#basically just features that the masks could hide

[viveela]

Turts wearing their masks as scarves and some small facial tweaks because they feel too naked otherwise

[sugoi-writes]

Scent Kink - Featuring Alastor x GN! Reader

A/N: HEAVILY inspired (and partially written for) @hazelfoureyes... UNO VERSE, DEER! I hope this is alright, as I feel you do him SOOO much more justice. Your thirsts have made me cave in. I will need to go to confessional after this one.

Includes: scent kink (Alastor has it for reader), GN! Reader, some implications, mentions of violence/carnal desires, and of course, some m*sturbation. Yippee~

Honest to Satan, it took him by surprise. Rarely was Alastor motivated by anything "innate" or "carnal" (past his violent urges against ne'er-do-wells). That is... until you came into the picture.

Alastor's always had a great nose: all the better to spot bad meat with! ...But now? Now he can't help the way he drifts and looks your way. Now, he has to hide the perk in his ears and the subtle nostril twitches and flails. Now, he often stands closer to you when engaged in group activities. Hell, the seat to his right will always be reserved for you. Anything to get closer and catch just a momentary, minute whiff to take in your scent...

When you arrive back to the hotel, he's at the door, helping to take your coat. It's always on the coat rack by the door when you need it most... but when you weren't paying attention? Alastor had it all to himself.

There had even been times where Niffty was doing laundry, and he had half the mind to volunteer to help... it'd much less suspicious of him to handle your things this way, right? But alas, that was maybe a touch obvious... and Alastor is not known for his charity.

When you're fresh from a shower and coming down for dinner, he always seemed out-of-sorts. Little did you know that the Radio Demon was sad that your natural scent was muted by flowery, excessive fragrance. No, he much preferred seeing you worked up, disheveled, maybe even a bit... unkempt? A normally tidy, avoidant, do-NOT-touch-me man was reduced to this? It unnerved him to no end; his blood was boiling.

He had his normal mask, that damned smile, working overtime. Anything to distact you from his eye twitching. Anything so you wouldn't notice how he shifted his weight next to you. He would curse himself, his back straightening and even arching when you leaned over him on the couch, straining to grab the TV remote. He made grand, almost cartoonishly bold gestures now... just so you would miss how much he needed to adjust himself around you. How much his eyes would dialate when you were close to him, for any reason...

But the more he tried to hide it... the more craved it; the more he needed the real deal.

---

You were adjusting yourself after a recent scuffle, loan sharks having come looking for Mimzy again... You winced, clutching your side from a harsh blow you received. You would definitely need some help taking care of that...

You could barely make it two steps before Alastor has you by the wrist, pulling your arm taunt. You panic, wriggling and squirming as Alastor's eyes roamed over you. You had a delectable little nick on your cheek, weeping blood. Alastor leans down, breath ghosting your cheek as you shuddered. You felt a jolt of electricity race up your spine as he spoke:

"Dear, you should really be more careful...," a thumb grazes your flushed flesh, before his taloned digit is licked clean. You found yourself struggling to swallow the lump in your throat as a toothy, sultry grin is sent your way.

"You're getting sloppy...~"

You can't help but notice how obsessively attentive he was. How he managed to pull you inside, and forced you to sit on his bed. He asked you to strip down to the basics, and tended to your wounds, no matter how little. You could hear every time that Alastor's breath shook and hitched, absolutely enthralled by you. You were in his sights, in his hands, and you invaded his sense of smell.... he was so close, yet he felt miles away...

The only way he didn't have you was with his tongue, lapping at your sweet, sweet sweat... Maybe, he would consider licking a little lower... did you taste as good as you smelled?

He would inhale deeply as he spied fresh blood or helped remove old clothing/bandages. This routine of yours would continue, even as your wounds became more manageable.

One would assume he was concentrating when he held his breath... but NO. He was memorizing this. He would remember this map-out of your musk and body like the back of his hand... He felt like a mut in heat with how hungrily he regarded you.

You had missed the way that Alastor's eyes gleamed when he offered to wash your dirty, bloodied clothing for you. Embarrassed but appreciative, you took him up on his offer. As he gave you one of his blouses as a temporary cover up, sending you on your way... Alastor locked the door, practically salivating.

Never had he been brought to his knees so quickly, doubled over and panting. Never had he practically torn his pants off, seams frayed and barely hanging on.

He frantically fisted his cock, pumping hard and fast as his precum glided down his warm, agitated tip. The desperate mewls and blissful sighes that escaped with every pant was almost musical, bouncing off the walls of his room in a grotesque cacophany. The staticy filter cloaking his voice had vanished, leaving him nothing but a bare, hungry, frenzied sinner.

As he balled up your shirt, inhaling sharply, he fumbled through curses and praises... You. You. You. This was your fault.

And even as his mind demanded more, his body sought its release, making a mess of his hand and the carpet. He grimaced at the warm fluids, realizing he'd have to deal with that sooner, rather than later. Alastor would fall back onto his haunches, shirt still gripped tightly in his left hand. Shakily, he held it up to his face again, nuzzling into it as he took in more of your musk. His own had started to cling to the shirt, his sweat and drool starting to dampen your smell.

You were driving him to madness. To his dismay, he realized that this would not be enough... not anymore.

He let his hands fall lazily in front of him, cock still throbbing absentmindedly.

First, a quick wash and preening. Then... he'd be looking for you to answer for his desires.

[youryanderedaddy]

yan prison guard who hates u but low-key wants to f??

YES?!

tw: female reader, hinted non-con, period cramps, physical neglect, abuse of power, hinted blood play, reader is hinted to be a criminal, starts flirty but ends dead dovey xD My Ko - fi <3

"Shit." You mumble, your back softly resting against the cold wall. You reach for the nearest utenstil on the ground - all metal now, since you broke one too many nice porcelain plates - and throw it against the bars with little consideration to the vomit inducing "food" still left inside. The yellow sauce splashes all over the floor, and you look up, not even bothering to hide your smug expression.

"I could make you lick that up, you know." Darcy states, adding little emotion to his already monotone voice - his eyes glued to the book in his lap and all the tiny little words in it, perfectly pristine fresh ink in the stuffy air. His gloved hands are digging into the paper, almost crumpling it, and you now know that his pale hands are simply incapable of holding anything gently - even the things he actually likes.

"Will you?" You tease, but the warning bells at the back of your mind go off nonetheless, seemingly in spite of your best attempts to come off as playful and not desperate. He rarely jokes around - not exactly the fun type. "I'll decide after I finish this page." Your warden chuckles humorlessly. "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline." He starts reading aloud, licking his cold lips. "So be earnest..." You can feel his gaze on you, caging you in like a wild animal. "And repent." He finally closes the book. "Revelation 3:19." The blonde repeats quietly, turning his attention back to you - and you realise calling out was a mistake, but now it's too late. He's got you in his clutches.

"My stomach hurts. Tell me, Father Allmighty, is this devine punishment too?" You spit out sarcastically, hugging your knees in order to numb the pain a bit. "Or am I simply on my period?" It's your turn to giggle, although it hurts to do so - anything to mask the unease tugging at your vocal cords every time you're faced with that demon.

His eyes narrow in response, and his fingers circle his nose bridge as he scoffs at you, annoyance quickly spreading across his irritatingly handsome, yet equally sharp features.

"Your voice makes my head throb. Stop it." The guard barks, voice dropping low in warning. Still, you decide to push your luck due to pure and simple physical need. "But it hurts." You let yourself whine, slowly revealing your collarbone - and silently hoping that just this once the sweat will look like glitter. "I don't care." He hisses, picking his book again.

You roll your eyes.

"Alright. Sure. But you'll be the one cleaning the bloody sheets after." You mutter under your breath, crossing your hands. You're not sure what's more frustrating - the way your stomach is trying to eat itself or having to appease a narcissistic maniac with too much power and free time through it. Somewhere in the part of your brain still capable of rational thought you realize you should be provided with basic hygiene products just like all the other female prisoners. What makes you different, you guess, is the fact that you're kept under lock and key almost extensively. Solitary confinement 24 hours a day, except for Darcy.

He brings you food. He helps you bathe - if you've been good enough. He's the only one who knows if you're dead or alive. Hell, he may be the only one who even cares.

"I'm sure cleaning up your mess will be quite exciting." The blonde cracks a tiny, self evident smile only he knows the meaning of - and you would have frowned in disgust if you could still feel that lovely human emotion. "Admit it, you actually like the thought of me bleeding, you little freak." You scrunch your nose at him, then look back to the floor, the filth so thick it almost sticks to your slightly less dirty shoes. "Takes one to know one." Darcy responds nonchalantly, running his hand through his slick white locks.

At that moment the cramps return in full force, your lower abdomen on fire with sharp stabbing pain. You remember some fragmentary tips from your scrappy teen years - you close your eyes and breath in deeply, you bite the inside of your cheek - you even pray to whoever is listening, but it just won't stop. So you bargain.

"You can have it." You say with difficulty, folded in half. Hot tears prick your eyes and you try to fight them, but soon give into the agony. It's such a relief to cry after months of resilience - to break down completely and let your most vulnerable self out.

The warden takes a single steps towards the bars and motions for you to move closer. You crawl to him, your hand supporting your lower belly in the process. He takes a good look at you and slowly, almost gently caresses your face through the metal - eyes suddenly softened by the image of you dancing in the palm of his hand.

If it was anyone else he'd be simply repulsed by this clear display of weakness. If it was another prisoner, another hardened criminal, he'd have no problem following his own principles of zero tolerance - of crushing and breaking their spirit until nothing was left. But it was you and your beatiful, stipid tears that mesmerized him to no end, that haunted his dreams and turned his bloodlust into something a lot more sinister. Something harder to capture, harder to fight - and easier to give into.

"You can have it." You repeated tearfully, rubbing at your soft wet eyelids - completely still. Scared of your own flesh and its betrayal. "My mind, my body, anything. Just please give me some pills. I can't take it." You whimper pitifully, shaking under his watchful eyes. He's holding onto your cheek, but you feel like he's got you in a suffocating embrace. And then just when you're about to kneel down, he unlocks the door to your cell.

"I've been taking your brain apart for months now." Darcy whispers softly, taking off one of his gloves and letting it drop to the floor. He takes another step towards your cowering form. "Your body, on the other hand, is a white canvas." He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze - and the pain fades away instantly, replaced by raw, intense fear. "I wonder what your insides look like. Surely, they're beatiful."

You feel his lips on your neck, followed by the tip of a knife - a butterfly kiss.

[schwarzkatje]

dark!orphan!ellie x nun!reader || part 3

disclaimer: alright, i'm just gonna say that this is filth in its original form aka contains SMUT that is immoral; offensive to religion if you believe and/or practice the religion implied here; it deals with power dynamics between an educational figure and a supposed pupil even though it has no age gap warning since they are basically the same age; it has violence in the form of slapping; it shows both ellie AND reader being dark characters with questionable morals. so if ANY of this triggers you, i prefer you skip for my but mostly your sake. also, not proofread srry

> for part 1 click here || for part 2 click here

"admit it, you act like a brat all the fucking time because you love it when you get punished," never in a million years would you have thought these words would have exited your mouth. nor would you have entertained the idea of breaking your vows because of something so futile like losing your temper.

except what was happening was proof of how delusional your beliefs and how fragile the rope you were walking on had both been. more specifically what was happening underneath you.

you were straddling ellie, the heels of her feet planted on the mattress and her thighs spread to accommodate your hand as it furiously flicked her pulsating clit and the outer zones of her pussy, drenched in white slick.

the other hand was feigning in her task to handcuff ellie's wrists, as it bore no real force nor did it occur to you that she could break free whenever she decided. you simply ignored it, too drunk off of nothing but a ravaging and ravenous hallucination of retribution. ellie had brought an earthquake inside you, causing casualties in the process, namely what you stood for, the light in your eyes and the faith towards god. in a regained moment of lucidity you could have recognised you were turning into the reflection of ellie's sufferings.

and god, wasn't she willing to dance this macabre tango with you and accept the pleasure that was making her delirious. her hips thrusted up, closer to your fingers, imagining they were your pussy humping her own, riding her in this exact same position that naive you had thought to be a cage for ellie.

