#i mean thank you of course!!

[jgvfhl]

Where did you all COME FROM

[lesbaurinkos]

DanAndPhilCRAFTS - Slime

[thankstothe]

I hate him

[usalock]

This sort of case would have interested our old friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Yes, indeed.

[agentark]

trying to enjoy my silly little time traveling sci-fi show while clara and the doctor say the most devastating things to and about each other every other episode like my god

If the Doctor is still the Doctor, he will have my back.

Clara, I'm not your boyfriend. // I never thought you were. // I never said it was your mistake.

Please, just...Just see me.

Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?

Clara, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm exactly what you deserve.

There was one other man. But it would've never worked out. He was impossible.

When do I not see you?

Die with whoever comes after me, you do not leave me.

I don't care about your rules, or your bloody survivor's guilt. If you love me in any way, you'll come back.

Immortality isn't living forever, that's not what it feels like. Immortality is everybody else dying. She might meet someone she can't bear to lose. That happens, I believe.

I let Clara Oswald get inside my head, trust me, she doesn't leave.

Longest month of my life. // It could only have been five minutes. // I'll be the judge of time.

I will die, and no one else here or anywhere will suffer. // What about me?

Everything you're about to say, I already know. don't do it now, we've already had enough bad timing.

Don't run. Stay with me.

I was lost a long time ago, she was saving you.

If you think because she is dead I'm weak, then you understand very little. If you were any part of killing her and you're not afraid, then you understand nothing at all.

The day you lose someone isn't the worst...it's all the days they stay dead.

I'd know you anywhere.

What were you bargaining for? // What do you think? You.

If she says so.

I had a duty of care.

People like me and you, we should say things to one another.

Look how far I went, for fear of losing you.

You said "memories become stories when we forget them." Maybe some of them become songs.

hand in unlovable hand

[hopeswriting]

tsuna is the patron saint of the mundane, of the normal and common place, of the average and unimpressive. he's the unshakable believer of that being enough in and of itself, of that being fulfilling and fundamental to achieve happiness. and he's the unyielding protector and defender of the beauty and love and kindness within the ordinary, of the holy and divine and sacred within it, and of them being worth fighting for.

tsuna's the guy who makes the ordinary extraordinary from the sheer way he holds it so very close to his heart like it's the most precious thing in the world, and it's the thing about him i, for one, love him most for

[ceres46]

wip that I will never finish but also did not want it to rot in my gallery so. here. clockers the best family dynamic ever and boat boys in the divorce court (colorized)

[nattravn-art]

Mr. Rabbit are you okay?

[arom-antix]

The besiyr got new glasses and they had so much swag I needed to make this, ring swag included

THEY MADE ONE TOO GO LOOK GO LOOK IT'S AMAZING

[anglerflsh]

wow ive been kind of off lately I should take a day to rest an[explosion]

[mel-loly]

-Thank you very much for the +1.5k followers! <3

[pastafossa]

“It’s... Really Yellow?” (Matt Murdock x f!Reader, Fanfic)

Ok so in honor of ALLLLLL the good Charlie news today and us getting a little more of him in the red and yellow suit in the trailers, I’ve decided to finally pull this little drabble out of my folders and finish it since I’ve gotten some requests about what The Red Thread!Reader’s reaction would be to Matt’s new suit. You do NOT have to have read TRT to get this, it’s just a nice bonus (and for those who DO read it, just know this is set *waves* in their future).

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Rating: Mildly NSFW at best. There’s some suggestive stuff, lots of innuendo, but no sex or anything.

Summary: Foggy needs you to help him convince Matt that red and reflective yellow are ridiculous colors to wear as a stealthy Devil. Unfortunately for Foggy, Matt knows exactly how to convince you otherwise.

Wordcount: 2,942

Warnings: innuendo, language, Matt turning the Devil voice on you, bad use of puns, Matt’s ability to look good in literally anything

“Look at me,” Foggy said fiercely, pointing at your eyes and then his. “You can’t forget what we talked about when he shows up. Ok?”

