#i am walking backwards into my own myth

[brabblesblog]

As if the gods made you to ruin me.

A little love letter for everyone who makes art for this vampire man.

Inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. First person POV. A sculptor confronts a piece of marble, and Astarion is their masterpiece. One-shot.

The idea of statues "breaking free" from the marble is taken from Michelangelo. This can be better seen in his Prisoners.

@spacebarbarianweird mentioned Pygmalion today, and this idea came to me.

Read on AO3.

P.S. If my writing is something you're interested in, please consider my masterlist. I highly recommend beginning with the 'Whither' series. Thank you<3

The finest, purest white marble. I stare at it, unsure, trying to parse out the figure trapped in the block for me to release. An elf, I think, my hands reaching out in front of me, imagining where the curves would be. Curls, long and growing over his ears. A sharp jaw, strong and yet delicate.

I pick up my tools, and begin my work.

It’s almost as if I’m not in control of my creation. My hands work of their own accord, carving in features that genuinely surprise me and were probably not what I would have preferred, but the longer I look, the more it seems right.

It has deep, piercing eyes, with crow’s feet. I find myself staring at it at times during breaks. It looks like it’s trying to escape its stony prison, emerging from the formless block. Its expression is poignant, as if it was lost in thought.

Smile lines? I draw backwards and away from the sculpture, frowning myself. It gave the man a look of maturity even though it was youthful. Together with the smile lines and the subtle wrinkles on its face, it seemed as if the man had lived a harrowing life before being trapped in the rock for me to uncover.

And yet, it was beautiful. There was something ethereal in the way it gazed out into space and pondered nothing.

I keep up the work. I feel myself slowly getting absorbed by it. The compulsion to keep going is overwhelming, and unlike any other. I don’t eat other than the bare minimum. I don’t leave my room unless necessary. I don’t think of much else other than what part of him to carve next.

It - no - he consumes my thoughts. In the day I carve and release him from his marble prison. At night I dream of him. Of his face, of his delicate hands, of his lithe body. I dream, I wish, and I long.

He is my finest work, the star amongst my oeuvre. My patrons are forgotten, their commissions delayed. Their ire is nothing to me. There is only him.

Astarion.

The name, his name, comes to me in a fever dream. He reaches out to me, and I ask him what he would want to be called.

A frown crosses those features, and I want more than anything to press my lips to his forehead and smooth the furrows on his brow. I watch him open his mouth, and it surprises me to see fangs.

“Astarion,” he says, and his voice catches me by surprise. There is a slight nasal timbre to it, and a drawl, almost a purr, at the end.

I snap awake, staring at the marble statue. He is looking at a spot about a meter away from where I am right now, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating his ivory skin.

Ivory. Color. I remember now. His eyes were crimson, his hair white as snow. Features I had never imagined, the medium of my work limiting me from even considering anything regarding complexion. However, the stone was a close match to his skin in my dreams - a white so smooth it was almost pearlescent.

A vampire, I realize, as I remember one more thing: the scars on his neck. I pick up my chisel and walk over to the marble, my hands searching for the spot I remember from my dreams.

I carve, and it is perfect.

I wonder who he is, and what he’s done in his life. I am almost done freeing him, the stone block now only at his knees. I work on his genitals, shaping them as best as I can. I carve out a vein, which I would imagine to be of a bluish tint.

His body is beautiful, and I step back to admire it. Muscular, but not too large. Delicate, long limbs, the marble’s natural veins adding to the illusion of an actual circulatory system. Fingers that would make a pianist weep. Strong legs, with subtle thigh musculature.

He is full of contradictions. Masculine, and yet feminine, his hands on the delicate tilt of his hips. Youthful, and yet his face belies a strange maturity and melancholy. So real to me, and yet here he is, just the work of my hands and my overactive imagination.

I am enthralled.

I do not put him on display once he is done. I don’t sell him. He stays in my room, taking up valuable working space. I do not care.

He is my muse. I talk to him, argue with him, ask him for his thoughts. There is no response, no more dreams.

I weep. I mourn for something that never was. I seek company in lonely taverns, for warm bodies to lose myself in. It is never enough. It is not even close.

I cover him in a sheet. I don’t want to see him, to be reminded of what I so desperately need and can never have.

I try, so damn hard, to forget.

“You ruined my life!” I scream to no one in particular, to him. I am unable to work, my patrons having moved on to more productive artists. I want to throw my chisels at him, to topple him over and ruin him, as he had ruined me. But I cannot.

I rip off the sheets, staring at that face that had burrowed so deeply into my psyche, and I give in and move to press my lips against it. I close my eyes.

The lips that meet mine are cold - but not stone-cold - and soft. I feel hands move to wrap around my waist, tugging me close. I instinctively move my hands up over his head, and feel hair against my fingers - curly, fine strands that flow against my fingers like silk.

A very good illusion from my mind, I gather. As I pull away I force my eyes to open. Crimson ones meet me, and those smile lines crinkle as he grins.

“Hello, darling,” he breathes.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire@qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld

[whumprecs]

you’ve prob done this but umbrella academy whump/angst recs?? all ur others are so good!

Sorry about the delay! So I am a huge Five fan, so most of them are slanted that way, though I think Diego sneaks in there a few times -but also they're almost all Family Fics.

I'm going to leave off the NSFW/non-con ones I know of, just in case. If you are interested, feel free to send another anon ask (or message if you would prefer) and I'll send links.

i'm walking backward into my own myth by eluvion  Five is in 1963. He’s in 2019. He’s in 2002. Time is falling apart, and Five is in every piece. Five is a disease, and time is coughing up a lung.

Or; Five Hargreeves breaks time.

I kept running (for a soft place to fall) by chromaticality He'd hoped they had given up. Really, he should have known better. The Handler thinks he's the solution to all her problems. Five thinks he'd like to turn the whole place into a slaughterhouse. But with Allison and Luther caught in the crossfire, Five has to cooperate with the Commission's plans until he can figure out a way to get everyone home.

No Time, No Time, Dear Brother O’ Mine by I_Logophile

At Gimbel Brothers department store, Five’s injury is a bit more serious than a simple bullet graze. Not that it matters to him.

That is, until the police show up while he’s trying to leave, and Five finds himself remembering things he’d rather forget. -- There’s something going on with his brother. That much is very clear to Diego.

Why else is Five at a crime scene? Why else is he attacking the people trying to help him? Why else is he going around ranting about time?

There’s something going on with his brother. And Diego is going to find out what.

He just has to get Five some medical attention first.

the walls kept tumbling down by Ingu It started small.

There was a nagging ache in his chest, phantom pain from where the bullets had pierced his flesh, in the overwritten timeline that never will be.

(the one where rewinding time doesn't miraculously resolve mortal gunshot wounds)

Here, Beneath My Lungs by beastboy12

After they get back from the 60's, Five starts investigating a string of suspicious murders while distancing himself from a family he's convinced he's already lost. So, naturally, Klaus and Diego join him. "Holy shit, Five," Diego says, rushing forward. "What the hell happened to you?" Five is off-balanced by the sight of Diego. Shouldn’t he be at the other address? What is he doing here? Klaus appears on the other side of Diego and lets out a laugh that sounds almost frantic. "Oh, thank God you can see him, too.” “Why are you here?” Five says. Diego scoffs. “Yeah, no, the one covered in blood doesn’t get to ask questions.”

Series

Part 1 of Five is an emotionally stunted yogurt lid

The Longest Roads Lead to Home by assaily (twistedskys) Five raised his glass to the rafters. “I’m home,” he said simply. “I’d like to take the time to enjoy that, y’know.”

Diego watched him pour another drink, suddenly understanding him. He’d been gone a long time, lost in a really terrible place that probably never felt like home unless he could somehow forget he was the last soul on Earth. ‘Home’ meant a lot to him.

When Five’s glass was ready again, Diego raised his own, still half-full. “To being home,” he said.

That earned him a smile, a real one that managed to soothe the crease in Five’s brow and make him look so incredibly young in its sincerity, and so incredibly old in its deep gratitude. He raised his glass and clinked it against Diego’s. “To finally being home.”

~-~

Or; Five gets kidnapped and it goes wrong (for the kidnapper).

heart heart head by morimaru

a series of hurt/comfort snippets featuring Five.

Blink by Lady_Origami When Five blinks, sometimes he's back in the world of ash and embers. It's hard to remember how to breathe when that happens. In which Klaus tries to play the role of supportive brother with Ben's help, and Five struggles more than he lets on.

Can you hug me as I go? by maddienole What if the FBI captured Five instead of Vanya?

2x7 canon divergence.

Simple by sharkneto Diego runs into Five at the park. He’s just here to catch a mugger. Why does Five always complicate things?

Lend a Hand by sharkneto If Luther’s being honest, he’s not sure how they’re going to get out of this one. Effectively trapped and powers negated, the Umbrella Academy is in a dire position.

Luther really needs to stop underestimating the lengths Five is willing to go to save his family.

Howling at the Moon by assaily (twistedskys) Five is now a permanent resident of the Hotel Oblivion. The rooms are crap, service is even worse, and he's pretty sure his family left him here. But at least they're safe, right?

A pre-season 3 AU of season 3, Hotel-as-a-prison concept from the comics.

lie awake, sleep awake by morimaru Number Five does not get sick. He refuses to be sick. His body obeys. Right up until it doesn't. (- this one is literally my favorite of all of these rec's, I have lost count how many times I've read it)

and all the kids cried out by morimaru The one where Five is sick, the Handler is clingy and hard to get rid of even after death, and Klaus has a ghost-busting side-gig that is a lot less exciting than it sounds.

Guilt Trip by I_Logophile In typical Five Hargreeves fashion, a drug ring bust with his family turns into a rescue mission, which turns into a complete and utter shitshow. Because, of course, things had to go sideways— No, scratch that. Things didn't just go sideways, things went upside down, backward, and inside out. And then got blown up. Literally.

In the aftermath of the whole fiasco, Five is left reeling, floundering, drowning in guilt.

Because how could he have done that?

How could he have attacked his family?

spoiled by morimaru Number Five is a survivor. He fought his whole life: he fought their father, the apocalypse, the commission, then – the apocalypse, again. Having made that fateful jump back to 2019, he unwillingly left his old body with all of its scars behind. Physical ones, at least. It’s funny, in a way, that the hardest thing for him to fight ends up being food.

The Dangers of Vigilanteing by aceofwhump Diego gets injured during one of his vigilante acts and is forced to go back to the one place he swore he'd never return: The Umbrella Academy

Also, the best way I've found to get to the fics I want in this fandom is to troll through favorites of the authors of my favorite fics. Most fandoms that doesn't seem to work, but this one it does. Happy reading, and again - sorry about the delay!

