#but then it sort of lost that innocence of verbal telling

[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨

𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ･ 𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (potential for nsfw continuations) / jjk manga spoilers / this is my version of "came back wrong" gojo inspired by recent events, but it turned out somewhat softer than i expected / what happens when satoru is brought back and suddenly finds himself deeply attached to you of all people?

yandere!gojo / he's also slightly higher-needs disabled coded… idk i tried to approach it as best as i could. it's an unfamiliar thing for reader and they're trying to process it / i very well may try to continue this because it is rotting my brain!! / 1.7k words

“Satoru… you need to eat.”

A full bowl of soup sits on the table before him untouched, his hands resting unoccupied in his lap and eyes trained on your figure as you circle around to stand near him. That piercing blue gaze is ridden with innocence, lips parted like those of a quizzical child, but they turn upwards into a pleased grin when you take a seat in the chair next to him.

You’d prepared a rather simple dish, something you figured might be easy for him to consume and digest given his… peculiar state, but Satoru apparently had yet to pay any interest to it. He instead sat obediently in his chair just as you had commanded several minutes ago, unable to initiate the task of feeding himself, for he was much more intrigued from afar by your every move as you tidied the kitchen. It was as though he couldn’t find the drive to function unless you were within an overwhelmingly short distance of him.

Satoru’s heart thumps now that you’re close, a burst of satisfaction rushing through his brain. Dopey yet stimulating chemicals. You are Pavlov’s ringing bell. 

He is reminiscent of a child picked up from school by their beloved parent, or a puppy being reunited with its owner after a day at the vet, overcome with joy and unable to properly contain it. He leans forward and presses his lips to your neck as though that is the appropriate response to his elation, the crossed wires in his brain telling him that this is the sort of affection that will please you and is therefore the sort of affection he most desperately wants to give.

His condition was difficult to understand, and you wouldn’t call yourself properly equipped to deal with it, but there was simply no other option but to try; Gojo wouldn’t let anyone else try, the horrible rattling in his skull consuming him when deprived of your presence for too long. Yuuta had described the look in his eyes as “frenzied and lost.” You were told that the infirmary still needed repairs.

Once he returned to this world, Satoru had been stripped down to his essence, bare bones, a creature of instinct, reduced to something quite simple yet difficult for the average person to understand. But you had to understand, or try at the very least. This was the new burden placed upon your shoulders; it was either soothe this new version of Satoru Gojo for the sake of the world, or find a way to send him back into the icy arms of death. You were often caught between which option sounded worse.

However, when met with the sweetest and most earnest of his smiles, your bones were frosted with guilt, and you regretted ever entertaining the idea of letting him go again.

You stumble over getting him to perform necessary tasks and be further than 5 feet away from you at any given time, because it seems that, upon his revival, Satoru equates you and only you with everything of importance in his life. It’s more than a little unnerving given the fact that you’d never so much as even kissed prior to the loss of him, and now his neurons only fire off every happy memory he’s ever had of you, every positive thing he’s ever felt, no matter how stifled. You are his entire world now, and he can’t even verbalize it, but as each day passes following his awakening, you’re starting to gather that much on your own. You can’t be frustrated for long, however, because his cheerfulness is contagious, his enthusiasm making you feel loved even if it is somewhat smothering.

Is this selfish of you? 

The man's lips travel slowly across your skin, pacified by your presence, your taste, and ignoring the grumble in his stomach. How does one differentiate the types of hunger? You don’t attempt to fight him off, but rather exhale a defeated sigh in response. It hasn’t been long since you’ve been tasked with this responsibility, but it feels as though you’re frequently fighting a losing battle and failing him all the same. It’s so peculiar, so very unnatural… but still, you have to try.

“Satoru, please…” you beg, voice light in his ear and a hand settling at his nape. His nerve endings come alive every time his name leaves your lips. The bell. “Just one bite? For me?”

That seems to do the trick, as you’ve gathered. Satoru pulls himself back, hyper-aware of the tone in your voice and suddenly willing to comply. He’s more than eager to accept the spoon into his mouth when you offer it, placing your fingers beneath his chin and carefully bringing the soup up to his lips. He swallows it with ease, the task literally more palatable now that you’ve reminded him of how badly you would like him to complete it. Anything for you.

“There,” you say, satisfied and offering a faint, exhausted smile. He grins widely in response and hums, no longer capable of words of his own, but his simple noise expresses his glee with efficacy. Satoru decides to punctuate it by pressing the tip of his nose to yours for good measure.

It feels wrong to enjoy these subtle moments of intimacy with someone who doesn’t appear to be in his right mind, but who are you to say whether he is or not? There’s still an agency he possesses, a heart full of emotions, and a mind teeming with thoughts that you wish you could be privy to. He might be different now, but part of you wants to say with certainty that the old Satoru is still here with you somehow—you can sense it. He chuckles at particular images that flash across the TV and still gets a kick out of teasing you to some degree. To diminish that seems like a disservice to him.

You’re unable to deprive him of the happiness your closeness provides nonetheless; in fact, it’s obviously rather dangerous for you to even try and do so. Satoru’s conscious recollections are filled primarily with you, but his body is still more or less the same as it always was—the vessel of his clan’s power, the strongest sorcerer on earth. You’re not sure to what extent he remembers how to control these abilities, but part of you doesn’t wish to find out. For now, you care for him, placate him, re-learn him. Nothing is certain about the situation other than the fact that he apparently needs you now more than ever.

Your eyes soften at the warmth he exudes, and you wonder if he really remembers who you even are—or were—to him. It’s not worth pondering over for now, however. He needs to eat.

“Another?” you ask, testing to see how willing he is to fulfill your wishes. Satoru often easily complies once you’ve expressed satisfaction in him doing so, but all of this is still so new and experimental; you never know when he might decide to switch gears.

However, still smiling, he nods, and you bring another spoonful of soup up to his lips for him to swallow. It pleases you to see him finally getting something into his stomach, and he can sense it, taking it upon himself to further your agenda and simultaneously realizing just how gratifying it is to fill his belly.

“Good,” you say, and he feels rewarded. He is crowned by your praise. Exalted. You take him to the greatest heights with the simplest of words.

You place the spoon back in the bowl and Satoru takes it in his grasp, feeding himself without quarrel while you observe. Most of his motor skills appear to be intact as far as you’ve seen despite the cognitive and behavioral changes, and if someone were to look upon him from afar, you’re fairly certain they would never know the difference. But you’re still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together little by little, deciphering each bit of information and also determining just how deep his severe attachment to you really goes.

Why did it end up being you? Why do you suddenly seem to be the only thing that makes sense to him in this entire universe?

You can’t answer that, he can’t answer that, it’s just the way it is. Satoru doesn’t need to know why you nearly consume his every thought, he just knows that you make him happy, and that’s truly all that counts in his version of the world. He’ll chase it on instinct until death decides to take him again; he’ll tear down anything that stands in his or your way, for you alone are all that he thinks he has left to cling to. Never matter the others that show concern for him—they’re nice enough, earning a small smile or even the privilege to touch before he shakes them off and seeks you out again. It’s nothing personal. It’s simply pathological.

Leaning an elbow on the table, you turn the possibilities over in your mind as you silently watch him eat. A life has been restored, but yours has been turned upside down, and you have to figure out just exactly what you’re going to do about it. You suppose that taking baby steps ought to be the best way to make progress, but how do you make space for someone like this out of the blue? You’ll have to give it your best shot.

Satoru finishes drinking down the remaining broth of his soup, and you pose a question. “Would you like to go for a walk with me today?”

He sits the bowl down and looks over at you, eyes assessing your features and mind processing what you’ve asked. He hasn’t been out much in the days following his return, but you don’t see any reason to keep him cooped up inside if he happens to respond well to a casual outing with you. Taking him for a stroll outside seems like a decent way to test the waters.

Satoru smiles and nods, recalling memories of how your hair looked when touched by the wind. He’d be glad to accompany you outside if it meant he could see you glow in the sun, radiant and warm. The center of his universe.

“I think it’ll be nice,” you remark with a grin, an ounce or two of weight being lifted from your shoulders at the positive shift in outlook. Baby steps.

Reaching out to take your hand, Satoru squeezes it in his own to convey his agreement. It’s as if he’s trying to say, “everything is nice when I’m with you.”

[ravencincaide]

Just a cake

Summary:  What was supposed to be a sweet innocent question aimed at gaining a sliver of Chuuya’s attention spiraled out of control. It shook the foundation of your relationship and everything you thought you knew. Indeed with one innocent question you lost it all- and yet saved yourself two decades of suffering all in one go. 

Pairing: Fem reader x Chuuya Nakahara 

Inspired by Raven’s special anon request: Chuuya says something that hurts the reader and she leaves. 

Warnings: Cursing, verbal argument, angst

Enjoy~

“ Can I ask for a birthday cake for my birthday?” 

Your tone was light and playful, almost joking- a stupid question meant to lighten the focused mood in the dark, stuffy, paperwork-filled office. A silent cry for a sliver of his attention, just a tiny reassurance that despite the heavy workload which plagued your lives, that he still cared enough not to forget about your important day. You envisioned that Chuuya would pull you into his lap. Then he’d kiss your skin in between bites of bento that you just brought to him just moments earlier. You envisioned a sweet promise that he had already ordered the best cake in Yokohama. or that he would tap your nose with a gloved finger while he demanded to know what kind of boyfriend you thought he was. 

Especially when all you asked for this year was a cake and homemade dinner.  Just a little time together in the privacy of your home.  You and him without praying eyes. Just you and him. Just you, the special news and–

“ Hmff what kinda cake do you want?” you flinched at his tone and paused in the middle of sorting paperwork, unsure whether you heard him right. Your eyes flickered upwards to meet Chuuya’s narrowed ones. Clear frustration itched into his face “ Tell me now the kind you want, doll. Or I’ll just pick something up on the way” You bit your lip. You knew you did not want just ‘something’; a day-old cake from the bakery, or a generic one from any grocery store still open once he got off work. You wanted a cake picked with time and care, selected with you in mind. The type of dedication he’d show whenever he got wine for his friends' birthdays. The warm kind of affection he’d shower you in on good days. The picture perfect generous and loving boyfriend in the eyes of others. 

“ Don’t bother,” you answered without anger. “ With that attitude, I’ll fix it myself.” You felt his narrowed eyes glare at you, but you did not spare him a second glance. You were afraid that his expression would make the burning rod of anger explode and escalate the situation further. 

Neither of you needed that now. 

“ Oj I said I’ll fix it” Chuuya snapped back “ Just stop fuckin asking about it constantly.” 

His comment was the wrong thing to say. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, the words that made the anger in your stomach spike into an uncontrollable fury. “ You know what? Don't bother getting me anything!” you hissed “ I don’t need a goddamn thing from you.” 

“ What the hell is your fuckin issue?” Chuuya’s fist made contact with the table, his action made the stack of your newly sorted paperwork slide down towards the floor “ You’ve been having a goddamn attitude lately, the hells your problem?!” 

“ I don’t know, maybe if you actually took your time to come home once in a while you’d know!” your palms hands slammed against the table in equally furious fashion. 

Chuuya let out a growl- bit back the insult at the tip of his tongue. Still his words came out just as sharp as before, if not more painful, blaming “ Do you even understand my financial role? Or do you think my apartment gets paid for by itself, just like the wine and other ‘necessities’?-” You opened your mouth, ready to snap back that he had himself to blame for refusing to take a damned penny off your hands. He had no right to blame you when you had offered to pay time and time again only for him to stuff the money right back into your hand. But he did not let you speak. No, Chuuya kept going, not finished in his fury-filled trade. “ - Besides who the fuck would want to come home to someone constantly ungratefully pissy, hmm?” 

“If that’s how you’re feeling then we shouldn’t be together at all” your voice was just shy of a scream, your eyes full of humiliated anger. There was one thing to be pissy because of work related stress but this was crossing boundaries even Chuuya would normally stay clear of. 

Not today. 

“ Maybe you’re fucking right about that doll!” Chuuya didn't yell. Yet his words echoed loudly, louder than any other sound in his god forsaken office.  

You felt like you were slapped. The fight left your system with one big exhale. Your shoulders slumped and you bowed your head. Hands returned to your sides, balled into tight fists. 

Chuuya waited for you to say something. When you didn’t he let out a long sigh and turned back to the papers in front of him. You heard the way he picked up his pen, the scratches of the tip against the pristine papers “ I’ll send someone with you to get your things.” 

“ Don’t bother, I don’t need or want jack-shit from you” you turned on your heel and headed in the direction of the office door. 

Chuuya spoke again before you could leave his office; “ Don’t bother coming back to the Mafia. You’re relieved of your duties.” 

A sense of dread filled you but you were too proud to show it. Your lips set into a thin line as your hand lingered on the doorknob. “ As you wish. Don’t come crying to me when you’ll regret this later.” you spat then snuck out of the room right before Chuuya’s fury could reach you. 

You closed the office door just in time to hear something smash against it behind you, presumably the half eaten bento you had taken such time and care to prepare for him. Made his favourite things and brought it over for him too. 

Fucking ungrateful bastard. 

 A dull frozen feeling set  in your body- your mind hadn’t processed what had just transpired. Could not understand how you had lost everything; your home, your job, your lover and your life over a simple question. A request for something other than a last minute generic cake for your upcoming birthday. 

Still as you sat down in your car and pulled out of the Port Mafia parking lot for the last time in your life you couldn’t help the tears that streamed down your cheeks. The suffocating heartache- but also the tiny bit of relief that bloomed in your chest. The relief at the fact that the bloodthirsty executive of the Mafia finally showed his true colours- true thoughts- about you. Blamed you for the fact that you had stayed home from work during the past weeks. Blamed you for the insufferable act of wanting your partners attention. No, he was your ex partner and that was for the better. 

It was better that you broke up now than if something similar happened in the next weeks. Or so you told yourself. A few days from now you would have told him the truth and then you would have been trapped with him. By him. A caged bird with no chance to escape. No you should be happy, thankful that he decided to finally show the ugly of his character. 

Murderer unable to handle a heart. 

As similar thoughts ran through your mind, you couldn’t help the almost manic smile that appeared on your lips as you drove further and further away from the life you knew. After all, you were certain Chuuya would come to regret this decision in the future. 

But by then it would be too late. 

Your eyes flickered to the passenger seat where a large, obnoxious gift bag sat. With huge golden letters it spelled out “congratulations” and from it peeked out a shirt with the words; 

You’re going to be a dad…

Author note: And Chuuya would most certain regret his actions ...

Hope you enjoyed this little special addition to Raven's special that's the lengths of an actual fic. Yes I've had it prepared in advance and used this as an excuse to publish it. Hope this angst hurt just a tiny bit more than the previous. Don't forget to check Raven's masterlist! and wait for the next Special ;) ©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[pochipop]

＃GENSHIN IMPACT !! ♡ — A LONELY WOLF HOWLS AT THE DRUNKEN MOON (DILUC X READER).

#. synopsis! — you spend your days sorting out conflicts as a negotiator, but nothing could have prepared you for the bad blood between your dearest childhood friends. diluc says a lot of things he doesn't mean, —but also says a lot of things he does .

#. characters! — diluc .

#. warnings! — angst, mentions of the canon death of a loved one, family issues, explicit depictions of arguments .

