#tags directed at those stays specifically

[astraystayyh]

kpop stans literally have no backbone LMAOOO when skz gets hate for collaborating with more and more zionists because as we can see they are VERY well welcomed by stays, dont come crying. what a useless fandom. literally we had one job and it’s to NOT platform a zionist and an israeli settler but nooooooo 💔💔💔 people are losing their jobs and students are being arrested for protesting against israel but 90% of stays cant even boycott ONE song.

it’s not a coincidence that zionists are infiltrating kpop i need u to PLEASE utilize ur critical thinking skills and realize that those zionist brands/artists/companies are looking for new audiences to gain since they’re being shunned away. this is only the beginning this isn’t a matter of supporting skz alone PLEASE

it could’ve been you born in palestine and it would’ve been your people and family and friends and loved ones that are genocied. and then you’d be the one asking people to not platform zionists and to shame them but oh well. good luck living life being this fucking spineless

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Fifteen

— Little Big Aftermath [aka the end]

Series Masterlist

wc: 3k

we’ve made it to the end guys! I just have to say I never thought I’d complete this story and that too fifteen parts of it but to all those who read it and motivated me to keep writing, thank you. While it is the end of the official story, I will continue to take requests for blurbs on specific scenes you’d like to see. However, there won’t be a set posting date on these blurbs, it’ll be out whenever it’s requested and completed. Once again, thank you so much for those who were here since the first chapter, and here’s to more fic series in the future. P.S lemme know if you want to be tagged in the blurbs.

Your frown grew deeper as you turned in the direction your daughter had pointed, unfortunately spotting Tyler. Luckily, he wasn't looking at you two since he was focusing on the podium celebrations about to happen.

"I didn't know daddy was here, mama." Picking Isabella up, you shook your head, "I didn't know either, angel, but let's focus on Max for now okay?"

She gave a nod of agreement and applauded for the drivers, Oscar and Lando in particular, who finished second and third in the race. She did, however, cheer the loudest when Max, as he has done after almost every race this season, stepped onto the top step of the podium.

He was having trouble finding you and Isabella right away in the crowd, and you could see the slightest frown forming on his face until a smile emerged when he succeeded, connecting his gaze with yours.

Isabella giggled as Max held his hand up to wave at her before blowing a kiss in the air in your direction. His behaviour drew Lando and Oscar's attention to you as well, with the former driver rolling his eyes at Max jokingly and Oscar smiling at the interaction.

However, you didn't realize that someone else was also looking at you because your gaze didn't waver away from Max.

The champagne bottles were popped, and this time Isabella was awake to see it all, watching with fascination as it was the first time she was able to see it in person. "I wanna do that, mama," she pointed at the drivers spraying the alcoholic drink, soaking each other's race suits while laughing. "Maybe when you're older, Bella."

"When I'm 7?" She asked, and you chuckled, "a little more than that, sweetheart."

Once the celebrations were over, a huge part of the crowd dispersed, the teams resuming to their usual scheduled routines, preparing for post-race debriefs and other meetings. "Where's Maxy going?" Isabella asked, watching as he was led away by someone clad in a RedBull uniform.

"He's a little busy with interviews, but he told me that he'd come back as soon as he's done," you explained, knowing that Max had a post-race conference and a few other duties lined up.

Isabella huffed, "but he won the race." She rested her head on your shoulder for a moment while playing with a strand of your hair—the habit formed back when she was a few months old.

"Yeah he did, which means he's very famous right now and so many people want to talk to him," you explained and while she nodded in understanding, she still pouted, "I wanna talk to him too."

"Why don't we wait for him inside his driver's room?" You asked, turning around when she nodded.

You had almost reached Max's driver room—a place he had suggested for you and Isabella to stay to wait for him, but pausing in a secluded area as a familiar voice called out, "Isabella!" then heard your name as well. Isabella squirmed in your lap, wanting to get down after seeing Tyler walk up to you both. You sighed, knowing that you'd have to stop and chat.

"Tyler," you greeted, and awkwardness hung in the air for two seconds before Isabella decided to speak up. "Daddy, you said you were busy, what are you doing here?"

Despite her hesitance to stay at her father's place, which she still hasn't done since the day she was discharged from the hospital, she frequently spoke to him over the phone.

Unfortunately for him, Isabella rarely forgets promises. While he was busy playing the "good father" role after your ultimatum, he had make false promises, agreeing to everything she asked for without hearing her out properly. In that conversation, she asked about the promise he made of taking her to a race before she had met Max.

While you and Max had taken her once, she still wanted to experience the thrill with her father since he was the one who introduced the sport to her.

He glanced at you, silently asking if he did in fact claim that he was busy, and frowned when you nodded. "Oh Bella, sweetheart, I didn't know that I would have the time to be here, it was an unexpected decision or else I would've brought you along, but you're here anyways!" He tried to uplift her mood, but instead of hanging on to every word he spoke like she used to do, she just shrugged.

Deciding to divert the topic of conversation, Tyler asked, "did you enjoy the race?" He stepped forward, kneeling down to be closer to her but on instinct, Isabella moved away, clutching on to your hand tightly.

He frowned, once again glancing up at you after noticing her behaviour, but you didn't let an ounce of emotion show on your face. "I'm so happy Maxy won!" She exclaimed, her mood improving for a moment as she thought about him.

Standing up to his full height, Tyler looked at you, "why don't we sit and chat for a moment?" Pressing your lips together in a tight smile, you replied, "I don't think that's a good idea."

He scoffed, then shrugged, "fine, have it your way like always." You were not in the mood to indulge his stupid comments which would eventually lead to an argument, in fact you were here to enjoy the weekend with your boyfriend who you dearly missed in this moment.

His eyes widened briefly when you didn't respond to his comment, wondering how you changed so much in a matter of a few weeks that you couldn't care less about him anymore.

"Hey Bella, why don't you show daddy the caps that you got?" You prompted another topic, that Isabella quickly agreed to. Tyler's gaze remained on you for a moment, understanding that you truly had no intention on speaking to him longer than necessary. The conversations you did have were only necessary due to your daughter, but even those texts and calls started becoming less and less frequent.

Isabella took off her Red Bull cap, which had autographs from Max and Checo, to expose a Ferrari cap with two more signatures from Charles and Carlos, and then a McLaren cap that undoubtedly featured two signatures from Oscar and Lando. She caught up to Lando and Charles, who had given her their hats earlier, as well as their teammates, to obtain signatures. She then wanted to get autographs on her RedBull cap as well. When she asked Max and Checo, they chuckled with the latter claiming she had them all at her beck and call, but they nevertheless signed the cap.

Isabella ended up stacking all three caps on her head because she couldn't choose which one best matched with her outfit. She began explaining the story behind the signatures, and Tyler intently listened, asking a few questions in between as well.

"And then-" Isabella's gaze wandered off, eyes lighting up in excitement as she spotted, "-Maxy!"

Without any hesitation she ran up to him, colliding with him as she tried to wrap her arms around him, earning a low, "oof" from him.

Picking her up and settling her on his hip, holding her up with one arm, he held up his other hand that had a medal hanging from it. Max placed the medal around Isabella's neck, which he received on the podium earlier along with his trophy. "We won, princess," he commented, smiling as wide as she did.

She held both of her hands up, imitating the action Max did as he held his trophy on the podium, causing him to laugh. You watched the interaction with a smile on your face, and could hear their laughter from a few feet away.

Walking towards you as Max was initially planned on doing, he noticed a man next to you, which based on your descriptions was Tyler. He decided to overlook him for now, instead greeting you with a kiss to your cheek.

Tyler held his hand out, "great race, congratulations on the championship. I'm a huge fan by the way." Max, nodded politely, still holding Isabella in his arms but shaking his hand nonetheless. "Thank you," he prompted, waiting for the man to introduce himself to confirm his suspicions.

"Oh, so you're Tyler." Max glanced at you for a moment, watching as you tried to hide your smile behind your hands because of his antics. "Why do you say it like it's a bad thing?" He questioned, and Max was quick to retort, "well, it's not really the best thing now is it?"

"I don't understand," he trailed off, and your boyfriend shrugged, "I figured you wouldn't understand, it's okay," he patted Tyler's shoulder in faux consolation. You had to take a step back so Tyler wouldn't see your expression, placing a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh.

Tyler was quick to catch on to the condescending tone Max spoke with, looking at you—after you composed yourself fortunately. "So what, you get invited to one race and you guys are best friends now?" He asked, a hint of jealousy you were familiar with revealed in his tone.

"More like she's my girlfriend and they're here to support me," Max clarified. Tyler looked at Max, then Isabella, finally understanding why she was always so enamoured by him.

He scoffed, "oh great, enjoy my sloppy seconds then mate, I will warn you though, it's not worth it because a few months later she'll show you a positive pregnancy test and force you to be a father."

Your jaw dropped, instantly responding, "in front of my daughter?" You glanced at Isabella who was in fact hearing all the words spoken, only frowning due to yours and Max's expressions as she didn't understand the full context of the words her father had said, just knowing that it wasn't good.

Max wiped his hand over his mouth, jaw clenching while his warm gaze turned cold within seconds. "Apologize, now," he instructed, trying to hold himself back from causing a fight.

"Now why would I do that? It's true." Max placed Isabella back on her feet who quickly shuffled over to you, standing behind your legs. "How dare you stand here claiming to be my fan yet talk shit about the person I love?" The driver placed his hand on Tyler's shoulder again, but this time you could see the fear bubbling up in his eyes as his grip tightened.

Still, Tyler managed to scoff, "love? Bold claims there. Sorry to break it to you but she's probably just with you for your mon-" he couldn't finish his sentence because he was punched square in the jaw by your boyfriend.

"Max!" You shrieked, and watching the interaction, Isabella held on to your hands tightly with tears welling up in her eyes. You picked her up again, noticing that Tyler was fuming in anger. "Gonna fucking sue you for that," he spit out some blood, but Max only shrugged, "try me."

Fortunately, you guys were stood in between the team motorhomes, which meant you were slightly hidden away from public eye due to the buildings covering the scene.

Readying himself for another punch if needed, you shook your head, "it's not worth it, Max."

"Yeah Max, listen to your girlfriend," he taunted, angering you in the process. "Will you ever shut up?" You shot back. Max glanced at Isabella who had hid her face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you. Although he couldn't see her face, he guessed that her eyes were tightly shut.

Nodding as a silent agreement with Max, you decided to walk away from the scene as you didn't want to expose Isabella to any more of this argument than what she has already heard. Glancing at Max once more, you hoped that your expression was indicating something along the lines of, "don't do anything too bad."

However, you could hear Max's words as he began speaking to Tyler, "listen here you little shit..." but you didn't stick around to hear the entire conversation, smiling to yourself knowing that Tyler would finally be put into his place—that too by his favourite driver.

Finally entering his driver's room, you sat down on the couch sighing in relief. Isabella was still in your lap and you ran your hand up and down her back in a soothing motion because you could feel her sniffling against you. "Bella," you murmured, wanting to see her adorable face.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, sweetheart." You kissed her head before brushing your hand through her hair. You heard her mumble but didn't catch her words, "what was that?"

She lifted her head to look at you, and you frowned seeing the tears staining her cheeks. "Why is daddy so mean? I don't like him."

"Some people are just mean for no reason, and unfortunately, your daddy is one of them," you explained, no longer covering for him knowing that after what Isabella witnessed, she wouldn't want to be near him no matter what you said.

She frowned but didn't respond, leaning her head against your shoulder again. You didn't disturb her peace, knowing that after the eventful day, she needed some quiet time.

Max entered the room a few minutes later, and he smiled to greet you but it fell flat. He pointed at Isabella, then put his thumbs up to silently ask if she was okay, but you shrugged.

"What did you say to him?" You asked, knowing that whatever conversation followed probably wasn't kind. "I told him that I'd ban him from future races if I saw him anywhere near you or Bella, and he left."

You knew that it probably wasn't that easily done, but you didn't ask for more details.

You had thought Isabella fell asleep since she hadn't moved in a while, nor could you see her face, but she lifted her head up to look at Max once she heard some shuffling about in the room.

He paused as soon as his gaze connected with hers, unsure of how to initiate a conversation because he did literally punch her father. Isabella wiggled off your lap, and both you and Max thought that she would walk away further into the room so her next action surprised you both. Running towards Max, she held her arms out, engulfing him in a hug.

"You're better than my dad, Maxy," she muttered, and he audibly sighed, the stress wrinkles on his face disappearing while wrapping his own arms around her smaller frame.

"Thank you, princess," he whispered back, and she pulled back to kiss his cheek. Isabella looked back at you, smiling when she saw you smile as well. "Thank you for taking care of my mama," your daughter told Max, and his heart warmed at her words. "Always."

The ring of your phone interrupted the beautiful sight in front of you, but your eyes widened when you saw that it was your mother calling. As soon as you pick it up, you're greeted by hearing your full name.

"Hi, mum," you stood up and walked further away just in case you were about to get a scolding although you had no idea what you could've possibly done. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.

"Tell you what?" You answered with a question of your own, knowing that she could be referring to anything at the moment. "That you have a boyfriend."

Your mouth dropped open, "how do you know that?" She chuckled, "because a friend of mine called me and told me that she just watched you kiss someone on live television, some racer guy."

Covering your mouth with your hand, you thought back to the moment Max kissed you in front of the huge crowd after getting out of his car, and of course there had to be cameras capturing the moment. "Max, he's a Formula 1 driver," you explained.

"Wait, the same Max that Bella talks about?" You hummed, "the same one."

"I'm glad you finally moved on from your daughter's father, but I'm also sad that you didn't tell me sooner and I looked foolish because I didn't know until my friend told me about it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think my relationship would be broadcasted live. Plus, I think the chapter with Tyler is finally over, for both me and Isabella."

"That's good to hear, she doesn't deserve a father like him. Is Max good to you?"

"He's the best to both of us, she lights up with joy every time she sees him." Your mother hummed as she heard your response, "then me and your father have to meet him one day."

You heard some laughter in the next room where Max and Isabella were, and you smiled at your mother's words, "I hope we can come by soon, I'd love to introduce him to you and dad."

After saying goodbyes and promises to meet soon, you returned to the room Max and Isabella were in, pausing in the doorway at the sight in front of you. Just like how Isabella was sitting in your lap earlier with her head against your shoulder, she did the same to Max.

You were about to make your presence known when you heard your daughter's question. "Maxy, why do you call me princess?"

Max's gaze found yours, always finding you whether you were standing in the corner of the room or in a crowd. "Because your mama is the queen," he responded casually, as if he was stating a fact.

Isabella lifted her head, "does that make you the king?" He shrugged, "I guess it does."

She giggled, "and does that mean we get a happily ever after like the storybooks?" Max reached his hand out towards you, asking you to join them which you obliged to easily.

"Ours is better than the storybooks," he stated, placing a kiss on Isabella's forehead before pecking your lips briefly.

The End.

Taglist: @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @wonnou @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo @samantha-chicago

[sadesluvr]

Three Simple Wishes - William Afton x Reader

It’s Vanessa’s birthday, but her father William ends up getting the best present. 

A/N:  Pure filth, yet again. This has gone through a BILLION iterations, but I’ve finally done it…I’m off to horny jail. Minors DNI!

Word count: 3.5K

Tags: SMUT / Dom + Sub dynamics / Dub-con / Age gaps (Reader is in her 20’s) / Infidelity / Costume sex / Perv! William / Oral sex, male and female receiving / Sex toys (Vibrator) / Multiple orgasms / Unprotected sex / Creampies / LOTS of use of the term 'Princess' / William is just NASTY, ok? And a bad father but we knew that

Being a Rent-A-Princess was far from glamorous, but sometimes it was rewarding. As for the other times? Having to endure sleazy men who hire you for bachelor parties, and cleaning yourself up from that one sickly child who puked on your dress.

You hoped today wouldn’t be one of those days.

It seemed promising enough to start, until you’d apparently shown up an hour early.

“I’m sorry,” a man named William said. You’d quickly learned he was the birthday girls’ father. “Sarah should’ve told you that they were going to the movies first. It’s funny how she can forget that, but not to nag about everything I do,” he said matter of factly, swigging his drink.

So he was the complaining husband. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

“Well, I can wait…” you sighed, playing with the sparkly material of your dress. Mrs Afton had specifically requested that you be a ‘fairy princess’ - so you were dressed in a flowery tiara, crème coloured wings, and a corset-like dress with off the shoulder straps and a tulle skirt that stopped just by your knees. 

“Want a drink?” William asked, breaking the tension. He seemed nice enough, albeit slightly dorky with his large glasses and oddly coloured tie. Apparently he’d come from work.

You politely shook your head, biting your lip as you directed your attention around the room, somewhat oblivious to the way the man was staring at you.

He’d heard of his wife’s “genius” idea to hire a princess, but for some reason the concept had never really manifested in his mind. He’d always seen them as slightly cringey with weird, overly heavy makeup, but you were a dream come true. Shy, polite - perfectly submissive. He wondered what was hidden under the layers of tulle and petticoat; if you’d squirm when he ran his hands up your thighs, spreading them apart so he could finger your pussy. He wanted to see you in action; if you’d stay in character whilst he pounded you into the counter, tears of ecstasy forming in your eyes as you’d squeal when you came around his cock.

His relationship with his wife had gotten stale a long time ago, and it was time that he got a thanks.

“You know, I’ll pay you for this extra hour,” he announced. “Can you do a little bit of your act? I wanna see if you’re good enough for my ‘Nessa,” he smiled, eyes wide and sparkling. Even though he was a grown man, it was actually rather cute. You loved seeing devoted fathers - 

How could you say no? 

You picked up your wand and stood in the middle of the kitchen before you curtseyed.  

“Your wish is my command…” you said gently, peering up at him through your lashes. It was a classic move in the business, but it drove the man crazy. He smirked, finishing the last of his beer before he walked around the counter to join you, leaning against the counter. 

It was then you realised how much bigger he was than you; tall, with a large chest and limbs. What struck you the most was his biceps and thighs - he was far more built than the typical man his age. For some reason you now felt nervous, but it wasn’t the usual pre-show jitters.

“…How may your Princess be of assistance?”

His Princess. You were all his for the next hour.

“I get three wishes, don’t I?” he hummed.

You pursed your lips and nodded, rolling the wand in your hands as your heart pounded against your chest.

“Well, for my first wish I’d like a dance with you,” William said, smirking at your startled reaction.

“I’m not a great dancer…” you said bashfully. 

William stepped closer, reaching out a hand to adjust the material of your sleeves down so that they were level, noticing how your skin freckled with goosebumps upon his touch.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll teach you,” he said softly, taking your hand in his and beginning to lead you into some kind of ballroom dance. 

There was no music but he hummed a deep, methodic melody that came from inside his chest, almost like a satisfied purr of a lion. He was careful as he held you, as if you were a porcelain doll, making sure that his body was a safe distance from yours. Still, your bare legs and the tickly material of your dress occasionally rubbed against his own, earning an apologetic ‘sorry’ from you every time.

You were beyond perfect. Quite literally a fantasy come to life.

Once you were done, you broke away. 

“Where did you learn to move like that?” you chuckled.

“I play a character too,” he said vaguely. “I’m very comfortable in my body. Besides, my wife always said I was good with my hands…” he finished, raising his brows slightly. You bit your lip and cocked your head, giggling at his entendre. 

“What’s your second wish?”

“A kiss,” he said bluntly, and you glanced at the ground shyly. This was certainly beyond your means. Still, you were technically on the job, and you’d jokingly kissed people on the cheek before as part of it. This was the only gig you had that was getting you through college, and you couldn’t lose it.

You nodded, adjusting your tiara before you leaned in, standing on your toes as you planted a kiss on his cheek. His skin was slightly prickly because of his beard, contrasting against your soft, slightly sticky lips. Pulling away, you realised you’d left a smudge of your lip gloss on his cheek.

William hummed at the contact, unable to suppress his growing erection. You smelled heavenly, and your kiss was even better. So gentle, so precise…

“That was lovely, sweetheart, but I didn’t say on the cheek,”

Your eyes widened and you gasped.

“Mr Afton — I can’t…You’re married,”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “It’s all just make-believe. Besides, she’s not here…”

You remained frozen as he got closer to you, his hands again brushing the sleeves of your dress, this time beginning to slide them down your arms. You knew what he wanted.

“Mr Afton, please,” you begged, glancing around the kitchen. If this endeavour was going to happen, it shouldn’t be by a children’s birthday cake. “Not here…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice raspy. The cracks were beginning to show, and his eyes were filled with lust. “This way,”

He led you down the hall and up the stairs. Before you knew it, you were in the Afton’s bedroom, the door left slightly ajar. 

“Get on the bed for me, Princess,” he grinned. “I want to look at you,”

William chuckled as you immediately obeyed, pulling yourself up towards the headboard, sat on your knees, staring up at him expectedly. You were quivering, and it only made his cock harder.

The tulle ran up your thighs, its poorly constructed bottom beginning to leave nothing to the imagination. Your chest was heaving, exposing the outline of your breasts. Even though you were scared, you were so ready for him.

“I don’t want to get caught…” you said softly, a lump bobbing in your throat as he slowly approached you, staring you down like a piece of meat. “I’ll be fired,”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Princess,” he smiled, beginning to loosen his belt as he kept staring at you. “But it works two ways, you know…”

You nodded. 

“Is this your final wish?”

“No. I like to savour my treats…” he purred, pulling down his zipper. “Look up at me, doll,”

You obeyed, letting him take your face with his free hand, cupping your chin as he guided you to his cock. He was a little over average, and it was thick, with a prominent vein running along its side. He groaned and threw his head back as your warm mouth enveloped his cock, precum acting as lube and coating your lips like gloss. His grip remained firm on your face as he began to pump in and out of your mouth slowly, giving you time to adjust to the sensation. You hollowed your cheeks on his cock, guiding your head along the skin as you used your tongue to lick the sides, earning a groan from William.

“Has this pretty Princess sucked cock before?” he teased. “Of course you have…You’ve never had one like this before though, hm? Married, daddy dick,”

You managed a ‘Mmfh’ in response, unable to speak. The man chuckled and let go of your face, letting you do the work whilst he caressed your body, admiring your wings and stroking your neck, his hands making their way down to your chest. You wasted no time in using your hands to grip his base, holding him still as you began to eagerly suck him off, taking him as far as you could whilst your hands jerked him off at the base.

He huffed, and began to unbutton his shirt, leaving him in a vest, showing off his slightly hairy chest. He looked down at you, and you looked up at him, secretly satisfied at the way his eyes were half lidded with desire. It was his daughter's birthday, and his wife was 30 mins away, and yet here he was getting a blowjob from the hired entertainment. It was so sinful, and he’d barely even begun.

“Go deeper, Princess. For me…” he commanded, his voice breathy. You did, and his thick tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag. Pulling away, a trail of spit connected your mouth to his cock, and the man tutted, scooping it with his finger to run it over your swollen lips.

Had you disappointed him?

“I can do it —” you insisted, psyching yourself up to go again, but he stopped you, bending down to place a sloppy kiss on your lips.

