#its not even like its truly hard its just annoying to do if the person you examin doesnt fucking understand you

[baekuras]

Tomorrow I need to do an eye checkup in english (instead of german aka the norm) and I just checked if there are any better ways to explains things or tell people what to do etc instead of my basically direct translations and turns out

nope

it sounds exactly as stupid as i already worded it, no special words or better formed sentences around 10/10 school english is good enough (nice)

[yongseungkim]

.

[triggeringtommy]

gggrrrrrr i feel ,,, like i can't make a big post abt what's bothering me bc i swear she doesn't follow me but she lurks on here from time 2 time so I'm ranting in the tags here side note I wish I could shut the fuck up but im struggling with that!!!!! >:(

[somuch-4-stardust]

something that peeves me is like. i dont even know how to explain this but sometimes people will try to comfort me when what im saying isnt meant to be all boohoo sad im just like. being realistic. like i appreciate the effort like genuinely so much but like. it almost feels patronizing? and like disingenuous?? to make it easier to understand like. im wasian! if i said 'i am wasian and it sucks sometimes' and you say 'nooo yr not wasian stoppp dont say that abt yrself!' that just DOESNT MAKE ANYSENSE!!! like its litearlly just a fact??

[hannieehaee]

18 + / mdi

content: idol!mingyu x idol!reader, established relationship, jealousy, possessiveness, afab reader, smut, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, creampie, etc.

part 1

wc: 2410

a/n: ppl rlly liked my first gyu x idol!reader fic so i decided to make a pt. 2! im working on a long fic for idol!gyu x idol!reader rn (its a diff universe from this one tho hehe) which should be out this month <3

masterlist

it's been a bit hard.

dating an idol as an idol would really seem like the ideal situation, except when it wasn't.

yeah, you had been absolutely ecstatic upon finding out mingyu had been carrying a torch for you for years. you had felt the same, only ever entertaining your other friends' flirting out of mere desperation for the man to finally notice you. after he suddenly blew up, declaring his love for you, you thought it'd just be smooth sailing from here, except you hadn't really thought much past that.

maybe you were being unreasonable. i mean, you had never dated a fellow idol before! maybe it was all in your head. or maybe you just weren't too used to the dynamic just yet. you weren't too sure. but you had no idea how much longer you could take watching mingyu flirt his way through life anymore.

fans, staff, other idols, male or female, you name it. mingyu simply had an overly flirtatious demeanor towards absolutely everyone. you, personally, always kept a very clear line in fan service, or any other type of flirtatious scenarios (sans your previous attempts to make mingyu jealous). mingyu did not afford you the same courtesy, consistently following requests to call fans his girlfriends and even going as far as initiating the flirting in both fancalls and physical fan meetings. okay, maybe this was something you could put up with. these interactions were very short lived, so they never went too out of hand, but these were not his only offenses.

you looked past the flirting with idols, chalking it up to being played up for the cameras for entertainment purposes. you looked away whenever it went far enough to have fans speculating online. you knew idols were professionals at delivering fan service, always wanting to give people something to talk about. hell, you did it too! this was a bit annoying to watch, but you trusted your boyfriend and your idol colleagues, so you let it slide. it was other things that were harder to look past.

was there any need for him to flirt up a storm among all the female staff members? he was behind the scenes, for fucks sake! there were no cameras nor any benefit from entertaining their giggles and subtle touches of his muscles as they pretended to be interested in what he was saying. you knew your boyfriend probably didn't realize that he was flirting, having simply grown too used to doing it that it was second nature to him by now, but it was still frustrating! specially when no one knew that mingyu was taken. as far as any of his staff members knew, mingyu was still just your best friend, and any sighting of the two of you together (always accompanied by another member of the 97s or a fellow group mate of his to avoid suspicion) was always assumed to be strictly platonic. even now, as you walked into his dressing room, only to find his stylist - and a few of the members' stylists - flocking around him as he told some stupid joke that probably wasn't even funny.

it was sickening, really. the way none of them saw how desperate they came off. how none of them realized that if they all flirted with him at once, it truly had no effect, as he wouldn't pay special attention to any of them in particular. you felt like a hater, but being real, you were starting to become one. you watched him for a good five minutes, wondering if he'd ever notice your presence from across the room. when he did, he immediately went over to you, cutting off any of the girls who had been flirting with him in favor of welcoming you. he was amicable, giving you a simple hug. but his eyes told a different story. anyone who knew mingyu knew those eyes were reserved for his loved ones. that made you calm down a bit, even hugging him back and daring a short peck on the cheek.

today was yet another shoot at the hybe building. you had the fortune of belonging to the same company as your boyfriend, which meant you could stop by whenever you wanted (as long as you kept a low profile). you'd often drag jungkook along with you for appearances' sake, but had decided to go solo today. gyu was clearly happy to see you, interrupting his stylists to take a quick breather with you, heading over to one of the empty changing rooms and finally indulging you with less platonic affection.

"baby! wasn't expecting you today?", despite that, he was clearly enthusiastic to see you, attached to you like a magnet now that he had locked the door behind you, making sure no one was around to see his affections towards you.

"yeah, clearly ..." you couldn't help but grumble, disconnecting yourself from him.

mingyu didnt give you much of a chance to create distance between you, immediately holding onto you again, this time by wrapping his arms around your waist, yours instinctively leaning against his hard chest.

"baby, what's wrong? what do you mean?", a pout made its way to his face. of course he was unsuspecting. the mingyu you knew was far too into you to ever seriously hit on someone else when he had you.

you responded with a sigh, "mingyu, do you have to flirt with every girl you meet?"

"w-what? what are you talking about?"

"did you seriously not notice all those girls giggling at every word you said? they all want you, gyu. and you never put a stop to it."

"i dont .. the stylists? baby, ive never flirted with anyone in our staff, what? i work with them, of course i'm nice, but its always strictly platonic, you know that."

"the fact that you dont even realize it!", you separated yourself from him again, facing away and crossing your arms across your chest like a petulant child.

"baby ..."

"no, gyu. i'm not in the mood. i came to see you, but again, you're hitting on some other girl."

he wrapped his arms around you for the third time now, pulling your back to his chest as he nuzzled his face on the crook of your neck. he was trying to break you down before you even managed to get fully angry at him

"princess, i'm sorry. i swear i didnt realize i was doing it. i- im just too friendly, i guess. why would i wanna flirt with anyone when i have you right here, hmm?", the kisses he began leaving along your neck did not help matters. he knew your weak points.

"forgive me, baby? please? don't want any of them. i'll tell them. i'll tell everyone, okay?"

"gyu ..." you whined, but still angled your neck for hin to keep kissing, leaning against his hold.

"yeah, pretty? i'll tell the whole world. it's just you for me," he paused, letting out a quiet chuckle as he shook his head, "it's kinda funny, though. now you know how i felt any time the boys would flirt with you."

"gyu! how is it my fault they liked me? and i only flirted with jungkook one time before we were ever together."

"and? still hated seeing you with anyone else. you're mine. you've always been."

he turned you around then, holding you close to him as he looked into your eyes. he smiled at you, kissing your nose before chuckling at your whines of annoyance at him. even when you wanted to be mad at him you couldnt. he'd always turn the situation around and swoon you somehow.

"let me show you, baby? show you that you're mine? maybe we can show those mean mean stylists too, huh?", okay, he was just teasing you now, lips drawn way too close to yours as he ran his hands up and down your back.

"gyu ..." you whined, making no effort to actually pull away.

"you'll let me. won't you, baby?" his eyes were glued to your lips, in a similar fashion to your own. you knew he could tell how badly you wanted him to close the gap, but you refused to make the first move. then he'd win. he'd be the voice of reason, which was something you just couldn't have.

"c'mon baby, just kiss me. you know you wanna. dont you wanna show them ill all yours? maybe leave your lipstick print all over my face for them to clean up? give me a hickey to- hmph!"

you had to shut him up eventually. he was driving you crazy. but he was also right. knowing you could make a statement about your relationship without actually having to explicitly say anything about it sounded too good to pass up, so you might've gone a little extra nastier with your kissing, running your lips all over his mouth, letting your tongue do all the work for you. mingyu had no complaints, even turning pliant under your touch.

huh.

he wanted you to be jealous, didnt he? he mightve not flirted on purpose, but now that he knew you were jealous he mustve felt some type of ... pride? at knowing how badly you wanted him to be yours and yours only. well. in that case, you were gonna give it to him.

you're not sure how it happened, but you ended up sitting on him, both your shirts thrown off as you ground on his lap as he sat back on the couch. the lower part of his face, along with part of his neck, were covered in lipstick stains, matching the smudged red along your own lips. you had left a few hickeys (okay, maybe five) on his chest area, not wanting to make the stylists work too difficult. the are with most damage, however, had been his hair, as you had messed it up in all directions possible through your incessant pulling. his hairstylists might have had complaints, but mingyu sure didnt have any. he kept moaning and sighing against your lips, hands guiding your hips from the moment you sat down on him.

"baby ... give me more ... please," you didnt blame him for growing frustrated at the lack of action. you yourself felt like you were at the precipice of pleasure, just needing to sit on him to find the way to your climax.

you helped him lower his pants enough to free his cock, playing with it for a bit before allowing it to slip under your skirt, panties shoved to the side in favor of creating a safe passage for his dick. you couldnt help the loud whine of pleasure you let out at the intrusion, feeling accompanied by mingyu and his own groan.

"gyu! shit ... feel so good- so big ..."

"i know, baby ... so pretty n so tight for me ... how could i ever want anyone else when i have my pretty girl so perfect for me. hole so wet and needy ..."

you cried at his words, speeding up as you angled yourself back to allow your clit to grace against him, making your eyes roll back even more.

"that's it, pretty. gonna cum for me? gonna let me fill you up, beautiful? that'll- fuck ... that'll show them who i belong to, huh? all yours, baby. just like y- you're all mine."

"yours! gyu, fuck! y- yours!"

"and im yours, baby. dont forget."

he kept poisoning at you from below, dragging your hips so you'd bounce up and down at a pace that had your toes curling. he always knew how to fuck you in ways that had your mind going completely blank, like right now. neither of you paid mind to the dressing room next door that was full of staff who could likely hear your muffles whines against each other's lips. you relished on it, even, knowing that once you walked back in the room they'd know who mingyu really belonged to.

"cum, baby. need you to cum so i c- shit ... so i can fill you up."

"almost there, gyu, just ... fuck! just like that! i'm cumming! gyu!"