#. word count! — 3.9k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

When this journey began, you’d been expecting a lot of things, —mostly Kaeya and Diluc bickering back and forth, the younger instigating petty verbal spats only for the older to snap back after a while of disinterested replies. You’d even been anticipating a night or two of awkward sleeping arrangements, folding in on yourself in hopes of keeping your distance from each of them, as if you hadn’t sought their warmth as your protectors in your youth.

But you’re not a little kid anymore, and the two young men at your side are no longer your closest friends. Your nights aren’t spent telling silly ghost stories under cozy blankets in the bedrooms of Dawn Winery’s manor. Nowadays, Kaeya shows off on the battlefield, glints of bloodlust in his visible eye, rather than climbing trees in your backyard until slivers of fear began to prick at his feet and the best option was simply to climb back down. Diluc, on the other hand, doesn’t show off much at all. He works alone, his head held high and his walls higher, —keeping everyone out, because he’ll never be able to tell where the next betrayal is coming from.

You like to think you haven’t lost all of your childlike wonder and spark. At least, not to the extent of either of them; one who bears a Cryo Vision and yet burns with guilt and shame, and the other who wields a Pyro Vision, but has frozen himself to the bone just to keep others away.

As a so-called negotiator, employed by the Adventurers Guild to deal with a variety of issues that often stem from conflicts and misunderstandings, it feels disgraceful that you’d be incapable of playing peacekeeper between the two of them. But your skills feel years beyond rusted as you stand with them, seeking refuge from a ruthless storm in an old, abandoned hilichurl camp. It had rolled in from far away, taking all three of you by surprise. Abandoning your uncovered wagon with minimal supplies to manage through a few days' journey was the only viable option as the wind began to whip loose branches from trees and lightweight rocks and pebbles from the ground.

Even in such horrid weather, thieves offered no breaks from their crime. They snatched away your wagon’s contents, in spite of it having been hidden away in the trees. You can’t help but wonder how long they’d been tailing the three of you from the city. . .

Beyond that, you wonder why fate has decided to be so cruel to you. Diluc was a distant assistant of the Knights of Favonius these days, only offering help when it was completely necessary. Why he chose to take charge of this mission is beyond you, and why Kaeya decided to join at the last minute, you’ll never understand. Especially now that all they’ve done is largely overlook your existence in order to get petty digs in at one another.

They’d managed to complicate what was supposed to be a simple trip to Liyue Harbor to settle an even simpler dispute.

“Hey, Master Diluc,” Kaeya calls out, tone condescending, “mind giving us a hand over here?”

The redhead spares his brother an agitated glance, nearly throwing daggers with his tongue before his gaze came to rest on you. . . You’re just as sweet looking as he remembers. There’s always been something so innocent and warm swimming in your eyes, as if your full well of kindness has overflown and pooled right into your stare. For your sake, Diluc swallows his not-so-kind words and makes little show of lighting the fire between yourself and Kaeya, who offers no thanks.

“You should sit down,” you say to Diluc softly, moving off to the side to let him rest before the newly lit fire. “You’re dripping wet.”

“I’m fine—” he begins roughly, but stops himself immediately when you flinch at the harshness of his tone.

He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that. A deep breath in, and he tries again, gentler this time.

“I’m alright,” he corrects, but offers no apology for startling you just before. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

If both of you had been younger and these past few years had never happened, you’d have been quick to question his liberal usage of a little. It’s pouring, maybe more than you’ve ever seen it, and lightning slits the sky ruefully as thunder booms from the heavens.

“Don’t be so cold,” Kaeya chides, and takes pleasure in doing so, “I’m the one with the Cryo Vision.”

“You’re also the one who doesn’t know when to keep his crooked nose out of other people’s affairs,” Diluc answers bluntly, a sharp edge to his voice.

“Crooked?” The younger questions, ignoring Diluc’s blow to his character in lieu of the cosmetic insult.

“Enough,” you insert yourself tiredly, “now’s not the time to be arguing.”

Archons. How had this come to pass? It was bad enough that the two of them had found themselves on the same mission, —but for you to be here as well? Talk about bad luck. Maybe all those times of patching Bennett up after unfortunate circumstances got the better of him has made his fate rub off on you. . .

Neither of the brothers apologize for their actions, but you hadn’t been expecting it anyway. You’d have been more surprised if they did, actually.

“Fine,” Kaeya shrugs, “let’s change the subject then while the soup heats up.”

You take that as your cue to scrape some poorly sliced veggies into an old hilichurl pot that Diluc had placed for a crude wash in the rain. It’s set to be rudimentary at best, but your hope is that the mint leaves you managed to gather along the way will add enough of a flavor contrast to make it edible at the very least. Your choice of fancy ingredients was well beyond diluted, and whatever you managed to scrounge up from the wreckage of this hilichurl camp is as good as it’s going to get. Beggars truly cannot be choosers, especially in situations such as this.

“It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to you, y/n,” Kaeya notes. “How’ve you been fairing?”

“I’ve been well,” you answer, only paying him a fraction of your attention. “You’d know that if you ever bothered to read any of my letters.”

His face drops for a moment, confident facade staggering in the shadow of your newfound shortness. He knows you’re right, and Kaeya can’t blame you for being upset. It wasn’t his intention to lose sight of you, but somewhere along the line between that fateful stormy night, the dissolvement of his relationship with Diluc, and his subsequent promotion to Cavalry Captain. . . His fondness for you had been lost to the wind. He got your letters, would sit them aside for later, —and then later would never come. Eventually, he’d lose those letters too amongst the towers of paperwork on his cluttered desk. 

“You wrote to him?” Diluc pipes up, sounding all too casual for the ache that lingers in his heart.

He hadn’t received any letters from you. . . Not one. Not a single message, short or long, —just nothingness, like throwing flames into a limitless void. Why Kaeya, the one who hadn’t even bothered to answer? Why couldn’t Diluc even be your second choice?

“Just. . . Just a handful of times,” you say softly. “I never heard back, so I stopped writing.”

Kaeya opens his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to make things infinitely worse for himself, but Diluc beats him to the punch.

“You know I would have answered you,” he tells you. “It’s been forever since the last time we spoke, —don’t you think it would have been nice to hear from you? Just to say hello?”

Now, you’ve found yourself in Kaeya’s shoes; stuck between a rock and a hard place. There’s no appropriate excuse as to why you never chose to reach out to Diluc, you just. . . Didn’t. In the same way Kaeya never wrote you back, you never wrote to Diluc at all. But Kaeya did.

“It’s not like you can shove all the blame off on other people,” Kaeya interjects, tone laced with a seriousness you don’t often hear from him. “You’re hardly easy to approach these days. You’ve practically holed yourself up and away, wallowing in your own self-pity.”

“Kaeya, that’s a little much, don’t you think—” you start, but Diluc is quick on the attack, speaking over you and then over the thunder that resounds through the atmosphere.

“As if you’re any better,” the redhead scoffs, “I don’t need to be patronized by someone like you. You talk to everyone, but you don’t have any real connections. Your secrecy forces everyone away eventually, and when you wind up alone again, I hope you remember that you’ve done it all to yourself, Kaeya.”

“You don’t mean that—” you say, eyes widening and heart dropping low into the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, and you’re wishing that on me so you feel less alone about living that way now?” The younger male retorts.

Of all the years you’ve known the both of them and of all the times you’ve seen them argue, none of it has ever amounted to something like this. Their voices are dangerously low, as if the misty grey indifference of passive aggression has clouded their judgements, leaving them void of everything except simmering rage for one another.

“What, so now I’m not even entitled to choose how I get to grieve?” Diluc accuses.

“Nobody even said that,” Kaeya bites back in return. “There you go, twisting people’s words again so you feel better about villainizing them.”

“I don’t need to villainize you, —you do a good enough job of that all by yourself.”

“Guys—”

“I could say the same to you,” Kaeya scoffs. “Pushing everyone away because you’re too scared to make connections, running off for so long just to come back a completely different person, abandoning everyone who ever cared enough about you to take your burdens for themselves.”

“Oh, and you think you fall under that category somehow?” Diluc demands. “As if you weren’t the one who’d been lying the entire time, keeping Celestia knows how many secrets from everyone? I know you’re the Cavalry Captain now Kaeya, but don’t be such an arrogant fool. Get off your high horse and come join the rest of us in reality.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Kaeya all but snarls. “All you’ve done since that night is run away, —from your duties, from your family, from the nation you claim to love so much. And you know what I think, Diluc?”

“I really couldn’t care less what you think, Kaeya—”

“I think you’re the one who needs to come down off your high horse. You weren’t the only one who got hurt that night, but you mope around like there’s nobody in the world who shares your burdens! You’re not special. You’re not the only one who lost someone!”

“He was my father!” Diluc says, right on the cusp of shouting over the pouring rain that pummels against the roof of the hilichurl hut.

“He was my father too, dammit!” Kaeya yells, the flat of his palm slamming against the dampened dirt. “But I didn't just lose him, —I lost you too.”

The elder male is visibly stunned by that assertion, unable to form words in reply. Kaeya doesn't wait for a response, good or bad. Ungracefully, he pulls himself to his feet and storms off into the rain, and despite your protests, he doesn't look back. You suppose he's back to pretending like you never existed.

Silence reigns between you and Diluc for a short while. When you make the first move, parting your lips to say his name softly, he's quick to cut you off in a small, sad voice.

"Why didn't you write to me?" He questions. "Why didn't you ever come see me? You knew I'd returned, and you still didn't come."

Though his words are accusatory, he doesn't sound particularly angry. If anything, Diluc just sounds hurt. 

"I. . ." you begin, knowing nothing you can possibly say will make this any better. "I just didn't think you'd want to hear from me."

His stare is blank, as if he isn’t sure what to make of your admission. He opens his mouth to speak, but just as quickly closes it again, swallowing the words down to dilute their harshness. Maybe Kaeya was right, he thinks to himself. Maybe I’ve pushed everyone so far away that I’ve alienated myself completely.

If that’s the case, he notes soon after, then I have no one to blame but myself. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize genuinely, interrupting his spiral of thought.

Diluc looks your way again, meeting your eyes diligently this go around, but still, he says nothing. 

“When I heard you’d returned, I walked by Dawn Winery every morning, thinking that I could work up the courage to see you face-to face,” you explain. “It sounds selfish of me now that I’m saying it out loud, but. . .”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head to offer a correction, “it was selfish of me. I was being selfish. I couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing you again because I knew you’d be so different, —I’d be meeting someone new in the place of the boy I grew up with, and I wasn’t ready to face it.”

Strangely enough, Diluc understands where it is that you’re coming from. He’s not dense enough to be blind to all the differences he exhibits in comparison to his slightly younger self. Once upon a time, he was vibrant and open, —he let people in because he assumed the best of them. Diluc sought trust and love from the people of Mondstadt, vowed to protect them with his very life. . . Even now, he feels that way. These days, he acts from the shadows instead, as if loving openly will somehow make him more vulnerable to injuries of the emotional kind.

“Do you hate it, then?” He inquires, “—the man I am right now. Do you hate me?”

“No, Diluc I—”

You stop again to take a sharp breath in. It’s now or never to say all the things you never chose to write down in a letter for him. At the very least, he deserves that much.

“I should have come to see you,” you admit. “I knew that from the start. And I wanted to see you, because it’d been so long, and I just needed to know that you were okay; that whoever you’d become while you were gone, you were healthy and hadn’t just given up on the world. But I got glimpses of you from afar, and it made me realize just how much of a distance had grown between us. It was like I could hardly recognize you, even when you looked the same. So I turned around, and eventually, I stopped going to Dawn Winery altogether. I hid when I saw you in public, just to avoid the conversation, —to avoid the “Hi, how’ve you been?” because I knew you’d just lie and say everything was fine.”

The bitter truth is that you’d been pushing Diluc away, just as he’d been doing to you. You yearned to be close to him again, to be able to pull him so close that you could feel his heart beating against you. . . But the space between you and he only grew wider with the passing days. He made a routine for himself, and you didn’t want to disrupt it. Not when he’d had to pull himself up from the depths of despair just to manage it in the first place.

You worried that you represented little more than the past to him, —that you’d be some ghost of a childhood friend coming back to haunt him, and heaven knows Diluc doesn’t need anymore demons wrapping around his pretty fingers. 

“Everything should be fine,” he answers softly. “Everyone has to move on eventually. We can’t live in days that have already passed us by.”

“That doesn’t mean doing it is easy,” you remind him, matching the gentle tone of his voice.

“It’s not easy,” he agrees. “It hurts like hell. I hate going home because the manor feels so empty, and I can’t find any trace of anyone there. Not my father, not Kaeya, not you, —not even myself. It’s like all the rooms just swallow everything whole until there’s nothing left to feed on, and all the good things have disappeared. All the memories, all the laughter, all the love is just. . . Gone.”

Another apology creeps up the back of your throat, but you know now isn’t the time to be saying sorry a  million and one times over. You can take any other time to feel guilty, to feel sorry for yourself in the wake of your own recklessness. . . But this is about Diluc.

“All the art my father hung up on the walls, —the chess board he taught me how to play on. I’ve run my fingers over every frame, every pawn, every knight, and I can’t feel him anywhere. It’s almost like he never existed, even though every part of the manor has remained unchanged since his passing. The maids and other staff don’t speak of him; at least not when I’m around. . . It’s like they’ve all signed some unspoken contract to guard my feelings by pretending nothing ever happened.” 

You’re left speechless by his show of openness, thinking to yourself (if only passively) that it’s been far too long since you’ve heard Diluc be true about his feelings.

“Kaeya comes around sometimes, but he never comes in,” the redhead continues. “The manor was his home too, but it seems that he can’t stand to be inside anymore, so he’s left me alone to pick up all the pieces, and I hate him for it. But I love him too, from the bottom of my heart. He’s my brother, —blood or not. I know he’s hurting too, and it kills me.”

“He knows that,” you insist. “Kaeya knows that you love him, and he loves you too. It’s just that all the animosity between you two reaches a boiling point when you stuff everything down and hide your pain away, and he wears it on his sleeve, letting it seep out the moment he gets set off. Both of you love to pretend that you’re fine alone, that everything will work itself out somehow if you ignore it for long enough, —but I think we’ve established that that’s not quite how this is gonna go.”

And then Diluc laughs. It’s low and deep, coming straight from his chest, lasting no more than a handful of seconds. The stars in his eyes burn alight again, flickering like a lost lantern in the wind. A softer breeze than the howling gusts just outside the hilichurl structure you’re sitting in that’s miraculously managed to stay intact thus far.

“That’s so like you,” he comments, amusement clinging to his words. “You’re so honest in a roundabout way; trying your best to protect my feelings, and Kaeya’s if he happens to be eavesdropping on us, all while essentially saying we should stop being idiots and just talk about our problems.”

Although that’s a very watered down version of your conviction, it works well enough, you suppose. A giggle bubbles up from the back of your throat, exploding into the chilly air.

“That’s one way to say it, I guess,” you laugh. “I know that’s a lot easier said than done, but I’m hoping you see where I’m coming from. It might not be my place to say it, —but it’s hard to watch you two ram heads like this. Even though none of us are kids anymore, it’d be nice to be like we used to sometimes.”

Diluc agrees. He thinks about that more than he’ll ever be willing to admit; about the days he spent running past the vineyards, you and Kaeya right on his heels, laughter soaring through the open air. He thinks about the sweet taste of freshly mixed juice drinks, foam clinging to his upper lip. . . He can make his own drinks these days, of course, but they never taste quite like his father’s.

