#i know i asked for it but i cannot comprehend this is so different from my playstyle lol

[thefallofruins]

You hold his gaze so fearlessly, and in your eyes, he sees a thing he’s never seen before– definitely not when people look at him. A look so different from the hatred, the fear and disgust he is accustomed to.

The same pathetic love he so criticised.

You’re indeed, the dumbest brat to ever exist. Millions of men to exist but you went for him— the worst choice possible. He almost felt guilty in your stead, not being able to comprehend how you stick with someone like him.

Fingers resting on the side of his face, his wrapped around your wrist in a moment of silent admiration.

He’d burn the world for you, no second thoughts. He never says it, not through words, at least. But you know it deep in your heart.

Because Ryomen Sukuna does not care for a thing that’s not him.

But you’ve stuck to him so closely that he cannot possibly separate you from himself now. Not when you look at him with eyes like that.

“Do you love me?” You ask him, the faint sounds of flames crackling at a distance. A fireplace he set up to keep your ass warm, but don’t you speak of that.

He looks at you for a while, wondering why you need to hear him say it when you clearly know yourself. When Ryomen Sukuna does so much for the sake of a person that’s not him, the answer becomes quite obvious.

“You know the answer to that…” he replies, his voice unwavering. He’s right, you do. You never needed to hear him say it.

“I do…” you smile, a sole fact acknowledged by both of you in that moment: No one loves Sukuna like you, and no one loves like Sukuna.

[yannaryartside]

CARMY NEVER WANTED TO CREATE A MENU WITH SYD.

AND WHY THAT IS THE CORE THEME OF THE SHOW

PART 1: THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIEVES

So, one of the bases of creating an efficient character arc is to give the character something they want, and something they need. In the pursuit of getting what they want, the theme of the show and obstacles will show them what they need. Most of the time, they need healing from an emotional wound that prevents them from growing into the ultimate version of themselves, capable of winning the challenges of the story. I will try to explore Carmy's wound and, more importantly, the lie that created that wound.

In 'The negative trait thesaurus" by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi, it reads:

"Wounds are often kept secret from others because embedded within them is the lie-an untruth that the character believes about himself."

When I started therapy (disclaimer: this is not professional advice; I am just talking from how I interpreted all of this), I was introduced to the concept of "limiting beliefs:" lies we have told ourselves about our own nature or the nature of the world. The most difficult beliefs to leave behind are those established in our early childhoods, and we told ourselves those lies to make sense of the world, to make peace with realities we were not equipped to comprehend yet. 

Some examples of lies people belive:

"I am too stupid to learn anything; my teacher said so" "It was my fault that I was molested." "I am a bad person for wanting a different life."

When people believe these lies, they will act accordingly, maybe attracting situations that hurt them but keeping the lie active in their lives. They may self-sabotage or create bonds with people who also believe the lie, even if it doesn't seem this way. 

In some cases, people may develop complete personalities or behaviors to prove the lie wrong, but deep down, they still believe in the lie. Carmy falls into this last category. This is where we find the most contradictory parts of his personality, how he can act shy and insecure in some instances and appear confident and even aggressive in others. 

Long post underneath.

THE RESENT OF A MOTHER:

We can only assume here because I think Storer is gonna let us know more about this soon, but I think I got an idea of this wound when I saw the only moment Carmy was alone with Donna on "Fishes."

I have a lot of things to say about Donna herself, but let's begin with the obvious: the conversation in this scene had little to do with the dinner itself. This was a woman stating that she felt alone and not valued, probably due to being abandoned by her husband and having to overwork herself at the beef to support her 3 kids, all while being a single mother. We don't know if this feeling of abandonment is something she has carried since childhood, but in the state of current womanhood, it wouldn't be uncommon. The work of women (especially mothers), particularly the emotional labor, is rather invisible and not valued at all.

But again, this is something she has used as fuel to resent her kids, who, at the end of the day, didn't ask to be here. Her anger has to go somewhere since she cannot direct it toward the people that ctually caused it. To get to the point:

THE BEARZATTO SYBLING DYNAMIC

Carmy said, "You are not alone; I am here with you." (This kind of comes back to telling Syd she was not alone at the end of the season.) This scene is about a kid trying to communicate to his mother that he loves her and trying desperately to connect with her, to get her to express her affection for him as well.

It tells me that growing up, he felt like he had to "earn" her affection. Donna likes to make her kids feel guilty about her unhappiness, so the kids feel that they are constantly walking on shells because they think their mother hates them, or at least that she resents them and that it is their responsibility to fix it.

In the scene, Carmy asked,

"What is so hard, Mom?"

I think what he was actually asking is, "What is so hard about being with us, to love us? What did we do to you that made you resent us this way?" He is asking because he wants to know, to finally understand. Why do you drink, Mom? Why do you yell? Why do you say such hurtful things?

When she answers, "Nobody makes things beautiful for me," you can see in his face the disconnection. He knows he can't do anything about that.

Then, a crucial part in the scene occurs when Donna calls him "Michael, " which indicates that the only one of her children who could make her feel happy was Michael, or at least that is how the other two kids felt. You can see the hurt in Carmy's eyes in the scene because this answer dismisses his effort to connect to his mother in his own right. She asks him to just leave. He offers to wait to connect with her. Then, it comes to the most chilling moment on the scene, the "we have a problem" using his full name, with resentment in every word. She hugs him while crying, kisses him, and then slaps him.

This is rejection. There is a book called "The Five Wounds of the Soul": wich are Rejection, Abandonment, Humiliation, Betrayal, and Injustice. I think Carmy's wound is rejection, for never earning his mother's love, particularly comparing himself to Michael.

Michael took responsibility for the Beef, finally giving their mom a break. It was Michael's job to make sure everyone was having a good time, to compensate for the discomfort that caused being in Donna's presence, to make sure all of them stayed as a family, which was Donna's intention, so Michael thought he had to make that happen for her. Therefore, Michael is the only one of her kids who succeeds and makes her happy. We know Donna rejects Natalie and Carmy. About Natalie, we can write another whole essay.

THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIVES

According to this scene, I think Carmy thinks that her mother didn't love him because he is not Michael; in fact, he is the most "not like Michael" someone could be. He was shy and stuttered and didn't have friends or girlfriends, comparable to Michael's ability to control every room he was in. Carmy was sensible and no macho alfa as Michael presented himself to be. Carmy left home and the family business, and both Michael and Donna expressed that they feel like he thinks he is better than them. Michael admitted later to admiring Carmy's work in Copenhagen, but Donna never did. carmy grew up having to live with the crumbles of Donna's attention that Michael left behind, wondering every day what was so wrong with him that made her reject him, and wondering what he could do to change that.

The lie that Carmy belives, could be sumarize this way:

I need to earn people's love. I need to always go the extra mile, doing the most possible at all times to earn people's love.

This all goes back to his trauma with Michael. It goes back to his career as a chef and how he became the best. He didn't need to succeed on a larger scale in the culinary industry to earn Michael's respect and love; he needed to be the best in the world, so he did that. He judges his own social abilities, comparing them to Miachae's. He left that promising career only because of Michae's death. He got the girlfriend Michael wanted for him (not saying it was the only reason, but it was there).

PART 2: WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS HAD TO DO WITH SYDNEY?

Well, what does a person who feels they always need to do the most? They do the most. I want to bring you back to the moments Carmy had to develop menu ideas with Syd on s1 and s2.

When Syd suggested items for the menu in s1, he gave her an inconclusive, not enthusiastic "maybe."

When she had to actually cook the thing for him to approve, he tried to make her feel small about it. He felt the need to remind her that she was "impatient and green," according to her previous bosses. He commented about her possibly ruining the flow by using time to cook her recipe. Yikes all around, but the core here is that he was treating her like an enemy, like competition, while she was trying to save the restaurant with what they had on hand to use the most efficient solution.

Then, when Carmy tries the dish and feels stunned by it, he has to make an ambiguous excuse on the fly and just finishes every chance of them using the recipe by saying, "is not ready yet"

And what does he do next? He goes to show the crew a recipe that is extremely complicated for the level they are operating at currently—they said so themselves. I think the recipe is a variation of Donna's butter chicken recipe. To put a nail on that coffin of his intentions to earn her love and approval at the end of it all.

But why does he do all this? Because he needs to be the hero, subconsciously, he is still that small kid begging for acceptance and love; he must go the extra mile. He cannot accept Sydney's help and partnership, because that will take away from him earning what he wants on his own merit.

In S2, he seems unenthusiastic about starting the menu in the first place. Then Claire comes along, and he tries to make it work with Syd and the menu, but I think he subconsciously thanks the universe for not having to go to his core wound. That is what self-sabotage is. That is why he bailed on the food tour with Syd, using such a stupid excuse as helping somebody else move out and never mentioning it again. He never asked her what she liked or what ideas she thought of. For most of the creative process, Syd is alone, working on her own creative crisis. The menu ends up being like two recipes they made in collaboration and then all of his family's traditional recipes. It is two of Syd's recipes and the rest of Carmy's. Then, desserts Marcus did on his own. The collaboration was superficial at best.

All of this creates the core theme of the show. The Bear was once a chaotic place (like their childhood home) that needs to evolve into an efficient, peaceful place built on love, support, and mutual collaboration like a functional family should be. Sydney is the member of this found family that forces Carmy to confront his core wound and learn he can actually be good enough while still accepting help. Therapy probably will play an important part in this theme, alongside with Carmy learning there was nothing wrong with him in the first place, that earning your parent's love is not something a kid can do.

Thankyou for reading. Gif and images are not mine.

[yawntu]

Okie your right bestie now that your ask box is open you have to do the avatar guys reacting to spicy body piercings. Neteyam, Roxto, Ao’nung and Lo’ak I AM BEGGING YOU

/)/) ( . .) ( づ♡

a/n: Head so empty had to get this out though bc two other people agreed tongue ring was chefs kiss. We have a bunch of ancient cultures who pierced their tongues ritualistically so the Na’vi probably do it

Pairing(s): Ao’nung x reader, Neteyam x reader, Roxto x reader, Lo’ak x reader

word count: Little under or ~1k for each character

warnings: NSFW / MDNI, Characters are 18+, Spice under the cut, all characters are 18+, proceed with caution. Descriptions of sexual activity, Alludes to fallacio, Sexual situations, Vulgar language. Inspecting? They’re looking inside your mouth idk. Spit kink (Neteyam), idk man if there’s something i miss lmk

꧁ Aonung: is no stranger to bodily modifications. He can confidently say he did not love the feeling of being tattooed the way some of his aunties and uncles would swear they did. He didn’t brag that he could fall asleep though the pain of ink being malleted security into his thick skin. Which is why for a second Aonung cannot seem to comprehend how his squirmy little girlfriend could have sat through such an ordeal, cringing at the pang of jealously that rises in him at the idea that others would have the same foul thoughts regarding the adornment that he has.

One of his favorite places to be is the netted hammock that sways outside of his marui. He enjoys the cooling sea breeze through his downed hair while watching the waves dance in the wind. Mindlessly keeping an eye out for anything that may intrigue him. It was undoubtably a good place to be whenever he found himself to be stressed or tired. Even better- it was a peaceful place to relax with you. He can agree to himself that he liked this spot even better when your legs straddled his waist and he got to rub loving circles onto your body with the pads of this thumbs while you joined in on his sea gazing. Its only when you shift on his torso that he realities thoughts had wondered past the words you were speaking. It was not often that you would loose his devoted focus, however, he realized he was not really listening to you as you spoke. Not in a cruel or inattentive way way. He did not mean to disregard you. He was just too distracted at the soft slur you give off. That was different. He has spent so long grasping at every word you said- every noise to fall from your perfect mouth. So he knows that there is something wrong.

“You break a tooth?”

He knows he is rude for cutting you off and even ruder for jostling you up as he sits up slightly in worry. Evident concern that you had fallen or bit into something and broken a tooth and that is where the slur of your words came from. That you were in pain. Though it had been some time since the incident, he remembered when Tsireya’s best friend had faced a similar ailment and his mother had been forced to pull the tooth from her skull. He shuddered remembering the ordeal, and hoped you would not go though the same pain.

“Nuh-uh,” you assure rubbing a hand against his soft cheek, eyes softening in endearment at his worry.

Your sweet boy is sitting up further to move closer to you in query when you greet him with the sight of your pretty wet tongue sticking out past your soft lips. The prettiest adornment nestled on your tongue makes his lower stomach twitch. You can’t help but pull yourself back a bit in surprise at the sight of his imposing form sitting up quicker then you expect him to. The natural reflex of your body as he adjusts your position in the hammock you were both meant to be napping on. Your movement only results in his thick calloused palms making a firm grasp for your cheeks, holding your face steadily in front of him for his viewing pleasure,

“Open your mouth.”

He’s bossy, and for a second you worry he absolutely hates it and will instruct you to remove it once you give into his demand. The thought alone is what keeps you from listening to him quick enough for his liking. Which is probably why once your lips finally start to part again his pointer finger is quick to hook over your lower teeth, pulling your jaw open so he could inspect you once again. Not giving you a choice in closing your mouth once again.

