#I don’t deny it’s flawed

[pinkvampiress]

Rambling again

It’s that time where isolation and paranoia bothers me again and I end up repeating myself to the void:

I get nervous interacting with game castlevania fans cause while I know and understand a lot aren’t a fan of the Netflix version, I kinda don’t wanna deal with being talked down on for liking it🥲

[zaddyazula]

obviously i love strangelove’s character but she wasn’t written well… as a woman or as a lesbian…

[lucentstarss]

Sometimes I get hope for unraveled but then I remember how much of an ick I got from keefe when reading unlocked and get sad again

[whenthegoldrays]

it’s also like. sometimes you watch something and get obsessed with it and have this idea of its themes and implications and the truths you can see in it and then you find that other people don’t love it so much or at least don’t love it for the more detailed reasons you do and you stop and ask yourself whether it was actually that good or whether all that good stuff is just what YOU saw in it and then the conclusions you drew and headcanons you added onto it afterwards

[inkykeiji]

(ー_ーゞ

[gremlin-pattie]

man i forgot what a good show tawog is

[goblin-enjoyer]

Ok last time was pretty fun so here’s

WHAT SHOULD I DRAW POLL 2.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

There is a grouchiness so ancient in me. Gonna go make something with my hands and see if that helps

[folkdances]

l + ratio + you did not even watch the whole show and you say that 15 episodes is enough to grasp the themes (🤡) but then literally why are you posting about it then how are you the authority on this show when you barely watched it barely understand it and are committed to bad faith interpretations

[5-7-9]

No i will not get over how a doctor within a corrupt dysfunctional unethical mental institution filled with malpractice and sanism/ableism managed to become the victim to an evil patient they are in charge of caring for because that patient was so crazy he manipulated her.

A reminder that the r*df*m movement had always tried excluding felons/convicts and “lunatics”

(This is about Joker and Harley btw)

[toscrollperchancetomeme]

One thing about „Long Face” I haven’t seen discussed yet is its “perfectly premeditated flaw”. While it’s obviously primarily meant to bait Louis, it does so in a very smart way.

The writers have gone out of their way to make us understand that Louis has built himself up to be this super posh art dealer. He’s a connoisseur, he has “ze eye”, he is extremely distinguished in his tastes. Or, as Lestat probably sees it: He’s super pretentious, “like every pompous art student” he’s ever eaten. (I think he gets it from his mum, but that would be a whole essay.) And a part of this is: He does not like camp. This is quite evident from the way he talks about “Lestat’s tastelessness on the float” in episode 1x7, but also reflects in his reaction to the “weirdness” of the Paris theatre.

Except - I think he secretly does like it, because otherwise he would not love Lestat. Him being in denial of his love for Lestat and of his enjoyment of “camp” art almost seem to stem from the same place within him - he is still denying parts of himself.

So, Lestat writing a song for him, that is this camp? That literally says “Come appraise me” to his art dealer husband? That says “see me for what I am and stop lying to yourself and pretending that you don’t love me and that you don’t enjoy having fuuuuuuun”? The lack of metaphor has never been more striking. I’m so here for this.

[aemondfairy]

Blood Lust

summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI

Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.

For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.

It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.

As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.

Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.

Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.

“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”

You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.

“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.

“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”

“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.

“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?

Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.

“Fiesty little thing you are.”

“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”

Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.

“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”

“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”

The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.

“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.

“Preparing his army for war.”

“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”

“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”

The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.

“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”

Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.

“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”

Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.

“I do have you, baby.”

Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.

You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.

“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”

He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.

“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.

“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”

“Gods, Aemond. No.”

“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”

“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.

“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”

A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.

“What do you think about when you do?”

“Not you,” you retort.

He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.

“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”

You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.

You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.

You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.

Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.

He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.

“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.

Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.

You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.

Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.

“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”

Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.

Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.

"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.

"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.

“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.

“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.

“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.

“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.

You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’

"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.

Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.

He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.

You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.

“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.

“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.

“This is just the beginning.”

[chuluoyi]

only if you are up for a challenge. Naoya Zenin x f!reader in which he got her pregnant, then she left out of fear and he found her again and won't let her go :)))

when you loved me

- zen'in naoya x reader

you loved him... but you have had enough of the shit you've experienced—his arrogance, horrible family and another woman—and decided to leave him for the sake of yourself and your child

genre/warnings: angst to comfort, implied cheating, most likely ooc, honestly i almost made it a vs naoya fic with no consolation, happy ending aka naoya is decent

note: this ask... has been collecting dust in my askbox for about SIX MONTHS HAHAH, so sorry anon. i'll just leave it here and let it burn however just bc i don’t want to delete what i’ve written :’)

general masterlist

"How... how could you?"

Once, you thought, you were in love with Zen'in Naoya.

Well, you couldn't deny that he had personality flaws, but deep down, at one point in your life, you still believed that he too loved you.

You stared at him through tears brimming in your eyes, and he was just there, looking at the little being in your arms with a mix of shock and... something else you couldn't name. Dismay? Disappointment? Black rage?

"Go away, Naoya," you declared through your gritted teeth, pulling the baby in your arms even closer to you, as though fearing he might do something drastic. No way in hell would you let him after what he made you go through.

