coffin naked. That in itself is a bit of a phallic act, as is most of everything that Orlok does in the movie.”

Every detail of a decayed Orlok was considered, including a dead eye made possible with special contact lenses. “I even made a sock of a tongue that Bill could use in certain scenes, which was all gnarly and scored and black and horrible, you know. So poor Bill, he took it well,” White says.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

05 Collaring

Zhongli x Reader / NSFW / SAGAU / Set after the events of Fontaine Archon Quest / Not Canon-Compliant / Reader is Creator Primordial God 2.0 / Mentions of romanticized death and suicidal ideation / Starts out light & kinky and ends up dark and angsty as with everything I write

"Your Grace?" The old god's voice trembled as he approached you.

Stagnant emotions stirred to life in the depths of his amber eyes. There you stood in front of him, like a resurrected phantom from his distant past, familiar yet so unrecognizable.

A warm smile spread over your lips. Out of all the faces in Teyvat, you looked forward to seeing his the most.

Zhongli had always been your favorite of the seven Archons. From the moment you laid eyes on him, he had a certain hold over you. That had always been the case for the past four years. It was no different now that you were no longer separated by a screen.

The moment you spawned, curled up in that oversized marble throne up in the sky over Teyvat, they all felt it. Memories flooded into your head, causing you to nearly vomit from the overload. Just your luck. Instead of some unknown adventurer, the role you had been thrust into was that of the game's final antagonist, the Creator of Teyvat, which had been asleep until you appeared.

"You've finally returned." He said gravely.

"You don't sound happy to see me, Morax." You took a seat in the lacquered chair in front of him, sipping on the tea he had brought you. "Or should I call you Zhongli now, since you've abandoned the post given to you?"

You couldn't let him onto the fact that you weren't the same person who had given him his divine title, not without ensuring your own safety first. You might be down bad for this man, but your braincells were still alive and well. Out of the seven archons the original Creator appointed, only two remained. Most have given away their gnosis and one even managed to destroy their divine seat and return sovereignty to a dragon. It was needless to say, Celestia's control over them had been slipping long before you stepped in.

"I have not, your Grace. My exit was necessary for the people of Liyue. If I did not leave, I fear the erosion I am subjected to under the Heavenly Principles will cause undue harm to them, which I cannot bear to see."

"If you wanted to leave, why are you still mingling with them disguised as a funeral consultant, hm?" You couldn't help but prod him a little. "You're quite attached to them, aren't you?"

"I am." He admitted after a pause. "Anything will grow on you given enough time."

"I guess we've grown distant then. You even threw away the gnosis I gave you."

"Forgive me, your Grace. There was no indication that you would ever return otherwise."

"I'd understand if we're speaking about the Anemo Archon, but you? I never took you for the impulsive sort. What would you have done if the Cryo Archon failed? I left you with all of my wishes and you gambled everything on an experiment to bring me back."

The ex-archon drew in a deep breath. "I don't expect to escape the consequences. Punish me as you see fit."

"Oh, I'll punish you." The corner of your lips curled slightly. "Not too harshly though. You're my favorite afterall."

You didn't miss the ripple of shock that lit up his eyes momentarily. The Creator he remembered would never have said such a thing. Maybe you should tone the favoritism down a bit. Morax wasn't dumb. If he found out the Creator had been hijacked, you might actually be in trouble.

Well, that part didn't exactly pan out as you imagined. You were spending way too much time with him even though you deliberately told yourself to avoid him when you could. Even with the original Creator's memories to skim over, you were ultimately not the same person. Of course you would slip up, repeatedly at that. He kept popping up in places you happened to be at unannounced, drifting into his spot beside you like you had willed it to happen in your head. It was like all the forces in Teyvat, the earth, the wind, the rain, everything was giving its utmost efforts to fulfill some sort of unspoken demand of yours.

"Are you following me?" You finally couldn't take it anymore and blurted out your suspicions. "You're like my cat. I go to the bathroom, she's there. I go to the kitchen, she's there. Bedroom, there. She's like sticky rice. I know she can't leave me alone because she's obsessed with me. Are you obsessed with me?"

Zhongli stood there awkwardly, trying to articulate an explanation for his incessant appearances. He didn't even get the chance to process that you were talking about a cat that didn't even exist in Teyvat, but rather in your homeworld.

"It certainly seems that way, doesn't it, your Grace? I assure you though, I was simply on my way to purchase some tea."

Maybe he was telling the truth. Two things could be true at once. There must be a reason, you stubbornly thought. This wasn't normal!

You had to get down to the bottom of this, or you'll definitely drive yourself crazy. As a logical person tossed into a fantastical place like Teyvat, you were sorely out of your element. Trying to exercise common sense here was like trying to measure water with a ruler. It made no sense, but you persisted. You'd conduct experiments and find answers.

As the Creator of Teyvat, the first descender, your will was said to be powerful enough to rival the world. Your feats included sealing away its original sovereigns and rearranging its landscape. You also created life and implemented the heavenly principles that gave order and structure to the world you willed into existence. All who belonged to Teyvat succumbed to your will to some extent.

Your gaze landed on a stray cat pacing back and forth under a food stall. There was a morsel at the edge of the counter. You narrowed your eyes on it, focusing all your attention at it.

"Fall." You uttered under your breath.

A gust of wind knocked the inconspicuous piece of food off the edge, sending it spiraling to the ground. The cat picked it up and happily sprinted off. You were left speechless.