"yeah, shit. gonna fill you up now, okay, baby? want you to keep it all in. show them im yours, yeah?", his hips never slowed down despite being you being on top. you were now just a rag doll he was using for his own pleasure. nothing had ever felt this good.

he filled you up soon after, with most of it spilling out due to the massive size of his load. he used his fingers to push it back in, then lifting them to your lips for you to lick clean, which you did with no complaint.

"oh, baby ... my nasty girl. how could i ever look at anyone else when i have my nasty baby so desperate for me? hmm? you're perfect for me, angel. dont care about any girl that flirts with me. you're all i want," he used his fingers to push down on your tongue as he said this, groaning at the way you sucked and sucked while looking at him with wide eyes.

"gyu ..." you whined as soon as he left your mouth alone.

"but im still sorry, angel. i didnt realize it bothered you. i get it. kinda wanna fight any of ur male fans when they get a little too friendly with you. that rookie at mnet last month? wanted to take him out back for the way he was looking at you when you performed."

"gyu!," you knew your boyfriend had been jealous of your friend group due to their former crushes on you, but he'd never told you that he felt the same way about literally any man you'd come across as an idol.

"what? im just saying, i get it! im also possessive and jealous. thats why we compliment each other. now come on. lets get you dressed, baby. gotta go have a very awkward conversation with my stylist so she can fix everything you just did to me."

"me?! look at me! im covered in cum!"

"hmm yeah. so pretty, angel. you better have it all in you by the time we get home, yeah?"

you huffed, but agreed, rolling your eyes at the innocent peck that landed on your cheek as he helped you look presentable.

you knew things would be awkward around his staff from now on, but it had been worth it.

[system-to-the-madness]

お米 Okome - Inumaki Toge x Reader

Pairing: Inumaki Toge x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff Word Count: 4 532 Warnings: mentions of blood and injury Summary: Inumaki hates that he can’t use his voice to express his feelings towards you

Masterlist

Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate. If there’s a situation he doesn’t like, he prefers action over lament and puts his mind to work to find a way to change it. Sure, there are situations he can’t change, his cursed speech for example, then he works around those things, finds a way to deal with it somehow. He talks in onigiri ingredients, occasionally uses a notebook or his phone’s note app to communicate more difficult matters. Inumaki Toge doesn’t usually struggle with his fate.

Except now he does. His eyes fall on Yuuta and you, sitting on a bench underneath the Momiji, red leaves sparkling in the autumn sun. Even from the distance where Toge just stepped out of the building across the yard, he can tell how hard you’re laughing, can tell that Yuuta has the biggest grin on his face. He stops, several different thoughts shooting through his head all at once. He loves your laugh. He wants to make you laugh too. He can’t, because of his cursed speech. He envies Yuuta for being able to tell you joke and making you laugh like that. And suddenly he remembers this thing he read in a magazine, that said that girls like boys who can make them laugh, and his stomach sinks.

 Toge already knows you like Yuuta. Its’s obvious. Do you like him because he can make you laugh? Toge stops in his steps where he was about to walk over to join the two of you, his heart suddenly thrumming almost painfully in his chest. Do you like Yuuta? He watches his black-haired friend, watches as he lifts his hand and leans a little closer to you. You stop laughing and lean in too. For a terrifying moment Toge thinks he’s about to witness you, the classmate he may or may not have had the biggest crush on since your first one-on-one training session, kiss his friend. But you don’t. Instead, you listen to something Yuuta says that Toge can’t make out over the distance and burst into another fit of laughter.

Suddenly Toge feels like crying. He could never make you laugh like that. Not by whispering a few words into the narrow space between you, not by letting words roll over his tongue. He can write them down, or pantomime them, or fool around to make you laugh, but he can never whisper them.

He wants to talk to you about normal things too, about the stupid weather, or how pretty you look with that new hoodie, or how clever your answers in class were, or how annoying Gojo and this new homework is. He doesn’t want to have to use his notebook for every slightly more complicated conversation, but he can’t be sure you would understand him if he didn’t. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could use his voice to talk to you. Ever since he really, truly understood his cursed technique, he’s realized just how powerful and yet intimate voice is.

It’s something he’ll never be able to use to communicate his feelings.

Once, not long after Yuuta had joined the school, they, together with Panda, had talked about it. Or rather Yuuta and Panda had talked about his cursed technique, and he had listened. Panda had joked that if he ever wanted someone to kiss him, he could just use his cursed technique, which Yuuta had disagreed on, saying he’d need the other person’s permission to use his technique on them, otherwise it’d be harassment. Panda, who hadn’t thought about that, had quickly agreed, and the two had joked around a bit longer about the possibilities this offered. Toge thought about their words a lot. But there was something inside him, that wholly refused to use his technique for these purposes. It just wouldn’t feel right. Even if the other person agreed, or even asked him to do it, it would be like he’d take their will from them. He’d never do that for his own pleasure.

Toge gets pulled back into the moment by your voice calling for him. He blinks and looks up, finding you and Yuuta had turned to face him, waving him over. As much as he appreciates Yuuta, and as much as he likes you, he doesn’t feel like going over. He doesn’t want to hear the way your voice probably rises in pitch when talking to the special grade sorcerer, doesn’t want to watch Yuuta subtly touch you, doesn’t want to feel like he’s intruding on this moment between you, doesn’t want to burden himself with more heartbreak than he already signed up for.

He swallows thickly before he crosses his arm like an X in front of his chest.

“Okaka,” he denies, continuing his way as if he had planned on moving towards the dojo, instead of towards his friends.

He doesn’t dare to glance over to see your reaction. Are you disappointed? If you were, he’d feel guilty. If you weren’t, he’d be disappointed. If he’s being honest, he can understand that you like Yuuta. The guy is sensitive, and quiet, a good listener, great at giving advice. He’s funny and overall great company. And he’s crazy powerful. Otherwise he wouldn’t be a special grade sorcerer. And he saved your life when Toge himself was of absolutely no help whatsoever, instead almost throwing up from the taste of his own blood.

Toge is nothing in comparison to Yuuta. Sure, he has a strong technique. A strong technique he can use two to three times before his throat is bleeding. And he can be funny, or at least he’s good at making a fool of himself. And he can listen, but he never knows what to answer, worried that whichever advice he gives, it might not actually be helpful, or only make everything worse. So, if you like Yuuta, he gets it. If he were in your place, he’d also prefer Yuuta over himself. Not that you have to choose between the two of them, you could also be interested in neither of them. But the point stands: Yuuta is the better fit for you, and as much as Toge wants you to be happy, it breaks his heart.

-

“What was that,” asks Yuuta, tearing his eyes away from his retreating friend and looking at you instead.

You’re still watching Inumaki leave, his posture somewhat sunken in, hands buried in his pockets. He looks defeated and somehow you want to run after him, ask him what’s wrong. But that would be too pushy, too clingy, wouldn’t it? So instead, you swallow and turn back to Yuuta.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He’s been… weird lately.”

Yuuta nodded. “I know, right? And ever since that last mission…”

That last mission, on which Gojo sent the three of you. That last mission where Inumaki’s voice gave out before he could finish the command, which lead to the curse injuring you. That last mission where Yuuta had been the one who had finished the short fight in just a single blow. You knew better than to assume that Inumaki was jealous of Yuuta’s power. You knew he wasn’t. But still something seemed to have dimmed his formerly good relationship with Yuuta. And with you too. He avoided you, texted you less throughout the day, reduced his already limited vocabulary to the equivalents of agreement and disagreement. You feel like you’ve made a mistake somehow, said or done something that hurt him.

“Do you think he’d talk to me about it,” you wonder, your voice small, nothing left of the breathless laughter from a moment ago.

Yuuta chews on his lip as he considers your question, and you know he’s considering a few things he officially doesn’t even know about. For example that you like Inumaki, that you make an active effort to spend time with him, have conversations with him. You’re the one who understands him the best, understands his language the best, even without the notebook.

What you don’t know, is that Yuuta also knows the other side of the story. He knows that Inumaki uses his notebook with you the most, because he wants you to understand his mind. He knows that Inumaki spends a lot of time considering each and every conversation he’s had with you. Sometimes, it’s late at night, and Yuuta gets a text from Inumaki, telling him about a conversation he’s had with you and if he should have replied something else. It’s not hard to tell that Inumaki is absolutely enamoured with you, and you with him. At least it’s not hard to tell from Yuuta’s perspective. But the way Inumaki and you never seem to understand the affection the other is harbouring, Yuuta begins to think that it’s actually very hard to tell from either of your perspectives. Or you’re both just idiots. Which, honestly, as much as he likes the two of you, is more likely.

“I’m not sure,” Yuuta eventually answers your question. There’s a lot Inumaki is bottling up, a lot he doesn’t even tell Yuuta about, stuff Yuuta can only assume. “But I think he’d probably appreciate it if you asked. Maybe he won’t tell you what’s going on, but I think he’d be glad to know you care.” This is as much as he can do to be honest without giving his friend’s secret away to you. A secret, Yuuta doesn’t even know officially.

“Don’t you think he’d get annoyed? He looked pretty upset just now,” you ask. You’re torn between wanting to show Inumaki that you cared, and scared of getting sent away or even worse, him getting angry at you.

“I mean, if you’re worried about it, you can always give him an hour or two. But I don’t think he’d mind if it were you, checking up on him.”

You don’t question Yuuta’s phrasing. Everyone knows you and Inumaki understand each other on a different level, the speed at which you sometimes communicate in single words thrown back and forth leaving the others out of their wits and completely clueless what the conversation was about.

“I’ll give him five,” you decide, leaning your back against the wooden table and glancing up at the red leaves overhead. “If he gets mad at me, it’s on you.”

Yuuta laughs, knowing you’re not serious. You’re not the kind of person who blames others for the outcome of your actions.

“He’d never get mad at you.”

“He looked pretty mad at me for getting injured on that last mission,” you disagree with Yuuta.

“He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. He blamed your injury on himself, when he couldn’t stop that curse because his voice gave out.”

You winced at the memory of blood trickling down from the corner of Inumaki’s mouth. He had once told you that he sometimes got sick from the taste, and after the curse was taken care of by Yuuta, it had been easier to focus on Inumaki than your own state. You remembered how awful the bright red blood had looked against his unusually pale skin.

“It wasn’t his fault, and he knows that.”

“Rationally yes,” Yuuta agreed. “But he still blames himself.”

“I’m surprised he talked to you about that,” you admit, closing your eyes in the sun. Behind your eyelids the picture of Inumaki’s bloody and scared face haunts your memory. You open your eyes again. “He never mentioned anything like that to me.”