When he smiles like this, you get a glimpse of the boy you grew up alongside. You get a glimpse of the young man you fell in love with, yet never made any mention of it so as not to upset the balance. It was easier if everyone remained friends; if you never chose to cross the line. You suppose that’s yet another reason why it was so hard to approach him after he arrived back in Mondstadt. It wouldn’t be fair to grieve the loss of who he used to be, but it was nothing short of inevitable.

I loved you then, and I love you now. 

“In any case, I. . . I should go look for Kaeya,” you say; but there’s no conviction in your words.

He’s an adult, and you know better than most that Kaeya can take care of himself; rain or shine. In fact, with that Vision of his, he might as well be better suited to stormy nights and rainy days. Though he seems like he wants to, Diluc says nothing to keep you from going. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want you to soak yourself to the bone, or maybe it’s that he just wants you to stay; nothing more, nothing less. Either way, he doesn’t say it.

Until he does.

“Y/n, please. . .”

You pause, turning to look at him the moment he says your name. Diluc swallows, hoping the words don’t go down with it.

“Don’t leave.”

Your heart stutters. As the sky grows darker somewhere off in the distance, as the rain slams roughly against the little hut you’re stuffed in, —as thunder resounds loud enough to shake the very ground beneath your knees, you find yourself pulled into his orbit again.

It’s all too easy to love him like the sun is dying.

Now’s not the right time, this isn’t the right place. . . Nothing about this is right, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away. He smells of rain, soil, and must; hair disheveled and falling out of the loose, low ponytail at the back of his head. The plain scent of bland vegetables boiling just a foot or two away would have thrown you off if you’d been lucid enough to care.

His kiss is fervent and desperate in a way you never expected, —something less than sweet, but far from bitter. Damp hands cup your cheeks like you’re made of brittle porcelain, so gentle that you can melt into his touch without having to question why. It’s hard to believe these lips are the same ones that threw insults Kaeya’s way just a bit ago, and when you rest your forehead against his, breathing through the haze, it’s even harder to imagine that his lovesick stare is only meant for you.

You could spend forever here, but that wouldn’t serve either of you.

“Go,” you whisper softly, pressing the flat of your hand to his chest. “He’s your brother.”

Diluc hesitates, but deep down, he knows you’re right. He’s angry, —he’s been angry for a long time now. It’s eaten at him for longer than he’ll ever care to admit, burning up his mind and scorching all the flowers. 

And maybe, he thinks to himself with your face cupped in his chilled hands, it’s time to start letting some of that anger go, washing it away with the rain.

[bmodiwrites]

Alright friends, here's part two of what I'm calling 'Steve's Little Green Shorts'. You can find part one here and @infinite-orangepeel's post that inspired it all here! It gets a little... frisky towards the end, so I've put the last few paragraphs under a read more. Check back for part 3 soon!

Despite never saying a word to Eddie Munson, Steve isn’t blind to his perusal.

At first, it’s the sort of thing Steve wants nothing to do with. He’s a sophomore still stuck in the mindset that being cool is the only way to make it through high school. When Tommy says “the fag is staring at you again,” Steve shakes his head and tries not to think about it. Everyone stares at him – why is Eddie Munson any different?

Steve learns to ignore a lot of things in his time between sophomore and junior year, especially the odd feelings he gets when he sees Eddie staring at him again. He’s supposed to be so far up Nancy’s ass that no one can tell them apart, but something’s missing. Eddie’s glance is much more interesting.

After taking on the Upside Down and making it out on the other side alive, Steve knows he has to follow his gut. The fire he feels whenever Eddie’s eyes linger on him a little too long is a sign. No other heated gaze makes Steve want to crawl out of his skin. What Steve thought was repulsion is the messy head rush of want, instead.

So, during the run his senior year, Steve takes a chance. He’s not amongst the jock crowd anymore, nor popular enough to want to run with his old friends. The trot he settles into is the perfect pace to set everything in motion. Steve gets to do the stupid gym assignment with the knowledge that Eddie’s got the view he’s always wanted.

The attention Eddie pays to him is intoxicating, so much so that Steve has to look over his shoulder, he’s got to finally acknowledge the odd connection between them. Steve’s expecting something life changing to occur – instead, Eddie trips over himself and falls flat on his face.

It’s downright adorable.

So is the way that Eddie can’t seem to find a word to fling in Steve’s direction. He looks up at Steve with those doe eyes and babbles a bit. The only sign that Eddie hasn’t totally lost it is the quick flash of red that runs up and down his face and neck – his cheeks look like fresh cherries Steve wants to sink his teeth into.

With that thought in mind, it’s all too easy for Steve to linger in the locker room until the last of the guys are done. Eddie is always slow moving, probably wanting to avoid all of the bullying that can happen in a shared shower as the token gay kid. Steve’s watched him enough to know that they’ll have the space to himself.

There’s a giddiness sitting in Steve’s chest as he strips down and wraps his towel around his hips. He hears a shower head turn on and feels a rush of excitement slip down his spine. The plan he’s been toiling over for weeks is going off without a hitch.

Steve tries to be quiet in his approach, but Eddie is too hyperaware to miss the echo of his footsteps. There’s a second where Steve thinks about whether he’s actually going to commit to this foolhardy plan. His hand moving down to remove the knot from his towel makes the decision before Steve’s brain can find a reason not to go through with something he really wants. He’s standing before Eddie naked when the older boy turns around.

“Holy shit, Steve – “ Eddie exclaims, his voice bouncing off the tile walls. If they weren’t the last class to inhabit the locker room, Steve would be worried. They’re all alone, though, so he lets himself grin – there’s no way in hell Eddie Munson isn’t going to be loud when he cums.

Without verbally replying, Steve reaches forward to turn on the shower head right next to Eddie’s. He steps under to let the water sleuth down his neck and chest. Despite putting minimal effort forth while running, the hot water feels amazing on Steve’s sore muscles. The moan he lets forth is innocent, though it works to his advantage, too.

If Eddie wasn’t interested before, he certainly is now. When Steve blinks his eyes open after wetting his hair, Eddie’s eyes are selfishly running all over Steve’s body. It’s funny to see him hop over the one area that Steve actually wants him to notice. Despite the blatant way Steve’s displaying himself, Eddie hasn’t looked at his cock once… and that just won’t do.

Feeling confident and floored by Eddie’s heady glance, Steve runs his hand along the center of his chest, inching it down until his fingers tangle through the hair he’s been letting grow out. There’s a direct line of it that leads right to his quickly swelling erection. There’s something to be said about being watched. Steve doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not happy to finally wrap a hand around himself.

Eddie’s gasp makes Steve’s cock jump – he grips his length tightly to stop the violent rush of hormones that threaten to bowl him over. There’s little point in exposing himself like this if he’s going to spout off like a pre-teen. The way Eddie’s looking at him deserves a bit of respect – Steve wants to put on a show that doesn’t end early and upholds his reputation. He wants it to be worth Eddie’s admiration.  

He starts off slow, because Eddie is already starting to breath hard. His arousal is thick in the air, obvious and refreshingly real for Steve to see. The flush from earlier has creeped down his chest so all of Eddie’s long limbs are covered in a lusty flush. His hands are in tight fists down by his sides but Steve can literally taste the other’s desire to reach out and touch.

If only he knew how much Steve wanted that, too.

He lets that thought slip away as the shift of his hand starts to really feel good. Little moans repeatedly fall from his lips, though Steve has no control over them. The abundance of stimulus from the hot water hitting his skin to the hole Eddie’s eyes are digging into him give the slick slide of his strokes even more meaning. His attempt at seducing Eddie is deteriorating into the puddle of goo Steve is going to be here in a second.

He's just about there when a breathy “fuck” snaps him out of his trance. Eddie is slowly inching forward, as if compelled by the sight before him. Steve smiles at him, even nods his head – the invitation is sent, Eddie simply has to take it.

And boy does he.

Steve is very suddenly yanked into Eddie’s arms. His hand falls away from his cock in transition, but that’s okay – Eddie’s warmth more than makes up for it. They’re chest to chest, pressed together from tippy toe to sternum. There’s no room left for doubt, Steve narrows down that remaining space so that Eddie has no choice but to lean forward and meet him in the middle.

Finally, Eddie is kissing him.

@bidisastersworld, @babygirlstevesstuff, @kyoxyukiforever, @gregre369 (please comment if you want to be added to the taglist for part 3!!!)

[savingthrcw]

@x-hollywoodghoul-x the second kissy thread for Coop!

There were very few people in this world who could get under her skin the way the Ghoul had, no people, in fact, it was just him, who may not have been as aggressive and cruel as when they had first met, but by existing tempted her to behave in some very not nice ways. And while a part of her was questioning everything she was, because Moldaver had made very clear they had been shaped by what Vault Tec managers wanted for their future wives and husband, and Lucy could even start pintpointing all the little ways she could see it in herself, at the same time she also didn't want to become an entirely new person. Some of the things she had been taught, some of the personality traits she had, were good. She didn't want to be mean. She didn't want to be sarcastic, short with people, jaded. She didn't want to be mad. But oh, she was furious. She was torn apart. She was beyond angry at her father, she was disgusted by Vault Tec, she was heartbroken over her mother. She was all sorts of negative things that she didn't want to be, and suppressing it only worked so much. Still, gritted teeth and all, Lucy had forced herself to be polite, at least when she wasn't lost into one of her involuntary silent times, so busy being sad or rimuginating that she forgot to talk, and she had also forced the Ghoul, as long as he wanted to keep traveling with her, to get sidetracked a few times so she could help people in need. The way that made her feel told Lucy that yes, it was a real part of her, that need to not abandon people to their destiny was not something forced into her head.

The last guy in need was one the Ghoul hadn't trusted one bit, felt just too innocent, and he had been telling her she was wrong to the point of betting on it, betting he'd kiss her booboos, that absolute butthead, except that for once, just for once, her instinct had been right, the man had been telling the truth, and they had taken out a few slavers - talking them down had been useless, and once again she knew she had been far too violent when forced into hand to hand combat, something she prayed he'd just let pass without commenting on it - which had also meant getting their hands on their supplies, a win for both of them. She had been right. And she really, really wanted to be the bigger person, she should be, it was the correct way to handle their relationship, considering they had to keep traveling together and hostility would bring nothing good to the table-"I thought you'd say you'd kiss my booboos if I was right?" And so, bad instincts had won.

"What did people say before the war, 'put your money where your mouth is'? Though I suppose you'd be putting your mouth where your mouth was... Unless you want to take it back, of course," a magnanimous offer, "And just verbally and clearly admit that I was right, you were wrong, and you owe me an amount of caps to be determined."

[nitazenes]

What are your murder dreams about?

Hey

Good question

I don't know why I have this reoccurring dream but as a disclaimer I consider these dreams to be nightmares/night terrors. I don't enjoy them. In fact, they cause me a great deal of stress.

I've never had these dreams about another person except for once but these are mostly tied to my ex, she's on my DNI. Her name is Buffy. She did nonconsensual things to me when I was inebriated and couldn't give consent and overall she made my life a living hell from ages 15-21 which are like key fundamental years in life development and becoming a person and all that and I feel quit stunted.

When we broke up I lost *all* of my friends. Leaving me almost entirely alone with Graham (another name on my DNI) who had been abusing me for years at that point.

But the best thing Graham ever did for me was help me realize that I was staying with my partner out of fear of being alone.

When B and I broke up. Something snapped or switched in her because whe went from being somewhat reserved to bragging about going on a date and getting fucked 3 days after our break up

I never used to call her a rapist before because I didn't recognize the signs but she would use one of my touch triggers against me. It's a programming thing. But touch in that area, she discovered, would activate programming that made me submissive and encouraging of sexual behavior so. I didn't recognize this as the R word until later on. I was never giving consent even if I acted like I wanted to do it.

Anyway. Because of being manipulated this way. Being isolated, and my ex accusing me of things I didn't do and seeing my friends on social media saying they wish I'd die, I just shut down.

And then the dreams started. They always start with some sort of attempt to be diplomatic but it turns into her egging me on, something she did in pur relationship, intentionally making me so mad that she would act innocent and like I was crazy for being so angry.

I wasn't innocent BTW, this relationship was abusive on both ends. Mostly me being unmedicated and my BPD would make me rage at her. If she were to call me verbally/emotionally abusive. I would have to agree. I was. But I'm not that person anymore.

Anyway I had dreams about killing her every night. It would always start diplomatically but would turn into her ignoring me or egging me on to the point I would accidentally lash out and go too far and end up killing her

Those dreams haunted me for 2 years after the relationship ended but they went away for about a year. And then in 2022 she decided to DARVO and started calling me *her* rapist. Her story of what happened isn't coherent like there's so many plot holes. She's just saying it to garner more sympathy from her friends.

After these allegations, the nightmares started again. This time a lot more brutal and my intentions were set to kill her in those dreams.

The night terrors went away again until I experienced abuse from Ripley and Leah. Even though my issues were with other people, it was still always about her.

Last night was disturbing bc i had been making lunges at her with ol reliable (big knife I own) and she kept showing me her wrists which were scarred as if encouraging me to slash at her arms instead

That disturbed me enough to wake up.

My therapist tells me I have these dreams from repressed anger/trauma I experienced with her and also feeling the situation is out of my control like entirely.

Bc of this I have these night terrors but I must express again, they're just intrusive thoughts while I'm sleeping and I have no desire to actually hurt her or ever see her again

Just seeing the same type of car she had puts me on edge. I'd be more bound to get away from her bc she scares me. Rather than trying to harm. It's just a dream

An annoying one but a dream

[cosmicjoke]

So the thing that strikes me most with Lestat and Marius in the last section of “TVL” is truly how childish and childlike Lestat is.  This really is one of the most glaringly out of character aspects with Lestat in the AMC show, how they’ve made him into this conniving, manipulative, mastermind schemer, because... Lestat is so totally the opposite of that, and it’s one of the aspects of him that makes him both so frustrating and so endearing at the same time.  He really IS like a child in so many ways, has the impulsivity and spontaneity of a child, often yielding to his emotions like a child, acting on the first thought that comes into his head, reacting WITH emotion to things where a more mature adult might react with a more measured reason.  Lestat’s entire episode with Akasha and Enkil here is really demonstrative of that, of course, not only in how he yields to his desire to try and wake them, but also in his belief that it can’t possibly, actually work, and then, when shit starts to go south, with Akasha waking up and then Enkil attacking him, Lestat crying out to Marius to help him.  There’s that almost innocent, naive quality to Lestat that just doesn’t come through in the AMC show at all. 

