#he simply cannot mask

[jostenthusiast]

i love that neil spends majority of aftg being like omg they cannot find out that there is something wrong with me i have to be normal. and everyone who interacts with him is like Bro what the fuck is wrong with you

[turtleblogatlast]

Sorry if you've gone over this before but I was curious as to what you'd think it would take for Leo to finally break in front of his brothers?

We’ve actually seen Leo break his persona multiple times throughout the series! And pretty much each and every time has a common theme present: his family being in danger.

[midnight-moth]

My precious bbg

[lotuslate]

at any point in a day, in the middle of a week, at any moment,,, these parts are ALWAYS always in my head

wwx your little moments of unhinged and brutal rationality make me go insane and are, in my opinion, peak moments of the entire book

[krbkss]

mr compress would entertain eri by being very dramatic and theatrical about everything chisaki is doing to make fun of him a little bit and by showing her magic tricks and teaching her the simple ones 🥹

[readymades2002]

apparently i dislike one of my coworkers noticeably enough, despite not saying anything about it, that he took the liberty of catching me alone when i was putting on my high-visibility gear yesterday and asking me about it. which did not stop him from deliberately trying to rope me into a conversation when he got the chance later for reasons i can only assume were related to making me uncomfortable which congratulations! you succeeded

[forgetfulmachineart]

[ID: A slightly grainy picture of a pale skinned man wearing a tank top and a Scream mask along with a realistic digital painting of the picture to the right side without the background. /End ID]

This just in: Local bisexual becomes aware that minecraft man, Xisumavoid, can have arms and play guitar, falls into a stupor in which they paint him while watching videos of him talk about a game called Slay. More at five

[alastairdragovich]

Can we damn specific kinds of autism that make life harder for the individual in question? Like, most forms of autism are the kinds of things that make people think and view the world differently and that’s wonderful and fine. I’m not talking about that. But the use of the autism label implies a comorbidity with some really nasty stuff. That means that you get stuff like ‘my brother can’t communicate or adapt his behavior without months to years and years of intervention and any or all of the progress at the drop of a hat. Abstraction is right out so he literally can’t understand things like danger or pain very well either. And this is before the OCD and insomnia cause daily interference with that stuff.’ And that’s just the form of autism the unluckiest of the unlucky people have to fucking live with. Imagine always being in an age range of 2 to elementary school age and being forced to live like that for your entire life. Like, thank the Lord that autism is 99.99% the kind of thing that can be embraced and celebrated. But the .01% can be damned straight to Hell for the suffering it brings down on them and the difficulty it causes the people who love them enough to care for them. ...I wish my brother had the autism and/or neurodivergency other people have. I wonder if he even has autism, and wasn’t just mislabeled as a kid because people didn’t know better. All I know is that he doesn’t deserve what he has. I’d greatly prefer having to deal with a hyperfocused brother who has a few trigger issues if it meant he could, in fact, live his best life safely without 24/7 supervision.

And also on a tangential note: Fuck Florida and Fuck the stigma towards psychological health issues & services. My ENTIRE fucking family has suffered from depression and literally we didn’t know or understand what to do until the last five years. 

Maybe if had our own issues addressed, my bro could have been in a better state because we would have been able to help him as our better selves.

[ranvwoop]

I don't think I have actually drawn him digitally or posted something more than notebook doodles. He's green. He's very dreamcoded for lack of canon knowledge.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: That one episode of teen titans where they all dress up as Robin + Tim being a gremlin about his legacy + Danny look alike/twin AU.

So there is that episode of Teen Titans where Starfire, Cyborg, Beast Boy and Raven all dress as Robin (Dick) while he's out and it's admitted that the outfit makes them feel cool. Imagine a young Tim hearing that story mentioned in passing by Dick while trying to manage what becomes Young Just-us. And then when Damain becomes Robin?? Gremlin mode activated.

Tim hosts regular 'Robin' Parties, where the idea is that you come in Robin colors, get a mask at the door and everyone gets to basically hang out in civilian clothes without the identity crises for those just getting started. "age appropriate" drinks, games, and good music are all staples. The parties become more frequent once Damian becomes Robin and he pointedly doesn't attend Tim's parties which... Neither of them are really happy about. Family is complicated, but finally, after a few years of cooling off, it's decided that Robin will actually host this years Robin party.