“Lie back,” he said simply. “I have a surprise of my own,”

He opened a drawer, fumbling around through the contents before he pulled out a box — to a vibrator.

“It’s all clean,” he said, holding it up teasingly. “You got one of these, Princess? Or are you too much of a good girl for them – Maybe there’s a Prince around to do the job for you…?”

You shook your head. There was one guy named Mike who’d sold you the tires of your car once, but you’d never really pursued him.

“Hm,” William hummed gleefully. “ ‘Got this for Sarah as a fun little Valentine's gift ‘n she never used it. She’s a fucking prude, as you can tell. But you’re going to be my good little princess, aren’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” you replied, and he smirked as he opened the box, wasting no time in sorting it out. 

In a moment he clicked it on, and the quiet house was filled with whirring which filled you with anticipation. It’d been a while since you’d had sex, let alone anything penetrating.

William leaned down, hands on either side of your body as he snaked his hands up the sides of your thighs, calluses brushing the material of your skirt away before he reached your panties.

“I’m gonna put this inside you, okay Princess? Be a good girl for me…”

You hadn’t realised it was a dual operator. 

The rubbery material slid into your folds as he pushed your panties aside with his hands, allowing for the other nub to rest on your clit, leaving the base sticking out of your body. If that wasn’t torture enough, he covered the bottom with your panties, placing them back into position and leaving you with no escape.

The machine began to pulse and vibrate, leaving you as nothing but a squirming mess.

William chuckled at the sight below him, taking a moment to watch you squeal and call out for him as he lazily jerked his cock. This was far better than any porn. Or sex with his wife, for that matter.

You arched your back and clung onto the sheets as it continued to fuck you, the outside handle massaging your clit in circles, sending shockwaves through your body. You’d never been fucked like this, and it was even more sinful knowing it came from a married man.

“Please Sir…” you begged, eyes watery as you stared at him, arms outstretched. “I need —“

“Does the Princess need her King? He’s coming, doll,” he cooed, desire laced in his throaty chuckle. He walked over to you and took your hand, but assumed his position back at your mouth, taking a moment to run his heavy shaft over your wanting lips. You took him in your mouth like a good girl, making sure you teased his balls with your tongue.

He groaned, legs shaking as he ran his fingers to the top of your dress, roughly pulling it down to just below your breasts and began to fondle them with his large hands. He squeezed and tugged on your nipples, bringing you to a point of complete overstimulation as the vibrator continued its motions within you. The room was filled with sounds of wetness from both your mouth and cunt, and judging by the way you were beginning to desperately paw on William’s thighs he could tell you were close.

“Are you gonna cum, doll? You gonna cum all over my wife’s vibrator?”

You whined an ‘uh-huh’ as you nodded your head, and William grinned down at you, pulling himself from your mouth.

“Good,” he hummed. “Open your legs nice and wide for me Princess. I want to watch you,” 

You did so and he stood over you, inspecting you as if he were a doctor. You were beginning to see white, and you barely noticed that the man had dropped to his knees, face-to-face with your aching pussy. In a second, he dragged you towards him and buried his face between your legs, underneath all the layers of tulle and petticoat. He swiftly removed the vibrator and replaced it with his tongue and lithe fingers, flicking at your bud and pumping in and out of you, your juices beginning to coat his digits.

It was heaven when you came. You were so overwhelmed that you’d actually locked your legs around him; allowing him to receive all of your fluids across his face and fingers. He lapped you up like he was starving, his hands holding a steady grip on your thighs and waist, making it clear that you belonged to him.

As you rode off your high, you began to feel sleepy. William emerged from under your dress, looking rather proud of himself as he wiped a droplet of your juices from his beard. You mustered the strength to prop yourself up, and as you did he pulled you into a sloppy kiss by your neck, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?”

You bit your lip as you pulled away, watching the man intently as he dropped his pants and boxers, leaving him completely nude.

“Keep your clothes on for me, doll,” he smiled sinisterly. “You look so pretty in that dress. I promise I won’t ruin it…”

Shifting so that you were amongst the pillows, you instinctively hiked up your skirt, watching as William climbed over you. Even though you were fully clothed, you felt completely naked under his gaze, and the severity of the situation finally sunk in on you.

Here you were, the image of innocence and grace, draped across the marital bed of the parents of the child you were supposed to entertain - on her birthday no less - whilst the husband straddled you, ready to fuck you within an inch of your life.

Sarah, Vanessa and the other children could come home any minute. 

“William…” you whispered, cupping his cheek in your hand. “I-I’m scared…”

He grinned. He hoped you were scared of what he was going to do to you, and the idea of being caught by his wife. 

“Shh,” he hummed. “I’ve got you,”

He lifted your legs to either side of him so that your lower back was elevated, and your thighs rested on his own as he lined up with your entrance. He took a moment to tease your slit, rubbing his sticky head along your wet folds, still sensitive from your orgasm.

He pushed into you with little warning and your back arched, relishing in the bittersweet feeling of being stretched open. You thought he was going to begin moving, but he continued to push into you, making sure that the ring of juices you’d left on his cock was entirely covered. He wanted you to take him whole.

“Fuck, Princess,” he groaned, voice rumbling from the inside of his chest. “You’re so tight…I haven’t had a pussy like this in ages…”

“Will…” you stammered, shutting your eyes as you felt him bottom out within you, balls resting on your skin. “Oh my God…” 

“Such a perfect little Princess,” he said, relishing in the sight of your skin-on-skin. Holding your thighs apart, he pulled back slowly before beginning to fuck into you, the contact making obscene sticky sounds. You had no choice but to grip the bed sheets as he drew long, agonising strokes into you, savouring the moment. Something about it was strangely intimate.

Once William found his rhythm he briefly let go of your thighs to grope your tits through the material before pulling it down and manhandling them himself. They moved with every thrust as your head lolled, mouth open and whining as he fucked you. 

William was a man of many feats, but he’d never believed he'd be able to have this. He wanted you to be his naughty little elf for Christmas, his Cupid for Valentines, and his present for his birthday. Just you, bound by ribbon with a bow on your head would be good enough.

“You like this, hm? Ever fucked another dad like me? They must love having you around,” he snarled, and your pussy clenched at the image.

“N-Noo…” you whispered, squealing as William abruptly slapped your cunt..

“No?” he repeated. “Hm, of course not. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? A true Princess…”

You nodded, leaning up as William leant down to meet your lips in another sloppy kiss, giving him the ammunition to drill his cock into you further, your legs now by his shoulders.

God, this was the best fuck you’d ever had.

He steadied himself on either side of you, and you could feel his hot, heavy breaths from his nose and mouth as he continued to fuck you, eye contact unwavering. 

As his thrusts became sloppier, you felt your stomach knot up, signalling yet another orgasm.

“William…I’m - I’m close…”

“Again, baby?” he hummed. “And here I was thinking I’d get to fuck your ass…Hm, there’s always a next time…”

You hardly acknowledged the implication.

“Y-You gotta — “

“Pull out?” he teased, withdrawing his hips, legs shaking as his nerves tingled and he entered you for the final time. “Oh no, Princess, I can’t do that! I could stain your pretty dress or ruin your makeup…”

He was so considerate.

You nodded, locking your arms around his neck as the weight of his body forced you into the mattress. You squeezed your eyes shut as you came, toes curling as your walls clamped down on his cock, making him feel bigger than before (if that were even possible). It wasn’t long before he came, grunting and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he filled your pussy with his hot cum. He held you there for what felt like forever, making sure every drop wasn’t wasted, nor spilled onto the bed sheets.

“Fuck!” he bellowed, words broken between pants as he began to pull out, watching as the creamy fluids glistened in the natural light, even trickling down to his balls. You looked absolutely spent, and if you didn’t have a job to do he would’ve let you lie there.

Managing to pull yourself up, it was mostly silent until you heard a car enter the driveway, causing you to spring into motion. 

“William, we’re home!”

“Shit…” you murmured, looking around. How would it look if you both came down the stairs?

“Here, take this,” William said nonchalantly, handing you a pink envelope. “Vanessa’s room is at the end of the hall. I trust you know how to improvise...”

You nodded, brushing your skirt into place as you hastily began to leave. William stopped you, raising a hand as if to ‘halt’, and tenderly fixed your tiara, a sly smirk wiped across his face as he did. As he let go, his hands stroked your cheek and his thumb ran over your lips. You took the digit into your mouth briefly before planting a gentle kiss onto the tip, smiling back up at him innocently.

Keys were in the door.

“My final wish…” he uttered, “…Is that you come and work for me. We could really use an Easter Bunny…”

@fandomwritingbit @ahsxual

[slayfics]

Muichiro reminds you you’re his Tsuguko.

A crow flew overhead alerting you and Muichiro of some Kanoto ranks in danger from a demon nearby. You both took off immediately to help them and take care of the demon.

Upon arrival, Muichiro let you handle the demon while he moved the lower ranks out of danger.

The demon wasn't challenging so it was the perfect time to try out some new techniques you just learned and had been practicing with Muichiro.

Muichiro observed taking mental notes of how you were doing when he overheard the lower ranks talking behind him.

"Wow, they are incredible," one said, watching you battle the demon.

"Not to mention beautiful too, think I could ask them on a date?" The other asked.

"Yeah right like they would ever give you the time of day," the first one replied laughing.

Muichiro scrunched his nose up in disgust but didn't turn around to face the Kanoto's. Of course, you wouldn’t be interested in any of those swordsmen he thought.

Or would you? The thought of you accompanying one of them on a date suddenly made him feel ill. He blinked hard, forcing the image out of his mind, and focused back on how you were doing. The lower ranks were right, you were doing amazing and it was stunning to watch.

You finished off the demon and made your way over to Muichiro and the other swordsmen.

"Are you all ok?" You asked them.

"They are fine with only minor injuries," Muichiro answered before any of them could speak to you.

"Oh, that's great! Do any of you need help getting to your next destination?” You asked, but again Muichiro spoke for them standing in between you and them.

"Their next destination is a Wisteria House not too far from here. Surely they can make that journey on their own. If they can't, they should quit the demon slayer corps now." He said sharply, turning his head to side-eye them. "Ask for us, we have much more work to do today and should be off." He said, and motioned for you to follow him in the opposite direction of the Kanoto ranks.

"Ok bye then, safe travels!" You said waving at the Kanoto ranks and following Muichiro.

"Geez, the Hashira are all real pieces of work aren't they?" You heard one Kanoto say as you departed. If Muichiro heard, he didn't care to dignify the lower rank with a response.

"How did I do Tokito?" You decided to ask, pushing the Kanoto's statement out of your mind.

"You did great, excellent work using your breathing techniques. We just have to work on getting you faster." He replied.

"Oh wow really! Thank you!" You said beaming at his praise. Sure he had some notes of improvement, but Muichiro always did. The fact that he had anything nice to say at all meant you must have done exceptionally well.

"I'm not the only one that thought so either," he said.

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Those lower ranks seemed to be captivated by you. One wanted to ask you on a date."

"Oh!" You exclaimed, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks.

"You should know though, you're my Tsuguko and you don't have time for trivial matters such as that," Muichiro stated.

This caused you to process the scene just now. Specifically, the way Muichiro refused to let you speak to the Kanoto's, and how he ensured to stay physically between you and them. A small smirk found its way to your lips. Was Muichiro really just trying to keep you focused on training? Or was something else going on here, you wondered.

"That's fine. I wouldn't be interested in any of their company anyway." You said teasingly.

"No?" Muichiro asked and turned to face you.

"Nope. I'm only interested in one swordsman's company."

Muichiro's eyes widened in curiosity, "what swordsman is that?" He asked.

"You of course." You said, and Muichiro swiftly turned back around, but you could have sworn you saw his face flush before he did.

Tagging those that asked~

@aeolia18 @plvuii @muichirouswife

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns. 

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

[astupidweeb69]

You know x-virus don’t get enough love…. Do you have any head cannons regular or nsfw (maybe both)??

I've been thinking about this guy a lot lately for some reason. Also I've never written for Cody before so hopefully this came out okay.

I was going to work on Toby's but.... I have more inspiration for Cody at the moment. He absolutely doesn't get enough love!

X-Virus Headcannons

SFW

Isn't related to Toby at all. In fact doesn't really look like him either. Sure, he's got the brown hair, but he looks waaay more dorky than Toby does. While Toby has kind of a boy-next-door-from-hell look to him, Cody is more slender and works out less. He looks like your typical STEM student (sickly complexion, poor nutrition, etc.). His whole schtick requires him to stay indoors most of the time, in a make-shift lab.

Has a refrigerated van, which he paid to be converted to safely transport whatever science experiments he's got going on in a temperature-controlled environment.

He tries to stay in one place. He's less of a drifter than most of the other creeps but sometimes... the things he does requires him to uproot his life and start over in another town. (No Cody you can't just infect your landlord with a mutated form of tuberculosis when they raise your rent! There will be consequences!)

Has kind of a nasally voice. I feel like he always has a bit of a cold too.

Ironically has a shitty immune system, and probably drinks those Airborne Immune Support drink mixes like it's his job. Also a germaphobe, wearing medical gloves all the time, and his hands are dry and cracked from overusing sanitizer.

LOVES Re-animator. He's rewatched that movie more times than he can count. But he has a love for science fiction movies in general, with horror elements to them. Like Alien.

Also loves zombie apocalypse movies, but that's an obvious one. Specifically 28 Days Later and World War Z.

Sometimes he's like... should I try to make a zombie virus? nah.... unless...?

I also think he was raised by a single father, who worked for a large pharmaceutical company.

Antisocial. I know Toby and him are compared a lot and people give them similar 'hyperactive' personalities, but I don't see that for Cody at all.

Cody's more focused, and is less inclined to interact with others. He doesn't really get lonely?

I'd say he'd get along okay with someone like EJ (both like science, ya know?).

Toby and him hang out a bit - they'll stay in and watch movies together. Or Cody will tag along with him to a bar and watch as Toby fails to pick up anybody. Cody wouldn't say it to his face, but it makes him feel better about his own social skills to see Toby strike out like that.

NSFW (Under the cut!)

I don't know how he'd find himself in this situation - but if he DID have a partner.... the sex would be kind of bland at first?

He doesn't know what he wants and frankly is too much of a germaphobe to get up close and personal with someone he doesn't know well.

You'd have to spend months getting to know him for him to feel comfortable to engage in anything sexual.

I think at the start of the relationship, he'd want to experiment with voyeurism.

He'd be across the room watching you touch yourself, giving you directions while he slowly strokes his cock, loving the feeling of ordering you around.

But as things escalate, of course, he'd give in to his urges. However, the voyeurism would become how he likes to foreplay.

Out of all the creeps (most of whom I view as being dominant) he's actually pretty tame.

He whimpers a lot, and it sounds almost pathetic when he moans. He's been holding out for so long for the right person, and when he finally gets to fuck he's absolutely drunk off of you.

That said, his sex drive is about average.

One of his roleplay fantasies is him being the experienced scientist, and you being his lovely little assistant.

Probably started after the first time you helped him in his lab.

He just kept thinking of you in a tiny little lab coat, bent over his desk - papers and test tubes falling to the ground while his hips piston into you.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Congrats on 1000 you deserve 10000000 and I love you very many ♥️ for the requests:

J, mafia AU, smut, ring

You know how I like it 😉😘

Mickala!!! 😍😭💖

Thank you so much, I couldn't have made it without all of your lovely support. I'm so happy to have found you as a friend. Hope you enjoy my silly little Mafia AU!

Coup d'etat

Rated: E

Words: 999

Tags: Mafia AU; dark Eddie Munson; intrigue; blood and violence; bondage; nudity; explicit sexual content; consensual non-con

“Nice pool,” Eddie drawls, walking back from the patio into the house. “Could’ve made a bit more of an effort to clean it. I said to leave the place as you’d like to find it, Dick.”

Richard Harrington’s eyes scream bloody murder, but he doesn’t dare speak. Jeff and Frank have him flanked on either side, guns ready in their holsters, and Gareth is manning the door. Just a precaution. Harrington has been in the business for long enough to know he has lost. All of his most loyal henchmen are dead or on the run, and the more fickle ones have joined Eddie’s side.

“Aw, don’t pout.” Eddie pats the man's cheek jovially. “This is just how it works. Survival of the fittest and all that. Now, I believe that concludes our little tour of the house? Or am I forgetting something?” 

Harrington’s face twitches. Jeff laughs and rolls his eyes. 

“The bedroom, Eddie?”

“Ah, of course!” Eddie snaps his fingers, like he only just remembered. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

*

A giant bed dominates the far wall of the master bedroom. On the mattress, wrists tied to the headboard, is a boy. The soft, muted light glows off his naked skin. 

“Ah,” Eddie mutters. “That’s what I’m talking about. Turns out you can follow directions.”

Harrington says nothing. The boy, who stopped tearing at his restraints when he heard the door open, stares at him with wide, panicked eyes. 

“Dad? What- … Who are those people?”

Eddie coos. With a few long strides, he’s at the bed, sinking down onto the mattress. One of his hands finds the boy’s bare ankle, sliding up his leg to a firm, freckled thigh.

“Aw, darling. He didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what? Leave me alone, perv!”

The boy tries to shy away from his touch, but he doesn’t get far, bound in place as he is. Eddie chuckles. 

“Shhh, honey,” he scolds, cradling that pretty face with both hands. “It's okay. The name's Eddie, I work for your dad. Well, worked.”

The boy blinks at him, hazel eyes large and confused. Eddie laughs softly.

“See, the firm’s under new management. My management, to be more specific. I’m trying to keep it minimum bloodshed, so your old man’s gonna make himself scarce and I’ve agreed not to bother him. In return, I get to keep this fine house … and everything in it.” 

Understanding dawns in those pretty eyes. 

“No! Don't- don't touch me. Stay away from me.” 

Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and wipes the first tears away as they spill over.

“Oh no, sweet thing. It’ll be alright, I promise. I’ll take such good care of- wait a sec.” 

Because one of his hands has just slipped up to the boy's temple, fingers carding through thick, chestnut hair - only to come away red and sticky. The boy flinches, but Eddie grabs his jaw, holding him in place so that he can comb his hair aside. There’s a large, bleeding bruise on his temple. For a moment, the only sound in the room is that of the boy's hitched breathing. 

“Dick?” Eddie growls. “Explain this?” 

“He fought back,” Harrington mutters defiantly. “What was I supposed-” 

Eddie has him up against the wall, gun to his throat, before he can finish the sentence. 

“Are you kidding me? Trying to slip me damaged goods? I should fucking kill you, you son of a-” 

“Eddie,” Frank mutters. “C'mon, man.”  

Eddie blinks. 

“Right,” he says. “Get him out of my sight.” 

Relief washes over Harrington’s face as the gun disappears from his throat - only to be replaced by incredulous horror a second later, when Eddie holds out his hand before his face, palm up. 

“Go on, Dick. It's traditional, right? A sign of respect.”

Harrington growls. His hands curl into fists. Eddie smirks, raising an expectant eyebrow. Then, quickly, as if the touch will burn him, Harrington bows his head and kisses Eddie’s rings. 

“Not so hard, was it?” Eddie calls after him as he is escorted out. The door clicks shut. 

Eddie's smile slips. 

“Shit, Stevie,” he breathes. He's back on the bed in an instant, tilting the boy's head with gentle fingers to look at the injury. “What'd you go and do that for? I told you not to fight.” 

“And I told you it had to look convincing,” Steve retaliates. “Was I just supposed to let them tie me up and tear off my clothes and thank them for it?” 

Eddie's mouth twists into a grin. 

“We both know that's how you like it, honey.” 

He leans in, claiming those plush lips for a long, filthy kiss. Steve puts up a brief symbolic struggle, but Eddie growls warningly and slips a hand between his legs, and his protests turn into the sweetest little moans. Eddie only allows them to part once they're both out of breath and Steve is starting to buck and grind in his hold.

“Everything went well, then?” Steve asks. His voice is hoarse and raspy, and he needs to stop halfway through for another moan. “The- … the security codes all worked?” 

“Flawlessly, you sly little minx,” Eddie murmurs. He bites down on the perfect stretch of that long throat, rolls Steve’s balls in his hand, and delights in the full-body shiver it gets him. “That old asshole didn’t know what hit him.” 

Steve lets out a breathy laugh, rolling his hips to meet Eddie’s touch. 

“Good. Now untie me, so we can celebrate.” 

“Oh?” Eddie smirks, crawling further down and leaving a trail of biting kisses all over the soft skin of Steve’s chest and stomach. “But I am celebrating already.” 

Steve groans. “Eddie, c’mon!” 

“Ah-ah-ah, Stevie. There’s people out there who think I’m gonna ravage you tonight,” Eddie tuts, grabbing the boy’s twitching hips and blowing a warm stream of air on that pretty, flushed cock. Steve fucking mewls. The sound is like the sweetest music. “Be a good boy now. Gotta make it convincing, no?”

Part 2

More celebration ficlets

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.62)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: love becomes guilt, predator becomes prey, and Jin becomes...

Tags: Hospitals, medical talk, sicfic, seizures, angst, hurt/comfort, assassin! Jimin, implied autistic! jimin, meltdowns, settling, non-sexual biting, Mafia shit, murder, Dead bodies, Guns, violence, blood. everyone lives nobody dies, morality conversations, revenge, secrets

W/c: 10.9k

A/n: thank you to everyone who helped me make my birthday this year super special <3 im sorry if i was bad at thanking people publicly for their specific gifts <3 i figured that the next best way i could say thank you was to give you another chapter...be warned, this one ends on QUITE the cliffhanger....be warned

Previous part ~ Masterlist

The hospital is cold, maybe that’s just because of the first snow.

It gathers on the trees outside like a faint white outline where someone forgot to fill the image in. Cresting the shoulders of everyone who walks into the hospital and turning the streetlight into halos and the sky into one big white blanket. The whole world is a nest when the weather is like this. Maybe if the whole world was a nest, it would be enough to keep you all safe.

It’s useless to hope, as you wait with Jimin outside of Jungkook’s hospital room.

The hospital is a mess of glowing exit signs and endless beeping. A dull roar in your ears from coming down adrenaline and a telephone nearby blares. The scratchy intercom system overhead pages a doctor for a code red. Whatever that is. You sit and wait, worrying and picking at your nails, full of useless energy. There is nothing to do but wait until someone tells you if Jungkook’s alright.

You're not sure if he will be, this seizure was a bad one.

You and Jimin sit side by side, and you don’t talk. You don’t even touch. You don’t know what you prefer, the instant terror of the car bomb, or this slow terror. Slow terror feels like nails dragging down the back of your skull, like clothes that are two sizes too tight. A bad taste in your mouth, not blood and not soot either.

The relief of finding out that Jungkook wasn’t calling you because Moonbyul had done something to him was only temporary. instead of your packmate there was a stranger on the other end of the line.