You scoffed where you’d leaned up against the humming a.c. unit, relaxing on the rooftop as you both waited. At least it was the rooftop of your and Matt’s building. There were far less things to worry about up here. “Of course I’m not going to forget. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good. Because it’s—I don’t know how you missed it last night—”

“I told you. I was asleep when he came in, and he had to leave early this morning for that case.” You rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “I knew he was going to pick up the new suit last night, and I tried to stay up but passed out on the couch. Woke up in bed when he kissed me bye before work. I figured he could just show me tonight when he was done with his patrol.”

“Yeah, see, that’s my point,” he said quickly, absently shaking out one foot. He was probably trying to keep himself awake. It wasn’t often you both tried to stay up for the moment Matt came back from his circuit around the Kitchen. There had to be at least one person who kept normal human hours. “It should have woken you up. You wanna know why? Because it’s—”

“It’s yellow, I know. You’ve said.”

“Yellow!” Foggy thundered, flinging his hands up towards the sky in an apparent show of outrage. “Yellow and red, ketchup and mustard! How is this stealthy unless you’re disguised as a hot dog? He’s-he’s reflective! This is anti-stealth, and he already gets into too much shit when he is stealthy! He should have woken you up like a yellow disco ball or a mustard torch!”

“What even is a mustard torch?” you mused.

“A mustard torch is what he is now,” Foggy groaned, reaching up to scrub at his face. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. ‘Why not black?’ I asked. Do you know what he said? He just blinked at me like he was shocked and said, ‘but I’ve already done black twice, Foggy.’ That’s what he said!”

“I mean… he has, though, so...”

“Listen to me.” Foggy tapped his temple, trying to psych you up. “No getting distracted. He’ll try it. He’ll use every trick he has on you. You’ve seen him in court. And you are our only tiebreaker. Karen’s staying out of it, Jess just mocks every suit he wears, and Spider-kid is too innocent to bring into this. You need to hold the line. You’re the only one who can talk some sense into him about the hot dog colors. I need reconfirmation you’re with me on this. We need to be a united front.”

And granted, you hadn’t actually seen the suit yet since Matt had only gotten it last night and despite your best efforts, you’d unfortunately fallen asleep  before he’d gotten back. But from what Foggy had said, it did sound… a little silly. It was red and yellow—and not just yellow, but apparently a reflective, gleaming yellow. Matt wasn’t exactly the best judge of color, obviously, but surely even he’d realize that painting himself like a reflective road marker would make the whole sneaky devil thing a whole lot more difficult. This was smug. It was cocky. It was…

Alright, so maybe it was just like him, but still. That was what you were here for. You’d be able to tell him he’d gone a little over the line again.

“Trust me,” you told Foggy firmly, nodding your head. You even widened your stance and crossed your arms, determined to stand strong. “I’m on your side.”

“Thank you! We can teamwork this, ok? So he comes, you see it, you point out the obvious, we get him a can of spray paint or something. Literally, any other color as long as it’s dark. I’d take fucking dark blue at this point, I’d take grey, anything but that ridiculous—”

The sudden burst of warmth inside your chest was the only warning you had before you felt the rush of a breeze overhead.

Years ago you might have ducked, but you’d gotten used to it by now, and instead, you barely blinked as Matt’s acrobatic leap carried him over you. The second he'd passed you, he twisted in the air, the movement transitioning into a smooth roll as he hit the ground. The rise to his feet was just as smooth, just as clean, the finish progressing in one fluid motion as he spun to face you before standing still to await your judgement.

“Theatrics!” Foggy barked, poking Matt’s arm. “That’s cheating, and you know it.”

“She needs to get the full effect,” Matt said defensively as Foggy poked him again, and…

Oh, you thought, your eyes sweeping down.

It had been a while since you’d seen him in anything like his first Devil suit, but you remembered fondly the way all that tough leather and strange fabric had drawn your attention to his broad shoulders, the powerful thickness of his thighs, and the endless breadth of his chest. This new suit looked much like the last in shape and in form despite a few obvious and less obvious changes—and if anyone besides Matt would know, it’d be you, since you’d stripped him out of that old suit often enough. And goddamn if you weren’t being reminded once again that Matt Murdock was always a five-course meal no matter what he chose to wear.

Your five-course meal.

“You are literally the color of a highlighter, that’s the only effect she… hey. Hey! Look at me!”

You darted your eyes guiltily back over to Foggy, breathing a little more quickly. “Yup, looking at you. I am focused.”