Once, it could be a coincidence. Twice, it might still be a coincidence. Third time, it had to be divine intervention.

After the lucky cat had its fill, you accepted the uncanny possibility that as the Creator god of Teyvat, you might have some say in what happens in it. Maybe, just maybe… you were the reason Zhongli couldn't leave you alone.

If you liked him a normal amount, he would have no trouble escaping your gravitational pull, but your love for him was a little bit extra. If you wanted him to kiss you badly enough, he would probably have to. Whether he trips and falls on you at exactly the right angle for your lips to accidentally meet or he suddenly gets an unreasonably strong urge to push you against a wall and smother you was more-or-less a matter of execution.

Zhongli was a patient soul. His kiss was gentle and unrushed like he was, savoring the taste and sensation of your lips as he caressed them. At that moment, your respective identities melted away. His arms held your body against his chest, his hands cradled the back of your head, and his fingers buried themselves in your hair. The streets of Liyue faded from your ears. All you could hear was your rapidly beating heart.

The kiss repeated itself inside your head for hours on end, stealing your sleep even after you had retreated into your bed. It hadn't happened out of nowhere since you willed it to happen, but the question still plagued you. Did you take advantage of him? Could that kiss even be considered a kiss? How much intention was invested on his end and if you weren't the Creator god of Teyvat, would a kiss have ever happened between you? Probably not, you dejectedly concluded.

"I'm not the original Creator, Zhongli." You finally confessed to him after months of indulgence and pretending. He hummed softly as you drew circles on his skin.

"Your Grace…" Zhongli gazes at you with overflowing adoration. "I've known there was something different about you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

"You did?" You asked, shifting your weight as you laid on him. "What gave it away?"

The two of you had definitely gotten a lot more intimate following that first kiss. You felt at ease in his arms and so you found yourself constantly glued to him. His presence was magnetic to you and yours to him.

"You do a rather poor job of concealing your true self, I must say." He chuckled.

"I was half-expecting you to kill me or something as soon as you knew I wasn't the original Creator." You closed your eyes, letting your face rest against the curve of his neck as his fingers combed through your hair. The last of your worries were expelled with his words of reassurance.

"Now why would I do something so uncalled for? You've done nothing to warrant such harsh retaliation."

"I don't know. What if you saw me as a threat to Liyue? I saw what the Tianquan Ningguang did to the Lord of the Vortex when he reared his head. She definitely learned that from somewhere."

Despite Rex Lapis being dead, you could still feel the intense residual devotion this place had for their past archon. You wondered if he felt the same reverence for the Creator before you arrived. From your inherited memories, the original Creator had a habit of dropping pointy things from the sky.

"I will not harm you, nor will I ever allow the others to." He whispered, his every word carrying weight.

Upon arrival in Teyvat, you had made your rounds visiting the other nations and meeting with the other archons. To their disappointment, you never stayed for long. Your favoritism was undeniable. You had practically taken up root in Liyue. The only place you skipped was Fontaine, since it was probably a good idea to avoid the resident Hydro Sovereign in case he opted to take out his justice on you. You wondered if he'd believe you if you said you weren't the original Creator who sealed away his kind.

"Of course you won't." You murmured against his ear. "Even though I'm not the same person, I'm still the Creater and you're still an archon. You're bound by my will. If I tell you to go left, you're not able to go right."

"I am not a puppet, your Grace." He disagreed. "Neither is your will a leash."

"Kiss me." You ordered him. "Let's see if you've got it in you to disobey me."

He raised a brow at your choice of a challenge. A couple seconds of silence passed between the two of you. You began to wonder if Zhongli really could resist your will. Your eyes fell on his lips. They were relaxed, not pressed tightly against each other. Your thoughts drifted off to the handful of times he kissed you. His lips were always gentle whenever they brushed against yours. What would it be like he were swept up in a bit of fervor? Would he draw your lips harshly between his own, or would he part them impatiently so that he could slip his tongue in?

Your throat suddenly became drier than the deserts of Sumeru. A faint blush began to spread over your cheeks. Zhongli swallowed, but didn't move in the slightest. You were already beginning to feel hot and restless. Who were you kidding? The one with the figurative collar around their neck was obviously you. You knew that since before you got sucked into this game.

"You're really not going to kiss me." You realized.

"I am not immune to you any more than anyone else residing in Teyvat. I simply have self-restraint." He calmly says, which gets your blood boiling.

"Fine, you've got self-restraint. I don't!"

You playfully bit the man on the lip before kissing him with vengeance. He moaned softly as he endured your incense ministrations.

"Well demonstrated." He chuckled when you finally pulled away.

"Tease me again and I'll put a collar on you." You warned.

"If you wish to do so, it's within your divine right." He replied with utmost seriousness.

You treated him so differently from the original Creator. If he didn't occasionally remind himself that there were irrefutable differences between you and him, he feared he'd forget his place. You were most likely joking, but perhaps a collar was what he needed.

"Should I?" You continued on, unaware of what was going on in the archon's mind. "Imagine the esteemed Mr Zhongli, being dragged along the streets of Liyue in a collar and leash…"

"Perhaps we could forego the leash?" He smiled at you, unfazed as if what you had just imagined was nothing out of the ordinary.

You looked into the old god's eyes. In his unwavering gaze you could read everything he didn't say, the depth of his devotion to you, all the outrageous things you could ever think of asking from him and the resounding answer to all of them.

"I'll allow it." You relented.

As the primoridal god of Teyvat, you had to keep your archon in line. Since you said you'd punish him, you had to see to it that he was properly disciplined.