He’d still been seizing when you’d got back to the coffee shop. Foreghein scents on him and a crowd of patrons and paramedics surround him. His eyes rolled back into his skull, on his side, blue lips and froth on the edge of his mouth. Luckily, someone in that coffee shop was a doctor, was able to keep him semi-comfortable but-

This seizure had lasted a long time. Too long. Jungkook has been a patient at most of the local hospitals before on account of how unpredictable his seizures are. He has directives as per Namjoon's guidance, in place since before they were even packmates. Anything more than 6 minutes needs an overnight stay and copious testing. This seizure had lasted almost 10. The longest he's had in years.

You'd watched horrified and all too familiar with it as they’d loaded your still twitching packmate into the red box. Unsympathetic paramedics unwilling to hear your pleas to just let Jimin ride with them to the hospital (he'd tailgated them the whole way) but even at the hospital you and Jimin still couldn’t see him. They whisked him right up for an MRI.

Maybe you’d be less unnerved if Jungkook had woken up, but he hasn’t yet.

They’re still running tests and keeping him under just to be sure. Not a medical coma, but the step below that. Something about Jungkook’s malfunctioned ocular nerve and not wanting to trigger more seizures with more stimuli until the lorazepam and half a dozen other medications have time to take effect.

Jimin is the one who okayed those. He signed those papers for medications as easily as if he were swiping his card or maybe firing a gun. You feel out of your depth here, even if Jimin is very used to this. It’s been a while. It’s not your fault the luck ran out. Maybe that’s why he’s angry, maybe that’s why he’s not touching you. You are at once, somewhere between a four-leaf clover and a bad luck charm. Intangible and unsure of your odds.

Maybe Jimin's not touching you because he hates you, maybe he hates you because you forced him to let you come with him. you'd have been by Jungkook's side while this happened if you hadn't. But Jimin might have died from the explosion then-

Jungkook might still die, you realize with a lurch. Jungkook might die because of the seizures and could die at any time really. It's so easy to forget. Maybe that's why Jimin's not touching you. Your thoughts rush over you, wave after wave.

But Jimin thinks you don’t deserve to be touched when he’s this angry. You’ve had a lifetime’s worth of an angry alpha touching you and he won’t be one of them. Won’t make you worse when you’re sitting small and fragile. Barely there, barely alive. No, he'll keep his shaking hands tightened to fists on his knees and his angry tongue locked behind pursed lips. touching you would be more for him than it is for you he's convinced.

Too close, they were too close today. Jimin promised you that he wouldn’t let them hurt you. He promised and he'd failed. you still have the gash on your chin.

His worry for Jungkook is another monster entirely, one that can't be made better with actions, that can't be fixed with his own two hands.

Yoongi and Tae are the first to arrive. Your mate’s hair is wet and tousled, in a pair of pajama pants on like he’d just been showering for the evening before he’d come. Tae is close behind, a pair of pink sweatpants poking out from below her long thick coat and her long nightdress tucked into the waistband. The same dress you cuddled up beneath this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Yoongi holds your cheeks, searching your face. The words tumble from your lips, the first you and Jimin have said in what feels like hours.

“He was just- we were just getting the car and we thought he’d be fine for a second but then-” you feel like you’re going to be sick all over his shoes. In his hurry, Yoongi put on a pair of Tae’s Uggs, the platform ones. You don't know why your brain fixates on that.

“It’s not your fault,” is the first thing he says, although even he sounds unsure. You shouldn’t have left him alone are the words that he must be thinking, the words that no one’s saying.

(This is a lie. This is your brain making up the worst-case scenario and clinging to it. There is nothing anyone can do, no precautions that they can take that they already haven’t when it comes to Jungkook’s seizures. Yoongi just gets small and quiet whenever Jungkook is sick. Jungkook will always be sick, and this quiet devastation will always find your mate because he loves Jungkook so).

There is nothing to do but wait, even though waiting with them is better than waiting alone.

The people at the coffee shop said they saw jungkook lie down before he started seizing. That's the only way they were able to call you, because he'd had your contact open on his phone. He'd known he was about to have one and he'd tried to call you. He'd been afraid and alone and then he'd been nothing.

The movements of the hospital slosh the four of you like an unmoored boat while you wait. Every doctor coming closer prompts a turn of your head and pleading eyes. Hoping that they’re the ones that will relieve you of your misery. Your leg jumps up and down, jittery. Jimin by comparison is deathly still.

Yoongi goes up to the desk and Tae sits between you and Jimin, one hand a piece on either of your thighs. You lean into her and Jimin rests his cheek on her shoulder slowly. She holds around your shoulders, looking back and forth between the two of you. She doesn’t any anything.

Her fingers rub up and down your shoulder, feeling the crumbliness there. She picks her hand up, and you watch as she takes in the darkness. It's soot.

“It’s from the ambulance,” Jimin says before you can force your words to cooperate and lie.

Jin comes through with a flurry of his long felted coat, snow gathering on his wide shoulder. Holding his keys in his hand and almost dropping them when you stand to collide with him. He has just a choked-out "pup" for you but then there's the nurse, the one you've been waiting for. Telling you that Jungkook's fine- he's not awake yet- but that you can wait in his room with him until he does.

Jungkook doesn't have too many wires connected to him, nothing more than an electrode at his temple, one at his heart, and an IV in his wrist. His hospital gown is pulled down to his collarbones so that the electrodes don't pull, but his skin is absent of his usual healthy flush.

You wait, watching until you notice the rise and fall of his chest. Even and beautiful breath. Jungkook is alive, Jungkook is breathing of his own accord. You let out a single broken sob, but you're not the only one.

You watch Yoongi brush his hair back from his face, eyes glassy. Seokjin sits by his right side and tae takes the other. Jimin and you stand at the foot of his bed, just watching him. No one says anything. Every beep of the heart monitor is anticipated, every second more precious.

"There's nothing on his MRI that indicates any lasting brain damage from the seizure," the nurse states, fussing with Jungkook's IV. "but it will be hard to know until he wakes up. You might notice him unable to recognize you or speak for a few minutes- the location of the seizure may have affected his language and motor capabilities so-"

She continues to list his prognosis, but it's nothing you didn't know before. Every seizure has a risk of taking out part of Jungkook's faculties, his fine motor skills, and his speech. But a seizure has never damaged him beyond repair before. Tae takes one of Jungkook's hands from the bed and brings it to her face, trying to hide her tears but it's no use.

It’s startling, how much your body relaxes upon Namjoon’s presence, you feel the shift in the air before he enters the room. Nauseous one moment and then fine the next. He enters the room, hand skimming the top of your head and Yoongi's side as he be-lines it to Jungkook's chart.

His scent is so thick- comforting coffee even if it is a a little stale. You sway, and when he looks up, his eyes flicker from you and then the nurse.

Today is not the end of the world, even though it feels like it. It feels like it's ending every time Jungkook finds his way into a hospital bed, a good 3 or 4 times in a year. Honestly, they’ve been so quiet recently, so unnoticeable that they should have known a bigger one was building.

“Dr. Kim,” Jungkook’s nurse says, this is not Namjoon’s hospital, but he is on Jungkook’s file. This nurse looks at him and waits for his call. Namjoon flicks past one page on his chart and then another, pursing his lips.

“Why didn't Avery order a Ct? it’s not here.”

“The ct has already been run Dr. Kim, He put the order in 4 minutes ago” Namjoon hums, and you watch the clench of his jaw, the extra tight way he bites his cheek. And it’s then you realize oh, Namjoon is about to cry.

Yoongi gets to him before you do, Jungkook’s fingers twitch of their own accord against Namjoon’s wrist and Yoongi grips his shoulder. Namjoon looks back at him and at the same time, Jungkook opens his eyes blinking against the dim lights.

His words are all garbled for the first few seconds after a seizure, the Jumbled groan startling enough that you flinch. Yoongi backs up so that Jin and Namjoon can hold him down as he reaches blindly, startled and moving before his brain has a second to catch up.

"It's okay Jungkook, you had a seizure. You were out for a few hours, You're okay,"

"Come up slowly, don't try to sit up there you go."

Jungkook tries to get up and out of the bed but has to be held down by namjoon until his brain comes back online, he continues to speak garbled nonsense for a moment. Too loud, voice loud after so much quiet. It startles you; you take a step back.

And almost step right on Hobi’s shoes.

Hoseok is there, hand on the small of your back. Snowflakes that still haven’t melted in his hair. He doesn’t say hi to you, but his hand stays there. Pressed flat. He only has eyes for Jungkook. Jungkook relaxes, falling back on the bed, and gets one coherent syllable out and then another. It's their names-.

"Alpha- Joon- hughr-"

Jungkook pants, breathing heavily, and then his hand reaches up steadily, to touch the electrode on his head. Yoongi's hand closes around his just in case, but he doesn't rip it off.

Everyone waits with bated breath.

“You alright kookie?” Hoseok asks careful, with that same level of humor in his voice that you’ve come to need. His smile is as genuine as ever as he looks down a Jungkook in the hospital bed. Jungkook’s hand is tight around Namjoon’s as he stretches, muscles aching. He’s always so sore after a seizure. It's always so disorienting coming out of them like this.

Jungkook waits, testing out his words. “I feel like Like it got hit by a trucking fuck.”

He blinks, and the lights are turned low, but a breath passes and Tae laughs and so does Yoongi, and then everyone's laughing and sort of crying. Your knees go a little weak and you turn into hobi's chest hiding your tears.

Jungkook just blinks at the ceiling. “That wasn’t right.” But then everyone's smiling. Happy because he's talking, happy because it looks like the seizure didn't do any lasting damage. Jin rests his head on the coverlet and sighs a happy sound. All too relieved to hear Jungkook act something like himself. Wordlessly Jin brings Jungkook's wrist to his face, pressing his nose to his scent gland.

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enter the room along with someone who Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon. Asking Jungkook how many fingers she's holding up, Namjoon's name, then testing his reflexes on his hands and toes. Stress tests and memory tests.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi.

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enters the room along with someone whom Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon and refers to him by name.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi. Tae opens the door and gestures. You step out because it’s surely more important that Namjoon Jin and Yoongi get at Jungkook right now even if your heart clenches painfully at leaving Jungkook.

Jimin is still vibrating out of his skin, has been since Jungkook opened his eyes. But Tae tugs him in for a hug in the hallway. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you watch him hug her back. But Jungkook was Tae and Jimin’s packmate first. It’s no wonder that this has shocked them both closer, their fight forgotten.

Or mostly forgotten, you watch as Jimin wraps his arms around her slowly, like he's not sure he's allowed.

Hobi jogs you out of your starting, turning your face towards his and, looking at you intently. Eyes flickering down to your chin and then to your eyes. You forget what he’s looking at until his fingers skim below your lips and you feel pain.

You drag your arm across it and it leaves a small rusty trail in its wake on the sleeve of Tae's jacket, just another stain on it. Oh, you fell during the blast and banged your face, you'd almost forgotten.

“Tripped, banged my face on the sidewalk.” it's close enough to the truth that the lie goes unnoticed. Hobi makes a sound, holding your elbow. Squeezing it reassuringly.

“I’m gonna get some snacks from the vending machine, can I get you something?”

“Didn’t eat dinner” you say, staring down at Hobi’s red Converse. There are scuffs on the linoleum and a drop of blood someone must have missed. You wonder who it’s from, another person from the emergency room probably. “You sure Jin and Joon won’t be angry if my dinner is just sweets?”

Tae is close enough to overhear, and she rubs her cheek across the top of Jimin’s head, scenting him sweet (or trying to.) “Yeah- junk food isn’t exactly the most nutritious.”

You stumble, stepping close, swaying suddenly on your feet. Hobi catches you around the shoulders and for a second, you must look like the mirror image of Tae and Jimin.

Hobi's scent smarts with worry and he pushes you back, making you sit down. “They can live with it, she deserves a special treat. I’m getting you a Band-Aid.” Tae looks like she wants to argue with Hobi, then doesn’t.

Hobi gets Skittles and Peanut Eminem’s and two bags of funyuns that you pick apart while you wait for the doctors to be done. The colorful packages are scattered across your lap as he tilts your head to put the Band-Aid on your chin (gotten from a helpful nurse). Fingers that tenderly curve under the wide part of your jaw, drumming there.

Tae nibbles on a peach ring. Inside Jungkook's hospital room, it isn't quiet, but the four of you are silent with exhaustion listening in. Jin sounds relieved, and the low grumble from your mate sounds just as happy.

Jimin still isn’t speaking much, just pacing back and forth in front of Jungkook’s door. When you say you feel nauseous, Hobi gets up and gets you ginger ale too. You know there just isn’t much for him to do, alpha instincts and no omega to cool them but you. Hobi holds your hand, he doesn’t say that Jungkook’s going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything but.

“Which are your favorite?”

The back of Skittles jingles and he picks out all the green ones, lining up his pants in an orderly little row for you to grab when the ones you suck on go small enough.

You don't realize you're crying until he gets you a tissue, dabbing at your cheek. "There you go, Kookies gonna be fine. He's always fine." His voice goes slower, honeyed.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder, and he lets you. “You got a pair of headphones?” Your breath is shaky, and you think you might be shaking apart right now if it wasn’t for Hobi.

Namjoon stares at the packages for a second too long when he exits the door. His hair is pushed up like he’s run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t smell quite as worried as he did before. He looks at the package and you shrink underneath his disapproving stare.

He all but snaps his fingers, “Tae, would you please go get some real food.” Hobi does not flinch at Namjoon’s cross-tone, even as Tae shoots to her feet and chirps "Yes alpha!"

Hobi doesn’t do anything but stare Namjoon down, put a pink starburst on his tongue, slowly.

Jimin keeps pacing.

“We’re sleeping here tonight.” It’s not an order or a request- your pack alpha has decided that this is too great a danger to separate you so you won’t separate. Neither of you pipes up anything to the contrary, now is not the time for contrary voices.

Jimin is still pacing. Black leather shoes smoothed and silent, barely acknowledging the pack alpha.

He’s making you anxious, your scent sour even to your own nose as your eyes track him back and forth. Namjoon pulls you to your feet, hand lingering on the back of your neck. “Will you be okay in those clothes pup? Or should someone go home and get your things?”

You hear the request for what it is; Namjoon is asking you if you think the alphas need a nest to settle if you think they need a change of clothes and things that smell like pack tonight for sleep and safety. he's leaving this up to you.

Your hands stay buried in the pockets of Tae’s white floral jacket. Hoping he doesn’t notice the soot smudge on your shoulder. “It'll be fine just-” your eyes are half glassy, “are you sure Koo will be okay?”

The pack alpha pulls you to his front, and one of the nurses passing by gives you both a look, you have to get on your tippy toes to kiss him. "of course he's going to be, we're making sure of it" Namjoon promises.

"I meant like, without a nest."

Namjoon laughs, and you watch the stress melt off his shoulders. he turns, guiding you inside with a peculiar look over his shoulder at Hobi. “I’m sure he’d love it if you’d help him make one. he already wants to start"

Jungkook looks a little bit better, with less of a pale-yellow flush to his face and more of a healthy glow. pouting down at the blankets and complaining that they're too rough.

For someone who looks so physically well/muscles defined even when they’re not flexed, it’s always a bit startling to see him lying prone and exhausted, lights dim to avoid the risk of another seizure.

Tae comes back with some food, and you all eat in silence, white Styrofoam containers balanced across your knees. The faint crinkle and drag of plastic spoons scraping plastic bowls. Jungkook eats hospital food. Nibbles it, and doesn't throw it up. One of the side effects of the medication is nausea.

The only one not at ease is Jimin, who doesn’t eat, sitting tacitly in the corner watching each of you, getting up occasionally to pace. The pack let him work off his restless energy until it’s clear it’s making Jungkook restless too. Shifting and watching him. His request of, “Minnie will you come and sit by me?” goes unanswered as Jimin flexes his hands from open palm to open fist again and again.

Jungkook watches the jello in his plastic tray jiggle with the force of Jimin's pacing, back and forth. Back and forth. Tae sighs, and Yoongi stiffens.

He goes like that, pacing one two three steps just in front of Tae before turning. He falls apart like this until Jin steps up to intercept him, and Jimin rocks to a stop rather than crash into him. He’s put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, fingers digging into the tense ball there. Moving quicker than any of you thought possible.

“Breathe.” Comes his terse request. A little broken, a little begging. But Jimin’s alpha will never willingly disobey an order from his pack omega, that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? Jimin’s alpha has taken over, took over the second he saw Jungkook lying between those two tables in the coffee shop. All instinct and no Jimin, all fear and pulse and get them safe get them home get them out.

But it’s like Jimin’s lungs are pried open from it. He gasps, and Jin pulls him in for a thorough scent mark, systematically dragging his teeth from ear to ear, hard enough to leave dull red lines in his wake. You watch Jimin’s eyes dilate and constrict, plush lips parting in a gasp. Looking at you.

Jin licks his teeth after, “There you go.” You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Jin settle Jimin or if you’ve ever seen him settle any of the alphas like this. Jimin asks for bites again and Jin obliges. Bending over him to drive his teeth, to nip Jimin's skin pink between his teeth. Bite after bite Jimin’s body relaxes inch by inch.

And so does the rest of the pack, underneath the covers, Jungkook shifts his hips, splaying them a little wider. Relaxing as Jimin goes boneless.

Jin’s voice is a dark croon, the tone he reserves only for Jimin and maybe Namjoon sometimes. He's a little firmer when the more dominant alphas need his touch. Jimin feels it as delicately as Yoongi's soothing thumb on the side of your thumb when Jin pinches his cheeks and shakes him a little bit.

“Now, do you want to tell Omega why you’re upset?”

“S’my fault” Jimin sways on his feet, closer to Jin’s touch than back again. a planet in orbit. the rest of the pack watched transfixed. You see Hoseok perk up slightly. “Wasn’t there.”

“Minnie, I know you,” Jin cups his cheek a little gentler. Fingers skimming stubble. “I know you,” Jin repeats, such an air of finality about it that you can’t doubt it to be true.

Jin could command the moon to shift its orbit and it would. “I know you’ll do whatever’s possible to protect the pack" Jimin's eyelashes flutter. "To your dying breath.���

“You don’t have to be so intense about it” Namjoon half snaps, any of them dying isn't what he wants to think about right now. But he's forgiven the second he realizes he's being too harsh, everyone’s a bit stressed right now.

Jin’s dark tone falls away as quick as it came, “But still- what happened with JK wasn’t your fault, isn’t that right kookie?”

Jungkook nods, eyes closed, licking his lips like he's tasting the settling in the air. “Not Jimin’s fault my brains fucked up, just how it is” Jin pecks Jimin’s head, pinning his blond hair flat. “See pup? Listen to the omega’s, You’re fine. Everyone's going to be fine."

Jin speaks the words so surely you almost believe it.

The hospital is a bit generous with the extra sleeping cots (Namjoon might have called his boss and asked him to pull privileges), and you get 3 that they roll up one on one side of Jungkook's hospital bed, and two more on the other side.

But you and Jin pile in just around him. Cuddled up close and scenting along his shoulders, sniffling and fluffing a few extra threadbare blankets around him in a makeshift nest, full of your jackets too.

You steal Tae's pants for the nest making, letting her untuck her nightdress and let it flutter around her. But when one of the nurses comes to the door Namjoon (panicked) throws himself across the exposed line of her honeyed thighs to conceal her nakedness. but she just giggles, she’s not some Victorian maiden full of virtue, but it makes Jungkook smile and scrunch his nose. and it feels like a win even if Namjoon's cheeks go bright red.

You cuddle up, trying fitfully to banish the medicinal scent by scenting him. It's sour and not all like him, but the medicine they give him for his seizures always makes him smell a little off for a few days. It’s no less distressing to you, but Jungkook just grins and tells the others to let you do what you need when you rest your body weight on top of him and stubbornly bury your face in his chest. His hand with the attached IV strewn across your back to cradle your ribs.

Before no time Jungkook is laughing and leaning into Yoongi’s stomach where he lies across the top of the bed. In no time he's taking a few bites of veggies and a few sips of water, eyes heavy. He is tried from the seizure and medication even if he puts on a brave face.

They’ll drag him into one more MRI in the morning just to be sure that nothing concerning has developed over time but until then, the beeping of Jungkook’s heart monitor is your lullaby. Every heartbeat is a new chance. You don't even mind the lumpy hospital pillow. The pack goes quiet when Jungkook's eyes flutter, when they shut and his breathing goes deep. yoongi puts his finger to his lips and jin shifts slowly, Jungkook's head resting on his thigh. your lovely packmate resting between jin's parted legs.

The rest of the pack falls like Domino’s once Jungkook's asleep. Hobi shucks off his jeans to be more comfortable and so does Yoongi. The room is full of heavy breaths and dreams waiting to swoop in. You struggle to settle until Hobi gives you one of his headphones, and you lie close to share them, one in each of your ears. he still has his sleepy time playlist, and it blocks out the sounds of the hospital. When Sleep takes you it's thankfully dreamless.

Somehow Hobi's hand finds your waist under the covers, bunching up and tangling in his sweatshirt. Clinging to you and holding on for dear life. His bare thighs between your thin leggings tangled up in the makeshift nest. Jin only glances at your particular closeness a few times.

Sleep evades jin until he gives up on it entirely. Nothing feels quite as good to Jin’s instincts as having all of his packmates sleeping in one room. Even if it's not quite good enough to get him to fall asleep himself. But still- Jin would rather they not be here; would rather they be in the nest at home.

That will have to wait until tomorrow.

The distant hum of the hospital and the sound of his dull typing fill the room. His work computer screen is the only light in the whole room besides the monitors. Jin's computer balanced on his back because Jin had to leave during a briefing on a low-level gang member and Koo said he didn’t mind being used as a computer rest so long as Jin kept running his hands through his hair. Jimin is curled up on the next nearest cot, within petting (and settling) distance if he should need it.

7 a.m.

A look at the clock says that the pack has 5 more hours until Jungkook is allowed to be discharged. Until then, Jin will get some work done and keep an eye on the rest. Namjoon sleeps by the door, he declined a cot on account of there not being enough room for the rest of them to sleep comfortably. Namjoon turns fitfully with every new person who walks by the door. He’s gone in and out of sleep a few times. If he flinches awake again, Jin will get him a cup of coffee.

Until then, there's paperwork and an endless array of evidence for Jin to examine.

There are documents he can look over again, the same ones, back and forth. There are about 300 crime scene photos for each murder that the family has committed in the last 6 months, it doesn’t hurt to skim them again and refresh his notes.

That boy from the coffee shop burned beyond recognition. A pair of 30 caliber bullets in his chest. One under his ribs the other in his head, evidence of deep lacerations and torture on his body, bitten tongue, and evidence of red paint under his fingernails. The only other bit of evidence.

The origin of these paint flecks have been a source of annoyance and frustration for jin and the rest of his coworkers. Maybe they're evidence from a third location between abduction and dumpsite? A bit of the killer's car scraped maybe? The paint was metallic, old-fashioned. After a few minutes, Jin moves on to other murders, other people who have lives and packs and dreams that the family extinguished.

Jin no longer spends hours looking at his picture. The one of Choi Beomgyu alive and grinning. He still gets weekly calls from his pack alpha, begging Jin for any updates and leads. Jin has stopped feeling guilty over being empty-handed.