"don't lie, you're too – fuck yeah – you're way too good at this. do you fuck the other sisters, when you are done tormenting me, mh?" the contorted expression was the perfect mask to hide the trail of jealousy implied in such an insisting enquiry and to distract from the fact that her eyes would have rolled back to her skull hadn't she been more lucid. "do you suck the pastor's cock when he comes to visit, too?"

"you wish. you wish i had so your fantasies about me get more realistic, don't you?" both your middle and ring finger were exploring the outer region of ellie's intoxicatingly warm hole, with such a slow pace that ellie feared you would stop at any time.

only one hour prior to this enactment of pure debauchery you were busing your mind with paperwork, locked in your room, locked away from ellie. you hadn't planned this.

the exact way you hadn't planned to abandon your dummy remnants of resolution as you let ellie enter your quarters. the exact way you hadn't planned to fight for the umpteenth time knowing it would have resulted in ulterior mortification for you. the exact way you hadn't planned to slap her. for the second time. completely throwing away the memory of ellie promising to make you pay for this the first time you had done it. except, ellie too had seemed to have forgotten all about this threat.

"do it again," ellie had been prompting you, daring you to do it, if not for the fact that she had trapped your wrist, actually impeding the fulfilment of what was acquiring the shape of a wish trough and through. her superior strength had proven a perfect feature to yank your entire body closer to her.

your other hand was holding the bible and you reckoned that once you had dropped it, it would have meant bending irremediably, to the point of breaking, in favour of the evil pulling that had been dancing around you throughout your entire life.

the deaf thud of the sacred text hitting the floor had rivalled with the same echoed sound of ellie's cheek getting slapped once again. the capillaries were fast breaking and the warm sensation over the beaten skin sat rather uncomfortable. not so much so as to hinder the devilish grin that ellie had no shame in sporting.

"at least now you're dropping the act of the prissy nun thinking she's better than everyone," her raspy voice had become lower, almost inaudible. but as subtle – and therefore armless – as it may have seemed, its ability to insinuate just as venom does, with blind cruelty, hadn't left space for mercy. "beating me like the other sisters when you faked compassion the moment they did it to me."

the whole context hadn't given you the chance to develop not even a semblance of pity towards ellie. no, it couldn't have found it in the midst of the scorching flames hell that was engulfing your guts. "you deserve every punishment they gave you. my only mistake was thinking you could gain god's forgiveness," you had inched closer to ellie, mimicking, without having full control over it, her tone and setting a twisted game with the loser's destruction as the prize.

"i'm yet to see how you discipline your bad kids," ellie had taken your free hand, the one responsible for the red heat spreading on half of her face, had brought it closer to her chipped lips, "since you're a sick pervert, i imagine you make them do sick shit as well. what is it? spanking? making them kneel down to eat your pussy?" the last bit of her degrading speech had been accompanied by the wet noise of her saliva coating your thumb and your thumb pressing as though it had had life of its own down ellie's tongue.

"want me to show it to you?" it must have been the devil himself that had smelt how deliciously sinfully your soul was accepting to delve into a grave without possibility to repent. everything had been lost.

"fuck– fucking slut knows hot to– oh man—," that was the agonised prize that your fingers entering ellie and pumping with no care in the world inside her pussy had won for you. there was a spot under ellie, a combination of her own cum and the saliva you had spat on your hand because depravity was the puppeteer moving and angling your strings, and you, brainless and unable to feel shame, followed along, being the only purpose of your tainted existence.

you were becoming obsessed with that sight, your pussy had long started to grind on ellie's stomach, lifting more and more of her black shirt, revealing the toned muscles that helped the friction you were ready to sell your soul to encounter.

fitting a third finger inside ellie, you moaned as though you were the one being penetrated. your teeth were munching your lower lip as a manner to deal with the inexplicable pleasure you were both giving and experiencing. like the previous things, you definitely hadn't planned not only to do this, but to enjoy it as much as an animal in heat would have.

ellie decided she had had enough and pulled her hands out of the pathetic cage that was your numb digits, reckoning they would be of more use gripping the soft flesh of your hips and helping you cover her navel with more your intoxicating precum.

"why can't you always be this obedient? why can't you be a good girl?" your now free hand found a new grip in your own hair, all while indulging in ellie's silent desire to hump harder above her. which meant automatically increasing the speed with which your fingers were claiming her fucked out hole.

ellie sobbed at your words, reading them as indirect praise, the affirmation that like a madwoman she had been searching her all life, the affirmation that frustrated her so much it made her into the shadow of herself.

"oh god please– please, forgive me... oh god, ellie– don't stop..." came out corrupted beyond salvation, tainted by your tears of pleasure and the chocked scream of the most mind numbing orgasm you have ever had, fearing your brain would never recover its sanity.

if you had been captured by the image of ellie, fucked out on the bed where you sleep, ellie too had endured a sight of her own that pushed its limit with you coming on her. it happened during the first second of your high, for this reason you understood that ellie had flipped both of you over, so that now she was between your legs, only when your clothed core met ellie's naked one.

she was humping you like you had been humping her, only with more domineering force due to the position you were in. ellie had her own release in mind and nothing else. there was only the heat stuck in her belly finally exploding with spikes making different parts of her body convulse in quick succession.

the ache of your pussy was no match to the fuelling sensation of having ellie take you like this, using you for her own pleasure after you doing the same to her, putting you in a subordinate position to have full control of what to do to you. "e-ellie come, please come," you begged and pathetically tried to confirm what you wanted by holding ellie's ass to deepen her movements.

she, on the other hand, couldn't resist any longer and with a last thrust she halted flush against you, mere centimetres away from your lips, your legs spread impossibly wide with the only intention of providing ellie with the best position to let go of her built up arousal.

her face had somewhat softened, not taking into account the frown on her forehead, her eyebrows knitted in a desperate expression, almost confused by the force with which her orgasm had deprived her of the characteristic vulgarity and witty behaviour.

she looked... vulnerable. and her lips looked so ready to be kissed and maybe even bitten or sucked. but the delirious feeling of the orgasm had wore off completely by then and anger for a further loss in dignity was covering the entirety of your thoughts. you weren't going to show any more of what you had already done.

you pushed her away, shivering in cold once her body left yours and as quickly as your trembling legs permitted you, you sat on the edge of your bed. facing away from ellie who was waiting for your next move.

"get the fuck out of my room," and with that, a deafening noise produced by the slamming of your wooden door was all was left for you to hear.

[assassinnumber9]

TwiYor's Love Languages

So as you guys may or may not know, a little over a year ago I published a fanfic on Archive of Our Own called Loid Forger is NOT A Cuddler, which is basically just 5 chapters (so far) of Loid cuddling and denying it.

It's practically an essay for how his love language is physical touch.

And while I do like to joke about how Loid Forger is a cuddler and whatnot because of my fanfic and headcanon, this most recent manga chapter of Spy x Family gives me a perfect opportunity to talk about this headcanon and why it's in line with Twilight's character as well as Yor's own love language and how they relate.

We'll look at the obvious and pretty much explicitly stated first.

Yor's Love Language: Acts of Service

As previously mentioned, she basically says it outright. Her growing feelings toward Loid are much more obvious than his, and so it's easy to point out that her wanting to help him and have him rely on her is both a way for her to care/love him outwardly and a way for her to know he's accepting of that love.

I think Loid being the one to rely on her also makes her feel even more loved/trusted/confident, because Loid Forger is just so perfect at anything and everything he tries. From the outside, he really doesn't need any sort of help from anyone.

And, Twilight would likely agree. He's confident in his abilities and doesn't seem to want help from anyone as far as we've seen. The only missions he shares are the ones where more than one person is really needed.

Fiona could be potentially seen as someone he accepts help from, except that her help is more of an employee to an employer (or inferior to superior in their case.

And Franky... acts almost like a brother to Twilight? So like, they just force each other to help. Neither of them are accepting any kind of help, just going, "You're doing this."

All this to say that Yor is the only one that Twilight accepts and asks for help from. In the latest chapter, we see Twilight is comfortable enough to ask her.

And, she's ecstatic at hearing him ask for it.

She gets to finally show her love the way she knows how - the way she showed Yuri during her childhood.

Now for Loid Forger, rather Twilight.

Twilight's Love Language: Physical Touch

So far in the story, we have not seen much in terms of love when it comes to Twilight.

Emotions, and love especially, are weaknesses for spies unlike assassins, where emotions and attachments can be seen as strengths. Both fight for their respective loved ones, but the former has to do so hidden under a mask without being caught and the other is able to outwardly express these protective instincts through their actions (assassinations).

So, Twilight, like the great spy he is, hides his love.

You could possibly argue his love language is the same as Yor's (acts of service), but his acts are to keep her happy to ensure she stays with him (ie actually for the mission).

He also seems to give words of affirmation as well, but he only does so when he needs to provide them.

Gifts and Quality time can also be crossed out, because we don't really see him giving Yor gifts and we haven't seen him really go "I need to be with Yor more" yet. The only time we ever saw him think of her when they weren't together was during the cruise arc. But that’s not enough solid evidence for that specific one yet.

Also keep in mind that we haven't seen him express any of these languages to anyone else either.

There is one language we do have solid proof for, and of course that's physical touch.

While no, it's not proof that features Yor or even Anya.

We both hear and see it when it comes to his mother.

He explicitly states that he loved being held by her.

While this story was meant to show his mother's strength as a person, it confirms that loving physical touch was a large part of his childhood

Because he remembers it

Twilight remembers loving being held by her.

He can't remember her face, or his father's face, and is even flustered and confused after his PTSD flashback when he was unconscious. His memories are covered in trauma, and I believe one of the only reasons why he can remember what his friends looked like are because he saw them later in life.

It's hinted that he remembers very little of his childhood - likely due to the trauma.

But his mother holding him stayed with him.

Physical touch was an influential thing during his childhood.

Like Yor's love language during hers.

I would really like to believe that we'll see him learn to love touch again when he finally learns to accept his emotions, and in turn, his "weaknesses" (which will likely be turned to strengths).

And Yor being strong, a trait he remembers of his mother, only strengthens my theory that he'll learn to love physical touch again.

Because, he'll once again be able to know that everything is fine when he's holding her - just as he felt with his mother.

[fatuismooches]

Sobbing rn I just got hit with the cutest hurt/comfort idea for fragile!reader and Dottore

(The hurt in this instance is just fragile!reader's self deprecating inner monologue 😭)

What if reader was the sort who fussed over their appearance a lot? In the Akademiya they wouldn't be caught dead with dark circles under their eyes or having their hair messy.

Even if they did pull all nighters for a project, they always found time to put just a little bit of make-up on to lighten up their eyebags, and always had a simple yet neat hairstyle in mind in times they're in a rush.

They might be perishing from all the studies and assignments but they're going to look good doing it!

This made Reader and Zandik an even odder pair in the Akademiya. Reader who is always neat and in style, versus Zandik who just spent the whole night taking apart a ruin guard somewhere in Avidya Forest until the sun rose and he showed up as is.

That was one of the features Zandik found 'annoying' about Reader before they got together. Like - ugh they're so bubbly and energetic! They're running around everywhere and they're so chatty! Them with their— nice hair! And— pretty eyes, and those robes that actually fit them as if they were tailored! How pretentious of them— (he was down bad. Bro was coping with anger to bat away the feels)

But of course, that was all in the past. In the present, Reader can't take care of their appearance anymore. They couldn't even pick up a hairbrush, their joints ached horribly, they don't have the strength to hold something so light, they don't have the energy to do the basic care of untangling the strands of hair either.