That very evening, you dragged the poor archon to a number of shops, jewelry stalls, and even a petshop. You settled on a black choker with fine gold threading that formed an intricate pattern. It was simplistic and went along well with his current suit. A single cor lapis pendant dangled from the center.

Currently, that pendant was caught between your lips as you straddled him. Since he said it was your divine right to do as you pleased with him, you wanted to see how far he'd let you go with that statement. The silk choker really did look good on him, especially after you've removed every other piece of clothing on his body. Your fingers danced along the edge of it, hooking underneath it and abruptly twisting it so that it tightened around his neck.

"Your Grace—" He coughed from lack of air.

With Zhongli's eyes blindfolded and his arms tied, he couldn't predict your movements nor interrupt you. He was completely at your mercy. You let go of the choker, returning the ability to breathe to him. As if to apologize for the distress caused, you leaned in and planted a kiss at his neck, the tip of your tongue gliding along the skin under the piece of fabric. He swallowed and panted, face flushed.

"See, it suits you." You cooed, tracing his collar with a finger. "Don't you dare take it off. If you do, I promise I'll get that leash. Maybe even a whip."

Zhongli winced in pain as you bit into his neck, drawing the heated skin between your lips. It'd be fine even if you left an unsightly mark. The choker would simply cover it, along with the faint lines caused by your tightening it around his neck.

At times, he wished they had lasted a little longer. All of them had faded too quickly. The burden of your love was quite heavy, but it was one he considered himself lucky to have been chosen to bear. You had chosen him to experience those moments with, each of them preserved in his memories like gilded gems.

In all his thousands of years of existence, the old god never foresaw a day where the missing primordial Creator he had been waiting so long for would return as a completely different person. Furthermore, he could never have forseen this new Creator would be so enamored with him. While he was reasonably honored to receive this disproportionate favor, he had initially suggested you visit the other archons more instead of spending all your time in Liyue with him. That would be fair, he told you. In hindsight, after your departure, he was glad you never listened. Few things in life were fair. Your untimely departure was far from that. The things you were killed for, none of them were your doing, but nobody believed you except him. Zhongli had paid the ultimate price for taking your side, for trying to keep you for just a moment longer. It was barely enough time to utter a proper goodbye. You were gone, just as abruptly as you had arrived.

If you had not given him so much of your precious time, what would he recount and reminisce over now that you're gone? What memories would sustain him until he reaches the end of time?

All he could do was continue living, witnessing, waiting, just as he did the first Creator. Perhaps one day you'd return to him. Perhaps you wouldn't, and yet again, it'd only be a stranger. Perhaps he'd tell them about you, just as he told you about the one that came before you.

His heart would constrict painfully at the thought and he would momentarily lose the ability to breathe just like when you would tighten the choker around his neck. He often found himself absent-mindedly toying with the collar. It remained snugly around his neck like he promised you. It was such a simple request, demanded so casually of him. To you, it might’ve been a joke. Perhaps you had long forgotten about that silk choker you picked out for him. Maybe you had forgotten about him altogether, along with this place called Teyvat. But he couldn't. Even after you had long departed from Teyvat, he had never taken it off. A few times he had to reinforce it with adeptal arts in order to keep it from disintegrating into dust over time. He couldn't possibly allow such a precious gift from you part from him out of carelessness. It was all he had left to remind him of the brief time you spent with him.

He couldn't quite place why of all the memories you had planted in him, those of nearly suffocating by the choker in your hand had seared themselves deepest. Was it because those were the rare moments he felt the sweet release of death was nearly within his grasp? Thinking of you instilled a similar sensation, but it was never the same as when you inflicted him with it. As someone who had lived for so long, who had orchestrated his own death and staged his own funeral, it was a strange obsession to have.

For those who live too long, the faces of those who have come and gone continue to haunt their memories. Even so, he never regretted meeting you, loving you, and eventually losing you. Should the day ever come that he forgets you, or the collar you gifted him finally turns to dust, he only hoped that your memories of him would continue to glimmer like gold.

[morganwrites12672]

It's Always Been This Way

Dean Winchester x Singer!Reader

Summary: Y/n and Dean have always liked each other. . . Just never at the same time. What happens whenever they fall for each other while working a case?

Rating: PG-13

A/N: I hate the beginning but whatever. Requests are open!

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It's always been this way.

For as long as Y/n and Dean could remember, they had great friends. That was it. Just friends. At various points in their lives, they had had crushes on the other. It had never worked out though. Neither one was willing to admit it.

It was inevitable that they had liked each other (and shit luck that it was never at the same time). Y/n was a Singer, Bobby's only child. She had grown up around Dean and Sam. The three were constantly around each other due to their father's jobs. Bobby refused to outright leave her, and he could only justify it if she was with Sam and Dean.

They aren't kids anymore. Dean's 25. Y/n's 24. Both of them are adults.

It was a solo hunt for Dean whenever he ran into her. Sam was at Stanford and John was working his own case. He ran into Macy as she was leaving the witnesses house. It had been years since he had seen her. She had stopped staying at her father's much. The two had no reason to try and see each other otherwise.

Dean's eyebrows raised in shock as they made eye contact. She was in her Feds threads. Her jaw practically dropped. She couldn't believe who she was seeing.

She tried to walk past him but Dean stopped her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Same thing as you," She replied, her eyes taking him in. "I'm working a case."