[sergeantsporks]

Aroace Hunter Week Day 5: Heart of (Galder)Stone

“Come on, guys, it’s starting in like. Five minutes.” Hunter bounced on the balls of his feet, watching as Gus and Willow slowly, agonizingly slowly, wrote their names on a sign in sheet. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Willow laughed, “I haven’t seen you this excited since Camila told you about Cosmicon.”

“Grimwalker. Researcher. Grimwalker. Lecture. Answers.”

“I thought we solved all of the identity crises? I mean, if you haven’t, we are totally going to help you through it, I was just—”

Hunter shook his head. “Oh—no, this isn’t about what I am and what that means, nothing like that. It’s just that there aren’t a lot of books about grimwalkers, and, you know… if there are different life expectancies, or weird diseases I can catch, or abilities I have, I want to know. You know?”

“Oh, totally,” Gus agreed, “Personally, I am still holding out hope for stone skin.”

“I told you, stonesleepers only turn to stone when they sleep.”

“Stone skin,” Gus whispered, waving his hands and walking backwards into the lecture hall.

Hunter shook his head, following him inside and plopping down in an open seat. “You think she’ll sign something if I ask?”

Willow sat down next to him. “Probably. Authors love signing stuff.”

The lights flicked out, and a single spotlight flicked onto the middle of the stage, empty.

“Grimwalkers,” a rich voice echoed, “Myths and Legends? Or are rumors true, and they walk in our midst still, hiding as witches to avoid a scrutinizing eye?”

Gus and Willow both nudged Hunter with a giggle.

“Shhhh,” he hissed.

A young witch with bright red hair and brown eyes walked into the spotlight. “Hi, all. I’m Dr. Trap, and today we’ll be going over basic grimwalker build, how to recognize them, how to care for a grimwalker should you find one—”

Gus held his hand out for a fist bump. “Dude. I promise I will follow all of the care tips for my grimwalker.”

Hunter fistbumped him as Dr. Trap continued.

“—and, of course, points of weakness.”

Hunter coughed. “What?!” he whispered.

“Pflbt, I already know your weaknesses. Your feet are ticklish.”

“Gus.”

“Now, Grimwalkers are created using a variety of ingredients. Selkidomus scales, palistrom wood, the lungs of a stonesleeper, a bone fragment from the creature you’re trying to recreate and, of course, a galderstone to function in place of a heart. They can appear in almost any form, but you can recognize them by their magenta eyes.”

Hunter’s hand went to touch just under his own eyes, now brown.

“Grimwalkers are not the only creature with this eye color, though, so it’s important to note other characteristics. One, of course, is immunity to boiling water, stemming from the selkidomus scales that make up their skin.”

Gus raised a hand. “How about stone skin?! Do they have stone skin?!”

Dr. Trap laughed. “Ah, no. Besides their immunity to boiling water, grimwalkers are otherwise rather soft-skinned, or at least as soft-skinned as their ortet species. Excellent question, though. Stone sleeper lungs do not give grimwalkers any advantages or disadvantages as far as we are aware, but to capture a live grimwalker is pretty much unheard of in this day and age, and the resources to make them are scarce, so research is limited. Now, if you’re reluctant to throw boiling water on a creature you are unsure of, there is one last tell. Grimwalkers historically have displayed little to no love for their parent species, thought to be due to their galderstone heart. When approached by other members of their parent species, they are standoffish, cold, and brush them off, unless driven to do otherwise by an underlying motive. While they can imitate the affections and relationships of their parent speices, Grimwalkers do not truly love or care about anything other than themselves.”

Hunter’s gut dropped, and his chest seemed to constrict.

“I—” he gasped, looking frantically between Willow and Gus, “No, I—I wouldn’t—I don’t—”

Gus’ jaw clenched, and he stood up, taking Hunter’s arm. Willow got up on his other side.

“Come on,” she whispered firmly, “I don’t think Dr. Trap actually knows very much about grimwalkers.”

They started moving towards the exit, but Dr. Trap’s eyes seemed to follow them up.

“Now, as for grimwalker weaknesses, that varies based on their parent species, but we can learn a lot from the only known natural predator of grimwalkers.”

The doors slammed shut, and Dr. Trap’s skin started to roil and shift, flipping around until her bones sat on the outside of her skin, covered in tiny mouths. Her hair cascaded down her back, solidifying and turning into a spine of spikes, extending into a tail.

“Me.”

“Oooooooooooooooooooooookay, time to go!” Hunter yelped. He grabbed Willow and Gus’ hands, teleporting towards the door.

“Ohhhhhh, Dr. Trap,” Gus groaned, “I get it now!”

Dr. Trap—whatever she was—leapt forward, landing between Hunter in the door. Before Hunter could flashstep again, her tail lashed out, slamming into his chest and sending him crashing back into the seats. He plowed through three rows before coming to a stop, wheezing for air.

“Hunter!” Willow yelled, drawing a circle. Plants cracked through the ground, but Dr. Trap leapt up to the ceiling, drooling from her thousands of mouths. Where her spit landed, plants sizzled and melted.

Gus hurried to Hunter’s side, hauling him up to his feet. “C’mon, man, let’s go!”

Hunter pushed Gus away. “Look out!”

Dr. Trap landed between them, lashing at Gus with one claw to keep him back while her tail snaked around Hunter, squeezing him tightly. Hunter teleported out, only for thick, wet droplets to splatter against his leg. He stumbled and fell with a howl as the acid burned, eating at his skin and muscles. Spots blinked across his vision, and he hauled himself forward on his elbows, pulling away from Dr. Trap. Her tail crashed down on his back, pinning him to the ground.

“You’re a miserable, heartless creature,” she hissed, “And they’d be better off on their own than with a monster like you.”

“GET! OFF!”

A whole tree erupted from the floor, throwing Dr. Trap upwards. It grew around her, sealing her in with a howl.

Willow scooped Hunter up, carrying him out of the auditorium. “I’ve got you.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Gus promised, “We’ll find a healer.”

Hunter closed his eyes, focusing on just breathing and not throwing up on Willow. “Mhm,” he squeaked.

One healer, two hours, and three different ointments and potions later, Hunter limped out of the healing clinic with a prescribed painkiller potion and his leg swathed in bandages.

Miserable, heartless creature.

“Hey—Hunter!”

Gus and Willow caught up with him easily, walking slowly to stay in step with him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m…” Hunter buried his head in the crook of his elbow to hide the tears blooming in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Gus grabbed him in a hug, and Willow wrapped her arms around both of them, squeezing tightly.

“That thing didn’t know what she was talking about,” Willow said fiercely.

“Yeah,” Gus agreed, “You’re our friend.”

“That’s the thing, I can’t… I still don’t know how to do… all this. She was right, I’m just… I’m just pretending to be your friend because I don’t want you guys to leave, I want you to stay, and I don’t know how this works, how any of this works, and I don’t know how to—to actually be someone’s friend, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t know how to love and how to—to be a friend. I’m sorry that I’ve been lying to you. I just… didn’t want you to go. You guys are… you mean the world to me, and I mean that, and I—I don’t want to lose you. I want you to be happy, so I try to make you happy so you don’t leave and… I’m sorry for being selfish.”

“Um…” Gus wiggled out of the hug. “Hunter, uh… I’m pretty sure that’s what friendship is. Like, really.”

Willow nodded, letting go. “Yeah, Hunter, I mean…” She twisted her hands. “I get being scared of being abandoned. But you’re our friend. For real. And that isn’t going to change.”

Gus lightly punched his arm. “None of us know how friendship ‘works,’ we’re all just… making it up as we go.”

“But what about…” Hunter clutched at his chest. “… you know…”

“Doctor,” Gus said urgently, “The patient! Does he have a pulse?!”

Willow snatched up Hunter’s wrist. “It’s there, nurse! He lives!” She snorted, dropping his arm. “Hearts are just muscles in our chest, Hunter. What yours is made of or what it feels doesn’t change anything. You’re still our friend.”

Gus opened and closed his hands. “She wanted to eat you. Everything she said back there was just to hurt you. Take it from a vegetarian completely uninterested in making you into soup, you’re a pretty good friend. Stone heart or not.”

[tdciago]

Tiresias, Actaeon and Gator's Oedipus Complex

This post will contain some spoilers for episodes after 5.3. In case you haven't already noticed, season 5 has been drowning in bathroom references. Dot lures Donny Ireland to the master bathroom to attack him with fire, then attacks him again in the restroom of the Gas 'n Go with frozen water, causing him to slip to his death by hitting his head on the toilet.

Roy relaxes "in moist repose" in his hot tub, and later perches on the closed toilet as his twin daughters take a bubble bath. He mentions a law that forbids horses from sleeping in bathtubs. Dot has to sponge her pits in Lorraine's commode. Wayne tells Indira he threw up in the downstairs commode. Danish tells Wayne, "Broke his skull in the commode of a filling station." Witt says, "I'm guessing there was a perp in the commode?" Dot attacks Gator's buddy Pace with a toilet tank lid during the Halloween home invasion.

Gator stops at the Gas 'n Go to "drain the snake," and Roy calls Donny "the guy with his head in the toilet." When Mama Munch investigates the noise upstairs, we see the bathroom as she walks down the hall, and it remains in the left side of the shot as we discover Munch in the rocking chair. Later, an overhead shot tracks from that bathroom to the bedroom. The description of the first episode of season 5 notes, "A series of unexpected events lands Dot in hot water and she is plunged back into a life she thought she left behind." In episode 5.3, Witt reads a newspaper story that finds Gator "in hot water" again. Bathrooms seem like dangerous places. Movies like "The Shining" and "Psycho" have depicted bathrooms as especially threatening for women, but this season finds them just as treacherous for men. I am reminded of a scene from "Jurassic Park" in which a female T-Rex (they were ALL female) kills a guy named Donald on the toilet. And, as Gator points out, Dot's a bird, and birds used to be...dinosaurs. My recent post on Tiresias reminded me that there are two myths from Greek mythology that involve unfortunate men seeing a goddess bathing naked, and being punished for it. The first is Tiresias himself, who, in one account, is blinded by Athena for the transgression of seeing her naked. The other incident involves the hunter Actaeon, who stops at a spring to cool off, only to see Artemis (Diana) naked as she bathes with her nymphs. As punishment, she splashes Actaeon with water, turning him into a stag. He is then chased and torn apart by his own hunting dogs, who don't recognize their master. Remember: Roy is present as his twin daughters bathe. Do the daughters represent these two goddesses? Gator has been likened to Oedipus. So, what if, as a teen, he saw Nadine bathing naked, setting off a sexual attraction to his (step)mother? It seems as though Munch, the Tiresias truth-sayer of this season, is grooming Gator to be the new Tiresias. If the episode title "The Useless Hand" refers to the Tennyson poem "Tiresias," then Munch breaks Gator's wrist to simulate that idea. Dante places Tiresias in the circle of hell with fortune tellers and false prophets, whose heads are turned backwards as punishment, so they can never have foresight again. And Gator wears his sunglasses on the back of his head. If I'm right about the gruesome accident in 5.4 being the woman's head getting twisted around like the Mayor of Halloweentown, then that's another reference to Tiresias. Tiresias also had the gift of augury, meaning that he could hear the future in the songs of birds, and Dot is compared to a bird. And certainly Gator being blindfolded fits with the story of the blind Tiresias. It's interesting that, in the 16th century flashback, the priest is filmed with his head centered against antlers on the wall, so he looks like a man turning into a stag. Could Bryn's transgression have been similar to Actaeon's? There will be a reproduction of a Velazquez painting used in season 5, in the scene with Lorraine at a restaurant, of Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand dressed as a hunter. Wikipedia notes that he is supposed to represent Actaeon in this painting. Nadine is an anagram of Dianne, a variation of Diana. If Gator and Nadine are connected by "hot water," that would explain at least half of Gator's comparison to Oedipus, and it would go a long way toward explaining all the bathroom/water references this season.