They can't stand looking at their own reflection. That sense of 'wrongness' they couldn't fix, what they couldn't hide. How desperately they wanted to put just a little bit of blush at least, to give their skin some life with how sickeningly pale it was, no longer warm and saturated as it used to be.

They can't look at their eyes either. The greying, sagging bags beneath their lids was a taunt. No amount of sleep would get rid of them.

They can't wear outfits that were too elaborate. Their temperature fluctuated too much, a deathly cold beneath their skin, then a sudden spike in heat as if they were being scorched by the desert sun. They have to wear basic garments, comfortable without hindering layers to slow down their daily check-ups.

Reader is thankful for the segments caring for them, they really are. A segment brushing their hair while talking to them is a highlight of their day.

But... it wasn't the same.

Of course it wouldn't be, the segments were carers, nor stylists.

Still, the fact that they had no control over their appearance and presentation had their mental state withering.

Dottore noticed this. How withdrawn his dear had become. They had their days of silence, yes... but this was more sombre than usual.

He concludes that their illness was flaring up again, and that they were masking their pain instead of consulting with him. He comes to their room of course, his current duties be damned (not that he could've been productive even if he had wanted to, the Segments were restless and shrinking away from their tasks, their darling's current disposition bothered them.)

Opening the door slightly to enter, he sees them blankly staring at their reflection, prodding a finger on their prominent eyebags, rubbing their cheek to see if it would redden.

Ah... how could he had forgotten that. They were once very particular of how they looked. He should have known this possibility, witnessing their own sickly reflection would be distressing...

[The Crow visits a certain Dove. Despite how stiff and vague the Doctor had been with his words, the Damsalette only tittered in understanding, and imparted the knowledge he was seeking.]

The next day, Reader is sat on their vanity, waiting for a Segment to tend to them (always with a little bit of struggle to walk in the morning, but it's the least they could do to be less of an inconvenience already.)

The minutes tick by... he's late. Did something happen?

More time goes by, and they become more worried. They were about to get up and search before the door creaks open.

Zandik...? And he's carrying a... why does he have a bag?

They have plenty of questions. Why the late arrival? What was in the bag? Why was Zandik himself here?

Before they could ask all of this, however, he sets the small bag down on the vanity. He riffles through it... are those make-up brushes?

Wait, make-up?

The next half-hour was spent in stunned silence for Reader's part, Zandik was silent as well out of careful concentration. Gently applying everything, his touch on the brush strokes and blending soft... applying gloss on their lips.

Once Zandik moves on to their hair, they finally catch a glimpse of their reflection. Their cheeks were rosey, the dark circles under their eyes concealed, their lips no longer appearing dry, and instead plump and shimmering.

Oh.

... they almost looked like the way they were before their illness.

Almost.

But it was enough.

(Reader tries so hard not to cry. Fighting back tears, not wanting to ruin the make-up Zandik so diligently applied. Once Zandik was finished with their hair... they may have hiccuped a little bit.)

They may no longer have that upbeat energy they once boasted... but it was comforting to see their old reflection once again. It had been far too long.

You know, I really love this ask because my whole life I've pretty much never used make-up even though I want to so having Dottie do it for me heals me a bit. Also, I'm not very knowledgeable on it so apologies if anything is wrong. Okay, I'm done. 🤏

In all honesty, Dottore was never one to care much for outward looks but he has to admit that you still always manage to look good despite all of the work from school plus all of the work you help with for his experiments, plus... literally everything life throws at you. Yet you still bounce back like it was nothing. The scholar still had not discovered your secret to this yet despite observing you for so long, which furthered his interest in you even though he didn't admit it.

Zandik did maintain his appearance, to an extent of course as he didn't go out of his way to look great, but nothing compared to the effort you put in. So while he did look presentable most of the time, there have been quite a few times you made him late to class because there was no way you were going to let him out looking like that. You don't regret it, even when you get weird looks from the other students. Being 'odd' with your equally as odd lover was nothing to worry about, in your humble opinion.

Although Zandik couldn't hope to understand your strange nature, always mumbling under his breath about you while you laughed at his comments, he also couldn't help but enjoy being around you. You kept him on his toes (your words, not his.)

Unfortunately, this nature and style of yours gradually dissipated into nothing when your illness struck. At first, you refused to accept it, pushing yourself to do what you usually did but soon enough you realized that it simply wasn't going to work out. You had all these tools and resources and options in front of you but you couldn't use them anymore. The self-consciousness only grew more and more each day as you struggled to see yourself as beautiful - struggled to see yourself as a person Dottore would find beautiful.

Of course, your gratitude to the segments couldn't be properly expressed or put into words. You quite literally wouldn't be here without them. However, it is still incredibly demoralizing to be unable to do what you once loved. You really did love them, but... it wasn't enough.

Dottore, despite spending much time in his lab or elsewhere, still kept tabs on you of course. Not just as your doctor, but as your lover, it was important. He had seen you at your lowest numerous times before, comforting you through the worst moments, and he was angered - not at you of course, but rather at himself for being unable to do anything that would be enough for you. Yet he continued, even when you hid yourself from him.

This time, however, maybe the scientist could do a bit more. He doesn't particularly... approve of the Third, or your "friend", but she's far more knowledgeable in this area than he'll ever be. Thankfully, she didn't tease him too much, knowing of your current state.

Dottore had never been one to take much interest in your make-up or style, preferring to simply watch as you worked your magic. So seeing him walk in with make-up makes you think you're still dreaming. (You remember laughing at his segment's various fashion tastes when you woke up though.)

The questions die on your lips the moment he lays everything out and the soft brush tickles your face, not to mention how he's obviously inexperienced yet he's still doing a good job. A part of you aren't surprised because of course he'd be skilled at most things, but still, you thought Celestia would sooner fall on Teyvat than Dottore do your make-up for you. Slowly, you watch as he transforms your face into something that was once dearly familiar.

It's not the same. It may never be. But it's more than enough for you, to revisit the old days that you loved so much. You fear you may cry full-on if you speak, so a simple kiss on your husband's face will have to do.

But regardless of what you look like, no matter how much your body and looks will change, Zandik will always view you as the most beautiful creation on this planet.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! In one of your previous posts you mentioned the game purposefully hiding the faces of figures who play a significant role in each OB boy’s trauma. So do you think this applies to Idia's parents as well (they have masks to cover their faces and they don't even have separate sprites but the default STYX members' sprites)?

[Referencing this post!]

There’s a lot to unpack here, so I’ve put my thoughts under the cut!! I hope you enjoy reading ^^

***Note: Many spoilers for books 6 + 7 of the main story!!***

I definitely wouldn’t put the Shroud parents into the same category as like… Mrs. Rosehearts, who was basically the origin from which other issues stemmed. The Shroud parents themselves were not the “root cause” for Idia’s trauma, the “cause” was Ortho’s death and Idia feeling immense guilt and shame about it. Not once has Idia blamed his parents or implicated them for this misfortune (not counting the Shroud curse, which is really the fault of their ancestors and not the Shroud parents in particular). I guess where some fans feel there is an issue is the implication that the Shroud parents did not seem to be there emotionally for Idia or offer him healthy coping mechanisms for his issue??

Before I give my thoughts on why the Shroud mom and dad obscure their faces (and how this does or doesn’t fit into the “purposefully obscuring the faces of those significantly related to each boy’s trauma), allow me to offer a different perspective to those who find fault with Idia’s parents. Firstly, consider that we know very little about the period of time between Ortho’s death leading up to Idia enrolling at NRC. Even then, most of what we know of this period comes directly from Idia, which provides us with a biased and limited perspective. Idia views most things negatively and does not seem close with his parents, so it makes sense that he would describe them in an inflated and unflattering way.

I think where a lot of the initial thoughts about the Shrouds being bad parents (a sentiment I myself had prior to their book 7 reveals) predominantly comes from them not being present in Idia’s post-OB flashback and Idia stating that his parents care more about results than their son’s feelings. We also learn from later that the family used to go out a lot as a group, but those trips stopped after Ortho died. These heavily imply his mom and dad were not there for Idia after the… incident. But let’s back up for a moment; where does the flashback pick up after Ortho died? Over two years later. That’s a large gap to not be knowing what the Shroud parents were doing during it. The STYX employees present also state that Idia has “completely withdrawn” ever losing Ortho, and this could be inclusive of the parents. So… we don’t really know for sure if, during this expanse of 2 years, the parents never made an effort to reach out. Even if they did, it seems highly likely that Idia rejected them. It’s possible that the flashback didn’t feature the parents because Idia largely shut them out of his life or did not deem them to be deeply linked to his trauma; he laments only the general family curse and the loss of Ortho, he does not direct hate at either parent in the flashback.

What we also have to remember is that it wasn’t just Idia that lost a brother that terrible day. Mr. and Mrs. Shroud their sons; Ortho literally (he passed away) and Idia figuratively (as he started to emotionally distance and isolate himself). That’s tough for any parent, but the world cannot stop for them just because they experienced a tragedy. Unfortunately, life moves on and the Shroud parents are in such important positions that they need to work. This is especially true of Mr. Shroud, who oversees all of STYX operations and is burdened with a curse that demands he constantly be surrounded by blot or else the curse will start to chip away at his own magical energy. They need to do this while juggling their own sadness over losing Ortho. There’s only so much time the Shroud parents can try to comfort Idia when they have work, their own emotional trauma to work through, and their surviving son who doesn’t seem to welcome any efforts they put in. You could even theorize that the Shroud parents (particularly the dad) threw themselves into work to try and bury their own feelings. The Shrouds do obviously have a responsibility to Idia as his parents, but parenting is not so easy of a task. They’re still individuals who have other things to balance alongside parenting and they realistically cannot dedicate 100% of their time or energy to Idia.

Now, please do not misunderstand me. I don’t want my words to come off like I’m pointing fingers or victim blaming. What I’m trying to say here is that it isn’t Idia OR his parents’ fault that they grew distant; to me, both parties were busy dealing with their own complicated emotions and their coping methods didn’t seem to align (because different people can have very different trauma responses) and ended up hurting Idia even more in the end. Making mistakes is human and normal. We've seen other characters also falter with their past actions and what they were or were not able to do at the time (Trey not standing up for or to Riddle, Lilia acting callously towards his children, etc.). This by itself is NOT necessarily a bad thing or something to hate on them for; I'd argue that what matters much more is how those matters were dealt with and what the results of those efforts have been. In the case of the Shroud parents, they do not appear to have bad blood with Idia or Ortho in modern day and the game has really done little to indicate that the Shroud parents should be viewed in a morally grey light. They've welcomed Ortho as a part of their family, openly refer to him like a third son, supported his official enrollment as a NRC student, and worry about his safety when Ortho tries to rush headfirst into danger. As for Idia, though he sometimes grumbles about his parents and tends to their actions as coming from a place of not caring, his peers have pointed out that being scolded is proof of his parents’ love for him. For example, Idia complains that his parents have sent him back to NRC so they don’t have to deal with a “nuisance” like him. He also says that there has been public interest in STYX and demand for accountability, which has specifically put his father under fire. We could view the situation like Idia has—that has parents wanted him out of their way. However, as Rook so tactfully pointed out, Idia’s parents must hold deep affection for him. This implies that the Shrouds chose to send Idia back to school for his own safety, and Mr. Shroud was willing to take the full brunt of the heat himself rather than let people suspect his son, whom Mr. Shroud must know is socially anxious. Idia has plenty of other stories about how his parents punished him for dangerous tech modifications he made, and how they’d take away his gadgets as punishment. Again, because they care about their children and their safety, even if they (especially his more stern and work-oriented father) may not show it in conventionally affectionate ways. Idia has pessimistic views that color his parents as annoying and isn’t as close to them anymore as he used to be, but this doesn’t condemn the Shrouds to the eternal hall of bad parents who never ever learn or refuse to change their ways.