And it’s really this sort of childlike impulsivity combined with all his trauma that gets Lestat into so much trouble with Louis and Claudia to begin with, and again why this cunning depiction of him in the show doesn’t work.  Lestat doesn’t make Claudia because he’s thinking long term.  It’s the act of a desperate, lonely boy who’s terrified of being abandoned again, after he’s already lost everyone he loves.  And the latest stinging reminder of that is Marius making Lestat leave his island after the incident with Akasha and Enkil, Lestat once more being shown how his natural tendencies drive away his friends and companions.  Louis threatening to leave Lestat after they’re driven off of Louis’ plantation must have set off every desperate and panicked impulse in Lestat, causing him to act with the same recklessness that, tragically and ironically, forced him off of Marius’s island early.  Couple that with with Marius’ instructions to Lestat, that he had to go out and live a full lifetime, that when he made fledglings, he should hold them to him like a family, not a coven, and then Marius’ own threats about never telling them a single thing about their origins, threatening Lestat even by telling him that whoever he told, he would have to kill, even instructing Lestat not to tell them anything if he couldn’t bear to lie to them, it’s just such an amalgamation of intersecting factors that lead to eventual disaster, and that’s also where part of the tragedy comes in.  In the inevitability of it.  You can see from all of this where Lestat’s agitation and angry bouts of protest come from, when thinking back to Claudia’s insistent questioning, and Louis’ constant inquiries.  In his own way, Lestat was trying to protect them, but he could never explain how or why.  And you realize that Lestat did none of this in malice.  He wasn’t trying to hurt Louis or Claudia.  He was scared, terrified, really, of being alone, again, like a child, watching his family slip away from him more and more with each passing day and year, and genuinely unable to give them the thing they wanted and needed from him to calm them down and bring them back to him.  He couldn’t give them the knowledge they desired without endangering them, but being unable to answer their questions, the rift between them could only continue to widen, their resentment of Lestat worsen.  We see that particularly with Claudia’s increasingly hostile and cold verbal assaults on Lestat, and in the context of Lestat’s situation, his inability to quell her growing hatred of him with the knowledge she was seeking, you can easily see how his desperate fear manifested as anger and rage. 

What’s really interesting too is thinking of all this along with Lestat’s own, increasing sense of dread with Claudia.  He could feel her genuine hatred at that point, near the end.  He could feel her intentions, even.  There’s that moment in IWTV, while arguing with Claudia, when Lestat gets spooked with Louis at his back, and turns to look at him with this startled expression, like he thought Louis was going to attack him.  He’s absolutely frightened in that moment, which Louis realizes himself with a start.  So it wasn’t like Lestat was ignorant to either of their feelings.  He just couldn’t find a way to appease them, or cool specifically Claudia’s increasing hostility toward him.  It’s painful to imagine Lestat’s feelings of helplessness here.  How truly powerless he must have felt in this entire situation.

And again, it’s why his depiction in this AMC show is so off the mark, with Lestat being aware of Claudia’s plans to kill him, and making counter plans to turn it around on her. It completely misses exactly what it is about Lestat that so often gets him in trouble, replacing it with a malicious intent that just doesn’t actually exist in his character, at least at this point in his story.  It’s Lestat’s childlike quality that makes him so accepting of Claudia’s “peace offering”, in spite of his sensing her hostility.  He’s not stupid, he isn’t oblivious, but he’s hopeful and optimistic in only the way a child can really be.  It’s the trust of a child that Lestat has in this moment, the same childlike tendency that makes him act so impulsively and recklessly at times, also makes him truly believe Claudia wants to make things better between them.  All reason goes out the window as Lestat falls into her trap, trusting her implicitly.  It’s actually incredibly sad.

[cosmos-coma]

Prey of the Hunt- Chapter 5

A/N: This one took a little while, but I finally just decided to just cut the chapter I was working on in half because it was getting too long anyways. Have you figured out who you are yet? Make your theories before the next chapter comes out!

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Warnings: reader with (temporary) amnesia, Non-verbal reader (also temporary),  Traumatized reader, Game canon characters/lore.

Word count: 3k

Chapter Summary: You find yourself reveling in innocent touches between you and Eskel and hard training with the other Witchers of the Keep, but you're... better with one of these weapons than you expected...  and now Geralt's suspicions have seemed to come back.

Chapter 6

_____________________________

It’s been a few weeks now since your incident in town; autumn has since come to a close and snow has started to fall every once in a while, though it never seems to stay very long. 

With the changing of seasons, you find that you have changed as well. Your injuries have started to scab over, your stitches have since been removed, and your fingers are starting to look better too. You were finally starting to feel like a real person again, mentally and physically.

You had since told everyone about your dream from that night, writing it all down so nothing would get lost in translation about how you finally remembered your earlier life and meeting Eredin.  However, Eskel was still the only one who knew what you saw in that mirror, but even then, he had only heard about it not seen it. You never went into detail about the way it looked at you or the uniqueness of the helmet. 

You had dreamt since that night, most of it was little things, however. You’d get flashes of your early life, your mother teaching you Elder, or your father and you catching chickens, it was pleasant. Every so often, though, you’d get short dreams of a place you had never seen before, filled with unfamiliar plants and animals, and a shining city. You had hoped for something more definitive and telling soon though.

“Good morning.” Vesemir greeted as you came into the kitchen, ready to help you during your morning cooking breakfast. 

Ever since it became clear that you’d started to take a more long-term residence in the Keep, Vesemir bestowed upon you more chores here and there. All of which you were more than happy to receive, it let you feel like you were pulling your weight around here and it gave the other Witchers a little reprieve regarding their own chores too. 

You waved pleasantly to him as you ducked inside, immediately getting out your materials and ingredients. 

“Any new dreams?” He asked earnestly, and you quickly nodded. 

“A small one.” you motioned with your hands. “Scenes of winter outside Brugge, and lots of bodies laying around. ” you continued, expelling a sigh. 

Vesemir had taken the strongest interest in your dreams of everyone at the keep. Whenever he heard you had had another he was right there to help you figure them out. He was the only reason you had started being able to put names to some of these places you were seeing and get some vague sense of clarity. And though He definitely could be a hard ass with you sometimes, you were starting to see why these younger Witchers saw him as a father of sorts. 

“Hmm.. that’s a new one.” He said, partially lost in the thoughts and implications of it. “and farther out from the other villages you've dreamed of. We’ll have to add it to the map later.” He finished with a nod and you couldn’t help but smile at his commitment. “On a different note- I have a new chore for you today.”

“What’s that?” you asked, brows drawn together in interest as you set down the bowl of batter you were preparing. 

“Well, seeing as your wounds have healed nicely and you seem to be moving easier, I want you to train with everyone today.” He stated and watched for your reaction as he continued. “Because- well, I may be old, but I’m not blind- I can see how close you and Eskel have gotten…”

Your cheeks and neck instantly burned bright red as you blushed and your lips began to stammer, trying to find the words to respond to this. Despite fumbling with your words for a short time in the end you could only nod and try to casually look back down at your batter. 

Of course, the older Witcher saw all of this but only smiled a bit and waved his hand to continue on his topic. “... But come spring there won’t be much of anything left for you here. And no matter what you do- If you decide to walk beside him on the path or just… make yourself a new life somewhere, it’ll be good for you to know how to defend yourself.”

Once you finally got over your bashful moment and your cheeks felt less heated, you nodded in agreement. It was a good idea, you had to admit- especially if the Wild Hunt were to show up again. Though you suspected Vesemir had already thought of that and just didn’t want to worry you by bringing the situation to light. 

By the time you brought out breakfast, all the younger Witchers had already taken their seats at the table. As you got closer, you could hear Lambert’s excited ramblings about the latest bomb you two had been perfecting. 

“Okay, so when it explodes it splatters out a slime that covers the enemy and slows it down. It took a while to get the mixture of arachnomorph webbing and siren slime to the perfect consistency, but I think we finally managed, I mean that shit was in my hair for days…” He said with a wide grin. 

“Mine too....” You thought to yourself, feeling the now much shorter piece of hair on the side of your head.

“And what exactly do you two call this fancy new bomb?” Geralt asked with an amused smirk that might as well have been written in bold all over his face. 

“It’s the…! uh, Slug…Launcher…?” He said, eyes darting around as if the room was going to reveal the perfect answer to him. “Look, we haven’t gotten that far, okay? We’ve only just wrapped up the first tests,” he tried to explain over Geralt and Eskel’s raucous laughter. 

“My vote is for Slug Launcher,”  you mouthed with a grin, sliding in next to your honey-eyed Witcher, and putting your hand on his arm.

“Ah, I know Lambert can come up with something far more ridiculous. So I’ll hold my vote for now,” Eskel commented and turned to you with a smile that you swore could move mountains if he wished. 

By other’s standards, you and Eskel were moving rather slowly. You two had only shared innocent touches so far, the gentle caress of a cheek as he held you after a sour dream or the slow intentional brushing of fingers as you worked side by side. They were small and subtle, but they were comfortable to you and comfort was just what you needed. 

You loved the way Eskel made you feel; the way his smile each morning caused a fluttering in your chest, the ease you felt in his presence like nothing could go wrong, the way he served you breakfast now before he even served himself. 

However, your mind and heart were heavy right now, and he knew that. Trying to figure out who you were and where you belonged has taken up a lot of space in your mind, leaving only a portion of you left to think about the inclinations of your own heart. Though just because you didn’t have a lot left of you to think about it didn’t mean you wanted to ignore them completely. 

You smiled and squeezed Eskel’s forearm as he set your breakfast in front of you, your hand only lingering as it trailed down and quickly squeezed his hand as well. 

It wasn’t much, but you could still see the way his golden eyes melted a bit as your loving touch grazed his skin. You and Eskel continued to eat breakfast, going back and forth with grazing fingers and gently knocking knees until Vesemir told everyone to finish up and make their way out to the courtyard.

“Alright…” Vesemir began when you all finally gathered around. “ Y/n is going to be joining us for training today. Y/n, since we don’t know where your skill level with a sword is yet, we’ll have you start by watching a round. Then you can jump in for a test run.” 

You nodded as your hands rubbed nervously against your legs, sure that you were getting in over your head, but you couldn’t really say no to this, nor did you want to. 

The younger witchers donned their armor, a second skin at this point, and grabbed their weapons, pairing off; Vesemir with Geralt, and Eskel with  Lambert. As Vesemir finished counting them all in they sprung at each other with steps like that of lightning, as quick as they were silent.

You tried to mentally take notes, but they often were just moving too fast for you to keep good track of all of them. 

“Okay, Eskel goes with a more defensive route, Lambert Offensive, Geralt is more of a mix, and Vesemir responds to whatever his opponent uses.” That was about all you could take in as the raucous clanging of swords reverberated in your ears and made the rest of your thoughts a fuzzy static. 

They seemed to get a few hits in on each other here and there, though you suggest that decades of training against one another had brought them all to even footing when it came to their fighting skills. But what style were you supposed to use? You didn’t even know who you were supposed to practice with yet. 

“Alright, that’s good..!” Vesemir called out and all the guys paused mid-swing, pulling their swords back and looking over as they waited for what was next. 

“Y/n? Think you can do something like that?” the older man asked, handing you a wooden sword so you wouldn't hurt yourself. 

“Uh… sure, of course,” you replied, very unconvincingly, but still quickly pulled on the leather armor he offered to you. “Who am I fighting?” you asked, nervous to go against any of them, honestly. You’d rather be going up against the one-armed wooden dummy in the corner over there. 

“You’ll be training with Geralt,” he explained, handing the witcher a wooden sword of his own. “Geralt’s mix of offense and defense will hopefully give you a better idea of what you prefer when you fight.”

You were sure they all could hear the loud GULP you swallowed as you moved into the space opposite Geralt. Nerves wracked you, But…  you used a branch as a club when the Wild Hunt first came for you, so you must know a little bit about fighting, right? 

Right?

“Alright, are you two ready? Then on your marks…” Vesemir spoke. 

Blood rushing in your ears was about the only thing you could hear as you took a ready stance. Realistically you had nothing to worry about, but your muscles still felt taut in anticipation 

“Go!” Vesemir yelled, the only thing that got past the static rushing in your ears. 

Immediately Geralt came in with a swing toward your side, not holding back his inhuman speed as he trained against you. You were sure you were going to miss it as you went to block, but… but you did it? You did it! 

The genuine look of surprise on your face was reflected in that of Geralt, who also didn’t expect you to block it either. Your small victory was short-lived as he quickly composed his expression again and came at you once more. 

You were clumsy, that was certain,  but it was like something in the back of your mind had awoken, and it knew how to defend itself. You let your mind become warm static as you continued the fight, blocking Geralt’s blows, and occasionally taking a swing as you saw openings. You had been growing tired of the feelings of deja vu you had had lately, but this one you welcomed. Training against Geralt felt more familiar than anything had so far. Your body anticipated many of his moves as he made them and allowed you to block most of his blows, but your sword still felt too unwieldy, too light in your hands. 

Geralt’s eyes continued to ring with surprise as you blocked more and more of his swings as time went on. As your wooden swords clacked together in the silence of the courtyard, he felt something recognizable tugging at the edges of his memory. He could have sworn all his memories had come back after he and Yennefer worked through them but now he began to grow doubtful. 

Things were going decently for you when out of nowhere, Geralt switched up his swing and instead came down on you like a hammer with his sword. A yelp rose from your throat as you quickly brought your sword up, gripping what would have been the blade as you held it above your head in an attempt to block. The hit came down hard and sent shockwaves down your arms and body, even causing the wooden swords to crack a little bit internally. 

“Okay, Stop! That’s enough…” Vesemir called and came closer to your duo. 

You hadn’t realized how loud you were breathing, how much effort you were putting forward until the fighting had stopped. Your blood still rushed around your ears but was now beginning to quiet down. 

Vesemir rubbed his hand down his face and turned towards you as he spoke. “You were doing so well to start off with, but that block you did right there would have cut your hand clean in half if you were holding a real sword. You’re blocking as if you’re using a-” Vesemir’s face went from mildly frustrated to a sudden look of enlightenment. “Wait here…” the Old Witcher mumbled and quickly ran off back inside the keep.

Quietly looking around at the other Witchers you mouthed out “Did I… do something bad?”

Lambert’s face only conveyed a quiet approval, while Eskel’s face was tinted red in the blush he developed from watching you fight. Geralt though was the one to speak up.

“Besides your block? Not really, but… I don't remember fighting you before. So why did that feel routine to me?” His expression was serious, mouth in a tight line like you would expect from “emotionless” Witchers. What hurt though, was that the suspicion and caution you thought you two had grown past was back. You thought he had loosened up into something akin to a good friend, but now you worried you were back to step one.

“Me too,”  was all you managed to respond before Vesemir came running back with a large stick in hand- No, a staff?

“Try this instead, I think this might be more what you’re used to.” He said, handing it to you and taking your wooden sword away. It was a heavy wooden staff, its weight comfortable and fitting in your hands. 

You gave it a slow twirl as a grin crept its way over your face, it wasn’t perfect, but it still felt right and you knew you had found a piece of your past. You weren’t entirely sure how this would fit in yet, but knowing this much brought you comfort.

Vesemir had the hint of a proud smile as he stepped back, “alright, let’s go again.” He said, motioning for you and Geralt to get back into position. 

“Actually-” Geralt, interjected a faint frown lining his features, “I think I’m gonna watch this one. Eskel can take it instead.” He said, tossing the wooden sword to his brother. 

“Me? Alright…” Eskel replied, catching the tossed sword and coming over to Geralt’s spot as he moved next to Vesmir, arms crossed. 

“Don’t be gentle,” you assured your witcher and assumed your ready position. You were feeling more confident in your abilities and figured that if you were going to learn to defend yourself- well they say offense is the best defense, right? 

“When you’re ready… go!” Vesemir instructed and stood back to watch.

This time you were the one who rushed in to strike first, your movements, while not as smooth as a Witchers, were more sure than your previous ones. It was perfect against Eskel’s more defensive tactics, though you suspected throughout the skirmish that he was holding back. Here and there you knew you had accidentally left yourself open, yet he still didn’t take the opportunity. 