“He didn’t, but it’s obvious,” Yuuta said.

“Is it?”

He just hummed in agreement.

“What else is obvious?”

“A lot. But that’s not mine to talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and Inumaki really should talk about some stuff,” Yuuta answers, “Like for example that you like him.” He almost feels bad at the way you freeze up beside him.

“I don’t,” you deny, but there is no force in your voice.

“Just saying,” Yuuta shrugs. “A lot of stuff is obvious. Just not to you and him.”

There’s a moment of silence and you have a feeling Yuuta knows what you’re about to ask, your cheeks burning with shame, but you ask anyway.

“Does he like me too?”

Yuuta turns to you then, his big eyes studying you for a moment intensely. “You don’t have to ask me that. You have to ask him.”

You exhale with a sigh a glance at your wristwatch: “Fine… maybe not today, tho.”

Yuuta chuckles, knowing that that’s going to be your response for every day to come, but he doesn’t call you out for it. He doesn’t know if he’d have the courage to confess his feelings if he were in your position either.

“Welp, his five minutes are up. I’m gonna see if he’s okay,” you declare, and stand up from the bench you had been lounging on. “Just-” you glance down at your classmate. “Just don’t tell him about this conversation, will you?”

Yuuta nods. “I can keep a secret,” he smiles, and you’re satisfied, before you head into the same direction Inumaki ran off to a few minutes prior.

He wasn’t in the dojo where you expected him to be after he had wandered off there, so left a little helpless, you began searching for him. After checking all the usual places, you finally spied him sitting hunched over on a bench next to the koi pond in one of the small, traditional gardens squeezed between the buildings. He looked lost in thought, so you made an effort to not walk too quietly as not to startle him. But when you reached the bench and he still hadn’t turned to look up you, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Was he mad at you?

“Inumaki-san,” you asked quietly, sitting down next to him with a safe distance. He wasn’t wearing his full uniform, instead of the black jacket he had pulled a warm, green vest over the white shirt sleeved shirt with the high collar that hid his curse marks. “Toge?”

At the use of his given name, he finally looked up at you.

Your breath stopped when you saw the sadness in his purple eyes. He quickly blinked it away, but you knew what you had seen, your heart hurting at the way he had seemed so lost. Maybe even worse was that he didn’t want to show his feelings to you, instead masking them up.

“What’s wrong.”

“Okaka.” Nothing. Why?

“Don’t,” you warned him, “Don’t lie to me. Please don’t.”

“Okaka, okaka!” I’m not lying!  He said it with amusement in his voice, but when you failed to smile, his eyes grew serious again. “Okaka.” Nothing’s wrong.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Shake, shake.” Yeah, yeah, I know.

“Do you want to talk to me?”

This time his answer took longer, and it was only quietly spoke when he answered with another “Shake.”

Instead of saying anything else, he began reaching for the notebook he always carried with him, but before his fingertips had even grazed the cover, you caught his hand.

“You can talk to me. I’ll understand you. No notebook needed.”

Toge looked up at you then, his eyes widened. What did you mean, you didn’t need the notebook? Would you really understand him?

“Tuna,” he mumbled, averting his gaze from yours, but from the corner of his eyes he saw you tilt your head. How the hell was he supposed to communicate his feelings with onigiri ingredients? He had words to agree and disagree, words to catch attention and swear, but how was he supposed to tell you his greatest wish was to talk to you without having to use this damn notebook, that he wanted to just use normal language, like everyone else? How was he supposed to tell you how much it hurt to see you liking Yuuta? “Okaka.” It won’t work.

“You can try. And if it doesn’t work, you can still write it down, okay?”

“Shake.” Okay. He reached his hand up, absentmindedly running his fingers over his curse marks peeking out from under his high collar. “Ikura.” I hate them.

He had more mumbled that to himself, but you nodded. “They don’t make life very easy, do they?”

“Shake.” No, they don’t. Toge focused on what he wanted you to know, that he wished he could talk to you without risking cursing you. “Furikake… saamon.”

Okay, this was new. Not just one, but two new ingredients. Rice spice and the other word for salmon. You furrowed your brows. “Can you say that again?”

“Furikake saamon,” Toge repeated, slowly, trying to convey his feelings through just these two words. This was never gonna work.

“You want to talk about your thoughts?”

His eyes widened at your correct interpretation of his words.

“Shake, shake!” Enthusiastically he nodded his head. “Furikake saamon! Nori nai!”

“Nori nai, nori na- you don’t want to use…”

“Nori!” He motioned to his mouth, then to the notebook in his pocket.

“Onigiri ingredients and the notebook? You don’t want to use them?”

“Shake, shake!”

He nodded again, and you could see how excited he was, his eyes shining with disbelief that he had managed to communicate something so out of context to you. Quickly he reached up and pulled the zipper of his collar down, so he could additionally use his mimic to tell you what he was thinking.

“Tarago Furikake.” His lilac eyes were widened expectantly, as he waited for you to decipher his words.

“You want to talk?”

He nodded, then pointed at you. “Tarago furikake,” he repeated, underlining his words with stabbing his finger into your direction.

“You want to talk to me?”

“Shake. Nori nai furikake tamago. Okaka.”

“I know. I know it’s difficult without the notebook,” you sighed. “But we’re managing. Right? It might take me a while to get used to it, but I we’re having a normal conversation right now, right? A bit like talking with someone in a foreign language, but not much different than that.”

Toge smiled, the sight making your breath hitch. You were used to seeing his eyes squeeze together when he smiled, but his mouth usually was covered by his collar. You couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most beautiful people you knew.

“Furikake nai, tamago, maguro, nori” he continued.

“Maguro,” you repeated the second last word, thinking what he might have meant. Quietly you mumbled the phrase he had just uttered, your eyes skipping away from his face and over the koi pond instead, as if the translation were written in the ripples on the water surface. Without talking, having to write everything down, he felt bad… like an outsider. Your eyes widened. Was this really what he had wanted to say? That he felt like an outsider? You looked back at him, seeing the shock on his face as he took in your expression.

“We’re making you feel like an outsider because you can’t talk to us? Toge-“

“Okaka, Okaka!” He quickly waved his hands around, signalling you had misunderstood. “Tamago. Maguro.” He pointed to himself.

“You feel like an outsider?”

“Shake!”

“Because you can’t talk to us?”

“Shake.” This time his voice was quieter, and he averted his gaze.

You exhaled quietly. You knew there was not much you could do to change the way he felt, nothing you weren’t doing already anyway. But to deny his feelings wouldn’t be right, even if you wanted to convince him that he wasn’t an outsider.

“I’m sorry,” you started. “I promise you, to us, you’re an integral part of the group, even if you don’t feel like you always are. Do you… do you have any ideas how we could help you feel more included?”

Toge shook his head. “Okaka,” he denied, and then pointing at himself: “Tamago.” It’s my negative feeling. “Tanaka-zuku mentaiko.” You’re doing everything right. There’s nothing you can do to change that. He hesitated for a moment before he added: “Furikake.”HHe hesitated for a moment before he added.

“Of course, we’ll keep talking to you. And you see that you can talk to us too. If I can learn to understand you, so can the others.”

Toge seriously doubted that, but he didn’t voice his thought, instead focusing back on what you had been talking about. “Tarago furikake mayo. Tuna-mayo furikake, saamon tamago, shiisamu. Takana-zuke tarago tuna-mayo shiisamu.”

You stared at him intensely, making his heart race. There was no way you had understood what he had just said. Was there? He was using words he had never used with you, or anyone at jujutsu high, before. He had sometimes used them when he had been younger, when he had talked to his toys as a little kid, finding ingredients for almost anything he could think of. That he still remembered them was a surprise. But there was no way you’d understand him like this, not even when he tried to embed the sentimental meaning of each word into his voice. Your eyes skipped over his face, as you were thinking hard, and Toge waited for the “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean, please write it down.” But it didn’t come. Instead, you answered him.

“I want you to be able to talk openly too. And I’d love to hear about the bad things you think and feel as much as about the good things. Because they’re part of you. Even when they’re hard, even when they’re painful and difficult to admit. But that’s why we have each other, right? So we’re not alone, so the difficult times aren’t quite as difficult. And you already make me laugh, you already make me feel happy. I’m always the happiest when I’m with you.”

You hadn’t used the word friend. The thought rang in Toge’s mind, and together with your last sentence it accumulated to the next words that spilled over his lips, words he had been certain he’d never actually say out loud. Words, which’s meaning he had thought he’d never communicate to you in any form or way.

“Tarago tuna-mayo furikake okome. Tarago tanaka-zuke okome.”I want to use my voice to tell you that I’m in love with you. I want you to be in love with me too.

The moment the words had left his lips, he wanted to make it all undone. What if you had understood him and didn’t feel the same way? All this time he wished you’d understand him, and now he hoped you hadn’t understood a word of what he had just uttered. The way you stared at him wide eyed was a good sign that you really hadn’t.

“Okome,” you asked, your heart beating in your throat. If you had thought rationally about the way he was listing food, you wouldn’t have had the faintest idea of what he had wanted to express, but somehow his emotions were swinging in his words, like the sounds accumulated to a meaning that wasn’t transported by words.

“Mentaiko,” he began, wanting to lift his hands to wave it off, to tell you that it wasn’t important.

But before he had completed the gesture, you caught his wrist with your dominant hand, raising the other between you, pointing at him.

“Okome,” you asked before pointing to yourself. Your voice was shaky, and you could see the moment Toge realized you had understood him.

His eyes widened and he paled a little, swallowing hard. You could see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid you’d turn him down, you realized, and your heart broke a little.

So, what did you do, when your best friend, who you had liked for far too long without acting on it, accidentally confessed his love to you? Using the word for “rice” nonetheless, the base ingredient for onigiri. Because just like one couldn’t make rice balls without rice, humans couldn’t live without love.

You repeated the gesture towards yourself, pointing at you again. “Okome,” you said, voice just as shaky as before, before pointing at Toge.

His eyes followed your finger, the way it was pointing right at his chest, where his heart was stuttering in excitement, and then doing cartwheels, as the realization began settling in.

“Okome,” he asked in disbelieve.

But you just nodded. “Okome.”

He acted quicker than you could really perceive. Your one hand was still holding onto his wrist, to stop him from gesticulating, his skin warm underneath yours, but with the other he grabbed the hand with which you had pointed between you and him. His fingers wrapped around yours tightly, pulling you towards him, pressing your hand right over his heart, while he leant in at the same time, connecting his lips to yours.