Photos: https://imgur.com/a/nKFYMUa Actaeon: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Actaeon Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand as a Hunter, by Velazquez: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cardinal-Infante_Ferdinand_of_Austria#/media/File%3ADiego_Vel%C3%A1zquez_-_Retrato_del_Cardinal-Infante_Fernando_de_Austria.jpg Fargo: This Useless Hand! https://www.tumblr.com/tdciago/735839243983896577/fargo-this-useless-hand?source=share Fargo: It's a Twister! https://www.tumblr.com/tdciago/735299222722740224/fargo-its-a-twister?source=share

[eluvion]

elektra natchios aesthetic

/

Villain - Searows / Never Love an Anchor - The Crane Wives / The Oresteia - Aeschylus / Antigone - Jean Anouilh (tr. Lewis Galantiere) / Planet of Love - Richard Siken / @moldavite / H of H Playbook - Anne Carson / Anecdote of the Pig - Tory Adkisson / @exigencelost / Things haunt - Joshua Jennifer Espinoza / Wishbone - Richard Siken

[ID under cut]

[Image ID:

Picture 1: Two sets of lyrics, one from the song "Villain" by Searows, and one from the song "Never Love an Anchor" by The Crane Wives. The lyrics from "Villain" say, "I started a war / I'm gonna fuck it all up / And I'll probably pay with my life / And I know you told me / That everything's fine / But I wrote this story / Before it was mine / And I know there's a villain / But I'm worried it's me this time." The lyrics from "Never Love an Anchor" say, "I am all the things they might have said to you / Do you ever think of me and my two hands, and wonder why? / They never soothed your fevers / And wonder why / They never tied your shoes / And wonder why / They never held you gently And wonder why."

Picture 2: Two quotes from the Oresteia. The first one says, "1. Enter here knowing that she is already dead." The second one says, "Orestes: (highlighted) This was always going to happen. She's been dead since the beginning."

Picture 3: An excerpt from Planet of Love by Richard Siken. It says, "so smile for the camera, it's your big scene, / you know your lines. / I'm the director. I'm in a helicopter, / I have a megaphone and you play along. / because you want to die for love. / you always have. / Imagine this: / You're pulling the car over. Somebody's waiting. / You're going to die / in your best friend's arms. / And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, / you've memorized it, it's all you know. / Isay the phrases that keep it all going, / and everybody plays along."

Picture 4: A quote from Jean Anouilh's Antigone. It says, "In a tragedy, nothing is in doubt and everyone's destiny is known. That makes for tranquillity. There is a sort of fellow-feeling among characters in a tragedy: he who kills is as innocent as he who gets killed: it's all a matter of what part you are playing. Tragedy is restful;…”

Picture 5: A headline that says, "Calf born with third eye on forehead--but still destined for slaughter."

Picture 6: A quote from the H of H Playbook by Anne Carson. In normal text, it says, "Brief pause. I'm walking backward into my own myth." In strikthrough, it says, "I was trying to walk out."

Picture 7: A excerpt from Anecdote of the Pig by Tory Adkisson. It says, "Do you still believe myths / can save you? Foolish creature. / Let me be clear: every version of the story / ends with you being slaughtered."

Picture 8: A post from @exigencelost. It says "She's dead she's immortal she's haunting you she doesn't care about you she's muzzled she's screaming at the top of her lungs she's unnoticed she's unforgettable she doesn't have control over the story she doesn't have control over her body she doesn't even have control over her voice. And I'm obsessed with her."

Picture 9: A quote from Things haunt by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza. It says, "Things haunt. / Things exist long after they are killed."

Picture 10: A black silhouette of a man's bust with red lines extending from a gunshot hole in the middle. This silhouette is layered on a red background, the same color as the lines extending from the center of the man's bust. In fragments, a quote from Richard Siken's "Wishbone". It says, "I'll be your / slaughterhouse / your killing floor / your morgue / and final resting."

End ID]

[bettedavisgf]

tragedies tragedies tragedies it was always going to happen she was dead from the beginning i am walking backwards into my own myth

[paladinkit]

In honor of my Poetry Month and my genuine curiosity... What's one of your favorite poems?

oh this is a great question! I narrowed it down to two and then couldn't pick between them ❤️

my favorite short poem, and the poem I recited when I proposed to my wife is by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)                                                       i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

my favorite long poem, and genuinely my favorite work by J.R.R. Tolkien, is his poem Mythopoeia (below the cut for length!)

To one [C.S. Lewis] who said that myths were lies and therefore worthless, even though 'breathed through silver'.

Philomythus to Misomythus

You look at trees and label them just so, (for trees are 'trees', and growing is 'to grow'); you walk the earth and tread with solemn pace one of the many minor globes of Space: a star's a star, some matter in a ball compelled to courses mathematical amid the regimented, cold, inane, where destined atoms are each moment slain.

At bidding of a Will, to which we bend (and must), but only dimly apprehend, great processes march on, as Time unrolls from dark beginnings to uncertain goals; and as on page o'er-written without clue, with script and limning packed of various hue, an endless multitude of forms appear, some grim, some frail, some beautiful, some queer, each alien, except as kin from one remote Origo, gnat, man, stone, and sun. God made the petreous rocks, the arboreal trees, tellurian earth, and stellar stars, and these homuncular men, who walk upon the ground with nerves that tingle touched by light and sound. The movements of the sea, the wind in boughs, green grass, the large slow oddity of cows, thunder and lightning, birds that wheel and cry, slime crawling up from mud to live and die, these each are duly registered and print the brain's contortions with a separate dint. Yet trees are not 'trees', until so named and seen and never were so named, tifi those had been who speech's involuted breath unfurled, faint echo and dim picture of the world, but neither record nor a photograph, being divination, judgement, and a laugh response of those that felt astir within by deep monition movements that were kin to life and death of trees, of beasts, of stars: free captives undermining shadowy bars, digging the foreknown from experience and panning the vein of spirit out of sense. Great powers they slowly brought out of themselves and looking backward they beheld the elves that wrought on cunning forges in the mind, and light and dark on secret looms entwined.

He sees no stars who does not see them first of living silver made that sudden burst to flame like flowers bencath an ancient song, whose very echo after-music long has since pursued. There is no firmament, only a void, unless a jewelled tent myth-woven and elf-pattemed; and no earth, unless the mother's womb whence all have birth. The heart of Man is not compound of lies, but draws some wisdom from the only Wise, and still recalls him. Though now long estranged, Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed. Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned, and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned, his world-dominion by creative act: not his to worship the great Artefact, Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light through whom is splintered from a single White to many hues, and endlessly combined in living shapes that move from mind to mind. Though all the crannies of the world we filled with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build Gods and their houses out of dark and light, and sowed the seed of dragons, 'twas our right (used or misused). The right has not decayed. We make still by the law in which we're made.

Yes! 'wish-fulfilment dreams' we spin to cheat our timid hearts and ugly Fact defeat! Whence came the wish, and whence the power to dream, or some things fair and others ugly deem? All wishes are not idle, nor in vain fulfilment we devise -- for pain is pain, not for itself to be desired, but ill; or else to strive or to subdue the will alike were graceless; and of Evil this alone is deadly certain: Evil is.

Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate; that seek no parley, and in guarded room, though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom weave tissues gilded by the far-off day hoped and believed in under Shadow's sway.

Blessed are the men of Noah's race that build their little arks, though frail and poorly filled, and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith, a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith.

Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme of things not found within recorded time. It is not they that have forgot the Night, or bid us flee to organized delight, in lotus-isles of economic bliss forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss (and counterfeit at that, machine-produced, bogus seduction of the twice-seduced). Such isles they saw afar, and ones more fair, and those that hear them yet may yet beware. They have seen Death and ultimate defeat, and yet they would not in despair retreat, but oft to victory have tuned the lyre and kindled hearts with legendary fire, illuminating Now and dark Hath-been with light of suns as yet by no man seen.

I would that I might with the minstrels sing and stir the unseen with a throbbing string. I would be with the mariners of the deep that cut their slender planks on mountains steep and voyage upon a vague and wandering quest, for some have passed beyond the fabled West. I would with the beleaguered fools be told, that keep an inner fastness where their gold, impure and scanty, yet they loyally bring to mint in image blurred of distant king, or in fantastic banners weave the sheen heraldic emblems of a lord unseen.

I will not walk with your progressive apes, erect and sapient. Before them gapes the dark abyss to which their progress tends if by God's mercy progress ever ends, and does not ceaselessly revolve the same unfruitful course with changing of a name. I will not treat your dusty path and flat, denoting this and that by this and that, your world immutable wherein no part the little maker has with maker's art. I bow not yet before the Iron Crown, nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.

In Paradise perchance the eye may stray from gazing upon everlasting Day to see the day illumined, and renew from mirrored truth the likeness of the True. Then looking on the Blessed Land 'twill see that all is as it is, and yet made free: Salvation changes not, nor yet destroys, garden nor gardener, children nor their toys. Evil it will not see, for evil lies not in God's picture but in crooked eyes, not in the source but in malicious choice, and not in sound but in the tuneless voice. In Paradise they look no more awry; and though they make anew, they make no lie. Be sure they still will make, not being dead, and poets shall have flames upon their head, and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall: there each shall choose for ever from the All.

[specternicnevin]

Milk and Honey

In worship to the invisible, her reality starved. Centuries of clamoring religiosity snuffed out the glimmer of child wonder. “Vile daughter, come touch my bloody hands and side; doubt not.” She reached, but he walked backward. Cried... He danced away. A tempting imitation of knowledge. What baby wants to eat the blood and flesh of a rejected son? Not one. Unless he is conditioned to have the appetite. Impregnating children with unnatural fears. Psychological torture with reward of candy and stickers. And so her own mind swelled until bursting. Soul groaned in death throes for salvation. Who can stop this cancer within me? Can I remember the forgotten truths? Then God spoke. It was He. And She. Offering her mind release. Her narrow world ate of perceived decadence. Fruit of Eden’s innocence, washed down with chaotic control. Myth dissolves the brain tumor! Knowledge extends a hand.... But its dance demands no war and bloodshed. It is made pure in curiosity. The Promised Land. Canaan flowing with milk and honey.. Heaven on earth. Belonging to Jew and Gentile alike. Drink deeply of forever. Right now. Because You Are, I AM.