Meaning Tim shows up in casual clothes (MIT sweatshirt) and a mask, and Damian is actually dressed as Robin when the party is starting to get into the swing of things. The point of it is to make sure all the young heroes get to come and start to befriend each other, so there are a few people who show up and have to actually say that they're *insert alias* and this is met with basically "Dope, nice to meet you Robin" etc.

Insert Danny Twin AU (Or just look-alike fuckery) (for either brother but my brain is on Tim Twin au mode).

Danny decides to show up as his human self, grabs a mask at the door before coming in, and is slowly integrating himself into a conversation when someone grabs his arm- "Hey Red your brother is fighting with a newbie about meat products again-"

And Danny doesn't have a brother but my god has he heard this fight too many times with Sam and Tucker- He's going in and he's defusing this situation because he cannot handle the thought of this argument taking over his new friend group. He deals with it enough, okay?

Robin (like, the real one) looks at him curiously while Danny is talking down the other hero Robin (insert here), and the whole room notices when Robin doesn't take the opportunity to dismiss or belittle his older brother (Lmao because its danny). Damian cannot place his unease about Drake (again, Danny, who is not hiding his identity beyond a mask), and simply decides that this isn't worth the effort.

The party moves on but now instead of everyone calling themselves Robin, Danny is distinctly being called Red. It confuses him a bit, he didn't even know Red Robin was going to be at this party (he hasn't met the guy and doesn't know the lore), but he rolls with it because he's made fast friends with Robin (Bart), Robin (Cassie) and Robin (JON). The kid was full little bro energy and it made Danny laugh, he was so surprised when the real Robin joined them and fell into easy conversation with Robin (Jon).

Danny is playing games with a few others when someone goes to grab a broom to clean up- Turns out Red Robin and his boyfriend Kon had been making out in the closet for most of the party- and the whole room looks at Danny like he's tried to trick them. Tim is at first uneasy that so many people mistook him, but once he's in front of his dupe, puzzle pieces start to move around in his head.

"And who are you again, Robin?" Tim asks carefully, though he suspects he has his answer.

"Uh, Phantom, but you know, a lot of people were calling me Red tonight and I didn't get why until just now." Danny laughs nervously.

"Yeah I bet- Find me monday and we can see about a geneology test."

"That leaves us the whole weekend, to do what exactly? Fuck with people by pulling a parent trap style swap?"

"Nature vs. nuture and all but I don't know how you could be anything but my brother with a question like that." Tim grins and they get to scheming.

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 MID DAY NAPS WITH DAZAI!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not nap. he hardly sleeps in general. so how is it that he's dozing off in your lap like this? you're a witch, he's decided. there's no other logical explanation. (wordcount: 800ish; sfw; fem!reader, mentions of alcohol & sleeping pills)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: very short & sweet but i toldddd you guys that i had a dazai nap time drabble in the works. i love my naps, so that means i obviously have to do nap time with all of the favs. perhaps i'll do jouno next. or maybe there's someone u guys want.

Dazai doesn’t sleep well. He never has, and he’s certain he never will. The only time he can manage to get some semblance of sleep is when he’s taken a few too many sleeping pills or he’s drank himself to oblivion. It’s unfortunate, but it’s a fact of life, and he thinks that he’d prefer to stay sleepless anyway if it means he can avoid the memories that plague his dreams.

Dazai can simply not remember when the last time he willingly slept was, which is why he’s so confused now, head resting in your lap, eyes heavy as he looks up at you. He can hardly hold them open, he can feel himself falling asleep and he’s alarmed because he does not sleep unless his body is drugged, drunk or dying.

“What kind of spell have you placed on me, bella?” Dazai says through a yawn—he yawned???

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly, fingers still carding gently through his hair as you look down at him, brows furrowed. 

He wants to reach up and rub out the wrinkle between your eyebrows but his arm feels too heavy. A part of him wonders if he’s dying, but he supposes if this is how he’s meant to go out—laying in your lap with your fingers brushing through his hair, staring up at your pretty face beneath the afternoon sun—then he couldn’t ask for a better death.

“‘m falling asleep,” he murmurs, and his voice slurs a bit over the words. His eyes feel even heavier, drooping shut as he tilts his head to the side to make himself comfortable on your lap. 

You giggle lightly, and Dazai swears the sound is angelic. “‘cause you’re so sleepy, obviously,” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone as you bring your freehand to his face to trace his cheekbone.

“I don’t sleep,” he protests weakly, leaning into your touch. 