All you can do is peer down at his inquisitive eyes that seem to be judging the very ivory of your teeth and whine at how intently he is staring down your welcoming throat. He does not mean to look so incredulous as he inspects your wet mouth. Your tongue is swollen and the intrusion of his long finger has your salivary glands working overtime coating the little ball in you saliva. You look perfect on his lap, spitting all over his finger as it hooks your jaw wide open for him. He only removes the binding finger from your mouth when he inquires,

“Who touched you?”

You’re confused for a second, not realizing he means the piercing until the pad of his finger caresses the tip of your tongue careful to avoid the sore center. He can’t help but wonder what burly large man had touched your pretty fleshy tongue that belonged to him. He feels terribly for the anger that bubbles at the thought of said man getting to see you sat obediently, mouth open and waiting. He could only imagine what thoughts they had as your big pretty eyes stared at them while they made a new hole in your body. As if you mean to scorn him you only giggle. You giggle at his jealousy, and though it should vex him more he can’t help but feel soothed at your reaction,

“Your mo’ther,” you giggle and the material clinks against your teeth, and you slur over a too long bar that accommodated for the swelling.

It soothes him a little. His mother- your mother- had pierced you and not one of the men he had known with said job. Now the only issue at hand was the fact that he was sure other men would see it and have the same first thought that had crossed his own mind.

“It was for Eywa,”

The holy name cuts him from his unholy thoughts. He instantly meets your words with his objurgate simper that you’re used to. A unique expression that conveyed a playful scold that he knew was sure to leave you putty in his hands.

“Nah, you know better. That’s there for me,”

His words make your face flush a pretty shade of plum and you find it increasingly hard to look up at him. It’s endearing to him really, your cheek warm against his open palm. He runs the finger covered in your spit against your bottom lip,

“Ya, can’t wait till it heals. Gonna feel real good when you gag on my cock, huh tìhona?”

꧁ Neteyam doesn’t really care what you do to your own body. It’s your own body; how could he possibly tell you what to do with it. Besides the fact that he thinks it was cute how brave you were for sitting though it, he can’t help but find the way you toy with it annoying. Neteyam still thinks it has its own unique charn though.

Neteyam is too aware. It’s probably why he struggles so much to relax. Something always draws his attention, and he can’t stop his brain's desire to hyper-fixate on it. For this reason Neteyam is well aware of your tongue ring. In your defense he was aware of the adornment from the beginning. He knows so much about it as he was there as the sharpened point was pushed through you outstretched tongue while his mother howled in laughter at the way your tail extended out in shock at the pain.

In all honesty, he has rarely caught a glimpse of the jewelry since you had done it. Despite your loud mouth, the jewelry stayed relatively hidden behind your ivory canines. he guesses you just don’t open your mouth that wide. It’s a shame he doesn’t get the luxury of just catching a flash of the adornment. Instead, he lays here on an old roll-out woven mat, basking in the warm sun with you draped across him. It should be a calming ordeal. Yet you preoccupied yourself with rolling your tongue ring across the ridges of your teeth with no regard for the safety of the bones.

This is supposed to be relaxing. That was the point of coming out here to nap away from the intrusions of your families and burdens of society. As much as laying with you is meant to calm his ever-increasing nerves the fact that the clank of your tongue piercing gliding across your teeth in some sort of stim is ever present and driving him up the wall.

“Cut it out,”

His voice comes with a bite to your fleshy cheek which makes your eyes blink open. You pass him a displeased glance from where you lay next to him.

“Why? Am I irritating?”

You ask him so sweetly that if he had not been so sleep deprived he would have assured you that you were perfect and nothing you could do would ever vex him,

“Very. I’ll rip that thing out of your mouth,”

You laugh because he sounds exactly like his mother, yet had the same scolding undertone his father had often taken on. He is almost pleased with you when he feels you roll over half onto him, thinking you had accepted defeat and would settle down for seep. Relishing in the feeling of you tossing one of your legs over his waist and propping yourself up on one elbow to quickly cuddle against him. His sweet purr as you run your fingers through his braids swiftly almost makes you feel bad for the fact that you lean down to run your wet muscle from the bottom of his jaw to the top of his cheek. It is almost scary how slowly his eyes open. He cannot even feign shock at the way you play with him and his dwindling patience. It is ridiculous- you are ridiculous. Yet you are still shocked (and delighted) at how quickly Neteyam is hooking his leg around yours and rolling the both of you over so your back presses firmly to the mat behind you in retaliation for your annoying actions.

“Does being a imp bring you satisfaction?” He asks, though there’s no indication of real annoyance.

You grin up at him so pretty too, he can’t help but appreciate your mouth. The plush of your soft lips, and the shine of your ivory teeth,

“Undoubtably!” you chip,

And then his thumb runs across your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly so he can look at the red of your gums.

“Open your mouth, annoying girl.” he huffs down at you.

Though you intend to listen to him he does not give you the time too. Squeezing your cheeks between his freed palm until you have no choice but to part your lips for him. With your leg wrapped around his waist your foot rests on the small of his back and you can feel the muscles of his lower back flex as his tail flicks between his legs in excitement at the sight. As you loll your berry-fleshed tongue out for him he wastes no time in returning the crude indecency of your previous actions to you. You’re not dumbfounded when his spit lands on your waiting tongue, but you do jerk under him with a huff. Nonetheless, you are so good for him still, waiting for him to smile and give you a slurred go-ahead before you swallow.

Neteyam guesses he likes the stupid thing. Gives him something to aim at.

꧁ Roxto is shy. Not with normal people. But when you speak to him so pretty him he can’t help but tense up at the way his mind wanders. Especially as you sit there blabbering about your home in the jungle, she should be listening but he’s too busy eying the piercing in your tongue and wondering what it would feel like on him.

Rotxo is sweet. So sweet that he feels terrible for the way he stares at your mouth from where he is lent opposite on a thick mangrove root while you speak. Chirping away at him because you had grown the closest to him out of everyone after your arrival.

Don’t get him wrong. He could spend his whole day and whole night (and whole existence) with you. He liked nothing more than sitting pleasantly next to you or with his head on your lap while you spoke. He had been thankful for the fact that you had gotten the closest to him out of anyone you could have chosen when your family arrived at his home. He truly thought you were the most interesting person he had ever met. Perhaps that is why he watches you so intently. As if he is worried he will miss even a fraction of what you had to offer. He felt like he had known a decent amount about you. Knew you well enough that he could predict what you would say before you had even said it. Which is probably why he is so eager to get his question out.

“What is in your mouth?”

He just faces the nalutsa head-on. Blurts his question out; almost cutting your sentence off early. Once your eyes snap up to meet his from where you picked at stones on the ground. Your tongue is rolling out of your mouth in response as you stand to face him,

“This?”

Of course you sound silly as you talk around your tongue, but Rotxo is just looking at the modification. His first question is did it hurt, and you gave him a deadpan ‘obviously’. Despite this, you seem to be far more interested in this line of questioning than you had been while you were rambling. Ears are drawn forward in his direction, arms behind your back while your tail twirled behind you.

When he asks why you would do such a thing (despite having tattoos himself) you tell him it was a thing some of the more spiritual people of your clan would do. He could not help but feel a little guilty at the fact that all he can think about is how it would feel twirling around the head of his cock. How pretty you would look sitting on your knees with your tongue out waiting for him to paint the shiny little adornment white. He doesn’t even realize that his eyes are trained down on you, and his tail sways between his legs.

But you notice. You notice the way he relaxes on his arms more. How his pretty sea-foam green eyes relax as he maintains tantalizing eye contact. The fact that his ears are drawn back, his jaw is clenched and his tail thumps slightly against his own leg, dragging across the ground behind him would be evidence alone of where his thoughts had traveled to. The thick bulging at the brown fabric of his tweng however seals his fate. You giggle at him. If all it took to work him up was a flash of your tongue then you will surely be the death of him. He is not even listening to why you had done it, what it meant. Ignoring all talks of salvation so he could look down at you and think of what you could only fantasize about.

“Ya, but you do not really care why I got it, huh?”

Your question catches him off guard, mostly because you are right and he’s too busy thinking about you to notice that you had once again begun to ramble. He is terrifyingly intrigued when your moving to stand right in front of him, head cocked up curiously at him, an amorous smirk on your lips.

“You just care about what I can do with it.”

Like the tease you are, you glance down at his hips. It is only then he realizes how tight the confines of his bottoms had gotten.

“You really are a devil huh?” His fingers are digging into the bark of the root he leans on as he huffs out the only thing he could think to say. He supposes there was no honor in hiding anything now- to bashfully try and defend the situation. That pretty tongue of yours sliding past your teeth to lick across your lips,

“If you want a vrrtep I can show you a vrrtep,”

Your voice is charmingly playful, and he can hear the click of the ring against a tooth. As your fingers dance across his lower stomach you’ve all but convinced him to be at your mercy with no effort. When you wordlessly drop to your knees before him he cant help the noise that ripples through his chest. Parts of him buckle at the idea of letting you be in charge and show him more of that pretty tongue ring but he can’t help but be honorable. Try to gain some sort of dominance. He thought he had gained the upper hand when at the contact of one of his big palms to the back of your head. The assumption was foolish of him. To think for a second he had the upper hand. The feeling of the cool material on your tongue sliding up his thigh has his fingers knotting in your hair and his breath coming out in huffs. He thinks it’s perfect- you’re perfect. He can’t wait to feel it everywhere.

꧁ Lo’ak doesn’t mean to not notice really, you were both so busy. You should take it as a compliment how hard he focuses on your eyes when you talk. But when he finally catches on that somethings different about you and you show him he can’t help but get too excited.

You were Lo’aks very best friend. In fact, you could not recall a point in life where he was not at your side while your gaggle of friends got into mischief. In all honestly you had spent your childhood following Lo’ak around like his shadow, and it is a habit that has followed you into your adulthood. You know he is plagued with an overabundance of energy and thus kept you entertained the best. Lo’ak was many things- emotionally aware, compassionate, charming, and with no effort made you feel alive. He’s probably why you were a bit of an adrenaline junky, and why you so eagerly agreed to the modification to your body after your Uniltaron. There was some reason behind the bleeding that you did not quite know if you cared about more then the fact that there was a cool piercing in your mouth.

Most importantly, you had hoped Lo’ak would have noticed the piercing quickly, however, the fact that Lo’aks own Uniltaron was the day before yours and he (like his father) had an intense experience, meant that you had uncharacteristically been apart for what you considered too long. Lo’ak had spent the days in which your tongue was at its most swollen (and thus noticeable) resting at home. Though you had been plagued with your own duties which made any meaningful interactions between Lo’ak and yourself non-existent since then. This meant that he just hasn’t noticed the new addition to a body he was rather familiar with. The lapse in time spent together was not something either of you had been used to, nor particularly fond of.

Which is why Lo’ak is blabbering to you wildly while you both eat your supper. You think he’s cute despite talking with his mouth full, and your dazed staring is what pulls Lo’ak out of his excitement and forces him to stare back at you. It is when he noticed you’re eating lighter than usual.

“Soup? It’s too warm for soup,” his tone indicates it’s an astute observation in his mind, “Are you sick?” He asks, reaching to touch your head. You snicker at him as you smack his lingering hand away,

“No, skxawng- you really hadn’t noticed?”

The playful faux sadness in your voice still barbs at his heart. It is quickly replaced with an indescribable feeling when you open your mouth for him and he’s greeted with a heart-stopping view. Eywa you were pretty, and for a second you looked like you could really be his- looking up right at him with your mouth wide open. It’s innocently possessive for a second, really he hadn’t thought too much into why he had reacted to the view in such a way. That was until he noticed the little ball perched on the center of your tongue. Like the little stones they found in the river mollusks they used as jewelry.

“Oh shit!”

His response makes you shut your mouth and snicker while your tail wags faster than you had been used to. You even turn your head in to avoid his ardent eyes. Though Lo’ak is quick to brace his hands on the wooden table to lean over and follow your gaze,

“I wasn’t done- hey,” and when he pinches your cheeks in his hand he almost knocks over your soup with the enthusiasm he exudes.

“You are acting like a fool,” your smiling half out of amusement, half out of pure inarticulate flabbergast at how quickly he had become interested in the orifice.

“Does it hurt?” He questions.

If it’s possible his smile grows larger at the shake of your head,

“Let me kiss you then,”

It leaves his mouth before you can even tell him how the pain has passed. It’s incredulous, how brazen Lo’aks words are considering his parents were barely out of earshot also enjoying their meal.

“Are you the one with a fever?”

Your voice crack is loud as you grip his wrist, and you make a note that you lean closer to him almost subconsciously.

“What? We have kissed quite a bit?”

In secret- in private- not when everyone you knew was right there, you were sure people presumed but you did not particularly feel the need to deal with the questioning eyes of either your families or your friends.

“You’re parents are right there, Lo’ak. I am not-” But his pretty wide smile cuts you off, and his tail swings down to snatch your swaying one

“We can go somewhere they’re not,”

There’s a snort in his voice like it’s the obvious answer. As though the both of you getting up and walking away together wouldn’t have drawn the same questioning gaze that kissing would have cast upon you, Eywa knows why you are dumb enough to nod at him. Quickly moving to stand up first, but pause when his tail stays wrapped right around yours halting your movement, and you look to him quizzically.