Jin’s boss's crime scene photos are a little harder to look at if only because of the nausea that those photos bring. Although Jin has become so desensitized to them that his bloated face no longer makes his stomach swirl with revulsion. His missing hand, the torn stump of it induced post-mortem.

One burned and one drowned.

These two kills are by far the family's messiest and hastiest. Usually, they don't even find this much of the bodies. Just a few fragments of bone or a tooth in a pire. Most of the time people just disappear.

What did you know, he thinks, looking at the photograph of the boy and then his charred corpse, what did you know that you shouldn’t have? Why didn't they have time to properly make you disappear? Why couldn't they risk you talking?

It’s funny, out of all the evidence, he tries to look at your cookbook and the late Don and data’s autopsy reports the least. Their tox screen and that one page that might as well be your confession and Ahn Hyejin's (Jin compared the second handwriting to a sample they had on file and matched hers to it in about an hour). Their murder was a neat and tidy little thing, but it is the murder that got his boss killed so maybe Jin should treat it with more scrutiny.

But that’s so simple, it’s almost a wonder why such a slight thread of spider silk needed snipping. Or is Jin wrong and this is a thread that could send the whole thing crumbling down?

Jin’s not sure yet, but maybe after a few more hours of pouring over this, he will be.

It’s nearing 3 in the morning and Jin is still sifting through every little bit of information when a ding punctuates the quiet in the room. Jin panic smashes the mute button before any of his packmates stir.

A warm body away, Hobi lets out a particularly deep and easy breath, and Jin relaxes.

Jin’s first thought looking at the email, is that no one not directly connected to the bureau should be able to get ahold of his email address, let alone be able to send him anything.

The email doesn’t have a heading, and the email doesn’t even have a subject or a cc. Unlike half of Jin’s other correspondents to other people giving them guidelines and delegating tasks. It's only secure for him to look at these here because everyone’s eyes are closed.

On closer look, the sender is just a random email generated with an obscure amount of Xs. He hovers over it. Cursor blinking until he clicks it, he knows better than to click on the link without launching it on his firewall server but the contents of the email aren’t anything but a video and a short line of text.

Skip to 17:19:07 for the fun parts :)

The video isn’t infested with bugs planning on robbing his data and pilfering him for information. No, the data and danger is just right there when Jin skips ahead, Jin holds his breath as he watches the grainy imagery.

The security camera is an IPC-110 if the shitty quality is anything to judge by. Trust a parking garage to install the shittiest CCTV cameras on the market but still the blurry figures of two of Jin’s packmates is unmistakable as he watches. Jimin’s face terse and afraid, backing up against the wall and exchanging words.

The flash of light is so sudden it makes Jin flinch hard and Jungkook groans, before settling and smacking his lips. Jin hardly notices as he watches you and Jimin get thrown by the blast, tight nuckled watching Jimin tuck his body around you and shouting your name. Pauses the video just to look at Jimin's panic-stricken face. To see him yank you to your feet and put you in the car.

Jungkook makes another soft whine when Jin shifts him, jostling him “One second baby” Jin murmurs, putting his computer to the side. Your jacket is on the side of the nest, delicately folded into the border. Jin detangles it and brings it to his nose.

Fire, burning things, soot. The smell is unmistakable. If the timestamp is to be believed, this is the reason why you and Jimin weren’t at the coffee shop with Jungkook. Jin feels the last little bit of his frustration fade at this.

Oh, Minnie.

It’s no wonder why Jimin was too spooked to speak, why he’s been so laconic tonight. First you and then Jungkook so quick. The stress would have anyone shutting down, this is why Jin's smallest but strongest alpha was so quiet and afraid. Why he’d needed a bit of settling when usually he’s someone Jin can depend on during Jungkook’s seizures. One surprise is hard enough to handle.

Jin shifts his petting from Jungkook’s hair to Jimin’s, combing through his blond strands lovingly.

He rewinds the tape back to the beginning, as far back as it will go, and sets it to 3x speed. The first hour goes by in 5 minutes, The person on camera is in all black, but even in black and white Jin would know the kind of mask they wear. It's red at the top and a stunning grimace at the bottom.

He watches as someone slight and billowy, probably 5’7 in height- no 5’9- figure cuts through the cars, heading for Jimin’s like they know which one to go for. The CCTV footage doesn’t cut out at all. Usually, the family is better in concealing their crimes. Usually, they don’t even leave a hint of evidence.

Usually, they don't send the evidence to Jin.

Jin freezes the frame when the figure turns, with the mask fully facing the camera. It’s a traditional Korean mask, the same one Jin has seen photographed on the rest of the family. He drags up Google, doing a cursory search. The footage is in black and white but the images on file are all red and black.

He goes back to the first murder, those hands, the red paint chipped underneath fingernails and his breathing goes heavy.

He needs to go back to Beomgyu’s dumping site and see if there’s anything red, any other possible reason why he’d have that under his fingernails. Either that or this is all connected, and the same person who killed him is trying to kill you.

Jin's breath goes heavy when he thinks about what could have happened if Jimin hadn't been there.

Jin does not wake you and demand to know what happened, Jin keeps his breathing measured and shallow. Does not let his scent get sour enough to wake the others. Jin fully detangles himself from Jungkook and pauses to lean over you, thumb skimming the Band-Aid on your chin.

No one hurts his pack and gets away with it. No one.

He’ll think about what you know and why Jimin didn't tell him later. Poor thing was probably just too shocked to say anything. You might have convinced him that saying anything would have put Jungkook in distress. Jin's anger is a cool sort, it's not you that he's angry at.

It’s only 5 a.m. but Jin goes and gets a coffee anyways. When he gets back, he shoves it into Namjoon’s hands startling him awake. But one glance at the pack omega says that he means business. Shadowed face unreadable silhouetted against the bright and open hospital door.

“Get the doctor, we’re going home.”

~-~

You wake in the hospital bed, roused by Yoongi's gentle hand on your shoulder, feeling listless and sorer than ever with Hobi’s nose pressed to the nape of your neck and Jungkook at your front. You wonder when that started to feel normal. When Hobi cuddled you stopped feeling so forbidden.

you know that when you take off your clothes you'll find your front bruised from falling, that you'll find your body dinnged. you don't know what you'll say, how you'll excuse the marks away from them but in the meantime, you watch jungkook. get a washcloth from the bathroom and whipe his face for him, standing between his legs.

"do you want water? coffee? can i get you something before your MRI"

namjoon sighs heavy, "pup- he can't-"

jungkook leans into your hands, letting you drag the cloth over his face, it's as much grooming as you ever have, but jungkook just smiles up at you and shakes his head. "when we get home yeah?"

The golden light streams through the horizontal blinds and Jungkook shifts as he gets out of the hospital bed and into a wheelchair for his MRI, and you wait for him with the rest of the pack. Yoongi returns with bagels and coffee for everyone. The caffeine makes you all jittery.

After he's given a clean bill of health, Jungkook leaves the hospital under his own power, on his own two feet because he always needs that certainty. Declining the wheelchair that the staff offers because honestly, he’s fine, he'd run out of here if he didn't think namjoon would drag him right back inside.

You’re guided into Jimin’s car, Yoongi drives. Hobi is in the front, turning to look at you more than he should, asking you questions about what song you want to play. Really, it can go as loud as you want cuz Jungkook's in the other car. He asks too many for your brain to answer accurately. You're too tired too worn out too everything to answer.

But when you get home, there is even more movement too quick for your sleepy brain to comprehend. Jin has to go to work and so does Namjoon; something about a revision surgery that won’t take too much time and can't be rescheduled. He's barely changed and cleaned himself before he's heading out the door again. Definitely a bit too tired, but oh well.

But now at home, the rest of the pack has Jungkook well in hand and ready for a bit more babying. Jungkook will be fine by this evening. Is honestly fine now. Just a little tired of being poked and prodded and just needs to nest and rest.

Jin too seems distracted by something, checking his phone and kissing each of you on the forehead before he goes. You're tempted to whine and ask them to stay, if not for Jungkook then for you but before you can, Hobi grips both of your shoulders and tells Namjoon and Jin that he’s got it, and the moment gets stolen away from you.

“I’ll get your pajamas,” he says after the door thuds closed, while Jungkook says something to Yoongi. Noodle meows and darts around Tae's heels and Jimin carries Jungkook to the couch and gently, gently- sets him down. Your mate is distracted right now (as he should be) but that doesn’t mean Hobi can’t fill the gaps.

He thuds up the stairs, bare feet probably cold. The house is still cold from a night left empty even though Yoongi’s just turned the heat on.

Jimin gets a ding on his phone, standing up the second he’s seen it.

Unknown (9:18): I want to talk to you about a murder.

Unknown (9:18): One you might have a vested interest in.

The picture is grainy, but Jimin knows the faces of the two women like the back of his hand although Hyejin takes a few seconds of racking his brain to place. Jimin feels his blood cool to a simmer and the shaking in his hands stops. His phone dings a few more times, whoever's sending it through must be a fast texter, from a burner phone no doubt.

Unknown (9:19): Especially because of the sensitive nature of this, you understand why I’d want to meet in person.

Unknown (9:19): (See attached address)

Jimin's suspicions are immediately peaked, warning bells going off loud. But before he can do more than read over the messages again more come through.

Unknown (9:20): I’m willing to offer you 10x your normal rate for each kill. Two Mil upfront. And Three more when the hit is carried out. I understand how risky it is for you to even view these texts so here

Jimin watches the next notification from his bank account ding through and holds his breath.

Fuck, that's a lot of Zeros.

Unknown (9:20): As a show of my good faith in you. I'll see you in three hours. If not, enjoy the money.

Jimin holds onto the phone like it’s a lifeline, the black plastic case digging into his fingers. He knows it's stupid, he knows that it's dangerous, and a million other things but-

Jin's words ring in his ears. "I know you'll do whatever you have to do to protect the pack, until your dying breath."

The money means nothing to Jimin, he'd do this killing for free. Out of all the lives he's ever taken, this is the first one that maybe he's ever felt vindicated in. the first murder that he's ever truly wanted to commit.

He's gripping his phone so hard he doesn't move until you make a noise. And when he looks up at you, you have a glass of water in your hands, waiting there, watching him. There is still that fucking scrape on your chin. Jimin looks at it and his mind is made up. All of this karma has come due.

If Jimin's being honest with himself, it's not Moonbyul’s confrontation or her comments about you that had Jimin so bothered.

All that "you belong to me" kind of talk that bullshit alphas with something to prove say, like something out of a manhwa. If he's being honest, the thing that bothered him the most, that made him so very angry was how clearly you didn't want them, and how willing she was to ignore that.

He grins at you, tipping his head back and you think Jimin might look like more of a demon than a man.

“I have to go to work.”

“What?” Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he reaches for Mini and tries to cling but Jimin steps away, sliding back on his still-warm shoes. “I thought you called out already?”

Jimin tugs on his coat, The one with the reinforcement in it, hard panels that flap just a little bit too stiffly. The shoulders that seem just a little too crisp.

"Sorry Koo it's an emergency."

You know just by looking at him that this isn’t for his other job. (You don’t think of bodyguarding as Jimin's real job, not when this one is so much more prescient and dangerous.) You follow him outside, the door closing with that same rusty jingle of the old doorknob.

“It’s not from her.” The words are quiet, stolen. The empty birdfeeder clangs in a sudden wind and you shiver, warm only for a few seconds without a jacket. Jimin’s hand skims your shoulder and he pushes at it, urging you to go back inside.

“It’s not just her who hires me, this isn’t related to her.” He lies effortlessly. Turning and making to walk away, you wrap your arms around him and almost make him fall down the stairs but he catches both of you, swaying at the bottom.

“Pup, you need to let me go,”

“No!” you cling to him stubbornly, “if I let you go something bad is going to happen!”

Jimin is so quiet you think you might not hear him. He stops struggling and trying to twist out of your arms for a second. “You’ve got to, I have to do this, please.” his tone is so calm, so gentle. Jimin is smiling down at you when you pull back to look up at him. He gently but forcefully separates you from him, hands holding yours and prying them apart.

“I’ve got too much to make up for. You have to let me do this.”

You have a bad feeling about this, your instincts that you should listen to. Walking into this so soon after Jungkook’s seizure. Is this punishment for leaving him? Jimin slips from between your hands. Walking to his car, and you feel a lurching in your gut like something terrible is about to happen.

You say nothing, watching him, heart beating quick. but you are powerless to stop him, powerless to keep him from leaving.

You wonder if this is how Yoongi felt, leaving them. Powerless.

“You'll come back? you've got to- you can't-" you can't leave us is what you want to say. Standing on the steps of the house, Jimin by his car.

"I'd never dream of leaving you." Jimin says, swearing it. And all the fight goes out of your sails.

"Be careful Minnie.”

He looks back at you, hair ruffled by the wind. All the snow from the night before has melted but the cold will stay.

“Always am.”

You nod, giving him permission and Jimin gets in his car. You return inside where it’s warmer. And Jimin turns it on, but before he has a chance to pull away from the curb, his phone lights up with another notification.

Unknown (9:27): Make sure to wear your mask.

~-~

The location on his phone is a lot more desolate in person, the scrub brush that’s that's grown in is thick enough to hide his car. Green by the river and poisoned into sticks here. Jimin parks far away among the maze of what must be four-wheeler tracks and walks in. mask on and gun at the ready.

The rusted metal of the industrial park rises out of the soil and the fog. It has to have been abandoned for years given how poor of a condition it's in. There are a few half-fallen-down buildings and one big complicated warehouse flanked on one side by a wide and slow-moving river. The soil smells strongly of gasoline and rust. The soil here is probably soaked through with it. Jimin wonders if would burn and catch fire if a spark was lit.

The traditional mask fits snugly on Jimin’s face, the hole at the mouth just large enough for him to not feel like he’s suffocating. Eye holes are wide enough to see and not block his peripheries.

The doors are cracked and nearly rusted shut with age but Jimin slides through a crack easily. He’s a whole hour early on purpose. This is all by design, every moment of this. Every second is orchestrated like a symphony;

Jimin is the violin, with high and pointed movements, drawing his weapon like a cymbal. The crunch of his boots on the floor the drums, every breath a crooning saxophone. His thoughts flute spiraling up like high delights. All of this builds to one big crescendo.

He doesn’t take out his phone to check the time. The upstairs is mostly unlit but Jimin doesn't use a light, just lets his eyes adjust. He waits, stalking quietly, completely silent in his movements.

Jimin is not nervous about this handoff, mostly, he’s just wondering who it is in the family that's finally betraying her. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t suspect that the conditions of this were a little too perfect. Money and all.

The main atrium of the industrial park is rusted up with age. Old metal shipping containers that used to hold smelting equipment or maybe molten metal long since rusted out even though the chains still hang from the ceiling. A suspended catwalk rings the room on all sides.

Jimin spends a few minutes casing the place, noting the exits, and the obvious places to hide. The old rusty fans at the apex of the roof turn and squeak softly from the wind outside. The whole place smells like chemicals and rust. It's all Jimin can do not to have a coughing fit.

It’s a wonder he doesn’t smell the blood sooner

(Trust me, I speak from experience. if you spend enough time around blood that's not your own, you’ll eventually be able to smell it. Even a drop in an empty room. like a hound the the hunt. You'll smell it.)

Jimin is almost done with logging the entrance and exits when he finds the body.

He rushes to their side, Jimin doesn’t recognize their face when he slides whats left of the traditional mask off their face, it's the same as his. Racking his brain to recognize the face but nothing. the masks is broken into pieces. A bullet between the eyes is a good shot.

Before Jimin can do anything, can decide if this is a setup or just a meet-up gone wrong, He hears footsteps behind him.

~-~

In the wake of Jin, Namjoon, and Jimin leaving, the rest of the pack is a bit forlorn. Jungkook is not so mobile, not so willing to make the trek upstairs. Worried about the stairs and any sudden seizures and all. But there is no shortage of cuddle spots on the ground floor, you've made many a nest in the living room before.

And besides, in such proximity to the kitchen, Jungkook can have all his treats this way.

Lately, it’s started to feel like the pack has several nests, the one upstairs, the nesting pod, and the one on the old grey couch when you shove all the pieces together. Yoongi indulges jungkook in half a bar of dark chocolate while you get some nesting materials. Blankets and your wet cheeks catching the dimmed lights.

You’re a little pouty and a lot quiet, and the others take note of it. Skimming comforting hands up and down your shoulders, always touching you like they’re making sure you’re there. They don't ask why you're upset at Jimin leaving. They don't have to wonder. you snap the blanket as you fluff it huffing.

Jungkook finds your angry nestmaking cute. he pulls you down on top of him nipping at your throat when you fuss a little too long. Testing out Jin's method of settling on you.

It’s surprising even to you when the action sparks tears in your eyes, the opposite he was hoping for. You rub at your wet eyes with a clenched fist stubbornly. It’s not even noon yet and you’re already crying. You're so exhausted by everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours, so tired. You can't be blamed for getting a little teary-eyed.

Tae reappears, freshly showered. Her shoulder-length hair already starting to dry. tilting your face up to her's and says "Oh my little dove-

She piles into the nest and upstairs you hear Hobi moving around. tae stradles jungkook's thighs and shifts the two of you, lying you all flat,

"Don’t worry about Minnie, he’s always had something to prove.” You rub at your tears stubbornly, sniffling and nodding. Jungkook threads his fingers through the back of your hair, a little indelicately. But he loves without boundaries, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“But why-” your words are quiet but broken, “why does he always feel so-"

“Guilty?” Tae finishes for you, looking out the window in the direction that Jimin disappeared. Humming as she strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt.

Hobi appears at the bottom of the stairs smiling. "Are we talking about Jimin's guilt complex again?"

Your mate groans and finishes putting together a little snack board. "I swear we've probably had this discussion like- fucking 20 times?" Yoongi's not wrong.

You only get more teared-eyed, crying a little bratty, thumping weakly against jungkook's chest, he grabs your thigh and pulls you snug across his lap. "But why! Why does he feel like everything is his fault?"

Tae hides her sad smile behind a hand, and you're less upset looking at it. Calmed in a second, because they have talked about this you realize, everyone in the pack is well aware.

“I guess he feels guilty because," Tae sighs, "because he was so loved.” Tae's fingers dance along Jungkook's thigh, and you're all quiet. everyone is quiet when they hear tae talk about jimin. it's a little like listening to someone describe what it feels like listening to your favorite song for the first time, what it's like to taste your favorite food, the feeling of a first kiss.

Hobi comes close to tae, sets down a shirt and a pair of pants. "would you get them into this while i shower?" the curtains are drawn and hobi goes upstairs and Tae undresses you while she speaks. You're a doll, teary eyed and willing as she and Jungkook strip you and put you in clean clothes. You didn't realize how much you needed to not smell like hospital until it's done.

"The first love you lose always hurts you the most, whether that's romantic love or parental love doesn't really matters. Each person metabolizes it differently. Truthfully, I believe that Jimin lost love the first time and promised himself- never again."

Tae talks, playing with Jungkook’s hair. He pouts “he's never gonna lose us.” Tae hums, agreeing. But you can see in her eyes the sadness there. Wounds that might never heal and wanting that might never fade.

Yoongi sits down beside you and together, the three of you undress and dress Jungkook. He could probably do it himself just like you could, but he's a willing puppet, happy when Tae tickles his tummy and slides his shirt over his head.

A minute later, Hobi's back, wet head that drips onto your cheek when he leans over Jungkook's curled form to grab one of the grapes on the snack board that Yoongi made. And Tae stares off into space, thinking of Jimin, how they met and how they feel in love, everything between then and now.

Tae smiles just thinking of him. "i know that pup, he just- he can't let himself believe it no matter how much he wants too. It was really hard on him, how our parents treated us, Jimin has guilt built into him because they made him that way."

It's too simple of an explanation for what they went through. What does it mean to love a parent that hates you? Or at least to have a parent that does not strive to understand you. How many times did the words linger on Tae’s lips? Standing in the doorway wearing a little boy jersey and little boy clothes, listening to his mother talk about the things on the news.

Wondering, Mom, would you give up God for me?

Tae rests her cheek on her hand. Her nail polish has gotten all chipped, maybe she picked at it nervously while you were at the hospital. She has a habit of picking at it when she needs something for her hands to do.

“If Jimin had a religion- it would be love. And every time he feels even a little bit like he's not loving us the way he should, he beats himself up for it and guilts himself into loving harder, loving better. He considers a lack of love the greatest crime. So yeah, feeling guilty is par for the course."

Jungkook groans, tipping his head back against the sofa, “I’ve told him, I’ve told him a million times-“

“Doesn’t matter” Hobi interrupts, “he still hates it when he’s not there when you have a seizure. He's upset with himself, that's why he left. Giving him more love when he feels like he doesn't deserve it is like his worst nightmare.”

You think of the explosion. Of Jimin pining your body and putting himself between you and the blast. Maybe with Jimin it's so instinctual it's not even a conscious decision. You wonder if it ever gets easy, to make the decision to sacrifice yourself for the people you love. Does that make Mimin feel like he deserves them more? the sacrifice?

You don’t know if it would be as innate with you, You might have to think it through for a few seconds.

You don't like that. You don't like realizing that you'd need to think through it however briefly. You fear a world in which you don’t love him as much as he loves you, in which any of this isn’t reciprocal.

(But then again, most recipes have twice as much sugar as butter.)

You melt against Hobi’s side. “He shouldn’t,” you say, feeling useless, a little quieter, a little bit more upset. “He shouldn’t feel guilty, he loves us enough!” Tae’s hand rests on your ankle, and her laugh strikes high and sad.

Outside a mourning dove coos, a lonely soft sound.

“Trust me, I’ve been trying to love Jimin more than he loves me for my whole life. He wants to win the 'I love you more' debate every time.”

~-~

The Industrial Park is different than Jin remembers.

It rises a little more jagged against the surrounding area of 3-meter-high brush that disguises a network of other dilapidated sheds and half flooded buildings. Jin recites what he knows about this place; the facts.

An iron processing plant, decimated by the flood of a nearby river 2 dozen years ago and bought through a shell corporation. Vacant land with so many entrances and exits. A veritable hotbed and the perfect body dumping site. construction on a housing development delayed on account of how expensive the environmental clean up.

He scans the building for red paint.

He can be forgiven for not seeing Jimin’s car, parked on the fringes. The opposite side from where Jin came in because Jin had to stop at the office first. Jin can be forgiven for having his blinders on, so focused with single-minded intent that he misses some of the signs. The smell of gasoline drowns out Jimin's vanilla scent.

Jin sees the fresh footprints in the dirt and draws his weapon.

That's the whole reason why it took him so long to get here, (why Jimin got here first even though he left second) He couldn't just go into an unknown setting alone unarmed, he'd had to stop back at the office to grab his vest and his FBI-issued firearm, a standard-issue Glock 17. Forghein and unwelcomed in his hands.