A shiver went through you, at the feeling of his warm body underneath his clothes, at his soft lips pressed to yours, at the strange tingling of cursed energy that radiated from his cursed mark. And then you abandoned all thoughts, and just acted on instinct, moving closer to him, wrapping your hand into the fabric of his vest, and kissing him like you had wanted to kiss him for such a long time already.

A sound of appreciative surprise erupted from Toge’s throat and you could feel him smile as he met your kiss with equal fervour, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of your lips. When you parted them just the smallest fraction, he didn’t hesitate to slip his tongue past them, exploring your mouth until both of you had to pull away for breath. You were breathing heavily, your mind foggy, fingers wrapped into his vest, holding on to something, otherwise it felt like the world would just slip away.

When you opened your eyes, you found he was already looking at you. His beautiful eyes were scanning over your face as if searching for any sign of discomfort, as if he expected you to scold him for kissing you. Honestly, at this point the only scolding he’d get was that he had stopped kissing you.

Unwrapping one of your hands from where you had clung to him, you brushed a strand of his bright hair out of his forehead, the curl soft against your fingertips. With a smile you leant forward, and pressed your lips to his left cheek, then the curse mark there, feeling the cursed energy sizzle through them. You moved on to his right cheek, then his forehead, the tip of his nose, his chin, peppering small kisses all over his face until he was full on laughing and took hold of your face with both of his hands, pulling you only far enough away from him to be able to look into your eyes. His were still crinkled in joy, but his voice was serious and heavy with how much he meant this single word phrase that left his lips without hesitation.

“Okome.” And then he kissed you again, slower this time, just to make sure you understood each little detail of what he felt for you. Inumaki Toge sometimes struggled with his fate, but as long as he had you to understand him, what else could he really ask for?

Tags: @nnasv @ashy-akuma @delzinrowe

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Edit a bit because I forgot a small part.

So I have a small minor theory. Most is already fan based. So look at his picture. Vox looked near mortified at the reveal. To me, it appears more of embarrassment of past actions of admitting feelings to someone who didn't return them suddenly revealed to a new audience in modern day.

Some fans already believed Vox has a strong one sided crush on Alastor which partly fuel his rivery.

Vox died a few decades after Alastor, Alastor was probably very well established in Hell when Vox landed. Both being media themed demons, Vox more then likely became inspired by Alastor and was his biggest fan, also crushing on him. Vox wanted to make himself worthy to catch Alastor eyes and so, he pursued and ascended to become an overlord.

Eventually he did, they were not exactly on equal ground, but close enough. They both appear at the Overlord meetings. May have some brief interactions. Alastor probably still jabbed at Vox early on, simply because Alastor dislike modern technology. The jabbing not necessarily vicious but still making fun of Vox, nonetheless, but Vox took it in stride and probably retorted his own witty comebacks. Which I assume Alastor appreciates because its entertaining even if its mildly so. But it made the meetings not a complete bore. Vox thrilled because Alastor did notice him and seem to enjoy (entertained) by his company, even causing the Radio demon to laugh.

Finally, Vox took the courage and asked Alastor out. Asexual Alastor misinterpreted it as a business proposition. Romantic interpretations are not his first impressions in thought when presented. The answer would still be no but probably with A LOT less mocking. Alastor seem to just simply say no when relations is presented to him. For example, Angel Dust making comments and Alastor does a quick laugh and say no. Nothing more. I imagine he answers similar to nearly every encounter of this type. He a gentleman after all, he not going to ridicule someone for having feelings for Alastor that Alastor is not interested in returning.

So when Vox, most likely after an Overlord meeting, asked Alastor out. (We should get together and...) Alastor mocked Vox hard to the point of ridicule. Why would lone wolf radio demon want to team up with a sub par media demon? I assumed Vox already partner with Valentino at this point (he ask me to join his team, imply Vox already had a team at this point. Velvette may not been around at the time, she is the youngest). I think Alastor would hate Valentino and everything he stands for. Even if Alastor was interested in more power which he isn't, he doesn't care about being an overlord-he just want to be entertained, he would HATE working and being in the same proximity of Valentino. Alastor was probably a little merciless on his decline.

Of course, Alastor said it in a way that Vox interpate that it still personal level not a business one. This whole conversation was missinuperted by both of them. Vox was beyond humiliated. Truly starting a rivery to prove Alastor he is better. That Alastor is wrong, Vox media is superior, that Vox himself is superior and trying to turn the tables as he recover from his embarrassment. What worse, despite it all, Vox still craves Alastor attention, to be respected and perhaps thought of fondly. Which infuriates Vox more that he simply can't hate him like he wants to but still admires Alastor.

Side bit, I think Vox and Valentino do have a small thing going. (He also seemed a bit excited thinking Angel quit, and annoyed to see him around). Both of them enjoy each other company but their hearts not in it. (I also think Vox is also a bit of a victim to Valentino poison", that would be super interesting!) But I think a small part of Vox holds a secret grudge against Valentino. He thinks Valentino is part of the problem why Alastor rejected him. Because Alastor during his ridicule decline of his invitation mention Vox was with Valentino and Alastor wanted no part of that. Alastor strolled off, leaving a stammering speechless Vox, to taken aback to clarify Valentino was just a business partner. I only mention this because, Vox seem to have a comfortable relationship with Valentino. They have a bit of history (hinted by the photo of the two together and Vox having a crt tv head) to gain enough trust, know each other to know what makes them tick and desires. But Vox also seem put off and near reluctant to have to calm down his "boy toy" (as Velvette put it). Tolerating enough to remain levelhead, but clearly tired of Valentino tantum shit.

[feyascorner]

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it. 

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back.  Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot. 

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.” 

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 23

Au where Danny hides his powers and eldrich nature from his husband Tim and Tim hides his vigilante career from Danny.

Both are very successful and neither suspects a thing. Tim had originally planned to admit to being a hero at some point but they were always either interrupted or it just wasn't the right time and then Danny had mentioned a few times during thier engagement and marriage that he couldn't handle being with a superhero or vigilante and that it was a deal breaker. Unfortunately Tim was already deeply in love and couldn't bare to break up with him so now he lives in fear of Danny finding out and blackmailed the rest of the family into never letting it slip.

Danny is in a similar situation, ever since the portal incident people were afraid of his other half and no matter how hard he tried they always ended up hating him. He loved Tim and couldn't bare the thought of his husband having that same look of terror. Of hate. So he hid. Its all he could do. Back when he and his friends went on that road trip and gained the power of the reality gauntlet he had tried to undo his undeath entirely only to find out Danny had glitches spacetime enough that even if he undid it (which the gauntlet was incapable of doing) he would eventually wind up with the portal opening up on top of him at another date. Call it fate or destiny or whatever you like. He was stuck like this.

So he did the next best thing. He erased any proof he had ever existed. Even from the minds of his own friends. He then skipped town-or in this case universes- and used the gauntlets power to carve out a false identity in this new world full of heroes and hope

Luckly there was no one who could rat him out...until some blond guy in a trenchcoat started following him around the grocery store and talking to him. At first Danny was a little confused and annoyed but when he asked what the blond guy wanted he asked, "I wanna know what you are." And Danny went pale.

Constantine then proceeded to blackmail Danny into helping him with a case or else he would expose his dirty little secret to Tim.

Danny made the a deal, ensuring that it would only be this one time. He told Tim that he was being blackmailed but insinuated that it was something petty between him and some of the other high society house spouses. The kind of drama that Tim always made extra sure to steer clear of. He swore to Tim he was this close to spiking Bethanys muffins with a laxative in retaliation for something and Tim gave helper suggestions for how to do it without being caught while they got ready for the day.

Ever since Alfred passed away it was up to Danny and a few other people to keep the Waynes from falling apart. Honestly, no one realized how much that man did until he wasn't around anymore.

To be fair he pretty much spoiled Tim by picking up after him to the point the man can't function after a few days. If Danny ever had to leave Tim alone for prolonged periods of time he would return to a giant mess and something burning in the kitchen.

Danny would clean, Tim would spew a fountains worth of apologizes, he would forgive Tim (as if he was ever mad in the first place. This just reaffirmed that Tim needed him to protect and care for him, making his core vibrate in happiness) then they would...reacquaint themselves. He nearly shifted forms the first few times this happened. That would be one heck of a way for Tim to find out about his ghost half.

Danny smiled, thinking about those memories. He truly adored Tim and couldn't imagine a life without him. He would just have to make sure this trench coated guy never came anywhere near his precious husband.

John would really like to know what this entity was and what it wanted with the Wayne brat. It couldn't really be in love with the kid, could it? He had personally seen these relationships work out before but there many more he had seen that hadn't. He didn't want to take that risk, so he needed to get close enough to evaluate the situation himelf.

[twstedstoryshop]

Prize for @windalchemist001 from my fan event in August. I apologize deeply to the prize winners for how long these are taking as my life is taken up a lot by my new job and that drains me of working on these. But these are slowly but surely coming along, I assure you. Until then, please bear with me. -Shopkeep

Finding Out You Have A Crush On Him

Trey I believe would come to figure out your crush through overheard conversations or someone having to spell it out for him. Either due to Ace and Deuce unknowingly gossiping over your crush or Cater just straight up telling him in his own Cay-Cay way.

Now Trey wasn’t a romanticist at heart, especially considering how he blundered with the Ghost Bride way back when. So with this newfound knowledge, Trey would do the best thing he can think of… Sit on this knowledge and never let it surface.

What else is he supposed to do? Go charging up to you, declaring he likes you too and should totally start dating? That wouldn’t be fair to you, putting you on the spot.

Instead, he allows you to let you sort out your feelings, whether you pursue them or not. There’s no pressure in whatever choice you do.

Though it wouldn’t be too hard to notice on your end that Trey would start acting a bit awkward and stiff. He doesn’t mean to come off like that, but when in the face of someone he knows who likes him, he can’t help but maybe straighten his posture more. Maybe act a bit more softer.

Trey is always marked as the reliable older brother type. So with a highschool crush on him, it wouldn’t hurt to maybe act a little like his age. An awkward boy unsure of how to navigate this newfound affection. Who knows, maybe act a bit selfish and roll a little in your attention just for him alone.

Malleus could either or having someone tell him about your crush. Most likely Lilia in his teasing ways. Or perhaps with his keener senses, noticed your affections for him.