His eyes twitched as he tried to hold himself back from losing it. He took a few deep breathes in order to stay composed.

“Y/N, answer me,” he growled, still with the same condescending tone you remembered nine months ago, when you resolutely decided to leave him. “Is that baby mine?”

This was absolute madness. You had driven him insane. Naoya was certain he would go feral on you after you boldly left him without a trace, and when he found you, you were cradling this baby in your arms—which he was absolutely sure, enough to bet on his life, that the little thing was also his.

The woman he loves has given birth to his child.

You had imagined all sort of scenarios in which this very event would occur. This was one of them actually.

“No,” you firmly replied, gaze hardening. “Not yours. So kindly let yourself out of my house, Naoya.”

“Absolute bullshit!” he shouted and you flinched. His sudden rise of voice also woke the poor baby in your arms.

His heart hammered inside his chest. There were many things that made a mess of his head. You running away from him. The nights of madness he went through, wondering where you were and if you were alright. And now, the fact you had his baby without him ever knowing.

“Where were you? Why did you leave— you were having my—”

Fuck, he didn’t even know if he had a son or daughter.

You tried to console your child, now tears also streaming down your cheeks too. But it was more of frustration and anger rather than fear. “Can you blame me? Zen’in Naoya, you have made my life hell!”

“Hell?” It felt like an total insult to his pride. “How—!”

“You!” you screamed at his face. “I’ve had enough of your shit! And not to mention your father—that horrible drunkard who always looks down on me and treats me as if I were some gold digger! And also the whole of your goddamn, entitled clan—they always harass me right in front of my face!”

All of this stunned him on this place. Truth to be told, he knew a little to nothing at all about what his kin had done to you.

“I don’t need your family’s wealth! I can live on my own just fine even with your bastard!” Your tirade still hadn’t ended, but you had to put your baby on her cot first and dismiss her ever growing cries because you were tired of all of this. This life. This absolute nightmare that was caused by one fatal mistake of falling in love with Zen’in Naoya.

“But what the fuck? You’re asking why I left? How dare you ask me that after what you did!”

“What did I even do?!” His denial made a blood vessel about to burst inside your brain. “You never fucking told me what my father did! If only you did, I would have—”

“Look, you don’t even acknowledge it!” You were so tired of this. You wished you could die and just end all of this mental suffering. Why did this have to happen to you out of a billion people out there?

And yet, still, ultimately, you were happy with him. Those memories of the two of you together, just idyllically spending time together, or sometimes even playfully clashing opinions— to you, they were irreplaceable.

So, that's why...

Your heart shattered at the screeching cries of your baby. But you had to slam this in Naoya’s face.

“That was the last straw—seeing you with that fucking woman, you insufferable, demented, cheating bastard!”

That string of profanities you screamed at his face made Naoya finally lost it, as he gripped you tightly and his eyes flared with pure white-hot anger. “Say that again—say that again, you—!”

A toe-curling scream ripped out of your baby and you wrenched yourself out of his grasp through sheer will. Naoya was left reeling as he watched your horrified expression, as you plucked the baby into your arms again.

“Shh, shh,” you shushed your child amidst your own quivering lips. “Mama is here… Don’t cry…”

Right at that moment, it was as if something had pierced his chest and left a gaping hole. He really had a living baby. That baby was crying because of him.

The sting of the anger was still there, but now guilt started to overpower it as he regained his cool somewhat. “Is that a—” his breath hitched. He had to know. At the very, very least he had to know.

You didn’t immediately answer. You were still absolutely heartbroken by how it all turned out. But above all else, you could no longer deny him of his own child.

“A girl,” you sniffled.

A daughter. A daughter— in the one split second after knowing that, Naoya made the quickest decision of his life.

“Come back. Live with me,” he said, resolute. “You’re the mother of my child—I won’t let anyone lay their hand on you again. You have my word.”

Women are pain in the ass. That was what he used to think. Until you. Not when it's you. It astounded even himself how the sight of you like this was enough to drive knives into his chest.

“Look, that’s not it,” your tears were now falling free and fast, unable to hold it back longer. “How can you ask me that—when you went behind my back with another woman? Naoya, I love you—loved you. But isn’t this too cruel? How can you do this to me?”

“What woman are you talking about?” He tried to compose himself, but your accusation of him with someone whose existence he didn’t even know was getting in his nerves. “I have never been unfaithful to you! I know we don't always agree to things, but do you really think that low of me?”

“Evidently, I saw you with her. Your father made it a point that she’s your next plaything—or possibly even, fiancée!”

There was a memory that sprung into his head when you mentioned that. He recalled that vain, stupid woman, and he definitely remembered telling his father that he refused her. It wasn’t long before you disappeared.

Now everything clicked.

“Listen to me,” Naoya started, jaw clenching. “Whatever my father told you—those are all lies. I turned her down right there and then. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that. You should have known that.”

Sobs wrecked your body and soul at this point. You knew where your place was. Zen’in Naoya was a man outside your league, his family made it so clear to you that you were nothing but dirt in their eyes. And perhaps that was why, back then, you chose to protect yourself and left him, believing he was capable of that too.

And now before you, you could see the man you loved once again.