He thinks that before he met you, he might not have ever experienced a gentle touch in his entire life, and now he simply cannot go without them. He craves them at every waking moment and gets severely distressed when he cannot obtain them. But only if they’re from you—the thought of anyone else touching him the way you do makes his skin crawl. Your touches make him feel vulnerable in a way that’s dangerous, and you’re the only person he trusts enough to see him that way.

“Everyone sleeps, silly,” you disagree softly, and Dazai wants to protest, to tell you how significant this is, but he can’t find the words. His mind feels muddled and hazy as exhaustion creeps through his bones and claws at his chest.

He supposes he doesn’t really need to tell you anyway, you probably already know—you always know somehow. You can always figure out when he’s having one of his bad days, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from everyone. You can always tell when he needs a break from everything, even when he tries to mask it with smiles and jokes. You can always tell when he’s sick of playing the role of a clown to make people overlook all of his faults and darkness, and you’re always there to be an escape for him. 

It used to be scary—he’s never had someone that could pick through all of his masks to see through his emotional state, his real one. A part of him wonders if it’s somehow a secret part of your ability but he knows it’s a ridiculous thought, because there’s no explanation for how you can do it whenever he’s laid up in your arms or draped all over you, which is 99% of the time he’s with you.

It used to be scary (emphasis on the past tense) but now, he thinks it might be a bit comforting to know that you’re always there and you know what he needs even when he himself doesn’t know. You’re like a buoy in the middle of a raging sea, a lighthouse shining through the dark. he hasn’t had someone he could genuinely rely on in… a long time, and even then…

Dazai lets out a puff of air, eyes finally sliding shut as he all but melts into you with your hand cupping the side of his face and your thumb caressing his cheek and your nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he might be in heaven—he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it, to deserve you, but he’s a selfish bastard at heart and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go. 

The last thing he feels is your lips ghosting his temple before he finally dozes off. He sleeps peacefully for the first time he can remember. 

[bi-writes]

they want the best. and they need to eliminate the recruits that can't stomach reality. (18+, sniper!fem!reader x ghost)

you have met them all save for one. pretty boy gaz, with a nice smile, and you wonder momentarily how many barracks bunnies make bets on how they'll get him in their bed.

he's too pretty not to be a slut.

and then there's johnny. big, snarky, with a potty mouth, and he always sounds right stupid when he talks, but when you see him in the field, you are in awe. he has nimble fingers, and it scares you how well he can use them.

their captain is kind. he exudes something fatherly, a keen sense of responsibility. it is obvious that chaos rolls off his back--he is calm, collected, easy to think and fast to act.

but the last one, the lieutenant--he has never been seen. he's a ghost, in name and in physicality. he was there, once, when it was the first day of your arrival. you stepped out of a car with five others, and when you stood in formation, he was standing by the door, arms crossed over his big chest as he surveyed the room.

he hasn't reappeared for six weeks.

six, grueling, terrible weeks. crawling through mud, through snow, in rain. breaking your nails as you climb walls of brick or wood, throw yourself over obstacles lined with barbwire, scrape your knees on hard sand as you hit your targets from a distance. you wake up before the sun is out, and you sleep once its long gone, and by the time the six weeks have passed, there are only three of you left.

you want this. you want it so bad, you feel it in your bones. you were bred for this, born for this, and you have everything to lose if you do not succeed. the girl beside you? she has a college degree. the cocky frat boy in the next tent? he's white, blond, and well-spoken--he will have it easy.

but you are you, and nothing is that simple, and you will not fail.

you cannot fail.

you stand shoulder to shoulder, your eyes trained on the wall as they size you up. you see a shadow at the door; you recognize it. you're asked to pick an opponent, and since you finished first during drills this morning, you are allowed to pick.

your head turns, and you eye the skull mask that glares a few yards away. you don't say anything, just meet his eyes, and the captain follows your line of sight before hooking his fingers into the straps of his vest and chuckling low.

"ye sure about that, sweetheart?" johnny asks, and you only blink.

"that one," you say softly. "that's the one."

that's the one.

it rings in his ears. the one. he's the one. you've chosen him. he hides, and yet you have seen him, and you choose him, and he is the one.

he stalks into the room, and his steps are heavy. his boots can crush skulls, and yet he walks easy, fluid as he makes his way over to you and looks down at you.

you have not seen him so close. he is huge. a bear of a man, wide and tall and hulking, and you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

your lips part, and his gaze lowers as he watches your tongue slide over your teeth just that much, a telltale sign that you are not afraid.

ghost straightens, turns, and he gives the captain an unreadable, parting look before he leaves. you stare after him, and then back, and you swallow, wondering if you had done something wrong.

but johnny grins. and gaz raises a brow. and your captain sniffs, masking a chuckle, and you watch the three of them settle in front of you.

you realize later, when ghost has you bent over, knees spread so he can put his face between your thighs, that their reaction was simply acceptance.

you choose him. and he chooses you.