“You gotta wait a minute before we’re going anywhere,”

You’re confused. He was just so eager to be alone with you. How could he possibly be more interested in his previously abandoned meal? And how can he be chuckling at you- and why is the free arm he had propped on the table motioning towards the bench you both sat on and- oh. Thats why. The undeniable tent forming. A reminder why you so quickly agreed to be whisked away by him.

[cuubism]

thinking about that meta about the endless not really transforming into different forms but rather being all forms simultaneously and just being perceived differently from different points of view. and yeah

--

"So, Death was telling me something interesting about you yesterday," Hob says, sipping on his coffee.

Dream pouts, though he would probably deny that that's what it is. "You are gossiping with my sister behind my back?"

"You know we talk."

"Gossip," Dream mutters again, steps taking on a pace adjacent to an irritable trudge. "What unseemly things does she say about me?"

"Why do you think she says mean things about you?"

"Every time we speak, she calls me an idiot," Dream says, and Hob lets out a startled laugh.

"That's what siblings do," Hob reminds him. "You know she loves you."

"Hmm." Dream plucks Hob's coffee from his hand, taking a ponderous sip. "What praises does she heap upon me, then?"

Hob shakes his head in fond exasperation. "She says that you -- Endless, that is -- can like... change your appearance for different people? Or creatures? Like. If you met a cat you would appear as a cat to them?"

"You do not quite have the right of it," Dream says. He hasn't returned Hob's coffee, despite having insisted that he 'did not require mortal sustenance' when Hob had offered to get him his own.

"What's the right of it, then?"

"It is not for human minds to comprehend."

Hob groans. "At least humor me and try to explain? Do you turn into a cat or not?"

"I do not turn into anything," Dream says, offended. "How base and common."

"Shapeshifting is base and common, I'll make sure to tell all the shapeshifters I know," Hob tells him seriously.

Dream lets out a sigh that Hob recognizes as meaning fine, I will answer your inane questioning about the nature of my existence. The funny thing is, now that they've gotten over the six hundred year barrier of what's your name and what do you do for work, Dream delights in talking about his creations. He will speak at length about his work given half a chance.

It's the personal -- whether that's something as mundane as how he takes his tea or as fundamental as what an Endless even is, exactly -- that's been hard to get at.

"I am a cat," Dream explains.

Hob stares at him, looking up and down at the very man-shaped figure walking beside him as if he needs to double-check. "You're definitely not a cat."

"Yes, I am," Dream says. He does not appear to be joking.

And apparently Hob is still thirteen years old all these centuries later, because he says, "Prove it."

"You cannot see it because you are not a cat," Dream sighs, as if this is truly a tragic occurrence.

"Maybe I am a cat," Hob suggests, tucking his hands in his pockets, all casual. "How would you know?"

Dream gives him a sidelong look. "You are not a cat. Though perhaps you would be more peaceful as one."

"Doubt it. But wait, so, if I was a cat I would be able to see your cat form?"

"In essence, yes. But. You speak as if I would be donning a coat. These are not forms. Merely fragments. Simultaneous angles on a whole."

"Fragments," Hob repeats. He works it through like a particularly hard math problem. "Hang on. So. You're also a cat now. If we met a cat they would see a cat."

Fuck, this is getting weird.

Dream looks proud of Hob for getting it. "Yes."

"Could have attempted to explain that instead of just saying I am a cat," Hob tells him. "I also still maintain that you are not actually a cat."

"I am as much a cat as I am a human," Dream says.

"So, not," Hob says.

"No," Dream agrees. "Because I am Dream."

"You're a nightmare, is what you are," Hob mutters, and Dream smirks.

"That, too."

They've been walking in silence for another few minutes when Hob asks, "What's your real form?"

Dream frowns. "All of my forms are real, Hob."

"Sure, you look like this or that to different people. What do you look like to yourself?"

"All of my forms are real," Dream insists.

"So what I'm seeing now isn't some kind of default? Are you just always different? Is this like that we don't know how other people see colors 'cuz everyone's eyes could be different thing? Or is there any internal consistency to you?"

"I don't know what thing you're referring to."

"What I'm trying to find out is did I invent this version of you in my head?" Hob asks, getting stressed about it now. Did his subconscious somehow decide this was what Dream should look like? Presumably Dream knows what he looks like to Hob. What if he doesn't like it? "Did I just decide yep that's what dreams should look like in 1389 and you've been stuck wearing black ever since?"

Dream chuckles. Probably amused Hob would ever think he had that much power. "No. There is what you call internal consistency in my appearance. Different creatures, cultures, and so on will see different aspects of me, but there is not a different aspect for each person. It is not infinite."

Oh, thank god. "So, you want to look this way."

"I suppose."

Never a straight answer with him.

"Well, just for the record," Hob says, "I fell in love with the entity but I happen to quite like the shape as well."

"The shape," Dream repeats, with a smile.

"Here's where you're going to tell me you're also a triangle or something."

Dream is silent.

Fucking hell.

"I'm not even going to ask," Hob decides, forcibly moving on. "I have another question."

"You have many," Dream observes.

"That's what you love about me," Hob says, and Dream tilts his head as if conceding the point.

"If there was a human culture that thought of dreams as represented by cats," Hob starts, "they might see you as a cat?"

Dream sips at Hob's coffee, considering. "I suppose."

"And was there ever one?"

"No."

Hob lets out a long breath. Dream is frustrating as hell to talk to sometimes, but Hob can't say he doesn't enjoy it anyway, doesn't enjoy the puzzle. "Was there ever any culture like that, though? That saw their dream representation as something other than a person?"

"There was one that thought dreams lived in bubbles, therefore I was the reflection of light along a bubble's curve," Dream says, expressionlessly. As if that isn't wild and fascinating. "However, that civilization has since disbanded and morphed into different forms."

"Which civilization was that?"

"You would not know it," Dream says.

Hob tips his head back and groans. "God, you're like an edgy teenager who knew that indie band before they were cool. Oh, which band? No, you wouldn't know them, they're too niche, too underground."

"Underwater," says Dream. "It was a civilization of dolphins."

Hob trips over a crack in the road and just manages to catch himself. Dream stops by his side, watching him with some concern, like he worries Hob might break himself in his clumsiness.

"The way the world looks to you must be insane," Hob says, staring at Dream.

Dream's lips tip up in the faintest smile. "Human perspective is narrow."

"Clearly. I wish I could see all your other forms. Must be amazing."

"You wish to see them?" Dream sounds surprised.

Hob scoffs. "Of course. But it's not sounding very possible."

Dream inclines his head in agreement.

Then a thought occurs. "Wait." And god, Hob has said a lot of stupid-sounding things in his life but this is about to be one of the worst. "If I pretend to be a cat, can I see your cat form?"

Dream can never answer a simple question directly, but apparently this absurd query is fine. "I suppose it is possible in theory for you to see it. But pretending is not enough. You would have to wholly assume the perspective of a cat. I do not know if it would be possible in practice."

Hob's never needed much more encouragement than that to try something. "Alright. Hold my coffee."

"I am already holding it," Dream points out.

"Hush. I'm being a cat."

How he's supposed to do that, Hob doesn't know. He paces back and forth before Dream, squinting in the sunlight. He looks at him from every angle. He tries to imagine what cats might dream of. Mice? Freedom? Sleeping in warm places? Their dreams must be feeling and instinct-driven, not intellectual.

Hob crouches down, looking up at Dream from as close to a cat's height as he can manage. Dream merely raises an eyebrow.

"Are you going to meow at me?" he asks mildly.

"Meow," Hob says, and Dream's mouth pops open in a round o of surprise that is one hundred percent worth the indignity of kneeling on a public street and meowing. "What do cats dream about, anyway?"

"World domination," Dream says solemnly.

"Haha," Hob says, but Dream doesn't take it back.

"Alright, I'm channeling megalomania," Hob tells him, shutting his eyes. "I'm channeling my inner despot."

"And an imposing one at that," Dream observes, looking down at him.

"Quiet, subject, can't you see I'm in the middle of ruling with an iron fist? Or paw?"

"I am quaking in my boots," Dream says. "Please, show mercy."

Hob squints back up at him. God, he's really trying, but it's hard. Cats live close to humans, but they are still so alien. Off in their own worlds, their own battles and hierarchies.

"Will it work if I lick you?" he asks. "Like how cats groom each other."

Dream blinks at him, once, twice, slowly, catlike, which he must be doing intentionally, because he's a bastard like that. "This is, as I believe you would say, getting odd."

Yeah, it is getting fucking odd.

"Perhaps you should try imagining my female form," Dream suggests, and if Hob weren't already on all fours on the sidewalk he'd have fallen over. "It is human, and may be easier."

"You have that?" Hob squeaks, scrambling back to his feet. "But I thought it was like, a species perspective thing? Do women just see you as a woman, then?" Then he shakes his head. "No, that's way too simplistic."

"Women can see me like this as well," Dream says. "Or however their culture dictates."

"So why would someone see you as one gender or another, then? Just a culture thing? Preference?"

"Why do some people see God as a woman?" Dream asks the air.

Hob groans. "You are impossible."

Dream smirks.

"Or maybe you just like being unknowable," Hob guesses.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps. Yeah, perhaps. I'm sure." Hob cracks his knuckles. "Alright, my unknowable cosmic entity of a significant other, let's see if I can turn you into a woman."

Dream stares at him flatly, but Hob can see the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Hob still doesn't know what exact perspective he needs to see Dream as a woman. Maybe if he just believes really really hard he can make it happen. Force of will. It's how he'd always planned to make himself immortal, anyway, absent a fortunate encounter with one prickly dream entity.

He stops looking at Dream, and tries to look through Dream. Tries to imagine how it feels to see the true depths of his eyes, how the cosmos in them go straight to infinity. He tries to see around the way the light reflects off of and shapes Dream's form to the shape within, like a sculptor seeing the body in the marble before it's carved. Hob is no artist, but he tries.

And he knows Dream. He may not know all these angles on his form, but he knows Dream, the entity, the person. They have had a long friendship, Hob and the concept of dreaming.

And just like that, the perspective shifts. For a split second, Hob sees an infinity before him, the eternity of all existence condensed in all its brilliant, glowing facets--then his brain skids around it to avoid going mad, latches onto an angle, and slams back to earth.

Hob sways, rubs at his eyes, and then laughs hysterically. "Fuck!"

"Hob?" Dream sounds uncertain now. "Are you well?"

"I think I just glimpsed cosmic knowledge never meant for my mortal eyes, or whatever," Hob tells him, somewhat maniacally. His ears are kind of ringing, eyes swimming in the afterimages of a very bright light. "You're incredible, do you know that?"

"As you judge," Dream says.

Hob finally drops his hands from his eyes.

And immediately slaps them over his mouth, letting out a sound so high-pitched and manic he hadn't thought his vocal cords could manage it. "Holy shit."

Dream frowns. "Are you well?" he asks again. "Perhaps I should not have allowed--"

"I fucking did it," Hob whispers, mostly to himself. "Oh my God. You're a woman. I think? You look like one. I guess?"

Dream looks down at himself. Hob wonders what he sees--does he see what Hob sees? Or does he see the incomprehensible mass of everything that he truly is under the human trappings?

"Ah," he says, and presses a single fingertip to one of the breasts that he now has, prodding it curiously. "It appears that I am."

Okay, so he can see what Hob sees. Good to know.

"Yup," Hob says. He can't seem to steady himself whatsoever. "Yup, yup. You are."

"Impressive, Hob," Dream remarks, looking up at him again with a smirk. His jaw is narrower now, his lips plusher, but God, it's that same fucking smirk that drives Hob insane.

Hob wonders if Dream's female form is also bound by some limitations on appearance the way his usual form is. He hopes so, because it if turns out he managed to manifest Dream's tits to fit his own subconscious desires, he might just have to choose Death at last.

Hob still has his hands over his mouth. He makes himself drop them.

Dream frowns at his silence. "Are you not pleased?"

"I'm very shellshocked and reorienting my view of the universe," Hob tells him. "Also, you're very beautiful and it's just a lot all around."

That smirk again. Whatever minor amount of immunity Hob has developed over the centuries is obliterated by the new shape of him. "Ah."

"Ah," Hob echoes. "Can I kiss you?"

"You may."

Hob does so with his usual enthusiasm, perhaps more, as he does so love novelty. Dream tastes much the same, feels much the same to his hands, and yet not, like Hob's different perspective on him has altered the angle of his touch. Hob runs his hands indulgently over the softer curves of him, settling them on Dream's waist.

"Dear heart," he murmurs into Dream's mouth. "Most beautiful thing."

Dream makes a soft sound and rests his face against Hob's.

They stay there for a long moment, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Then Dream asks, "Would you have still kissed me if I was a cat?"

"On your little furry head, yes," Hob says, and pecks his cheek. "I thought you were a cat."

"I am," Dream says.