2014

[devotioncomplex]

vas, any pronouns. rebranded. tag directory below the cut.

straightforward tags (for me)

my posts · my art · about · gpoy

reminder · keep · ref · inspo · art envy · library shelf · favorites

general tags

sf: art · poetry · poetry by tumblr poets · words · fanfic · architecture · photography · fashion · lookbook · edits · graphic · collage · typography · sculptures · misc · objects

#add to basket

#my irls

#themes of interest

#things that will never stop happening

aes tags

sf: scene · ghosts · spirals · hole theory · hauntings · tech · heart as objects ·

#getting into knives

#a hole runs through me

#at the altar of god

#where are the angels?

#fiat lux

#living red

#body of proof

#if i could only get this clean once

#you bleed the night without a sound

#walking backward into my own myth

#only the shadow of a cross

#mostly i want to be kind

#doctors won't have a name for everything that haunts you

#home is where the knives are

#the haunting is architectural

#all you are is meat

#dissolutio

#trade this heavy cage of bones for flight

#into the wound

#dangling on the leash of your longing

on love

#men loving

#i want your hands to become language and make me

#the crimson imprint of his love bite on your neck

#you know i am your dagger

media tags

sf: films · horror · sci-fi fantasy

hannibal · the magnus archives · succession · the social network · daredevil · twin peaks · persona 5

[alexandraunderthesun]

Firelei Báez: Sueño de la Madrugada (A Midnight’s Dream)

Sueño de la Madrugada (A Midnight’s Dream) is an exhibition at South London Gallery, by the New Curators Fellowship.

Firelei Báez is an Afro-Carribean artist whose work explores themes of science, Black and colonial narratives, spirituality, mythology, and migration. She is a trans-disciplinary artist who utilizes paintings, installations, drawings, and sculptures in her practice.

I am a sucker for a good installation; walking into the gallery I passed their book shop (fantastic selection by the way) and stepped into Báez immersive installation. There was an immediate calming sense that took over me; as if the dark blue canopy was a night sky and the pockets of light were stars. According to the text, the blue tarps symbolize those used during hurricanes and a troubled relationship between refuge and calamity.

If this artwork was intended to be laid on, I 100% would have done so. Under this night time-esque canopy installation, I would love to lay in the position of this iconographic symbol-figure.

These creatures are Ciguapas, figures that are popular within Dominican folklore. Constructed out of aluminum silhouettes, they do not commit to one single form and are positioned intermittently throughout the exhibition.

"As in the myth, they evade straightforward interpretation. Two key traits persist: their backwards-facing feet, rendering them untraceable,and their flowing, lustrous mane. Recalling childhood stories, Báez envisions Ciguapas as fluid in gender, embodying diverse identities. By painting these mythical creatures, Báez prompts viewers to reconsider what it means to be human and to imagine freedom from earthly constraints."

This text makes me think of Katherine McKittrick's Sylvia Wynter: On Being Human as Praxis, which is a critical review of cultural theorist Sylvia Wynter and her ideas on how race, location, and time inform human identity. Within her scholarly research, Wynter incorporates her Caribbean identity politics, migration, science, and more.

The second part of the exhibition was at the "Fire Station", which is a part of the South London Gallery Space. I almost wish the space wasn't separated; it felt as if my immersive experience had ended in an abrupt manner.

Walking into the Fire Station, there are colorful floor to ceiling figurative-abstraction paintings. I used to thoroughly dislike abstract work, I just didn't understand it. As I have gotten older and more into conceptual and theoretical art/framework, it is now one of my top genres. Recently, I have also been enjoying figurative-abstraction. I like the practice of being able to identify some parts of an artwork, but I don't need to identify all. Within Firelei Báez's work, I enjoyed the colorful abstraction elements to be left up to my imagination.

More Ciguapas!

At the end of the exhibition in the Fire Station, there is an artist video where Báez discusses her artist practice. In the video, she cites the biggest competition in the art world is tech, which I 80% agreed with. There are so many ways to create work from digital technologies, even from your iPhone. I understand her point, but does the incorporation of tech in the art constitute as competition? From a techno-optimist perspective (quoting Veralyn) and to play Devil's Advocate, how can artists build off of technology to help them?

The rest of my notes from the video included:

This idea that there are ways of understanding visual language in its own has its own pathways

Abstraction like technologies allows us to step out what we expect to see and give us room to imagine what we see 

Main hope of the space is to bring you back on and connect you back to your senses

I love the room and space Firelei Báez gives within her work to imagine and create worlds of our own through subtraction. In response to the second bullet point, regardless of what I am expecting to see or understand when entering an exhibition, it is almost always debunked. Her abstraction allows visitors to create a world of their own.

If you are in London, I highly encourage you to check out the show. Read more here: https://www.southlondongallery.org/exhibitions/firelei-baez/

[fungiuntilsunset]

A blushing Amanita found in central Illinois. Any advice on ID would be appreciated.

Starting out learning about mushrooms, I didn't have much time to be able to go out into the woods. I often get out of class, make myself something to eat, and quickly bike over to walk around the woods for an hour or two before sunset. It doesn't help that I get distracted quite often. A twenty minute bile ride quickly turns into an hour if I spot an interesting flower, or seed, or berry, or tree.

I first found these blushers on a day like that. It was just turning to Autumn, although there was hardly a chill in the air. The mushrooms sure could tell though. On my way back from work throughout the week I had found jack'o'lanterns, false parasols, chicken of the woods, ink caps, and some stinky white Amanitas. I often dream of walking through forests and finding lots of mushrooms, and I felt like I was living in that dream when I finally got to the woods that day. I had never seen so many different mushrooms growing everywhere: tall, red bitter boletes, purple laccarias, chanterelles, milkcaps, and all colors of russalas.

My mom had texted me that day telling me that mushroom season was starting. Really, it would be my first one. My mother grew up in rural Poland, and both her side of the family and my dads often forage their own mushrooms in the old, coniferous forests.

Being a child of Polish immigrants, I feel that a big part of my story has been the rejection of a life in harmony with nature in favor of The American Dream. My mother grew up on a farm, spending her days hiding in the hollows of trees, getting lost following streams (for 4 hours), and of course collecting wild mushrooms. American life did not allow her to share the lessons nature had taught her. I believe she may feel some sense of loss in the isolation from nature that we have all been forced to accept as normal. However, in exploring nature, I feel a new connection with my mother and my family. I feel that I am uncovering a bond with people whom I have lost and knowledge that has not been passed down. More and more, as I get older, I feel a frantic need to write it all down before it is too late.

My connection with nature is in many ways more sentimental that scientific. Nonetheless, I feel the need to catalog my experiences both for my own needs and maybe others who will find this useful. An anxious disposition causes me to tend towards learning new things on my own. However, I have always felt an overwhelming, obsessive impulse to share my knowledge.

In any case, it is more and more difficult to connect with lovers of nature when nature itself cannot be a priority in our lives. Nature does not pay rent, nor does it hold the promises of wealth and prosperity. Ironically, a connection to the environment was once essential for humanity to prosper. Such was the case for my family only a generation before me. It seems to me that the opposite is now true. As my mother often says when I complain about the state of the world, “everything is just going backwards.” I don't think we should (or can) go back to the world as it was before. Whatever moral judgments we make on history, good or evil, it is nothing but fool’s errand to wish for the past. You can't just put the toothpaste back in the tube. Whether you believe in the myth of progress or idealize a romantic bygone time, time moves only forward. That is, as far as we can tell. We have no other choice than to embrace the opportunities that the future presents us with. With this journey into the future, we must carry the baggage and knowledge of the past on our backs.

That day I found these blushers was one-of-a-kind this year. It was an incredibly dry summer, so I saw comparatively few grow after that. I had hardly begun really learning about mushrooms, much less the intimidating genus Amanita. I remember running around taking as mad man taking as many pictures I could on my broken, 6 year-old phone. There is something just magical about Amanitas: the way they grow out of what looks like a dinosaur egg, the iconic patches and skirt, the sheer size and elegance. I feel really lucky to have been able to visit the woods that day.

[mrpenguinpants]

Genshin: University AU [V1]

I love modern au. Or any “everything is fine, no one died, it’s just a fever dream” au. Half of me is thinking, damn maybe I should answer this serious- LOL HAHA no. That’s not happening. Time to crack my knuckles and let my brainworms take over again.

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. I want to switch up my characters from the last brainworm post but I included Kaeya and Diluc.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to twistedwishes. Hey! I’ve been seeing you pop up a lot lately and thanks for the support 💕💕 I hope things are going better for you and you’re doing alright^^ I feel kinda bad for making appreciation posts on crack fics but hopefully this is somewhat funny haha. 

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Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: Roommate [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

  @mikeysbike @hanniejji@unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @dandelily @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife  @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki​

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Diluc

Absolute pretty boy who has braincells, but only if Kaeya is not there. In his mind, Kaeya’s presence makes his room loose 40% of their common sense. He can’t prove it just yet but he’s working on it. He majors in accounting but also has a minor in marketing, logistics’ management, fia- he majors everything business related. He’s going to become the next Elon Musk through smarts or by getting the competition drunk. There can be no contest if he’s the only candidate. He’s actually a hard working guy that overworks and stresses way too much. You have daily “Diluc recharge” evenings where he just hangs onto you while you go through your day.

“Don’t fucking talk to me until I’ve had my coffee,” except there is no coffee - he drinks grape juice out of juice boxes and his only energy boost is when he meets up with you - and that’s his constant mood. So he usually only hangs around you and Jean, since she has childhood friend status and is actually an angel. By default, Lisa is added and Diluc doesn’t mind her but if he see’s Kaeya, it’s full on war paint mode. If he's not busy with work or studies, he's usually with you either in your dorm or his apartment.

He has a fanclub and he seriously hates it and tries to do everything in his power to get Ningguang to take it down. Shouldn’t this be against his rights? But she refuses for whatever reason and makes a whole speech about free will. No matter what he does, someone manages to take a picture and it get’s printed in the university’s newspaper. The only bonding time he has with Kaeya is every Monday, where they collect and burn all the universities newspapers before anyone can get their hands on it. You always bring marshmallows to make smores during their arson activities.

“When I graduate I’m going to burn this school down to the ground. That’s not a threat it’s a promise.”

Ningguang

Is secretly the leader of the Diluc fanclub - not that she likes Diluc, she’s in a questionable platonic poly marriage with you and Beidou - but it was the easiest way to gain funds for the student council. Which she is the president of, so rip Diluc the fanclub stays. Ruthless business woman I tell you. But she can run in heels so her danger factor rises by at least 20%.