With the knowledge of your crush, Malleus would feely content in the way a satisfied cat would smirk after finishing its creme. It would be hard not to catch Malleus’ very good mood for the following days.

The weather would be pleasant, not a single cloud in the sky, and the wind is gentle. Something that may or may not catch some of NRC’s attention, especially if it’s expected to be cold or rainy weather for the season.

Malleus, while eager, would wait with baited breath to see what his dear child of man would do to convey their love. It gives him a great satisfaction to be wanted and chased after, so he would want to hear it from you first.

Even if you have stutters or slip-ups, Malleus finds it all so endearing and locks your attempts of confession under lock and key in his memory. What he wouldn’t allow is if someone dares to interrupt you when you’re working up the courage to tell your feelings.

A quick thunderclap and a venomous glare gets his point across before he immediately looks back to you with a softened expression. “You were saying, my dear child of man?”

It would be a relatively peaceful courtship until the confession is made thanks to some sway from the dragon prince himself.

Silver would definitely have to be told outright of your feelings. For comedy’s sake, it would be hilarious if the one who had to spell things out for him was Sebek of all people.

The loud-mouthed proud guard would be aghast of how oblivious Silver was. The fact that he could pinpoint something beyond Silver’s recognition has him smug one moment but also a little annoyed for your sake. Not that he would ever admit that.

Once Silver truly digested Sebek’s words, Silver’s handsome features would burst into a magnificent shade of pink. Flushed either from embarrassment over his crude unawareness and a part deeply flattered by your affection.

Silver wouldn’t make any moves though as you mulled over your feelings. He wouldn’t dare try to put you on the spot, but you do notice how lately he feels a bit more caring and gentleman-ly personally for you.

If Malleus or Lilia didn’t need him, Silver would often escort you wherever you needed to go despite you knowing your way around. He even tries to lend a hand in helping you study. Despite his own grades suffering a bit with his sleeping habits.

Silver would be uncertain about all this though, truth be spoken. He’s never really had romantic feelings before or felt much need for a romance in the first place. But the idea that someone liked him so innocently and sincerely does charm him profoundly.

Like a shy forest creature, daring to come near him and be in his presence, he only wished to offer his hand towards you. Who knows, maybe falling a lil bit in love wouldn’t be so bad during his high school days…

[luckthebard]

I’m going to preface this by saying that I also got annoyed about a similar phenomenon around my favorite character in C2 (Caleb) so I don’t think this is just an Imogen problem but:

I’m increasingly frustrated with the way a lot of the fandom talks about Imogen and especially how other characters interact with her. There’s a lot of super uncritical “how could you be mean to my poor baby” that crops up even when she might kind of need to hear some hard-to-swallow truths and be questioned.

It ends up creating a fan environment around a character where it seems like some of the most vocal “fans” act like she’s so fragile she needs to be protected from any challenge or hardship or confrontation of her own fears - and what makes this frustrating is that the context of this character is that she’s in a D&D game. Challenge is the thing that will move and progress the character in that medium.

So I’d like to offer an alternative to the framing of that moment with Imogen, Orym, and Laudna I keep seeing. Yes, Orym was blunt, but he wasn’t exactly providing new information, just a reminder of the stakes and their job. “I’m pushing everyone” - I mean, of course! At this stage, why wouldn’t you if people faltered? In contrast I see Laudna’s clinging to soothing and comfort and “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to” to be a depiction of how sometimes that kind of expression of love isn’t actually helpful and merely allows for continued indecision and stagnation. Imogen may end up disagreeing on a course of action with Orym, sure, but trying to stop her from even considering or engaging with alternatives is a smothering affection also borne of fear that doesn’t allow Imogen agency.

The interesting contrast with Caleb is that it was Nott, his ride or die pal, who was often the one pushing and challenging him to grow. And don’t get me wrong, the similar fandom problem I noted at the top with Caleb absolutely targeted Nott and later very strongly Veth for daring to tell him blunt or uncomfortable truths. But Imogen’s ride or die girl isn’t pushing her, she’s doing the opposite and trying to cocoon her. Which I guess the fandom “protect my poor precious fave” impulse agrees with and doesn’t read as its own kind of interpersonal issue.

Imogen does need to be challenged if only so she can decide, truly, what she wants to achieve out of being on Ruidus and how far she’s willing to go. She’s a deeply conflicted character who has a lot of fascinating conflicting agendas she’s struggling with. If she is never pushed or never pushes herself she may not take the time to actually consider where her personal line is. Someone constantly agreeing with and shielding someone can be a problem in its own right.

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

Simon is sad.

Ice King is a joke.

Winter King is a threat.

So, I kinda love how much further we explore into the differences between Simon and Ice King and all the parts in between.

With the Crown, Simon's personality gets injected with boundless, reckless, thoughtless confidence - which appears to have its roots in Evergreen or specifically, Gunter's perception of Evergreen.

However, Simon also infused the Crown's influence with his weird quirks, his desperation for love, and his immeasurable grief.

In a different post, I wrote that the root of the Crown's curse latched onto Simon's love, which in its own way is his grief as well. These powerful emotions were decentralized so that even if Ice King couldn't quite understand the source of them, he felt them hard. And moreover, these emotions clouded his capacity to function.

So aaaaaall that infinite confidence tempered and sabotaged by Simon's sorrow, making Ice King into a joke. Oh, sure he's manipulative liar like the way he lied to Finn when he was trapped in the spirit world. But he's quite incompetent.

His intentions aren't any less selfish or destructive but he's just So Bad at the follow through. Absolutely dysfunctional. That makes him easier to laugh at even when he's doing stuff like slapping tape on PB's mouth as she's sleeping because he "breaks up with her" in the next minute.

Winter King wouldn't need tape. That's the difference. Winter King is frightening because he can in fact follow through on all of his selfish and destructive impulses. When he lies, he can get away with it because he's a *good liar*. He's charming without being sad. He's confident without being annoying.

Winter King has Evergreen's strengths and Simon's charisma and wields it with deadly intent because he also lacks Simon's conscience and Simon's fixation on love and connection - true love and connection that isn't something he made in a lab. The fact that Winter King can be satisfied with hollow dolls that resemble his loved ones is TELLING.

Winter King and Ice King are fundamentally separated by their levels of lucidity and competence. And that's pretty much it. Even Winter King's memories remain frosted over and nothing like the original Simon Petrikov's

Which leads me to the original Simon Petrikov. I truly enjoyed the way Simon is differentiated from Ice King and Winter King simply by showing his compassion - which both lacked. Simon immediately plead for Bubblegum's life whereas Winter King was like Nope.

That was so good. Just emphasizing how the Simon and Ice King aren't a 1 to 1 reflection or transformation. Or in other words, that Ice King is not entirely Simon and Simon isn't entirely Ice King.

Also the subtext of Simon secretly resenting Winter King, being unsure if he wanted to be just like this weirdo who just goes around calling himself radical. This chuunibyou motherfucker. He really wants to be that? Really?

But again! Simon's vindication at learning that the Crown can't be fought! Because also fighting is such hardwork and he spent a thousand or so years trying to do it, failing to do it. The way he almost whined at the Winter King, "but it's just so hard to fight the Crown", and he's just so tired. He's just too sad.

In the same way that Fionna wanted an easy, fun, no consequences adventure - Simon wants an easy, quiet, no consequences solution to all his depression. Simon doesn't want to be happy because happiness takes hardwork. All the shit that the Winter (Willpower) King was shilling? That's a lot of elbow grease.

Simon just wants to opt out of existence. Let the Crown take the wheel. He's done driving.

But therein lies... his curse. Winter King is euphoric because it came at the cost of the compassion that defines Simon Petrikov. Love and compassion is at the root of Simon's sorrow, but it's also the thing that keeps him here. Because Simon simply can't *not* help someone - even Fionna who has been a straight up dick to him this whole time.

Simon thinks that there's a "right way" to be cursed because he's holding onto the belief that he could stop existing and not hurt or harm anyone by choosing to do so. And this will keep him on the search. This will keep him as himself for another sad and hurting day, until he can find a way to run - flee without hurting anyone.

Spoiler: It's impossible.

[rayroseu]

I think I realized why I like Silver despite his character trope being what I hate lol No, its not about him being too boring, its about his character centering around "repaying your family"

In Filipino teleseryes iirc, there's always a character trope for the good kid where their entire motives centers around doing work for their family for their entire life, and the story makes that personality "righteous" "admiring" and should be "what all children should do"

I suppose I hated it as a kid because its trying to enforce a standard🤣 like its trying to influence its viewers that this is how you should treat your parents, even if its good behaviour that this character trope is trying to portray,,, they were annoying because it always portrays that "their effort for their parents was perfect"

But Silver's story isn't like that. I can say that the story reinforces that ""his ideal way"" of repaying Lilia often fails because of circumstances he cannot control. His efforts to repay his parent, often fails, and I think that's what makes Silver really relatable.

I think Silver is convinced as well that what will make Lilia proud and would be him performing splendidly as knight and student(?), thats why he always works hard and he gets saddened when his sleeping condition ruins that hard work (Silver Lab Vignette)

But "being perfect", or even a repayment for raising him up, isn't what Lilia wishes for Silver... What would truly make Lilia proud, would be "just Silver living."

Its like Lilia didn't expect anything from Silver,,, in a "just be yourself" way.... I think during Book 7, this is what conflicted Silver the most (other than the whole Knight of Dawn relateion), that his Father would truly love him no matter who he is or what he becomes.

I also love the fact that TWST added the tragedy of aging in Silver's motive of repaying his parent... Because that truly is a harsh reality 😭 if you want to repay your parents, there's always this looming worry that your parent might not make it in time for them to see you succeed and be proud of you because they'll pass away from age...

I think the way their story reminds that "your time together with your family is ephemeral" inspired me more to actually value my time together with people important to me ykk

So Silver's motivation to repay his parent often ""fails""" because what Lilia wants from him is to just live and be yourself, and that's what the story enforces Silver to do as well. 🥹

I haven't read many stories that dwells this topic as emotional as Silver and Lilia's story... 🥲 Usually the parents in teleseryes will expect something like "at least complete your studies so we can be proud of you 🥺" while that is a good expectation,, it kinda gives off the vibes that the parental love was conditional all along XD. Its never as unconditional as Lilia's imo... 🥹🥹🥹💖💖

Its also seen with what skills Lilia teaches Silver revolving around survival, because he wants him to truly live with your own morals ("own two legs" if you will).