Now, about their outfits! Mr. and Mrs. Shroud wear the same robes as NPC staff at STYX. This much is true!! … But I don’t think there is any deep meaning in this, seeing as Idia too wears the same robes?? I believe this is just the default work uniform for STYX researchers, regardless of the position they’re in (so this uniform detail does not technically contribute to the “intentional obscuring” of the Shroud parents’ designs).

We don’t really know what the reason for them wearing the helmets is, and nor is there very strong implication as to why. There have been plenty of fan speculations and theories including but not limited to: special personal protective equipment, magical enhancement gear, general Shroud family shyness, cost/time saving measure for the devs, etc. I can’t really say one way or another which is the “most correct” idea 🤷‍♂️

What I will say is that I do not think there was an intent to hide the Shroud parents’ faces for the same reasons that Mrs. Rosehearts’ face was. Why? Well:

Their faces are not censored in the same way as Mrs. Rosehearts was in the manga; she has her face shaded out by black, but we can still see the details of her outfit. The Shrouds, meanwhile are making the conscious decision to wear helmets—and highly personalized helmets at that. (Mr. Shroud’s helmet is different in colors and design than Mrs. Shroud’s.) This indicates individuality and wanting to make the Shroud parents stand out, not to homogenize them as anonymous black blots at which the OB boys’ trauma finds its roots.

To build off of my previous point, the comment about purposefully obscuring the face of the "source" of Riddle's trauma was ONLY said in the context of the manga, NOT the game. Therefore, in-game assets cannot be considered reliable for "the Shroud parents wear helmets to hise their faces; hidden faces = source of an OB boy's trauma" theory. If you doubt this, then please refer to each boy’s post-OB flashback. In the game, it is not just the sources of their trauma that are blotted out in black, it is literally every character (even the ones with positive memories or experiences associated with them). This includes Trey and Che’nya, whose younger form faces ARE openly depicted in the manga. So again, the “obscuring the faces of characters who are major trauma sources” thing only applies to the manga and the game does not follow this.

The Shrouds are largely depicted in a positive light. The negative aspects of them tend to come from Idia, who tends to have a pessimistic slant to his perception of the world and other people.

Idia’s personal accounts and even his post-OB flashbacks do not attribute or credit his parents for any aspect of his trauma. Much of the guilt and shame he feels is self-imposed and directed at himself.

As I’ve pointed out earlier in this post, we are assuming a lot of things about what happened in Idia’s life following Ortho’s death. The downside to this is that it doesn’t grant the parents any grace and takes everything we see (as little as it is) at face value without considering alternatives or how the parents could have changed in recent years.

Again, we don’t have a lot of information on why the Shrouds wear the helmets. I don’t think it’s wise to assume it’s for a bad reason when most of the canon has indicated we are supposed to “like” the Shrouds (or, at the very least, they’re supposed to be “redeemed” compared to the initially negative comment we were given of them).

In conclusion: no, I don’t think Idia’s parents are wearing their helmets because they’re associated with their son’s trauma. To me, the helmets feel like something they must wear for some in-universe purpose such as additional protection or to indicate their role within the organization.

[balioc]

I have a beard, of a particular slightly-distinctive style. I've had that same beard for the entirety of my adult life.

This is, obviously, the most contingent kind of fact about me. If I wanted to shave it off, or to style it differently, I could do so right now with zero difficulty. It's not a cultural signifier, or a marker of group belonging, or anything; even to me, it doesn't really mean anything other than "this is a symbol of me-the-person because it is associated with me because I have it." I started cultivating it in mid-adolescence for ephemeral irrelevant reasons, and kept it going basically out of inertia.

Nonetheless: it is really important to me. Like, really really important.

I basically cannot use character-creators or avatar-generators of any sort unless they have appropriate-enough beard options. When I contemplate getting rid of the beard...well, based on the way other people use the term, I think that the appropriate word for the feeling I get from that is dysphoria. During a brief period when I thought that I might have to get rid of the beard for medical reasons, I seriously considered wearing some kind of full-face leper mask whenever I left the house, because the thought of hiding my face from the world forever made me less unhappy than the thought of having people see me clean-shaven.

And, crucially, this affects my ability to Identify With People in literature and media. I am about 900% more likely to have an "it me" mental reflex if the character in question has a Beard Like Mine, regardless of whether there's any actual substantive commonality or grounds-for-sympathy there. I can control this with deliberate effort, but -- it takes deliberate effort. This phenomenon has probably had some measurable effect on my personality and philosophy, simply by causing me to identify or not-identify with potentially-high-impact characters in a subconscious (or conscious) way.

For example: I basically always see elves as Other and Not-Me, because elves are usually portrayed as the Beardless People, even if there are all sorts of obvious reasons to map myself onto a particular elvish character or elvish culture. Which there often are!

You might be inclined to say that this is, uh, stupid. I wouldn't blame you. It is, at the least, definitely very irrational; it's an aggressively hypertrophied bit of mental DNA, the sort of thing that you might fairly-if-uncharitably call a "psychic cancer." But of course it's never going to change, because the phenomenon operates deep down on the level of appreciative impulses and happy-buttons, which are mostly impervious to reason. (Assuming that you're inclined to try and alter them through reason, which is usually not worth the effort even when it can work.)

----------

It's not actually a problem for me that beard-related neurosis prevents me from identifying with elves. Not much of a problem, anyway. I guess I lose out on some cool Line of Feanor feels.

But I can imagine it being a problem. I can imagine the world in which the cool resonant myth that everyone cares about, the thing around which you want to build big chunks of your identity, has only elves with whom to identify. I can imagine the world in which all the cool smart people I want to be my friends are endlessly talking about their elfsonas.

And, y'know, in that hypothetical world, there's a few different ways I could react. I could say "fuck you, fantasy myth is for losers." I could be a mythic entrepreneur, and aggressively push my own homegrown stories featuring dwarves and ogres and other beardy folk. I could try to [shudder] map myself onto a beardless elf in my mind, and let that image occupy space in my fantasies, and hope that the revulsion and dissonance don't tear me apart. I could just be kinda sad about it all.

Or I could say: Hey, guys, could we maybe just agree that elves can have beards? Since they're made up and all, and their beardlessness doesn't even really matter to the myth anyway?

If I were so inclined, I could even follow that up with: Look, this is a really big deal for me. I'm pretty sure it's a much bigger deal for me than it is for any of you. That would be 100% honest.

And I imagine that many people would respond: What? No. Ew. The elf stories have clear lore and a well-defined aesthetic, and you're proposing to shit all over them with your weird beard nonsense. You don't get to do that; you don't get to make the akashic commons worse for your own private benefit; it doesn't matter what your reasons are. Play by the rules, or go play another game.

I would have a lot of sympathy for those people.

----------

(Yes, yes, I know, Cirdan the Shipwright, don't @ me.)

----------

There are, of course, lessons in this. Perhaps I will spell them out in another post, soon, if I find myself feeling less tired and cranky. But for now: he who has ears to hear, let him hear.

[anxiteyandsleep]

I'm so sorry if I made you flustered about the smut question- didn't mean to! 🫢🫣😆

Okay so I'm gonna try and request this: 🙏

Could I please request Thranduil x Male reader who's this tall and buffed tiefling (big horns, long strong tail) who looks scary asf but is actually a total sweetheart? He only looks intimidating bc he's always wearing his armor, covers his face with a cloth/a mask, has dark makeup around his eyes and basically looks like a fricking demon?

He wears a cloth/a mask around his mouth bc he has a big open scar on his cheek (naaah nothing too graphic he just can do this trick with food where when you're facing his healthy side he sticks a carrot into the opening (scar) on the other side and chews without even opening his lips- totally normal- he did it in front of Legolas once and that poor child didn't sleep for a week). He's not ashamed of it, he just doesn't like the stares.

Even tho I'm as old as the first LOTR movie I only just now became a fan and I saw that Thranduil has an injury on his face as well (but hidden) so that got me thinking...

Maybe reader and Thranduil are a couple (reader was treated badly for being a barbarian tiefling -> not by Thranduil <- but proved himself when he saved him) and he then made reader his personal guard, became friends and then lovers.

Thranduil is curious about reader hiding his face but never pushes him to uncover himself (Like why are you hidding yourself from me hmm? Why don't you kiss me? Your other facial features are gorgeous asf, for a tiefling barbarian who rips goblins in half with his bare hands you could even compete with some elves I know-).

One day Thranduil has some issues with his own injury which reader sees and comes to his aid, Thranduil is embarrassed and nearly breaks down, tears fill his eyes bc his love saw his hideous face and is afraid he will leave him (god I'm so bad at romance bro) but reader just chuckles, takes the cloth/mask from his face and shows Thranduil his own injury.

Now they both have scars! They know each other struggles! And they love each other like never before! Happy ending- No but really, angst with fluffy comfort for our two boys and mainly for the elf himself, he needs the love.

Maybe even emotional way back to their shared bedroom by sunset all lovely dovely bc why dafuq not- just Thranduil giggling kicking his feet and twirling his hair as he's princess carried-

Jesus...I got way too into this. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Sorry for it being so long, I honestly don't know how to write short requests...also sorry for any mistakes, english is my second language.

Add something, remove something, it's up to you. You don't even have to write it if you hate it or you're not comfy with it. 😘😘

This is adorable ahhh and dw you didn't make me embarrassed or anything! I may have missed some details, this was written over the course of multiple days with very little sleep😭

I included my head canon that Thranduil is blind in his one eye from the dragon fire, as well as that when low on energy he can't keep the disguise up.

Slight TW for blood, scars and such???

It has been almost a year since you and Thranduil had started dating, you were his personal guard and beloved boyfriend, he adored you so much. He never knew why you hid your face but he didn't pry, especially considering he hides his face in a way too.

Thranduil had always been impressed by you, a strong tiefling with a kind soul, much like a gentle giant. Sure you were rather... Gruesome in battle, using your bare hands to fight and always returning covered in blood and gore. It was truly terrifying but Thranduil loved it, especially after you had saved him from a spider attack.

Today, however, Thranduil was hiding away from his beloved barbarian, tucked away in his room with nothing but a small candle dimly lighting the room. He had overworked himself again, his head was aching and he had no energy left to maintain his disguise, the burnt skin and muscle visible, a sight he despised.

When you heard that Thranduil was taking the day off and locked himself in his room, you grew worried. He's never done that before, usually on his days off he spends them with you, taking a walk through the garden or getting some much needed sleep. So of course you immediately went to check on him, making your way to your shared bedroom.

"Thranduil? Are you alright? I heard the guards say you weren't feeling well and I-" you fell silent as you entered the bedroom, squinting as you adjusted to the dim light but you knew exactly what you saw. You never knew Thranduil had such a scar, it covered the left half of his face and his eye was completely white.

Thranduil had to turn his head completely to actually see you, quickly attempting to cover up the scar but alas, he couldn't manage to use his magic in such a state. He never wanted you to see this side or him, he wanted to keep this horrid scar hidden from you.

"(Name)... What... What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on patrol?" He managed to get out, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his usual tone but his voice still sounded shaky. Perhaps if he didn't bring attention to the scar, you would just ignore it as well

"I just got back, my love..." You replied, slowly walking closer to Thranduil, head tilted slightly in curiosity as you examined the scar. When you reached the edge of the bed, you knelt down before him, resting your chin on his legs. "is that from the dragon you faced?"

Thranduil sighed softly, closing his eyes as he couldn't bare to look at you, afraid he'd see disgust in your eyes. "yes...I managed to survive but..." He vaguely gestured to the scar, shaking his head slightly. Thranduil finally opened his eyes again when he felt your strong hands holding his, the touch was so gentle and caring, he just had to see you.

The way you were looking at him surprised him, your eyes were full so of love and admiration, it made his heart swell.

"We kinda match" you hum in a soft whisper, reaching up to remove the mask you always wore and revealing your own scar. You weren't ashamed of it, you mostly hid it for everyone's comfort as the sight of your open cheek often made people uneasy and you hated the looks they'd give you.

it was now Thranduil's turn to stare in awe, one of his delicate hands reaching up to gently trace around the scar, his fingers soft and gentle as always. "hm I suppose we do, my love" he replied softly his hand trailing up to gently trace over your horns, following the pattern and ridges of them.