Majors in social sciences and law but more specifically the political science & government. She saw the Imperial State Crown that the Queen of England wears and says yes, that’s mine now. If she’s not with Beidou and you planning on “how to infiltrate the state government just for lols”, then she’s with Keqing, Ganyu, and Zhongli discussing student council things. Should they or should they not tell the student body that they can see everyone’s search results? Sit back and relax as the school goes into chaos. 

She’s probably the scariest person on campus No, she is the scariest person on campus. She’s the scariest person on campus. But secretly she’s popping 20 aspirins just to make it through a night. She has the digestive system of steel. She still holds the title of "seriously do not try and beat her in a drinking game it's never going to happen" and that's her proudest achievement in life but sadly she can’t put it on her resume. Kaeya is still trying to beat her out of spite but so far it hasn't been working. You’re seriously concerned for her when she get’s challenged but Beidou gives you a way-to-hard slap on the back and cheers her on. If Ninngguang somehow get’s alcohol poisonings she’ll somehow find away to make a profit out of it.

"I'll let him die, I'll get the insurance money."

Kaeya

One day he chugged too much mouth wash, passed out, and somehow woke up in university majoring in law. His idea is that if he is apart of the law, he can therefore stand above it. To be fair, his only goal in life is to say “I am the manager” and he can go live the rest of his life in bliss or as a hermit. He’s secret best friends with you but wouldn't be caught dead beside you. He will stab a bitch if you ever get hurt but will still trip you on the way home. Seriously, you have no idea why people find him attractive. Your guess is it’s the eye patch or the clap of his ass cheeks that keeps alerting everyone.  

He’s apart of the newspaper club and if anyone asks: No, he has no idea who keeps taking all the newspapers and burns them in the back of the campus. Originally, he joined because he was nosy and needed to join some type of club for his resume. He sometimes feels bad for his junior assistant Amber because he keeps tricking her and says that Diluc is secretly a demon that is trying to steal all the jobs and is apart of the lizard government hell bent on eradicating the human race. He even brought out a whiteboard for this joke, he’s dedicated to his job ok? 

The type of guy to try and be humble and say his work is “okay” but will choke a bitch if anyone agrees. He tends to leave everything last minute and says that it’s his drug since actual drugs could land you one year in prison and a maximum penalty of $2,000. You have to awkwardly hold in your concerned mother head shake when you see him speed running his assignment literally right when the professor is walking around to check if students finished. 

“I was taught how to lead not to read.”

Mona

Broke wallet #2. Zhongli is broke wallet #1 but Childe simps for him so is he really a broke wallet at this point? In this essay, I Mona Megistus, will explain why I have the rights to the title “Broke Wallet #1″...

Believes that astrology should be an actual career path but refuses to take astronomy as her major. I can read the stars not a textbook that tells me how to calculate the mass of the sun divided by the fucks I give. Instead she went into Philosophy and cries to Albedo, who is an actual prodigy genius- sir lend some braincells to everyone else please?, that her professor keep turning her paper down because “star reading” is not an academic source.

Fischl wants her to join the occult club because, surprisingly, Mona is very good at telling people’s fates through her crayon sketch ouija board. She thinks first year Fischl is cute but is put off by the cosplay roleplay that she has going on. She would join except that stupid hat wearing gremlin in her lit class would make fun of her if he found out.

You gave her half your lunch one day and bought her a doughnut "because she seemed upset" and "out of the goodness of your heart" whatever the hell that means. She thinks you pensioned it but once that thought comes she takes a bite. Poison from a doughnut is not the worst way to go out, classes are hard enough. She’s waiting for the lord to strike her down anyways. 

“Its not about passing, its about doing better than everyone else.”

Venti

Slept through most of highschool and people question how he got into university. He’s a music major (wow how fucking original is that), and if anyone asks him to serenade someone or just do anything, he’ll do it for the right price. Or if you buy him alcohol because he still keeps getting ID checked. He’s banking on Kaeya actually becoming a lawyer or being on good terms with Diluc so he can finally stop being arrested for looking like a toddler.

Takes one step into classes and quickly nopes out and goes back to bed. Professors have no idea how he hasn't dropped out or failed. He just has some god given talent. He does whine at you to pretty pretty please with a cherry on top tutor him because you're such an angel and would never leave your poor but awesome best friend hanging right? He needs to get this essay down but how he is suppose to explain how the number 10 is symbolic and connects to the universe or the meaning of life. Do you think he can just say it’s apart of his culture and make up some random myth to pretend it looks like he knows what he’s doing? 

He’s honestly going with the flow and put his brain on the back burner all of highschool and only now realizes wait, I actually have to use my brain?

He’s been banned from most club chats since Venti has the no chill card. Someone says “lol I look ugly today.” and he’ll respond "yup, you look like a cow." and he get’s banned. Zhongli keeps a speed run timer on his phone just to document these occasions.

"Sad spelled backwards is das and das how it be sometimes."

Childe

An actual dumbass that somehow does well. He eats sandwiches with the crust off, this heathen. Surprisingly he’s studying to become a physical therapist but most of his experience has come from breaking his own bones. You’re scared how he's going to be if he actually becomes a therapist. If he'll make bets with his patients or try to one up whatever crazy injury they get into. Everything is a challenge to him that sometimes the best way to deal with Childe is to knock him out. 

This man really knows the way to a Zhongli’s woman's heart. Through micro transactions. Mona saw him accidently drop $20 and just shrugged and walked off. She has never been both spiritually and physically offended in her life. She did take the $20 though. As much as you hate leeching on Chile when he’s basically a walking wallet that probably uses bills as tissue paper, you can’t help but give him puppy eyes while planning on how to get into his will. If he even plans on having one, he might honestly write “whoever wins in a gladiator style duel in my funeral’s tournament, they will get my fortune.”. 

Any sport the university offers Childe is probably in it. Which is how he met Zhongli, challenged him to a fight, proceeded to have his ass handed to him, got a backhanded compliment, and screamed to you he was in love and how he found his soulmate. He's secretly very sappy and has cried and watched every Disney and Pixar movie at least 28 times.

"IM NOT TOO SPICY! I’M A TINY BIT ABOVE MILD IF ANYTHING!”

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God if it isn’t Scaramouche, it’s Childe that ruins the aesthetic. This is why I hate you. Why do you people enable me like this, it isn’t even good. This is pretty much a @ yourself moment and I vibe hard with Venti. This entire post was just to make a joke about the clap of Kaeya’s ass cheeks alerting the guards.

This week might slow down since I have classes and assignments. My reply’s are gonna be late too, sorry;; (oh and thank you to everyone that was so supportive and nice when I mentioned it. All of you. Beautiful 💕💕 )

[daevastanner]

Gwynriel: Pregnancy Fanfic

You and me and the baby makes three

Requested by @queenamydien-of-nargothrond and other users I cannot find

Read on ao3:

“Caught you…”

Azriel knew Gwyn would’ve jumped at the sound of his voice had she not been so encumbered at eight months pregnant. Instead she gasped, placing a hand atop her rounded belly and stuffing the rest of the berry tart in her mouth.

“It wasn’t my intention to frighten you,” Azriel said, crossing the moonlit kitchen and leaning on the corner of the counter where Gwyn stood. “You could’ve woken me, you know? I would’ve brought you that…” The Shadowsinger angled his head, peering down at the pastry. “If I knew it existed… Wait, where did you get that?”

Gwyn’s cheeks flushed, but she lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m not telling. Or sharing for that matter.”

The shadows on Azriel’s shoulders quivered in rhythm with his chuckle. “I wouldn’t dare steal from your stash.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I may never have had a pregnant mate before but I am well aware you do not under any circumstances interfere with their cravings.”

She folded her arms over her chest, elbows resting on top of her bump and Azriel couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked. Even in the dead of night with her hair fluffy from sleep and the barest hint of crumbs from the berry tart clinging to the corner of her lips. Perhaps the “pregnancy glow” was a myth, but he could have sworn for her that that wasn’t the case. She was truly a sight to behold with her glossy hair and luminous, freckled skin. Unable to help himself, Azriel inclined his head, kissing away the remains of the tart from the edge of her mouth.

When he pulled away, she smiled… then winced.

Azriel straightened. “What is it? Hard kicking? Cramps? Back ache? Ankles? Nausea?”

Gwyn nodded. “Ankles.”

The shadowsinger took both her hands, walking backwards to guide her back to the bedroom. “Let’s get you off your feet then.”

A few months ago Gwyn would’ve argued with him and insisted that she could remain standing (out of pure refusal to surrender to the pain), but with only two months to go she had become much more receptive to Azriel’s assistance.

Well, apparently as long as it didn’t involve her covert stash of berry tarts…

Bracing one hand on her back, and holding her elbow with the other, Azriel helped her back into bed. A task that seemed to be becoming increasingly difficult, along with standing, getting up, bending over, and reaching things on high shelves.

Azriel was glad to help in any case. Happy to feel as though he wasn’t completely useless while Gwyn endured the brunt of this process.

The shadowsinger clambered onto his side of the bed, remaining at the end. He lifted Gwyn’s ankle and placed her foot in his lap.

“Azriel, you can go to bed. The swelling will ease up as long as I keep lying down,” Gwyn said, folding her hands over her bump. She nestled back into the pillows he had propped up behind her so that she could lie down in a position where the baby didn’t squish her bladder. “Get some rest. You have to meet with Rhysand early tomorrow.”

Her mate shook his head, already moving his thumb in a circular motion at the base of her ankle. He was only further convinced to continue when Gwyn emitted a soft moan of contentment.

“It feels nice to help,” he said. “Besides, I should probably start getting used to late nights again. With Rhysand letting up on my schedule I have been pampered with sleeping in.”

“Gods, I keep forgetting all the trouble she’ll be,” Gwyn snorted. “She’s already high maintenance as it is with her expensive cravings and insistence on kicking at all hours of the day.”

“You know her restlessness reminds me of someone I know…” smirked the shadowsinger moving on to the next ankle. “And as far as her expensive taste in food goes, I recall a certain former priestess who after her first visit to Velaris was inspired to return if only to acquire more scones… Very costly ones.”

Gwyn smiled and Azriel’s heart stuttered. Even after seventeen years of knowing her she still managed to take his breath away with that smile. With her eyes. Her laugh. Everything about her really.

And most recently, that bump he adored. The constant reminder that this was real, that this was his life. A life with a mate that made him laugh and smile and was honoring him with a child.

“I can’t wait to get back to training,” she sighed. “And my recruits.” A grimace. “We have to figure out a schedule. One that allows us time with each other and the babe and also our respective jobs.”

“Well, first, don’t worry. It’s bad for both of you,” Azriel grunted, setting down her ankle, then shifting to lie down beside her at the head of the bed. He propped himself up on his side, a shadow cloaked elbow braced on the pillow and his free hand running the expanse of her bump. “And second… I’ve been thinking about schedules.”