He tilted his head a bit as he looked down at her. They were both so different. Dean thought that she looked different, good different. His eyes lingered on the way her skirt hugged her waist. He cleared his throat, looking back up at her eyes as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Alone?" He questioned, wondering if Bobby, or maybe another hunter, was helping her. It was one of the more dangerous cases. It looked like a Vampire. Victims had their throats ripped out, bodies drained of blood.

"Yes, alone."

Y/n wondered why he seemed. . . Concerned, maybe? She could tell based on how his eyebrows knit together. She didn't see a problem with it. She had been trained her entire life practically. She didn't lack experience. She had been raised like Dean. Not much of a childhood, but damn good at hunting the things that go bump in the night.

That was practically the end of that conversation. They exchanged a few more words, just checking up on each other before departing.

It had been decided that they would work the case together. After a few nights of staying up all night together, she had to admit, a bit of a crush had formed. Not like it had ever left really. God, she had been head over heels for Dean as an older teen. He had been too blinded by his lust for practically every girl who walked by him to notice.

If only she knew that it wasn't always a one sided crush. Dean had wanted to ask her out several times in the past. He had always assumed she would say no and never gathered the courage. The one girl who made him a little bit nervous. He don't want to risk the friendship.

Y/n yawned as she glanced at the red letters glowing in the dark: 4:37. God, it was late. She looked down at the careless notes she had scribbled in her notebook. She wasn't much closer to figuring out a plan. She glanced over at Dean, admiring how he looked in the lamp light. Her little crush hadn't stopped growing.

It might only be one vampire, but it wasn't simple. This creature didn't stay in the same place every night. The pattern was practically unrecognizable. Dean had suggested lurking at bars, hoping to see something suspicious. Y/n didn't like the plan but soon realized it was the only option.

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The air reeked of stake cigarettes and cheap beer. The lights in the bar were low as her eyes scanned the people in it. They finally knew what the vamp looked like. They just needed to find him.

This case has been hell so far. Three more people had died since the duo had started investigating. It was all going to shit very fast. If they didn't catch the culprit soon, they would need to call in another hunter.

Y/n glanced across the bar at Dean. As she looked back to the- what the hell? She quickly noticed something. He was here, the vampire. She didn't have time to call Dean as she followed him out the door. She tried to be subtle but there weren't any other people on the street.

As the vampire walked down the alley, she double checked that the vial of dead man's blood was still hidden, tucked into her jeans. She really should have called Dean. She pulled out her phone to text him, only taking her eyes off the vamp for a second whenever she heard a hiss.

Her phone clattered to the ground as the vampire attempted to bite her. She mumbled a curse and dodged. She didn't have her machete with her. She had been planning to use the dead man's blood and then dash back to the car. All she had with her was the gun in the waistband of her jeans and the knife tucked in her boot.

She rushed at the vampire, landing a solid punch that sent his head snapping back. He was quick to retaliate, slamming her into the wall. He had his hand around her throat whenever she kneed him in the groin. She managed to get away, raising her fists again in the alley.

The vampire threw a punch her way, she blocked. God-damnit. She forgot how much these fights hurt. Both of her hands were busy deflecting the vampires hits. She needed an opportunity to grab the dead man's blood. Before she could, the vampire hit her square in the nose. She groaned, feeling blood trickle.

She landed a solid kick to the vampires back as she dodged another hit.

"You bitch!" The vampire hissed at her. "I should have killed you the second you walked into that bar. You think I wouldn't recognize a hunter?" The vampire sneered at her.

"At least I don't rip the throats of innocent people out," She snapped back.

As the vampire rushed at her, knocking her to the ground, she grabbed the vial of dead man's blood. She was seconds away from injecting it whenever the vampire knocked it away. A wave of fear ran down her spine. She was trapped.

"Not so tough now, are you?" The vampire sneered as he cut his wrist. He grabbed her jaw. She tried to fight against him. Before she could be turned, the vampires head fell on her body.

She looked up and saw Dean. He looked pissed.

"You ran after the vamp, on your own!" He exclaimed, helping her up. "Son of a bitch. And you didn't even bother to bring your machete."

She rolled her eyes as she stood, wiping the blood from her nose with her sleeve. "I had it handled!"

"No, you didn't," He snapped back, his voice low. "You should have taken me with you."

Y/n sighed as they walked back to Dean's '67 Chevy Impala. She didn't regret what she had done. It had gotten the case solved. It had saved lives. Sure, she had made a stupid risk. That didn't matter. It had all worked out.

"I did fine," She grumbled as she slid into the passenger seat.

"No, you fucking didn't!" Dean said as he started the Impala.

"Why do you care so much?" She snapped. She was a tad bit grumpy. She had been beaten up by a vampire. Every bit of her body seemed to hurt. She would surely have bruises in the morning.

"God, can't you see? I care about you!" He said as he drove out of the bars parking lot. His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

She could have screamed. "Oh," Was all she said for a minute. The tension in the car could have been cut with a knife. She swallowed thickly. "You could have just asked me out." She said in a reading tone.

Dean let out a slightly tense laugh, "Would you have said yes?"

"Obviously!" She replied. She thought it was obvious that she liked him. Apparently not.

Dean cleared his throat. The rest of the drive to the motel was silent. She listened to the Metallica quietly playing in the background. The night sky was dark and gloomy as they drove. What would happen between them?

As the car was parked, she couldn't get out of the car far enough. Dean walked into her motel room with her. It was where they had both done most of the research. There were still various notebooks and newspaper clippings strewn about.