[etheries1015]

posted so much angst recently that I guess ill make it up with an alternative ending to this

...

General Lilias yelling hadn't left you without your woes. You had decided to take a break, walking deep into the woods to collect herbs and fruit as a way to pass time to cool off. Hours passed and when you hadn't returned to the cottage as you normally would, and Lilia began to worry (against his will) . He sat at the wooden table, head propped up with his hand as he stared at the clock ticking on the wall much to his annoyance. Deciding he had waited long enough, the general pushed aside his pettiness and went out searching for you, putting on his mask and rushing out the door.

It wasnt long until he found you collapsed on the forest floor, seemingly in a pool of dark red liquid. With eyes wide and heart becoming heavy as stone dropping into his stomach, he ran quickly to your side, holding your body up to his chest as his long black and red streeked hair caged around you. It wasn't long until you emerged from the sudden movement, tiredly looking into the glistening tear filled eyes of the general. squinting your eyes you groggily groaned and hissed in pain, Lilia gasping at your concious state.

"Lilia...?" the fae looked around in a slight panic, eyes wide as he realized you were also able to speak.

"Quick, where were you harmed? I could not find an entrance wound, we must hurry and put pressure on it before-" you cut him off as you grasped the situation in its entirety now with a breathy laugh, Lilia looking at you with furrowed eyebrows eith a frown to match painted upon his beautiful tear stained features.

"This isnt funny," he snapped, "You could-" noticing how well you were able to function despite the seeming severity of the situation, he realized something must have been amiss. Lilia took a moment to look around once more to analyze a second time, seeing the tipped over basket of red berries.... The way you were laying...the buldge of your swollen ankle...using a finger he dipped it in the red liquid and brought it up to his lips, tasting it. ah. He understood now.

Suddenly dropping you and turning his back, you could feel the heat of embarassment radiating off of the soldier. To cover his red face, Lilia placed his mask back on and began to take a step away from you.

"Wait, wait! Liliaaa," you whined, "that hurt! When you dropped me! I sprained my ankle and fell on my Back. Would you please pity me? Just a little?" He stopped his movements from advancing forward back to the enterance of the forest, before taking a deep annoyed sigh and turning around to help you up.

He placed you on his back, the powerful fae hoisting you up and using his arms to interlock your knees and elbow supporting your bum. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your head peaked out from between his shoulder and neck. It was silent for a moment, and no more than that before you immediately broke the silence (not to his suprise).

"Were you crying, oh great and powerful general?" You cooed into his ear, Lilia immediately groaning in annoyance.

"If you do not shut your mouth, i'm leaving you here to rot. And I cannot believe you fell asleep on the forest floor, that was incredibly foolish," he chastised you. With a shrug of your shoulders you tilted your head in thought.

"Well, I was tired. My ankle hurt, and I was sad, so...it felt like the world was telling me to take a nap? I guess?" You laughed. Scoffing at your silly reasoning, Lilia simply rolled his eyed and continued forth towards the cottage. Another moment of silence rang before, of course, you interupted the peace once more.

"Why? Do you care about me?~" you teased. Another groan.

"Yes." He replied coldly and quickly, leaving the smile wiped off your face and jaw to the floor. Finally you allowed the silence to take over as heat crept up your muddied cheeks.

It was silent all the way back to the cottage, through to the moments of Lilia running a bath for you, to him bandaging your sprained ankle as you sat on your plump bed.

"If you continue to stare at me, you're going to burn a hole into my head. Spit it out, what do you have to say?" He finished putting away the bandages and folded his arms, looking at you- who now had a smug satisfied smile plastered on your lips. He already knew what you were going to say, you were all too predictable. And he had his answer ready, too.

"Ah, I think I just feel deeper in love with you..." You sighed dramatically, your hands over your heart before abruptly grabbing hold of Lilias hands, with the same stars in your eyes as the day he first met you.

"Will you-"

"Yes."

You blinked

Once, twice, four times. You had to shake your head roughly to clear out your ears to be sure they were functioning properly.

"Wait- you dont even know what I was gonna-"

"You were going to ask my hand in marriage again, yes?" He asked, a smirk coyly forming on his lips, his fang poking out ever so slightly.