Side note: if there was an option for Silver to be raised by Knight of Dawn, I'd still would choose Lilia to raise him because Lilia can teach Silver what Knight of Dawn never did— speaking up for his own morals— even if the king and the nation displeases it— even if he was "alone" about his correct opinion. That belief that Lilia instilled upon him truly will make Silver live honestly to himself yk...🥹🥹🥹💖💖

translation by cymr on yt

[thepeonysbackup]

Somethin' Stupid

Pairings: Husker x Fem!Sinner!Reader

Summary: You're the night shift, apparently the only shift for Husker that he cares for, even if you both sold your souls, you somehow warm his up.

Tags: MDNI, explicit language, explicit gore, assault (by others not Husker), vulgar topics, flashbacks, a musical number, fluff!!

Song name: Something Stupid ♬♬♬

Request: Yes/No

Word count: 5.6k

As the hotel came to its quiet stillness for the night, you emerged from your room, in your usual attire. Being a night worker, a creature of the darkness in your boss's words, one of the housekeepers as most would say during the day, it was a perfect time to get your work done, finding joy in bringing a building to a pristine shine in the crimson moonlight. However, one thing you never left your room without was your headphones. Having the easiest job in the hotel, it was annoying to listen to the aimless silence. So to tune that away, you'd engulf yourself in the wonders of music, being lucky enough on your first day of hell to get your hands on an old ipod filled to the brim with old songs from Earth instead of the vulgar profane ones from there in hell.

To you, without music in the world, it seemed void of all happiness. You listened to all kinds, Rap, Rock, Classical, Retro, Swing, Polka, Pop, Jazz, and so many others. But right now, you had seemed to be on a rather wholesome and sweet song kick. Finding an unspoken joy with the way the guitar would play with the violinists hunkering down with great precision to add the melody and bring you back to the softness of the tambourine. Though, most down here would find Sinatra to be too heavy with the sheer affection in his tone, the love that he felt for his family, his daughter, his life, his world.. It was comforting in the realm of depravity and anguish.

As your dainty hands pushed down your uniform, straightening the fabric of your skirt and apron as you neared a closet on the lobby floor containing many different types of cleaning supplies. You grabbed the mop and mop bucket, a bottle of Fizz-uloso, and a few rags from the greed ring that you tucked away into your apron for safe keeping before venturing to the bathroom to situate yourself and your products. You thoughtlessly yet automatically began to get your things together, flipping through your shuffled playlists in search of a song that would start off your night just right.

You settled on Frankie Valli, giggling as you exited the bathroom with your things in either hand, having tucked away your phone into your pocket as soon as the beat had started up. Even though you were in good spirits, a certain bartender was not in the best of moods, but who could have blamed the poor man? He was being forced to work off his debt by playing nice guy at a shitty hotel he had no desire to be at. The two of you had many big interactions as well as the common clumsy moments from you that he saved you from. Husker sat on his stool, opposite side to the lobby while waiting late for customers to wander in, clipboard on the bartop 'incase' some poor soul wanted to redeem themselves for some unruly reason, seven had for boarding up for the night. He doubted some fucked up Crackhead had any intention of becoming a better person, or a murderer for that matter. But he did secretly have hopes for the princess of hells bleeding heart, her kind nature was foreign to hell, the people down here truly not deserving of her hard work whatsoever.

The cat demons ears twitched, flexing while they rotated lightly to the sound of footsteps, initially believing they were from outside but finding comfort that it wasn't some random creature and merely the night crew like himself. He'd always been fond of seeing you around, especially when he'd be doing work for the radio demon, though you never spoke much and always seemed to be ignoring the world unless needed, he considered you good company for the fact you kept to yourself. He'd gotten to see your vulnerable side, when he'd try to think of anything about you the amount of memories that flooded in were almost overwhelming enough to make him drop the glasses hed be cleaning, for you never wanted a drink, nor would you partake in any activities during the day time, he knew that strawberries were something you detested, and the thought of building a garden had always crossed your mind when talking with Nifty. He'd only see you in the night, a translucent pale sinneress, a ghostly creature with only a singular repetitive mission everyday. Now, he'd greet you once or twice if you'd get close enough, always nodding acknowledgably, or perhaps asking how your night was by saying you looked tired due to how much you really slept, but you'd never respond because of that other world you'd submerge yourself in, in your mind. At first he considered it rudeness, or a smug attitude, but it really wasn't when he'd find you suddenly engulfed in a conversation with Sir Pentious or Niff, even if shes a creepy little thing, it seemed you were a rather patient and caring thing despite being down here. Apart from ignoring everything you were probably as nice if not 'nicer' then the princess herself, so gentle and sweet, traits that attracted the fucked up and deprived creeps to the bar so often. You never noticed them, the regulars that would check into the hotel for a few hours just to drink some good brain damage and gawk at you until they made a slip up that he'd have to correct and reprimand. There were many times unbeknownst to you that these lowly creatures would come in and talk about a beautiful demoness that worked here that they'd follow or seen and got some info about, loan sharks often slinking in claiming to have business just cause of your appearance and sweetness, and just as you'd come around the corner they'd make their moves. A cat caller was there the first night Alastor had ordered you to work, a short demon with a sizeable amount of power, though not enough to gain your attention when he'd speak. He had called out to you, calling you a curvy piece of ass as you had bent down to wring out your mophead after just dusting and wiping the pillars to a bleached white shine, your thigh guard peeked from below your skirt just barely. But what really set him off was when he called you over after your blissfully unaware form began to receed to the bathrooms to refill your bucket, he was only a few feet away from the bathroom door when Husk had him pinned onto the floor with a growl of annoyance and disgust. That customer was thrown out after a good thirty seconds of threats and a single slugger to the jaw. You had exited the bathroom with new water just to see some blood on the ground that you'd have to clean up, but thankfully you hadn't seen how it was made and that was good enough for Husk at the time until he learned of your many experiences watching the Radio demon at work.

The one after that was a taller, regal yet idiotic looking demon with a face resembling a mime but could still communicate verbally without the movement of its mouth. Illusion was his trick, appearing near the bar as he actually inched closer to you as you were on a small step ladder, a single leg popped out into the air as you leaned forward to reach the top of a shelf near the bar where Husk was cleaning at the counter. Mischievously the demon snapped one of the legs of the stool to get a rather risqué view of your underwear, your body went tumbling over to the side with a yelp as you tried to grab at the shelf for balance which resulted in bottles to fall aling with you. The warm embrace of fur and a soft grunt made your eyes pry open, finding yourself in the clutches of Husks claws.. They were digging into your plushy legs and the other at your ticklish side, much to the mimes anger at the time. You had given him a supressed noise of automatic laughter while wiggling in his hands to push at his chest, much to his amusement you began to giggle as he tried to put you down, claiming he was doing it on purpose due to his grip tightening at your hand which was gripping onto his tie for support. The mimes face shifted to one that had stared a silent scream at the two of you, a howl leaving it as it made an attempt to knock over the over liquor bottles that were on the wall before vanishing out the main entrance of the hotel with a high pitched screech.

The Demon that had actually had you in his clutches and out of the building was probably the second to last of them that had been hanging around. He was a loan shark, one of those, you owe me one kinda guys that took it to the extremes. With his fedora the guy sauntered in, directly to you, practically dragging you half way out of the hotel with you only blinking in inquiry as you followed behind, innocently watching his lips move but to no avail to you due to your earphones. You had seen Husk worked up but not to this extent at that time, and he had never been so surprised with himself. At that moment he had seen only a filter of red over his gaze, eyes blazing with hatred as he loomed over you and the male demon who turned with a shriek before pulling out a gun to aim at the Cat. Husks cards took easy care to destroy his opponents weapon, pouncing with wings spread full length before he tore the Loan sharks throat clean out of his neck with his fangs and slashed a gash the size of his tail through his body. By that time, all of you were outside, but his friends had been waiting for him so the commotion was seen by them and their gunfire retaliated at Husk. In the end, they were in a heaping mess scattered around. Charlie had walked out the next morning to dead bodies and flipped out on Alastor, who took the fall with grace and little care.

The last one, had made you the most uncomfortable out of the ones you'd remembered, or that Husk had seen you truly scared. He wouldnt have blamed you for it either.. You were such a fragile beauty in the dark pit that hell was. The guy was bulky, ripped to say the least and apparently blessed below the belt because even through your earbuds you could hear his disgusting advances for you and you'd turned off your music to politely decline him and shift over near the bar entrance to keep good distance, but because of how Featherlite you were, even with your curvaceous appearance you were easily tugged over to him by his big arms. "Come on, sweetie, don'tcha want a nice guy like me keepin' the creeps away?" You had never shaken your head so fast, your little body tugging away feverishly. He tried harder, noting how the both of you were alone for that moment, and that had urked you blindly to grip at the bar countertop to rip yourself from his grasp, he didnt like it. "Quit strugglin before I break something toots-" Because of the grip, he'd taken your hand with him, the flesh and bone ripping enough to invoke a groan from the injury and your voice to go from its usual sweet and kind to a fearful and desperate scream of agony. “HUSK!!!” It wouldn't have been the first time your body had been ripped up, but it always, always hurt like no other feeling. The burning sensation of your phantom limb no longer being in place made you tremble, legs shaking as the larger demon barked an insult to your frailness, "Fucking pathetic-"

Husk hadn't ran for someone in years, but your voice being so distraught and desperate made his instincts kick into overdrive and his drunken mind go sober instantly as he rounded the corner from the bathrooms to see you behind the counter backed into the bottles, “Sir, you can't be back here-” The tears that were streaming nervously down your face nearly stopped at seeing him, “Whiskers, there you are!!” eyes widening joyously before realizing that you were still pinned and reverting back to your scared expression, the water works upping yet again as the demon snagged your torn wrist to worsen your pain with a powerful tug forward. And that did it, his wings expanding to full mast as his body grew larger, and he entered his demonic form to the extent that his contract would allow, roaring loudly as he destroyed the bar area of the new hotel, its sleek new design now crumbled to piles of concrete, wood, and various liquids as well as blood. The disgusting pervert crawled out of the rubble somewhat fine, a hurt arm being held by his better one as he turned to stare into the demonic face of the bartender as you popped out from beneath the four legged man above you.