A frustrated frown drew itself over your face as he kept skipping over chances to get you. Was he afraid to hurt you? Was he distracted? After minutes into the fight, you finally let out a frustrated grunt and swept your staff against Eskel’s feet causing him to fall back onto the ground with a loud THUD.

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you watched your Witcher fall backward, surprised at yourself. “Are you okay?” you asked, rushing over to take his hand.

A crimson blush stained Eskel’s cheeks as he looked up at you from the ground, a clear sense of arousal swirling in the pool of his eyes. “Yeah… I’m Great…” He finally responded, a little breathy as he looked on at you standing above him.

“Alright, love-birds. No one wants to see you plough each other in the courtyard- HEY!” Lambert yelled as you threw your staff at him, hoping he would be distracted by your staff and not see the rosy blush that passed over you at the thought. 

As you reached your hand down to help Eskel up, you took a glance over at the others and noticed that Geralt and Vesemir were no longer watching, and instead were whispering amongst each other. 

As you “helped” pull your mountain of a witcher off the ground and tapped his arm gently, pointing to them. “Can you..?” you mouthed. 

“What are you two whispering about now?” Eskel asked for you, also rather curious as it wasn’t often things that were kept secret in the Keep, let alone between brothers. 

Geralt looked to his brother as he paused in contemplation for but a moment, before a certain and solemn look fell over him. “Fighting styles… That’s all.”

_______________________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight @dark-academia-slut

[anders-hawke]

is it cliche if i say that "Take Me to Church" is a Gale song? don't care.

Every Sunday's gettin' more bleak / A fresh poison each week / We were born sick, you heard them say it / My church offers no absolutes / She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom" / The only heaven I'll be sent to / Is when I'm alone with you / I was born sick, but I love it / Command me to be well

= how Gale's worship of Mystra led to him not having any friends because he was so isolated, and how being a wizard who worships Mystra in any sort of genuine way doesn't preclude one from falling prey to ego and greed - and in Gale's case of becoming her chosen, exacerbated it. his worship of her turned into "worship in the bedroom" and he forgot the pleasures of mortal love. born sick - born with a gift of magical talent and was therefore marked as mystra's prey, his rise and fall foretold the moment he first harnessed the weave; but despite the chaos and pain his command of the weave led him to, he still loves practicing magic.

Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies / I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife / Offer me that deathless death / Oh, good God, let me give you my life

= prostrating himself before Mystra before the game & during act 1, where he paints himself in an extremely negative light when talking about obtaining the orb and crossing Mystra's boundaries - almost begging her to talk to him again even if it means having her disappointment in him verbalized because then at least he'd have her attention again. and then gale believing that he needs to regain Mystra's favor by detonating the orb.

To keep the goddess on my side / She demands a sacrifice / Drain the whole sea, get somethin' shiny / Somethin' meaty for the main course / That's a fine lookin' high horse / What you got in the stable? / We've a lot of starvin' faithful / That looks tasty, that looks plenty / This is hungry work

= only by going to the extreme end of offerings to a god will Gale satisfy Mystra's lust for punishing those that serve her, and in so doing, perhaps she will see the good in him again. but she arguably does not care for the wizards that follow her at all, placing more importance on her own desires and her own perspective on what balancing use of the weave looks like. having a deity with such power at her fingertips at the head of their church, wizards' ultimate example is Mystra, regardless of her boundaries. of course they all vie for massive amounts of power, crawling over the corpses of those that came before as the mountain of them sinks further into the hells - but does Mystra deserve that power? is she truly a good overseer for the weave? all that power could be used for better things, couldn't it? could "feed" "a lot of starvin' faithful" - or it could be coveted by greedy and egotistical wizards, the climb to power being "hungry work"

No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then, I am human, only then, I am clean

= him reaching beyond Mystra's boundaries of what magic mortals are allowed to do (and him stooping so low as to act like "a common conjurer") and eventually having the orb inflicted on him is something that denotes his humanity, something Mystra lost in her apotheosis - and the ensuing distance from Mystra offers him the opportunity to "cleanse" himself of her hold on him

[earthsickwithoutyou]

Calvaire, 2004 - ★½ (contains spoilers)

This review may contain spoilers.

Eh. This movie, for me, was mostly wasted potential. The first thing that throws me off is this movie being referenced as part of New French Extremity. It's nowhere near extreme enough to have its title bandied about with the likes of Inside, Frontier(s) and Martyrs, hence setting up false expectations.

So where does this perception of extremity come from? I suspect it's simply because many viewers are so unused to seeing a man put in some of the roles/situations in this film. We're used to seeing a woman subjected to such torment and abuse. But when it happens to women in horror films, it's a lot worse than this! If it's a dude, suddenly this is on par with NFE just for subverting gender roles?

The protagonist makes no sense as a character, setting up the dull, shapeless screenplay (use of mysteriousness/unanswered questions doesn't work at all, nor does it seem calculated; it's like the movie isn't finished).

Calvaire goes out of its way to establish Marc as this adorably sweet man with musical ambitions but not much success, who puts on cheesy but fun concerts at nursing homes. He seems to enjoy bringing happiness to the lonely residents.

Then this whole side of his personality is instantly dropped, never to return, what, five, ten minutes into the movie? Because a confused and infatuated senior lady makes an overly handsy pass at him. Her emotional distress and innocence of meaning harm are so clear, yet he chooses to not respond in any way except to move slightly away from her. Weird. Most people in this unpleasant but understandable situation would probably have some sort of verbal response, not a cold shut-down. You'd either be upset or apologetically reject the person, or say something quick and hopefully comforting before leaving the room. He also sits there listening blankly/numbly as she insults herself in the most wretched terms. What is this guy's deal?

FF to him leaving the nursing home, where a nurse (described in one review as "slightly younger" than the senior lady from earlier, hahahaha she's much younger, but a little older than Marc.). This is hardly a disgraceful move on the nurse's part, except that she won't let it go and becomes a creepy stalker. What vibe is Marc giving off that he can't peel women off him?

I do concur that the meaning here is to show us how women are treated IRL / in other horror films, but happening to a man, as it foreshadows and gives context to what happens next. Sure, but Marc is so lifeless, free from personality or reacting in any way human to these seduction attempts that it's too easy to feel bad for the women and not care about him. A pattern that sadly continues, even as Marc's aggressors become male.

Someone with no personality and silent, smug, lack of verbal answer to situations where most people would certainly have something to say does not ride around in a funky van with his own name on it or wear a damn cape to perform Tom Jones-esque numbers at an elderly home. It does not occur. IRL or movies.

I digress, so moving on. Marc heads off to the next gig. Question, is he going a different way than he came? Asking because suddenly the depressing but fairly realistic world of the movie changes into a hellish, dark, frightening forest a la In the Company of Wolves. Where tf IS he? Why is there this village, not that far away from society at all, yet isolated and ignored as it festers in horror? UH.

Marc's van breaks down because of course it does. I tend to tolerate this worn-out trope because follow-up is usually a lot more satisfying. Here, all we get is boring or depressing.

Case in point: the man who wanders the woods throughout the movie, delusional and heartbroken, crying and looking for his lost dog. I have read some reviews claiming to find the character to be comic relief. Hell no, he's depressing AF. Except for the one, best part of the movie when he tells Marc to shut up, the first time they meet ("I meant be silent with your mouth!"). So this character gets the gold metal for causing an emotional reaction from me that was engaging. But there are no more such moments of dry humor from him, imo, because he's too desperate and messed up, which just isn't funny.

Marc, dumb enough to drive down an abandoned rural road at night in a beat-up van that already barely started when he left the comparatively innocuous problems back at the nursing home, adds to his display of stupidity by FOLLOWING THE MENTALLY UNHINGED, CREEPY MAN TO THE "INN" IN AN EVEN MORE ISOLATED LOCATION AND LEAVING HIS VAN BEHIND. From this point on, I have little pity to spare him. He passively lets all of this shit happen to him while later crying and whining about it. My brother in Christ, you're a *disgrace* of a final girl (any final girl would have been more suspicious, guarded and defensive during the titular Ordeal). No one would put themselves in this position among obviously unstable and dangerous characters. the FUCK.

So, after following the mentally unhinged, creepy man to the "inn" in an even more isolated location and leaving his van behind, Marc decides to follow a "friendly" (obviously eerie and untrustworthy) fellow named Bartel into his house (not even being used as an inn anymore. It's literally just this man's house, anything could fucking be in there. WHO DOES THIS

Moreover, he very passively sits back and does very little aside from look bored and vaguely annoyed, allowing Bartel (not a mechanic) to work on his van "as a favor." Sure, that's normal. And wicked smart as far as the well-being of the van, too. WHY Marc WHY.

The audience watches in some sort of "NO, REALLY?" sarcastic stupor as the second Marc leaves on a walk, Bartel gets into the van, goes through all his shit, and acts like creepy stalker volume 2. The much, much worse version. Wow, what a shock, you mean Bartel is a bad guy??

Marc goes on a nice lil' stroll with no expression on his face, as he does. He encounters a barn with something happening inside that is so disgusting (w/ regard to animal treatment) that it is angering and took me right out of the movie. I can watch almost anything happen to an adult human, but leave animals and children alone, jesus. A terrible scene.

You'd think that after witnessing such depraved, sick, awful behavior, Marc would freak the fuck out. He'd either burst in and try to save the animal, or he'd call the villagers out on their misdeeds instinctively, well-advised or not. That's human. Or he'd run for the hills, possibly screaming. He'd definitely get out of this community immediately after. But he goes back to Bartel, does not say a word about the incident or even show any reaction, so what was the point, btw, and then he lets Bartel transparently trick him into staying another night. 🤣

Bartel cooks Marc another free meal, which apparently is palatable and not poisoned. Marc does his "I exist, I guess" routine while Bartel tells a super pathetic and yup, shocker, depressing story of how his partner Gloria abandoned him and his life fell apart.

By now, Idk who would give a fuck about Marc, who responds insensitively once again while letting himself get more entangled in the plans of a sub-Norman-Bates-level villain. Bartel ends up being the more sympathetic character, because at least he has a personality, his motives are clear, and his insanity is tragic. It doesn't justify his horrible actions, but again, we understand it, it has some meaning. Who listens to a man telling such a story and then has next to nothing to say, not even "man that sucks, I'm so sorry to hear." ?

On we go to Bartel getting Marc to sing for him after dinner. Marc half-asses it but sings a pretty catchy song and has a nice voice. The movie immediately goes back to being boring and predictable thereafter.

The next day, Marc figures out (after being in this house for one night, a full day and a second night, not to mention the crazy stuff in the woods) that Bartel is lying to him, taking his belongings, and keeping him there under false pretenses of helping. Like no fucking DUH, Marc!!

In passing, I add that they cast a big, strong-looking, young actor as Marc, so every time Bartel, who's smaller, older, and unstable, overpowers the protagonist, I was taken out of the movie again. Nothing feels real, even for movie-world and suspension of disbelief or allegory, you have to have some basic core elements that anchor the story or it goes adrift, like my attention and regard.

The big twist gets revealed and this could have been dived into with some real shockers and mined for the deep psychological and social messages within. Instead, it's sort of taped onto the movie like a store-brand Christmas bow on a gift box full of meh.

Let's have a look at Marc's ordeal: 1) he gets himself into a situation no one would ever get themselves into because it's so dumbass, it physically hurts to watch, 2) as soon as Bartel wants him to "be" Gloria, Marc fights and sobs like a toddler whose parent turned off Dora. Wait now. I get that "in a moment of trauma you never know how anyone would react" but this goes on a while. Marc never just...plays along? And gets Bartel vulnerable before taking him out? Which would be...easy....??!! The family in Funny Games were winners of the Hunger Games compared to this shit right here.

3) he has to wear an ugly dress, boohoo PLEASE, 4) Bartel ties him up with rope, like not zipties or handcuffs but rope. There are likely any number of sharp objects around, but Marc has better things to do like, 5) screeching like a banshee while Bartel shaves his head, hold still buddy, why would you choose this time to flail and resist while the villain has a razor on your head??

Because the movie makes nothing clear and nothing has any sense to it, I genuinely can't tell how badly Bartel wounded him in this scene, nor are we told. Just left to guess because there's some amount of blood there. If this man had been cut deeply in this area, no way is he not getting an infection or possibly just dying long before the rest of the movie's events unfold.

Anyway, if Bartel does anything worse to this point, aside from cuddling (wait for him to fall asleep, kick the shit out of him?? Etc?), we're not shown. I can't judge the severity of the abuse if we are not explicitly told what it is, thus I do not care.

Bartel goes into town a while later and we get to see that the whole community is male, no explanation, and they are all really freaky dancers with equally fucked up taste in music. Supposed to be funny, and lots of people find it to be. Felt tonally dissonant to me, and/or just boring because no one has a personality and we don't know what or why anything happens.

Right so Christmas, Marc tries to escape while once again acting as if his situation is much more confining and difficult to get out of than it is. The worst thing we've seen to this point is the consequence for this, crucifixion in Bartel's barn. Marc made more noise when his head got shaved.

This was all avoidable at every step of the way.

The surface-level exploration of fascinating themes plods along, a bunch more sick and depressing small moments occur, followed by a scene in which it appears that Marc is to suffer a horrific attack, also of the sort which women are usually victimized by in these films. But only one of the whole gang of villagers seemingly penetrates Marc, and doesn't finish before Marc miraculously escapes again. From the crowd of lunatics who plan to you-know-what him. OKAY.

Not that I wanted any of that to happen to anyone ever, but this is about the movie having a point or not.

That's why this movie is not NFE. You cannot go half in on putting the male character through what women in horror movies suffer. You can't make it easier on him ffs, it negates the point or at least ruins the intensity!

Blah blah blah, the villagers off Bartel, then chase Marc real slowly through the Evil Forest. They are so painfully bad at pursuit that the women of Yellowjackets would have enough shishkabobs to last the whole winter just from this gaggle of idiots.

A Deep Moment occurs right at the end, where the movie finally decides to momentarily dip its toes in the psychological meaning/message of the story. Then guess what? IT ENDS. It cuts off right when it got good again for the first time in about an hour and fifteen minutes.

I realize lots of horror fans adore this movie and I don't begrudge anyone their love for what they love. In fact, I'm happy for you if you highly enjoyed the movie. However, for me this was simply such a frustrating watch that I couldn't NOT go off afterwards. UGH. Goddamn. 😒

from Letterboxd - Virginia Mae https://ift.tt/Rib2IYL

[1995lahaine]

I am sincerely confused by your posts because in the trial so far, the couples therapist relayed that amber reported she would habitually strike and hit depp when feeling disrespected and provoked by him ignoring her or leaving the room during a verbal argument. Of course that’s the definition of domestic violence to punish a spouse with a physical beating for a real or perceived insult or slight. From what I can tell if depp ever hit her back while she struck him, he would fit the bill of a reactive abuse. If all that’s the truth, I have a hard time faulting him (hypothetically) for returning a blow when being attacked physically. There’s a certain amount of human dignity and natural reaction in striking back against a domestic attack. Which I wouldnt automatically label abuse / wife beating . But again, it remains to be seen if that is the full story

I’ve made two posts. Two posts about the current trial, detailing the fact that Johnny Depp is FACTUALLY an abuser, and about how AS I SAID IN THE POST, what he’s arguing for now is nothing to do with amber heard’s conduct. if the current trial were anything but an attempt to continue his abuse, amber would not be involved. if it were about whether he has been defamed, all that were in question would be whether what was published were factual or defamatory (which, if you knew at all what you were talking about, you would know that publishers are very careful not to publish anything that would get them caught as guilty in suits like this). he lost in the uk. he is certainly an abuser. even if amber were complicit, which I do not believe she is, it does not matter. What is at issue is whether his conduct was abusive. It was, and continues to be. I could be here arguing that amber did nothing wrong. I don’t think she did, but nothing I have posted has argued that she did nothing wrong, until now. The full story doesn’t matter in these proceedings. The full story is quite literally none of your fucking business. This case is about whether he abused her. He did. There are photos, there are texts, there are tucking police documents. There is a history of abusive conduct. Not to draw a false equivalence, but had any of Harvey Weinstein’a victims fought back against his attacks, you are arguing that they would have been abusers too, for daring to resist him.