“The yellow!” he said quickly, jabbing urgently at Matt’s mask. “Remember what we talked about. Ok? Stay strong.”

Matt hummed. “Have you been tampering with the witness, Foggy?”

“It’s called preparing the witness. I’m not about to let you pull your Devil mind tricks on her.”

Right.

The yellow.

You could look at him and think about just the yellow.

Matt fixed his attention once more on you when he sensed your gaze return. And ok, so the mask was different. The dark, opaque eye lenses of the mask seemed an almost liquid-black in the low light, endless pools of shadow that saw right through you, saw into you beneath skin and bone, fathomless eyes made all the more startling when set within the gleaming, burnished gold of the full helmet. Because it was gold, not yellow, but gold: rich, rough as if weather-beaten, and luxuriously, dangerously warm, and yes, maybe also abso-fucking-lutely reflective, it was true. It would draw attention, maybe too much. But it… it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, was it? Somehow, it still managed to look dangerous, like something belonging to a wild, untamed thing that you just wanted so foolishly to touch—

No, no, you needed to focus.

Matt parted his lips the slightest bit, drawing the air in across his tongue on a slow inhale. He swallowed, once, as if savoring the taste. And then…

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk.

“Stop it with the sniffing and tasting thing,” Foggy snapped. “Seriously, she’s not gonna fall for that.”

Matt let his head gradually tilt, his chin tucking down. You knew that look. It was the look of a predator, the motion confident and dripping with intent, with knowledge of what was around him. It was how he hunted, how he hunted you, and your heart skipped a beat on instinct, a reaction far beyond your control. He opened his mouth bit by bit, drawing your attention to his full lips, to the curl of his tongue as he shaped the word.

“Don’t you dare, Murdock!” Foggy bellowed.

“Sweetheart,” Matt purred, his smooth voice nothing but warm smoke and a low, throaty hunger.

“Shit,” you groaned as your knees went weak, your body flooding with heat. It was that voice, damn him: that rasping Devil voice you always swore you could feel drag along your skin like a physical thing, like torn strands of silk, like the burning brush of his mouth and the heat of a flame. When combined with that familiar silhouette and the smooth motions of his body, there was little hope of resisting. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“The color!” Foggy shouted, throwing his hand in front of Matt’s face as if it would break the spell Matt had cast on you just now, cast on you months ago, years ago. “It’s fucking yellow! Focus, woman!”

“I, um… it is… yellow.” You swallowed hard as Matt dragged his tongue across his lips, trailing his fingers smoothly along the billy clubs at his hip. In fact, the rhythm his fingertips took up looked more than familiar enough to have certain parts of your body clenching. “It’s… it is… yellow, and that might be… attention-grabbing. Which is… not a good thing.”

“I think she needs to see the back,” Matt said abruptly.

“Don’t even think about it!” Foggy thundered. “I’ll throw you off this goddamn roof, I don't give a shit about your training!”

“Sweetheart,” Matt crooned. “Would you like to see the back?”

“She would not!”

Fuck.

“...Yes,” you whispered because the only thing as good as Matt’s front was his back, and you’d never seen his ass look like anything less than a five-star masterpiece that belonged in art museums across the world. “Yes, Jesus, let me see.”

“No-ooo,” Foggy moaned, dropping his face into his hands in defeat as Matt pointedly began his gradual spin, showing off his outline with a smug grin. “Jesus, woman. You’re selling your soul for an ass?”

“But it’s his ass,” you mumbled because it was. Matt had the best goddamn ass you’d seen in your life, and that glorious roundness was now cradled deliciously in tight red leather. And maybe Foggy was right. The yellow pattern along the side of Matt’s thighs was a little obvious, but it also brought out just how much muscle was packed on those thighs of his.

You needed him to get over here.

“Does no one see how obvious the yellow is? Am I the only person—”

“D, come here and let me touch your ass,” you whispered.

“I’m absolutely shocked at how scandalous this trial has become.” Matt shook his head as he finished his spin, doing his best to sound at least mildly dismayed, his mouth the mouth of a poor chaste soul who had definitely not fucked you on a church rooftop last month. “And how would your husband feel about that? I see that ring.”

“You two are literally the worst. You cannot be flirting over the ketchup-and-mustard suit. You cannot.”