"So. . . Do you have any plans tomorrow?" Dean asked.

Y/n quickly turned around, "I don't."

Dean gave her a cocky smile, "Then it's a date."

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to comment and reblog!

[sometimesoliloquy]

I'm a guy and I like romance too it isn't only a women thing don't know why we're getting criticized for liking romance this is making me feel like we're in the capitol in the hunger games books or something. Is it just me or the direction they made Nick's character is because he was more liked than June and Luke? They kept pushing Luke on us especially I can tell the writers were getting mad as for June she's been getting on my nerves for a long time with how selfish she's been it was nothing like the character in the books no matter how much people sacrifice for her she's never grateful.

Thank you for sharing your viewpoint! Honestly that is validating to hear and I think it is important to remember that enjoying romance and shipping tv relationships is not a binary experience. 

Honestly to me all the screaming about "love isn't the point, it's about REVOLUTION!" is a little absurd because if you look at the book there is no grand revolution. It's a story about quiet survival, quiet resistance, a reflection on the complacency that inevitably leads to loss of rights and humanity. And reclaiming one's humanity though love--love being a force that gives us something to live for and that saves. There is more rebellion in the sequel, where the human catalyst of that revolution is actually symbolically and importantly the result of a love found in impossible circumstances, bringing the "love saves" theme full circle.

"Ok whatever, that's the book, the show is different". Sure, there are bound to be differences present in an adaptation, especially once it evolves past the source material. But I think the main spirit and overall themes should still be present. Otherwise what is even the point of an adaptation if it becomes a completely unrecognizable thing?

Even then, the show itself has presented romance and love as a major theme and important part of the story since the very beginning. They've marketed the shit out of the Nick and June romance and purposefully played up the "love triangle" (to insane degrees on the latter if you ask me). If they're now saying that the love story was not important at all and we were in fact letting it distract us from the real point, then it's their fault for propping it up falsely, not ours for taking what we were shown at face value. But also, I for one have enjoyed the female friendship and that love just as much as the love story between Nick and June and I think it's false and even harmful to say that one must be sacrificed for the sake of the other, that both can't coexist at the same time.

Honestly I'm not sure if I think they always intended for June to end up back with Luke (you're right they definitely were pushing him hard, in s5 especially and even into this season although it keeps falling flat IMO), or if they weren't really sure where it would end up (I guess she may still end up alone, breaking up with Luke). Especially with how things are appearing now, yes it's possible there was resentment over Nick and the romance being viewed as "too popular" or maybe fear of it "overshadowing" both/either the Luke pairing they meant to be endgame and/or the story they decided they wanted to tell in the end. I think the tense political climate in the US specifically was a huge factor too, with pressure (either real or perceived) to make a scapegoat out of the character a certain sector of folks on reddit had been calling a "nazi" for years. It kind of seems like the writers took their cue from this, borrowing the term and delivering on a silver platter exactly what this faction wanted.

I do think it's interesting that the character of Nick seems to engender so much love and hate both, extremes on either end of the spectrum. I can only speak to why I love him and empathize with him with any certainty. But I suspect the reason many hate him (many so passionately that their gleeful celebration now seems even louder than his supporters' outrage) has to do most with the mirror he holds up to all of us. Even if one were to accept every out-of-character from canon thing the current interviews are telling us, even if you were to view every one of his actions (that we've seen onscreen) through a sinister lens (rather than at face value, or the assumption that the character is good at heart), he's objectively not done anything nearly as bad as Serena or Lawrence in the conception and creation of Gilead. He didn't try to manipulate June for his own purposes like Lawrence, or hold June down to be raped by Fred at 9 months pregnant and then steal her baby like Serena.

But realistically, Nick represents who most of us would likely be in this scenario, who many of us already are in fact in our own society--not freedom fighters but "keyboard warriors". Not activists but more passive witnesses. He represents the "regular" good-hearted person caught up in a corrupt, oppressive society trying keep his head down and survive. He may practice small acts of resistance, and he takes big risks to protect his family/loved ones, but he's really not a big "heroic" figure except as regards June and his daughter. And I think that's human, that's most people. But most people also want to imagine that they would be the brave hero, taking big risks for and even dying for people they don't know, sacrificing for a bigger abstract cause. I think the character of Nick reflects back to us the reality that this is the exception rather than the norm, and speaks to our deeper fears about how we view ourselves--who we are and who we would be if held to the fire. Some of us see him in all his complex, good but flawed humanity and love him for it, others reject and hate him for it.

As far as June, I'm becoming more convinced that, aside from serving as the token "nazi" scapegoat, Nick has perhaps also been sacrificed to act as the wake up call for June--to drive home the cost of her fight. You're right, she has been acting quite selfishly now for a while, and has left quite a trail of innocent victims behind her in addition to the baddies she's killed. Sacrificed to her often selfish and reckless plans. And we haven't really seen her reckon with this. She also hasn't really lost anyone close to her since Alma and Brianna in s4 and we barely saw her process that (there was a lot going on, granted). In episode 7 Nick held up a mirror to June but she refused to look. I have a feeling now that he may have been killed (at least in part) in order to force June to finally look at everything she's done. She just stood there and watched him go to his death--the man she supposedly loved--once she faces this she may have to reckon with the rest of it as well and decide what kind of person she wants to be going forward. 

Not that it would soften the blow much for me or any of the rest of us devastated and horrified at this unnecessary character death. After all Nick deserved far, far better than to ultimately serve as barely more than a lesson for the woman he loved so purely and already sacrificed so much for.