He literally DID physically abuse her before she said any of this, that is accounted for in copious amounts of photographic, physical, and witness evidence. He texted his friends on multiple occasions about how he wanted to burn and immolate her corpse. Did amber do any of the sort? She didn’t. If she had, his team would certainly have presented it. What has been presented as evidence of abuse in her part has been a couple of instances of her becoming violent in response to Johnny’s ongoing disgusting conduct. i know you’re probably getting false of propagandic information right now but Jesus fucking Christ, go back to the evidence (and I mean that in a serious legwl sense) presented at the initial trial, the divorce proceedings which were the only proceedings that should ever have been brought, the only ones that are relevant to deciding whether or not he abused her or not. if he were innocent of abuse he would have won the defamation trial in the uk. i am not going to respond to any more messages about this because fundamentally I understand court proceedings, the law, and what counts or does not count as valid evidence or acceptable courtroom/legal conduct than anyone willing to hide behind anon on this site ever will. here’s the thing you can try and discredit me but when it comes to the law and facts if you are not a full lawyer you simply won’t be able to win in a fight about this. all sending this message tells me is that you’re an idiot, you’ve allowed yourself to fall for celebrity-sponsored propaganda, and you’re a foul disgusting person who doesn’t care about abuse victims regardless of their gender or status. fuck off. once again, I really sincerely hope you have a terrible day. fuck you 💜

[xiaosmoon]

first kisses

parings: zhongli & childe x gn!reader

warnings: fluff. i don't think it has suggestive undertones?

this was my first time writing for zhongli i hope i did well !

-> zhongli

a first kiss with zhongli would be nothing short of romantic

he's a very classy and old fashioned guy, so i can see this to be a very sweet and meaningful kiss

i mean, he doesn't just kiss anyone

you would have to be someone he trusts, loves, & cherishes

kissing someone is the equivalent to a declaration of love in his view

it was a fine evening when zhongli had invited you to drink tea with him. you've been in liyue for quite some time and zhongli was more than happy to be the first welcome you.

not only did he fascinate you with the history of this prosperous land, he accompanied you wherever you wished. he truly was the best guide anyone could ask for.

so it wasn't a surprise when the two of you became quick friends and overtime you even took a romantic liking to him. you weren't sure if it was something about the way his velvet voice explained the vast specialties in liyue or the way he always lets you rest your arm on his while strolling the streets that had drawn you in.

you both drank you tea, chatting like old friends and enjoying the company of eachother. "dear y/n, would you care for a walk across the harbor?" zhongli asked holding his hand out. you smile and nod, placing your hand in his. our hands fit so well, you thought. like they were made for holding eachother.

the pair of you walked hand in hand across the now vacant harbor. it was strange to see it so empty at night when it's usually buzzing with people during the day. in the day if anyone were to see the two of you right now, they would assume you were a couple. but no one was here to assume anything.

zhongli took you to a bench that overlooked the water and motioned you to sit down. you were a bit nervous, truth be told. zhongli was oddly quite during your walk and typically he's always teaching you something new about the local history.

he sat down beside you and turned his body to face you. he took one of your hands in his and the other came up gently to stroke your jaw. "y/n, i didn't know how to tell you my feelings. i haven't felt this way about anyone and i- it's just sort of... new to me." he took a deep breath before continuing.

"when i first met you i was lovestruck. you are the most beautiful person i've laid my eyes on and i enjoy seeing you everyday. you brighten my mornings and are the last person on my mind before i sleep." his face was now inches apart from yours.

you were at a lost for words. never in a million years would you think zhongli has reciprocated your feelings. his lips were asking permission and of course you obliged.

kissing zhongli felt like letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. this kiss felt like the first day of spring. warm, something new, and lovely.

before you had the chance to deepen the kiss, he pulled back and rested his forehead on yours. "thank you, y/n, for entering my life."

-> childe

your first kiss with childe would be unplanned and unexpected

the whole reason he kissed you in the first place was because poor boy was jealous

he's too prideful to admit his feelings but would kiss you to show the world that you're off limits toxic much?

he may not verbally express his feelings but his lips and body language do all the talking for him

all childe could see was red. he was seething. at you? no. but at that 6 foot piece of trash that you were talking to? yes. there you stood innocently, talking to some random on the street laughing at his jokes and smiling at his words like he was the most interesting person in the world.

that should be me, childe thought. but his ego would never let him admit it, of course. he continued to watch you from the shadows. god when would your conversation be over? but oh? what's this? childe's sulking was over the minute the man held your hand.

before you could say "comrade", childe's body had crashed into yours, sweeping you off your feet in a spinning hug. "hey, y/n!" his charming smile didn't falter. you were caught by surprise, but not upset at his greeting. he put you back down on your feet and cast a quick glance at the man to see if he was looking.

and oh he was looking alright, looking beyond annoyed. good. childe brought his face closer to yours, mere inches away from your lips in broad daylight. (the locals covered their children's eyes at your pda)

the arm that was wrapped snuggly around your waist pulled you closer to him as humanly possible. your breath hitched at the closeness; you couldn't get a word of protest out.

childe tilted his head so it lined up with your lips perfectly, but still not meeting you all the way. "missed you." was all he whispered before closing the gap roughly.

you didn't expect to return his kiss, but your body reacted before your mind could. he pulled back, shot you a wink, and walked off before you could catch your breath.

you didn't know if your cheeks were burning from embarrassment, or because you wanted more.

[quinthejester]

 Experimenting more with how I colour digitally with some pictures of Maeglin!

Also @outofangband asked me about my headcanons and such on Maeglin, and I figured this would be a good post to ramble on about them! Maeglin ramblings under the keep reading thingy-

(I’m going to mention, what started off as me thinking ‘oh! I’ll just do a nice summary of my Maeglin headcanons’ turned into a messy essay-like ramble. Like, I just started typing, and I couldn’t stop. The TLDR of my ramblings is that Maeglin is sad and needs therapy) 

TW: Mentions of abuse and torture

Ok so, I think I probably have a lot to say about him because I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on this boy. Bare in mind, all that is written bellow is my own personal headcanons and interpretations!

Obviously I feel like he was much closer to his mother, Aredhel, and was a bit clingy towards her- which tended to annoy Eöl because not only did it keep Aredhel’s attention off of himself, but he also perceived this sort of behaviour from Maeglin as weak. Eöl definetely dislikes Maeglin acting like a kid (even tho.. he was a kid) and made it pretty clear to Maeglin through verbal abuse, calling him pathetic and weak, etc. He wanted to hold Maeglin to impossibly high standards, and wasn’t at all very loving to his child. I imagine Maeglin definitely also got a fairly unhealthy view of relationships from witnessing his parents relationship, and from his fathers own treatment of him. 

When his parents died, and Maeglin was alone in Gondolin, he felt incredibly lost and alone. The only person he could trust, and the only person who loved him, his mother, was dead. And I also kinda imagine Maeglin developed a small fear of heights after his father died and cursed him to the same fate. So when he met Idril, who I imagine was one of the first people in Gondolin to be nice and show concern to him, he massively latched on to that. Probably followed Idril around like a lost puppy at first, especially with him feeling a bit like an outsider to Gondolin. 

I’d say he definitely had romantic feelings towards her, but I wouldn’t say it was creepy or anything. I imagine it’s just more of an innocent, childish crush, that never really went away, due to the fact he latched on to her after such a traumatic situation. 

On his life in Gondolin, I imagine he always felt like an outsider, and genuinely struggled talking to and getting to know the people. At first, I can see him just hiding away from people, stuttering over his words, etc, but I feel like he builds up a front of stoicism and confidence, but mostly to hide how terrified he is of people. 

As a way to try to fit in, get respect, etc, I feel like he also would act more grown up than he probably should, and take on way more responsibilities than he probably should. It always kinda weirded me out when reading about Maeglin that he just got to be head of his own house, hold so much influence, and head so much work in mining and stuff, when he was such a young elf- so I just kinda assume he faked it til he made it, using a false confidence, pretending to be wiser and more mature than he actually was, and managed to be held in such high esteem because of that. Of course, he was genuinely skilled and talented, but at the same time I think he would have been far to immature and young to take on such responsibilities. 

I also tie that factor I think of him, to how Eöl treated him, always expecting him to act like an adult. I think part of Maeglin genuinely fears acting his own age, or emotionally, etc, out of fear of punishment, and of course all that kind of has a negative effect on him mentally. And this also causes him to be afraid of actually telling people how he feels, and making him afraid of asking for help. And then of course there’s this desperate need to be accepted that also just impacts how he views his own feelings, and how he feels like he needs to be more mature and adult-like than he actually is. 

And in the end, him pretending to be more mature than he actually is etc, actually works, and people value his opinions, his achievements- and that’s validating to him, but it’s also built on an unhealthy coping mechanism of over working himself, and trying way to hard to be more than what he actually is. I do also think its a bit irresponsible for the adults in his life, such as Turgon and Salgant, to hold him to such high esteem when he’s basically a child/young adult, and they’d be much older and wiser than that, but I can also see Maeglin just having built up an excellent persona of false confidence and seriousness, that maybe they just saw something in him. 

But despite this, Maeglin is kind of immature and doesn’t really have healthy methods of dealing with things, and can be quite childish when it comes to his decisions- however is so good with his false confidence that Turgon and his court just go with it. Such as when it came to Tuor and Ulmo’s warning, Maeglin himself just because he felt Tuor was kinda sus (and I mean, if Tuor didn’t actually have any evidence, then that’s understandable). I can also see Maeglin just envying Tuor because, even though Tuor is an outsider, he adjusts incredibly well to Gondolin and gets along very well with the people there, which is something Maeglin struggled to do himself. And of course there’s the whole Tuor marrying Idril thing, though I’d say Maeglin kept his distance from that relationship for the most part, and maybe even avoided them. But yeah, just Tuor is cool, and Maeglin envies that, idk. 

Tho I do like to think Maeglin accidentally became a cool uncle figure to Eärendil, and that Maeglin, while awkward around Eärendil, does genuinely care for and is fond of the kid. 

And then there’s the whole being captured by Morgoth thing, and honestly I think that just destroyed Maeglin. I think while captured, he had thoughts like ‘no one would care enough about me to come save me’ and such, and l do think he went through hell while in Angband. He broke, told Morgoth where Gondolin is, and I think that just really caused him to view himself in distain, see himself as the weak pathetic thing his father always told him he was. Basically, sad Maeglin. 

And when it came to the whole working for Morgoth, and getting Idril’s hand in marriage thing, I think it came from a point of fear and genuine mental instability. I also think that in his own head, he saw marrying Idril not as a way to force her to be with him/allow him to be creepy on her, but to protect her and Eärendil from Morgoth because, well, now he was basically working for Morgoth, then Morgoth wouldn’t hurt his new family, right? Mental gymnastics, but given the torment I imagine he went through, I really don’t think he was thinking straight. 

Then he returned to Gondolin, and tried to act as normal, all that- and I mean, he’s had years of practice pretending to be something he’s not, so yeah. He’s able to pretend things are fine for the most part. And I also think that while he did get scars from his experience in Angband, they were easily hidden by clothing, and aspects like his face etc were avoided when it came to hurting him specifically because they knew they could use him as a mole (lol). 

I also don’t think he actually tried to kill Eärendil at the fall of Gondolin, and instead he was trying to drag him away from what he percieved as danger or something, but in the moment it looked like Maeglin trying to harm/throw Eärendil off the walls of Gondolin, which obviously would anger and scare Eärendil’s parents. 

And then Maeglin got yeeted and died and yeah, I’m sad.

also other smaller headcanons i guess-

-  Lómion is what Maeglin considers to be his proper name, and that name means a lot to him. However, I can imagine him only wanting people he truly cares for knowing and using that name on him. 

- For some reason I imagine that he’s a little short for an elf. Yeah.

- He can seem a bit intimidating/harsh, but it’s a defence mechanism as he’s scared of seeming weak.

- I imagine he has a soft spot for children and animals. 

And yeah. I’ve written a lot for this guy. To summarise: I love him, and I think he deserved better. 

If you somehow managed to read through these ramblings, congratulations, thank you so much, and remember all of this is just my own headcanons/interpretations/etc. I hope you were able to keep up and understand everything? Because I probably made a few gramatical errors, went off on tangents, and was probably a bit nonsensical at points, because all this kind of got out of hand haha. But yeah!

[candychronicles]

red room // y. inasa

A/N: my take on the bnharem sex workers collab! so excited to write for inasa. he’s an incredibly underrated character and all i hope is that one person likes this lol

CHARACTER PAIRING: Yoarashi Inasa x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,735

WARNINGS: oral (m!receiving), sex work, just some good ol fashioned safe, consensual sex

SYNOPSIS: a lucrative encounter with a group of pro heroes leads to an unlikely relationship.

want to read more goodies? head on over here!

loud music blared over the speakers as you sashayed your way through the back stage. it was a crowded night and you were itching to get on stage and make some money. usually, you got good tips just by shaking your hips in your scantily clad body but the real cash was private events. it was especially rewarding when pro heroes, such as the ones who sat in the private VIP section, joined the club. that was when you made the most dough.

your set was announced and before people could prepare themselves you sauntered on stage, false confidence oozing out of you. you never really loved your job for this aspect, nor did you think you did great in front of a crowd, but you had been faking it your whole life and it came in handy when you walked across the platform, twirling around the sleek metal bar in the center of the stage.

slowly, your gaze raked across the people in the bar, eyes narrowed into slits, a small smirk across your face. you lazily dragged your hand up your body and across your chin, letting it fall to the pole. gripping the metal, you twirled your body around once, twice, three times before jumping up, entwining your legs around it and letting your head fall back, hair cascading towards the floor. you spent the next five minutes tantalizingly moving about the area. slinking to the floor towards the end of your set, you pushed your breasts together as you tucked the tips from the greedy men in between them, sliding the rest in the waist of your sequined panties. with one small wave, you pulled yourself off the ground and sauntered back behind the stage.

it had only been a few minutes of you counting your money in the dressing room before one of the bar maids had flagged you down, letting you know one of the VIP sections was asking for you. a cheshire grin made its way across your face as you realized that this could be the big money you were after for the night.

“well hello boys, how are we tonight?” you cooed, sliding into the seat next to a rather uncomfortable looking guy with striking red and white hair.

a man of intensely large stature sat in the middle, a few older men surrounding him in the semi-circle booth. across from you sat another guy your age: tall with buzzed hair and looking as equally uncomfortable as the man sitting next to you.