“Can and am. As for how my husband would feel, he’s given me a free pass for the Devil since Daredevil saves the city on a regular basis,” you said breathlessly as you fixated on the breadth of Matt’s chest. Yeah, you could get used to the yellow. It was a lot but he’d find a way to make it work. “He’s known about my crush on the Devil for ages. So come over here and let me grope the evidence before I rule in your favor.”

Matt let out a playful growl and ran at you, catching you around the waist and throwing you up over his shoulder with ease as you shrieked before bursting into laughter. Matt quickly spun, slapping you once on the ass and making you squirm as he grinned at Foggy and you pointedly began to run your hands curiously over the suit. “Sorry, counselor,” Matt sighed. “Sounds like the verdict’s been rendered in my favor. Better luck next time.”

“You only won because you cheated!” Foggy groaned as Matt sauntered backwards towards the rooftop door. Hopefully Foggy thought that stumble was because Matt had misstepped, and not because you had, in fact, begun to grope hungrily at Matt’s ass. He couldn’t blame you. It was right there. “This was not a fair trial, and I object!”

“Objection denied. No cheating needed,” Matt snorted. “You should have known better than to put my wife on the stand.”

“I’m a weak woman when it comes to my husband’s ass and chest, especially when paired with the Devil head tilt,” you agreed. “I have not hidden this. I acknowledge my flaws.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were this weak,” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms.

Matt spun, slapping your ass again as you shrugged at Foggy, somewhat difficult considering you were still lazily draped over Matt’s shoulder, but you did your best. It wasn’t like you minded, after all. You had a great view of Matt’s ass from here. “Sorry, Foggy. I’ll make it up to you, but I gotta side with D on this one. I rule in favor of these ass-ets.”

“Oh,” Matt sighed, as Foggy made a retching sound. “Now I’ll really have to punish you, because that was a crime.”

“How many more years will I get if I slap your ass right now as an additional crime?”

“A lifetime sentence, Mrs. Murdock. I’d advise you to think very carefully before acting.”

You pretended to think about it for all of about point-five seconds. “Done.”

Smack!

His chest rumbled against your legs as a heated shudder rolled up his body beneath you, a motion easy to track with you draped over his shoulder, with your gaze fixed firmly on the line of him. And you’d gotten him good. The texture was a little different than the last Devil suit, but you still got a nice, loud sound of it, even if nothing would compare to bare, unobstructed skin.

He tilted his head very, very carefully, his lips brushing against your side. “You’re going to pay for that one when I get you inside, sweetheart,” he murmured, so quietly you knew it was just for you.

You were counting on it.

Foggy rolled his eyes as Matt wrenched open the rooftop door, and you threw Foggy a salute. “Despite my utter betrayal, I want you to know I love you, can’t wait to see that movie tomorrow. Use the other door on your way out, we’ll be locking this one.”

“Mustard-lover!” he threw at you, as you dropped your head to blatantly watch Matt’s ass again, the door shutting behind you both.

The second you were inside, Matt set you down carefully. Then he turned and stepped into you, herding you back with the broad line of his body. You gave in happily, ceding ground as he prowled forward until your back hit the wall, a shiver of anticipation running through you.

This never got old.

Your breath caught when he dipped his head, tilting it as he listened to the sound of your body, his tongue darting against his lips as he tasted you on the air, and you swallowed down an eager moan. He swayed in closer then, tempting you, inching closer until his mouth hovered over yours. Only then did his arms rise so he could brace his hands on either side of you, caging you in. Just like that, you were trapped, the Devil looming over you in heated shades of red and gold, rich lust and glorious indulgence. “Mm, now, sweetheart, I have one very important question before we start.”

Fuck, there was that voice again, nice and low. You couldn’t resist reaching out to touch him again, sliding your hands boldly up from his waist to fan out across his chest. “Uh huh?”

“Suit on,” he purred, his lips feathering against yours with each sinful world, “or suit off?”

“Suit definitely on,” you hummed, sliding your arms around him to drag your nails down the line of his back. “Someone’s gotta break it in, right?”

He threw you a feral grin, then, the low huff of his laugh rolling rich across your skin. “Did I ever tell you I love you?”

“Every day, D. Every beautiful day.”

-x-

“Ok, but is it… how yellow is it, really?”