"forgive me for keeping this from you... I... I do not like people seeing me in such a state but I should've told you" Thranduil apologized, moving his hands back to gently cup your face, being careful to not disturb the scar

You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning into his touch while your tail wagged slightly. "there's no need to apologize, I kept a secret from you too"

Thranduil felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, the stress slowly melting away as he held you in his hands. "Well now that we both have told the truth, how about we rest?" He whispered sweetly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, one you eagerly returned.

Without breaking the kiss, you got off your knees, cradling the back of Thranduils neck with one of your hands. You kicked off your boots, accidentally sending one flying across the room but you didn't care. "a nap sounds good, yeah" you muttered against his lips as you carefully push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to continue the kiss.

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk. "My love, this is not napping ~" he didn't really mind as you continued to pamper him with kisses, his delicate hands reaching up to gently tangle themselves in your hair.

"mm we'll nap after, then"

[hyperfixatedfandomer]

@little-box-of-autism I’m posting this ask as an image because I posted the draft before it was done teehe 🤭 anyway, enjoyyyy💅✨ also this is a full-sized one-shot now so if you want a bit of context — feel free to read the headcannon list for how Spider’s dynamic with one of the Sullys would look like if they were to be caught by the RDA together.

An outcast and a coward (Spider caught with Neteyam AU)

.

“-And then he rose out of the water like some goddamn hydra and pulled me into the pond! But then I remembered about the mask so it was fine, and then we fought with Fike and Mansk but of course I won because I mean — look at me” Spider grinned sarcastically, flexing his biceps as he told Neteyam the story of what happened while he went to fish with half of the recom squad as the younger Na'vi was given the assignment of finding twigs for the fire with another group. In his excitement, the blonde failed to notice the irritation slowly creeping into Neteyam's features.

“You had a lot of fun today, haven’t you?”

“Uh huh” Spdier nodded innocently, smiling. “Turns out Miles knows how to relax after all, and he's almost bearable to be around when he is!”

“You're calling him by his first name now?” Once again, a small red flag popped up in the form of Neteyam's slightly malicious tone, but his brother missed it all the same.

“Well yeah, can't keep on calling him sir. He's not my boss or granpa, it gets awkward.”

“Yeah, real awkward...”

Finally, the human had caught on. “...is something wrong? Was Lopez being an asshole to you again?” He asked with a hint of protectiveness.

“What? No, no....I just....I don't know..” now that Teyam was forced to face the topic thst has been bothering him head on, he felt sort of uncomfortable addressing it for a reason he didn't understand. “I know we can't get on the nerves of these pricks all the time but..aren't you getting a little too friendly with the colonel?”

Spider stopped, confused and at the insinuation. “...What are you talking about? I'm not being friends with him I'm just...well, trying to make this whole captivity thing more manageable. You said it yourself: we can't just be rude all the time, it grows old and gets on their nerves...”

“That is not what I-Spider” Neteyam leaned forward to make sure that the recoms at the camp didn't hear them, as they stood on the outskirts. “These avatars are looking for our family. They want to hunt down and kill my father. You can't play house with them just because they give us basic respect.”

“"play house"?? I'm just trying to be civil! I'm sorry if I don't feel like walking around handcuffed all day!”

“Is that what you call being "civil"? Playing games and acting all cute with a literal coloniser??” Neteyam's face morphed into a frown as he seemed to be letting out an emotion he's been holding in for a long time, and seeing it made Spider feel only more agitated at his accusations. Why did this moron have to bottle everything up until it spilled over? The blonde thought, ignoring the fact that he acted the same way.

“God, so what if I had one nice moment with-“

“Don't give me that.” Neteyam cut the boy off with an edge to his words similar to Neytiri's. “You've been doing nothing but batting your eyelashes at him for like, two weeks now.” The Na'vi spat as his buried anger bubbled to the surface. “For Eywa's sake I saw him pat you on the head yesterday and you practically melted into a puddle! Does it really feel that nice to have a murderer coddle you?” Young warrior's voice was cold as his accent thickened, a feature that appeared when he was getting furious.

It cut Spider like a knife as he felt embarrassment creep up his spine, painting his cheeks red. He was trying to play it cool as best as he could, he really did. But if Neteyam noticed, did the recoms too? Did Quartich? He thought he saw him hide a smile in that moment. God, how pathetic.

“Have you forgotten what they’re after??”

“N-no I-”

“So you have no shame then??” Neteyam raised his voice in a scolding tone, attracting the attention of some recoms in the distance, but they could still barely hear the conversation. “They’re reborn murderers. That man is responsible for destroying Hometree and you sag into his touch like a stray kitten??” Neteyam watched as Spider’s shoulders dropped with his every word, but couldn’t stop himself.

For weeks on end Teyam had been living in fear that tomorrow will be the day his father will die right in front of him, the day his family will fall appart and he couldn’t keep it in any longer, couldn’t watch Spider’s treacherous behaviour.

“Well, alright, it wasn’t really him who destroyed Hometree. That Quartich is dead and had been for years, this guy is just a clone.” Spider tried to explain himself, but realised that it was a very bad decision to make as Neteyam’s face stilled in shock.

“I-what I’m saying is-he’s still a humongous piece of shit but…but he could change. Eywa recognised him when she gave him an ikran, so he he can connect to her, he can learn, he could see. He’s not a lost cause and I just…I guess what I’m trying to say is…maybe if I try hard enough…maybe he could…y’know…switch sides? And then maybe no one will have to die?”

The silence was heavy with tension as Teyam stared into Spider’s soul.

…

“Are you shitting me?” He spat, and Spider could already tell this was going to end badly. Neteyam had that menacing low tone that usually expanded into yelling as he slowly opened the pandora’s box and let his emotions take hold of him. “You’re excusing him??” He pointed towards the colonel in the distance, who was coming back from the river with Fike, still in a good mood from interacting with Spider.

“Wha-NO! I would never excuse his actions, but he’s not that man!” The blonde tried desperately to defend himself. This is not what the meant.

“Did he tell you that? Are you just taking his word for it now!?” The Na’vi boy yelled and now everyone in the camp were staring at the two, but he payed them no mind. “What else did he tell you, huh? What other lies have you picked up??”

“None! Jesus Teyam I’m just trying to put things into perspective!”

“He is a genocidal maniac!! There is no perspective!!! Why are you so fucking hellbent on-oh.” The warrior stopped in the middle of his lecture, fury crossing his face. “It’s because of your blood isn’t it.”

Oh no. No no no.

“All these years of teaching you about that monster’s atrocities and yet you crawled back to him the second he showed up on our doorstep? Well aren’t you loyal to a fault.” He snarled, sarcasm oozing from his words.

Spider’s voice shook. He could never be loyal to him, what would make the Na’vi even think that? “Neteyam-”

“You were one of us and yet no matter how widely we opened our arms to you, you still chose them!?”

“I did not—”

“I’d call you a traitor but that wouldn’t be true would it? You were always on their side.” Neteyam was being paranoid at this point, but Spider didn’t know how to calm him, didn’t knew how to get through to the boy through his anger and Spider’s own terrified beating heart, but the next sentence made him freeze into a statue.

“Mother was right.” Neteyam growled. “You really are a demon, no better than him.”

The recoms have caught onto their argument, but stayed dead silent in shock of what they’ve just heard. Miles was frankly at a loss for words. What made the blue brat act so aggressively? How was the colonel suppose to react? He looked at the corporal in search of any kind of advice, but he had none and only put his hand on Quaritch’s shoulder in a sign of ‘this is their business, not ours. It’ll be a bad call to intervene.’

The blonde, meanwhile, didn’t even breathe as his heart shattered into tiny pieces. He heard the villagers at high camp whisper these words, but he never expected Neteyam to join in.

How did it even come to this? Long ago, they used to be such close friends, almost inseparable.

And now his old friend was calling him a demon.

Tears formed at the corners of the kid’s eyes as he stared back at Neteyam, trying to process the words he had heard and as they truly sank in, amongst the shame and the heartbreak, an old, long buried feeling began boiling his blood. The silence between the two was deafening.

Spider looked like he was desperately searching for something, until his mind, which was currently running in circles around the hurtful things Neteyam had said, settled on a sentence.

“ "wide open arms"? When did that happen?” His voice was suspiciously calm, so calm in fact it caught the younger boy off-guard as the snarl disappeared from his face.

“What?”

“You said the Ometekaya had accepted me with wide open arms. When did that happen?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I’m asking you a question. When did the Omatekaya accept me? Because I don’t remember that happening.”

The kid looked up at Neteyam, tear tracks on his cheeks and eyes filled with hurt the Na’vi had never seen before. “In fact, last time I checked, I was just a stray animal, an annoying, dirty waste of space to the clan and the family.” His breathing hitched. “I spent years trying to prove myself. Never talking back, never responding to the hurtful things said behind my back, always turning the other cheek in hopes that one day I won’t be hated anymore.” New tears poured down as Spider slowly, painfully opened up.

“…Spider…” Neteyam stood shocked, starting to regret his previous words. When was the last time he saw Spider cry? It must have been at least a decade. He looked so vulnerable like this, so much smaller than he actually was as his defences got torn down.

“I tried, I really did, to make the clan proud, to make them see I could be worthy, and when they called me a stray, an intruder, a-a murderer in the making, I kept my head down. I tho-ught…” he sobbed. “I thought if I just made myself as convenient as possible. Maybe….maybe….you would finally recognise me again…”

The younger Na’vi stood lost for words as his heart skipped several beats and the memories he kept at bay for almost half a decade began washing over him in waves.

He recalled the day his mother, Neytiri, made it clear she did not want an heir to the Olo’teykan and a "potential killer" hanging out together. Neteyam tried going up against her before, but this time her words felt final. He took her side that day, when Spider cried and defied her, yelling with a broken, small voice that they would keep being brothers no matter what, because it was a vow they gave one another years prior, when they were only babies.

He never kept that promise and the two of them never had a proper conversation afterwards. Neteyam felt too guilty to confront the human boy, so he just pretended like they were mere acquaintances.

And he did so for years.

Until recently, that is.

Just this morning, that day felt like a hundred years ago but now, as Teyam relived that argument in his mind, it looked like it had only happened yesterday. Like Neteyam had only abandoned Spider 24 hours ago.

“But I see it now…that you never even wanted to. Not you, not miss Sully, not Mister Sully, and not the clan. You turned your backs when I made a good deed but pointed at me at the slightest mistake. You only saw me for my failures, my ancestry and you never cared.” The na’vi boy never thought words could hurt this badly but they did, as guilt ate away at him and he watched the blonde fall appart more and more with every sentence.

“You cut me loose, all of you! And I was alone for so long and I’m sorry that I can’t find it in myself to hate him! I tried my best to stay away, I promise I did!!” He cried “But-but…he is the first grownup to see me…he doesn’t have to care, has no reason to…but he does ANYWAY! I KNOW ITS WRONG BUT…” a small sob escaped him as he took ragged breaths “I…I guess…I just…wanted…to know what it’s like…to not be alone anymore…even if it’s not real…even if it’s just for one tiny moment…”

Through the blur of his own tears, Spider saw the entire recom group stare at them, their ears pinned down in pity and shame overwhelmed him as he cursed and ran off, disappearing in the trees. No one dared to follow him.

Neteyam just stayed there, on the other hand, looking at the spot where his brother the blonde had stood, paralysed by the immense shame weighting down on his chest.

It was all his fault. He knew him all his life, he should have noticed, he should have seen that something was wrong, that the hurtful words and constant exclusion from the community stung no matter how well Spider hid it.

He should have fixed it.

He should have been there for him.

.

.

.