Even Jin will admit that he’s not the best marksman, (Jin had barely passed his exam a few years back, and continually has to study and practice for his re-certification every 6 months.) Jin does not prefer to be armed. If he wasn’t alone, if he didn’t go by himself for this, He might not have brought his weapon at all.

Jin enters through the front door; the old hanger doors are already open. Feet crunching on the gravel. Jin can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, how hard he’s holding the gun, he’s never had to discharge it during a field excursion before. How unbecoming of a director, how green of him. He lacks this experience.

The tip of the weapon shakes because he's holding it so hard. Jin feels like he can feel the breath of unseen eyes on the back of his neck. Someone is here, he knows it.

Jin walks into the atrium, gun at the ready, turning the corner when he sees them.

One masked man is bending over another a body, already strewn across the floor and dead. the man's mask litters the floor in red shards. Jin sees the gun in the living man's hands, gloved, Jin snaps his hand up and aims before he can really take in the details of the scene.

“Stop! FBI! Put your hands where I can see them!”

The man at the other end of the room tilts his head and does not speak, red mask flashing in the half-light. There is a single breath where the man does not move, just looks at Jin with that tilted face. silent. But then he takes off, running like his life depends on it. bolting down a corridor and out of range of Jin’s accuracy on the best of days.

Jin fires a shot and misses. It hits the metal wall with a loud clink and a bright spark, ricocheting off into space.

Jin curses and takes off after the killer, skidding in the dust and bashing into the wall, gun banning against the door with a loud metallic clang as he slides through it, running from hall to hall trying to get a good shot.

Every time Jin crests a turn and tries to aim, the man rounds another, darting through the maze of hallways and shipping containers.

Jin has longer legs and is taller and faster than his target. He catches up to them by the stairs, the man turns and hesitates again. If Jin were less adrenaline high he might already realize they've tucked their gun away.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

The criminal bolts up the stairs and Jin goes too. Up and up and up onto the catwalk. Feet clangs against the metal, the suspended walkway sways under the force of their steps, The chains clanking.

And then, at the very end, he stops.

Jimin turns, casting one glance back at him. And hesitates, the mask catches the light again. And Jimin reaches up, about to take it off. The words, "Stop baby it's me." Already hovering on the edge of his lips.

He never gets the chance to say them. Jin’s finger finds the trigger, and the gun fires in a gorgeous explosion of gunpowder and force. Fire made small, and love made lethal.

Jimin hits the wall from the force of the bullet, hitting the latch at the back of his head.

The mask falls off.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

Everybody lives nobody dies.

Let me repeat that again NOBODY DIES, no one, not even Jimin. He’s just gonna be a little bloody from this, that’s all, before you get angry and yell at me.

I could have made this more convoluted, but I decided not too because…I simply did not want to stage a chapter between this one and the next one.

Jimin’s autistic meltdowns look a whole lot like mine do, I know they’re not typically what other people associate with meltdowns. But going nonverbal and stimming with your body (pacing) is very on par with me.

I felt like we needed to see a little bit of the jinmin dynamic before you know…Jin shoots him, just for funsies. And to talk about how Jimin loves.

A lot of people expressed a desire for Jimin to have some sort of concenquence for the way he treated Tae when she came out, just the part where he needed space, and for him not helping the m/c when he could have. I think this is his penance for that, getting shot by Jin, getting betrayed- however unintentionally- by someone he loves is the justice for those moments. I’ve always been stalwart on the fact that the bily charecters act sort of terribly sometimes because real people act terribly too, they’re dynamic in the way that they love and handle their actions.

On the subject of like- who framed what and explaining the events of the chapter, moonbyul and Hyejin are orchestrating everything. They pay Jimin MOSTLY because they know how suspicious it is and are trying to do anything they can to expose Jin to him. The scene in the industrial park goes exactly the way they wanted it too…accept that Jimin will live. They didn’t count on Jin being a poor shot lol

They are trying not only to manipulate the m/c away from the pack, but destabilize them to try and make the m/c come to them. Having one packmate kill another is definitely they way they wanted to do this. They’d 1000% just kill everyone if they thought that would give them the m/c but they’re attempting to manipulate her into coming to them rather than just abducting her point blank.

Funnily enough this is one cannon-cannon event of bily like, Jin was always going to shoot Jimin. If you go back and forth in other chapters you can see that Jin is almost constantly touching Jimin’s shoulder. It’s up to you if you think that Jin’s bullet got close enough to Jimin’s heart to kill him or if by some luck he survived

That’s a lie I can’t lie to you guys he’s 1000% going to live through this I can’t keep secrets from you guys, no one dies in this story even if it seems like they might at times we only have one more almost death to get through.

I feel like this chapter had less flowery language than my usual ones in part because it’s got a bit from Jin’s pov and also because everyone is so scared and frozen through the whole thing.

I cannot even begin to tell you how much less stressful the next chapter of bily is than my life, like i would rather GET SHOT AGAIN then be where i currently am, with the same level of anxiety that i have.

i wish i had time to edit this more but alas! its only 2 hours until i'll post this and i'm just finishing it up.

[pleasanttaleswithkaityb]

How to Create a Structured Navigation Page on Tumblr: A Step-by-Step Guide

Introduction

Creating a navigation page helps moots stay up today on your posts, especially stories or series on your Simblr. Below are the steps I used to help me organize and create my navigation system!

What Does "Mobile-Friendly" Mean?

A mobile-friendly navigation page keeps users within their Tumblr app while they explore your links. This ensures a smooth user experience for those primarily using Tumblr on mobile devices. To achieve this: - Use links that are generated within the Tumblr app or dashboard viewer. - Avoid using direct URL links from a web browser, as they may redirect mobile users from the Tumblr app. - You can test the links yourself on the Tumblr app to make sure they open correctly without redirecting out of the app.

Step 1: Planning Your Content

Before creating your page, plan the content and sections you want to include. Think about categories like:

Household stories

Series updates

Character profiles

FAQs

Gameplay guides

Mods and CC (Custom Content)

Step 2: Pinning Your Main Navigation Post

To ensure that your navigation is the first thing visitors see, you can pin a post on your Tumblr blog. Here's the process:

Write Your Navigation Post: Create a post with all your navigation links and information. This post will serve as the main guide for visitors to your blog.

Pin the Post: - Open your Tumblr dashboard. - Navigate to the post you want to pin. - On the top right of the post, click the "..." (more) button. - From the dropdown menu, select "Pin this post to the top of your blog".

Set Pin Duration: Decide how long you want the post pinned.

Check Your Blog: Visit your Tumblr blog to ensure the post is pinned at the top.

By pinning your main navigation post, you make it easy for followers and visitors to understand how to explore and enjoy your content right from the start.

Step 3: Organize Your Tags

Establish a tagging system that works for you and be consistent. For example here are some of mine:

Use #the[lastname]household for family-specific posts.

Tag seasonal stories with #fall1, #winter1, etc.

Create special tags for FAQs, such as #askkaityb for questions.

Step 4: Create Hyperlinks

Transform tags into clickable links that lead to filtered content:

- Write out your tags in your blogs search bar - Click a tag, the page should change to all your post with that tag. you're going to copy the URL and hyperlink that to your navigation post (for example here what mine looks like: https://www.tumblr.com/pleasanttaleswithkaityb/tagged/pleasantview%20legacy) - Repeat for each tag you plan to use.

Step 5: Design and Layout

Make your navigation page visually appealing:

Use headers to denote different sections. Consider adding icons or images for visual interest. Keep the layout clean and readable.

Step 6: Publish and Promote

Once you’re happy with the page:

Make sure to publish or reblog your new navigation page in a post to inform your followers.

Step 7: Maintenance

Regularly check your navigation page to reflect new content and ensure all links work. Now, anytime you tag a post with your hashtags, that link's thread will automatically be updated!

Tips:

Keep your audience in mind. Use clear, descriptive titles for your links.

Update your navigation page regularly as you add new content.

Encourage feedback. Ask your followers if they find the navigation page helpful.

Feel free to customize this guide to match your blog's specifics and needs. Let me know if y'all have found any of your own tips & tricks for creating your navigation system! Happy simming!

@bambiwhims - Hope this helps :3

[welcometomyoasis]

Petrichor [Preview] | Joshua Hong

Synopsis: Joshua Hong has felt inexplicably drawn to you since the first time he saw you. Alas, he was betrothed to another. Against his better judgment, Joshua still allows himself to get close to you. When you start to fall for him too, what happens then? 

Pairing: naiad! joshua x human g/n! reader (ft. spirit of opportunity! platonic minghao x reader, cameo by cupid! jeonghan) Genre: greek mythology au, ancient athens au, forbidden love, fluff, angst Word count (for preview): 729 words Word count (for full fic): 26.6k words Warnings (for preview): none Warnings (for full fic): loss of vision, discrimination, greek deities, insecurities, blood (reader gets a small cut), slight profanity, toxic relationship (Joshua’s betrothed is a b*tch), violence, others tbd.  Est. release date: 17th February Notes: this fic is inspired by 4 things. (1) the story of Daphnis and Nomia. (2) the lyrics of akuma no ko by higuchi ai. (3) levi ackerman fics written by ReiaBritannia on wattpad. (4) this amazing fic by @\fairyhaos.

A/n: I’m also thinking of creating a taglist specially for this fic. If you’re not on my perm taglist but want to be tagged for this fic, send me an ask or comment below! Thanks :) 

The situation that Joshua Hong found himself in was one he never expected. The whole thing was ironic really. As a naiad, a water nymph, he knew that mortals, humans specifically, would be inexplicably drawn towards him should they ever lay eyes on him. In fact, much to Joshua’s annoyance, there were several occasions where he had to avoid some rather unsavoury characters. 

Yet this time, the tables were turned. Here Joshua was, crouched behind some foliage near the creek he presided over just so he could observe this one human from afar. There was something about this human that inexplicably drew Joshua towards them. He was completely enamoured and fascinated by everything about them. 

They became a regular sight at the creek over the past few months. Joshua remembered the first time he laid eyes on them. It was a balmy morning in spring. He had just finished his duty of directing some fresh water to a nearby town. When he returned to the creek, the human was there, sitting on a sky blue picnic mat crafting an intricate looking object. He remembered being struck by the sheer brightness in the human’s eyes. Literally and figuratively. Their eyes glistened under the sunlight, reflecting the sparkles from the water’s surface. At the same time, their eyes were full of life. They told Joshua everything about the human’s appreciation for their surroundings, their life, and most of all their determination to live life to the fullest. Joshua was in awe. That was the first time he ever saw such striking eyes. 

Since then, Joshua felt as if there was a magnet pulling him closer to the human. Overtime, Joshua began noticing other details about the human. They would always visit the creek on the weekends, often staying for hours at a time. They would simply sit on the picnic mat reading or making those intricate looking crafts. There were even instances when they would pluck the tiny flowers around the creek to make flower crowns. He even noticed some of the human’s quirks. Like how their eyes would crinkle slightly, or how there would be a ghost of a smile on their face when they read something funny or accomplished something. They would also crinkle their nose and furrow their brows when they were concentrating. One thing Joshua definitely picked up on, was that the human was always alone. This puzzled him immensely. Weren’t humans supposed to be social creatures? 

Eventually, the amount of time Joshua was spending observing the human began to drive him crazy. Sure, he could partially blame the fact that naiads were naturally curious creatures. But he knew that the attraction he felt went beyond the confines of rational curiosity. This was infatuation, obsession even. In Joshua’s attempt to figure out what this attraction was, he approached his acquaintance, a relative of Cupid, Yoon Jeonghan, to ask if he was hit by yet another one of Jeonghan’s infamous stray arrows. To his disappointment, Joshua was not. (Jeonghan adamantly insisted that “using arrows is soooo 2 centuries ago” although he cheekily admitted that he did randomly shoot love arrows into the air “just for the fun of it”.)

Still, Jeonghan did give him a somewhat useful piece of advice. Infatuation. Love. Jeonghan explained that these feelings were complicated. There was usually much more nuance that needed to be teased out when attraction was involved. Especially in this case where the attraction was one-sided (for now anyway). Simply put, Joshua had either really fallen for this human, or there was something about this human that he longed for. Something that sparked an intense sense of desire and curiosity within him, like a personality trait or the human’s way of life. Perhaps it was a bit of both possibilities? 

Whatever it was, Joshua would need to figure that out for himself. Outwardly, Joshua cursed Jeonghan’s advice, thinking that it was just like a relative of Cupid to tell people to keep spying on humans like a creep from the sidelines. However, deep down, he knew Jeonghan was right. His desire, his need to decipher this complex feelings of attraction for the human was overwhelming. That human lit a fire within him, and he needed to quell those flames before it completely consumed his life. 

So, Joshua (rather reluctantly) continued his routine. He hid behind the foliage, and he watched.

perm taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies @mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii @scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#4 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Cassandra visits Vale. They get the information they need and Cassandra…gets revenge and we see a glimpse of her powers lurking under the surface.

Warnings/Tags: graphic depiction of violence. mentioned/implied rape. mentioned/implied castration. female rage. protective!azriel. protective!bat boys.

Authors Note: All likes, comments and reblogs are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! Bold italics are mental communication, regular italics are inner thoughts.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“What’s going on?” Cassandra asked, looking at Rhysand then Azriel. 

“Is everything okay?” Morrigan asks, setting her bags down, Cassandra following suit. 

“We tried to question Vale today,” Rhysand responded, straightening out his suit jacket. Glancing at Azriel, who still wore that look of pure death. 

“Tried?” Morrigan asks, her own arms folding across her chest. 

Rhysand took in a deep breath, looking at Cassandra, a slight frown on his face. 

“He said he’ll only answer our questions if you’re in the room—” 

“No.” Morrigan cuts him off immediately, straightening her spine.

“Mor,” Rhysand warns. 

“You’re actually considering it? You would let her be in a room with that—that monster,” She snarled, stepping closer to her friend’s side.

Cassanda’s eyes met Azriel’s again, less intense as if to comfort her but his shadows still a fury around him.

“He wouldn’t get anywhere near her. It’s not your decision, Morrigan,” Rhysand said, mouth in a tight line. 

“It’s not yours either, it’s Cassandra’s,” Azriel said, “He doesn’t have to touch her to cause more trauma. You do not have to see him if you don’t want to.” 

“But it would be a great help to easily get the information from him,” Rhysand said, giving his brother a warning look. 

Cassandra chewed on her bottom lip. Morrigan was still standing partially in front of her, legs spread apart, arms crossed as if she would fight Rhysand if he tried to step towards her. Rhysand had an expecting look on his face and Cassian looked…awkward? Maybe he didn’t like his friends arguing this way. Cassandra knew she didn’t. 

“What would I do, just stand there? Would I—would I have to talk to him?” She asked, and Rhys shook his head. 

“No, of course not and yes you would just be there in the room,” Rhysand answers and Azriel hisses. 

“That is not the full truth,” He says, siphons surging on the back of his hands, shadows darting in every direction. 

“Azriel—”

“Tell me, Rhysand, please. I can handle it. I want to help but I have to know what I’m getting into,” She said, straightening herself out, stepping from behind Morrigan. How could she expect them to believe she could handle things if she stayed cowering behind Morrigan or Azriel? She could do this.

Azriel fixed her with a look, as if he was proud of her actions. 

“He initially asked for Neema. She shut that down quickly. He then specifically asked for you because he…wants to look at you,” Rhysand explains and Cassandra felt her stomach flip, nausea overcoming her. 

“I can get the answers we need in other ways without traumatizing her further,” Azriel growls at his brother, noticing her distress, “Cassandra, you don’t have to—”

“Look at me,” She repeated breathlessly. Blinking her eyes furiously to fight the images trying to flash before her. “That’s what he used to do. He couldn’t touch me because I would be damaged goods—he’d get less money for me. So he would make me stand there unclothed and look at me while he touched himself or Neema. Just let me look at you is what he would say.” 

She heard the harsh breath Rhysand let out, she didn’t look his way. 

“Cassandra,” It’s Azriel’s voice in her head but she shakes her head, breathing deeply.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out. 

She opens her eyes and looks into those hazel ones, patients and concern swirling there. 

“You’ll be there?” She asked, and he nodded instantly. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” He answers.  She nods to herself. Thinking. 

“What happens to him after he’s questioned?” She ask, would he be let go? Locked away?

“He’ll be killed,” Rhysand answers bluntly. 

“Good.” Is her answer. “I’ll do it.” 

“You’re sure?” Azriel asks, worry creasing those brows while a relieved look comes over Rhysand’s face. 

“Yes,” She answered. “When?” 

“The sooner the better,” Rhysand said, and though he still looked relieved that Cassandra agreed she could see the apology in those violet eyes. 

“I would like to put my things away first,” She said, Azriel crossing the short distance between them. 

“I’ll help you bring your bags up,” He offered, giving her no room to protest before he scooped her bags up easily. 

As they entered the house she could hear Mor as she began yelling at Rhysand. 

Azriel let her lead the way to her bedroom, she was getting fairly good at navigating the halls. She liked to roam around in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping. This house was huge but she was sure she could get to the main areas of the house with little to no help. 

When they got to her room she pushed the door open and walked in. She looked over her shoulder to see Azriel standing at the door. She raised an eyebrow in question and the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. 

“I can’t come in, remember,” He says, and she was glad to see some of that light amusement return to his eyes. 

“Oh, well, come in,” she said, he looked skeptical for a moment before slowly extending his leg through the doorway before stepping fully in. 

“Rhys doesn’t mess around with his wards,” He says when he notices the look on her face. “If you hadn’t invited me in and I tried to just walk in I would have ricochet off it straight into the wall back there.” 

Cassandra let out a breathy laugh, gesturing to the bed for Azriel to put the bags down. 

“Did you have a good day with Mor?” He asked gently and she turned to him with a small smile and nodded. She was grateful he asked. Talking about the day would distract her from what they were going to do after this. 

“It was amazing, Azriel! I've never experienced anything like that. It was a bit overwhelming if I’m honest but Morrigan made it easy to enjoy myself,” She smiled again as he perched himself on the end of the bed, his attention focused fully on her. She grabbed one of the bags pulling it over—the one with all of the pastries in it. 

“We went to this lovely little bakery,” she started, pulling out various treats. “Morrigan told me to pick out anything I wanted—everything looked and smelled so good, it was hard to choose.”

“It does smell delicious,” Azriel agreed, eyes scanning over the arrangement of food laid out on the bed, wrapped in papers and boxes. 

“These two bags are just some clothes Morrigan helped me pick out, that one is a gown, I’m still not sure what I would need it for but it is very pretty,” She told him, grabbing that bag, unzipping it to show him the gown, the one that perfectly matched his siphons. If he noticed he didn’t comment. 

“That is very pretty, you could wear it for Starfall coming up,” He said, a small smile on his face when she looked up at him. 

“Do you think it would be possible for me to visit my mothers grave that day?” She asked, as Starfall was one of the few good memories she had with her mother. 

“Of course, you never have to ask, we can go visit her any time you’d like,” Azriel promises, “What else did you get?”

Cassandra smiled at him, showing him the rest of her haul from the day. He snickered at the books but just as Morrigan had, said he would be more than happy to help her learn to read. It made her happier than he probably realized. 

After she finished showing him everything he stepped out of the room so she could freshen up—change her clothes and mentally prepare herself. 

She changed into an outfit that was a bit too big for her. Long sleeves and long pants. She didn’t want him to see her skin, she didn’t want him to see her at all. But what he did to Neema? To so many other girls? To her? She couldn’t sit by and not help get answers, justice. 

She knew Azriel noted the outfit she was wearing but chose not to say anything. 

“We’re going to winnow there, are you okay with that? We haven’t done it since that first night,” Azriel asked and Cassandra simply nodded, stepping closer to him, tucking her wings close to her back as he wrapped an arm around her. 

The place they arrive at was beautiful yet terrifying. 

“Where are we?” She asked, looking around. He doesn’t answer out loud as he leads her down a dark avenue. 

“This is the Hewn City. The rest of Prythian does not know of the existence of Velaris. They believe Rhysand only rules over this part of the Night Court—the Court of Nightmares.” 

“Oh.” Is her answer, she tries not to look at anything or anyone as thet move through the streets of this underground city—no, not underground, inside of a mountain. She wondered if it was the same mountain the House of a wind was on—she would ask later.

The walk was mostly silent. They walked across many bridges and flights of stairs. Going through most of the city. Down and around and down some more. Her legs and feet hurt and just when she was ready to tell Azriel she couldn’t go anymore they halted. 

Cassandra looked at him in question. He simply nodded towards the wall, she didn’t see anything. 

“He’s behind here,” Azriel explains, his eyes scanning her face. 

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, not totally understanding since there was no door. 

“Rhys will be there the entire time. Cassian will be there the entire time. I will be with you the entire time. Don't be fearful. Don’t let him scare you. If you find yourself feeling uncomfortable tell me immediately and I’ll get you out of there. He’s chained up, he will not lay a finger on you. If he even tried he would die,” Azriel promised. She looked up at him, unease filling her and took in a deep breath as he added , “Would you feel safer if I gave you this?” 

She looked down, in his outstretched hand laid a black hilted dagger with a sharp and shiny blade. 

She reached out, taking it gently from his hand. 

“I’ve never used one before,” she whispered, looking down at the knife in her hand. 

“You won’t need to use it, but if you did Truth Teller wouldn’t let you miss,” Azriel spoke confidently. “You ready?”

 She looked up at him and nodded her head. 

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel hated this. Hated it. His shadows hissed in ear not to bring her in. To protect her. To grab her and take her back to the House of Wind. 

And though he wanted to, he wouldn’t do that to her. She deserved to make her own decisions but this just felt so wrong. 

But after he sheathed Truth Teller and tied it around her waist he felt slightly better. 

She didn’t know the weight of the dagger, its power or what it meant to him. All that mattered in this moment is it made her feel safe and it gave him some peace of mind that if somehow this piece of shit got through three warriors she had a weapon that could kill. 

“Lets go,” he says, offering his hand to her, she places it there gently and much to her surprise they turn to the wall and he led her straight through. 

On the other side was a dark hall, no doors, lit only by a few lights and she grasped Azriel’s hand tighter. 

“This is where we keep a majority of prisoners that haven’t been sentenced for crimes or are being questioned,” Azriel explained, voice low and quiet.  

“Is Kamari here?” 

“No, she’s in a cell under the House of Wind. She’s not dangerous—a terrible person yes, but not dangerous to anyone she could potentially interact with. We don’t want this guy anywhere near the females and too many of them live and work at the house. That’s why he’s here. No one can get in here except Rhys, Cassian, myself and anyone we choose to allow in,” Azriel explained, stopping at another seemingly empty stretch of wall. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay,” she said, fingers twisting at her side. “I’m scared to see him.”  

“You don’t need to be scared but do you want to leave?” Azriel asks, taking a step closer to her, ready to scoop her up and take her home. 

“No, I want to do this,” she shook her head. 