“Come back to me.” His gaze burned you. “This time, for sure, I won’t let anyone touch you— I won’t let them even say a word about you! I will marry you, and we will raise our daughter together.”

“I… I don’t want to live there, Naoya…” you sobbed. You hated that place. Like hell would you have your pride stomped and deceived again.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. We won’t live there. You won’t have to see any of their faces again.”

Gazing into your face, marked by trails of tears, he finally, finally felt his heart break. And he thought, that in front of him now was the only woman who could upturn his whole trajectory.

“Just… come back. To me. I will take care of you. I swear it.”

[vbecker10]

Hey love, how are you doing? Hope you’re all good. Could you write a Bucky x fem!reader who has an eating disorder, but she hides it from the team and she does it successfully, but on one mission she passes out, which is weird because she’s one of the best. She says it was just because she didn’t feel well and everyone believes her, but not Bucky. He senses that something’s off and eventually finds out, because he leaves reader no choice but to tell him, and so she does.

I’m struggling with my ed and I would love it, but if you don’t want to write this, it’s totally fine! I am a huge fan of your work💚

I Want You to be Healthy

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N) - established relationship / reader has an eating disorder

Summary: You pass out on the way to the jet after a successful mission. The team quickly accepts the excuse that you don't feel well but Bucky knows you well enough to know that you're lying. As soon as you are alone together, Bucky pushes you to open up to him about what truly made you pass out.

Warnings: Eating disorder, passing out, denying you have an eating disorder, feeling insecure about your weight & body image, keeping secrets from your friends and boyfriend, relapsing eating disorder

Background: Female reader has an Eating Disorder (a combination of anorexia and bulimia). Reader has the following behaviors: Skipping meals, frequent checking in the mirror for precieved flaws, constantly using a scale and tracking their weight, eating alone and at odd times of the day / night, exercising more frequently and more intensely than needed, not taking rest days or days off for injury, using the restroom soon after eating, making their own meals rather than eating what the team eats, often complains about needing to be healthy and talks about having to lose weight or gain muscle, thinking they are in control of their eating habits

A/N: Hi my lovely anon, I'm so sorry to hear you are struggling with your ED, I hope you can focus on yourself and get the help you need. I'm here if you want someone to listen 💚 Thank you for trusting me with this, I tried not to focus too much on the specific type of eating disorder since there are a few but I found some similarities between them when I was doing my research. I used those symptoms for this to make it a bit general. I hope this is okay 💚

I didn't tag too many people in this because I wasn't sure who exactly to tag, I won't be offend if you skip this 💚

Steve walks at the front of the group, one hand firmly gripped around the arm of a captured Hydra officer, her hands cuffed tightly behind her back. The mission was simple enough and more of you had gone than was needed but you couldn't pass up the opportunity to be out in the field. It was the only place you felt you belonged, where you could show the others on the team you were good enough to be here.

When Bucky had knocked on your door earlier this afternoon and asked if you were free to join them, you agreed eagerly. It was a welcome distraction from what you had been doing for the last hour, standing in front of your full length mirror, scrutinizing every inch of your body. The flaws in your physique are so glaringly obvious to you, you couldn't help but fixate on where you need to lose fat or gain muscle.

Bucky had smirked when you answered your door to him in nothing but a towel, he assumed you were having a lazy day after a relaxing shower. You hugged him tightly and told him you would get ready for the mission. There was no point in telling him what you had really been doing. A super soldier could never understand your daily struggle with your weight or the constant drive to be perfect. None of the Avengers could.

Natasha and Clint follow the captain closely, another captive officer walks with his head down between them as they discuss dinner. They quickly decide that since its Friday, they should get take out when they get back. There was no reason to make an excuse of course, take out was the easy option. Most of the team was either too busy to cook or had simply never been taught how to.

This meant you had to be even more careful because the food that was ordered was never healthy. Soon after you joined, you learned that it was easier to prepare all of your own food and eat in your room. Eating away from the team also meant they couldn't ask why your portions were what they considered small or why you were eating much later than them. It was none of their business anyways, you had told yourself often. As much as you would have liked their company, it was better this way. You could focus on your weight and health instead of answering all of their questions or dealing with their concerned opinions.

Bucky chuckles as he slips his arm around your waist, unaware of your thoughts. "I'm voting for spaghetti and meatballs, not that anyone asked me," he joins his friends conversation but you are barely listening.

Natasha checks to make sure Clint has a firm hold of the captive then she effortlessly turns, walking backwards smoothly through the thick leaves. "What do you want for dinner, Y/N?" she asks you with a smile, pointedly ignoring Bucky's comment which gets a laugh from Clint.

You don't answer, too distracted by the pain that is spreading deep in your stomach, the one that means you've almost reached your limit between meals. When you get back, you'll need to find something to eat, even if that means more time in the gym.

"Earth to Y/N," the spy waves at you to get your attention. When you make eye contact with her, she again asks what you want for dinner.

You shrug in response, the pain in your stomach growing as you walk. You know the type of answer she is looking for. Pizza, Thai, sushi. You could easily suggest any one of a hundred things but you can't. If you did, you would be expected to join them and that isn't something you are willing to do.