Author’s notes: Neteyam grasping with the fact that he had neglected Spider is low-key becoming my favorite thing ✨ I don’t usually write for him but tried my best to do it in character, especially with the whole "scolding Spider although he is older" thing. ALSO IM REALLY SORRY IF THIS WAS BADLY WRITTEN I TRIED REALLY HARD I SWEAR 😭😭😭

Should I make a part 2 where they talk it out tho? 🤨

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I'm writing a book with a lot of characters who have facial differences for various reasons, and there are two I was hoping to ask you about because I'm afraid they may be too trope-y due to how they are when the reader meets them.

One is a girl who had a traumatic injury as a baby that caused the forced removal of around half of her face, including the skull, meaning she's missing one eye, around a third of her jaw, one cheekbone- the scar goes from right next to her nose back to just in front of her right ear, up to just a touch above her hairline (where her face meets the crown of her head) to halfway down her neck, as if someone took a upward swing at her head with some kind of blade. This girl has a magical healing ability, which is how she survived the injury, and has received a few surgeries years after the fact to try and give her face a more normal shape, but cosmetics aren't something she's extremely interested in. It's her face and she's pretty used to it, she likes it, and if people want to freak out at the sight of her scar then that's on them and she'll laugh. Still, when the reader first meets her, she is covering her face, though not because of her facial difference. She has a noticeably nonhuman skin tone, indigo, that marks her as someone with strong magic and thus puts her in a lot of danger, so she covers her skin to keep people from trying to kill her. This mask also includes a kind of plastic face shield under the cloth part that gives her face a slightly more normal shape. She ditches both pretty quickly once she's in a safe situation where she won't be killed over her skin colour, but I'm still really worried she falls into the mask trope.

The other character has Williams Syndrome, a scar from a clef lip, a major scar that covers around 70% of her body, including part of her face, and her pupils are kind of foggy from her glaucoma, eyes not usually focusing which makes it kind of obvious she's nearly completely blind (retinopathy of prematurity and recurring glaucoma.) The thing about her is that, when she reader first meets her, she's used her shapeshifting to hide most of her facial difference (all except the features from her Williams Syndrome) because there's an emergency going on and she would rather not be interrogated about her face while trying to save someone's life. She loses control of her shapeshifting and goes back to her normal form, with her scars and all of that, while extremely angry at someone, which does shock the two people in the room who don't see her day-to-day and who don't know that this is what she usually looks like. As far as this character is concerned, her scars are something she takes pride in. Her Williams Syndrome is a fact of her life, as is her blindness, her cleft lip scar has been there for as long as she can remember, it's as unremarkable to her as her eyebrows, and the big scar is from the time she fought what was basically a god a few years back and won, and she takes pride in that one. She usually doesn't shapeshift this stuff away (other than changing her eyes just a bit, just enough to make it so that she isn't obviously blind because that puts a target on her back,) because she doesn't see a point in it.

There are several other characters with facial differences, both congenital and from injuries, including the main character who has Williams Syndrome, I just want to know if there's anything I need to change about these two. Thank you

Hi!

First things first - great to see you have multiple characters with FD! That makes a lot of difference for tropes. Even better to hear that they're diverse among themselves! Love to see that.

For the first character, it sounds fine! She doesn't use it for her scarring - I enjoy that you make it clear - and doesn't wear it all the time, or even the majority of it. If you want to be very safe, you can have a character who is also indigo and hides it, but without a facial difference - could be referenced only in passing, or even just a mention that it was a some other, FD-less character in the same situation as her that gave her the idea on how to hide it. But again, it sounds good - I think of it in the same way as a character with FD who is a knight or a surgeon who covers their face when necessary because that's what needed at the moment.

The second one is a bit more complicated but it's okay as well! First thing I thought of is to make sure what type (open, closed, congenital, etc.) of glaucoma she has, as not all of them change the outward appearance of the eye! Just something to keep in mind to not accidentally mix the congenital appearance with open-angle onset. But back to the question. It's nice that when she transforms she still keeps some of her disability's features! As for the "hiding" I think it can be okay if done occasionally/not constantly, and especially if it's actually somewhat addressed in the story - with how, for example, people pay way too much attention to people with FDs and that can be awkward and uncomfortable. Of course it doesn't have to be said like that, but the sentiment is real for a ton of visibly disabled people - sometimes you just want others to stop staring and mind their business. That's real. Just pay attention to not make it seem like it's the disability's fault, but it doesn't seem like you need that remainder. For the "reveal", this is the slightly complicated part. It's not bad, but I would just advise you to use words carefully. I would consider it an interesting scenario that could be possibly written in a pejorative way. Make sure to put the shock on the change in her appearance, not the fact that it's a scar (or, if that is what the other characters focus on, narrate it in a way that shows it's a reaction that this specific person has, not a reasonable reaction to that information). Having someone you know shape-shift into someone else in front of you is the horrifying part, not the fact that they have a scar! Last thing, in regard to her shapeshifting her eyes' appearance - most people are extremely bad at telling when someone is blind. I suppose that it depends on the culture and knowledge of the environment she's in, but just something to keep in mind.

I will admit that I was rather nitpicky in this answer because I still wanted to give some suggestions and input, and there just isn't anything major to critique. In most questions I get about FD there are usually many glaring issues that I try to help with, but your story... doesn't really have those. You seem to be careful and cautious in your writing of characters with facial differences and I appreciate this a lot! Consider my answer a suggestion on how to expand on your characters or story, not "fix" them.

I'm very pleasantly surprised and I hope I get to read more things like this! :) (smile emoji)

Mod Sasza

[muddy-water-1997]

𝖠𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌

𝖳𝖶: 𝖡𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 (𝖲𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒!), 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝗒, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝖥𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗑 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁!

Chapter 3- The Car

In the distance, you could hear muffled sounds of people arguing. The voices were raised, and the tone was tense. It was difficult to distinguish what they were saying, but the voice that had spoken up for you earlier was involved in the dispute, and time seemed to drag on as you waited for the commotion to subside. Eventually, the man returned to you, his pace gentle and unhurried. As you looked up at him, your senses slowly returned, and you realised the gravity of your situation.

"Follow me. We'll drop you off at the nearest emergency room. There's one on the way back to our hotel, which is…" he paused, thinking back to the conversation he'd just had at the car, "... an undisclosed location because you are strangers and I can't tell you that information." He seemed to nod at himself, proud that he had managed to keep that under wraps for the time being. 

"It seems like too much," your friend said as she looked at the man. Despite his deep voice not matching his pixie-like features, she felt comfortable around him. "Right, y/n? We can figure it out from here."

You wanted to respond, but you couldn't. It was either due to the bang to your head, the alcohol in your system, or the realisation that the man standing in front of you was Lee Felix. You didn't even try to form a sentence. Instead, you reacted instinctively and pinched your left forearm with your right hand, hoping to wake yourself up or snap out of the trance you found yourself in.

"Ow, fuck!" You exclaimed under your breath. The first words you had spoken since falling over. You heard your best friend sigh in disappointment from behind you, and a look of disbelief fell over Felix's face.

"Is she like this normally? She doesn't seem normal,"  Felix motioned for you to follow him to the waiting car. "It wouldn't be right for me to leave you in the middle of the road. Let us just drop you off so at least I know you're safe and not on the streets with a concussion." He gave a reassuring smile as you followed him down to the three large black SUVs waiting outside the arena you had just been in. "There's the crew in the first one, a few members in the second one, and then you guys can get in here with me, Seungmin, Changbin, and Bangchan." Felix was trying his hardest to make the situation seem lighter than it was. He had spotted the Skzoo attached to your bag the moment you fell, and it was clear you were STAY, but a part of him knew, despite the risks, that he couldn't just leave you in the street. 

He opened the sliding door of the SUV, which was blacked out. Inside were hooded men, all wearing face masks, presumably hiding their identities. You were grateful you had taught your friend basic Korean because when she touched your back and pushed you forward into a bow, you instinctively greeted the men with respect and a gentle hello in Korean. This gesture eased the tension around you, and Felix then guided you to the back of the vehicle. 

The dimly lit interior of the vehicle was filled with an atmosphere of exhaustion and weariness. Amid it all, a man's voice broke the silence, his words blunt and to the point. "Phones," he muttered, his hand stretching out towards me in a gesture of request. I couldn't tell if he was angry or simply drained from a long day, but his tone conveyed a sense of frustration and annoyance.

Felix's voice was tinged with frustration as he addressed the man, "Bin, one phone is dead, and the other is smashed to pieces. Why do you think I'm doing this for them?" As you sat in the dark car, straining to see the passengers, you could have sworn that you caught a glimpse of what you thought was an eye roll from Bin. The man turned around to face his seatmate and began speaking in rapid-fire Korean, the words flowing so quickly that you couldn't even pretend to understand what they were saying.

As you found yourself in an unexpected and surreal situation, you took a moment to gather your thoughts and assess the surroundings. It seemed that Changbin was eyeing your broken phone, Bangchan was sitting next to him, and Felix was sitting in front of you. However, you couldn't help but notice that Seungmin, who you expected to be sitting somewhere nearby, was nowhere to be found. As you scanned the area, you realised that the door to the SUV remained open, indicating that he must still be outside somewhere.

"Seungmin-ah!" Bangchan's voice boomed from the van, indicating it was time to leave. In no time, Seungmin appeared at the van door and climbed in. He paused when he saw you and your friend sitting behind Felix but refrained from asking questions. Seungmin quietly greeted you before taking his seat.

As the engine roared to life, the thick silence inside the car was almost palpable. The air was tense, and everyone was acutely aware of it. The quietness of the ride back from the concert was unusual, and it was clear that the passengers were not accustomed to it. After a few moments of awkward silence, Felix broke the ice and spoke up, his voice cutting through the stillness inside the vehicle.

Felix introduced you to the three members of his group. He pointed at each of them and said, "This is Bangchan, Changbin, and Seungmin." As you acknowledged them, you noticed that the two older men appeared cautious and distant while Seungmin was more open and welcoming.

Seungmin greeted you with enthusiasm, "Nice to meet you!" However, his eyes quickly locked on the large bump on your head, which was hard to ignore. Seungmin jokingly asked, "Did Felix Hyung beat you up?" and gave Felix a light push on the shoulder. The situation was becoming more surreal by the second, and it was clear that you couldn't avoid answering the question.

With a smile, you let out a sigh and shook your head. Despite the dryness in your throat that made it difficult to speak, you managed to voice your thoughts. "No, I just reminded myself why I don't drink," you said, feeling a pang of pain in your head. You reached up to touch the area that was throbbing, the discomfort increasing as the alcohol slowly left your system.

Your friend and Felix quickly reacted when they saw you touch your head. "Don't touch it," they both said in unison, with Felix gently catching a glimpse at the driver's cab's navigation system. "We don't want it getting infected. We'll be there soon, and you can get it checked over."

Seungmin also looked at the navigation system with confusion. "Dude, isn't the drive to the Hilton way longer than that?" he mused. "We're staying there for the next few weeks; I could have sworn-" But before he could finish his sentence, Changbin reached out and motioned for him to be quiet.

"Yah! Seungmin!" Changbin's voice was annoyed at the exposure of their schedule. "You just announced our schedule and location to two fans in the back of the van! I knew this was a bad idea." He muttered something to Chan, and as soon as the atmosphere had just changed to more relaxed, it switched with enough whiplash back to the tense one of before.

Bangchan picked up his phone, urgently speaking in Korean to someone on the other end. Meanwhile, Felix kept trying to intervene and soothe the situation. You turned to your friend with a look of concern on your face before speaking up.

"I mean, I didn't want to intrude. You can just let us out here and we will be on our way and pretend none of this happened." But your attempt at mediation went completely unnoticed amidst the chaotic atmosphere in the van.

The SUV did a swift 360, and you held onto your seat dearly. Locking eyes with Seungmin, he shoots you an apologetic look. 

“You’re not going to the emergency room tonight…” Felix says apologetically before turning back to the very intense Korean conversation happening between Bangchan and Changbin.