“Okay, he’s right on the other side of this wall,” Azriel explained, trying to prepare her. “When we first walk in, his back will be to us so you don’t have to see his face straight away. You’re welcome to stand but there are chairs if you’d like to sit. Rhysand will be in charge of the interrogation if you believe he’s lying about something or leaving details out don’t hesitate to tell one of us. Rhys says he’ll have communications open so you can talk to him or Cassian easily if you need to. You do not have to speak to this guy but he will try to speak to you. He’s going to want to scare, to tell you all of the things he’s done—he knows what his fate is after we get what we want from him. You have the power here. You say stop then we stop and I take you out of there.” 

Azriel watches as she takes a shaky break, closing her eyes to calm herself. When she opens them Azriel is still standing there patiently. 

“Okay. Okay, I’m good,” She nods her head in a way that’s reassuring to herself, grazing her hand over Truth Teller before dropping her hands to her side. 

She watches as Azriel approaches the wall, stepping through easily as they had done before. Another deep breath, wiping her sweaty palms across her pants before she too walks forward, straight through the wall. 

The room is a bit brighter than the hallway and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust before they fix on the figure in the middle of the room. His blue skin and the clothes he’s wearing looks dirty, he’s chained to a chair and his head turns slightly as if sensing she entered the room, but not enough to see her yet. She wanted to cling to the wall and beg Azriel to come back to her side.

But she didn’t. 

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering.

She knew the three men in this room wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her. She scanned the room, there were two chairs further away from where the male was sitting while Rhysand sat in one directly in front of the male just a few steps away. Cassian stood with his back to a large stone, giving her a small nod when they made eye contact and Azriel stood there behind the man—in a spot she could see him from wherever she chose to stand, a look on his face she hadn’t quite seen before. She could tell only one thing about that look though, he would enjoy killing Vale. 

Cassandra made her way to the opposite wall of where she had entered, choosing not to sit but to stand, using the wall as support, keeping her wings tucked as she leaned back against the wall. 

“Come on High Lord, give me my sight back now. You said I would be able to see her,” Vale hissed, the sound of his voice like a shot of ice down her spine, she suppressed the reaction easily enough. 

Rhysand looked over his shoulder at Cassandra, silently asking her if she was okay, if she was ready. She simply nodded. He waved his hand and those eyes, the ones she still had dreams about suddenly zeroed in on her. It took everything in her to suppress any reaction that time. 

A grin spread across his face as his eyes tracked her body. Up and down, taking in every detail. 

“Wow. Look at you,” he said, licking his lips, “you look even better than I remember. I…wish I could see more.” 

“Yeah, well you can’t,” Cassian is the one to answer. 

“What no hello?” Vale grinned again. 

“She’s not required to speak to you, that wasn’t part of the deal,” Rhysand’s voice thundered through the room. 

“Not that she could anyway” Vale sniggered, nodding his head, eyes still trained on Cassandra. “Alright come on, ask me the questions.” 

He sounded bored but Cassandra wasn’t stupid and neither were any of the males in that room. There was fear in those black eyes. He did indeed know his fate. 

“How long have you been in the business of purchasing females and selling them to sex houses?” Rhysand asked. 

“I don’t know, a year maybe,” Vale groans at the look Rhysand gives home. “Look, man, I drink and smoke myself out every day I lose a good bit of time.” 

“I was at the pleasure house with Kamari for 2 years and with him for almost a year.” Cassandra says, and Rhys nods in acknowledgment. 

“Wanna think a little harder about that? It’s definitely been more than a year,” Rhysand said, Vale narrowing his eyes into slits. 

“How could you possibly know that? Why ask if you’re just gonna say I’m lying?” Vale bares his teeth at Rhysand. 

“Why lie in the first place? You know your fate, lying won’t change that. You know I could enter your mind and destroy it in a second while getting the answers I seek. I’m doing you a courtesy by asking this way.”

Vale is silent for a moment before glancing at Cassandra. “Four years.” 

“How many women did you buy and sell during that time? How did you find them?” Rhysand asked, Vale took a deep breath, looking up at the roof as if thinking. 

“Probably eighty,” He says, Rhys’ face hardens further at that—Cassian’s mouth falling open slightly. 

“Eighty women in four years? Or 80 every year for four years?” Rhys asks through clenched teeth.

“Eighty in all four years,” Vale confirms and while it’s a relief, that’s still a lot of women. “Most of them were sold to me by family members who owed me money, but couldn't pay it back so they sold me a daughter, wife, sister instead.” 

“How did you learn of these pleasure houses buying females from people like you?” Rhysand asked. 

“Word gets around the streets. There’s only three that will buy the females. The Velvet Pearl, Hidden Desires and Lavender house. Kamari recruits men to find the women and sells them for money—usually addicts looking for a fix. She buys her drugs from me, that's how I got started.” Vale explained. 

“How many of them did you keep for yourself?” Rhysand asked, and Vale just laughed. 

“Not as many as you might think. It never even crossed my mind to have a little fun with the merchandise before selling to the pleasure houses. Neema—she’s the only one I ever kept seeing as she’s my mate and all,” Vale confessed and Cassandra couldn’t stop the gasp she took in. 

“That’s right,” Vale grinned. “The bond snapped into place the night her brother sold her to me.” 

“And you thought that was the proper way to treat your mate,” Cassian snarls. Vale simply shrugs his shoulders, looking back at Cassandra. 

“If she hadn’t been my mate though, I would have kept you,” Vale said, smiling at Cassandra. “Everything I did to her I would have done to you—including removing those horrid wings. Tell me, which one of these bastards got the pleasure of bending you over and fucking you—”

Vale’s rant is cut off when one of Azriel’s shadows wraps around his throat. The blue skinned male chokes, eyes widening. 

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you,” Azriel hisses, only letting up his shadow’s grip when Cassandra nods her head at him. 

“At least any one of these males could get a woman into their bed without having to rape her,” Cassandra retorts, Cassian snorting out an amused laugh, relaying the message when Vale looked his way, turning back and snarling at Cassandra like a rabid wolf.

The interrogation went on for what felt like hours. Vale answered the questions Rhysand asked. Cassandra confirmed if he was being truthful or not for certain things. And they all stood there as he described every awful, vile, disgusting thing he did to the women he bought and sold. How he had brutalized and assaulted them before selling them off to be salves for pleasure houses. 

He knew none of their names. None except Neema. He didn’t even know Cassandra’s name and she was standing right there in front of him. 

He did however know the names of all the ones who sold the females—they now had a list of where to start, of how to find the females that had been sold off to the three pleasure houses. 

It’s was when they were getting ready to leave that things started going sideways. Azriel had check in many times with Cassandra to make sure she was okay. And she had been, despite this feeling in her stomach, this thrumming that made her skin feel like it was vibrating. 

“So, I guess it would be out of line to ask for a turn with you before I go out?” Vale laughed, leering at Cassandra. And it was Cassian’s fist that landed the blow to his face. 

“Fuck! You know,” Vale continued with a  laugh, blood dripping from his mouth, “your father almost sold me your sister instead. Pretty little thing she is.” 

He just wants to rile you up. 

He wants to scare you.

He wants a reaction. 

“Only he wouldn’t have got as much for her cause she’d had sex with some male. She was used—but man, if he had I would have kept her, too, I would have taken both of you and kept you just like that little bitch in my basement—“

Cassandra snarled and something inside of her snapped. Before anyone could blink she was across the room Truth Teller gripped in her hand and pressed against Vale’s throat as she crouched over him. Black eyes widened in shock—fear. Good. He wasn’t expecting it. 

“Cassandra?” Azriel’s concerned voice sounded muffled and far away. She didn’t take her eyes away from the man cowering beneath her. 

“She can shield?!” is Cassian's alarmed shout. 

“Cassandra?!” Rhys calls out, feeling whatever shield was around her vibrate as he sent a blast of magic into it. 

“I don’t think she can hear us, Rhys!” Azriel calls out. 

Cassandra could hear them but the look on Vale’s face was too satisfying to look away from. She pressed the dagger harder against his neck, digging it into the skin there, scenting his blood. 

“Are you afraid?” She asked, faces only inches apart. She wasn’t sure how she was talking to him but she didn’t care either. Not when the smell of blood mixed with urine as he pissed on himself. 

“Please, p—please,” he begged, trying to pull away from the blade digging into his throat. 

“Cassandra, come on, let the shield down, love!” 

“I remember begging you like that before you took my tongue. I shouldn’t let them kill you, everything you did to me, to Neema, to all those other girls you deserve to have done to you,” she snarls, Truth Teller thrumming in her hand as if encouraging her to slit his throat and watch him bleed out. 

“What the hell is happening, Rhys?” Cassian’s voice rings outside of that shield. 

“Fuck!” Azriel hisses as he tries to touch that shield, his hand bouncing off of it immediately. 

“I should take your eyes,” she declared. “So that you can never look at anyone again. I should take your tongue the way you took mine. Chop off your cock so you can never fuck again. I should do all that and let you live with it every day of your miserable life!” 

He cries out, struggling under her and she laughs. Right there in his face she laughs.

This is the male she had been afraid of?

This is the male that tortured her everyday in that basement? This pathetic excuse of a male. 

“Absolutely pathetic,” she spits, snarling at him. 

She drops Truth Teller from her hand, falling somewhere between their bodies as she grips his head on either side. “Look at me!” She bellows, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Panicked terror looked back at her and she smiled. 

“Kill me, just kill me, please!” He begged, thrashing under her, her wings spreading to keep herself stead where she was crouched over him—drowning out the voices beyond the shield. He’d had no remorse for anyone else, he deserved no remorse. She leans down, close to his ear, changing her grip on his head. 

“No,” she mouths against his ear as it echoes in his head. Then her thumbs are pressing into those black soulless eyes, his screams echoing around them with nowhere to go, pressing and pressing until they pop. Turning into a bloody mess under her hands. His screams don’t stop as she speaks. 

“You’ll never see again,” she said, grabbing Truth Teller once again sliding it along his exposed skin. “You're lucky I don’t take your hands and tongue. I won’t take your life either. You’ll suffer the way me and so many other girls did.” 

She slides off of him, his screams turning into whimpering cries. 

“Cassandra?” The voice sounded normal again and she looked up, green eyes meeting violet. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I okay?” She asked, glancing at the man she had just maimed without a second thought. 

“I’m not worried about him, are you okay?” Rhysand asks again, taking a step closer to her.

“I’m okay,” she nods, slipping Truth Teller back into its sheath, not hiding the angry tears that welled in her eyes. “I want him to have to live with what he’s done. Death will be too kind for the offenses he’s committed—for the way he’s violated so many.” 

“If you no longer wish death on this male so be it, we will lock him away to rot for the rest of his days,” Rhysand promises and I nod my head. 

“I only have one request,” I tell him, glancing at the man still moaning and whimpering—whispering to himself about his eyes being gone and begging for mercy. 

“What is it?” Rhysand asked. 

“Take his cock,” I demand, there’s no question or judgement in those eyes. He nods but Azriel is the one to speak up. 

“Done.” 

Tag list: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94 @purple-writer8 @little-missbookyworm @saltedcoffeescotch @namelesssav @slytherintaco @whatsupb @mariahoedt @railingsofsorrow @fightmedraco @nickishadow139 @a-courtof-azriel

[unhappytimeleaper]

Character analysis; main concepts

A lot of this references some hints to lore and stuff I found. Not a lot are direct spoilers, but since Venti is built on his vagueness to his past, this likely will be able to be subject to change as time goes on.

Also, I wasn't sure if I asked if anyone would reply to whom to pick for my analysis. I asked some friends on a Yandere discord server, and in passing, one of them mentioned Venti, so I just went with it. Shout out to them. I hate making decisions. And leaper lore, but Venti is the reason I got into Genshin, so I guess it's fitting he is first.

Anyway, that means sending who I should do next. I'd prefer to space Genshin characters out, but anyone on my lists can be requested, as well as general requests being open.

The final quick personal note is I wanted to thank everyone for the 150 followers. I know it's not a lot, but I am thankful for the handful I know have been around for a while and for those who have considered following; Tumblr and most other SNS are rough for creators as reblog ratios are so low and other issues, but I am very grateful for those who keep coming back.

Venti [Barbatos]; Unedited. Gender neutral reader. Part 1 of 3

Warnings; yandere!! It touches on every main category of the troupe, so if you are sensitive to manipulation [emotional and mental], alcoholism, codependency, guilt [even self-imposed], obsession, lying, stalking, some general creepy behavior, breaking and entering, possessiveness, delusional thoughts, unwanted touching [sfw], and anything else you can think of being related to yandere troupes, then it's best to just not read. Also, a massive warning for talks about religion, idolization in the 'church,' and abuse of power within religious settings.

Word Count: 8.4K

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

Maxed Stats

General manipulation

As a key component, Venti is a general trickster; he comes naturally with the skills of forgery, fabrication, pilfering, and illusion-making. These tools under his control make him naturally an enigma but build into easy traits of manipulation as he needs not just to you but to anyone. And for an early establishment, Venti's natural manipulation is not just tied to these specific skills. Still, it almost comes coded into how he exists as more of himself is revealed. Though these particular skills of lying are much harder to pick up on, between the riddles of his words and decent, innocent appearance, it's easy for him to pull off a twist of words or lie his way out of a situation.

As pointed out, manipulation is a skill that Venti can best use against anyone. To you, he is likely able to find excuses to keep up his actions. Outside of the wall of Mondstadt, he can quickly find reasonings as to why he's there, too. More often than not, he's somewhere close. While in areas like Windwail and Brightcrown, he can stay hidden, only needing to reveal himself if you find yourself in trouble, in regions like Starfell and Galesong, you can often see him not too far off in the distance. Even if you doubt his reasoning, it's hard to find proof of his stalking, making the moments unsettling, but his cuteness and way of words make it hard to get upset. Guilt festers as he looks so sad with accusations of something more sinister and that he has ulterior motives. Or how within the walls Venti is quick to find you and cling on, either in close proximity of walking or physically bound to you somehow— it's easy to tell when he's been drinking as he tends to be much more touchy in those moments. While it takes a lot for him to truly get drunk, he likes to play it up as there are so many more benefits and things you let slide. You have to take care of him in some way, and he always has a reason to be around longer.

In cases of late nights together, Venti sometimes lets you feel as if you have the upper hand, too. Pretending to be more drunk than he is and more open, allowing you to handle your chance at burning questions as he wistfully gives answers. Often, they are still vague but do let you delve more into his past, the trauma he has endured, or the loneliness that has come into his life. The more you learn, the more guilt grows at the idea of rejecting him. Of leaving Mondstadt in favor of exploration or answers. It's also not one where everything he shares is a goal of manipulating these feelings or actions.

Venti's love is absolute; for that, he wants to share what he can, with his goal of being bound to you, which means sharing these personal moments. For him, learning about you is so much easier with his status and age. Still, you can seldom learn about him in the same way, even more, as he can't fully spill his guts about his past at a moment's notice. However, he can think of this as an added benefit; manipulation, even if it's not the goal, is still emotional manipulation.

These times, there often are levels of manipulation about other places and people he puts in place. Different regions and gods aren't free from their past either, and Venti is known to share moments of these in his riddles. Aspects of how the lands have changed, how they have changed, but the imposing struggles carry through their lands. It's not really shit-talking them, nor a full-on slander campaign, but the language and words he uses are often dulled in favorability of what they could be. Similarly, he might often find ways to weave in things that could cause greater fear in you to manipulate you into thinking you are much too weak for the creatures that lurk there. While some parts you can chalk up to his story-telling nature and that by making it more dramatic, it sounds better, there often is a growing uneasiness about how vicious parts it could really be. More than countless times, there have been moments of your own danger, only saved by the grace of the wind and Venti nearby… In contrast, he speaks of Mondstadt and its people much more positively, and while he has some jealousy of those in his region you gain closeness with, he also tends to have a much more positive relationship with them, allowing those to be better tools to help in his love life than those in say Sumeru or Inazuma. He tends to maybe add in some more lighthearted jabs that can have an air of jealousy in them, even more if Venti feels you've been around them a lot recently, but in the way he talks, it often is more of playful bad-mouthing than down right insults.

As touched on, Venti's manipulation of you isn't always intended or done with negative goals. One side of this is again linked generally to how he speaks. Being this enigmatic person whose words are always wistful and hold more profound meaning, there is a natural draw to learn more. It's only made more of something that is hook when he doesn't often go around sharing this self-lore to someone so known but distant in Mondstadt to just anyone. It's almost like a balloon or bubble; the hints that are added build up little by little as time goes on without seeking out Venti for more until it pops. A droplet of information at a time until it consumes your mind, going back looking for more details to answers to the questions you'd had running in your mind for days. Soon enough, you are the one asking where the mysterious bard is to the townspeople, only cementing more in their minds the nature of your relationship being more than platonic. It also, again, just makes you feel special, a self-imposed superiority that you are the person who knows him best [which this ego can be inflated more if you know him as barbatos as well]. Venti knows these actions are manipulative in a sense, and again. At the same time, it doesn't truly harm anyone; it's still manipulation at its core in building this unique reliance on him.

And Venti's manipulation is ever present in the town and the people of Mondstadt. The key ways he uses these are to get more information about you and, as usual, get away with things. However, as briefly stated, Venti uses the wind and himself as a factor in starting rumors that there is naturally more to what is happening between you that can be exploited for later use. But back to the first point, Venti is able to once again use his 'charm' and way of speaking to easily coax others to give out more information about you. He literally likes things about your past, interests, personal relationships with others, likes, dislikes, and such through his friendly demeanor and guiding the conversations. And while he can easily track and monitor you through the wind, by talking to others around and having them tell him where you are, it helps set up a close alibi if you were to question him later. Essentially, in this case, the guards and townpeople become effective scapegoats for his stalking if needed. Furthermore, these questions end up helping intensify any rumors as the questions, over time, can become more and more romantic.

His manipulation does also be a benefit as he really is one with the people, if not distant in details. By having personal connections to groups like people in the Adventure's Guild and Knights of Favonius through people like Jean & Kaeya, they easily can be tools to help with his… well, propaganda. Even the temple with Rosaria. You ask about traveling and other nations to people in the Adventure's Guild, and they tend to often only share more gruesome or darker aspects of their stories. Of have plenty of tragedy by the time they reach the 'positive goal' that it's a natural persuasion to not want to often venture too far outside of Mondstadt. Or say you are one to leave; Venti could use points of manipulation he's built to have, say, Rosaria or Kaeya go with you, depending on where. The wind can always join you, but Venti isn't up and one to fully be able to run off from Mondstadt for long periods of time. If you plan to go on just a trip for travel, it's one thing for him to run off and join you, but freedom itself in Mondstadt is unique. It's not necessarily true freedom, and while he's awake with a purpose, he can't in his heart run from Mondstadt to travel with you. And while he'd be able to do anything in his power to persuade you to not leave, he's one to physically force it unless you're genuinely trying to run off for something dangerous. However, if someone else were to go. Friends of you and Venti… you'd have to come back, right? Kaeya can't leave his post forever, and it was him who accompanied you for this task, so it would be unfair to go on alone and not see him back… Yes, through others, you'd always be lured… guilted into returning home to him eventually.

Manipulation is also used here in more of a test; he does this often with people but imposes an idea or thing involving you. Those he wants to use in a way of getting close, he bluffs some lies out, and their reaction or steps they handle in regards usually is how he tests to see if they are reliable in what he needs. It's nothing extreme, but it's best to know if he can trust their feelings and opinions on you before letting you get too close. If they fail, well, a little bending of the truth to make it so neither of you wants to interact and never really hurt anyone.

This all helps build into how appearance tends to help. Not only for the general public but even for you, as his boyish charm and looks naturally tend to frame him as innocent. People are quick to brush off his questions even if they progressively get more concerned as 'puppy love' or that it's simply 'too cute' to see the young love from the bard. Many might even favor this as they see it as him likely being willing to turn a new leaf and grow into something worth settling down [i.e., get a job and place to live, though really, instead, it grows more into him crashing at your home and still playing song for whatever he can— money or alcohol]. His verbal actions are easily brushed off, but even the physical side of things, too. Pilfering is a great talent of his, but when caught with your items or breaking in when you're out, he tends to be pushed aside if he plays up his demeanor and lies. Scolded with warnings, sure, but scratching his head and sighing with a 'promise I won't do it again' tends to get everyone to roll their eyes and back off. As mentioned, his appearance can even present him as harmless to you; if someone brings it up, you might also awkwardly laugh and brush off the events. It's just Venti being Venti. He truly is primarily harmless, and he's stayed over so much at this point him breaking in was likely just a result of a habit of being in there…

And the limits of manipulation can be pushed if he so chooses. Call it divine intervention, more or less cause while he does so more with a dirty conscience, he can be driven as Barbatos to truly step in. Religious intervention. It seems weird when the Church of Favonius suddenly comes in contact with some old documents, ones with never seen details of an old love interest to their beloved god. The news and rumors sweep the nation, and even weirder, most of the details and notes recount someone… like you. Things seemed to get stranger, and from there, only more documents could be found of this exact figure appearing throughout history, like some sort of reincarnation. The fascination of it all quickly became the center of the topic, and with the likeness you bared in the story and aspects of appearance, you're status seemed to shoot up within the night. Not so much a holy figure but deemed with some strange uplighting in the way people spoke. That is, or how Barbatos ever seemed to come back to Mondstadt, you'd need to be there just like how the past reminisced. For those who do know, it weirdly only pushes you away from them if you ever seek help, that that story must be bound to fate, and that Venti can't be as much of a nuisance if you give it time. The problem is only dug in worse as Venti creates poems and ballads of the sort, claiming he actually had heard of these but never sought to share them until now. As the stories grow, you're pushed more and more to the church with the idea of gaining barbatos' favor and attention. Leaving… just became much more complex.

Dependence [reversed]

Dependence comes in a weird form, at least compared to others. While in general fashion, dependence typically is the idea that they want you to solely rely on them for everything, not only for power and love, it can even be with money, housing, or other necessities. While Venti likely would be much more dependent on him being really the main source of your love and affection, the rest… he doesn't care so much about. Power may be a little; he doesn't need or want you to depend on him for it, but it does give him a little ego boost when you have to or ask him. And too many other aspects of actual dependence go against aspects of his belief in freedom. Venti's course of manipulation never truly prohibits your own freedom; again, less you actively seek to do something he knows poses a threat; it just often forces you to rethink and become more hesitant in actions or thoughts.

As for other forms of dependence, well, Venti doesn't have them. He steals, only really eats apples, to your knowledge, and is homeless. It's quite pitiful in a humorous way. However, as you get closer and bond more with the bard-friendly nature, it is hard for you to let him live like this. Well, in certain ways, stealing alcohol or bribing others to give him some with songs you can't really stop unless you plan on going bankrupt. But more frequently, you invite him for meals and shelter him in your place. Even more frequently if the weather is bad or as winter approaches. Venti isn't manipulating you necessarily into these tasks, but dependence some with a factor of self-guilt. He's your friend, someone you've gotten close with, and with that, he's come to truly rely on you for these things. He was fine in the past, but to leave for who knows how long and let him fall back into such a life would make you a bad person. Right?