It was gruesome for you, but an eternity for Husker as he completely ruined that monster, pulling entrails out and body parts off with force so strong that it had made you nearly gag at the noises and mere sight of this unrecognizablesize of the bar cat youd came to liking so much. But you had to end it, even if you believed the bastard deserved it. To be, be torn from each joint, ripped from the bone to the soul that he had managed to keep from most over lords. Husks claws scratched and dug, his fangs tearing at his skull and piercing through the socket with that satisfying crunch. Covering yourself in blood as you tackled Husk off the unfortunate little bitch to try to calm him down as his mouth oozed blood and eyes burned with rage, you clung around his thick neck, burying your face in his chest fur while pleading loudly over his howls of rage. He only really stopped seething when you started crying for real, sobbing into his shoulder hard as you held your injured arm against his chest. He had remembered how it felt like a lasso had been wrapped around his mind to be pulled back onto the brink of sanity he had always been at. He shrunk down back to his normal form, wrapping his arm around you as he fell to the blood covered ground to catch his breath with you safely in his hold as footsteps echoed in the creaking silence. Charlie had screamed in horror at the bloodbath spreads across her new walls and began to cry into Vaggies shoulder as they emerged with Alastor to see what all the hullabaloo was about, the radio demon mended your wound while Husk held you in his lap, head on your shoulder heaving as you had stopped crying and the pain went into shock as the glowing black threads stitched you back together perfectly. But as you had tried to get up, Husk moved the two of you around the corner and to the hall so you could go and clean up in the bathroom as he went to the mens. That night had really sealed the deal for the former overlord when it came to you.

As you skipped around the corner, you caught glimpse of the big cat, seeing a nod from him as you found your way to the center of the lobby and dropped your bucket so-so onto the tile with a tiny wave back, watching as water splashed over the side from the force before you dipped and wrung out your mop. The squelch of the mop water was happily drowned out by your tunes, feet moving to the pace in which the music was set as your tentacle-like cleaning utensil glided across the floors. Even with how large the main floor was, it was easier to clean then it looked, your first round being finished by the time about six songs had skimmed by. Your mop found its way near the bartop, Michael Bublé blasting loud in your ears while you used a single hand to lift each barstool as you mopped beneath them, soon gliding with the click of your heels behind the counter you shifted around the big cat and his wings by ducking under them, sweetly and gently brushing them with your free hand and a giggle. You hadn't heard him ask you what your deal was, nor the growl of annoyance as he got up when you spun again and unknowingly dropped your device onto the ground with a light tac as you treaded off. Husks ear flicked again as you disappeared into the hall with your mop after you'd wrung it out again, his cat-like curiosity taking hold of his better judgment as he picked it up and took it back over to the bartop to set it down.

The screen lit as it was sat down, the music name scrolling over the screen as well as the names of the artists, the particular genre was an odd choice. But now he understood why you were constantly unaware of your surroundings as he slid up on the screen to unlock it, sliding down to reach the Bluetooth button so he could turn it off to see what would occur and to his delight, from the darkness of the hallway at the near end of it he heard a confused hum. With this in mind he clicked on the play button of the music icon on your home screen, slipped the phone under the bartop, and music began to ring about the lobby. 'Sha-boom, by The Chords? What a selection..' He concurred as your petite figure emerged from the dark of the hall with a nervous expression. "Uhm?-" Your voice, like always, dripping in an affectionate honey like tone as you scampered over to the bar where Husk made it clear he hadn't cared that she had attempted to gain his attention. 'Let's see how you like it, hm?'

"Husk, where did my phone go?" You inquired, hands reaching behind the thick strands of your hair that hid your headphones so that you could take them out. The music continued, the end of the song coming up as you shifted to look around the countertop and under barstools, a bit around the bars area as well before you attempted to come round the back of it again, only to have Husk stop you with the loud clink of a glass on the solid surface of the counter. It was full of a brownish bourbon, ice clicking together as he reached under the counter to pull out a small, yet big cherry that he dropped in the top with his usual scowl. "Sit down." He grumbled as he watched your obedience slide up and onto a stool with a nervous noise of discomfort. "What's up with these?" He huffed out as he pulled out one of his clawed hands that was tightly closed, unfurling it to show the headphones you'd taken out just moments ago. You blinked, looking to your hand with a surprised but also rather impressed expression, "I- I like to listen to music? Uh- Excessively?" You stated, more like questioned, a tad bit confused by the sudden interrogation. "On full blast? How the hell do you get anything done when you can't hear shit around you?" He huffed, dropping the little items on the ground as the sweet voice of Missus Fitzgerald began to scat herself into song. "Well it's easier when I tune everyone out, I truly don't like interacting with sinners.. So uh, I just turn up the volume and submerge myself?" You began to shrink into yourself as you explained what was going on, simply trying to end the conversation so you could go back to your little world of musicals and dancing at random.

"And if someone were to attack you while this is happening again? The hotel is always open, it's always available for said sinners to enter, what if a serial killer fond of little ladies like yourself ends up wandering in with an adrenaline rush like the last few fucked up dickheads?" His paw slammed on the top of the bar, making you jump slightly and look down with a blush of embarrassment at his skepticism and truth. "Well, I-" He cut you off, seeing how you'd drawled out your words in thought, "Well what? You keep it low enough to hear? Bullshit, I asked you what your deal was a bit ago and you were ignoring me-" You blushed harder, your pearly white skin turning bright pink now as you tried to speak up cause you felt your reason valid to your little situation. "You know what? No, I definitely need to know that actual reason because, however stupid this shit is, I'm gonna end up drinking because of you dipshits." He picked up the drink he'd offered you, taking a swig of it with a straight face, like he'd just drank water when you knew it had to be strong just by the damn smell. "I listen to it loudly because I know I'm safe!" Was your discreet and polite way of speaking, making Husk scoff into the glass as he slammed it down with a clunk. "You're safe? Yeah, about thirty seconds is all someone needs before your ass is on the floor half naked and being taken advantage of before someone else comes out because the commotion is just barely too loud." You gasped and covered your ears with a shriek, head shaking as you began to speak rapidly and more explainitory. "No no no no, Jesus, fuck- No!!" You gasped, burying your head into your little hands with a noise of embarrassment at his miss of what you meant. "God, I mean't that you're out here every night!" He expression faltered, eyebrow raising slightly as he took a swig again, apparently at the reaction you'd had to his bluntness. "And - And since‐ Since you're always watching me while you keep up with who wanders in and out, I assume that you'll spring into action if a danger comes by.." You muffled your words into your hands, a soft noise of embarrassment earning you a scoff yet again from the big winged cat. "Oh, come on, Husk -" You were already embarrassed, his additional noise making it worse than even before he cut you off, "Nah, listen to me. Yes, yes.. I'd help you out in a cinch like that, doll. I always will, but I can't always be there to help-" You butted in with an, "I know-" But he shoved the bourbon into your hands and that hushed you as the liquid sloshed and splattered onto your apron with a strong stinging smell that made you squint a wince out a noise of discomfort "And since I can't always be there to help that means you gotta take care of yourself. So, no more headphones while working. As grotesquely fucking wholesome as your music is, you can play it down here when your here out loud and work.." Your eyes lit up as you subconsciously brought your glass to your lips, sipping at it only to go bug-eyed and cough harshly while setting it down, much to his delight of finally coaxing you to partake in his indulging you in his drinks of fancy. He smiled at your fit of gagging, eyes narrowing knowingly now as he revealed your device to place it on the bar again, but smacked your hand as you went to take both it and your headphones.

So, things went as so. You'd wake around midnight and bring your things out, hesitantly leaving your earphones behind each time as you'd lock your door behind you, then get your cleaning supplies, set up your music whatever genre it may be, get a load of rude-teasing from the bartender, and then start from the bottom up like usual. But through this different change, you noticed that Husk was much more talkative during the night then during the day, mentioning he'd barely talk this much even to Nifty when you'd make your little sweet observations. He'd always greet you, albeit in a moody tone, but nonetheless. He'd see if you'd like a drink half way through your cleaning when you would have to come back down for a refill of supplies or had to run out and back in from the store to get more things, and at the end of your shifts and his, he'd even started walking you back to your room since his was a few floors higher for his hermit-like type of living.

It was all rather refreshing, if you'd say so yourself. Learning that he had been doing most of this the whole time you'd been working here, apart from the walking to your room with you and you had been ignoring it all. So much kindness from a source you would never have thought could be that way since you had sold your soul for your happiness to remain in any situation. At this point you had throughly enjoyed being in his company, finding yourself looking forward to not only cleaning the hotel but getting to chat up the ol' drunk kitty cat who didn't mind your frazzled repetitive music tastes. Even gone as far as to wonder what he'd sound like while singing with you due to hearing him hum along to your same songs you'd listen to on repeat. So deep.. Perhaps a baritone?

You smiled softly as you skipped down the hall with your things in hand, sliding your bucket into the middle of the lobby as you tossed the mophead into it to soak for a moment before you got to work. Approaching the bar countertop, you got your phone out and pulled up the very first playlist you had been listening to when you'd left your headphones in your room and placed your device on the surface full blast, much to Husks distaste. "What's up with you and this? It's like your trying to not so subtly hint at having a kink for soft lovey dovey shit." His way of putting it always made you cringe, 'Why does he have to put it that way..? These were the songs he'd hum to so often..' You sighed inwardly to yourself, slowly wringing the mophead into your bucket as Ella's voice rang for the umpteenth time throughout the main entrance before slapping it down to get to work.

The BarCats eyes narrowed at your ignoring of him, he wasn't upset, nor did he dislike the music. You just played it so fuckin much that he knew all the words to these ancient songs, the tunes, pitches, and tempos. He rolled his eyes when you got to work, almost instantly humming away while mopping and spinning about the floor. You'd gotten so comfortable with his gaze, so carefree when he was around, more so when you both were alone like this and he truly liked this side of you. The glass that he was cleaning with a semi-dirty rag sat on the counter with a light tap as his claw double clicked on your phone screen so he could get into your music app to look through the songs on this playlist. 'Seriously?' He huffed in his mind, 'Would he?'. What kind of a playlist name was that? He shucked his belittling thoughts away and scrolled through them, noting how they were placed in and what days they had been added. "Hey," He barked, eyes still on the device below him as you hummed in response. "Why is this playlist so sappy?" He asked again, toning down his phrasing so that he could get an answer.

You hummed again, twirling and swirling around until you got near the bar counter again to answer. "I like these songs together? It's a lovely ambiance, don't you think? A wonderful feeling that spreads into to make you all warm and fuzzy?" You were chipper, unfazed by his scowl of disbelief. "You actually like this?? Cause I find it hard to believe." You rolled your eyes, Marvin Gaye taking hold of the atmosphere of the lobby which made you immediately start swaying along with the music and lip syncing to the words with a wide shit eating grin on your face. "Yep, it seems like you really do.." He groaned, a clawed paw running down his face as the song continued, ending in your attempt to sing the beginning of Paul's Ankas hit single while pointing at the bartender.