“Please share.”

“We’ve had peace in Prythian for nearly ten years now. No whiff of betrayal or espionage from other courts or humans. It’s gotten to the point where I have too many spies, to be honest.” He met her teal gaze that seemed intrigued and curious. “I’ve been Spymaster for five centuries. I’ve got eyes that have been training just as long. I want to speak with Rhysand and Feyre about taking a step back.”

Gwyn’s brows furrowed. “Azriel…”

“Gwyn,” he said with a warm smile, “I’ve put a lot of thought into this. My eyes can keep their positions if I take on a more remote position. Consulting Spymaster. Reviewing the occasional report from a desk and providing insight when needed.” His eyes shifted back to her bump. “And as far as training the Valkyries and the Illyrians goes, Cassian and I only help twice a week as it is. For just two hours. You and Nesta and Emerie haven’t needed us for years. Cassian has always taken the lead with the Illyrian warriors. He’s interested in taking a step down as well for the twins.”

“Really?” Gwyn asked quizzically.

Azriel nodded. “We were talking. We could potentially alternate our duties in Windhaven and with the Valkyries. Spend a majority of our time at home, taking care of the house and the children for you and Nesta.” He grinned back at Gwyn. “And Nesta was quite excited about this proposition.”

“But Azriel,” his mate frowned, “wouldn’t you miss your work?”

The shadowsinger scoffed. “Not particularly. And even if I did, I’ve had five hundred years of dedicating myself to my work. Cassian and I both agree it isn’t fair that you and Nesta have to drop everything or cut back and miss the opportunity we had.” His tired smile broadened. “Rhysand has been able to take a step back since things quieted down, so why not us too? Everybody wins and perhaps in the next five centuries we can reevaluate.”

There was a silence, then Gwyn knitted her fingers with Azriel’s, resting at the apex of her bump. “Could I really ask you to make such a change?”

“You aren’t asking,” he corrected. “I’m offering. And besides, I like the idea. You don’t have to decide tonight but think about it. If you don’t like it we’ll figure out something else. But it’s the easiest way to ensure we get time with Catrin and time with each other.”

The edge of her lip curved upward in a wry smile. “I’ll consider it, Shadowsinger.” With a slight grunt, she pushed herself to sit a little straighter. “But right now, you have to consider what you want to be called. Father? Papa? Dadda?”

The shadowsinger’s chest pinched and his lips twitched at the sensation. All these months he had been excited to be a parent but never once considered what he’d want his daughter to call him.

His brothers had both settled on “Dadda” except for Cassian who sometimes referred to himself as “Papa.”

“Hm,” he mused. “What will you be? Mama? Momma? Mother?”

“Oh, Momma for sure,” she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t look like a ‘mother’ at all. I’m definitely a momma.”

Azriel tilted his head and decided that he agreed. “Mother” was too formal for Gwyn. She would be the Queen of silly faces and funny voices and midnight snacks. That wasn’t someone their child would call “mother.” She was right. Gwyn was definitely a “momma” just like Feyre had decided, where Nesta had chosen Mama.

“Very astute,” Azriel nodded. His voice was thoughtful but also excited. “I choose dadda then.”

“Good decision,” grinned his mate.

Then, hard against his palm, a kick. Gwyn flinched, but still smiled and Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Sounds like she approves, Shadowsinger.”

“Was that a hand or a foot?”

“Foot. Definitely. She’s slowly starting to turn head first so her feet are higher up. Here.” Gwyn unlaced their fingers then took Azriel’s wrist and guided his hand to the top of her bump, just beneath her left breast. “Foot right there.” She moved it down right at the base of her right bottom rib. “Hand there.” She slid his hand farther south, diagonal to her popped out navel. “And that’s her head.”

His smile crinkling his eyes, Azriel stared at her belly with reverence. “Incredible.”

“Mm,” replied Gwyn, closing her eyes.

“Shall I sing you both a lullaby?”

“Yes, please. You, Me, and the Running Waters would be nice.”

“As you wish, songbird,” he said softly.

Azriel sang and his shadows seemed to lovingly swirl around Gwyn’s bump. By the time he reached the second verse, Gwyn’s breathing had evened out, her mouth barely parted. Fast asleep.

Letting his voice fade away as that delighted smile once again returned to his lips, Azriel ducked his head to place a kiss right beside her navel. “Goodnight, Catrin.”

He pulled the duvet over Gwyn who with a soft snore, rolled onto her side, allowing Azriel to sidle up behind her, a hand draped over her bump.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Comfy, my darling, I come requesting the delight that is Jaskier as Persephone! Please and thank you 🐺🌼

HAPPY FUCKIN BIRTHDAY BABE!!!!

Ily and i’m very glad we’re interweb friends!!!

Pomegranate Seeds

I took some heavy creative liberties here and twisted the myth a little bit for the sake of the vibes. Geralt is Hades, Jask is Persephone and that’s the only character crossover bc I wanna give them all my attention. There will be more too 🥰

Warnings: ...none? jask runs away? its greek but like we got rid of the shitty bits.

______________

Geralt seethed as he stalked up the winding path through the gardens of Mt. Olympus. He liked the underworld. It was his home, his realm, and more importantly, his brothers never ventured there without warning. He grumbled about the ‘fucking humans being needy and bothering him’ as he cut through an orchard.

As he neared the largest tree, he slowed his walk, feeling his irritation melt away little by little as he heard an entrancing voice floating from its upper branches. The song was sorrowful and filled with a simmering resentment Geralt had never heard anywhere but his own thoughts. He came to stop under the tree and leaned against its trunk, listening in rapture. 

When the voice went quiet, he spoke without thinking, “That was beautiful.”

There was a yelp and a couple cracking branches before a young god dropped almost gracefully to the ground, “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“Is it?” Geralt chuckled, still leaning against the tree and watching the god closely as he righted himself and brushed his soft brown hair out of his eyes, “I live with the dead. They don’t talk much.” 

“Oh?” there was a flirtatious glint to the younger god’s blue eyes before he finally put two and two together, “Oh! Oh no, you’re- shit- My apolog-”

“No need,” Geralt interrupted, “I intruded on your singing,” he hummed with a sly smile as he brushed past the confused god to amble along his path to the wretched meeting he was due at. 

“I- well, yes you did! Why?” the god seemed to get his wits about him as he jogged to catch up. 

Geralt shrugged, slowing his walk, “I… appreciate the lyrics.”

“I’m Jaskier. By the way,” the singer bounced along in front of Geralt, walking backwards as he chattered, “You appreciate my mourning the loss of my autonomy? That I am forever to be singing in a garden to make things grow just because of my mother?” 

“Demeter’s Jaskier?” Geralt frowned, knowing very well how Demeter liked to control her human pets. He couldn’t imagine how… well yes. He could imagine what kind of a controlling mother she would be. Gea had been no picnic after all. 

Jaskier wrinkled his nose and nodded. 

“You don’t want to sing?”

Jaskier spun on his heel and fell into step next to Geralt, “I love to sing. But I want to do it for me. Making it a duty sullies the… the…” he trailed off for a bit, staring at the blossoms and fruits in the trees with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. Geralt found it unreasonably endearing and waited patiently for him to find the word.

“When I sing for myself it is cleansing. When I do it for others it feels disingenuous and wrong.” Jaskier decided. Clearly, he had been spending time with the muses. 

Geralt nodded, “You want more than what you’ve been offered here.”

“Yes!”

They had, to Geralt’s dismay, come to the edge of the orchard.

Geralt stopped and faced Jaskier, a slight upturn in his lips, “Maybe you should find what pleases you.”

Jaskier smiled like the glittering diamonds embedded in the walls of Geralt’s palace, nodding fervently as Geralt turned to go. Just before he was out of reach he heard the singer whisper, “I think I just did…” 

_

Geralt paid even less attention to the discussion than usual, his mind wandering back to Jaskier. He decided, as he glared at his brother boasting of his bastard child and that bull thing he’d made, that he would find Jaskier and… and what? He wanted to whisk him away to his realm and spoil him with fine jewels and the most delicate of silks. He wanted to hear that voice and see that brilliant smile everywhere he went. 

But that was selfish.

How could someone so full of life and ambition ever be happy in the underworld? He couldn’t possibly expect Jaskier to leave the color and warmth of the surface world behind for a shadowy cave system that barely qualified as Geralt’s palace. There would only be Geralt and the Furies for an audience, for the most part, and the only trees in his courtyards were haggard at best. No child of the harvest would flourish there. 

He left the way he’d come, hoping to find Jaskier in the orchard again, but he was long gone by the time all the other gods had aired their ‘concerns’. 

Weeks passed and Geralt found himself even more withdrawn than usual. 

His time was spent glaring down at his pathetic little courtyard with the one tree still bearing fruit. He had always been resentful to have been stuck below ground, where the humans feared him and the other gods judged him for having made a home. Bitching and moaning wouldn’t make anything better, so he played the hand he was dealt and enjoyed his solitude. But now? Now he was simply bubbling with rage. Had he been made god of the sea this wouldn’t be a problem. He would pick a comfortably private but not secluded inlet, build his lovely little singer a castle, and spend all their free days wandering the beach.

Not that he’d laid awake at night thinking about it. 

He dealt with his duties with a biting tongue and vicious sneer as he pondered what to do with himself. 

Nothing seemed to satisfy.

Finally, he made a decision. He would pay Jaskier a visit and ask to hear the song one last time. Just once before he promised to leave the lively singer alone. 

When he arrived at the gates to Mt. Olympus, he expected to have to search for Jaskeir or at least search out his voice.  

Jaskier, however, was furiously charging down the path, his angry scowl turning into a feral grin when he recognized Geralt, “Oh! Hello! This is perfect! I was just coming to find you!” 

Geralt blinked, “Find me? Where would I be but home?” 

“Here. Apparently,” Jaskeir pointed out, with raised eyebrows.

“I’m here to find you,” Geralt smiled, feeling something akin to hope soothing the loneliness that had nested in his chest. 

Jaskier positively beamed, “I have chosen to find what pleases me. And now that I’ve found you, I would be eternally happy if you absconded with me to your realm.” 

If he were nervous or hesitant in the slightest, Geralt couldn’t see it even as he looked for any hint in his features. 

“You want to come with me to the underworld?” Geralt frowned, not believing his ears.

“Sounds more fun when you say it my way,” Jaskier answered, rubbing at the back of his neck, that little bit of embarrassment and worry finally showing through his facade, “but yes. That is exactly what I want.”

“I have no gardens.”

“All the better.” 

“I would be your only audience.”

“You’re the only audience I’ve cared about since I met you,” Jaskier’s tone became defiant as he puffed up his chest just enough for Geralt to think he did it unintentionally.