Hob groans. "Enough, I'm getting confused again. Let's stop with the metaphysics and go home and do something less headache-inducing."

"Like playing with the new toy you've found yourself?" Dream asks, raising an eyebrow, but obligingly lets Hob wrap an arm around his waist and tug him along down the sidewalk.

"Pretty much!" Hob agrees. "If you're amenable."

"I suppose I can bear it," Dream says solemnly, as though being kissed and coddled and worshiped is the greatest hardship of his eons-long existence.

Then he says, quietly, "You are singular, to perceive me thus."

"As..." Hob looks at him as they walk, looks at the elegant cut of Dream's cheekbone and the sweep of his eyelashes, the longer fall of his hair. "You mean, in more than one... facet?"

Dream nods. "You... see me. The truth of me. And still, you look upon me kindly."

"What other way is there to look at the one you've loved your whole life?" Hob asks, throat tight.

Dream leans into his side, and Hob presses a kiss to his temple, holding there for several steps. And he continues to hold him close as they go on, keeps his unfathomable boundless entity within the circle of his arms, where he can keep on fathoming him.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #13

[Mermay Special Part 3 a/n This is an interactive story, your choice continues it, so choose wisely!]

"I... I need to go home. Now."

Raising a hand to your head, the headache was banging painfully in it. You didn't feel nauseous, didn't have the symptoms of a migraine, but by the gods, it hurt. You could barely look straight, much less think, missing the brief discontent washing over your friend's face as you refused their invitation. But you'd not be lulled away again, following their invitation blindly. That was your last word on the matter.

"[Name], are you alright?" your friend asked, worried, swimming up to you the second you began to hunch over. You didn't fight them as they helped lower you to a soft surface, sitting you down and eventually even laying you down to rest as you couldn't move. 

"I feel terrible," you confessed, hearing your own slurred words. 

The word "Fuck," slipped from your friend's mouth, their voice so sharp and agitated that it ripped through the massive headache, causing you to convulse as the pain dragged through you. "Shh, shh," they calmed you, suddenly sounding a lot more nervous than agitated, but you could barely crack one eye open, even when their hand rested over your forehead, spreading a gentle, comforting cold from their palm. 

"I'll be right back... could be... I will ask..."

You were confused as to why your friend was whispering, but it was your conscience that slipped away as the pain overwhelmed you. How could it have come to this mess, you wondered before you fell into the darkness, hoping everything was alright with you.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"What were you thinking?!" was the first thing you heard as you awoke again. The throbbing in your head had subsided, but the confusion weighed heavily on you, exhausting you completely. You were too tired to open your eyes, sighing as you enjoyed the cold waves washing through you instead, pretending to still be asleep to get a few more minutes of calm before facing reality.

"I did what father said! I went out there and found my mate! Why are you so angry with me, mother?!"

"Humans are not mates. We do not lure them back here to let them live, son, and you know it. Their bodies are too weak to withstand the changes."

"Not them!" your friend screamed in frustration, and it made you jump, giving away your state of alertness. 

Immediately, the cold sensation disappeared, and you were forced to open your eyes as your friend swam to your side, shaking you not-so-gently awake. "How are you feeling?!" they asked, desperation in both their voice and their gaze. "I thought I lost you when you suddenly collapsed."

"What happened?" you croaked, slowly trying to get up when another hand reached up to your shoulder, pushing you back down. 

"Rest some more. Your body is still experiencing complications from your form change."

Your eyes moved to the other person in the room, her presence unmistakable. The queen's gaze was still as judgemental as it was cold. "You need to leave, human. You cannot bear the changes and will die if you stay here."

The severity of the situation was a little much for your barely awake mind to comprehend. Still, you nodded slowly as her words began making a little more sense when you repeated them over and over in your head.

"That is not true!" your friend suddenly protested. You had believed that for a moment, their mother had convinced everyone that it was better this way, but your friend glared at her defiantly. "I chose my mate because they can withstand the changes. I know it's rare, but I knew they could do it the moment I looked at them! They are special and will allow me to do what my father was incapable of doing with you!"

A moment of hurt flashed through the queen's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced with anger. "Truly, what a brat you have become. Well, ask your 'mate' what they want. Do they even want to help you unite our people? Merfolk and humans are just too different; there's no way it will ever work."

Her attention shifted to you as she addressed you directly: "What will it be? Do you want me to send you back, or do you want to stay and help my son with his illusion of peace that hasn't worked in a hundred reigns before his?"

"Don't!" your friend hissed, and for the first time, you saw his less human-like side, teeth bared threateningly. It was as if he knew something more than you did, warning his own mother of consequences he didn't need to voice. Your friend quickly returned their attention back to you, their expression softening immediately. 

"Don't listen to her! She will kill you if you accept her offer. My people used to lure and eat humans all the time, but I will put an end to this. You and me, we can do it! Your body can accept the change, and we can work towards a bigger goal together. You'll never suffer as long as you stay with me; your life will be fulfilling and wonderful, and I will love you unlike any other person ever could. So please—please don't waste your life by becoming my mother's dinner."

It was all a lot to take in. Your eyes went back and forth between your friend and their parent. Had they not technically kidnapped you here, you wouldn't have such a problem trusting them now, but did you even want the life they were envisioning for you?

"You'll not like what awaits you if you stay, human. Don't make the same mistake that so many have before you," the queen warned you. "You go back, and we'll treat this as if nothing ever happened, I promise."

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[madockisser]

How does Cardan actually look in the books? Cuz I've seen a lot of fanart and he looks different every time. Sometimes he looks like the hottest guy I've seen and sometimes he looks like the bad guy from Lazy Town ☠️

cardan greenbriar appearance analysis!!

LMAOO thank u for the ask!!

as per usual when it comes to my character appearance analysis i can only speculate on facts rather than bias! so here’s what we know:

jude describes him as looking better than the rest (gentry children/ppl, keep in mind that the gentry are the richest most flamboyant of all the fae so this is certainly saying something) even when she has NO reason to feel that way abt him considering how he treated her, implying that he is FINE atleast according to jude’s standards!

but also according to the world of elfhame, if there is beauty, then it is great beauty, excruciating beauty that makes everything else seem dull in comparison. beauty that the mortal mind cannot comprehend, which is how jude describes him, so hes prob an absolute heartthrob, but honestly, there is no way for me to word it that will describe how good looking cardan must be.

like imagine the absolute hottest most beautiful most perfect guy ever and boom. cardan greenbriar.

secondly, she says his hair is black iridescent of a ravens wing, as black as midnight, and his eyes are tar-like, coal/crow black minus the gold around his irises. jude also mentions that when looking into them, she is hyper aware of the alienness of faerie. (is it possible his eyes are fully black? minus the golden irises?)

he has moon pale skin w scars across his chest and back, and he often wears kohl, and wears a scowl/sneer. she also says that he has high cheekbones sharp enough to cut out a girls heart (so cliche but i love to hear it)

he has soft pink lips, long fingers (which jude never fails to mention as often as she can) of which he wears many rings, most notably jude’s ruby ring and his greenbriar ring. he has long black lashes that are so long, they brush against his cheek.

his ears are pointed and usually bear jewels.

he has soft curly hair that falls in his eyes, and jude several times says he looks as though he’s just risen from a bed, so it’s messy but in a sexy way. and based on jude’s descriptions i don’t think it’s very long just bc i think it def would’ve been mentioned, this is considering holly blacks writing style, in the modern faerie tales two love interests have long hair and it is described that way, so i think he’s got a pretty basic cut, yk he’s a prince so he’s well groomed.

as for his animal trait, which all greenbriars have, he has a thin whiplike tail that curls and unfurls as such, it is hairless except for a soft tuft at the end. it sways and wags, revealing his emotions, it wraps itself around jude’s thigh and leg when they are intimate. adorable.

he smiles often, when he is nervous, and jude says he is very charming, which jude thinks is very dangerous. (👅)

jude says that if she didn’t know how cruel they all were, she would be just as in love w them as the rest of the gentry. she says that they are beautiful like blades forged in a divine fire. she also says that cardan is sickeningly handsome. she ALSO says that he is horrifically beautiful. (jude is the realest)

madoc says he is foppish (foppish meaning: a man that pays too much attention to his appearance. LOL) but tbh i think cardans just effortlessly beautiful. and no good w a sword.

we can assume in tcp that he’s pretty scrawny, lanky yk.

as for his height, a controversial topic since ppl cannot seem to decide if they want him to be short or tall, though i remain unbiased, jude is of average height, in tcp she says that she is suddenly struck down by his sheer height.

i believe somewhere it is said that he is about a head taller than her, making him about 6 foot+

as the series progress, he grows not just as a person, emotionally, but physically, as the land accepts him as the high king and he begins training w the roach.

jude mentions that she can feel the flex of his muscles beneath her hand, and she slides her hand against the flat plane of his stomach.

jude says many times how he looks the part of the high king, particularly at the end of twk, when he finally uses his high king powers against orlagh, and at this point we know that being the high king has effectively changed him since his being a prince.

he’s also given up his alcohol and never addictions by the end of the series so i don’t think at the end of the series he looks the same as he did, but that can be a biased take since we don’t know the severity of cardans addictions.

we can assume that by the end of the series he’s a bit more muscular, considering his training w the court of shadows and being king and whatnot, but body types are usually up to the reader!

anyway i skimmed by books for this ask (took me an hour but i did it for u anon) so i hope it’s well done enough, and that it answers your question!! sorry for not getting to it right away, i wanted to answer it well! 🫶🫶 posting more analyses soon i promise i have so many asks to get to, so im sorry if anyone waiting on me to answer them !!!

[tsukimefuku]

the hero i was, the man i am :: toshinori yagi/all might

Toshinori is having a hard day, and you decide to help him out with a much needed pep talk.

content warning: true form toshinori x reader, gender neutral reader, hurt and comfort, mention of scars.

wc: 600

notes etc.: thank you @actuallysaiyan and @g00miato for getting me into the all might agenda. I see the vision (and it’s wonderful from here 💜).

Toshinori wasn’t one to usually wake up on the wrong side of the bed.

Yet, here he was, staring at himself in your shared bedroom’s mirror while dressed in his old All Might attire. His eyes glanced down his lean form, clearly not enough to fill the clothes that draped and bagged around his thin frame.

His hero uniform, once worn with a proud smile, felt like a poorly made costume from the thrift shop.

Perhaps, even worse than that.

“Toshi?” your voice echoed into the room, and he turned his face around towards you, trying to spare you a smile. However, it felt like a mask. 

“Oh, darling. I didn’t hear you coming into the house. You got those groceries incredibly fast.”

“I was gone for a few hours, love,” you replied, walking towards him, with slight concern tightening your chest. “are… are you okay, my dear?”

He tried keeping his smile going, but it quickly morphed into a frown as he diverted his gaze back to the mirror.

“What do you see?” he asked in a low voice.

You hummed for a second. “What do you?”

“I…” Toshinori’s voice dragged for a short while, as if he picked apart a dozen different words, but none of them felt quite right, “I see a shadow. An immaterial shadow that cannot touch things as the body that has cast it once did. I cannot do much in this form, if at all, to help people. Not anymore.” 

You took a pensive expression and held his hand, turning him to face you.

“Do you want to know what I see?” 

Toshinori seemed sad and disappointed with himself as he nodded. His shoulders hung low, with a weight you would never be able to fully comprehend — a beacon of hope, Japan said — and you thought, for a second, that he blamed himself to a great extent for what had happened since his last fight with All for One.

“I see…” you started, taking his hands in yours and slowly peeling his gloves away, “the hands that have taken hundreds of people from under debris.” 

You stepped closer, and held the hem of his shirt, sliding it off his body from his shoulders, “I see the shoulders that have carried me and so many others to safety in times of need.”

He sighed softly when you put your hand over his scar, and locked eyes with you before you slid both your hands down his body and undid his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor. “I see the legs that have carried you to all the places you were needed. Even when it was to your own detriment, you did it, and did it with a smile.”

Finally, you held his face in your hands, and smiled at him.

“I see the face of the man that inspired and supported so many students. That still does. The face I fell in love with. So that’s what I see — I see you. How could I ever see anything else?”

He sighed and smiled back at you, pulling you into a hug. Toshinori nuzzled your hair, and took in the smell of your preferred concoction of shampoo/conditioner and whatnot, which he absolutely adored. Your smell. 

“Thank you, my love.”

“Whenever you need, Toshi,” you replied with your face pressed against his chest, hugging him back tenderly. “Now, silly, I need your help to put the groceries away and we should start prepping for dinner. What do you say?” 

He sighed contently still holding you in his arms. That, they could still do.

He was thankful for that.

“Sounds lovely.”

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[scarletwritesshit]

📏 Dr. Ratio x Reader 📏 If I were Smart, I Would've Titled This with a Math Pun

This wasn’t the sort of rigorous stimulation that you were hoping for, but it was Dr. Ratio who suggested it, so you couldn’t exactly expect anything different. You blinked at the page that was laid out before you, dumbfounded. The problem on the page was rather complex even by your standards, almost as if it were written in some otherworldly script, which had a fair chance of being true. No worries, just break it down piece by piece to solve it? All...seemingly one thousand parts of it.