"Don't bother," Clint says when you are silent for a few more steps. His tone is relaxed but you worry he can tell what you are thinking. "You know Y/N never eats anything we order. We don't get anything healthy enough for her," he reminds Natasha. "Too much grease and fat and deliciousness."

"It's not my fault I'm the only one at the Tower worried about my figure," you roll your eyes at him.

Bucky laughs, his hand squeezes your waist, a part of your body you've always been self conscious about. "Your figure is perfect, doll," he smiles and you wish you could believe him but it's not that easy.

Natasha turns back to Clint, not missing a step and pats his stomach once. "Maybe you could learn something from her," she jokes.

"Hey!" he calls after her, sounding like an annoyed sibling. She laughs, jogging lightly towards Steve to hold the female officer while he opens the hatch.

Your ears begin to ring and the trees in the forest around you blend together, becoming hazy. Bucky kisses the top of your head and asks you a question but you can barely make out what he is saying. His voice is just above the ringing that vibrates in your mind. He looks down at you, his expression quickly turning to concern as he says your name but you don't respond.

You're light-headed and suddenly feel cold as your vision blurs more of your surroundings together. You take one more small step and stop, unable to continue forward. Bucky's hold on you tightens but you can't make out his words. You recognize what's happening to your body but only a second before you lose consciousness.

"Y/N," you hear Bucky say your name softly as he runs his metal fingers through your hair gently. Opening your eyes with a quiet groan, the jet gradually comes into focus but everything is sideways. You turn your head to look up at Bucky and realize your resting on his lap. "Slowly doll," he says, helping you sit up in the seat next to him.

"You okay?" Clint asks from the seat across from you.

You nod, still a bit dizzy, "Yeah."

"You had us all worried," Bucky says, his eyes not leaving you.

You shrug, hoping a few simple lies will calm everyone including yourself. It's been almost three years since you passed out from not eating. The last time it happened, your eating disorder had spiraled out of control for the second time and your family urged you to get treatment. It couldn't be happening again though, you think desperately. You are in control of your eating habits this time, you had just accidentally gone too long without eating.

"I felt kinda sick this morning. I know I probably should have stayed home but this sounded like a really quick mission," you offer an explanation that sounds likely.

"Next time you tell us if you don't feel well enough to go out," Steve says sternly from the pilot seat of the jet.

"Will do cap," you plaster on a smile to hide the wince from the dull ache in your stomach and salute him. This earns you a huff and a dramatic eye roll from the blonde super soldier.

"Good, can't let anything happen to the second best spy on the team," Natasha says with a smirk as she opens some files on her tablet.

You force out a small laugh, "Second best?" Then you look at Bucky who still hasn't taken his eyes off of you. He doesn't seem to have accepted your excuse as readily as everyone else but he also knows you better than anyone. "Are you going to let her talk about your girl like that?" Hoping the joke with Nat will distract him from his concern for you.

Bucky responds with a smile almost as fake as yours and says, "Of course not doll."

"Hey," Tony says when he spots you coming towards him in the hall. "How are you feeling? I heard to passed out in the field today."

"I'm okay, just a bit dehydrated," you tell him, holding up your bottle of water as proof.

"Okay, just try to be more careful next time," he tells you and you agree to as you continuing towards your room. "You're not gonna eat with us? Nat ordered from this new Mexican place."

"I'm still feeling a little off," you touch your forehead lightly and he nods. It's an easy excuse and it slips out before you even realize you've said it. You take a few more steps down the hall then add, "I'll see you all in the morning for training, though."

"Only if you're feeling up to it," he says and you give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles, shaking his head when you turn away from him again. "You're allowed a rest day you know," he calls after you. You continue towards your room without responding, you know that's not true.

A soft knock on your door interrupts your reading and you get up to see who it is. "Hi Bucky," you greet your boyfriend warmly but he doesn't offer you a hug or even a smile in return.

"Can we talk?" he asks in a serious tone and you nod, letting him in as your heart races. Those three words send panic through your body in an instant. You freeze as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed, rubbing his hands together anxiously. "Come sit, doll," he taps the bed next to him lightly without looking at you, his eyes still fixed on his hands.

You walk over and sit next to him silently. What do you two need to talk about that is making him this uneasy, you think. The only answer that surfaces is that he's come to end your eight month relationship, but why? Did you do something wrong, had you forgotten something, your mind races in search of an answer.

He takes your hand in his metal one gently and takes a breath to steady himself which only makes you more nervous. "Y/N," he starts slowly, "I love you so much, you know that right?" He lifts his head to look at you and you nod, too anxious to speak.

"I'm going to ask you this once," he says, "And please, don't lie to me." You bite your bottom lip, searching his face for any hint of his question. "Why did you really pass out on the mission today?" he asks.

You feel the smallest hint of relief that this isn't about your relationship but then you are instantly filled with a different type of fear. Has Bucky figured out what you've been hiding from him, from everyone? Does he know about your eating disorder returning and your worry that you're losing control? Your mind fills with all of your most easily accepted excuses, hoping that you can convince him you are okay.

Before you can open your mouth, he shakes his head. "I need the truth doll," almost as if he can see the lies forming.