"Well, yeah," you laughed awkwardly, "But I'm pretty sure I heard you say that wrong- did you say-"

"I said yes. I will marry you, human." He cut you off once more, looking away with flushed cheeks. "Don't make me say it twice."

...

"And that is how your (co parent) and I got engaged!" The short haired fae smiled proudly as you groaned, face burried in your hands. The young boys looked at you in awe, as the small silver haired one poked you to get your attention.

"Were you really like that?" Silver asked, Lilia interjecting himself before you had even the chance to defend yourself.

"Yes! They were rather clingy and outspoken. A far cry from now, wouldn't you say? Perhaps ten years of marriage makes one dull, you have lost your charm, my dearest!" You rolled your eyes and let out a scoff of laughter towards your fae husband.

"More like you stole it from me," you huffed, "How does one as old as you become so childish and carefree? sebek, silver, would you even believe me when I said he was so cold and mean towards me in my youth?" You pouted. The two boys shook their head, causing Lilia to let out a hearty laugh in response. Sighing with defeat and a smile upon your lips, you pushed Lilias face away from your own as he floated towards you with puckered lips.

"Alright boys, time for bed." Without protest the two had gotten ready and tucked into bed, leaving you and Lilia alone in the living room.

"You didn't have to tell them that," you huffed as Lilia trailed kisses down your neck, "I was not THAT ooverbearing! I mean, of course I had my moments..." With a raised eyebrow Lilia challenged that statement with the look in his eyes.

"It was your perserverance that attracted me to you, my dearest. It is nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you! If anything, you could be a little more... Clingy..." His voiced turned into a low sensual growl as his lips captured your own, pressing back with equal force as his hands began to wander under the hem of your shirt...

"Am I interuptting?" A familiar voice called out, causing you to gasp and push away a chuckling Lilia.

"Ah...Malleus. Im sorry, how long have you been here, exactly...?" You inquired. The draconic fae sitting on the couch tilted his head curiously, "you truly havent noticed? I have been here this entire time." Awkward silence rang for a moment and nothing more than a moment, before Lilia grabbed your hand and began to tug you towards your private quarters. With mischief in his eyes and voice sweet as honey, he leaned into your ear to whisper;

"Let us renew those wedding vows, shall we, my lovely spouse?"

Masterlist

[blue-mood-blue]

I have been thinking about the blackening (as one does)…

…and it’s so interesting to me, the penalty Shen Qingqiu is faced with should he not decide to yeet his disciple into hell.

Account termination. Instant death. Sent directly home to his already-long-dead body, and that’s it for the villain of the piece who outright refuses his villainy. The protagonist needs a blackening for the story to continue, and Shen Qingqiu is going to provide it or get written out of the narrative. Either way, Luo Binghe is going to lose him. Either way, this is a turning point.

I wouldn’t claim that this is the intent of the penalty, but it fascinates me that the System has, potentially, backed the plotline into a corner - because Binghe still stands to be blackened even if Shen Qingqiu took the other choice.

Think about what that would look like, to him. He’s at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and everything is going wrong. He’s been outed as a demon, and not just a demon - the top tier of demon, as bad as it gets from the perspective of a righteous cultivator. His beloved teacher, the person who has been kindest to him and opened his home and heart to him, is standing there with his sword in hand, deciding what he’s going to do about what must look, to him, like a horrific betrayal. Binghe is apologizing. Binghe is begging for his life.

Shen Qingqiu hears him. Maybe it shows on his face, or in his voice, that he already knew; maybe there’s no hint at all, but Shen Qingqiu is suddenly talking quickly with an abrupt sense of urgency that Luo Binghe is having a hard time keeping up with. Telling him he’ll be wonderful - telling him he’s the best. Telling him the world will be his, with emotions cracking through that aloof mask that Binghe has never seen on Shizun’s face before, and it’s terrifying for reasons that Binghe cannot identify.

(He will, later. When he has time to think, he’ll realize it sounded like a goodbye.)

And then Shen Qingqiu is bleeding. And then Shen Qingqiu is on the ground. And then Shen Qingqiu is dead. There’s no countdown for Binghe - there’s no System, there’s no warning, there’s no answers.

Luo Binghe is a heavenly demon in the middle of a conference sabotaged by demons. Luo Binghe is alone. His fellow competing disciples are scattered, some dead or injured. The Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak, the second in command of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, maybe the only person he loved and who loved him back, is dead at his feet. No one will believe him if he says it isn’t his fault.