“I mean, you’re not mustard-colored like Foggy says. More gold. But let’s just say if you polish that helmet too much, you might cause a car accident. That shit is really reflective now that I think about it.”

“Hm. I may have to change that in the future.”

[m1d-45]

i gobbled and devoured the post imposter things. scrumptious!! but what if poor little xiao man feels guilty for hunting or scarring us in the hunt? and please don’t feel obligated to answer, i know you’re busy

burden to bear

word count: 2.7k

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, canon typical violence…. minor body horror? blood mention.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

during the hunt itself, xiao is driven by a need to prove himself, pushing past his instinct and the way his karma flares around the one on the throne. he sees it as a way to redeem himself, to finally scrape some of the sin off his hands. it’s a way to prove himself, and one he takes eagerly.

it’s not correct to say he’s blinded by faith, but it’s not exactly wrong either. he definitely feels, subconsciously, that something’s… off, maybe, about his god. perhaps it’s the way his vision always seems to flutter and flare, or the ice in his veins when the command to hunt is given. he feels uneasy, unsettled, finding himself rolling his shoulders and wondering if he needed to add more stretches into his routines. and yet, despite the tension in his shoulders and the twist in his stomach, he kneels, bowing his head with a swear of fealty that goes unanswered.

unacknowledged.

perhaps he had delivered it wrong?

he doesn’t think much of it, quickly dissolving from the throne room and appearing besides the statue of the seven on the west edge of liyue. looking out over jueyun karst, he knows it’s a bit fruitless to start his search there due to the vicinity to the other adepti, but the spires there are tall, filled with wiry bushes and crags of rock that are easier to hide in than may seem at first glance.

he draws his pole arm, spinning it once over his hand before tapping the end to the stone beneath him. he’s not sure why he’s so nervous—is it the fact that this is technically the first order he’s been given? is it the idea of slaughtering somebody so identical to his creator that it nearly fooled morax, who’s been alive longer than he could fathom?

or is it simply the prospect of failure?

xiao grits his teeth and steps off the edge of the floating stone, halting his fall with anemo at nearly the last possible moment.

his feelings meant nothing. orders were given, and he had to follow them.

why else was he there, if he couldn’t?

it takes him longer than he expected to find you. he’s almost impressed, really, that you managed to evade his searching eyes, that you dodged not only him but the other adepti as well, all without taking refuge in any villages or otherwise civilized areas due to the orders the millelith put out. you hid well, he could attest to that, and though he was the one to find you, it was only on accident.

he was clearing out a group of hilichurls north of the inn. he was surprised so many had settled so close to the statue of the seven, as hilichurls usually avoided concentrated elemental energy, but didn’t think too hard about it. he simply unhooked his mask from his belt, noticing the difference in strength between these hilichurls and the average, and teleported into the middle of the camp.

the first thing he heard was a spotter’s cry. the second was the mitachurls’—archons, there were three—roar as they hefted their weapons. the final one was the intricate chanting of the abyss, but not any incantation he recognized.

he kept himself half in smoke as he danced around the edge of the camp, taking out the archers while he tried to find the abyss mage. he could catch glimpses of hydro bubbles through the walls of the hut, but the steps were covered in frost-

he barely ducked under the swing of a mitachurl’s axe, slashing his spear along its side as he slipped away, darting across the path of one charging with a large stone shield. it clipped his shoulder despite his efforts, pain spiking down his arm, but he didn’t pay attention to the injurh. normally he wouldn’t be this distracted, but two abyss mages and three mitachurls in one camp could only spell bad news. the best he could likely do was to leave and grab back-up, but who? the millelith were busy, morax and the adepti were on their own search…

xiao quickly climbed onto the roof of the hut, jamming his spear between two of the logs to keep grip on the woven roofing. the grass was damp, squishing uber this feet, likely from whatever hydro magic the mage was busy with within it. it likely wasn’t the smartest idea to stand on the roof, but this area of liyue was mostly plains, with little cover from the charging mitachurls. he needed a moment, if only a short one, to hash out a plan to deal with the camp.

the three mitachurls were standing besides the hut, two with shields and one with a crackling axe, electro dancing along the blade. xiao shifted, pivoting around the peak of the hut to move away from that one, the grass roof squishing below his feet.

the mitachurl’s ear twitched.

he shoved himself off the roof just as the mitachurl slammed the flat of its blade onto the roof, the whole shack shaking. electricity swarmed across the waterlogged roofing, reaching the opposite edge just as xiao dropped off it, landing between the other two mitachurls. they didn’t charge, nor attack, their motivations only made clear when the hiss of cryo froze out the lingering moisture in the air in front of him, effectively boxing him in.

the abyss mage swayed in its circle, staff glowing a sharp blue from within its bubble of frost.