"I-" your words stick in your throat and you look away from Bucky, your eyes roaming around your small room. You focus on the high tech scale positioned in front of the tall, full length mirror you spend so much of your time in front of.

He cups your cheek, bringing your eyes back to his, "Talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong, Y/N."

"I'm fine, I promise," you tell him in the most sincere voice you can, kissing his cheek softly. "I told you, I was just feeling a little under the weather today. It's not a big deal."

"You didn't eat again today," he states, no hint of a question in his tone. You're in too much shock to begin defending your reasoning for skipping a meals when he adds, "You've been missing meals a lot lately, haven't you?"

You nod, suddenly feeling caught which makes you feel both guilty and embarrassed. Bucky is the one person on the team you have always been able to confide in, even before you started dating but this was something you wanted to keep even from him. It was the reason you forced yourself to eat when you went on dates with him but you always found a way to excuse yourself and use the bathroom soon after. Had he noticed that too, you worry.

"How long do you think you can go without eating?" he asks but you don't want to admit you know the answer. Since college, you've developed a pretty good sense for how long you can go between meals, today truly had been a miscalculation. Instead you simply shrug as you guage whether or not you can convince Bucky you missed those meals by accident.

"Y/N," he says when you are quiet. "You can't keep doing this."

You chew the inside of your cheek, this conversation reminding you too much of the one you had with your parents the first time they caught you hiding and throwing away your food. Your eyes flicker away from his and back as you start to realize you might be struggling more than you thought.

His jaw tightens and his gaze follows yours to the scale and mirror then he sighs. "I should throw those stupid things out," he says, more to himself then to you.

"No," you respond quickly and he furrows his brows when he looks back at you. "I need them," you try to explain, your body tensing at the thought of being without them even though they do nothing but cause you anxiety and distress. "I have to keep checking..." your voice trails off, you don't want to open up any further. You don't want Bucky you judge you.

"Checking what?" Bucky asks, hoping you will let him in.

"I have to keep checking my weight," you finish and you find yourself suddenly unable to hold the rest in. "I've always been just a little over from where I need to be with my weight." You look down at your body as you sit next to him, you can easily envision all the flaws you saw in the mirror this morning. "I'll get there, I'm close," you tell him as if he's the one you need to convince and not the small voice that dictates what you can and cannot eat.

You had been focused on your weight for almost your whole adult life and never reached your target. It doesn't matter that the target keeps shrinking anytime you are even remotely close. A few times, you had almost reached the number you thought would finally mean you were perfect only for the small voice to disagree. It would insist you could still lose more weight or you had put on too much muscle or needed more muscle or any number of things. Each time your goal changed, your eating habits became stricter and your workouts became more intense.

Bucky cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin lightly, "What are you talking about? You're in the best shape of anyone on the team. You're perf-"

"No," you shake your head, pulling free from his fingers. "I'm far from perfect, you of all people should know that. You're a super soldier, you were practically built to be perfect," you tell him and Bucky's metal hand twiches as he removes it from your waist. "I knew you wouldn't understand," you add with deep a sigh.

"I want to understand. I'm worried about you," Bucky says but you don't look at him.

"You don't need to worry about me," you say, shifting away from him on the bed. You feel yourself becoming defensive and worried he will want you to stop checking your weight and eat more. "I'm fine, I told you. Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Because you're not fine," he says, his voice raising a bit to show his frustration, not at you but with the situation. "You don't eat, Y/N, not nearly enough and I've seen the way you push yourself too hard when we train. I kept telling myself you knew what you were doing and you would stop if you needed to but then today..." he shakes his head as his voice trails off for a moment.

"Today was an accident," you insist but you're less sure of yourself then you had been. "I have it under control. If I had known about the mission beforehand, I wouldn't have gotten sick."

"You didn't get sick, you passed out," he says and you can see he's becoming more upset by the conversation and the fact that you will not listen to him. "What if that had happened in the middle of the mission? What if we had been somewhere more dangerous and I couldn't get to you? You've gone on solo missions, no one would have known what happened to you."

You get up quickly, needing to distance yourself from Bucky's questions and concern and the doubt they are creating in you. You pace around your room, trying to absorb his words but you don't want to believe he's right. You don't want to admit that you're not okay again.

Without realizing it, you walk towards your mirror and tap the scale with your foot. Bucky gets up, coming over to you but your eyes are fixed on the scale. You tap it again and it turns on, the zeros blinking slowly as you remember the number that stared at you this morning.

"I get that your worried about your weight-" he starts but you cut him off.

"Of course I'm worried about it," you look up, folding your arms around your body tightly. "You have no idea how easy it is to gain weight, one little slip and I could lose all my progress. I have to watch everything I eat and workout so I can be good enough to be here, so I can be perfect," you voice your inner thoughts to Bucky for the first time. "I can't just stop," you tell him.

He moves closer to you, removing the empty space you created between the two of you and you begin to feel nervous again. "I want you to be healthy," he takes your hand in his, pulling you away from the scale.

"So do I, that's why I need to do this," you argue but you feel defeated, as if you are only moments from admitting you know he is right.

He shakes his head, his metal arm rests on your lower back, pulling you closer to him. "What you're doing is the opposite of being healthy, doll. Can you see that?"