“we were very intrigued by your performance,” the large man in the middle stated. when he leaned forward, you recognized him as the former number one pro hero Endeavor. despite his size, you weren’t intimidated. you may have not had a lot of confidence with large crowds, but when it came to working a group, you could get them wrapped around your finger with a little bat of your eyelashes.

this collective was no different than the rest. a few jokes to the ones who were uncomfortable, chagrin smiles to the ones who just wanted some entertainment and some well placed compliments and they were putty in your hands. Endeavor spent most of the time sloshing his drink around and bragging about his accomplishments back in the day. you had found out that the guy sitting next to you was his son and they did not seem to get along very well. while you had spent time verbally praising the former number one hero, you secretly whispered jokes and jabs to the dynamic man next to you, allowing him to loosen up and even smile. 

when the session had finished, you were tipped heavily. some sloppy cheek kisses were exchanged and you had thought that had been the end of it, a thick wad of cash in your hands, when Endeavor had spoken up once more.

“Inasa, you haven’t said one word to this pretty young lady. she’s spent her time here all for us and you disrespect her like this?” he chided, but his words were laced with something else, something sharp.

“a private room might change your mind, perhaps? you’ve barely looked at anyone here or even touched your drink. i suggest you change your act after this is over.”

you felt bad for the fellow, you really did, but when Endeavor, Enji, he told you to call him, pulled out a stack so large you didn’t even know if you could fit your hand around it, you accepted immediately. you were going to make sure he had the time of his life one way or another.

you placed your hand gently on his shoulder and he jumped, his skin crawling underneath your touch. you didn’t let it phase you though as you guided him towards the private room, your hand coming to clasp around his, twirling yourself as you giggled. he looked like he was going to be sick, face clammy and eyes darting everywhere but your body. 

when you had finally sat him down in the cushy couch, he burst.

“i’m so sorry miss, i’m trying really hard to be respectful and not look at you. i’m not interested in this at all, so if you could please just let me go, i’d really appreciate it.”

you blinked at him, cocking your head before howling, hands clutching at your stomach as you listened to him continue to babble.

“are you not into women? it’s okay if you’re not, i’m happy to sit here but your friend paid a great amount of money for you to be in here and if i want to keep getting that money i have to at least do my job and make you stay the full hour.”

“oh no no that’s not it at all. in fact, i find you very attractive. i just, i don’t like these sorts of establishments. not that they’re bad in any way, oh no, your profession is quite admirable, it’s just that i prefer to have a connection before engaging in anything flirtatious and physical. though i have been told that it is easy for me to make friends and i guess that’s true, so maybe we will be friends by the end of this and it won’t be a total waste, but it’s…”

you cut him off with your hand, flabbergasted at his ramblings.

“i’m happy to just talk and i’m happy to make friends. so tell me about yourself then.”

you sat down opposite him, sinking into the soft plush as you listened to him ramble about his life: where he went to school, when he met Shouto Todoroki, how he became a pro hero, how he landed the job at Endeavor’s agency and how he had ended up across from you in the burgundy room. you listened with rapt attention, nodding sympathetically when he expressed struggles, giving little whoops and cheers when he explained his victories and just generally murmuring along to his story. 

when the time was up, you stood up and walked over to him.

“is it okay if i sit down?” you questioned, motioning to his lap. 

he looked you up and down as if you had three heads but leaned back, palms placed firmly on the plush seating. you giggled at his actions but proceeded nonetheless, popping buttons open on his shirt, rustling up his clothes and placing a big kiss on his cheek for good measure.

“don’t want your boss thinking you chickened out on him,” you teased. “it was great meeting you Inasa. it’s not every day i get a gentleman as kind as you coming in. i do hope i get to see you again, if only to listen to more of your stories. take care of yourself and stay safe.”

you stood up and opened the door, motioning for him to step out and walk down the hall back to his booth. he watched you for a moment, enraptured by your actions, before he quickly turned around and practically sprinted down the hall. you heard the whoops and hollers of the men as he returned back to his seat and you smiled, satisfied with the heavy weight of cash in your hand. 

---

the next night of working started out the same. a few sets with some decent tips, but you had little luck when it had come to private dances and you greatly missed the generous tips from the booth the night before. just when you had thought luck ran out for you though, a familiar buzzed head darted nervously around, seemingly looking for someone.

“are you lost handsome? never thought i’d see you here again, let alone so soon.”

relief flooded his eyes and before you got a chance to tease him for it, he had pulled out a stack of money equally as large as the night before.

“you know you don’t have to pay me that much for an hour.”

“will this cover the rest of the night?” 

you didn’t even have to look at the stack to know it would cover a whole week's worth of private dances if he wanted. wordlessly, you took the money from him and led him to your private room. this time you brought in snacks and drinks, choosing to sit on the lavish carpet instead, cocooning yourself with pillows.

“so what do you want to talk about this time?” you asked, spurring him on to talk about his latest adventures.

things took a turn for the worst when, an hour in, he became visibly upset.

“i feel like this is wrong,” he confessed, eyes darting to scantily clad figure, teeth clenching as he attempted to calm himself.

“this is my work. i don’t feel degraded, i feel empowered. people are paying me for my services, whether they be innocent or not. i choose what i get to do with my body and how. nobody else can control me. i’m happy to be anything to anyone and i must confess that talking to you has been the highlight of both nights. it’s a gentle reprieve from everything else but at the end of the day this is a job and i don’t feel demeaned by it, so please don’t treat me like i’m some abused puppy.”

after that argument, his body visibly relaxed. it didn’t really matter exactly what made him relax but it did lead to a much more enjoyable night. when everything was over, you left him with a kiss, pinching his cheeks with your hand as you led him out for the second night in a row.

you had a day off, choosing to enjoy your excess money by splurging on some new items you wanted but when you came in the next day, he was there waiting, a wad of cash in one hand and a bag of something in the other.

“a private room for the whole night?” you questioned, not waiting for his response as you took the cash out of his hand and grabbed his tie, leading him to your room once more.

when he sat down across from you, he pulled out his own snacks and drinks, claiming he needed to pay you back for the night before. you shrugged your shoulders as you dug in, chatting the night away, laughing and enjoying yourself much more than you should for him just being a client. 

“Inasa, while i don’t mind you spending exorbitant amounts of money on me every night, i’ve got to ask, why are you here? why do you come just to chat all night? do you not have friends or family?”

his eyebrows furrowed, mouth forming a harsh line before he stated, “i do but nobody treats me the way you do. nobody treats me like i’m, well, nobody. i don’t claim to be the number one pro hero, but i am fairly popular, and the fact that you sit across from me chatting and listening to my stories like i’m an old friend and not some big shot with money makes me feel different.”

you pondered the thought for a moment, not realizing how taxing it could be to have so many eyes on you all at once. while you felt sympathetic, you still didn’t understand why he paid you so much for just one night. was he afraid you wouldn’t accept the normal rate? was he trying to remain professional despite the lines already being blurred?

“listen, Inasa, while I don’t mind you doing this, we can be friends outside of work. you don’t have to pay me for just talking, at least while i’m not here. this is my job and i’d like it to remain somewhat professional. i won’t be leaving for any person, any relationship, any amount of money, because i find dignity and excitement in doing so. if that’s something that doesn’t bother you, then let’s finish the night off and if you’d like to see me, we can go get coffee or something, yeah? the most i’ll let you pay is for the drinks themselves.”

he nodded his head firmly, agreeing to see you for coffee, but something seemed off still. you tried to keep the conversation going, throwing candy at his face and cracking jokes but he remained somewhat stoic still.

“alright buttercup, what’s wrong?” you questioned, frowning when he looked up at you.

“you find dignity in this job, it doesn’t bother you to be sexual with someone in any manner for a certain price, and you don’t look down on anyone who engages with you sexually?”

you nodded your head at his questions, looking at him quizzically as he processed the information.

“would you look down on me if i asked you for something like that?”

ah, so that was the big question. it would take a fool for someone to not realize how he had looked at you, how his gazes got more bold and as he shifted, holding a pillow in his lap as you laid lavishly across the fluffy carpet. you felt stupid for not realizing sooner that that was what he wanted, but with a satisfied smile, you shook your head no. 

“it’s my job and you are my client. you have paid me well, way more than i would ask for anything like this. i don’t see it as weird or uncomfortable. we do have some ground rules to lay if you’re interested though.”

you spent the next few minutes explaining safe sex, STDs, condoms, rules and boundaries for the scene and safe words in case anything got out of hand. he sat listening with rapt attention, soaking in every word you said and engaging in the conversation maturely and respectfully. when everything was said and done, you pulled out your contract, having him sign, agreeing with all that you had said.

“i don’t know if i can do this. i feel like this is wrong. not because you do but because i like you and i know this is just a job for you and wow i shouldn’t have done this.”

“relax Inasa, i’ll take care of you. and if it gets too much, don’t forget to use your safeword.”

he clenched the seat next to him as you straddled his lap, taking his face into your hands as you etched all the little scars littering the skin. 

“it’s not every day i get to fuck a handsome guy like yourself,” you cooed. “is it okay if i kiss you? i don’t usually do that with clients but i think you’re an exception to the rule.”

he responded by surging forward, all inhibitions lost as his lips smashed into yours, hands reaching to pull you impossibly close to him. you squealed into the kiss but relished in the way he felt, the way his large body engulfed all your senses. you were definitely screwed, not only literally but mentally as well. you knew damn well that this was more than a client interaction and would lead to something potentially messy but right now you didn’t seem to care as you felt his hands grasp at your ass, squeezing and eliciting yet another moan from you. this time, he took advantage, his tongue delving into your mouth, exploring every inch of you.

“i need you Inasa,” you moaned, partially because it was true but also to spur him on, to continue to make him feel confident and satisfied. 

“let me take care of you first,” he tried to insist, eyes blown wide at your lewd words, but you had other plans.

you shimmied out of your panties, sequins glittering in the dim red light, tossing them to the other side of the room before motioning for him to stand up, asking permission to take off his pants. when he nodded his head, you chided him, reminding him to use his words. all it took was a squeak of a “yes” for you to slowly pull his pants and boxers down, mouth absolutely drooling at the sight of his cock. he wasn’t the longest you had by any means but he was so incredibly thick you weren’t even sure if he could fit inside, but all you knew was that you wanted to be stuffed full.

you pushed him back onto the couch, dropping to your knees as you settled yourself between his thighs, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin. before you even had a chance to ask him if you could touch him, he was already begging, hand gently placed on your head as he struggled to remain calm. 

you spent a few moments just admiring the way he breathed, how he moved, what got him twitching, before you began. a soft lick was placed on the underside of his shaft and he jumped, startled yet aroused at the soft feeling of your tongue on his dick. you licked once more, enjoying the way he reacted, before you took him fully into your mouth. he felt warm and heavy on your tongue and you did your best to take him all in, using your hand to pump the rest of him. 

a languid pace was set, you appreciating the way he reacted to your touch but it wasn’t long before he was begging for more, his release being teased. you complied, wanting nothing more than to keep the customer happy, or so you told yourself. in reality, you were enjoying this much more than you could possibly explain.

it took only a few more minutes before he was bucking his hips into your mouth, spurting hot liquid down your throat. you swallowed every drop, sticking your tongue out to show him what you had done. he spent the next five minutes apologizing for not asking permission before doing that but you had shut him up by straddling his lap, your pussy grazing over his already hard again cock.

“want you s’bad Inasa. won’t you fuck me please?” 

he sputtered and stammered, not believing this was happening but complying all the same. he quickly grabbed the condom and rolled it down on his shaft, careful not to rip anything. he slowly lifted you up before placing you down on his cock, enjoying the feeling of you sucking him in immediately. 

it took an agonizing three minutes before he bottomed out. he had stretched you completely, filling you to the brim with his cock. you felt like you were going to burst at the seams with how full you were but it also felt so incredibly good.

“please move, wanna feel you inside of me,” you begged, throwing your head back and bouncing on your knees.

he complied once again without question, thrusting his hips up to meet your pace, setting a fast yet gentle tone to the scene. you gripped his shoulders with all your strength, attempting to steady yourself against his speed. moans and whines left your mouth at an obscene rate, your brain being fucked out of your body as he continued to stuff you over and over again.

when he realized he was close yet again, he licked his thumb before placing it experimentally against your clit. you bucked immediately into his touch, keening at the overwhelming sensation. setting a rate that matched his thrusts, he circled around the bud, applying just the right pressure to have tears leaking out of your eyes, feeling so overwhelmed by sensation of him and him alone.

“please, i want to cum, please,” you begged, this time putty in his hands as he continued to fuck you senseless.

“cum for me, please, i want to see it, want to see your pretty face as i make you cum.”

all it took was some added speed and pressure and a gentle grab to your chin with his other hand to have you come undone, eyes screwing shut as an intense wave of pleasure rushed over your body. he sputtered and thrusted a few more times before coming in the condom, his body instantly relaxing. 

he spent the next few minutes bringing you down from your high, rubbing soothing circles on your back, having you drink some water and cleaning you from your own juices which were dribbling down your thighs. when he was finished, he pulled back on your underwear, careful of your now sore and throbbing cunt.

sitting down on the couch, you spread out, completely spent from just one fuck. never in your life had you had dick that good, the sheer care and intensity at which he screwed you sending you reeling as you tried to wrap your head around what had just happened.

looking at the clock, you realized his time was up. despite not wanting to see him go, you had to admit to yourself that you had a fun time and that this was something outside of a workplace situation. 

“i-uh, your time is up now Inasa. i hope you had fun and had a satisfactory experience.”

“i did, a lot.”

“i hope to see you again soon,” you finally admitted, bringing your eyes up to stare at him, at his truly disheveled yet satisfied state. you didn’t want to get your hopes up, knowing that he paid for this and it was strictly professional, but when he uttered a question, you smiled, hoping that this would turn out to be an interesting time.

“so, uh, coffee soon?” 

[whereismymindnow]

The Hand That Feeds (Ripper!Stefan x OC) Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hello everyone!

Just a filler, I’m sorry! I had this random idea and because I’m currently recovering from stupid covid I thought I’d try and get it typed up. Apologies if there are many mistakes, I’m so exhausted!

Anyway, enjoy this little addition! :)

Summary: Delilah decides it’s time to go home.

Warnings: Nothing spectacular, no Klaus again – just a brief mention.

Chapters so far: One Two Three

Chapter Three: Home Sweet Home

It had been over a week.

Elena could remember the look on her sister’s face like it was yesterday. The fangs, the veins… the blood. It was like a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. She couldn’t even count the amount of times she’d tried to sleep and ended up screaming as Delilah finally rips into her flesh.

She could still feel her ears ringing from Jeremy’s shout of anger as he launched into a verbal attack in order to hide his heartbreak.

She could still hear Alaric running after her broken brother whilst Bonnie and Caroline sat next to her with tears streaming down their faces.

It had been 9 days since she last saw her sister.

It had been 4 days since Damon had ventured back home and found it trashed with no sign of the Rippers anywhere. He hadn’t known how to tell Elena so he’d just blurted it out and made a hole in the wall as once again she collapsed into herself.

‘Not only is my sister dead, but now she’s ran off to murder innocent people whilst she chases her high?!” He’d tried tracking them but soon lost any leads. It had taken him 12 hours of sitting in a rundown bar before he’d dared to return home with his grim news.

Elena, Caroline, Alaric and Damon all sat in the Gilbert house; Elena had tried to act normal but the stress of the situation had quickly drained her. She was nearly half-asleep as she tried to come up with some sort of plan to smoke her sister out of hiding. Damon quickly shot her down and said she wasn’t going anywhere without him. It was bad enough that Jeremy had ran off in the middle of the night with a bag packed and no sign of where he was going; he wasn’t about to let her go gallivanting off as well. He’d failed two of the Gilbert siblings and he wasn’t going to allow Elena to make it a full set.