Dr. Ratio stood across from you, staring directly at you while tapping his foot on the ground with his arms crossed. You were quite surprised that he had not yet donned his stone-faced disguise, and quite frankly, you wish that he had. He was eyeing you up with a gaze that just screamed, "I could’ve had this solved 20 times by now, incompetent idiot." Which, was probably true.

It took a painfully long time, but at long last, you solved it, or at least you thought that you did. Your fingers went limp and released the pen from your hand, letting it almost roll off of the desk. You laid your head face down on the desk after circling the answer with a thick yet scribbly circle, emphasizing the results of your treacherous labor. At the sound of Dr. Ratio’s footsteps getting louder, you looked up at him to still see the same glint of disappointment in his eyes.

"I take it that you have reached your final conclusion?" he asked.

Without saying a word out of fear of premature judgement, you pushed yourself up from the desk so that he may freely observe and critique your work.

He skimmed over every extra page of your work quite rapidly, and in what felt like mere seconds, he pulled out a red pen and promptly marked your paper.

"Zero marks," he said bluntly, writing a massive red X over your answer.

You had a sinking feeling from the start that this was your inevitable fate, but hearing the actual words from him somehow stung a lot worse.

"In fact, I do not believe that I have ever seen anyone mess up so…horribly," he commented. "In fact, there are mistakes within mistakes, all among the most preposterous that I have ever seen in my life."

"...Thanks?" you said, as personally having the honor of making the most mistakes that Dr. Ratio has ever seen was better than your efforts simply being disregarded.

"My words were not intended to be interpreted as compliments, but rather, as a degradation of your overall performance and attitude towards your studies.”

"So?" you said, indifferent, "I’m still thankful that you spared some of your precious time to personally put me down."

"There must be something deeply wrong with your cognitive functions," he said, twirling his pen around between his fingers, "for I have never seen anyone quite enthusiastic about insult and utter disappointment."

"There are far easier ways to call me stupid, you know," you said, mockingly.

"Is your intelligence truly so challenged to the point that you cannot comprehend my direct words without the most basic of forms being utilized within a sentence? Why, you could not solve the simplest of problems if I asked of you!"

"You think I’m that dumb? Want me to prove it?"

"Oh, I believe you plenty, but since you proposed the offer, might I ask you for your interpretation of the answer to one added onto three?"

"I’m dumb, remember? Simple terminology, please," you said.

Despite his usage of overly complicated roundabout terminology, you knew exactly what he was asking of you. He was asking you to add 1 and 3 together. A simple question that anyone, even someone with your abilities could answer with ease. But, you wanted to see just how far you could push Dr. Ratio, before he caught onto your methods of toying with him. His patience was impressive enough considering how by now, you would’ve expected him to simply mark your paper with a failing score and walk off without another word.

With a noticeable twitch of frustration in his eyes, Dr Ratio said, "Fine, what is one plus three?"

"Five," you said, quickly and confidently.

"Are you positive that that is your final answer?"

You nodded yes. Dr. Ratio, no longer holding back his annoyance, leaned in closer and lifted your chin up with the back of his pen, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"You cannot possibly look me in the eyes and say that so…matter-of-factly," he said, frustrated.

"Oh, but I can,” you said with a smile. “And I just did."

"It is arguably a miracle how you have made it this far, not just in your studies, but in life as a whole. The fact that you fail to comprehend the most basic of tasks when I personally made the decision to allow you to study beneath me is well beyond my comprehension."

"Really? I was led to believe that you knew everything."

"It is physically impossible for one who is temporarily existent to learn all that our universe has to offer. Your stupidity, however, stretches even beyond the limits of our universe.”

"You’re saying that I’m so stupid that I’ve managed to become incomprehensible? Even to you?" you said with a proud grin.

"Regrettably, yes," he said, allowing the pen to fall down between his fingers, freeing his hand so that he could hold your chin up, "unless I perhaps study you for myself?"

"Study me? What is there to study, if I am as empty-headed as you claim?"

"How someone with intelligence comparable to a warp trotter has made it this far."

"But warp trotters’ lives don’t involve solving math problems, or whatever you’d call what you gave me."

"Which is why it is so baffling that you have made as much progression in your life as you have," he said, his grip tightening around your chin. "If it were anybody else, I would have promptly excluded you from my teachings."

"Anybody else?" you asked, tilting your head. "You mean, you’re going through all of this just for me?"

Dr Ratio went silent for a moment, and the grip that he had on your chin became a bit gentler. His eyes narrowed, yet his overall expression became softer. He seemed to be at a complete loss for an appropriate response to your claim. Either he was so baffled at your stupidity that he couldn’t quite find the words to express his annoyance, or you simply caught him off guard and red handed. The latter seemed more likely, as if your suggestion was truly so preposterous, he wouldn’t have wasted the time in putting you down.

"...A most fascinating conclusion," he finally said.

"Sounds like I got you now."

"I do have to applaud you for deciphering me in such a way, despite how you greatly lack otherwise."

"And after all of that, you still think Im an idiot? The answer to your question is four, by the way."

"Did it truthfully take you such an extended period of time to arrive at the correct answer?"

"No, I knew all along."

Knowing how he was the one outsmarted now, Dr. Ratio accepted defeat with grace, and laughed a little at his defeat. It wasn’t a laughter intended to put either of you down, but rather, a genuine expression of amusement, perhaps at himself for allowing such a situation to become so comedically blown out of proportion.

"Toying with me as a jest, I see. I will admit, it was rather clever of you to do in such a way, yet I still feel the need to observe you further."

"That is an unusual way of saying that you want to spend more time with me," you said with a laugh.

"Perhaps, but if it was nothing more than a jest, does this mean that you do not require my assistance with the problem before you? It seems an awful lot of effort to put into feigning intelligence, or lack thereof."

You lifted your face up from his hand and turned to look at the papers on your desk, with a large red X marked on your answer on one of the sheets. Right. You had completely forgotten about that.

“No…that I actually put my best effort into.”

“I shall see that you put your best effort forward into it during our second attempt together,” Dr. Ratio said, walking behind your chair. “Now, let us start fresh.”

He instructed you to tidy up your initial attempt and set it off to the side while he took out a fresh sheet of paper with a problem identical to the one you previously attempted on your own. He reached for the pen that was still dangling at the edge of the desk and laid it parallel to the side of the paper. As he loomed over you, you thought that he would be behind you the entire time, having to hear him critique every little mistake you make directly against your ear.

Your assumption was proven half correct when he leaned over you, placing his hands on opposite sides of you and practically pinning you to the desk. You looked to your side to see his face directly at your shoulder, able to feel his every breath against your face. Dr. Ratio smiled with an enthusiasm that seemed far too great to be suited to the likes of a basic education.

“Now then,” he whispered, “let us try our first time together.”

[whxre-bxby]

request for reader waking up to being pounded by quaritch and/or deep throated by lyle

love ur works!<333

the more the merrier lmao. thank you <3

"Sleep Won't Do It"

Recom Miles Quaritch x Recom f. Y/N x Recom Lyle Wainfleet

Masterlist

Summary: (what the ask says) The recoms are having a hard time adapting to their new bodies. Many overcome it by excessive sleeping. But sleep doesn't help Quaritch or Lyle. Both need something else and you're there to help them.

WARNINGS: pure filthy smut, somnophilia, non-con, praise kink, penetration f, blowjob, dacryphilia, male ejaculation

Word Count: 2245

The last few days had been tough for all the recoms including you. 

Everyone was and still is getting used to their new Avatar bodies and it’s more difficult than expected. 

Every time you wake up, there is a small hope inside all of the recoms that the hands that come to rub at the eyes are no longer blue. But every time, the body disappoints. 

Sleeping has become the only escape from this living nightmare. It was the only way any of you could cope with the Avatar. Or at least, that’s what you thought…

Our mission was still being planned so there wasn’t much to do at this time. It was so overwhelming to the mind that the body was so different. It made many of us feel constantly tired. That’s why you would often see us sitting or leaning against something with our head resting on our arms, fast asleep. I had passed out on the couch in our so-called ‘break room’ about an hour ago. The couch was obviously big for a human but even to me as a recom, it was large. There had most likely been some mistake in measuring. Perhaps they assumed the Avatars were larger. Now, about 3 Avatars could lie comfortably on it. 

I’m fast asleep, laying on the softly woven sofa which smells of freshly washed clothes. My head is resting on my outstretched arms in front of me because I’m laying on my stomach. The tail which is one of the most difficult things to control is finally laying still, draping over my bare legs. Loose shorts cover my lower half and are barely visible under the large t-shirt I have over my torso. Soft breaths leave my sensitive nose in a slow rhythm, displaying my calm and relaxed state. I’m not in a deep sleep, it’s light but all and any rest help. 

My mind is peacefully quiet for once. No buzzing thoughts have managed to keep me awake this time. In the background, my now bigger ears can hear the soft churring of the coffee machine rebooting itself. The sound acts as a subliminal for me, letting me drift into relaxation. 

I hear a light creaking of either the floor behind me or the door to the room. My ears tilt in the direction of the noise but it doesn’t alarm my subconscious self so I manage to stay asleep. 

Another noise hints to a faint whisper of someone’s voice but I don’t properly even comprehend that because it’s muffled by the coffee machine. 

Following the minimally quiet commotions is silence. Nothing happens for a while, letting me dose off into deeper sleep. 

Within the next minute, the top couch cushion’s soft material dips as someone’s weight is put on it. My body picks up on the movements, knowing I cannot be imagining it this time. They don’t wake me, but they stop me from completely sleeping like a log. 

“Not a noise.” I hear someone hush. It sounds like an order and the voice sounds vaguely familiar but there’s no reason to be afraid. It could be in my dream. 

There is some shuffling around me and chilly goosebumps rise on my skin but I’m still fast asleep. No pain is being inflicted on my body that would cause me to frantically awake. 

“Control yourself, otherwise I won’t let ya’ near ‘er.” Another order voiced itself. This time it was above and behind me. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hm. What odd dreams. 

My body is gently moved and once what feels like hands are no longer holding my hips, my lower half seems to be resting slightly higher and at a different angle than before. 

My tail is no longer resting over my legs but it’s being held up in the air. Yet my body is too exhausted to wake me up. 

What feels like a few seconds have been many minutes and I’ve grown used to the touches. They didn’t hurt so why worry? But I must be dreaming of them. 

Then, another weird feeling is perceived by my body. It’s coming from a sensitive region and I can feel it all. 

This time, my body wakes up, making my eyes flutter open with a huff of air leaving my nose. I’m so tired but this sensation and the handling being inflicted on my body have me raising my head to see what’s happening. 

The next inhale of air makes me realise I can no longer smell the fresh washing detergent of the couch nor can I hear the buzzing coffee machine. Instead, I smell a thick musk which fills my nostrils and makes my pupils blow wide. Right above me, I can hear heavy breathing and in front of me a lightly raspy chuckle. My senses return to me after my nap and now I can feel a weight on me. The heavy breathing fans against the top of my head and my body is nudged forwards every few seconds. 

I swiftly turn my head to the side because all this feels foreign to me. My eyes go wide when I see what is happening. It takes me a while to understand who and what is happening, but once the realisation hits me, a gasp escapes my lips. 

I can see and feel my Colonel on top of me. He has a hand around the back of my neck, keeping me held down against the couch cushions while the other is bent, having him lean on his forearm for weight support. Both my legs have been opened more than I remember. My tail has been moved to the side and it’s Quaritch’s toned hips snapping forwards and against me every few seconds that make me rock back and forth. 

Only once I see what he’s doing do I start to properly feel it. My superior officer is buried balls deep inside my pussy and his relentless thrusts cause me to cry out between clenched teeth. 

“Shhh… stay quiet.” the Colonel coos into my ear through heavy pants. His hot breath makes a shiver run up my spine which only now makes me realise that I have been stripped bare. 

A large hand gently grasps my jaw, making me look forwards. My eyes meet Lyle’s and I notice he, just like Quaitch and me, is naked too. He’s smirking down at my flushed face of embarrassment. 

My ears are pinned back and my eyes begin to tear up. This was even more overwhelming than just waking up to a blue body. 

“You’re doin’ real good, Buttercup.” Lyle praised me, running his thumb over my warm cheek with a smile. 

“Sleep doesn’t do it for us, sweet’eart.” Quaritch mutters through heavy breaths. His voice is raspy and sounds strained. 

“Relax.” he breathes out into my ear. “Let it happen, darlin’.”

I whine when his next thrust causes his abdomen to slap against my ass. My skin will turn red if he continues like that. 

“You gonna be good?” he asks, slowing down his movements while he waits for my answer.  

I’m not sure about my answer. My eyes clench closed in frustration and I whimper. 

“I’ll reward your behaviour, sweet’eart. C’mon.” Quaritch urges me, wanting me to agree so he can focus on his pleasure again. 

I sniffle and then nod my head. “Yes-” I faintly whisper while gasping for air.

Behind me, Quaritch purrs in approval.

“Good girl.” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of my neck. His harsh thrusts resume and tears form in my eyes. 