Geralt let himself melt a little bit more with his every reply, “The sun doesn’t warm your face in my home.”

“Are your eyes not a brilliant golden warmth enough?”

Geralt blushed for the first time in centuries, “If it is truly what you want…”

Jaskier hesitantly stepped closer, staring Geralt right in the eye, “I want you.”

[peydawgz]

Hello! I was wondering if I could get a Marvel matchup? My pronouns are she/her. Im 5’1, slim to athletic build with tanned skin, black, short hair, bold eyebrows, full lips and dark brown eyes. I also wear dark purple cat eye glasses. I have a quite preppy aesthetic. I wear lots of plaid skirts, knee high socks, heeled boots and Peter Pan collars. As for personality I’m very creative and curious. I spend lots time living in a world of my own discovering and exploring ideas. To the outsider I seem incredibly "dreamy" and distant, because I spend a lot of time inside my own mind musing over things. I’m very easily bored by day to day things and will zone out on the majority of people. As for hobbies I’m very interested in the visual arts. I myself am an artist working in both fine and digital mediums. I also love studying symbols through art (I’ve tried to incorporate them into my own art ya know give the viewer a sort of scavenger hunt). I also love films, books, and video games. This is to an extent of over analyzing and theorizing. Let’s just say I’m invested in stories. My favorite genres are probably myths/legends, espionage/mystery, historical fiction, sci fi and fantasy. Back to art which is what I’m studying, things like user experience, web design, cgi and graphics etc. I also love to workout and kickbox. I’d say that my greatest weakness is how distant I can be. I tend to be confused and closed off by my emotions even if I feel them deeply. I’ve got a bit of a short temper as a result. That being said I do have a very select group of people that I open up too. As for my type, I tend to look for intelligence most of all. I’d love to discuss and explore theories and ideas with people. I also would like someone where we can just be alone but together. I’m not the biggest social butterfly. Lastly, my preference is for either males of females. Wouldn’t mind nsfw either! Thank you once again!

uhhh little editors note? i went too overboard with this and i got waaay too into it so this is a long one ahahaha! enjoy!!! <3 :)))

another editors note: this does not have a set timeframe in the MCU aaaaa also theres some of my own headcannons in here

ANOTHER ANOTHER EDITORS NOTE??? WHY DID THIS GET SO LONG IM SORRY GIRL I--- SIS HELP IM OBSESSD NOW AGHJKDEEDUI

AAA! My first matchup! I'm so excited <3 !!!!! also you sound so friendly and sweet!!

I match you with...

Bruce Banner // The Incredible Hulk!

You two meet because you were hired as a lab assistant intern for S.H.I.E.L.D. through one of your classes. Shy and very scared of this new area, you were walking around with your head in your phone, trying desperately to find your rendezvous in your emails, slightly sleepy from it being early in the morning for your tour. You were not watching where you're going, though, because you bumped into someone...

You stumble backwards, and he turns and you get a nice view of him.

He's somewhat tall, definitely taller than you, but still a nice 5'9. His build is muscular, and he's wearing a lab coat. Your eyes travel to his face, his curly brown hair falling over his forehead, a cute little strand placed over his black framed glasses. His eyes were hazel? No, they appeared a dark green, emerald.

Bruce stares at you for a moment, caught in your gaze as you two lock eyes. He almost dropped the notebook and laptop he was carrying in his arms when you bumped into him, but he held on. With a nervous laugh, you manage to speak up.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going, and I'm sort of new here, I don't know my way around. A-Actually it's my first day! I'm supposed to be here for a tour, but... I'm not really sure where anything is I'm-" You're cut off when Bruce puts a hand out to you with a very friendly smile. "No worries! I'm Bruce Banner. Welcome to your tour! Actually, I was just looking for you Mrs. Y/L/N!"

You blush and look down, "Actually it's just Ms. Y/L/N... I'm single." You nervously squeak.

Listen.... Bruce is not that good at signals. Or women. The whole tour went well, and you were supposed to be his assistant/intern for six months. After a week, he starts to admit to himself that he likes you. In fact, everything about you is attractive to him. When you turn in papers to him, he sees your daydreaming doodles on the margins, its so adorable. When you push up your cute little purple glasses? Adorable. You like video games? So cute. He dreams of asking you on a date, but in fear of rejection, he holds it in. Also, what would Fury say? In-work relationships are a little complicated. And she is just an intern...

You however? Totally into him. He's so dorky and sweet, and very gentle with you! He's patient, listens, and he's soooo intelligent! What more could you want? You saw the way he looked at you, and you were desperately trying to make it happen. You would flirt and compliment him, and say cute little things like "Forget hydrogen! You’re my number one element." But maybe you were coming across as too friendly? Maybe he needed a bit more of a push. Sometimes men like him can be uncertain and shy in situations; you had to be patient with him.

You knew about him... hulking out. He held it in in front of you, and you could tell. When he would get an equation wrong or mess something up doing his work, you could see his eyes... changing. He would get sort of sweaty and you could see the veins on his arms, sleeves rolled up, trying to laugh it off and say "I-Is it hot in here?" and run off into the bathroom. It only happened twice, and you didn't know what happened until it was explained to you later. Bruce fessed up, explaining his alter ego of being a hero, and the S.H.I.E.L.D lab being just his day job/hobby. You hadn't seen it at that point, and you didn't want to. It kept you on edge with him, and maybe a little frightened, even. But you remembered how he smiles at you and how gentle he is. You're sure he wouldn't hurt you.

...

Finally! The day comes where Bruce decides once and all, he'll ask you to "hang out" after work. It's now after a whole month of you working with him, and he's planned something for you. Obviously you say yes! It was just a shy question during your lunch break.

"It's a friday, right? Are you.... doinganythingtonightat 7?" He asked, very quick with his wording, face flushed red in embarrassment, staring downwards at his sandwich. "Not at all, Bruce. Why?" You reply slyly, knowing he was nervous about asking. "I'd um... just like to take you out is all."

That night was a very ideal first date, dinner and a star wars movie at his luxurious house. He made spaghetti himself, and he was very proud of it. He shows you around his place, including his workout roooooom~ ooo fancy! You started to imagine him working out in here... how often does he use it? Is he ripped under there? He's an avenger and the Hulk, he's totally gotta have muscles-

Your tour is moved on, and he shows you a good time and entertainingly debated with you and relaxed on his very luxurious couch. You two decided to have some drinks (if you don't drink um... just imagine you loosen up around him more than you usually would) and that's when it started to get wild.

The alcohol opened him up (or you did with questions/a deep talk or something) and he started to show his more... flirty side with you. He gave you a lot more compliments, and eventually ended up resting his head on your shoulder and sighing loudly, "I wish I had a girlfriend like you, Y/N." You snap out of it and turn, looking down at him bewildered. "O-Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. He realizes what he says and drunkenly shoves his face into your hair, groaning "Why did I say that...I-m such a..." You feel the breath from him talking against your skin and you feel a sensation through your body, giving you some kind of adrenaline you've never felt. You use it to your advantage and place a hand on his, a little shaky from your nervousness, and move your other hand to move his head from your shoulder, pulling him into a small, 3 second kiss. "I wouldn't mind." You giggle, and you can see the emotions running through him.

You've made an accident, you now realize, as his eyes have that once again familiar look in them- and he starts to get sweaty. His face is looking pale and he's stammering for words.

'Fuck, I... I have a girlfriend. I can't control this feeling. Oh my gosh, what is happening to me? I don't understand.... I'm too drunk for this.... ' His chest burned like fire, and his body felt like something was tickling him everywhere. Happiness and excitement bursted through his body.... while something else was bursting through his body.

That was when it happened.

It all happened quickly, his body started to grow, his dress shirt and pants ripping apart, skin turning green, muscles bursting from his clothes. You were frightened, pushed up against the edge of the couch, watching in a blurry horror as he changed, his glasses falling into your lap. He was probably 6 or 7 feet fall and towered over you, low grumbling noises coming from him. Was he angry at you? Because you kissed him?

He stared downwards, almost as if he was scared himself, and mumbled, "Hulk.... happy?" Confused, but still excited, he turned and made eye contact with you. "Y/N?" He realized, now, and a grin spread across his face as he moved to you, bumping the coffee table and smashing it on his path to you, making you squeak in terror. You were cautious, sinking into the couch. "Girlfriend? Hulk have girlfriend!" He spoke brokenly, and placed a heavy hand on your head, patting you, soon turning into petting. Gotta admit... it was pretty darn comforting. He didn't seem angry and hostile like he'd mentioned.... You supposed it was okay. He was only wearing some very tight-looking shorts at the moment, you supposed he wore them in case he turned.

The rest you don't remember as it got quite fuzzy and late, but the last thing you remember was falling asleep in his big green arms. When you woke up, he had returned to normal and tried to apologize, but you just giggled and said "the only thing you hurt was the table."

...

Your relationship blossoms to you working with him at S.H.I.E.L.D no longer as an intern! He got you a promotion to his professional lab assistant and even got you a special new lab coat! He loves you, and adores your physical affection. At work, with you, he's agreed with Fury to keep your relationship on the down-low, but at home is a different story...

You heard it! Eventually, you move in with him, and he makes sure every day for you is perfect. He doesn't mind the distance at all! In fact, he's got a busy job being a hero most days, so it gives you all the time you need to draw and do whatever you need to! He shows his love through gifts, and buys you a new drawing tablet for your birthday! You've seen him Hulk out and get angry, but he is able to balance himself around you for some reason. You seem to only bring him happiness, and he loves you so dearly that even Hulk loves you too! You're just so cute, how could he resist? You even have your own room where you can go if you need a safe space to think, he gets you. Your short temper? He's patient, and will help you sort it out. He knows how to deal with an anger problem.

Cute nicknames he calls you are: sugar, baby, sugarplum, princess, cutiepie, and snugglebear

You met the other Avengers at some point, and Bruce was a bit scared Tony would end up womanizing and try to steal you, but you were quick to friendzone him, sticking to Bruce's side the whole time. They thought you two were so dorky and cute, and enjoy you hanging around!

Overall, Bruce adores you and your relationship is as strong as him. You do eventually get to watch him work out, yes, don't worry. It's very enticing~

NSFW

The first time, Bruce was scared he would hurt you. You two were laid in the bed, at first cuddling, but he started to kiss your neck and play with your hair, it was getting heated. He was gentle, shaky, and nervous about what was okay. You assured him he could relax, and that you love him and he has nothing to worry about. He calmed his nerves, admiring every part of you and kissing your whole body. He's muscular, and his cock is average size, curving up eagerly, circumsized, and ready for action.