(He can’t believe it isn’t his fault.)

What choice does he have but to run? The last heavenly demon the cultivation world went up against has been sealed under a mountain for years, and one of the people responsible for that is probably looking for Shen Qingqiu already. They’ll be looking for him, too. There isn’t anywhere to hide; there isn’t any time to mourn.

There isn’t even enough time to ask why. Why again.

There is no closure waiting for him, because there is nothing to explain what happened. It just is.

It would be a different kind of blackening, certainly - less intense, probably, less of a warping, desperate thing. But how many times can one person have all the love and safety in their world torn out from under them before it starts to show? Before they just don’t allow things like love and safety to touch them, because that’s the better option?

Interesting to consider that, simply by offering the choices it did, the System rigged the story to guarantee that Luo Binghe would end up in hell (deliberate or not).

Interesting to consider that, even if Shen Qingqiu made what might have seemed like a kinder choice, there was every chance it wouldn’t have been.

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[worriedvision]

He ignores you after an argument - Dr Ratio

Gender neutral reader, angst with an ending that can be viewed as happy. Dr Ratio shows his immaturity, and he only realises how close he is to losing you when Argenti makes an appearance.

--

"What do you mean, 'can you try to be more considerate'? If you cannot comprehend a genius' words, you are not worthy of my time!" Your boyfriend huffs, turning around to place his mask on.

He always did that when you had arguments, but the words that were paired with his actions were what worried you. You had really stepped in it, trying to tell him that you weren't finished with your sentence. You were getting frustrated that he wouldn't stop interrupting you and, sometimes, filling in the statements incorrectly. You ignored your frustration in the past, but it boiled into this argument you just had with him. You were doubtful that he would think about your feelings even after he calmed down, so you mentally prepared yourself for the silent treatment.

Days became weeks, and weeks became months. He still wasn't talking to you, and you were heartbroken. You dive yourself into your work, the astral express themselves commissioning you because of Dr Ratio's words of praise of your intellect. Swallowing the temptation to explain he was likely exaggerating to help you with getting work, you go along with it. Your boyfriend, despite no longer talking to you after the argument, tags along. You both get separate rooms - something you are thankful for, considering how awkward you felt around your partner. You didn't even know if he was considering himself as your boyfriend or if he mentally checked out since the argument.

Now, Argenti decided to make an appearance. Turns out, he had an issue with his ship, so he had to request some resources from the astral express. You had tried to speak to your boyfriend, who was still playing chess by himself as he ignored your pleads for forgiveness - apologising for failing to communicate effectively. Struggling to keep yourself together, you walk to the other side of the room before taking a seat. Pulling out your folders, you get to work on other projects. Hearing someone walking towards you, you assume they'll just be taking a seat somewhere close, only for them to sit right next to you.

"A beauty as precious as one you possess shall not be under-appreciated by an unrequited love." He begins, Dr Ratio halfway through playing a knight, freezing up at this man hitting on you. "With brains to accompany your radiant and decadent beauty, I shall request that you consider flourishing under someone to cherish you."

Dr Ratio gets up from his seat, his mask literally starting to crack as he begins to storm over to you. He realised, through Argenti's speech, that he ought to treat you better since he truly loves you. He had to show you that he has been thinking of you, about how to apologise - he simply kept his mask on because he thought he didn't deserve to show his face until he thought about how to apologise to you for interrupting you. By the time he knows what to say, his mask breaks entirely, falling to the floor to Pom-Pom's distain.

In the middle of Argenti clearly scouting for you to join him on his ship, Dr Ratio walks behind the couch and wraps his arms around you, side glaring at Argenti.

"Apologies, but this is a prize I won." Dr Ratio growls, Argenti chuckling as he gives Dr Ratio a light warning that you were likely going to get snatched up by another man if he screwed up again.

Your boyfriend comes to take Argenti's place on the couch, pulling you in for a hug, he begins his apology.

--

"You didn't talk to me for months, you know?" You pout, your boyfriend scolding himself inwardly for being immature.

"You are the one who's more empathetic than myself. I need to put more effort into understanding your feelings, I'm lucky that you're still alright with me hugging you despite the argument." Dr Ratio sighs, squeezing you as he looks over your shoulder to read your work.

"...I almost forgot how amazing and intelligent my partner is." Dr Ratio smirks, you turning your head to look at him. "If I have to wait a year for compensation of my neglect to remain yours, I would gladly do so."