“I can’t just do nothing.” Elena murmured with a sigh whilst finishing her triple shot coffee. She lived off caffeine these days. Her pale complexion and dark under eyes showed the toll it was taking on her, and despite the constant bitter taste in the back of her throat, Elena didn’t have the strength to cut off her new vice.

“We’re not asking you to do nothing, Elena, but we need to be smart. This is two unhinged vampires we’re talking about here.” Alaric pressed a hand to her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“I’m not-”

“Pancakes? Great idea.” He cut her off and continued to the kitchen. He would use any excuse to have a moment to himself. His heart ached as he wondered how Delilah was right now and whether he would ever see the bright light that she was ever again.

Elena slumped further into the couch and sighed in frustration. She just wanted her sister. Vampire or not, Delilah was her family and she needed her.

“Elena?! Elena?!” Delilah’s distressed screams echoed from outside the house making everyone freeze. The door shook as her fists pounded on the wood. “Elena, please!” Elena stood from the couch as a sob came from the vampire. Damon tensed up and followed the doppelganger to the door. Elena’s shaky hands hovered over the handle as she heard her sister’s cries. “I’m sorry… I-I didn’t want to do any of this… not really…” Elena glanced up at Damon who nodded stiffly.

“Step back from the door, Lah-Lah.” Caroline used her old friend’s childhood nickname and stood from where she’d been sat as Alaric re-joined the group. She didn’t want Delilah too close to Elena just yet.

“Elena…” Delilah breathed her name out in relief as she saw her sister showing mercy. The group within the house couldn’t help but gasp as the baby vampire was revealed. Her hair was a mess, as though it hadn’t been brushed in days, dried blood covered her skin and clothes, and her makeup was smeared on her face. She looked awful. Her clothes were ripped and her boots were scuffed. The usual put together girl was a shadow of her former self. It looked like she had been through a war and barely survived.

“Delilah…”

“I know, I know. You have no reason to trust me, but please! I need your help. I- I said no! I told Stefan this wasn’t me! I told him I’d be no good at it and I was right! There was this girl… this teenage girl that looked so much like you… and he knew that! I said I couldn’t go near her and he bit into her throat right there and shoved my face into the wound… I couldn’t stop…” Delilah stopped and covered her mouth like she was going to be sick. “I couldn’t stop myself… b-but it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly all of the horrible things I have done came flooding back… I felt like I was drowning.”

Damon craned his neck out of the door and flashed his eyes around. “Where’s my brother? He wouldn’t let you go that easily.”

“H-he didn’t! He snapped my neck and when I woke up he was driving us somewhere. He was too busy texting so I grabbed the wheel and ran us off the road. We crashed into a railing and he became embedded on it… my leg was broken…” She lifted up the torn skirt she was wearing to show the bruising on her leg and where her skin was steadily knitting itself back together. Damon’s vampire hearing could pick up the sounds of her bones fixing themselves within the flesh. “But I managed to crawl out of there and I caught a fox! It was disgusting but enough blood to heal partially so that I could get back here.” Delilah held a shaky hand out to her sibling, just as Elena had done all those days ago to her, and mouthed the word ‘please’. Elena couldn’t stop herself and ran to her sister. They embraced with weak arms and both girls let out sighs of relief.

“We’ll help you, Delilah. Won’t we, Damon?” The dark-haired vampire squinted at the newly turned girl and nodded slowly.

“Sure… but you won’t like me during this.” He replied sternly before motioning for Elena to get back inside.

“Come in, Delilah.” Elena invited her quietly and grabbed her sister’s hand who took small steps to the door. With a look at Damon, Delilah inhaled and moved over the threshold. She let out a small laugh as Elena closed the door and she breathed in the scent of her family home. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Elena. I appreciate it.”

“Do you want to sit down… or go to your room and clean up first?” Delilah’s smile slowly faded and she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“I- ugh- dammit!” Her sudden exclamation made everyone jump. “I totally lost the best.”

“What bet?” Damon grabbed Elena quickly and moved away from the girl.

“Well… I bet Klaus I wouldn’t be able to get back in here quickly – you know, I gave you all too much credit apparently – and he bet that you’re all dumb enough to fall for it!” Delilah pouted and stomped her foot as clapping echoed from the kitchen. Stefan slowly sauntered into the living room with a wide grin.

“That was perfect! I mean… wow! Oscar worthy performance!” Delilah gave a little bow and giggled to herself.

“I did really good, didn’t I?” She asked in fake disbelief, completely ignoring her sobbing sister and embracing her partner in crime. “I didn’t actually think I’d get back in here so soon!”

“Especially the leg part – I mean, even I wouldn’t break my own leg as part of a scene! After you’ve grabbed your stuff from here you can finish off that security guard to fix your leg properly.”

“Just be a sec!” Delilah turned around and spotted Caroline glaring at her. “What? I left my favourite Doc Martens here – you know what it’s like to be in love with a pair of shoes!”

---

And I bet you're wondering why these eyes flame red Once you see You can't unsee I have what you need the most

I'm taking everything (Ah hah, ah, hah, aahhhh) Best keep your eyes on Me

'Cause you're dancing with the devil (Oooh oooh)

Now you're dancing with the devil (Oooh oooh)

---Dancing with the Devil by Kitty Antix---

[igotbulletproof-insomnia]

Adopting Bangtan 06

01, 02, 03, 04, 05

Park Jimin & Kim Taehyung, age 8

Song Jieun is your favorite secretary at the school you work at. She’s like some coffee fairy the way she seems to magically know exactly when you need a fresh cup and you only needed to tell her how you liked it exactly one time. She is also endearingly sweet and hardworking, even if she has a penchant for losing things easily. It’s for that very reason why you are rarely surprised when Jieun approaches your desk in the staff room, like she does now, wearing a sheepish smile.

“What did you lose this time?” you question teasingly.

“I… may have misplaced a few copies of the kids’ grade reports…” she winces at the admission. “I think I threw them away by accident. I spent some time clearing out my things yesterday.”

“That’s right, my coffee fairy is moving to Gwangju,” your face twitches into a brief, playful pout. “How are the boys dealing with the change?”

“They’re fine,” she says quickly. “I’m a bit worried, but they’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” you ask, beginning to sign the small stack of papers. You flip the bottom half of the sheets up just enough to see the line at the bottom that you need to sign. You read them all just a few days ago, there’s no need to do it again.

“My fiance has been hinting that he doesn’t want to raise any step-children,” she explains, her voice tense with worry. “He’s especially concerned about my step-son from my last marriage… Heesung wants me to leave them in a boarding school here in Seoul. He’ll pay for their tuition but… I don’t really feel comfortable. They’re so young... I just don’t want him to leave me this close to the wedding.”

“He’s an idiot if he wants to leave you for being a good mother,” you tell Jieun firmly, but gently. “But I guess I understand the concern. I know you’ll do what’s best for the kids, you’re a good woman like that.” You pause, then flash another teasing smile. “I mean, you could just give them to me. I’m apparently running an orphanage at home.”

“Your boys are still bringing home strays?”

“I think I’ve gotten them to understand that they can’t bring home every sad kid and expect me to keep them. They usually have to go home eventually.” You finish signing the last of the forms.

“They have big hearts, I’m sure they learned that from you.”

“Yes, I taught them how to love,” you scoff indignantly. “If only they would learn to pee in the toilet, I might be a little nicer.”

“You love them,”

“Yes, I really do.”

Saturday evenings are chaotic.

As the parent of four preteen boys (and one first grader), almost everyday is chaotic. There is homework and music and video games and dance practice and guitar playing and piano lessons and why are all of these kids so dramatic, you didn’t raise them like this!

“Yah, I have three years more experience than you, how are you going to tell me --”

“Hyung, the answer is literally right there,” Namjoon sniggered, pointing.

“Listen, you brat --”

“The only brat I see here is you, Seokjin,” you sigh, breezing into the kitchen. Seokjin and Namjoon are perched on stools at the kitchen island, occupied with their homework. They were both clever kids, but Seokjin tended to get frustrated easily, and Namjoon was too quick for his own good. The two fought a lot, but they also depended on one another a lot; Namjoon would help Seokjin with the parts of his homework that became too frustrating and Seokjin would fluster Namjoon to the point where the kid acted his own age. “The others finished already?”

“Yoongi decided to stay at school and work with his friends,” Seokjin answers. “Hoseokie is playing with Kookie in their room. I think they’re building.”

“Okay, good,” you nod, “but that doesn’t explain why the TV is blasting Epik High.” Seokjin doesn’t bother verbalizing an answer, just turns to pointedly stare at Namjoon.

“They make good music!”

“And I am not arguing that point,” you agree. “I’m just saying that I could hear Mithra all the way down the hall before I even got to our floor.”

“That’s impossible, the volume isn’t that loud.”

“Namjoon,” Hoseok comes running into the kitchen. “You need to turn the music down our --” Hoseok stops in his tracks, almost slipping on the kitchen tile. “Oh, hi!”

“What were you saying, Hoseok-ah?”

“Um… I got a text, Joonie. Turn the music down.”

“Uh-huh, and how long ago did I send that text?”

“Uhm… about seven minutes ago?”

“And where, Namjoon, would I have been seven minutes ago?”

“Downstairs…” Namjoon suddenly finds the kitchen lights very interesting, the expression on his face imitating innocence.

“Uh-huh. Go fix it, please,” you roll your eyes. “This is the second time I’ve had to talk to you about your music being too loud. If it happens again I’ll be a week late paying for your subscription.” The fact that it had only been a guess that Namjoon had been blasting his music again was going to go completely unmentioned.

“Got it, won’t happen again,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Hoseok-ah,” you address the kid sneaking out of the kitchen. Your tone implies he’s in trouble and he stiffens. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering which of his shenanigans you may have found out about and which ones would have actually gotten him into trouble. Hoseok is a bit of a wild child when he gets into the right mood, but for the most part he’s actually the easiest one to take care of. They’re all relatively easy and well-mannered children, but they all have their bouts of difficulty. “Please try to deliver my messages promptly, not ten minutes later.” You let the scolding settle before adding, “Also, it’s your turn to choose dinner.” The face Hoseok makes in response, the sheepish, oh, right, I forgot, grin is adorable and you can’t help but smile in response.

“Can we get takeout?”

“Depends where from,” you reply as the doorbell rings.

“Can we please not do Jiwon-ssi’s dumplings again? I’m going to be sick,” Seokjin whines.

“Jiwon-ssi makes the best kimchi!”

You leave the boys to argue in the kitchen while you go answer the doorbell, which rings for the second time. Whoever is at the door is awfully impatient, you think, either that or just obnoxious. The apartment isn’t that big, although it is the biggest one you could find on your budget. Three bedrooms, one toilet, a balcony, kitchen, and living room. Yoongi and Seokjin share one room together with Jungkook while Namjoon and Hoseok share another. The space was a bit cramped, but It isn’t the one bedroom apartment you had when you adopted Namjoon, and it isn’t the two bedroom apartment from when you adopted Seokjin and then Hoseok a few months ago. It’s comfortable, and that’s what’s important.

“Seokjin,” you call while walking to the door, “it’s Hoseokie’s choice. Hoseokie, if Jiwon starts flirting with me again, I will hide your lucky sweatpants in some place you will never find them again.”

You open the door, Hoseok’s indignant spluttering and Namjoon’s cackling behind you. It’s a sort of chaos you’ve grown accustomed to, and it fills you with a warm feeling in your heart. You love these boys and are so happy to have met them and received the chance to raise them.

There are two more kids on the other side of the door.

“Um. Hi.”

“Hello!” One of the boys greet and they both bow to you. You blink at them. They’re cute, but you don’t exactly understand why they’re asking for you. “Thank you for taking us in!”

“What?”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You said you can’t adopt more!”

“I… don’t…” you trail off, lost and confused. “What?”

“Mommy said me and Jiminie can live with you when she gets married,” the same boy who spoke earlier explained. His face is rather round, dark eyes framed with thick eyelashes. The other one is paler, features softer, prettier. “She said to give you this.” He holds out a piece of paper, one detailing the transferring of parental rights from Song Jieun to yourself. With your signature at the bottom.

“You’re Song Jieun’s kids?” you ask them, just to be sure. Both boys nod.

“Mommy also wanted me to give you…” the same boy starts searching through his pockets, mumbling to himself that I know I had it somewhere… I had it when we left… did I lose it on the bus? Eventually, the smaller one taps his brother on the shoulder and points to the front pocket of his bookbag. “Oh right! Thanks! Here.” the kid thrusts yet another piece of paper at you, this one a handwritten note written on good cardstock.

“Saem,” Seokjin speaks from just behind your shoulder now, “did you seriously fall for the same trick twice?”

“What trick?” You ask absentmindedly, reading the heartfelt apology. Apparently, that day when you signed those grade reports, Jieun slipped in a guardianship form and you unwittingly signed it.

“I gave you a bunch of things to sign and you didn’t even read them, you just signed it all,” your eldest replies. “I did that three years ago. How did you not learn yet?”

“Is that what happened?” You gape at him.

“Yes, but we aren’t talking about me right now,” Seokjin deflected. “We’re talking about you adopting more kids.”

“Um,” that same kid, the one with the thick eye lashes, cuts in. “Can we come in?” It’s a fair question, and in spite of the confusion and frustration in your heart, you know you aren’t going to send these kids back to Jieun and her new husband. She had already expressed her concern for these kids, and they aren’t even old enough to start middle school. How are they going to live in an apartment on their own? You stole Yoongi for that exact reason so you aren’t going to be a hypocrite now and turn these two boys away, even if you have no idea what you would do with seven children.

At least these two come with an added paycheck. And okay, that is bad, that is very, very bad. It isn’t nice to think of these innocent children as a paycheck, but it helps. You are struggling to take care of the five you already have, receiving extra money for the extra mouths is nice. At least Jieun was considerate about throwing her kids at you.

“Hello,” Namjoon waved. He hasn’t moved from his seat on the sofa, remote still in hand. Map the Soul is playing at a more sensible level, and it's a testament to Namjoon’s interest in the situation because he normally skips this song. “I’m Namjoon. Welcome to our home.”

“I’m Seokjin,”

“I’m Hoseok,”

“And I’m Jungkookie!”

“When did you get here?” you ask your youngest, surprised to see him.

“I heard the doorbell.”

“Right, my children are nosey, awesome,” you mumble to yourself. “Hoseok, let these boys stay with you and Joonie for now, okay? Boys what are your names again?”

“I’m Taehyung,” says the same child who’s done all of the talking so far. “This is my brother, Jimin. He’s quiet and doesn’t like to talk.”

“That’s okay. We were going to order dinner soon. Are you boys hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” Taehyung grinned.

“Of course you are, you’re a young boy. This lot will eat me out of house and home if I let them.”

“Your house is your home, you’re being redundant,” Namjoon scoffs, going back into the kitchen to finish his homework.

“I fail to see where I’m wrong though.”

“I volunteer to not tell Yoongi we’re adopting more kids,” Hoseok laughs as he leads Jimin and Taehyung away.

“One, two, three, not it!” The rest of the boys shout.

“Hey, I’m the parent here! Why are you behaving like I’m afraid of a twelve-year-old?!”

07