He pleasured your breasts first, kissing you down your chest and grazing your nipple with a finger. He kisses around it first, then taking your breast into his mouth, sucking on your nipple, and gently grazing his erect dick against your wet panties. You rub against him for more pleasure and he groans, leaving little hickies on your breasts. He moves his head downward and kisses your stomach, sliding his hand up and down your thigh. Bruce looks up at you with a pleading look, and hums, "Is this okay?" and kisses the hem of your panties. You're already soaking, turned on so much and willing for him to pleasure your needing pussy, so you pet his head and sink your fingers into his curly brown locks, and sweetly whisper, "Please, yes, Bruce." And it drives him fucking wild.

This man is god at giving head. How does he know so well? He begins with kissing your cunt through your panties, grazing his lips over your thighs next, so excited that he's rubbing his needy cock against the bed. He's quick to remove the clothing item and tease you by kissing you everywhere in that area but your pussy, looking up at you with those pretty green eyes. You make a little huff of annoyance, getting fed up with his teasing. Finally, he licks your cunt , his warm tongue grazing your clit and flicking around your folds. He grows more curious of your sweet noises coming out of your mouth now, and presses his mouth to your very wet vagina, licking and slurping you up, holding you around your thighs and burying his head down there. After five minutes of merciless pleasure and you getting so worked up you're moving against him, he slides a finger in your hole and pumps in and out of you. His other hand is pumping his touch deprived cock, making him moan and vibrate against you.

First, he fucks you missionary, cleaning his face off of your juices and quickly mouthwashing bc nobody wants pussy mouth kisses, and his member enters you easily but slowly still from how wet you are. He fills you up with all of him, before slowly rocking his hips into you, kissing you deeply, holding your waist, and groaning from how nice and warm and tight you are. You're a hot, moaning mess, and he picks up his pace, and you can feel his midsection slapping against yours with each thrust. You hold on tight, legs wrapping around him and calling out his name at one point.

"A-Ah... mmh. can y-you turn around baby?" He groans as he starts to slow down. You kiss him one last time and move into the position and he enters you again, holding your waist and moving you with his thrusting. It felt so good, your legs started to shake from how deep and fast he was, and he doubled over, holding you closer, you could feel his chest to your back

"I'm so close- I'm really-" He gasps, his thrusts now hard and slow, each one slapping against your ass and filling you up. He reaches under you and starts to play with your clit/ You could feel his cock twitch inside of you. Out of respect, he pulls out and cums all over your ass, continuing to rub your pussy until you came as well, and you two had a nice steamy shower full of hugs and cuddling and he gives you lots of aftercare and kisses and makes sure you get rest bc he's scared he went too hard <3

OTHER OPTIONS I MAY HAVE PICKED: TONY STARK OR VISION

[x-infernhoes-x]

Evermore- Maliksi x Reader

Title: Evermore

Genre: : )

Warnings:  Not much but I’ll leave it to you guys lmao. Implied Relationship as well so ye.

Word Count: 1, 690 k +

Description: I don’t know WHY I get ideas for fanfics at ungodly hours of the night like I’m supposed to be on a break here since my neck still hurts from writing that 2k pound of word vomit that is known to be one of my greatest smut piece that eventually earned me the title as ‘The Emissary for Zaddy Cannibal’ WHEEZE and I started writing this at 1:57 am so let’s hope I’d finish this before 4 am. I’m basing some stuff I know about Maliksi from the comics and perhaps the anime as well. I also suggest listening to Evermore from the live-action version of Beauty and the Beast after reading!

PS. I didn’t finish this last night because I got sleepy at 3 am. There’s an AO3 version of this that’s direct to the point if you want something shorter than this one which can be found here! Oh and my grandma suggested that I set the font size to 12 instead of 11! and as always, I finished this at 3:29 am GGWP talaga.

Anyways, enjoy! _______________________________________

If people asked about how the Prince of Tikbalangs was like as a person, most of them would describe him as rowdy, haughty, stubborn at times may even be perceived as a pervert due to his distaste of not wearing any underwear underneath his jeans. Some thought of him as the classical, spoiled rich kid who cared for no one but himself but in reality, he was so much more than what people would perceive him to be. Being a Prince was something, sure he got everything that he wanted regardless of what it was, he would always find a way for it but sometimes it led him to live a rather lonely life that felt like he was nothing more but a slave to live through this illusion of being the perfect prince.

If they took the time to peek through the curtains of his façade, they would see that he just wanted someone to understand and see him for who he is but this also proved to be contradictory for the poor fellow given the fact that every time someone would show him just the right amount of honesty and kindness, he would find out that most of these people were only after him for things such as taming him to become their loyal servant, for his money or even for the sake of his looks. He thought that this curse of his would stay with him for the rest of his Engkanto life but somehow that all seemed to change his rather pessimistic view on life when he had come across someone who would turn his whole life in a different direction.

Maliksi had met (Y/N) (L/N) on one of his father’s many extravagant events where he was forced to sit through it. Of course, while his father was busy chatting away, the prince took this as an opportunity to sneak away which eventually led him towards an unsuspecting person who would change his life forever.

At first, the two of them were like total opposites, always clashing and arguing about something to the point that his father, Senior Armanaz had to interfere with their constant bickering but time seemed to wear both Maliksi and (Y/N)’s dissatisfaction for each other’s presence and instead began to tolerate the other, which eventually led into something more than just friendship among the two.

Maliksi and (Y/N) were completely inseparable, almost attached to the hip to the point that the Prince was rarely seen without them. He would take (Y/N) on trips across the country, sometimes he would take them out on long drives after his races and almost everything in between. People have reported that the two seemed even more in sync especially in battle, covering each other’s backs while bantering about which car model was the best or where they would eat after this whole ordeal like the two of them were playing a mere game of Patintero or even playing a good round of Pogs to see who got the most hits on their opponents and who seemed to be stronger.

But there were precious moments where Maliksi would take them on trips across the country just to escape from the hectic and bustling streets of the city and gave them the taste of what it means to be free and live life in color. He would watch his partner’s joyful and almost curious gaze with a feeling of warmth and care in his chest that would make him smile along with them, the two of them would participate in various festivals such as Flores de Mayo and its ritual pageant, Santa Cruzan, The Masskara Festival in Bacolod down to his personal favorite which happened to be the Moriones Festival that takes place in Marinduque. But out of those trips, the one that he treasures the most was the time Maliksi and his parents had flown out to their home province, Bukidnon to celebrate the Kaamulan Festival where his partner met the rest of the family, of course, this was also the time where he had proposed to (Y/N) after their 3 years of dating, he was glad that they had accepted his proposal.

Who knew things would eventually change from thereon. With the underworld restless and agitated from all the events that have transpired, it seemed to put a strain between Maliksi and his fiancé. To make matters worse between the two, Maliksi began to do races that would conclude in fatal car accidents for both parties. This would result in (Y/N) and Maliksi arguing non-stop every time they meet however these fights never resulted in something physical but it would leave them in tears or the other walking away with a slam of the door. This cycle seemed to break the moment a certain Babaylan-Mangdirigma had beat him at his own game and managed to snap some sense into him as well the moment his beloved ran at him at full force, scolding him right in front of Alexandra Trese before the two left to settle their problems in private.

“Magpakasal na tayo.” Maliksi told (Y/N) the morning after the two of them had reconciled. Of course, this made his fiance cough up their drink, eyes wide and still hacking their lungs out while Maliksi made his way over to them, patting their back gently to ease their pain. Once things were clear, (Y/N) could only look at him, disbelief and surprise evident on their face before they spoke, “Seryoso ka ba?! Paano yung simbahan, yung venue-“ Holding their hands in his own, Maliksi could only give his soon-to-be spouse a grin, placing a chaste kiss upon the back of their hands. “Wag ka nang magalala, babe. I’ve got it covered.” And just like he had said, Maliksi did have it covered, the venue, the church, and everything in between. It was a quick but simple ceremony that had his parents and (Y/N)’s parents present and nobody outside of the clan knew about this union between them. Time seemed to move quickly after that but the two newlyweds felt like it was an eternity for them both.

In a short amount of time the fantasy of church bells and dreaming faded into war cries and chants of ‘Sic Itur Ad Astra’  quickly and we see Maliksi and his spouse come face to face with the greatest foe they’ve ever come across, the war-god of Bukidnon, Talagbusao. With the rest of their forces subdued by the War God and Maliksi trying to recover from the hit he had taken from Talagbusao, the Tikbalang prince seemed to take notice that his spouse was nowhere in sight and panic seemed to take a hold on him like a choke-hold. Standing up, he began to look for them, ruby-red eyes rapidly scanning the area, furiously looking for his beloved, silently praying to Bathala that they were okay or let alone still be alive.

His prayers seemed to be answered when he saw them, still kicking and fighting and running to where Talagbusao was and he immediately knew something was wrong. “(Y/N)!! ANONG GINAGAWA MO!?” Maliksi yelled out through the sound of roaring bullets, trying his best to reach over to where their lover was.  “Alexandra, ngayon na!” Maliksi heard (Y/N)’s commanding voice ring out as she caught the Babylan-Mandirigma’s knife, Sinag throwing it to her while they subdued Talagbusao to the best of their abilities, eyes locked with their husband as they mouthed at him, ‘Patawarin mo ako, Maliksi.’ And as quick as a flash, Alexandra, Talagbusao, and (Y/N) disappeared into the Dragon’s Gate. Maliksi was left to watch his spouse in paralyzed horror and shock disappear right before his eyes, chest clenching in panic as the impact of the closing portal sent everyone nearby it flying backward.

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A month has then passed after that event and we see Maliksi within the Trese household as he would always do, always waiting, hoping, and praying that his (Y/N) would return to him safe and unharmed. This day was different than the other days he would spend at the household because this day was the day that Alexandra Trese had returned as announced by a pale-looking and wide-eyed Hank. The tikbalang prince was the first to head where Alexandra---who was now swarmed by her older brothers and the kambal, his eyes still searching for his spouse, his expression of hope immediately diminished as he spoke, his voice slowly trembling with each step he took, “Nasaan si (Y/N), Alexandra?”  at the mention of his spouse’s name, Alexandra then refused to meet his eyes as the rest of the Trese siblings along with the Kambal clearing a path for him, all watching him with disconsolate looks and glistening eyes as Alexandra held onto Sinag as tightly as she could, trying her best to find the right words to say to him.

“Wala na si, (Y/N), Maliksi. She’s gone.”

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“There is a story, of a man who had lost his beloved in a war, some say he still waits for their return, others say that the day his beloved had disappeared, he had soon followed.” 

“They say that this man could be found standing by the tall windows of Tower A [1] located in Ayala Avenue. Urban myths suggest that this man is a ghost bound to the building, others say that he’s the reason why that Tower still exists.” Now in his prime, Maliksi sat in the place where his father used to sit. It had been years since he had taken over the clan and years since his beloved, (Y/N) was taken away from him at such an early age. Beside him was an empty throne reserved for them once they return. No matter how many years it would take him, Maliksi Armanaz, former prince and now leader of the Armanaz clan, would still wait for his beloved, (Y/N) to return to him until the end of his days. He would wait for them for evermore.