Lyle steals back my attention, angling my head to face his crotch. I watch him with wide eyes, still feeling confused as to why this is happening while he strokes himself a few times. 

Perhaps they had so much built-up frustration in them from the change of body that they needed a different kind of release. 

Lyle brought the tip of his throbbing cock to my lips, placing it on them. 

“Open up, baby.” He says, gently pulling my jaw down. I listen to him while fighting back the forming tears. 

I open my mouth, slightly sticking my flattened tongue out for him. A small grin forms on his face as he slowly pushes himself into my mouth. I can only take half of him before he reaches the back of my throat. 

“Let me use you, Buttercup. I promise te’ make it up to ya’ later.” he said and I caught the hint of desperation in his voice. I wasn’t going to fight or beg them for anything, I was too tired for that. So I just listened and gave Lyle a faint nod of my head. 

He caresses my cheek in praise before pulling out. Both his hands are now placed on the back of my head. I can only imagine what is to come. 

Once again he starts to push his hips forward, driving his dick further into my mouth than before. His tip brushes against the back of my mouth before diving deeper into my throat. 

I hold onto the side of the couch pillow for dear life, tightly grasping the cushion. My tightly screwed-closed eyes now have tears spilling from them and both men can hear my muffled chokes and coughs as I fight back gags. 

“Don’t cry, baby.” Quaritch coos and his voice is oddly comforting. But just through those few words I manage to hear how he says them through a small grin. Did my crying turn him on? 

In the next second, he leans forward and his tongue licks away one of the hot tears flowing down my cheek. Lyle wipes another away with his thumb, just momentarily ripping his gaze from my lips. 

With tears or not, I’m baring through it all. Both of them are my superiors and I do want to be good for them. No matter how sick and twisted the context of it is. I am eager to please them both. 

That’s why I was a crying mess right now, with a reddened and stained face of silent tears. Perhaps I’m being pushed to my limit, but I don’t care. 

Lyle is holding my head in place, making me take all of him and deepthroat his cock. Quaritch is switching between rhythms but he doesn’t let his sharp thrusts falter once. His canines are tracing the skin of my neck, dangerously threatening to draw blood. 

I cry out when his movements manage to speed up even more. His thrusts finally grow sloppy and desperate, telling me he is close to his release. The Colonel’s heavy breathing is replaced by grunts and growls. All he can think of is the pleasure he feels. 

Lyle has his head thrown back in bliss, seeming to slowly come undone in front of me. All his muscles are flexed as he too nears his high. 

“Fuck, darlin’. Ya’ feel so good.” Quaritch snarled into my ear. “Such a good girl. Gonna cum all over you.” 

My watery eyes close again at his words. I can feel his dick twitch and suddenly, Quaritch swiftly pulls out. 

Lyle’s hips stutter and he pushes himself in deeper than before one last time. My nose scrunches against the skin of his abdomen. That’s how deep inside my mouth he is. His body trembles and suddenly I feel him shoot his load of thick white ropes of cum down my throat. Lyle is cursing in pleasure, muttering something along with my name. He is so far down my throat, I’m forced to reflexively swallow everything he’s giving me. Swallowing around him makes my throat squeeze around his shaft, making Lyle moan and spurt a little more out. 

Quaritch quickly fists himself while holding my tail up with his other hand and I feel his load shoot all over my ass. It's a lot and it's starting to drip down and between my cheeks, over my abused pussy. 

“Fuckin hell’ look at you.” the Colonel muses, admiring the mess he made. 

Lyle is panting hard, recovering from his orgasm. His eyes meet my pleading ones and luckily he takes pity on me, gently pulling out so that I can breathe normally again. I let out a choking cough before swallowing more cum-stained saliva. He didn’t taste bad. Somewhere deep inside me, I enjoyed it all. 

Both men are more merciful now and even surprisingly affectionate. Lyle is ordered to get a cloth which Quaritch uses to clean me up with before re-dressing me. They put their own clothes on now too. 

I expected both of them to leave me alone after this. I’m still tired. Even more so now. My body is exhausted. 

They both got what they wanted, why stay? 

I assume they’re staying because they care for me. I know all the recoms do care for one another, so at least I was being given aftercare. God, do I need it. Quaritch lay down next to me, pulling my head onto his chest and whispering how well I did and that he will repay me some time. Lyle places himself behind me, loosely draping an arm over my waist. My tears have dried but I luckily forgot about all the discomfort with the way I was being gently cradled and held right now. 

Everyone has their own way of coping. If this is theirs then I can put up with that. Especially when I’m being treated like this afterwards.

Tag List: @ken-dala @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @number1gal @numarusworld @jatwow

[gremlingottoosilly]

okay.. really dumb idea but!! Imagine Mrs. König needs glasses 24/7 but is insecure because of them :( and one day she couldnt find her contacts and was forced to wear them infront of König, she was so embarrassed I imagine.. Also..König wearing glasses when he doesn’t wear his hood or whatevs! so cute!! (人´3｀)⌒♡ (Men with glasses>>>>> )

Amén.

Yay!!! Glasses ask!! I've been wearing glasses for more than half of my life and sometimes it's hard for me to remember that not all people wear them and I don't need to describe it to the reader. Konig would be soooo in love with your glasses!! He understands you might be insecure, but there is something inherently sexy for him in your adorable face framed with glasses, and he just wants to smooch you with kisses and buy you half a dozen different frames to try everything. He is extremely observant, so when she loses her lenses or they expire and she forgets to order new ones...he knows where it is, but he might just not tell you so he can see you in glasses! He knows how insecure you might be, he doesn't understand why you would be like this, you're literally perfect, but he knows that a few off comments ten years ago can make you afraid about wearing glasses - so he showers you in praise and takes care of anyone who made you feel this way. Just...don't be surprised when a school reunion will be canceled for the lack of attendance who didn't mysteriously disappear. Konig in reading glasses....let's just take that he is old, like late thirties old - his vision might still be fine on the field, but he needs glasses for reading and for shiny screens. He gets all blushy and flustered when you say that he looks hot wearing it, and his mind cannot comprehend his darling calling him sexy.....he sees his glasses like weakness, alive manifestation of age finally getting to him - but you see him sitting on the couch, glasses on his nose, reading something from his insanely bright phone...yeah, he is getting fucked tonight. Younger Konig who just have shitty sight, so he needs to wear glasses when he is out of the field - and he is even more embarrassed when you say that he looks cute, sexy, that you like it...he might reconsider getting lasik now.

[starrmarr]

Things happen to me, the likes of which make absolutely no sense, the likes of which would provoke anyone to make drastic decisions against their life. I have surpassed wanting to kill myself all the time, surely, but the present is so cruel to me that I am forced to live in the future, to dream regardless of my conscious state. Hope is my only escape. What difference does it make that I am beautiful? What difference does it make that I have been evaluated and have a documented, whopping intelligence quotient I could brag about? I speak 3 languages fluently and know 2 others and yet, I can’t comprehend anything people say: “she’s alluring, she’s mysterious, she’s hilarious, she has so much to contribute, she’s gifted. I want to fuck her, everyone wants to fuck her. I can’t forget her. All of the ways she is arrogant, and yet isn’t, are justified because all of it is true”. None of these things have made my life easier. They have only served to perpetuate the idea that I need and deserve a “more” only I can give myself, that I am entitled to greatness and cannot afford mediocrity, that a regular life will kill me, that I have to remain a size 0-2, that I am miserable and terribly alone, that nothing is ever enough, that I am a problem and people only want to know me for what they assume I am, that something is conspiring against me to feed off of my suffering. How big do I have to become for this feeling to be small enough? Do I have to ask for permission to live? How many inches do I have to grow to be allowed on the ride? I have fine lines by my eyes at 23 from all the crying I’ve done. “It’s getting old” is an understatement— I’ve aged a million years at warp speed since it started. Resilience often feels like a sick fucking joke.

[itoshi-s]

I'll give you 1 rabbit hole to go down... Pussy inspections with step-bro or long distance bf and any (i do mean any i can see all of them doing this tbh) character bc they are all filthy for reader making sure she is clean and messy for only one person in this world and she aint afraid to show her dedication bc she loves them with all her heart, mind and body

anon im so sorry i kept this in the ask box for so long BUT i just .. i just cannot comprehend this ....... THIS MADE ME SO FERAL pls each and every time i scrolled past this i was abt to scream 😭😭 i also can see MANY of the bllk boys doing this ,,please i feel like all of them are so obsessive in a relationship:((( BUT u know DAMN WELL that my absoluuuteeee fav to think of with stepcest is rinnie baby 。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。 ok lemme expand

cw: stepcest, nsfw 17- and ageless blogs dni !

you've always been close with rin - the bond between you so much stronger than the one between you and the older itoshi brother - glued to him by the hip at all times, tugging along to watch the brothers practice and play. sae's four years older than you and finds it a bit harder to get along with you as well as he does with rin, probably because you just don't share any passion or hobby, but you're honestly okay with that! cause rin is always with u instead, making sure you're never left out.

sae leaving for spain and coming back a whole other person doesn't leave you unscathed, though, and watching rin close up on himself and grow so bitter hurts you sm :( your heart aches for your nii chan and u make sure to always, always give him all the support he needs - even if the ways turn a little... inappropriate, different from all the many ways siblings can show their appreciation to each other - but it's okay. he makes it feel just fine, like this is how it should've been all along <3 it's not like you're bound by blood - your parents took you in when you were a baby, yeah, and you two were growing up together just like all the other families - but your stepbrother treats you so well, and looks so good for you always, better than any of these boys that try to get your attention at school. nothing can possibly come between you two and rin makes sure to show it right <3

even when he's signed to a club overseas, all the way over in europe, and his name is worth millions, rin makes sure you're the very first thing he checks up on when he lands back in japan. you, his prettiest little sister, always looking so sweet as you welcome him home <3

"'ve you been good for me, love?" you tremble at rin's firm touch on the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart to get a better look of your soaked through, white silk panties.

your chest heaves, a quick nod of your head looking so desperate, he finds it hard not to smile.

"yes, nii-chan," you sound breathy, needy as your hips buck up just slightly. goosebumps rise along your skin, smooth and soft, and your stepbrother eases his large palms over it, fingers just slightly flexing on the flesh. "been thinking 'bout you everyday, rinnie."

teal eyes look up and bore into yours, a spark behind his gaze that you know so well and missed seeing so much over the time he was away in france. "hmm, were you?" he teases, a ghost of a smile on his lips as your hips squirm upon his palm cupping your heat through the flimsy material. "did you do anything about it?"

the inquiry makes you whine, cheeks feeling hot as you shake your head. of course not. you were his good girl, his good little sister. of course you'd never. he's the only one allowed to touch and pleasure your sweet little pussy - and he knows you're well aware of it, but can't deny himself to see the flustered look on your features.

"good girl," rin coos, hooking his index and middle finger behind the crotch of your panties and pushing them to the side. the sight of slick clinging to your folds, clit swollen and throbbing for any crumb of attention, is more than enough to make him groan under his breath.

anticipation makes your chest swell, throat tightening as you watch as he eases the underwear off, letting it pool around your ankle as he kneels closer to the edge of the bed. you start moaning even before his tongue comes in contact with your heat - the long wait making you so desperate that it takes just a hot breath across your pussy to make you mewl.

his nose knocks against your clit as he stuffs his mouth full of you, tongue lapping up all of the wetness that threatens to spill, and you taste just as sweet as he remembers. he moans, the sound vibrating against your heat as you grab fistfuls of black hair.

"nii-chan-" it's sinful, but sounds so good - so right.

his breath hitches in his throat at the little cries of yours. they ring in his ears, make his eyelashes flutter and hands grab at your ass to pull you even further towards him, until he feels your thighs twitch around his head and the heels of your feet digging against his shoulder blades.

no matter how much time passes, he's always going to be the best big brother you could ever have. your lover, the sweetest you could ever dream of and the only one you'll ever wish for. and even if his little checks up on you and the tight pussy he loves so much make you wish the earth could swallow you whole - the embarrassment too much to handle - you know it's only for the best, and look forward to it anyway.

you'll be done with college soon, and rin's already putting up a room for you in his paris penthouse, giddy with excitement at the thought of his pretty little sister moving back in with him - just like it's always been. but you don't need to worry! he will make sure to keep your little routine up either way, cause his imouto deserves to be taken care of <3

[vulpixisananimal]

Looping again and again...

(You breath in, and out.)

(You're exhausted. You feel even more sick than last time. Your eyes are puffy, and theres a weight on your chest.)

(You breath in, and out.)

(Just, just focus. Just focus. None of that happened, not really. It was all in another timeline, you didn't hurt him, and you aren't selfish. You... You...)

("I should never have trusted you.")

(. . .)

(You trust them. But they don't trust you. If they don't trust you, why do you keep talking to them.)

(Because it's. . . Because I promised.)

(You promised to protect Bonnie too.)

(Your breath catches.)

(Are you sure they believe you, or like you, or trust you? Can you be sure? You have a power that they cannot comprehend. Every day could be perfectly scripted by you.)

(I. . . I don't know.)