Or maybe that won't be the case! Maybe in the finale they'll just re-confirm that Nick was just a baddie-bad villain commander man who deserved to die and she's not sorry at all. I guess we'll see.

[amloveabledeathmo]

Bagginshield Hanahaki au Hobbit version Idea

Hobbits, being a rather agreeable race, rarely had cause to even think about a unique affliction beyond bedtime stories. It only makes sense that Bilbo did not catch on to the early symptoms and signs. Of course the strange pain in his lungs and the abrupt cough were simply signs of an impending cold. After all he had just spent hours in the water clinging to a barrel until he had been knocked loose. Why he was actually lucky that he hadn't just drowned. The sudden onset of said symptoms obviously had no link at all to Thorin frantically calling his name and swimming out to rescue him. Of course the aforementioned dwarf stripping out of his clothes to attempt to let them dry some also had nothing to do with it, nope.

The obviously a cold got worse in Laketown, especially whenever Thorin would bring him food and tell him stories of his past to amuse Bilbo.

The symptoms seemed to mostly subside while in Erebor, in fact the more Thorin became unrecognizable in his sickness the less Bilbo noticed his own symptoms. Then the battle happened, when he found Thorin and was told the world would be better if more people were like him, the pain in his chest worsened and he couldn't breath. Then, after Thorin and the boys had been relocated to healing tents, Bilbo was far too stressed and worried to even think about the still lingering cough. He did however notice that the painful breathlessness came back during Thorin's recovery.

Bilbo only actually realized what was happening when a member of Dain's army was threatening him over the arkenstone incident and Thorin came in like a hero of legend to protect him and defend Bilbo's every action and extol his virtues. The big clue came when a sudden onset of harsh coughs ended with the expulsion of a flurry of cornflower petals. Ah so not a cold.

When Bilbo looked up he could see the confusion and on Thorin's face concern. He made a polite excuse and fled. He wasn't sure he was ready to admit to himself, much less Thorin, what these petals meant.

He had barely made it to his rooms and started to panic over interrace relationships, and of course Thorin being king, when Fili and Kili burst in closely followed by Oin and the others. Bilbo made up his mind that he couldn't lose this found family and until he was sure a confession of feelings wouldn't do that, he would lie. He told them all it was a hobbit illness, very common actually, most colds turned into it, not a big deal.

(My version of Hanahaki is that it is not fatal just painful and can be cured by acknowledging your feelings and confessing to them. basically an extra nudge from the Valar for stubborn individuals that would otherwise never decide to "bother" someone with their feelings)

[noomsu]

you arrived like sunlight in the gloom

s. neuvillette is pondering on his feelings, unrecognizable as they are. cw. fluff. longing. barely any dialogue?? not proofread. gender-neutral reader (no pronouns used). tw. murder mention (trial). wc. 1.2k a/n. i wrote this at work (hehe) so take it with a grain of salt. this was for neuvi's birthday but i haven't caught a break this week so it's a little late. anyway, happy belated birthday, loml. credits. dividers by @/cafekitsune.

Neuvillette frowned—his eyebrows wrinkled together for a fraction of a second, barely perceptible. He placed down the documents he had been holding, and let out a sigh. It was heavy. As heavy as the five centuries he carried within himself. No, that was not quite right—it was as heavy as the unspoken feeling that swelled deep within his ribcage. Though he was well aware of his lack of understanding in human matters—even more so those that involved complex emotions—, Neuvillette found that this was different. It filled him with equal parts of dread and excitement. It made his heart, that useless muscle beating in his chest, swell with elation and shrink with anxiety.

It was a contradiction.

He was not used to contradictions. He was a man of facts—evidence, logic, arguments. He knew to recognize what was true, factly, from what was not. And yet, now, he hesitated. Doubt filled him like a leak in a fortress; slow and steady, it filled him from his toes to the top of his head, eroding his foundations, making him falter. Making him weak.

As the Iudex, hesitation was a luxury that he could not afford. As for weaknesses, he was not aware he had one. Not one as glaringly obvious as this.

As you.

His eyes flickered again to the documents on his desk. The latest evidence that the Marechaussee Phantom had collected framed the actions that had led to the current trial—a murder of passion is what Fontaine called it, but Neuvillette failed to see how passion could lead to such an awry outcome. Or that’s how he used to think, at least. Now, as he glanced through his window and caught sight of you, he had the faintest idea of how one could go to such lengths for passion.

You were beautifully oblivious, he noticed. Even as you laughed and flushed delicately under the soft sunshine of Fontaine, you did not seem to realize that the magician was pulling the reactions out of you with purpose. The sky began to cloud almost at the same time that he observed Lyney taking out a rainbow rose from his hat for you—he watched you stutter from the window, torn between flattery and shame as you accepted the flower in your hands.

It was odd. 

He had never noticed the sly undertone of the magician. Perhaps he was seeing things—hallucinating could be quite serious. Maybe he should pay a visit to Sigewinne. 

No matter.

Neuvillette forced himself to look back at the documents on his desk. His first and utmost priority should be the upcoming trial, not whether or not you were charmed away by Fontaine’s most famous magician. Despite his words, the rumble of thunder outside said otherwise.