"That was trash-" He scoffed as you stopped half way and kept mopping, watching as your offended figure spun around, skirt fluttering with a graceful anger as your heel clicked the ground in a light sounding smack. "I'd like to see you sing one of these song then, they're hard when you don't have the vocals, huh?" You puffed your cheeks out, obviously joking, you loved to sing this way to throw people off. You really had a wonderful voice, merely shy to sing with your heart in front of others. But the stolen shit eating grin you'd had was now on his toothy smirk, tapping on a song that you hadn't heard in a while. Husk walked around the bar and over to you, starting off Frank Sinatras duet that he had made with his daughter before he had passed on.

"I know I stand in line, until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me. And if we go someplace to dance I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me.."

His hand reached out and took yours, making you stop your work to look at him with wide eyes, you were right. Baritone..♡

"And afterwards we'd stop into a tiny place and have a drink or two," The hand he'd used to grab your own, brought it above your head and spun you, sliding behind you to the other side before letting go to move closer to your side so he could sing again, hands and arms wrapping around you in a surprisingly warm hug as he sang further, enchanting you to listen more.

"And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid, like I love you.." He swooned into your ear, teasing as you stiffened and yelped when he took hold of your hands to spin you around to face him, leading you to the music with ease because of your dumbfoundment. You piped in, quieter than him but still there, singing along with him as his moves became looser and more fluent, fun, and improvised yet rather precise. Your skirt fluttered as you were spun with grace, heels soft as they tapped the floor along with his feet. He seemed more than content, loving almost as he dipped you to where his nose brushed against yours, whiskers twitching against his muzzle as he grinned with your bashful smile.

"I practice everyday to find some coverlines to say to make the meaning come true, but then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you." You sang along, a bit louder but not expecting him to go quiet for that moment. "The time is right, your perfume fills my head; the stars get red and oh the nights so blue~" He added, watching your face turn red with a chuckle as he spun you yet again, guiding you through the main entrance and in circles. His wings we're flexing, flapping delightedly at this situation and spreading enough to attempt enticing you.

"And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, I love you..~" You never thought his tone could have deepened, but it did, coaxing you closer in awe with your lips parted ever so slightly. "I love you.." You sang back, "I love you..." He sang, only slower this time, leaning down with slowly flattening ears and half lidded eyes, "I love you..♡" The gap was sealed, but only for a moment before the sound of clapping came from beside you. The two of you disconnected almost instantly. "BRAVO!" A voice, filtered harshly with static spoke aloud, hands softly slapping together as he walked in with a smile like the man always did. "Quite the performance, you two, quite a performance. That was a rather enthralling exchange. Just wait until Charlie hears the glorious news that her worthless hotel is working!" He babbled away proudly, the warbling ghostlike laughter of his shadow singing in the background as it circled the two of your own shadows. Your hand had smacked over your mouth at the distance Husk had so boldly closed with his furry lips, he seemed unfazed yet still agitated by your boss's appearance.

"Jesus fuck- Wow, Al, I didn't see you there!" You giggled out with a shocked yelp after placing a hand over your chest in surprise.

"Now my dear, that's no way for a lady to speak." He tutted, microphone shifting in his hand to gently tap the top of your head in warning as Husk rolled his eyes in annoyance before pulling you back over and behind him so the two of you could get back to work, how you adore this silly demon kitty.

[iloveyouinred]

ok hello :D Annon from earlier but heres a something that has been absolutely rotting my brain out, never done a req b4 so sry if this is bad Like imagine a yandere genshin man (of ur choice) fucking the reader and practically sobbing (bc they so happy to be able to do it with s/o/reader) and stopping a bunch of times mid sex just to ask ther if they love him and edging the reader and themself just bc they want to hear them say it and like the reader is getting hella annoyed but the guy isnt even edging them completely on purpose or anything. (And like they aint going easy either its rough but they are just smooth talking). Praise and stuff idk i could see this with like Venti, Thoma, Kaveh and maybe Cyno Idk what to say about what i just wrote -///-

thank you for listening to my brain rot

𓇬♡ | Note: Hi anon, your headcanon is very 🔥🔥🔥 lovely! I can imagine how much they love the reader to be asking that like times. It will be either obsession or the sweet insecure boy type. *Sigh* We love desperate boys. Anyway i don't know if i potray your idea correctly(it come out softer than i imagine), but here it is. Please enjoy! :D

Yandere!Genshin Male x Reader

𓇬♡ | Warning: NSFW, implying obsessive behavior, drugging, noncon, etc.

𓇬♡ | Word Count: 746 word

You desperately need to cum. He has been edging you with his fingers for some time now. When he stops moving once again, saying 'I love you' while locking his eyes with yours, waiting for you to say the same. Tears rolled down your cheek by how needy your body has become. Your hip tries to move on its own to chase the pleasure. Yet his grip on your hip only tightens. It will surely leave some mark tomorrow. He pulls his fingers out, earning a desperate cry from you. His hand goes to the side of your face, wiping your tears stained cheek. "Say it back, love. Say it for me, okay?" He whispers in a sweet tone that will deceive even the devil. As if he is your lover and not a stranger that suddenly got you splayed across the nearest flat surface he can find. You know him, he has quite a reputation in your country. But you guys never really talk or have any contact with one another. Of course you were just an ordinary person. So it was strange when he approached you and started a small conversation with you. One topic leading to another, he was truly a great chat buddy. It reaches the point where he lures you into a secluded place. You were promised a place with a great view. He didn't lie, there was even a small cottage to rest there. He just didn't mention the part where he fuck you, shamelessly demanding the same word to fell off your lips. Oh, but he did slip something in your drink first, in case you disagree with his ideals. Which probably played a major role in the heat that burned you like a bitch.

Love? If those words can get him to move his fucking finger- or even better, put his cock in you to help you get off this heat-, you will say it a hundred times.

"I love you- so please-" You sound desperate enough for him to pity you. Kissing your lips softly as he pulls out his painfully hard length before humping it on your folds. You let out a muffled moan at his tease. Tears welling up your eyes at the sensation. He slowly drags it along your walls while entering you. Leaving you choked at how his veiny cock rubbing your inside.

"Please.." You squirm as you feel his length twitch inside you, hearing your voice tremble under him. He partially sobs at how good you feel around his length. It's like his hips moving on its own, meeting the back of your thigh with a laud slap each time he moves. He watched your eyes roll back as his tears dripped on your face. Overwhelm by how his cock continuously rammed into you, hitting spots you never knew were there.

He breathed out a moan, "Pretty-"

"-My pretty girl." He is singing praises, while kissing your whole face. Slowly move down to suck your neck.

"Mm- love you-" You let out a breathless gasp as he shove his cock into you deeper and faster. Your body arch back, toes curling at the sudden hit of pleasure. Finally reaching your well deserved release. He gives you a sloppy kiss, mumbling 'I love you more.' on your lips as he spilled his cum inside you. He keeps his twitching cock inside your hole for a moment before pulling out, watching as his liquid drips out of you. You are still gasping from the mind numbing orgasm, to high to realise his content smile as he watch your fuck out expression. Holding you in his hand as he bites down your shoulder blade, sucking and licking along the line. You squirm from the ticklish sensation but his hold on your waist was quite firm. His fingers sliding between your folds to rub your clit. Just a little more. He wants to hear your pretty voice just a little more, moaning his name and inclining some incoherent words. He lets you close your thigh around his hand, trembling as you easily reach your next orgasm. He silenced your moan with a kiss. Hoping to crave how your lips taste in his memory.

The next 'I love you.' come in the form of the softest whisper you ever heard. It almost misses your hearing if he is not right by your side. Holding you in his embrace. You slowly drowse off against him, surrounded by his warmth.

Ft. Venti, Thoma, Kazuha, Kaveh, Cyno

[ihavewierdobsessions]

What type of woman do you like!?!!? JJK edition

Okay so Nanami, Gojo, Toji, Idk who more

A/n: OH MY GOD i was trying to find out what their type would be and god the mischaracterising of these men is wild. So here’s my take on what type of woman or man they would want to date.

don’t mind any spelling mistakes i was frustrated while writing this

Nanami

So if you didn’t know Nanami is one of the few people in jjk that actually wants to find someone who he can settle down with and start a family.

i can see him wanting someone that is pretty mature.

someone who can take care of themselves and be okay with him staying at work late

Nanami is a pretty quiet man but not so quiet that he doesn’t like to have an intense conversation about some random shit

This man would like a person who isn’t afraid to put their opinion out there and to speak their mind.

He would like then on the more sunshine side but still want them to be able to have a quiet night when they just sit in the sofa, Nanami is reading a book while his partner is laying with their legs on his lap doing whatever they’re doing.

Someone who can be patient with him and give him time to get comfortable with his new life

definitely someone who can bake and will bake bread or random ass cookies when bored

Gojo

Oh wow this poor guy

I doubt he’d actually want a serious relationship considering the fact that he has a lot of problems inside

But if he would actually want one i’d see him want a person that doesn’t see him as just the strongest but as the person he is inside

I see him wanting a person who is pretty dense and doesn’t really understand that he’s flirting so it like adds to the chase a little

He would really like the thrill of trying to make them understand that he actually likes them.

Someone who would even out his bubbly personality but not someone that is like fluttershy shy

This man needs a hug so definitely a person who would be able to see through his fake confidence and just hug him telling him that it’s okay to cry when things get to hard.

AGAIN a person who will be patient with him needing time in order to get comfortable.

Toji

Oh god

This guy is sooooo mischaracterised ITS SAD

Toji WOULD NOT just see you as a sex doll like bro i doubt sex is even in his mind it’s just filled with him trying to prove to his clan that he isn’t useless.

He has been through so much abuse that he would need a person that could pull him out of the darkness is even for just a moment.

Like we saw with his wife he literally left he zenin clan to be with her, to start a new life!!!! and y’all out her saying he’d only want someone for sex!??!?

Toji needs someone that is a bit clingy and talkative but still knows when to give him space.

Someone who doesn’t mind him not talking so much and let him just listen to them talking about anything.

It would take him so long to let his guard down around them and i see him being so scared to get attached then loose them

He would like a person that can take care of him and themselves someone that’ll give him a place to truly belong.

A/n: This is just my opinion so if you don’t like it then i’m okay with that just please don’t ignore a characters good writing just because they’re hot it annoys the shit out of me