Logically, Venti knows he doesn't need to depend on you for these things as they don't have any real effect on his life, but it's so domestic. He gets access to all your items; you put time and love into meals, or even sharing what you purchased from Good Hunter fills him with warmth. On cold nights, he finds it easier to slip under your blankets and, even if it's fake, pretend to sleep like how couples would. Being a god comes with a lot of good but a lonely life, and after seeing so many, there comes a time when it's nice to indulge in it. Gluttony has always been a crime of his, it seems, such as with alcohol, but this also can't be that bad if no one is getting hurt. So just let him depend on you a little longer. At least until he can find out some solution before he sleeps again.

Self Harm

Similar to dependency on basic things, one form of manipulation that Venti doesn't do on purpose but knows that there still is a benefit to his actions is his indulgence in drinking. While it takes a lot for him to truly get drunk, as noted, he does like to play it up for you, and it's not uncommon for you to have to take care of him or come help him. In all sense, Venti, while not necessarily drunk, is an alcoholic, and to a detriment, it is a form of self-harm. Through learning more and hearing the tales and songs of his past, it's apparent the wounds run deep, and Venti's only way he knows to deal with them is through drinking in an attempt to numb or forget. The reality of knowing this is hard; you see it with others you've likely gained closeness with and how drinking has affected the lives of so many.

This leads to two outcomes: this, again, guilt that breeds when thinking of leaving. The connection Venti has formed is tangible with how deep it is to you, even if you don't reciprocate in that way. That's if you were to leave, would things only get worse with his drinking problem? Unlikely, he would died from drinking, but it's more than just drinking; it's the mental state of him in that position and how the loss of more people would rip the wound open even more. Furthering, if you had actually spent time talking about his past and working to unpack and find better ways to cope with the trauma outside of alcoholism, leaving would be a dick move and revert all that progress no matter how you explained it. How much could you're conscious take knowing this? How far could you make it without the guilt of him back home as the stories of his past cloud your mind? The wind tickling your skin and almost like a whisper reminding you of it. It's one thing to share a drink or two with the bard and have a fun night in the tavern, listening to his songs and dancing. It's another to picture him alone under a tree, empty bottles scattered from stealing from him alone, reminiscing about his lost friend and the imagery of war. The wind gets colder, licking the back of your neck, and the guilt is painful, ready to burst out your chest for even thinking of it. Some wounds you cannot heal, but the idea of making them worst or abandoning the person who's come to need you most is mentally crippling.

General obsessiveness

Venti doesn't necessarily read as obsessive. Not outwardly, at least, though it's easy to blame his charm for that. Okay… well, maybe not charm, but within his manipulative nature and looks, his actions and questions regarding you don't play as obsessive to those who listen. It's unlike many others who you can just look at them and feel in your bone there is something off, or in how they speak, they care just a little too hard. His sharp tongue and trick of words allow people to very easily give up information without thoroughly having them aware they have, making his tendencies go far under the general public's radar still. And for those who do somewhat witness it, he doesn't mind playing up his role a little more. Just a young, helpless bard looking to woo someone. It isn't a crime, right?

The mask he wears holds many layers. The bard, the god, the lost wind. Not many will ever get a look at what really goes on and what is an exaggeration. Or under exaggeration when it comes to you. In most cases, Venti stretches his stories up, his words riddled and larger than life that people have to dim down to work out the true meaning. So when he sells his obsessive love as much less, people are quick to brush it off or dim it down further to avoid those actual layers of emotions being peeled forward.

A chunk of this also extends to the shame and questions it brings out of freedom. Venti has never tried to take it away in a solid way, but is it true freedom to either of you when you fill so much of his thoughts that you can't really do anything without him? It is the thought that replays and replays of you and him doing things; it's the obsessive nature of having to know where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. Are you safe? Are you planning on leaving? Should he come to find you just to be sure?

What about the images. The visions he remembers from the wars, from the people he's lost, and that truly, at any time, perhaps something will happen, and you'll be next. The flashes of violence and fear that only make the goal of getting his next drink to numb them go away— or you. The sight of you, the smell of you. Having you hold him and remind him that the past is gone.

You'd be able to see it, maybe not the full extent, but you've come to know the bard enough to tell when the cogs in his mind are turning and the way he tries to drown out aspects of himself. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but you know some of it is tied to the past as he holds the stolen wine in one hand and grips you so tightly with the other as you try to stumble back to your home and out of sight. You can tell something is off when he's snooping through your things early in the morning as you're just waking up and when he's clearly been inside your place while you were out with a friend. Or that he's been leaving more and more questionable lyrics? No, less like poems or lyrics but ramblings about love and fear and what can only be aspects of you on the counter as he runs around god knows where. It's worrying. It's uncomfortable to an extent, but not enough or in a way that you can just cut him off. Kick him out. Maybe just talking or setting a little break, but the pressure in your chest and bile in your throat at the thought of cutting contact brings you to a sobbing mess each time.

But, what does keep him from being fully obsessive is that Venti still has things to do. Freedom of Mondstadt and giving up his title as the god doesn't mean he's abandoned his role truly, and if he's awake, that means between drinking, being with friends, telling stories, and everything about you, there is something he has to do. He still is out fulfilling a duty no one, but he knows of, and really, part of that seems more scary than anything he's done to you. You know he'd never hurt you; it's not a fear of that, but as Venti opens up more to you, the parts he still keeps hidden remind you that this is only a fraction of what you know. Guess it's good that you still have some time and space to yourself, but as obsessive as he is in his thoughts and other flaws, he can dial it back if needed for a short amount of time. At least from your perspective.

Wrong idea; type 2

In a sense, Venti is give an inch; he'll take a mile. Like a stray cat. You feed him once he keeps coming back for more. One thing is that this wrong idea can start more slowly, but the second you mess up and do something more romantically affectionate, it instantly becomes much more intense in the progression of what he's willing to take or do.

As mentioned, for anything to start, you need to be at least on a friendship level basis with Venti, and a sorta higher level of one. Nothing extreme, but the type of friends who do spend a considerable amount of time together and, for example, willing to open your house to him to stay in occasionally. Not even in a 'stay in the same bed' type way, but he knows aspects of your personal life, and to a level, you learn more of his 'Venti' side for any of his traits to really start manifest. However, it is already very easy to set off more and delve into the realm of leading him into the wrong idea territory.

Some ideas of how this might be are such as gaining more physical contact. While the intent is friendly, Venti is from a different time, and being touchy already seems less common than you already have a 'flirty' aptitude. Grabbing his arm or hanging off of him when sober makes his heart flutter that there could be more. Certain gifts, flowers, or making uniquely special foods just for him. Not just any meal, that's normal, but if you were to make something sweet with apples that wasn't a typical dish, it leads his heart to beat just a little harder. Or that one time when he did stay over and you fell asleep holding onto him rather than the usual routine of wandering off to your own spot after putting a drunk Venti 'to sleep.' You must have been exhausted… but this is his first time really getting to see you up close.

You must be doing all this with some… ulterior motive. Sure, he's heard of courting; he's older than people think and knows more of the ins and outs of things. People treat him like someone far more innocent by these looks— not just with drinking. And yeah, it comes in handy sometimes, but not when people talk down to him about this. At first, there was some apprehension. Teyvat was in a dangerous time, and as carefree as he plays himself up, he's always guarded about his next move.

Obsessiveness starts more simple. His questions are more of curiosity about many things, and what is better than to trick it out of people and you. Sure, he knows most basic things of your life, but that couldn't mean you aren't linked to more questionable things and had figured out he was Barbatos, either. He comes off a nosey at best. When digging to see if you'd ever been caught doing 'bad things' most inform sure— but in the sense you had been a kid and teen once. You'd easily gotten into trouble more than a few times but never was it for anything imminent or serious. He digs more into the lineage of your family and the other people you associate with. Nothing strange… fine, but perhaps a different route. He remembers some old common courting techniques, and he's seen some of them in this era, too. He's not blind to it, but as he shares more of the details, the more people tell the 'young' bard. It's probably a hint that he should reciprocate. I mean, he already hangs off of you like a hangover anyway. It's surprising he isn't already attached at your hip with how much you both sort of rely on each other. Although you tend to treat him more as a companion than him, he depends on you like a leech.

And the switch flips.

In certain aspects, if you did have some sort of crush, it likely would melt away with how quick his obsessively wrong idea notion takes over. What was harmless flirting testing the waters is instantly blown into a large scale. Even if you didn't like him in that way and other signs were one of platonic closeness or accidents, it doesn't seem to make a difference. His touchiness is insatiable, and the amount of time he starts demanding you spend with him is much more intense. If you try to brush him off, his poutiness damps the air, and things just an uneasy tingle. You find him trying to make all sorts of snacks and now haggling not just for drinks but for gifts. Every story he tells, every song he sings, and every poem has some romantic undertones that, paired with former questions and actions, people know it is about you. And the stalking doesn't help.

Venti's turning point makes him feel like there is more and that there could be more. He's not fully delusional. There are aspects of a lucid point that you're pulling away, but that just means he needs to try harder, right? He's seen so many relationships go like that. If you stop trying, if you let them pull away, that's really how you lose them. It's obvious how much time he puts into this, how much he thinks about how to move forward, and how he can use things like his skill sets of manipulation to keep you bound to him [not literally but in a figurative state]. However, it is only time before you get worn down from trying to fight and redirect… adapting does become just so much easier. Conversations, trying to explain, just don't seem to reach him. Lucid and all, you can't understand him or his goals anymore, and even when he does calm down back into a slight breeze, the second you give him a bit of that former closeness back, it picks back into a blustery.

Stalking

While Venti's stalking habits have mostly been pointed out, there is one other big thing that needs to be recognized. Sure, in Mondstadt and the borders of other regions, he often can find himself about to sneak away and physically follow you around for extended periods of time [days, weeks, etc.]; what happens if you leave. Of course, Venti can easily manipulate others to go with you as a safety net and use it to get you back home, but things are rough when you're gone. Luckily, or to your dismay, you aren't ever really alone as the wind follows you. No matter how far you go, how pleasant the weather is, or how rough the wind is a constant companion following in your wake. It's often a nice breeze, though it picks up a significant amount if you're nearing danger or in danger. Though a strange pattern of it picks up when you spend a little too long talking with locals…

Yes, the wind itself can't do much, but its following reminds you of your faithful companion back home, the one you'll have to eventually return to. And while 'freedom' is given, it's never truly 'free' as the wind follows far and wide until you come back to your love.

Final [unique]

Where final comes in is related more to Venti's 'sleep.' From the context, it seems Venti has less control over when he sleeps and for how long. It's not that he chooses to abandon his land in the time. It's that he cannot fight when he goes into his slumbering state. For hundreds of years, and the times he wakes up are only that when there is something of great importance. This wouldn't be much of a problem before you— Mondstadt was given their freedom, and it was just how it was. He awoke, he came, he helped, and he left; nothing more or less.

However, he had been awake for longer than usual. There was something, even outside of you, that had brewing. Something deeply important kept him awake, even if he didn't know what. And he established a life. A true life this time, with friends in the taverns and everyday 'enemies' with his habits. He found a 'job' and a 'home' within his city as one of the people. And he fell in love. It's one thing to become intrinsically a part of an environment, and even if you don't feel the same way, have that connection knowing any moment it could be lost. To go back into a long-standing sleep with every person, even facet of that life is potentially gone when you are to wake up again. To lose that loved one to time.

Venti has lost so much, each person he's established a bond with passing or having to move on to more incredible things. When he awakes, everything is different; every person is mostly a new face, with few exceptions of those only being a few like him. Is it wrong for love to be so fragile when he knows the change of fate of it being lost is greater than the reward? That if he were to fall asleep, you would easily be able to move on. Find someone new, forget about him, or at least be nothing more than a distant memory. He knows other types of love can be platonic, that the affection you give to the city kids isn't the same, or the way you play with the cats as he watches from a distance. He knows that when he sees the couples in Mondstadt, he's supposed to be happy for them, and imagine if it was you two rather than have the breeze pick up ruining their outing. That he shouldn't be this jealous or bitter; it's unsuiting of his persona, but how else are you supposed to know when love is useless if not with you, the one person he could so quickly lose. When you're not around, this gets worse. Celestia, be damned if he were to fall asleep without at least getting to see you one more time.

This acknowledgment does considerably bring out more of his obsessive nature, almost like paranoia, but in a way that no one can quite place. That he needs to have knowledge of where you are and how long you've been gone, or that he needs to be with you to make up for the time. The obsession leaks into you're time together; since he doesn't need sleep, he'll just lay there watching you. Hands sometimes ghost your face as he pulls you close, worrying about if he can't save you if he were to suddenly fall back asleep tomorrow and never see you again. It's the way sometimes he grips your arm a little too tightly and breathes in too deeply when hugging. That he needs to find a solution to keep you immortal so if he does sleep, you'll still be there when he awakes, or even better, you can sleep with him [and awake] at the same time. You'd never have to be alone, he'd never have to be alone. And sure, it's a stretch, but it's not a loss of freedom because once awake, you can still go anywhere you want together, and even with this idea, you still have full mental awareness and control over your mind.

General Delusional [unique]

Venti isn't delusional. His perceptiveness to things around him and his need to protect himself, plus his lifetime, has made him more or less hyperaware of things and life around him. He hears the prayers of people and the lives of others, and being lucid/logical is simply a must for that of a god. But he hears the prays, he hears the others speak, and he yearns in a sense to be able to have the luxury of being delusional. Of just being able to let everything go and pretend things are good or that you like him back in that way. It sounds nice. Easy. To be able to imagine your life together as some fantasy story, he's the knight who'd come and save you and live happily ever after.

Scratch that. barbatos isn't delusional, but Venti can be. The mask, the person he's playing can be. He isn't just a storywriter; he's a storyteller. An actor, a character of his identity. So no, deep down, he knows the truth; he's extremely aware of that, but why not just play the part. Let him play as if he was lost in those delusions and that whatever it is can be that way. When you're cooking dinner for each other, Venti knows you're just making a meal as always, but why not play it up. That you're coupled and that this is making a meal together as a such— it was a little weird when he came over to help, but you didn't question it. At least he was doing something. But meal times together when he would help progressed weirdly. Putting his arms around you as you try to cut things, holding out utensils for you to try things on. It got very strange the one time when baking, he leaned over and licked a crumb off your face. You didn't bake for a while after that.

Or going out. What once was normal progressed into him inching closer and closer, then hands briefly touching. You didn't think much. It's the bard unless your Diluc. He's been pretty much harmless around the city. You think. So what if he was one to try to hold hands or brush arms that just matched his bubbly personality. Though the linking of arms and leaning into when waking, staring into your eyes with such affection did change things a lot.

It's nothing more than a role, or sort of game to Venti. The delusion is there, but it is more like oil sitting on top of water. He can turn it off at any moment, but where is the fun in that when everything in his life is so serious. With you, it's easier to just pretend. At least he still has all the control and lucidity of the problems when needed.

Projection

This has been touched on already, but to relate it back, Venti isn't so much delusional in the sense he believes it's real but that if he projects the message hard enough through stories, through songs, and to the people of Teyvat that you're together then in some way, that will be true. The projection of his words he knows are false, and he knows in some way, even if it isn't true, that if a story is spread enough, people take it as fact. And if everyone takes it as fact, then it's just easier for you to accept it as well. He really doesn't have to do anything to force you. It's not taking away anything. It's just altering it so that way things work out in his favor. Much like the general sense, it pairs as well. If he tells himself it's true, perhaps he can force that delusion to cloud the lucidity he feels about all of it. It's almost like in a state of being drunk, where you know what's going on to a certain level, but it's foggy. It's rose-tinted enough that if everyone thinks it, he can, too.

This projection is only made worse if he gets involved as Barbatos. It changes things from just the slightly weird couple who, honestly, the people of Mondstadt can't really explain how they ended up that way. They remember bits of it, but it seems like someone through someone, though some random grandma just mentioned you were taken, and everyone ran with it. But if the church were to find the falsified relics and stories, then there just is nothing you can do. Now, it's not only Venti trying to project something there but the whole church following, believing that you are some saint and by having you married? Honestly, you aren't really sure what all this goal is to have you 'connected to Barbatos' even means, but whatever it is… it doesn't sound good. The expectations of you are doubled, and the projection of you being more than human is suffocating. But it's only made worse when Venti comes forward as Barbatos to you, saying you should just play the part. Stay with the church as some saint and with him. You'll still have a life of freedom outside of it, just with some more expectations about how you interact with others. You'd be bound by the marriage of some sort, and he'd find a way to make it eternal. It doesn't sound too bad, right? Freedom isn't truly free, but it never has been. It's an elusive concept, something subjective, but if you still have the right to enjoy your life and the good of being such, then it should be okay. You can still leave the church figuratively and travel, arguing it's on some journey for something. You aren't restricted in how you speak or think, but things like infidelity and how you speak of love need to be more kind. Yet you'd live a life of peace, one of never needing to be allowed and have the blessing of a god in your favor.

If not, think of the projection people will have if you say no. If you try to run away, you lose everything. That would be the true loss of freedom. The loss of your friends, your loved ones. Your home. Venti projects this idea of love and what love should be for you two, not between you and him necessarily, but to everyone else, making it all the more terrifying at the consequences when he finally does. Not if, but when.

Monopoly

This is where things get rough because Venti is possessive in a way that can't be controlled. He feels it settling in his chest when he spends too long talking to the shopkeeper or giggling a little too hard at a friend's joke. He hates it when you work and when you dedicate your time to the kittens outside The Cat's Tail. He whines when you have to leave in the morning and when you turn up to Angel Share just a little too late, begging to know who you are with. It hurts him. He can't explain it in the way it crushes his soul, seeing you give your time to others, your energy, and your care. It pains him so deeply to see you run yourself thin for the world around you, for those who could never understand you like he does.

Venti knows it would be easy to whisk you away. To use his godly powers to keep you safe, to keep your attention and love only on him. How things would be so much better for you, for each other, if you could just monopolize your time for him and you and no one else. The idea weighs on him like a pile of bricks. He knows it's wrong; he knows it goes against everything he stands for. And call him childish, but he can't help how he feels.

It's true he never really acts on it. Clinging onto you and carping over it, sure, the way he tugs slightly on your arm after you keep talking to the passerby you bumped into, an old friend, ready to drag you off to somewhere in Mondstadt, you can be alone. How he holds on just a little too tight when you talk about events at work and the people you chatted with, quickly wanting to move to a more interpersonal topic.

Venti never really monopolizes you or your relationships, but his bratty and more childish act really is brought out more with you around. You still get the socialization and ability to be around whoever, but it always needs to be rightfully compensated with some alone time with the god as well, so pick your battles sparingly and just go with him when his fuse starts to burn out.

Bizarre Seeking [unique]

Tying back to his sleep issue, the case of bizarreness only relies so much on how far he's willing to push to keep you immortal, either through godhood or other means. It's surprising he'd even consider it; his testament for Celestia is apparent in conversations, and the path to godhood is not seen in a much higher light based on conversations. But Venti knows sacrifices need to be made to get what you want, and if that means the pursuit of godhood or immorality to not lose any more of his loved one, then that's a sacrifice to be made.

Because of this, Venti ends up pushing you into countless more and more weird scenarios. You end up visiting a certain alchemist more, not really ever knowing the reasons why, and stranger things of yours seem to be going missing. What is that strange bruise on your arm, and why does this one piece of hair seem slightly shorter than the rest? You also swore that Caramel Pinecone tasted weird last time, but even when you ordered the Love Poem instead, it was still off…

The limits of Venti's morality are very much pushed with the goal of finding a way to extend your life more permanently, and while the actions he takes are questionable, they aren't anything he would do less deemed necessary. Beyond that, once he finds the key to unlock it, his bizarre-seeking tendencies end up dying down or stopping altogether.

Also, while he considers and will try to push for a Celestia ascension if push comes to shove, the ability to actually achieve godhood this way is much more complicated and dangerous. Something he might keep trying for, but this way is much less likely to succeed, and he knows this, which is why other bizarre tendencies take priority.

General protectiveness

Overall, protectiveness is a standard feat. Venti doesn't want you to get hurt and will do nearly anything to prevent it, hence a considerable factor of his stalking outside of walls of the city or towns. Even with others, if he thinks they pose some physical threat, Venti has little fear of stepping between you and 'the threat.' It's not so much a protective coating or an extreme case where he needs to check everything you do, touch, eat, drink, or interact with. Still, there is a natural sense of him wanting to protect you and watch over you to make sure that nothing can gravely hurt you. This mirrors why the wind follows you if you travel and picks up to warn you and redirect you away from dangers, a protective aura of Venti that trails after you. It's not even a doubt that you can't, but the inherent need to make sure you make it back in one piece.

There is, again, only one primary reason Venti will use full force to intervene, and this is if he knows you are purposefully trying to run off somewhere that will put you in danger for any reason. Often downplaying his strength of wind, the storm, if needed, will border Mondstadt making it. Hence, nothing gets in or out until you agree to drop it, tearing nearly everything that comes in contact with the barrier if you don't agree to listen to him first and think of a genuine plan. The wind sees all, and while terraforming isn't much on his bucket list anymore, Barbatos has no fear of proving his worth and power if in the name of love and protection. Even if it hurts you to know whatever your goal is foiled, if it's the one-stop against your freedom, there are some things not worth being risked.

Lowest Stats

General [none]

The one trait Venti inherently lacks is sadism. Nothing he does to you or others is derived from the pleasure of hurting or seeing others hurt. And while those such as the abyss creatures for fatui foot soldiers are at the whims of his fighting, it's not done with the goal or satisfaction of a battle but rather a necessity for 'his' people and you.

It's apparent that actions that long-term hurt you or have serious effects, both mental and physical, that fundamentally change you aren't truly a goal. Yeah, the immortality would literally change you, but not with the goal of making you conform or transform into a new mental mindset. At least not right away, as he knows that a long life naturally changes people, but there never is a purpose to rid you of traits. To tie you down and break you until you love him the way he loves you.

Freedom, as touched on, is never truly free. Not of people, not of actions, or even of mindsets. But is it that Venti wants you to be you; be the self you choose to be and the freedom that comes with that, even if aspects of it hurt him. It's why if he has to let you go to Sumeru for a festival he knows wouldn't be possible for him to also attend, he lets you know you'll come back to him without the burden of being changed or conformed to have to come back. It's why, in every case, Venti does whatever is in his power to keep you from being genuinely hurt, even if he can't always fulfill that promise. It's why, despite everything, he can't hurt the people who create the fires of jealousy in his core being.

Venti has an awareness that many of his actions are immoral and that he has dirtied his hands in the past just as much. he knows of the guilt you struggle with, and then he is using his skills to manipulate and play everyone like a fiddle, but in the eyes of a god and one who believes in freedom, it is not in his role to harm anyone in the light of you. It's a turning point he could never come back from if he were to directly hurt you or anyone else with the goal of keeping you with him, and it would be a dishonor to everything he was created from. A stain on the nameless bard he honors so deeply, so while the envelope of what is okay is pushed every day with his other actions, there is never once a hand that is laid on you for the sake of 'love' from Bardatos.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Statistic diagram; Venti [Barbatos]

[utilitycaster]

do you really think the reason Imogen doesnt get as much meta as Caleb (who got every little detail discussed with thousands of notes!) is because people are afraid of a reaction, when its so obviously sexism?