NEXT CHAPTER

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾? 𝖳𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾! 𝖬𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌! 

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖣𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝖣𝖬!

[theelderhazelnut]

Rise of The Villains: Darker than Black

Pairing: Quan Chi x F!OC

Warnings: Implied smut, references to suicide

Characters: Ombra, Quan Chi, and Kotal Kahn is mentioned.

Words Count: 969

Summary: After a tiring fight with one of the members of the cult, Quan Chi escorts Ombra to her room in Kotal Kahn’s palace. Ombra doesn’t want to hide behind her stoic facade anymore.

Author’s Note: So I got this idea for how their first kiss happens. I may apply changes to it in the main seires, but this is here anyways :). These two are madly in love.

Writing Taglist: @vivilovespink @scentedcandleibex @darialovesstuff @confidentandgood @spacestephh @takiisieju-moved @inafieldofdaisies @carlosoliveiraa @gearvmac @bloody-arty-myths @zoetheneko @hi-thisiszira @admin-pipes @mitsuko-saito @malewifefirestar @krysta-cross @elderglocks @cassietrn @breakfwest @imogenkol @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement @ninibear3000 @aceghosts @sinclxirx @gavincruikshanksexhusband @voidika @strangefable @cloudofbutterflies92 @bihanspookies @valyrra @simonxriley @thedeadthree @miserable-homo-momo @icecutioner

It wasn’t a good idea to let go of an ancient demon who cut your enemy’s throat just to see you smile. He never told me, but it was crystal clear to me that he did it for the exact same reason.

It wasn’t a good idea either to have him physically so close to me in Kotal Kahn’s chambers, but now I was ready to risk it all for him.

I grabbed his wrist.

“Please, stay.” A mumble was the loudest sound that leaked from my throat.

Quan Chi raised a brow, observing me curiously. Surely, he expected me to throw him out of my room before anyone saw us, however, he wasn’t shocked either. He knew I’d do anything for him to just look in my direction.

My heart beat faster. I needed him to stay. My stoic mask was gradually falling apart. I could no longer pretend that his intelligence and his charming manners didn’t impress me. I could no longer hide this fact that his tired, crimson eyes had become my whole world.

“A little bit longer?” I basically begged him.

“You changed your mind, I see.” His deep voice was calm and soft. His dark lips stretched into a tiny smile.

Did he know that I’d do anything to have that voice as the original soundtrack of my life? Of course. Seemingly, there was rarely anything he didn’t know about me.

“We have to talk.”

“As you wish, ma’am.” He gestured to the room.

I took his hands and led him to the small, dimmly lit chamber. His hands were warm, and on the opposite of his facial features, they were soft.

I led him to the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed as he observed the room curiously. I leaned against the wall, rubbing my fingers together a little too harshly.

“I…,” I lost my voice once he looked up at me. “I want you to stay with me. Not because I…-” I couldn’t believe I was actually going to admit that he is very intelligent, and insanely powerful. “Not because I need your help. I just want to have you by my side.” I could go mute at any moment, if I didn’t force myself to talk about my emotions.

Quan Chi walked up towards me. He wasn’t smirking this time. He was serious, but his facial features were calm and relaxed. He leaned his forearm on the wall above my head. I had to crane my kneck to be able to look at him in the eyes, and this height difference made me scream internally.

“Finally, I heard it.” He whispered. “You won’t ever escape me.”

I’d never escape him. In fact, this was the only chains I didn’t want to be free of. I was ready to submit to his heart, and for the first time, I found submission to be the water to my burning fire.

He leaned down slowly, and I stood on my tip toes. Our lips connected, and my breath stopped. The world went silent, and all that was important was the sensation of the tiny scars on his lips.

He interrupted the kiss, and smiled wholeheartedly before groping my waist and lifting me up. I gasped silently, and wrapped my legs around his hips. I looked at him with my eyes wide and my hands clueless in the air.

He smirked, and touched my cheek with his thumb. “Is that blush?”

Now we were playing.

I smirked back at him, and nodded proudly.

“Let’s see if it will intensify.” Quan Chi hunted my lips once again. This time he was hungry; just how I wanted him to be. I opened my mouth, but didn’t let him enter right away. A quiet moan left my throat once I felt his tongue. He abused the chance and explored what was his. Slowly, my hands found their ways arounf his neck. His muscles twitched, and it felt like a reward. To avenge, he slipped his hands under my shirt, and the contact sent a wave of shock throughout my body. My core throbbed harder that I thought he may feel it against him.

“You’re so delicious.” He smiled against my wet lips before planting a kiss on my throat. I let out another maon, this time louder. Immediately, I put a hand on my mouth. What was he doing to me? For the first time in a while, I wasn’t in control of my reactions. My body was behaving according to his will.

He chuckled a dark laugh. “I have waited so long for this moment,” He kissed my collarbone. “to show you how much I love you. To show you what you have done to me and my heart. You reminded me of what love tasted like. You brought my soul to life.”

I was speechless. The whirlwind of emotions obstructed my tongue. Me who never had a problem with speaking my mind and using my words to build a path, now was left with a huge knot of words on the tip of my tongue. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and inhaled his scent. He smelled like home.

I put a reassuring hand on his scalp. He buried his face deeper in the crook of my neck, melting under my touch.

I didn’t want to think about it that way, but he was the only benefit the cult had for me. He was that one percent hope I had left. If they took him away from my embrace, I’d simply pull the trigger and end me. And this was terrifying.

No, no, no. I’d fight for him. I’d live for him. I’d turn the world upside down just see his smile.

“I love you, too” I mumbled in his ear.

[jester-dragons-aus]

Horror House AU

Hehe Horror House returns(I had found only one piece of paper and I ended up drawing this)

When the world building comes out of nowhere/silly

[WARNING: BLOOD, GORE, BODY HORROR, OVER EXAGGERATED FEATURES, CENTIPEDE, IMPLIED DISMEMBERMENT]

Art and stuff under cut

[Note: certain few, who use VR instead of PC or Console, will be sucked into the game. Those who play with PC or Console will have a body substituted with a mannequin and will not be sucked into the game.]

Basically, the newer you are to The House, the closer you are to being the first person a random player goes against as you don't know much about how the game works. You go against everyone else first before you do this though. You can't leave once you're sucked into the game.

Only one person can play this game at a time, there is only one thing that can play it after all. Don't wear the headset if you don't want to be sucked in.

Pomni goes first! She is the newest member, after all!

You need to keep away from her, may it be by running away or finding things to keep her away from you to keep her away. The farther you are from her, the more she'll need to exert herself to get to you. Once tired out, you figure out a way to get out of the area before she regains her energy again. She will wear herself out completely before she rests, falling to the floor and laying there for a relatively long time to regain her energy.

[Checkpoint]

Imagine Pomni going through everyone else's past this point.

Jax is here and is a force to be reckoned with, atleast from his perspective. He thinks he's gotten better than before.

His area is like a maze of hallways, doors, closets, and at the end, somewhere you can completely escape his area from. He walks through the hallways trying to find you, cracking open the doors of the messed up rooms to check inside(hide behind the doors or under any in-tact bed). He taps the closet doors as he walks past them(don't make any noise, he will open and it will be game over[respawn]). Once you get to the end hall, you will need to run. There are no doors or closets in the end hall, all you have to do is keep running forward until you reach the end. His big size compared to the end hall will make it hard for him to go full speed as he will keep hitting his shoulders and head on the roof. The exit to his 'level' is a door that is slowly going down the entire run through the end hallway, triggered by you, or him, stepping on something at the beginning of the end hall. You must slide under it at the end of the hall to escape. He will run into the door and pound on it in anger, trying to get to you, but it will be for naught as you have already beat his level.

[Checkpoint]

Next, Zooble, the interchangeable and unpredictable. Even if they are predictable with some patterns.

Their area is a large open space with one exit for you to escape. Above hangs many things that will be large objects, bodies and body parts, and scattered around the room are presumably more and random large objects to hide around. They are quite smart and quiet so be sure to listen for anything that could be them, like quiet huffs or half-shuffling steps. How you get out of the area is finding a lever or button or something to drop something heavy onto them without anything falling on yourself or being caught by them. Anything heavy enough falling on them will cause them to break, falling into pieces. Leave through the now opened exit before they put themselves together with whatever pieces they can find. Be fast.

[Checkpoint]

Gangle is next and she's the most timid of the group but don't let that fool you.

You are in a dark room with papers covered in drawings littering the floor and walls. Gangle is curled like a snake somewhere where you can see her but it's just dark enough to where you can't see her face. She will kindly approach you with her comedy mask seemingly glued together and ask you to help her with a drawing or some writing[this won't be important to the main game]. If you don't break her comedy mask, good for you! You got to go free easy! If you did, there is a sad mask underneath in a darker shade than the comedy mask, also seemingly glued together, and the comedy mask is hanging to it with strange threads of something you can't identify. Her sad mask is more "hostile" so to say and she asks you to help her with something else which is more deadly to you. She sobs every time she speaks, shaking while she slithers around. If you survive what she asked of you and don't break her sad mask, good for you! You get to leave with only the trauma of her sad mask! If you survive but break her sad mask... You must run and find something to trap her. Under her sad mask is a distraught and fearful mask that screeches loudly as if in pain once the sad mask was broken, still hanging to that mask with the comedy mask still hanging to it in the same way. Once her sad mask is broken, she slithers into the dark with that for mentioned screech and that is your cue to run and find something to trap her in, like a heavy box or a deep hole in the ground, which there is right in front of the exit with just enough room between the end of the level and the door for you to walk around the hole and leave once she falls in with a perfectly timed side-step.

[Checkpoint]

Ah yes, our beloved blind ragdoll, Ragatha! One of the sweetest!

Once in her domain, it's a lovely, relatively large, store-looking place, with spiderwebs in the corners and dust everywhere as if it isn't cared for despite Ragatha's attempts to clean her area. A small bell, upon entering, will ring and notify her of your presence and she will welcome you with kindness. If you are polite in return, she will help lead you to the exit and open it for you, but she won't be able to come with you. If you treat her rudely, she will turn to violence and try to find you. Be quiet and find the code for the door, tucking around corners silently to avoid her if she comes near. Once you find the code, you must make your way to the door without notifying her where you are even once and avoiding her if she comes near. Once you put the code in to the end door, you can leave the area and continue on your way.

[Checkpoint]

Kinger, the largest but probably the easiest to get past if your quiet, is second to last, everyone!

Do not wake him up. His area is a large fortress made of old, hole filled wood pillars, old, torn blankets and pillows, and partially stone walls. There are many large bugs, mostly centipedes about the size of an average 10 year old, crawling around the area, never crawling into your path for more than a few seconds. Make sure you don't step on them, you don't want to make the king angry. Once you enter this decrepit castle, it is mostly empty aside from this 50 foot long centipede-chess piece curled up and sleeping soundly. If you step on any of the bugs that might crawl in your path or if you touch him even slightly, he will wake up and you can't escape as he kills you[respawn]. Don't step on any of the bugs and don't touch him and you're home free, there's the exit on the complete opposite side of him from the entrance to his impenetrable fortress.

[Checkpoint]

I bet you guys weren't expecting Caine of all people to be the final boss, right? I bet you guessed from Kinger's introduction! Well here he is!

He will never change, no matter who comes and goes before him. He is the owner of this terrifying territory, after all! The ringmaster, if it were a Circus! He stands in the center of a large, dark, dully colored yet very colorful room, inside a ring. This room looks most Circus like, like the inside of a tent. You don't have to defeat Caine, really, just beat his "pets." The abstractions. To those who have been in The House for a long time, they sadly know how these terrifying creatures came to be. Not fully code, but once human like the majority of them were gone mad and lost every bit of their mind! The older beasts are larger than the newer ones, so you can tell who's been there the longest. Unbeknownst to you, Caine is definitely going easy on you, only using the newer abstractions, as they are not very well at their job: ending you. You just have to run past everything and get to the last door, an end for the ones who didn't get sucked into this world, or a void for the ones who did.