Truth be told, he did not quite understand the storm of emotions brewing within him. He knew better than anyone that Lyney and Lynette’s reputation preceded them. He had even gone out of his way to watch their performances. Even Lady Furina had acknowledge their talent—if that was true, then why was his mouth filled with bitterness at the sight of a trick he had seen countless times before? Pulling a flower out of his hat was, perhaps, one of the most basic tricks under Lyney’s sleeve. He wondered, for a second, if perhaps he would be this bothered had something else come out of that hat. Would he be this unsettled if the cat that followed the twins had popped out? Or if it had been a dove instead of a flower? Or was it perhaps the kind of flower what bothered him?

No, that wasn’t right.

He realized, then, that what bothered him was the audience. That you, of all people, were the audience.

What a silly thought.

Why would you refrain from enjoying the joys Fontaine had to offer? Why would you resist the charm of magic and flattery? It was a selfish thought. Neuvillette paused as the thought crossed his mind, hand frozen, fountain pen bleeding through the paper—selfish, hm? He was not aware a creature such as himself could feel selfishness. He understood the concept; the constant need to only consider one’s needs. Never would he have guessed that he’d feel such a complicated emotion, least of all provoked by you.

No, that was not fair. That was a mistaken verdict—another surprise.

With another thunder, Fontaine was covered in rain once again. Neuvillette sighed, observing the mess of ink he had made on his desk. He was lucky the ink had not reach the text, but it was still unbecoming of the Chief Justice to appear in court with his gloves stained. That was another first—nothing had managed to unsettle him enough to lose sight of all propriety except you.

How could a mere human hold such power over a sovereign?

As he focused once again on the stained documents on his hands, Neuvillette finally lost sight of you. He did not see you laughing as the rain fell, soaking through your clothes. He did not see you ran to the nearest roof barefoot nor did he see you asking something to a passing Melusine. 

He did not see you.

Not until you knocked at his door. “Monsieur Neuvillette?” 

The moment you opened the door and stepped inside, soaked through and still dripping from the sudden rain, Neuvillette recognized another odd emotion swirling within him: relief. He felt such relief that, had he been standing, perhaps he would have fallen to his knees. Odd, he thought, that a mere human could wield enough power to bring him to his knees.

No, that was not accurate. 

You did not hold the power.

He had willingly given it to you.

With the realization, the rain outside seemed to thin until the clouds began to disperse.

“I apologize,” Your voice, familiar and warm, forced a smile out of him. “I just wanted to wish you luck with the upcoming trial. I know what you will say-”

“Justice needs no luck,” He finished for you.

You laughed. That bright laugh that always made him feel oddly lighter. 

“I know,” You repeated, nodding. Despite your sudden appearance and your soaked state, you had not attempted to actually step into his office. You remained within the door frame, preventing your mess from staining his pristine space—unaware that, in fact, he’d rather you stepped in. He would rather have traces of you all over than have you at arm’s distance. “However, I am aware that this trial is… complicated, and though you always deny it, I know it might affect you. Kiara seems worried, too.”

“I appreciate the concern.” Neuvillette gifted you one of his rare smiles—one of those small, gentle ones that could warm even the coldest day in Snezhnaya.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” You cleared your throat, suddenly flustered.

You mumbled something about needing to change, about not wanting to catch a cold, and left just as quick as you had appeared. His office felt almost cold the moment you disappeared—like the sun had left, taking all its warmth with it and leaving behind a perpetual winter.

That’s it, he thought.

The sun.  He was weak to the sun.

He was weak to you.

more works.

©2024 noomsu do not translate, repost, copy, modify

[gladiatorcunt]

you nailed how i imagined modern!feyd to be (batshit crazy) but you think he‘d let cute hello kitty reader put like stickers and bows on his motorcycle and stuff lmao? would he be an ass and be mean about it or would he allow it because reader is all sad and mopey otherwise 😔🎀 (maybe brat reader? like how would mans handle that in the modern au because in the canon verse pissing him off is a bit too scary) and alsoooo i laughed my ass off when you wrote he would debone coryo like a fish because yuh that twink (he could do bad things to me) wouldn’t stand a chance fr

he would actually make coryo so concerned, like they’re both from well off families (feyd just does underground fighting bc for the #love of the game) but coryo will be like “these poor people are CRAZY.” coryo gives off the vibes of he’d tell someone to kill for him (especially when he gets older, or he wouldn’t get his hands dirty if he does it himself & he’s methodical), feyd is tearing out throats with his teeth. he’d tackle his uncle and start stabbing, he’d gnaw his own arm off just for fun like you can’t compete where you don’t compare tbh. (coryo’s still my bf tho <3)

anyway,

cw: 18+ mdni, typical feyd warnings, spanking/pain play type stuff

modern!feyd would only let you put stickers on his bike if they’re the ones that are like hello kitty holding a gun or something. it’s not like he’s afraid that the softer ones will undermine his masculinity or anything, feyd’s ripping into other men with no real regard for keeping their bodies intact, it’s just that the cutesy stickers go on his helmet. he’ll let you tie a ribbon around his bicep and film videos of him flexing and making it pop off. he would wear matching pjs with you, but he doesn’t want to get blood on them so he sticks to his trusty sweats. he’s the kind of person to wear black in the hot summer sun because he’s spiteful enough to not give a fuck about heatstroke, like it’s something he could fight lmao. gets a matching dear daniel x hello kitty tattoo with you i fear, or a my melody x kuromi one since that’s more your dynamic.