(Do you think Isabeau trusts you.)

(I. . .)

"You alright, Sif?"

(Oh stars, right. You breath in, and out.)

"Never better, Isa!" (You said, your words ringing hollow.)

"Well, if you need a hand or, or if I need to get you anything, just let me know okay?"

(Same as last time. You are looping again, after all. You look at yourself in the mirror. Could it get worse..?)

(You step out of the bathroom.)

"Sif! Are you sure you're alright?" (He leaned down to your level, just as worried as before.) "I was about to get out of bed and I heard you, uh-"

"I'm fine Isabeau--" >> "--Just some loopy stuff, not that bad, I'll meet you for breakfast!"

(. . . Should you be zoning out? Things are differen't now, you're not in Dormont after all.)

(It wont hurt them.)

(You're back downstairs, Mirabelle and Bonnie off doing whatever it was they do in the morning. The quesadillas looked good like last time. Hmm, you could change a few things up here at least.)

"You sure you're alright? Can't go investigating when your sick."

"I've gone through worse." (You say cheekily.)

"That's not a good thing though!" (Isa exlaimed.) "You were sick for weeks after all those loops!"

"Still hard to believe." (Nille commented, leaning back.) "Even I know you're not s'possed to be able to craft time."

"Well I didn't think wishes were so..."

"Dangerous?" (You say.)

"Well, yeah." (Isa's vision wandered, thinking.) ". . . Do you think that's why you're sick again?"

(Huh.)

(Odile looked up from her book.) "That could be it. Perhaps that wish is still allowing Siffrin to loop back, but requires more of his own energy."

"So it's, craft exhaustion?" (That would make sense, and explain why each time you looped you were feeling worse.)

"Alright eat up then 'Frin." (Nille said, leaning over to give you a second quesadilla.) "Gotta get your energy back."

(You shrink down into your cloak.) "I'll be fine, you don't, need, to."

"Come on Sif!" (Now Isa was handing you more food.) "Craft exhaustion 101! Eat! Your! Food!"

(Oh stars. . .)

(Defeated, you start to eat up. It WAS good food, Bonnie always made good food. And you WERE hungry. Plus, you might need the energy to loop again. And if you do that, then you wouldn't have taken their food.)

(Mirabelle and Bonnie join the rest of you, the air is a bit warmer than last time. Bonnie threatened to go back and make you even more food once they found out you had craft exhaustion. But for now, it's about time to explain things again.)

(You're going to? You still trust them?)

(. . . If we don't, it could be worse. We didn't ask for help before, and it was worse.)

"Isa, did you know someone called Ramos in the Defenders?"

"Huh?" (Isa thought for a moment.) "I didn't. . . Oh! Well I knew someone who's second name was that, why?"

"Taller? Wears a vest and kerchif? Short hair?"

(Isa shook his head.) "No, but I remember they asked me about some clothes like that... Wait did you-"

(You smile smugly.) "You must have had quite the impact, they look totaly different when we met them later today."

"You looped again!?!?--" >> "--I'll look for one of those next time."

(Where to start this time.)

"This will be try number three of today, First time me and Odile went to the library and the rest of you to the Defenders place, Bonnie came running to us, aparently Mira was framed for kidnapping Bonnie."

"!?!?!?--" >> "--There must have been some kind of mistake!"

"And that's why we went there last time." (You hesitate) "We all did, met Ramos at the enterance, started leading us to someone who'd help. Mira, Bonnie and Nilla ran off because of..."

(. . . Roses.)

"Huh?!?"

"Beacuse Bonnie smelled mint and thought someone's roses were in trouble?"

"It makes more sense at the moment I promise!"

"Well there was someone who kept roses." (Isa pondered.) "But he was never the type to get mints in his rosebeds."

"Well aparently Bonnie smelled mint, so."

"Was it like the sugar?" (Bonnie asked.) "Like, is it a craft thing?"

(You blink, oh.) "Well, uh, I did smell a lot of something."

(Bonnie hopped away from the tapple and ran back to the kitchen. Before coming back with a bit of a plant and held it up to you.) "Smell."

(You take a sniff, the same smell.) ". . . Is that mint?"

"Duh." (They said smugly.) "No it's cumin, obviously. Crabface."

"Language."

(You all have a bit of a chuckle. Bonnie going to put the mint back. Odile prompted you to continue.)

"Right..." (You shift a bit in your seat, oh boy.) "Well... Isa, did you get any help on your Defender quiz? Did Ramos help you?"

"Huh? No I didn't," (he looked confused.) "I did worry about it a bunch, but Ramos was having it harder, if anything I helped them."

(You nod.) "While we were walking you said the oposite, you knew eachother for a while, it all seemed... Wrong."

(You paused, thinking. Odile noticed.) "Everything alright, Siffrin?"

(You bite your lip. You, didn't want to talk about what happens next.) "Well. . . You and I got suspicious, confronted Ramos, you grabbed them and then started being weird, and uh, well, I stepped in and, well, they were wearing the star pendant."

"!!!"

"Gems alive."

"Oh Ramos.." (Isabeau pouted.) "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

(You snapped to attention, huh? What?) "I-I, n-no they, uh, no they didn't." (If anything, it was the other way around...)

"Well... If you want to talk about it."

(You shrug.)

". . . Well what's the plan today then boss." (Nille asked, looking over she was leaning on the table so relaxed.) "Since you know the future and all."

(Boss?) "Well, I doubt this'll be the last loop, but this time we should go looking for information on what craft links to mint, if any."

"Good idea Siffrin!" (Mirabelle perked up, uhoh, she had a look in her eyes.) "Me, Odile and Isabeau will go looking for that while YOU stay here and relax!!"

"Huh?!?!"

"Agreed." (Odile was giving you a look.) "We can't have our ace in the hole burning himself out."

"That'll leave you two in charge of Siffrin then, think you can handle it?" (Isa said to Nille and Bonnie.)

(Nille gave a thumbs up) "Leave it to the sibling squad."

"Yeah!! I'm gonna make you hot chocolate too!!"

"What. Wait. But, b-but."

(You didn't know how to respond, what was going on, you were just, just explaining what happened. It was just going to be another go around. Go look for info on mint, then, then...) "Wh, why?!?"

"Because you need!! A!! Beak!!" (Mirabelle had gotten up) "You've had to do the same day twice now and each time it was really unplesant!! And if today doesn't really happen for us, then we can do a bit extra! The other us's wont remember."

"Exactly." (Odile closed her book.) "If today doesn't matter then we can be a bit risky, and you can relax a bit more. It might help you feel better for next loop."

(You tried hiding in your cloak, a hard thing to do without a hat.) "But, you just, trust me on that?"

"Of course!" (Isabeau said, cheery.) "Why wouldn't we? I'll always trust you, Sif, because you could have done a lot of bad with being able to loop, and you didn't!" (You wince at that, Isa huffed.) "Yes, even that moment we had. I told you, it's alright."

(. . .)

(They do have a point. You, never really got a break back then either. Sure you had moments, but...)

"Ok, If you're sure..."

[cruyuu]

*opening my 3rd bottle while crying* and then sukuna told kashimo people who are strong respond to love by staring right in someone's eyes and slaughtering them!!! he believed this is love and that's EXACTLY what yuuji did!!! even if his interpretation of love is fucked up and doesn't align with yuuji’s beliefs he still did it he loved and understood him!!! but yuuji didn't love sukuna for his strength FUCK NO *hiccups* he genuinely cared about the human buried inside him and wanted them to truly live TOGETHER!!! but this is the first time in his 1000 year of living that anyone saw sukuna as human not as the strongest sorcerer or evil curse he didn't know how to comprehend this!!! ryomen sukuna said "i'm a mess" and itadori yuuji replied "you're the mess i accept and want" but sukuna didn't believe him because no one EVER showed him kindness and patience before and unfortunately yuuji was 1000 years late!!! *lay on the floor*

my cat: damn girl that's crazy

Anon, you and me both!

me: he would accept him no matter what. he doesn't mind even if he is weak because he doesn't care he just loves him

the walls:

me: i bet that in another life he'd still be out there looking for him just like how he looked for him and swallowed that finger in the first place. despite the danger, despite everything. the one to bring him back and the one to unwillingly take him out but still ask if he'll want to survive with him if they could start everything again still letting him know that whatever is between them could happen because he is the only one who touched his soul after all... right? there's no one else who had seen ryoumen sukuna this weak because everyone adored him for his strength yet yuuji saw him weak and loved him. accepted him. i

the walls:

me: oh my god i can't do this

the walls:

me: like no matter if he's a curse. yuuji's a curse too. if he's human then yuuji's human too. no matter that they cannot coexist, yuuji will find a way around it he'll find a way to kill this difference between them and make them equals make them coexist make them deserving of one another and sukuna can be the meanest worst vile being that ever existed or the strongest or the most pathetic and nothing is going to stop itadori fucking yuuji from loving him i am going to be sick

the walls:

me: and meanwhile sukuna believes that despite everything despite neary wiping out the entire ass city despite taking everyone away he's not worthy of being loved because by his definition love is admiring someone's strength and he's probably so angry over yuuji because in yuuji's eyes he's just an insignificant thing not strong enough of his respect never to stand as an equal and therefore unloveable

me: because yuuji is strong. in his eyes he's big he's everything he wanted to be and meanwhile sukuna is everything yuuji wanted to be and the lines between them blur all the goddamn time they're mirrors then contrasts then mirrors again i hate them so much what the actual fuck

the birds: chirp chirp it's six in the morning go to work

[cuubism]

i said i might write something based on Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda and well. yeah.

--

“Have you been thinking much of this time?” Dream asks.

They are at the beginning. The ancient, smoky main room of the White Horse, all the way back then, when that sweet, starlit entity had loomed over Hob with challenge and strangeness and then swept away again, leaving the start of a story in his wake. Only this time, Dream is sitting with him, and the rest of the room is faded out, as it had when Hob had first seen him, this collected truth of the universe.

(Dream does not believe in objective truth—of course he doesn’t, he is made of dreams—though he would not articulate it that way if asked. Hob, meanwhile, knows at least one truth, and it’s what he feels when he looks at Dream.)

“Don’t you think of it?” he asks, wrapping an arm around Dream’s waist, fingers over his hipbone. It is a dream, but that distinction does not matter to Hob much anymore.

“I suppose. I think of much.”

“‘Course you do.” He strokes his hand up and down Dream’s side, and Dream hums. “I wondered about following you. Think if I did you’d have been gone into smoke already.”

“Yes. I did not care to stay long.”

“Nor I,” Hob admits.

“Truly?” says Dream, with surprise.

“Was thinking about you too much,” Hob says. “How could I go back to just chatting with my mates when I had seen you?”

“Why did you stay, then?”

“You have to take time with your mates while you have it,” Hob says. “Didn’t need six hundred years of life to know that one. Just a couple dozen deaths. Had the rest of eternity to mull over you, after all.”

“And did you?” Dream asks.

“Oh, yes.” He pulls Dream close. Slides over until he’s half in his lap, straddling his thigh, perfectly placed to kiss him. Hands on his shoulders, his neck, the sharp cut of his jaw. Once, Hob had held him from afar, like a wish. Now, Hob holds him close, as dream, as friend, as lover, in his human way, with sweat and time and hands.

“I mulled over you like fine wine,” Hob says, twisting his fingers in Dream’s hair, and Dream smiles. Hob kisses him again. Sips of his mouth like mulled wine, indeed. But his love for Dream is nothing so fleeting as spice on his tongue.

Or as fleeting as Dream sometimes thinks it will be. Dream is a living love poem to creation. But he does not know how to be loved in the way Hob wants to love him. In the way Hob does love him. Hob thinks that Dream knows how to be loved as a dream is loved, as a hope is loved, as an ideal is loved: held in glass, or in the sky, distant, perfect, disappointing up close. Parts of him are held as bubbles in different souls, but never in entirety.

He knows how to be loved as a nightmare is loved, bloody fear and history, raw closeness, curling in the humors of the body. He has been loved as a story is loved, which is to say, as creation is loved, as transmission is loved, as distance, as connection, as hearts on radio waves, as endings are loved, the pathways of him, container and fill.

Dream does not know how to be loved as a person is loved.

Hob loves him still when he grows teeth, and when a sweet taste comes to his mouth. Hob loves him as potential, as uncertainty. Story unset in stone. In softening belly and uneven step. Hob will show him how to be loved as a person is loved, because Dream is a person, especially when he insists he is not, and Hob loves him as one, has loved him as one, and Dream, who is used to being loved as dreams, cannot comprehend this.

He asks, sometimes. Why? Not even in a hurt, self-hating way. In a genuinely curious way, for he is not used to it. Hob hasn’t had the answer to that. Just trust that I do.

This moment, kissing Dream in the smoke of memory, is an answer. This is the beginning, but a fragment of words comes back to him, read in the between-time, when they were apart.

“You wanted to know why I loved you.” His lips are to Dream’s skin as he speaks, moved to his throat, his chest, pulling open his high collar, as Dream shivers under him. In the Dreaming, things can be like other things in a way that makes no sense in the Waking; Dreaming-sense is like a collage, the distant truth of collected fragments. And so touching Dream’s skin is like stepping out into the earliest morning, before the human world’s woken up, and feeling what’s un-meant to be felt.