“leave, adeptus,” it hissed, waving its staff in a circle. “you have no place here.”

xiao didn’t reply, instead picking apart his options. he couldn’t do significant damage to the shield mitachurls without utilizing his burst to destroy their shields, but that didn’t cover the mage at all… and he was still wet from the roof, so the mage would be able to freeze him within the time he had drawn in enough anemo energy to wield his mask with any level of efficiency…

he flexed his hand around his polearm. how had he gotten into this situation? his only options were to get lucky or teleport away, but even the latter of those relied on the first.

luck. how useless was he, to rely on luck-?

“‘adeptus’?”

the abyss mage startled at the voice, the cryo it had been swirling dissipating. both he and it turned to the side, to the entrance to the hut, where a figure could be seen just beyond the mitachurl.

his first instinct was that it was his god, and he briefly relaxed under the knowledge that he’d get out of this in mostly one piece.

his second was to recognize the torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin, and realize that you could never be his god.

xiao’s eyes narrowed, his spear twisting towards you faster than the distracted mage could react. you, his target, the one he had been seeking out, were hiding behind the abyss. he should have expected it, in truth, figured out the one known for going against the rules of nature would side with the most unnatural force, but that was not for now.

not now, when he was launched forward by the power of anemo, his spear driving him forward, barely skimming the mitachurl in favor of his true target: you.

your eyes barely had the chance to dart in his direction.

xiao was, in truth, not the first one to see you.

many villagers had glimpsed you running around the outskirts of their villages, plucking apples and sunsettias off trees and taking mint from their gardens and leaving bundles of sweet flowers behind instead. they’d seen you, face half-covered in a poor mask made of scraps, your clothes that of the haphazard stitches of the hilichurls, which helped you blend into teyvat a bit more at the price of comfort. many had seen you and assumed you were a run of the mill thief, perhaps one taking advantage of the current hunt since the millelith were occupied. they wryly called you clever, warning the traveling merchants about you, the one they glimpsed at inane hours of night.

he wasn’t the first to see you, by far. he was, however, the first to recognize you.

he was the first to lay eyes upon your form and realize the truth, to realize that the blood seeping into your clothes was the color of stars and galaxies, to recognize that your heart beat blue.

the argument could be made that the hilichurls were the first, or perhaps the mages that had taken you in and brought you food, but it was not them that gathered you into their arms and whisked you away in a flash of teal, uncaring of the spike of cryo that drove into their side at the last minute. the hilichurls did not walk with frosted-over limbs, the abyss did not cry with a throat full of ice, calling for assistance in undoing their own crime.

xiao couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not that baizhu was in the pharmacy, speaking with herbalist gui over the front desk. on one hand, it was best to have the most experienced healer in liyue at your side, but on the other..

“adeptus xiao, what is-…..”

confusion, then anger, then realization, all flashing over his face in an instant before he tilted his head and walked quickly to a back room, xiao following.

he busied himself with picking the ice off his body and clothes, ignoring the shake of his hands and the stench of blood in the room. the mage had pulled you from the point of his spear, but he still hit the side of your stomach, and he could tell it was messy.

knocks sounded at the door but baizhu turned them away sharply, only allowing qiqi to pass him a bowl of lotus seeds. he was focused, changsheng slithering off his shoulders to grab supplies as needed. time seemed to slow to a crawl, like xiao had entered a domain without an exit, filled with the iron smell of blood and the never ending chips of ice he peeled from his skin. it left behind stinging wounds and red marks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

what was his brief moment of injury compared to a scar upon his god?

the moment that baizhu had stopped, all but collapsing into a chair and wiping off his hands with a tired call of ‘it’s done. the foundation will be okay.’ xiao had stood and left, biting his tongue through the protests of both his own body and the doctor.

he’d given changsheng his confession, but he did not wish to stick around and hear his verdict.

weeks later, morax came and visited him at the inn, carrying with him a plate of almond tofu and an apology. xiao leaned against the furthest edge of the balcony, curled around the plate, staying as far as he could from the one with your aura imprinted upon him.

he felt it, when zhongli had first come up the stairs. the shock, then the warmth, the all-encompassing comfort that soothed the pain from the bruising on his shoulder. he felt it, and knew that he did not deserve it.