You look up at him, seeing the concern fill his eyes and you know you can't deny it any longer. You bite your lip and nod slowly, "I think I need help."

"I'm here doll," he responds softly.

"This isn't-" you struggle to find the words and he gives you time, holding you quietly. "This isn't the first time this has happened," you tell him honestly. Bucky holds you silently as you tell him about your struggles with your eating disorder and how you have relapsed previously after getting treatment. He doesn't ask questions or interrupt you, his hand moves gently up and down your back as you open up completely. When you finish, he wipes your tears softly and kisses your forehead.

"I thought I was okay," you tell him, your voice breaking. He pulls you flush against his body, wrapping his arms around you.

"You will be," he assures you and you rest your head on his chest, hoping he is right. "You are the strongest person I have ever met, you can do this. I will help you any way I can, I promise."

You pull away to look up at him, realizing you'll be gone for at least a few months for treatment. "What am I going to tell everyone?" you ask him, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. It was one thing to break down and admit to Bucky that you had an eating disorder but it was an entirely different thing for the Avengers to find out. "I don't want the team to know," you shake your head, worried about their reactions.

He cups your cheek and you look up at him again, "Don't worry about the team or anything else, doll. I will take care of them and everything else. The only thing I want you to do is focus on getting better, on being healthy again." He gives you a hopeful smile and says, "I'll tell them we're going to visit your family. Fury will approve the time off, it shouldn't be an issue."

You sniffle in response then smile slowly, "We?"

He nods, "If that's okay with you. I know there are things you'll need to do alone, but I want to be close, in case you need me. I want to be there for you, every step of the way."

You wipe a tear quickly with the back of your hand and nod, unable to express how much Bucky's offer means to you in words. Instead, you reach up and press your lips to his softly, holding onto him tightly. Pulling away slightly, you look into his eyes and tell him, "I love you."

He smiles, running his fingers through your hair gently, his metal arm still holding you close. "I love you too, Y/N. You will be okay, I promise you will get through this."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

@soubi001 @mochie85 @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lulubelle814 @siconetribal @jiyascepter @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @dracoswhorexx @lokiandbuckysdoll

[meazalykov]

nobody's type

sydney lohmann x reader

summary: people wonder why you don't want to make the first move..

warnings: insecurities, overall sadness

you stand at the edge of the pitch, the crisp air nipping at your skin as the sun dips below the horizon, casting the bayern munich training ground in a soft, golden glow. 

the stadium lights flicker on one by one, their harsh brightness chasing away the twilight shadows. 

training has ended, and most of your teammates have already made their way inside, but you linger, your feet rooted to the spot as your gaze settles on sydney. 

she’s the last to leave, her laughter ringing out like music as she jokes with a few others– tuva and pernille– who stayed behind. she looks so at ease, so effortlessly beautiful, that it makes your chest tighten with something achingly familiar—a longing that you’ve carried in silence for far too long.

it’s not that you don’t want to talk to her. it’s that you can’t. every time you think about approaching her, the words you want to say dissolve on your tongue, replaced by the bitter taste of insecurity. 

sydney, with her easy confidence and radiant smile, seems like she belongs in a world far removed from yours. sometimes you wonder how you ended up on the same team as her. she’s someone who could have anyone she wanted, someone who would never look twice at someone like you. at least, that’s what you’ve convinced yourself.

after transferring from spurs to bayern munich in 2023, you found a bit of relief. you’ve always struggled with this feeling of inadequacy, this deep-rooted belief that you’re not attractive enough, not interesting enough, not enough in any way that matters. 

you had confidence in your football ability as a striker– but still— you’re awkward and quiet, always feeling out of place even among people who know you best. you’ve never quite managed to shake the feeling that you’re somehow less than everyone else, that the flaws you see when you look in the mirror are just as obvious to everyone around you.

the idea of someone like sydney seeing you—really seeing you—fills you with a fear so intense it’s paralyzing.

so you keep your distance, blending into the background, watching her from afar like you have for months now. 

you’ve learned to be careful, to avoid letting your gaze linger on her for too long when she’s nearby. but even then, it’s like your eyes are drawn to her, seeking her out without you even realizing it. 

you watch the way she laughs, the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she’s passionate about, the way she moves with a grace that seems effortless. and every time you do, that same painful ache settles in your chest, a constant reminder of everything you want but can never have.

you’ve spent countless nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling as your mind replays every interaction you’ve ever had with her. you analyze every word, every glance, every smile, searching for some hint that maybe, just maybe, she feels the same. 

but then the doubt creeps in, the voice in your head reminding you of all the reasons why that’s impossible. you’re not good enough for someone like sydney. you’re too plain, too shy, too broken. and so you push the hope away, bury it deep down where it can’t hurt you anymore, even though you know it’s still there, waiting to resurface the next time you see her.

the sound of footsteps approaching pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see georgia walking toward you. 

she’s one of the few people who seems to notice when you’re struggling, and even though you appreciate her concern, it also makes you feel exposed, like she can see all the things you’re trying so hard to hide.

“y/n,” she says softly, coming to a stop beside you. “you know your crush on sydney is pretty obvious to everyone, right?”

your heart skips a beat, panic flaring in your chest. “what? no, it’s not… i mean, it’s not like that,” you stammer, the words tumbling out in a rush as you try to deny it. 

but georgia just gives you a look, one that says she knows exactly what’s going on.

“it’s okay,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “but, y/n, you’re selling yourself short. sydney likes you. you’re attractive and she sees that but she’s been waiting for you to make a move.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, disbelief washing over you. 

you shake your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips as you try to process what she’s saying. 

“there’s no way she could like me. i’m… i’m not enough. not for someone like her.”

georgia’s expression softens, her eyes full of sympathy and frustration. “y/n, you’re more than enough. you’re caring, talented, and honestly, anyone would be lucky to have you. but you keep convincing yourself that you’re not worthy of love, and that’s not true.”

you want to believe her, you really do. but the voice in your head—the one that’s been there for as long as you can remember, whispering that you’re not good enough, not pretty enough, not worth anyone’s time—drowns out her words. 

you look away, your gaze drifting back to sydney, who’s now slinging her bag over her shoulder, ready to head inside. the idea of walking up to her, of telling her how you feel, seems impossible. 

you’ve spent so long building these walls around your heart, convinced that no one could ever love you for who you really are, that the thought of tearing them down is terrifying.

“what if she doesn’t feel the same?” you whisper, the fear creeping into your voice. it’s the fear that’s been holding you back all this time, the fear that if you let her in, she’ll see all the things you hate about yourself and turn away.

georgia sighs, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “you’ll never know unless you try. but, y/n, you’ve got to stop tearing yourself down. you’re incredible, and it’s time you start seeing that.”

her words resonate with you, but the insecurities that have rooted themselves in your heart are stubborn. they cling to you, wrapping around your thoughts like vines, choking out any glimmer of hope. 

you want to be the person georgia thinks you are, the person who’s brave enough to take a chance, but every time you try to take a step forward, the doubts pull you back. they remind you of every time you’ve been overlooked, every time you’ve been hurt, every time you’ve convinced yourself that you’re not worthy of love.

you watch as sydney disappears through the doors, the opportunity slipping through your fingers once again.

you can feel georgia’s gaze on you, a mix of concern and sadness in her eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it. instead, you stay silent, trapped in the fear that has held you back for so long, wishing you could be someone different—someone who could believe in themselves, someone who could believe that they’re worthy of love.

as the last traces of daylight fade and the stadium lights cast their artificial glow across the field, you turn to follow your teammates inside. the weight of your unspoken feelings, of your unfulfilled desires, settles heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever find the courage to break free from the chains of your own self-doubt. 

for now, all you can do is hope that one day, you’ll find the strength to see yourself the way georgia does, the way sydney might if you ever gave her the chance. 

but until then, you’ll keep your distance, hiding behind that brick wall you’ve built, afraid to let anyone meet the real you.

my master list is here if you want to read more fics <3

[euthymiya]

redemption for the suffering ft. wriothesley

contains: written with female reader in mind (use of milady as a petname), reader works at the fortress, fluff, minor angst and references to violence (wrio’s past), established relationship, banter and teasing

wriothesley has an impressive collection of scars. some say it’s only proof he’s a fighter—you think it only means the world had turned its back to an undeserving kid.

but the scars are still pretty, despite it all. the world is ugly and so are its people, but never wriothesley. he’s pretty where the smooth skin meets the raised, and he’s pretty laid on your chest with his arms caging you.

he’s also pretty in other ways. (ways in which only you get to see him, and you’d like to keep it that way. the world doesn’t need to see every pretty part of him.)

“you’re staring holes into my head, sweetheart,” he mumbles, face still buried into your chest. you roll your eyes, giving him a scoff and a nudge to the back of his head for the sake of routine.

you can feel his grin through your shirt.

“how would you know that? i could’ve been staring at anything,” you huff indignantly.

“i have eyes everywhere around these parts,” he says smoothly, lifting his head up as he gives you a smug grin. it’s a charming little thing, rough and a tiny bit lopsided, far from perfect but free of any flaws.

wriothesley works in funny ways like that.

“is that so,” you challenge, clasping both hands over his cheeks and giving an affectionate squeeze. (he pretends to be greatly inconvenienced by the forced pucker of his lips from your actions, and you give them a small peck as a reward while you giggle. he’s valiant, after all, in soldiering through your whims.)

“yes, of course.” his voice is a muffled reply, courtesy of the persistent squeeze on his cheeks by your hands. “i see and hear all that goes on in these quarters.”

“i’m sure,” you chuckle. your thumb brushes over the small scar under his eye, delicately tracing the harsh edge of discolored skin.

you don’t know a lot about wriothesley. it’s a rather complicated phenomenon—you’re certain you know more than anyone, but you’re hardly confident you really know much at all. it’s not so much that he doesn’t want to tell you, but more so that you never know how to ask.

you think maybe you should. maybe you should chalk up the courage and ask him how the rips and tears of flesh have come to be. ask him how long the new, healed skin has lived across his body and become a part of him, tethering the past to the present.

so you do.

quietly, carefully, with the gentleness of a dewdrop on a fresh blade of grass, you ask him, “who gave you this?”

he hums, closing his eyes as your thumb strokes over the scar thoughtfully.

“this old thing? ah, well, it was from a battle with a treacherous beast, you see. i was protecting the fortress like any good duke would.”

you snort, and he grins wider. it’s not exactly the answer you were looking for, but it’s a sweet moment all the same—he dodges but he never runs away. you know he’d never run away because he leans closer into your touch, eyes fluttering open as he stares at you fondly.

“wrio,” you whine, “are you always so unserious?”

“on the contrary, milady, i’m afraid i have to be rather serious with a job like mine,” he chuckles. and then, with a gentle sigh, his voice softens as he adds, “i got it when i was a teenager. while i was out on the streets.”

of course, as always, it’s up to you to make sense of the very little he offers, and it’s up to you to ask for more. you don’t think he’d deny you, though. not if it’s you.

“wow, anymore details and i could probably write a biography on the fortresses warden himself for all of fontaine to read,” you say sarcastically, pulling a snort from him.

he gives you an amused squeeze before delicately trailing his hand under your shirt, tracing the skin of your belly in slow circles of his thumb. maybe, if you hadn’t learned to read him so well, you’d think it was to be affectionate. but you know him—even if you looked in blindness, you’d know him. all of him.

you know it’s from the trace of his thumb across your skin, from the presence of your touch under him, that he soothes himself. keeps himself grounded. gives himself a semblance of peace.

“well if you want to be nosy,” he huffs with no bite at all, “i got it in a fight. it’s not uncommon to be a target of robbery when you’re homeless,” he murmurs.

you’ve always known bits and pieces of his story. you knew before you came down to the fortress for work, and you know even more as you slowly get to know him, as you begin pushing past the limit of friends and crossing the threshold of lovers. running away from his parents so young couldn’t have left him with the most ideal of living circumstances—you’d always known that.

but still, hearing him say it out loud fills you up with a certain wave of emotion. you don’t like to imagine him so young, so vulnerable. so failed by the world around him.

“did you win?” you ask softly, running your hand slowly along his back.

“no,” he laughs softly, “no, i uh…i lost. pretty bad, actually. he was way bigger than me—i don’t know what i was thinking.”

sometimes, it’s easy to forget that wriothesley was a child once. just like you. just like anyone. sometimes, when you look at the tall, muscular form of a handsome man, one that seems to carry himself likes he’s always one step ahead, it slips your mind that underneath it all was once an innocent child. one who lost his battles and fell every once in a while. maybe more often than that, in fact.

you hum, tracing the letters of your name along his shoulder blade with the tip of your finger as his thumb circles the patch of skin above your hip.

“at least you were brave,” you offer, “a little dense, maybe. but still brave.”

“oh a lot more than a little dense,” he grins at you. “it was pretty stupid. i quickly learned the hard way to choose my battles wisely.”

“maybe not stupid,” you say thoughtfully, “maybe you were just a kid. a kid shouldn’t know any better—not about fighting on the streets, especially.”

he stays silent at that, breathing slowly as your palm glides over the planes of muscle along his back. firm, broad, quick witted, strong. wriothesley is all of those things now—but you wonder how much of him became this way because he had to be. because he wasn’t before and it cost him until he was.

it leaves a dull ache somewhere in your ribcage, somewhere suspiciously close to your beating heart.

“i knew better. well, eventually,” he adds that last part a little bitterly.

wriothesley is good at taking care of himself. he can throw a punch without breaking his thumb, and he can certainly dodge if a punch is coming his way instead. but you wonder if he’s ever been taken care of outside of that. if outside of quick witted survival and a firm hand to throw, he’s known anything else. anything more giving and less taking.

anything soft and honest outside of the usual harsh and deceitful.

“baby?” you ask quietly, making him hum in response, “you weren’t stupid,” you tell him. because he deserves to know—even if it’s years too late, he should hear it.

he chuckles, lifting his head from your chest as he stares at you with a quirked brow, a mix of amusement and wonder written on his face.

“yeah? you think so?”

“i know so,” you nod seriously, cupping his cheeks, “i mean it wriothesley.”

“you’re that serious, huh? the full name means we’re talking business,” he sighs.

and you know him—even with unfilled blanks and unanswered questions, you know him. always. you know the tight smile and carefully crafted confidence that hides away the delicate child underneath.

you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, to the scar under his eye, to the corner of his lip—delicately on every part of him because none of him deserves to know roughness.

“you were just a baby,” you murmur.

“i was a young man,” he pouts. you smile fondly, shaking your head.

“you’re still a bit of a baby now,” you hum, pinching the flesh of his cheek teasingly, “the chubby cheeks never outgrew you.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, “don’t push it, now.”

despite it all, he slumps himself onto your chest once more, hand finding yours as he laces your fingers.

he squeezes. you squeeze back.

something in him heals at that—something young and sheltered away for so long, he forgot it existed.

“you’d win now, right?” you ask with a yawn, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he breathes in the scent of you through your shirt. “if you fought him?”

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, “he wouldn’t stand a chance now.”

“good,” you grin, “i’m glad.”

when you remember that he was literally canonically a homeless child who learned that sleep made you vulnerable and susceptible to robbery 🥲 hoyoverse did not come to play with his backstory