“I do not think love needs a why,” Dream says. “Yet I have wondered.”

He gets it, Hob thinks, except that he doesn’t let himself.

He traces the harsh line of Dream’s collarbone with his mouth. Dream is full of harsh lines and seems incapable of letting softness stick to his bones. “‘I love you because I know no other way than this.’”

“I am familiar with the poem,” Dream says, but his voice is caught on Hob's words, his long fingers disbelieving in Hob’s hair.

“Are you?”

“Between shadow and soul is where dreams reside,” says Dream.

“And what about Dream?” Hob says, looking up at him, stressing the singular.

Dream’s lips purse, and Hob goes back to kissing his chest, up his sternum, over his heart. “I know,” he says between kisses, “no other way. Than this.”

Dream tangles him up, long arms, legs curled together, shadow and star around him. Hob’s loved him so long that he doesn’t remember what it was like not to. He has been tangled up in Dream since the beginning. It is what he is.

“A dream resides where it is wanted,” says Dream, finally answering his question. His voice has roughened, his breath has quickened, affected by Hob’s touch, by the words of the poem. Each lick, and kiss, and bite coils the Dreaming closer around them. One day it might be harder to wake up than to fall asleep.

“It’s wanted,” Hob says, and claims his beautiful mouth, pressing him back against the wall. His hair in its uncontrollable frissons, his eyes in their changeable void, his needy starvation of a thousand unanswered love poems—this kiss is a response to those missives. Dream is in the shadowed parts of him, in his turning points, in the words he speaks. Hob sees his answer in the tears that bead along his eyes but refuse to fall, in his darkness and whimsical creations, and his surprised, gentle pleasure when he’s kissed.

Hob loves him so. There’s no moral or end to that story. Hob’s love for Dream is. Full stop. End of sentence.

[chernabogs]

if you're still taking requests, can you maybe do "You're lucky you're cute" with either Malleus or Sebek? (and reader) You can choose one of them and have fun!!

Thank youuuu this is just a glorified excuse for me to info dump about etiquette with Fae interactions LMAO (also I need to work more on my Sebek down the line... my boy...I will write him soon)

CAVEATS

Inc: Malleus, GN!Reader (referred to as Prefect once) Warnings: None! Except the ominous undercurrent of danger through words at the amusement of a Fae WC: 2.5k! Excerpt: Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t.  He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment. 

People find it hard to speak of things with him sometimes. Exulansis, Malleus learns it’s called. A resignation to stop talking about an experience because the other cannot relate. When the other House wardens speak of motor vehicles, of vacations, of the latest tech and similar topics he finds his mind turning in circles as he puzzles over what that experience is like. What is a vacation to the Tropical Isles like? What benefits does a magic-powered vehicle have over a gas-consuming one? 

Perhaps he has a face when they speak of this. A furrow in his brow, a darkening of his gaze. He doesn’t mean it in hostility—it’s all coming from a purely clinical stance. He’s tried so many times just to get his older flip phone model to work that he’s entirely given up comprehending what this ‘widget’ is, or the benefits of ‘bio-metrics’, which sounds like some poison you’d feed someone in his opinion. 

Maybe this is why he finds somewhat of a solace in your company at times like this. Even though you seem to know all about most of the things the others speak of, you’re still clueless about the magic aspects, and that gives him something of a purpose—explaining those to you. 

“What if you mix it?” 

You’re lying back on the stones of a cottage that once stood proudly in the forest surrounding Night Raven College. It’s since been reduced to nothing more but a few bits of the foundation and a lot of rotting wood. He raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words. 

“No, I would not recommend combining any fire magic with any form of wind magic. Most think it would just blow the fire out, but you are more apt to end up with an inferno than a resolution. Fire magic is measurably different from your flint and stick type, after all.” His gaze travels over your form as your expression shifts to one of intense thought. It reminds him of the one he wears when speaking with Shroud about his broke phone (again)—and it feels wonderful to be on the receiving end. 

“Grim and Ace did that once, you know. Combined Grims fire with wind magic Ace summoned. I probably should have thought of that before asking you.” You sit up with a groan and rub your face. “What about water magic, then?” 

“It depends on if the mage has used a sub-spell when summoning their fire spell. If a sub-spell was used with the intent of permitting the flames to burn more intensely, such as an oil or metal, then the water would simply feed the flames more. Hence why it’s quite important to pay attention to what your opponent’s actions are.” You remind him a little of Sebek and Silver when they were younger and just trying to master their own magic. You have the same curious disposition—and frustration about things just not being concise. 

You give him another look as you pick up the book you had tossed aside earlier. When he had invited you for a walk with him, he hadn’t anticipated it becoming a late-night study session. It was a refreshing experience, though—an opportunity for a ‘school-life’ moment that Lilia always pushed him to have. Midnight cramming. 

“When fighting someone, aren’t there a whole ton of other things to worry about beyond whether a sub-spell was used or not?” You sigh as you begin flipping through the pages. He notes that your writing gets rather chaotic at some points, and figures these are the things you’re picking his brain over. 

“Not every incidence of magic is for combat purposes. Why, in Briar Valley, magic is used for the most basic of tasks—such as cooking. That ties in with the fire information I just disclosed, no?” His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles. “It would be in poor taste if the cooks at the Palace were to mix magic with the wrong sub-spell by mistake.” 

“Have you ever barbecued something before? It’s practically combat.” 

Barbecue. Malleus remembers the first time he tried grilled meat, when he was younger, and Lilia had enough with the raw diet the prince had been kept on for the majority. The food had tasted like charred wood and from that point on Malleus had deliberately minimized his requests for it. “I am… not experienced at the barbecue, no.” 

“The barbecue.” You repeat, glancing at him with a smirk. “So, Briar Valley doesn’t have any fun cookouts? No throwing something on the BBQ and having a night of it?” 

“This is getting off topic.” He stands from where he was sitting on the foundation next to you and waves a hand. “Perhaps you should return to your dorm and study there. We can reconvene another time.”

Your expression shifts to surprise and you’re quick to protest his words. “No, no, I’d rather we stay. Besides, I’m not going to do anything if I go back, and you’re probably not going to do anything if you go back, so…”

“So?” He repeats with a raised eyebrow as a bright grin appears on your face. 

“Is it not better to do something together then nothing on our own?” 

Ah, you’re trying to work a strange sort of logic to your argument here. His arms cross over his chest as he looks from where you sit and out to the dark woods that surround you. It’s a quiet night, with a few fireflies flashing amongst the trees that loom like dark figures just beyond. Their towering presence ignites a sense of occhiolism that has him moving just a few steps closer to you.  

“Do you desire my company so much? All I’ve done is give you answers to your homework woes.” He gives a pointed look to the pen and book you have in hand as a flash of embarrassment crosses your face. You shift uncomfortably and close the book. 

“Well, I do want to say thank you for all that you’ve done so far…” You mumble. Your comment strikes a thought in his mind as he observes you a bit closer. “I guess I don’t really need to keep bugging you with questions.” 

“Did I ever imply it was a bother?” He moves through the grass to sit back down next to you. The lack of sound that his motions make would be unsettling to most, but your blindness to the unusual and the strange makes you seem entirely unaffected. “Do not read things that aren’t there.” 

“I… sorry?” He can see you struggling a little to navigate the right thing to say, and this brings a sense of amusement to him. Your confusion about this discussion may be mean on his part, but it’s only temporary. 

Malleus may not know much in terms of technology, or the best place for a vacation, or whether a gas-car is a better deal—but he does know magic. And he is feeling rather playful this evening as he watches your panicked gaze dart around his features. 

“Do your studies incorporate learning of magical beings, by chance?” He begins to lay the foundations for his plan as your shoulders relax at his question. You hum and flip around the book. 

“I mean, vaguely? There’s a bit about dwarves, and elves, and a very small paragraph on the Fae… but not much else.”

He clicks his tongue as his pale fingers reach out to touch the edges of the pages. “Oh, that won’t do. You can be forgiven for not understanding magical spells should you ever visit Briar Valley, but to not understand the Fae? You might find yourself in conflict.”

Then he makes his expression light up. “I would feel terrible should that happen, knowing I could prevent it, so I ask now—would you like to know more about my species?” 

It’s like dangling a forbidden fruit in front of a starving soul. He rarely shares anything about himself or his thoughts, even though you’ve both been attending these walks together for a few weeks now. You close the book again and nod, and that’s all he needs you to do. “Sure, thank you!” 

Your politeness is quaint—but he knows such an approach may not last once he begins talking. He smiles a little more, and it’s an expression to hide how eager he feels about this.

“To begin, you may find that while all of us have a degree of pride, some of us are more prideful than others. You are very generous with your thankfulness and apologetic responses, and although I appreciate the words and the acts as I know they come from a place of good intent… this is not the case for all my kind.” He hums thoughtfully. “In fact, some may think your thanks imply that they are subservient or—even worse—that you are now in debt to them.” 

He pauses and lets his words linger as they run through your mind. Your eyes widen slightly. “Subservient? I don’t want anyone thinking that whenever I just say thanks.” 

“I know that, and so does Lilia, but that’s because we’ve interacted with humans a great deal. Some Fae have very little interaction, and with that, hold very old beliefs. One should simply be… cautious. Express gratitude for what they have done, but do not say thanks.” 

Malleus feels his amusement grow as your expression becomes solemn at his words. He takes it as a sign to continue as he taps his nails against his thigh. 

Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t. 

He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment. 

“We also value honesty immensely. Have I ever lied to you?” He asks, and when you shake your head with confidence, he chuckles. “No, and so I would hope that sentiment would be reciprocated. Lying or deliberately keeping information from me is something I don’t appreciate, but I will not curse you over it like some may.” 

“This makes me feel like I’m in politics instead of a conversation,” you mumble, resting your chin in your palm. He hums and nods. 

“In a sense, it is like politics. Be cautious of what you say, and if you don’t know what to say, say nothing at all. The same applies to accepting gifts—both obvious and not. Accept what you trust, but if you have a bad feeling, decline and simply do so in a way that is not apologetic.” 

“How do I know if something is being given as a gift?” There’s concern in your tone as you ask this. It makes Malleus smile wider—a sharp flash of white fangs in the dark—and he shrugs. 

“You don’t always. For example, you were quick to accept my offer of this information, even though this information itself is a gift. But we have a rapport; I trust you, as you trust me.” He stops tapping his thigh. “It’s the same for how willing you and the others have been at granting me and Lilia your names. There’s a great deal of magic tied into a person's name.”

Malleus notes that flash of unease in your gaze again as you grip your book a bit tighter. Perhaps this is unsettling to you. Perhaps the reminder of just how different the two of you are is throwing you into a perilous loop; you became comfortable enough with him that you began to see him as equal, and the reminder that you aren’t is jarring. 

 He doesn’t want to scare you too terribly, though. This isn’t what these lures of information were meant to do. It was meant to amuse him with your expressions and awe at these simple rules of etiquette, but also to guarantee your safety if—well, when—he asks you delicately to visit Briar Valley soon. Plus, you are the one consistent person outside of his close family who has bothered to hold extended conversations with him. 

“What can you do with my name?” You ask slowly. It’s a valid question. What can he do with your name?

“Oh, one can do many things with a name. Take it as their own, bend it out of shape, lock it in a box or toss it into the sea. A Fae can wipe it from your mind and put it in their pocket should they be so inclined. They can make you do whatever it is they please.” Not that many would anymore. Perhaps in the days when humans and Fae were at war the notoriety of name-theft was known throughout the Valley, but in these recent days of languid peace, name-theft is more apt to find the Fae imprisoned than anything else. 

“And will you?” You ask, catching him off guard for a moment. When he looks at you again, you look nervous as you stare back. “Take my name, or anyone else's?” 

Malleus blinks slowly as he processes your words. Ah… maybe this has gone too far now. He softens his expression and watches as this mirrors on your own. Then he warms his smile to grant some reassurance as he laughs softly. “Oh, no, no. You have my name as well—we are equal, in a sense. I don’t have power over you or anyone else in this school beyond what any other mage may hold.” 

You exhale slowly and relax your shoulders. His words have put you at ease and this pleases him before your expression takes a sharp turn into a scowl.

“Thanks for instilling all this paranoia in me. You know, when I finally visit you in Briar Valley, I’m going to be triple thinking everything that comes out of my mouth now.” 

“When?” He jumps on that word really quick as his expression shifts to one of smug delight. He didn’t even need to push the topic—you just dove headfirst into it yourself. He hears you clear your throat loudly as you yank open your book again. 

“Don’t. I’m going to write this all down in the margins before I forget,” you grumble as he chuckles softly again. 

“Ah, you’re lucky you’re cute, Prefect.” He hums as he returns his attention to the treeline beyond. The fireflies continue to lazily flash in the night, and the silence of the forest brings a sense of peace. There’s solace in your company—and he looks forward to experiencing it more in the future. 

So long as you don’t agitate another Fae. He can’t help you with everything.