The same reason she doesn't get the exact number of notes as Caleb? No. There's multiple reasons. I'm sure some is misogyny. Some is probably audience size for the respective campaigns, and some is simply accumulation over time - a post about Caleb from 2019 has had 5 years to gather notes.

But also. Are you fucking stupid. You literally showed up because of my tags to be kind of a dick in my inbox. I and multiple people who committed the grave sin of *checks notes* interacting with me were sent hate messages for hours on a Saturday night because I hinted in the tags that I kind of liked Fearne and Ashton as a ship while not being terribly into Imogen and Laudna, and some absolutely deranged loser decided this was an appropriate response. I was called out by someone who had made a blog specifically to block me when I responded to a reblog from someone else on a post I had made stating that Gelvaan was almost certainly not homophobic in canon and that treating Imogen's psychic powers as a metaphor for queerness has a lot of really unfortunate implications. And this hasn't even touched on that one person whose entire raison d'etre appears to be harassing every single person who doesn't think Imogen, Laudna, and their relationship is perfect; and who specifically made multiple alts to harass me. Like, the "It's Obviously Misogyny" people are genuinely putting more effort into being a dick to me than in writing meta about Imogen. You might be one of them.

I talk to many of my mutuals, some of whom really like Imogen, and yes, people do decide "you know, this could be interpreted by someone as too critical, and I don't feel like dealing with the heat" and keep that meta to the DMs or don't share it at all.

You know that post that Matt liked on Twitter that people have been, let's not mince words, jacking themselves off about ever since? If you actually try to say something with substance and evidence about how Imogen has Liliana's fear (the fear that meant that when Imogen begged her mother to leave the Vanguard, Liliana turned her own daughter down, claiming to need to stay with other children) or Delilah's love (which made her cruel, ruthless, and ultimately all-but doomed her) or Ludinus's desire for power (led him to commit endless atrocities) but resists these things in her desire to be a good person - and frankly, I think painting her with the same brush as Delilah or Ludinus isn't even true but I would love to dig into her similarities to Liliana - some asshole who smugly reblogs that post every time someone says "not to be controversial I think Imogen sometimes says things that could maybe be hurtful to other people I think" will throw a full temper tantrum and might send them an incoherent anon calling them a little hypocrite.

It's also fascinating because a lot of the tantrum-havers who will defend Imogen of even the most anodyne "perhaps this is not the most positive trait" and who will cite harassment Marisha received 7 years ago as a reason to not breathe a word of criticism about Laudna - and many of these people joined the fandom about 2 years ago if not sooner - will do this at the very people who have been supporting Keyleth since Campaign 1 was still airing. I mean, seniority doesn't mean anything but if you're lecturing people about something you weren't there for and they were? Clown behavior. Oh and a lot of those people doing the lecturing? Don't really like Keyleth very much, because she does things like "be angry" and "support Orym" and "have a measured viewpoint that doesn't match theirs" and "pretty clearly, along with Allura, who they also barely ever talk about, is directing Bells Hells along a specific path of that pesky moon plot because contrary to a weirdly widespread belief this is the moon plot campaign and not the baking cookies in a cottage campaign."

I mean, half these people forget about Fearne much of the time. The only NPCs I see many of them even talk about are the Vanguard generals and occasionally Abbadina when she's convenient for an argument. Not a damn word for Orlana or Birdie or Dancer or Weva or Rashinna, and they mostly treated Deanna, Prism, and Deni$e as nothing more than implements to shove Imogen and Laudna together but man do they have mountains to say about Bor'Dor. Hell, go to the blog of someone who whines about the way people treat Imogen and look through their meta, if they have it, and the vast majority of the time it's about Ashton and Orym and Ludinus and then they spend the rest of the time complaining about how The Big Mean Fandom is So Mean to Girls but they sure don't have much to say either because turns out if you can't say anything even remotely critical of a female character, it's really hard to write anything, and that's assuming they actually care about writing about female characters instead of just being an asshole, which as stated above is, in my mind, in doubt.

If you have ever spent a single second harassing actual living women online because you didn't like their thoughts on a pretend woman you are, at least in this specific scenario, easily the shittier person. Personally I am confident in my feminist bona fides through, you know, real world activism and how I interact with and support women and feminist causes socially, professionally, financially, and politically in my actual life, but yeah even I sometimes say "you know, I have thoughts about this thing regarding Imogen...but I've had a rough week and I don't feel like having one of the fandom tar pits on my ass" so I'll send my thoughts to a few friends and then idk, write about something else. And I'm pretty thick-skinned (this is the other problem with this strategy; you filter out the more measured and kind and sensitive people first and you're left only with people like me). A lot of people have flat-out given up writing about Imogen (or Laudna, much of the time) because they don't feel like dealing with backlash over some really mild statements. And because you send kind of dickish anons I suspect that it's more likely that you might be part of the problem than part of the solution. So no, it's not the only reason, but it's absolutely a significant one. Congratulations. You played yourself.

[thecameronchronicles]

Flawless

TW: Smut. Language. Mentions of blood. SoftDomRafe! Angst due to body image. 

SUMMARY: Rafe validates why he loves your figure…

WORD COUNT: 2800

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Flawless

It didn't matter the color of the fabric or style of the dress. Nothing seemed right for the aesthetic the Cameron family left at every function. Wheezie was the eccentric youth who wore the carefully curated pastels orchestrated by Rose, who owned a dramatic statement piece all her own. Ward was demure in his perfectly tailored suit and million dollar smile. And Sarah was effortlessly soft yet desirable with her siren stare and ethereal style. But the responsibility it meant to be on Rafe's arm had meant your own physique was set into question against his mouth watering appearance. It was louder than that of your own insecurities even as you'd overheard those envious of your relationship with the attractive Cameron, remarks of your healthy weight contrasting their improbable perfections made possible by unhealthy standards. And it was enough to drain any potential confidence into uncertainty as you bowed your head while sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"Bullshit tie-" Rafe groaned at the inability to perfect the Windsor knot expected in the reflection of his father's ensemble. Yet the sight of your state had redirected his focus to your well being. More specifically, becoming enraged to whoever or whatever was responsible for its decline. 

"What is it, baby?"

"It's stupid." You sniffled, shaking your head. The only thing you loathed more than their comments and glances, were how you let them get to you. Even if you were tempted to fall into the fads of disordered ‘diets’ to appease them, the way he found beauty within even your most shallow of confidences had kept you clear from acting on such dark thoughts. 

"The only stupid thing is how stupidly beautiful you are..." He spoke in pure honesty as you scoffed. 

"Can I just meet up with you after?"

"Are you sick?" 

"No..."

"Do you want to be with someone else?" Your eyes narrowed. 

"No-"

"As far as I'm concerned, those are the only two reasons you wouldn't be coming with me. The first I'd stay back and take care of you...and if there was someone else..." He used the bend of his fingers to direct your eyes to him. "I'd miss the entire party to prove that I'm the only one for you. Just like you are for me…"

You couldn't respond to his sweet words. You felt hypocritical to agree but uncertain to answer as you were well aware how quick to anger he was. For that, you only remained silent. 

"So tell me who said something..."

"Nobody."

"So I don't make you feel beautiful then?"

"Rafe..."

"It's my job. To make you come and feel beautiful." Your cheeks flushed to his words. 

"I just don't feel...skinny enough...okay..." You hung your head in shame at the remark. No matter the times he reminded you of the opposite, you couldn't help but question the sour words of your peer antagonists as they circled your mind and withering self-esteem.

"Stand up."

"Rafe..."

"Stand. Up."

He spoke more aggressively as you stood in only your lingerie. His eyes adored the sight for a moment, a greedy glance, as you stood in anticipation. You were expecting him to turn you towards the mirror set to the side of the closet you stood in front of. But instead, you watched him take your dress to his fingers. 

"Apparently I have to make something clear..." The tag of your dress was removed from the fabric. Your eyes widened. 

"I don't give a shit if you're a size zero or fifty."

"Rafe-"

"I'm not done." He moved to your closet, taking any piece of clothing he could and repeating the process with each tag he could. 

"I don't care if you weigh under a certain amount. All I care about is that you're healthy. That you eat. That you’re happy." His eyes darkened. 

"And that you're mine." When finishing the final dress, set in a pile discarded at your feet, he now pulled you before the mirror. 

But even in his dramatic attempt to make a point, you could feel those bitter words add weight to your curves. 

"Look."

"Rafe, please. I just don't feel like-"

"If whoever was stupid enough to make you feel like this can't see how fucking beautiful you are, that's on them. But I'm telling you to look. Look at this...Look at what's all mine..." You turned to face him, forcing the fingers tracing the skin of your stomach to now rest at your back as your eyes met with his. 

"I have stretch marks-"

"And claw marks...from where I love to guide you into me-"

"And I'm heavier than the other girls-" He scoffed at this. "I look in the mirror and I can't help but notice. The way they look and how they'd look better at your side and-" He moved in a quick step to the mirror beside the closet. A sudden first made an abrupt collision to the glass as it shattered. 

"Rafe!" Picking up a piece of glass within a dress he'd then in disregard moments prior, he moved in your direction. But even with the menacing look behind his eyes and the way he'd sauntered to you with the sharp edge of a potential weapon, you trusted he wouldn't harm you. 

"You should only listen to me, not done fucking reflection that's too stupid to know beauty..." He led the edge of the broken piece of mirror to your chest. The delicate fabric keeping your bra connected was teased with the makeshift knife's edge. 

"I don't want you to wear what they do. I don't want you to wear anything." In the time it took to exercise a simple exhale, his secondary hand took hold of that thin material as his dominant hand cut it loose. Your gasp was silenced by his scoff. 

"But even when you have to wear something. You have my full attention. You're beautiful. So fucking beautiful it hurts. I have to keep from touching you every second of the day...sleeping next to you at night...but I know you need to rest for how you're gonna take me later ..as a reward for being patient. But if I say you're beautiful and you say you're not...are you calling me a liar?" He asked, leading the glass beneath your chin. 

"Because I think you're smarter than that." You swallowed hard from excitement as you were well aware he'd only mark your skin if you asked. 

"I just don't feel like I'm...skinny enough..." He cocked his jaw, slowly nodding, and sucking in a breath. And yet, none of those motions were genuine in agreement. Instead, they had been given as a means of validation he would need to prove his point. 

"I don't know who the fuck made you think that. Don't have to worry about those stupid tags or that mirror...so I know it's something else..." He walked you to the direction of the bed. 

"But what I do know...is that by the time I'm done with you...you'll never question it again." He pushed you onto the bed. "If you do..." he chucked his tongue. "You'll have me to deal with." He pulled you to the edge, removing your panties with the sharp edge of the glass before disposing of it completely. 

Disposing of the fabric, his body was suddenly over your own. Hands pressed to the bed on either side of you had sent you deeper into the mattress as you swallowed hard to the dominant man set with such a task behind usually kind eyes. 

"You trust me, yeah?" You nodded. 

"You know I wouldn't lie to you?" Again, you bobbed your head. 

"Then listen...because I'm only going to be able to explain it once before I have to act on it...So listen carefully..." He kisses your lips softly. 

"Perfect. Soft and warm..." He led his mouth to your jaw and then your neck, "I love tasting your heart beat for me right here..." His fingers drifted to the natural part made of your thighs as his hips had fit perfectly there, "and I love feeling it here...But I'm getting ahead of myself..." He returned his hands to your breasts. 

"I could massage and tease these all day...I love watching you squirm when I do..." Your mouth parted to release that light kaon that came expectedly as he twisted your hard nipples from his touch. 

"And sucking on them...feeling you pull my hair because you want more..." He narrated it just prior to it happening as he smirked to his clairvoyant prediction. 

"And when I kiss lower..." But in the attempts to do this, he felt you tense. He groaned to this clench as he knew why. Your eyes flashed to the sight of those girls, even ones like Sarah, that had the flawless flat stomachs you couldn't help but fantasize to own. But the structure of your body made this impossible to obtain. 

"Right here..." He explained with his ringed finger set at rest just below your navel. 

"That's where I come...inside you when I can't take it anymore...and you feel it ..and I love how well you take it..." His words were drilling with too much heat to fathom. You pulled him to your lips. He still had a point to make, but your desperations managed to swallow him whole. He relished in the race made of your fingers rushing through his hair and pulling ever so slightly as his tongue brushed your bottom lip. 

"I can't wait-" He breathed quickly, your nod acting as the consent he needed, before you helped him undress. The lack of a full ensemble meant for swift access to his bare chest that you craved to feel in a collision to your skin. The heat of his body and the power of a desperate heart had transported you to believe every word spoke from his breathless lips. 

"I know you don't need it-" He spit at the feminine fold between your legs as you gasped, "But I love that look on your face when I do that." You pulled him back in to kiss you as he aligned himself with your sex. 

"You were made for me. Me." He groaned, offering a single thrust to which you felt him at optimum depth. 

"Do you feel how fucking hard I am? That isn't because you look like them. It's because you're YOU. Beautiful. You." He moved once, your lips parting to accommodate the stretch you weren't ever white able to adjust to. 

"But still all mine." You nodded slowly, agreement interrupted by a genesis of a slow pace. His toes came to a stabilization to the wood beneath his bed, forcing the mattress to creak to his slow collision made against your hips. 

"Every whimper...every inch....every time you come...everything is mine- " His grip ate into the flesh of your ass as he pulled you even closer to him. Even if his words were vulgar and his hips were capable of taking you at a murderous pace, he moved in a slow glide to bask in every sensation for you both. 

"I love you." He spoke, almost pained. "And if I have to remind you of it every second, you bet your perfectly blistered ass," He offered a teasing strike before taking it back in an amorous hold. "That I will."

Silence filled the space between you as you became invested in the hollow of lust. Worries and obligations quieted in the war of desire and love blossoming between you. As he fisted the sheets in the soft drives made in climbing acceleration, you responded with the perfect moans and labored breathing that only motivated him further. Wrapped completely in one another, limbs a blur to the amorous connectivity made in such motions , he needed to feel you to the deepest and dullest extent. 

You were taken into a kiss, tongues tangled, as your legs set over him in a straddle. He prepared you to take him once again, but kept you raised over him with a grip around your back, as he took hold of the back of your hair and neck. 

"Do you know why I know?" Your eyes narrowed as you were breathless but curious hovered over him. 

"I know you're flawless because I'm so fucking broken that being near you...touching you...being loved by you...is enough to fix it. That's beautiful. Not just your body...or the way you say my name when you're annoyed but still put up with my shit ..not the way you feel when you come or how you make me...But because you make those broken pieces whole again." 

"Rafe-" Tears filled both of your eyes. 

"And you questioning that questions me...us...But so help me, if I have to spend every night reminding you...I will." He almost growled those final words as you were taken down onto him. He flexed immediately inside of you in response to the gasp made against him. 

"Tell me you understand. Tell me " He spoke behind clenched teeth. Those once soft motions were now harsh. The thrusts made deep but the pleasure and compassion still on the forefront. 

"Tell me you're beautiful."

"Rafe-" He took hold of the back of your hair, pulling you to take a sharp inhale of surprise once again. 

"Then tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours!"

"And that makes you perfect. That makes you flawless... THAT makes you mine." He huffed, leading you to that intense rise of ecstasy that sent your back into an arch. Collecting you in his arms as he found his own release in time of your coming tremors, he kissed you to breathe in those moans he'd earned. 

"Now you're going to put on any one of those dresses and let me show you off..." You looked to the floor, a heavy gaze assessing the options quickly. "But it won't matter whatever you choose because I'll tear it shreds when I get you back in here..." 

You cocked your head. 

"And you let me see anyone giving you anything even close to a cross look and that mirror is the mercy I won't show them-" To the mention of this, you pulled him back to you by taking hold of his hand. Licking your lips, you kissed around the wound as your eyes rose to make contact with him. The fingers if hei fist came loose as you took the ringed digit into your mouth. 

"I feel beautiful for you, Rafe. The way you look at me when I'm on my knees for you." His jaw clenched. 

"Let me feel beautiful?" He wanted to fight you and make you rise to your feet again. But the way you spoke such a request in such a whine that made him hard for you once again, he only endured what you offered him. 

"You are always beautiful, baby."

"Then let me be." You smirked, taking him behind your lips as a favor of gratitude. As he had been slow with you, you had returned the ecstasy to him. Tasting yourself had only added to the eroticism before his hand suddenly retracted you from your endeavors. 

"Say it. Say it or you don't get to do this anymore." You took your hand around his shaft. 

"I'm beautiful for you. I'm perfect for you. Now let me make you come for me so I can remember that as you show me off..." You used his own words against him as he scoffed. You took the distraction and weakening grip to take him into your throat again. 

Tears and drool gathering at your chin had been an announcement of a job well done as he grunted and cursed over you. The grip made in your hair had mirrored the one you'd taken into his thighs as he warned you if your skillset being more than enough. 

"I'm gonna come! Baby! Fuck!"

You only nodded, the vibration from your moan of approval sending him over the second edge, strengthened by that overstimulation. 

"Fucking perfect." He answered. 

"Beautiful..." You teased with your thumb collecting his cum from your bottom lip and setting it behind your lips. 

"Flawless." He corrected, kissing you quiet as it has been enough to silent your insecurities for now. And even if they would return again, you would have this to reference from here on out.

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @belcalis9503

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[dnd-smash-pass-vs]

As the year wraps up, I gotta get something off my chest, don't worry I'm not making a habit of this. Even though I know that the people who it's pointed at won't read or care, and the people who do see the resemblance to themselves likely won't be the ones I'm talking to. but I just had to delete multiple asks again, and it's stuff I get all the time, so I'm going to indulge in a little angry rant that you're free to ignore. Because seriously, I LOVE getting asks, I'd turn them off if I didn't. but some of ya'll REALLY don't understand there's a person on the other end of this. ...also, this is explicitly not pointed to the happy anon with the super long slaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad post last night, you're cool. I was just a really tired last night and hit delete on accident.

- Every time a post gets reblogged, it finds more monsterfuckers, but also more non-monsterfuckers. A less monstrous person doing well or winning does not mean you're the only monsterfucker here. don't fill my inbox with multi-paragraph "everyone here's supposed to be a monsterfucker" hate essays every time a monstrous option isn't in a massive lead, take it up with your followers if it matters to you that much. -Some of you are fine always voting against bone devil no matter what, but can't comprehend something auto-losing for a different reason. Like "I hate heat." Or strong smells, or frogs. Sometimes people don't like the option they chose, they just hate it less. I see the merit in near any option I post, even if it's not for me...but seeing why you like it doesn't me I do too, stop asking me to take sides. - Or the opposite, one of the most common tags is "I love both, but I have a core memory or fetish with one so that's my default." Choosing one doesn't mean they hate the other option and you specifically. I'd happily fuck them both, but one indulges a fetish more core to me than some of my organs. - Someone who would fuck a werewolf or manticore or such is a monsterfucker, even if they don't go further. You don't get to say they aren't a REAL monsterfucker because you decided their preferred monsters aren't monstrous enough. Do you to see someone thirsting over a butch and say they're not a REAL lesbian because you decided that's not girly enough? There's no need to be elitist or gatekeep. Especially in an ask, but also in general tbh.

- I'm a basic bitch too sometimes! Just because we like the weird stuff doesn't mean we have to start hating the basic stuff and those who indulge in it. kinkshaming goes both ways, neither of which should be sent to me. You are not the standard by which all is judged, you being relatively more kinky does not make them objectively less kinky. - Seriously, if tumblr is anything, it's the "Labels" site. where people come to learn thier labels, give themselves labels, show off thier labels, surround themselves in similar labels until they forget it's not the only label. Often while saying they hate labels. It's not even the monsterfucker website, Tumblr's just more neutral toward it instead of openly hostile. I get the disappointment, but don't direct it to me. TLDR: That shoggoth or whatever isn't going to become real and fuck you because you flooded my inbox with rants on how "anyone who didn't choose X is fake, and all ya'll aren't TRUE BELIEVERS of the ONE TRUE MONSTERFUCKER GOD." Sarenrae on a bike, It's my blog, and I say everyone's welcome as long as they stay civil. so be civil before I take the anon button away. At least some people have the guts to show their face when insulting anyone who likes ___ over ___

[i-never-forgot]

…Do y’all think Dusknoir is naturally nocturnal?

Idk if it’s ever been mentioned in the Pokédex/series if ghost-types tend to be strictly nocturnal or are simply more active at night, but we’re going to hypothesize about the former real quick.

(Preemptively tagging @fujii-draws and @sincerely-sofie bc I’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts on this!😊)

Concepts to consider:

Dusknoir being eepy in the daytime, therefore he zones out or dozes off if he’s not actively doing anything. I bet he still floats like horses fall asleep standing up. His eye just shuts and maybe he sags a little in place but other than that he looks like he’s just chilling. If he’s not careful he’ll nod off mid-conversation or mid-task if it’s rhythmic and/or muscle memory (thinking knitting or whittling or smth like that, although I’m not sure if he’d do either of those things specifically) since he would likely find such chores soothing in their monotony and tedium after All That™️.

It’s easier for him to stay awake when he’s in direct sunlight, but if he goes underground or catches a nice patch of shade he’s out like a light if he slows down long enough and is alone or with someone he trusts if they’re not busy. I can easily see him taking naps under trees leaned up against their trunks like this. (May or may not have a sketch of this very idea too…🤫)

Overall just imagining this big old ghost just kind of acting lethargic and even a little lazy if he gets to the place where he allows himself to be; floating around like a balloon in a gentle wind, conducting chores or running errands around town or w/e. Obviously he’d be more alert while exploring, but when he’s in rest mode he’ll probably try to take it easy to conserve energy.

Now for the flip side: night comes around and suddenly he’s Awake™️. He visibly perks up and gets more energetic, his movements quicker and more precise and his eye bright and attentive. He gets Ghost Zoomies and I’m sure the others would think it’s strange at first. It might take them a while to get used to it.

Mayhaps his instinctive nature would come out to play and he might even be a bit mischievous. Maybe he likes to Shadow Sneak around and spook his friends—an innocent, (mostly) harmless little game he honestly cannot recall the last time he played. Maybe they eventually start playing tag with him to see who can catch him in his more agile state. (I think Grovyle might enjoy this most once they both get past the trauma of Dusknoir being incorporeal and thus immune to attack chasing Grovyle. He’s so quick on his feet that I think they’d be fairly even matched, and I can see them totally being competitive and keeping score. Celebi would even add more fun to the mix being able to fly.)

Overall he’s just in a better mood. He’s concealed in the darkness and explores without as much worry about running into someone unsavory.

(Perhaps this is why he was so powerful in the future—perpetual darkness acts as a poor imitation of the darkest, longest night, after all. Maybe he has to readjust in the healed timeline since he’s never had to deal with daylight for extended periods of time. Maybe he gets a little weaker but he considers it a fair trade for his new and gentler lease on life.)