[End] [Checkpoint]

OK THATS IT!

I am so sorry that one was so long but I really got sucked into writing this. I hope y'all enjoyed what y'all read if you read it all! I hope some of y'all also saw some references I made to other horror games I like playing or watching, like Doors or Little Nightmares(1+2)!

I really enjoyed writing this but this was all in one sitting, on mobile, and I don't know how to word things right sometimes or even spell some words correctly so some things might look weird. Yes, English is my first language but I am still not good at it despite graduating Highschool last year.

I put more effort into this than any writing assignments I got in school anyways all cuz I had a random paper and drew these goofs again after so long of only being able to draw on mobile.

[lorimnnn]

Mine pt. 2 (Michael Myers x AFAB!Reader)

summary: before Michael was ever ‘The Shape’ of Haddonfield, he was just a boy. he was a boy in love with the girl across the road, his sister’s best friend--- the only girl to show him kindness, love and warmth. you.

Basically, Michael falls in love with his sister’s best friend at 6, who sometimes played emergency babysitter especially when Judith was fooling around with her bf. He clings to those memories growing up in the asylum until the day he breaks out, where he decides the first thing he wants to do is find you and keep you, your sunshine only for him. Reader is super girly and feminine, which just fuels michael’s possessiveness.

cw: gore, violence, kidnapping, obsession, manhandling, possessiveness, non-con themes

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

welcome back @xprettyqueenx @bitchyglitterfox @ameliachastain  @agustdeeyaa @fanlovedlt @valen-yamyam16 @looseratinthegarage @quixscentsposts @sunshinexxmoonlight @sunshinexxmoonlight @hxrzvf  @poisonjoke @singingpianowings @babybooday @serryjailor @bdudette @blackholegladiator @imobsessedreader @cluelessyasmin​ @kittenfrostt @tooprettytoofeelshitty @alexsworldsstuff  @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @abadnamee  @gremlinfuck @aromess @radioactive-mocha

~

Your breath shutters in your chest, and a violent tremor seizes at your hands. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. They sting. They smell like fear. 

You know that whatever you do, you can’t let them fall. 

But you can’t help yourself. “Mikey?”

The last time you saw Michael Myers, you were 17, at the height of your senior year, and honestly with a few better things to do than cover for Judith when she decided to slack off with Danny. 

Not that you minded that precious little boy. 

Could you still call him precious?

You don’t dare to turn around. You don’t know what will happen if you do--- what will you see? What will it matter? A part of you needlessly clings to who he used to be. A part of you is certain that if you don’t turn around, you can still pretend a little while longer that nothing’s changed. 

Here’s little Mikey, inviting himself into your home because Judith is ‘having her own fun’, as you’d so eloquently put it in the beginning. You’re 17 all over again. You’re squeezed into a tackily patterned pink dress, lips swabbed with a glossy sheen, eyes defined the way everyone used to define them, cancelling on more plans because Judith couldn’t care less that other people lived other lives that could co-exist with hers, if she were considerate enough to open her eyes and find balance. He’s six, with floppy blonde hair and wide, seeing blue eyes. 

Your breathing comes faster, a heavy, wet whisper that stimulates your heart into painful, frantic pounding. Fuck. You’re so fucked. Who are you kidding?

You’re 32 and he’s 21 and he’s a serial killer and he’s standing behind you. Why he hasn’t made his move yet is beyond you, but even so--- do you want to know the answer?

A heavy hand curls over your shoulder. There is nothing gentle about it. Nothing familiar, but you don’t know what you’re supposed to be accepting after fifteen years. He’s demanding and impatient as he squeezes, almost enough for you to wince. 

You understand what he’s saying. Turn around. 

You do. Slowly, you do, and fuck. There he is. 

Staring at you with that expressionless latex mask, his features distorted, one eye peeking back at you through the hole. He’s huge. Broad shouldered and long-legged and built like a fractured god. 

The chills swamp you in seconds. 

“Michael,” you correct yourself. Because this isn’t Mikey. No. 

This is Michael Myers. 

And you’re going to die tonight. 

You eye the knife at his side, then glance back at the hand still clutching your shoulder. 

“Well?” you say. “Get it over and done with, then. Have at least enough respect to do it quickly.”

If he’s stunned, he says nothing. Either that or he’s really good at hiding it. He says stiff. Rigid, even. But what reason would the notorious Michael Myers have to be rigid around you?

Well, you have balls, for one. But that’s nothing new. It’s been so long since you’ve had to give a shit or cared to even pretend to, there’s no reason to start.

No time like the end to make the most of it, right?

You tilt your head back. “Go on. Do it.”

You wait. You wait and wait and wait. 

It seems like forever until he can show he’s processed your words at all. But the knife doesn’t move from his side. Neither does his hand move from your shoulder. He doesn’t even try step closer to you. 

Instead he just... Tilts his head at you. 

Confused. 

Any curiosity you have in return is quickly snuffed out the second he shoves you against the wall, his hand moving to your neck and collaring it in a harsh, iron grip. You choke. You sputter at the unexpected intrusion of your space. He’s not even squeezing hard, which makes it even more disorienting. You feel like you should be dying. You delude yourself into thinking you are, that your body is in denial, which is the only reason you can keep your eyes open. 

Michael Myers doesn’t speak. 

You don’t even know if he recognises you at all. Then again, why else is he in your house, and why else is he hesitating?

You don’t know what’s worse. Him knowing your or not knowing you at all.  “Michael?” His hand lingers a little longer before he releases you all together, your knees buckling when your feet hit the floor. You’re oversensitive. Everything feels like too much, your fear amplifying your senses as you wrestle between flight or fight.  “Don’t come any closer,” you warn. “You’re the one who changed your mind.” It’s obvious that he’s not used to following orders. Or maybe he is and is actively choosing not to--- all those years in the Sanitarium must’ve added up to something, if not some submissive trauma. You hate the rush of sympathy that seizes you when you think of it, only resolved by the bitter tang of horror as you remember why that little boy was sent to the asylum in the first place. 

You’re more scared now that you can’t predict him. It was easy enough when you were sure he was going to kill you, because that was what he did to everyone. But now?

Now you don’t know. 

You swear sharply when Michael lunges, seemingly not fast or agile enough to dodge him as he slams you into the wall, his body pressing against yours. You don’t even both fighting him, arms squished between you where you’d thrown them protectively in front of yourself. His face is so close to yours. That unsettlingly emotionless mask is too close. You can smell the silicone. The sweat. 

You can see his eyes through the holes. Icy, stark and blue. Pupils dilated as his gaze holds yours, as his breathing comes heavier, more laboured. You quickly realise why. 

His hands roam your sides. They grip. They grope. You hold in your scream as his fingers sink into your hips --- not enough to hurt, but enough to make his intention clear. You try squirm, you try shove him away. Nothing works. 

You can feel him against your belly. Hot. Hard, Probing. 

Where was the little boy you used to care for? Did he even exist? Did he exist at all now, somewhere deep inside this monstrous creature, hulking in size and ineffably superior, dominant, a symbol of fear? Did he know what he was doing when he was touching you like this, or were the hands that were touching you the hands of a stranger consumed by rage and blood thirst? 

You gag. You want to vomit. This is so wrong. Every part of you screams to escape, but he won’t let you. 

You clench your eyes shut. “No. No, no, no.”

He pushes harder against you, and you begin to tremble. 

You’ve never heard of Michael Myer’s victims being raped. It just wasn’t his thing. It wasn’t supposed to be his thing. 

Why start?

Why the fuck start with you?

“No, no, no.” You start to scream. “No! Fucking no!”

You shove him hard, even if it does nothing. 

“Get the fuck off me, you disgusting, deranged bitch!”

You shove him again, and this time he stumbles back three steps. They’re all hesitant, like he’s hurt or something. Good. 

“Fuck you,’ you spit. “Get out of here.”

He gives you one, last look. His eyes are eclipsed in the shadows, the distance making them hard to see. But you know he’s looking at you. Intently. Deliberately. 

Darkly. 

And then he’s gone. Just like that. 

When you open your eyes, the room is empty. The door is wide open, and the wind slips into the house, submerging it in a chill you can’t differ from your disgust and horror. 

On your porch is the corpse of the man you slept with last night. He’s mutilated, body angled in ways that make you sick. 

You don’t know anything. You know nothing, and you’re scared. 

But one thing remains clear. 

He’ll be back. 

__

Michael’s heart throbs in his chest. It is the most life it has had since he was a child, since he was watching cartoons on your sofa or watching you examine your reflection in the mirror. 

He’d stepped into the room, and it had beat. It had beaten so loudly, it’d sounded like thunder in his head. 

Mine, mine, mine. 

You were his. 

He’d touched you. Felt you. You were older but you were the same, and you were real. How he imagined you couldn’t compare to how you were now. 

Fuck. 

And to think someone had touched you that wasn’t him. 

Nobody would ever do that again. 

comment or follow to be tagged in pt.3!

[yuri-is-online]

More asmo thoughts:

angels are all focused on "inner beauty" etc (or at least this is what makes sense to me) so generally all angels are considered beautiful no matter what and it didn't matter what asmo looked like because his soul could harmonize with basically everyone (also a hc for why hes one of the more helpful & agreeable brothers generally)

but now, as a demon, other demons are more selfish, cruel, etc. and value appearance and what you can DO for them, how you benefit them, and newly fallen asmo feels up shits creek in terms of his appeal.

so he gradually recreates his niche in hell (in a more corrupted version of it) by just forcing himself into whatever form he needs to be to be most appealing.

ENTER THE HUMAN who yes, humans can also be selfish, but this isn't a guarantee the same way it is for demons. and This Human doesn't like ANYTHING he's doing to gain their attention! hes saying all the right things, telling them all the ways he can be of Use to the human, spends so much effort to try different pleasing forms, all because it has been So Long since he's been around people who just want him to be there as himself that he can't FATHOM it.

Anyway anytime something genuine slips through his mask and the human reacts POSITIVELY?!?! absolutely bamboozled. he either thinks it's a fluke or that he has to lean into whatever they saw to an EXTREME because they can't just... like when hes real with them right???

so in the original ask I answered I was talking about a personal project of mine that's completely unrelated to Obey Me, but I do believe that is what you are talking about and because this is a very nice headcannon you chose to share with me I am going to talk as if I am thinking about Obey Me! Asmo and not my own o.c. Asmo.

I feel like an angel's soul would be less focused on beauty and more focused on taking on the appearance of what a person would find trustworthy. "Be not afraid" is the constant mantra of an angel's soul and Asmo is especially good at clicking with people and putting them at ease.

Like I said in that original ask, Lust is about projection of desire, so as a demon his soul can't reach out to other demons in the same way. It's not enough to simply put people's inner turmoil at rest, he has a role to fulfill, a million and one separate fantasies that are not interested in how he feels about things so he becomes hardened against being accepted for himself. After all if that's a lie then he has no reason to want it.

I had this idea jotted down for a fic I never wrote (for a fandom I have ever mentioned being in to on this blog) where a character essentially did what we are saying Asmo is doing here, but it was not something they could control. That character was under the impression no one had ever seen what they truly looked like, could not see it because who would want to see them for who they were? It's the same with Asmo, he's so used to playing a role that when the human mentions they love how he doesn't feel the need to hide how brown his eyes are he chokes.

What do they mean he doesn't need to hide it, how did they even see it in the first place? And when he angrily asks them to describe how he looks they enthusiastically describe and praise every plain, boring, hidden feature he has almost forgotten he had as if it was one of the forms he had specifically crafted to tempt someone to sell their soul.

"A person is at their most beautiful when they are most like themself!" There isn't a shred of irony in your voice, or a lie in your breath. He doesn't know what to do with you, really. Do you mean that or is it just that his truest form is what would please your tastes best? He doesn't know but he's so exhausted from trying to break himself into pieces, please say you will find him beautiful if he rests a while with you, won't you?