brat!reader with canon era feyd does scare me to death, but with modern!feyd it’s fun to think about…. to a degree. like if you keep it up, he’s pausing the match and dragging you inside the ring to spank you in front of everyone. open palm strikes with half of his strength, if he used all of it your ass might fall off. his rings add even more sting. you learn quickly to know when to pack it up and throw in the towel, because he will NEVER be the one to test out your devious little ideas and macinations out on. he’ll shove a vibrator up your pussy and take you for a long ride on his bike, ignoring the way you try to hump him as he points out the sights he thinks you’d be interest in. weirdly punishes you by fucking nice and slow when you want your shit rocked, he doesn’t even edge you or anything, he just gives it you so soft and sweet and holds your hips down so you can’t try to buck them.

in some ways, you being at his matches has helped his abilities. (you do have to come to his fights btw, if you’re not there expect the rumble of his engine to be heard outside of wherever you’re at. feyd will get his unlce to cancle the match if you’re not there, he’s ultimately a certain kind of performer and if the key audience member isn’t there??? what’s the point.) he has to keep an eye on you, which helps him multitask. he’ll be punching some fuckin’ loser into an unrecognizable pulp while, out of the corner of his eye, making sure that no one’s trying to drag you into any wagers or into their cars. he’s curious if you could cum just from watching one of his fights, from hearing the agonized whimpers of his opponent as feyd effortlessly conquers them. something about you must be sick, because the more ruthless he is in a fight, the higher you’re jumping on him and the more marks you’re sucking into his neck.

you’re so clumsy with it, always putting too much teeth into your hickeys. but that’s just the way he likes it, because you know he’s actively holding back from biting you so hard that’s nearly cannibalizing you. (side note: loves gorey horror, nothing too funny or artsy, he likes shit that cares more about the pure carnage than quips or wide camera shots. hannibal is too “fancy” for him, he always asks you to explain what the fuck they’re talking about.) definition of mauling you like a bear, fucking him is like meeting God if they were an eldritch horror and you were on the brink of death. it is NOT for the weak, his thick arms holding you in a headlock as he pistons his gigantic cock into your cervix. he makes you cum until pass out, then he makes you do it again to wake you up. really good at resetting your brain if you need him too.

modern!feyd who gives you the ultimate scary guard dog priviledge. you’re going about your business in a store and he’s practically vibrating behind you, foaming at the mouth and waiting for some mf to try it with you so he can berserk. but no one ever takes the bait, just one look at his deranged ass and they’re swiftly turning on their heels and high tailing it out of the apple store (you’re taking too long to pick what color imac you want.) copies whatever pictures you saw on pinterest, acting as your little prop. wrapping a tattooed hand around your throat, mirror selfies where he’s holding you over his shoulder by your ass, gross close ups of his long tongue wrapped around yours, insta stories directed at paul specficially bc he won’t stay out of your dms. asks his opponents for date ideas while he’s beating their ass 💀, made his uncle organize a remartch (even though feyd won) with the guy who limped over to your adorably clad in pink form and asked you to get boba (because he noticed feyd giving you your favorite before his fights).

pierced dick, would sharpen his teeth and make his tongue forked. face tattoos + whatever piercing’s more painful. big in body mods overalls like he sees himself as an extension of his motorcycle that he’s always illeggaly modding, fast and furious type specs that no court of law would deem road safe. but he always devotes part of his brain to making sure you’re safe when you ride along with him, reaching behind him and his black painted nails rubbing comforting little circles into your plush thighs. ambidextrous by choice and practice, for sure has a cauliflower ear. whenever you’re sad and pouting, he’s grabbing your chin in between his thumb an pointer finger and lifting your head up so he lovingly teases you about being a crybaby and so he can lick your tears away. (and he doesn’t even do it with sexual intent, feyd’s genuinely just trying to consume your sadness directly since word’s aren’t his strong suit.) could fall asleep in an ice bath, has done it before, dad type snoring like you wouldn’t believe.

loves it when you ride him in any kind of water, you have to pack extra strength sun screen if you’re going to be out in the sun though bc he WILL burn more often than not. still has your pussy gorilla glue gripping his length though, there’s no pain on earth that would put him out of comission & that’s a promise.

[qiu-yan]

imagine the following scenario:

you are a wen remnant living with wei wuxian in the burial mounds. you nearly died in the qiongqi pass labor camp under the whips of the jin, but then, in the last minute, you and your surviving family were rescued by wei wuxian. now you live peacefully in the burial mounds, working to make life and to live another day.

you don't actually know your fellow wen remnants that well, since most of your family members died during the war. some of them you recognize as distant cousins; others, you've never seen before.

one day, you inadvertently learn that 5 of the wen remnants under wei wuxian's protection once participated in the fall of lotus pier. all 5 of these people were once disciples under wen chao's command; under his command, they marched on lotus pier, slaughtered the disciples of yunmeng jiang, pillaged the treasures of lotus pier, and tortured jiang wanyin when he was captured on the streets by wen chao's forces. by sheer miracle, they escaped wei wuxian's trail of vengeance across the jianghu afterwards.

wei wuxian does not know of this. wen qing and wen ning do not know of this. even the other wen remnants do not know of this - as far as you can tell, in fact, no one apart from these 5 people and you yourself knows of this at all. and since the physical appearances of all 5 people changed dramatically through the war (3 of them suffered grievous facial injuries that rendered them pretty much unrecognizable, and the other 2 look to have aged 20 years), it is basically impossible for wei wuxian to recognize them on his own at this point.

therefore, the only way this information is ever getting out is if the 5 people tell, or if you tell. otherwise, no one will ever know.

the 5 people do not know that you know.

you yourself did not participate in the fall of lotus pier; it had nothing to do with you.