“it’s not your fault,” zhongli insisted, baritone words colored with unreturned sympathy. “the fake… had fooled us all. even me. i cannot hold your actions against you when i myself would have done the same.”

and maybe that was true. maybe he would have drawn his own weapon, pierced your skin himself, acting on the orders of one who dared to take the place of the divine, but that was irrelevant.

xiao was the one who had hurt you. and it was entirely his fault.

almond tofu, his favorite dish, tasted bitter and sour on his tongue, almost akin to the pain medication that zhongli had made him drink after noticing how cautious he was with his injured arm. he’d made him take the first dose in front of him and swear to take the rest, with a long monologue about taking care of himself tacked on afterwards, but it was for nothing. aside from the first night he had it, xiao hadn’t touched the bottle. it sat on his nightstand, beside a bed he hardly used, taunting him when he returned earlier than usual.

he could take it. there was nothing stopping him from doing so, and he probably should if he wanted to return to his duties quicker. but every time he picked up the glass, thumb tracing over the engravings as he undid the top, he hesitated.

he could take it. he probably should. but did he deserve to?

you were still recovering, possibly still bedridden weeks later. your blood still stained his spear, dripping down to his palms, pale and scarred skin marked further with the blue and purple swirls of his sin. you were still in pain, still healing from a spear to your side, and he was here, reaching for medicine for a sore shoulder?

(it was worse than that. bone had knocked against bone, bruising beneath where muscle could reach. it ached even when he sat as still as possible, dragging him out of every attempt to meditate. the dark purple splotches stretched beyond his clothing, reaching across his back and up his neck, making nearly any action flare the wound. it was far beyond an over-exerted muscle or a particularly tiring day, and yet even the worst nights of his pain were staved off by the memory of having to wash blue off his blade. even as the latch on the bottle was undone, the lip pressed to his, he could never bring himself to drink it)

(even the small droplet of it on the rim, tasting of qingxin extract and violet grass, threatened to make him sick. how dare he?)

yes, it would likely only get him into more trouble were he found out, but he was careful not to be. whenever the wind brought him the heavy presence of geo, zhongli’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, he snatched the bottle and emptied it into the stone carving on the balcony, letting the medicine soak into the soil beneath it. it splashed when he was sloppy, the deep purple medicine appearing blue on the stone, sparking a memory that weighed harder on the pit in his stomach.

even as he handed the bottle over to zhongli, his jaw clenched from the strain on his shoulder. the action was stiff, jerky, but evidently smooth enough that it had passed his assessment.

zhongli tucked the bottle away, surprisingly not drawing out a new one.

“i am proud of you, and of the progress you have made,” he said, golden eyes softening in the light of dusk. “well done, xiao.”

how strange, he thought, watching him leave, that the very action that made his vision swim with unshed tears was one that was praised.

he wouldn’t complain, of course. he never would. this pain was his to bear, just as the burden of your bloodshed was his to shoulder. he was well aware his pain could never take back yours—though he wished, desperately, that he could move your injury to him. he wanted to be able to take on the physical reminder of his defect, to take the hit of his own spear to spare you from his lapse in judgement. he would take it, take ten times the pain you endured, if only it meant that your skin was free of his scars.

it would be an honor to assist the divine, even at the price of his own life.

[samipekoe]

I hadn’t realized how much I missed melon and lemon until I saw them again… they were the reason I discovered your account I love them sso much (same thing for their emotional support wingman oreo)

yes my dumb idiot cat!! thank you!!!!

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

Bluey is coming in once again with the episodes that just tug at your heartstrings just a little bit to where it sticks with you after the credits roll.

Starts off happy and joyful as always, that leaves you feeling completely different by the end of it.

[fuckingguide]

They ain’t even looking at you, baby, they looking at me | Guillermo de la Cruz + Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter