#when really the truth is much simpler-he liked it

[mzannthropy]

Because I've been Thinking About Things, I remembered when Nikolaj Coster Waldau was asked whether he liked the ending of Game of Thrones (yeah, this is going back more than four years), he answered that yes he did, and how people didn't believe him. They thought he was lying bc I don't know... they forced him to say it or whatever. People just could not accept that he simply felt differently from them.

But why is it that people want an actor to feel the same way as them so desperately? Is it for validation?

Nikolaj, unlike the majority of the fandom, does not hate Cersei. Not hating Cersei means you already feel more positive about the ending (try it sometime, just for 5 minutes). I saw him say in some interview or commentary that he got really emotional filming that last scene with Lena--both of them were teary-eyed. Why wouldn't they, it was emotional. People just can't see it bc they're haters. But--that's okay. You are allowed to hate, just as you're allowed to love whatever you feel like. Just accept that that an actor, who played the role for years, might not share your view.

[literaryavenger]

Not So Bad

Summary: It's Bucky's birthday, but he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language. None, really just fluff. No mentions of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1K

A/N: He's my second story for today. Happy birthday, Bucky! Thanks to @ordelixx for the idea and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for read proofing it.

Masterlist

Ever since he’s rejoined society and gained the closest thing he can have to a normal life, being a supersoldier and all, there’s one thing that Bucky can’t bring himself to do: celebrate his birthday.

The more memories he regains, the more he remembers a time where he used to celebrate his birthday with his family and his friends.

Sure, they didn’t have much, but he had his mom and his sister and Steve. It was a simpler yet happier time, and he now all he feels is gloomy.

So every year he treats it like any other day. He trains and goes on missions if he has to, and if he’s in the compound he chills with a book or maybe takes a motorcycle ride, never once even making it known to the rest of the team that it’s his birthday.

“Seriously, Buck? That’s how you’re gonna spend your whole day?” Steve asks Bucky as they walk down the hallway towards their rooms.

“Yes, seriously.” Bucky answers with a roll of his eyes. Every year Steve tries to get Bucky to do something more to celebrate his birthday, but Bucky never budges. “You know damn well what I think about my birthday.”

Steve groans and stops walking, causing Bucky to stop too, and tries one last time before leaving Bucky to his sulking. “I know, but come on! Let’s at least do something together. Let’s celebrate your birthday like we used to, go to Coney Island or something. Don’t spend the day alone!”

“We spend everyday together, Rogers. Sometimes it’s nice to get a break.” Bucky jokes with a smirk before he starts walking again and leaves Steve to chuckle and roll his eyes before he walks to his own room.

What neither of the supersoldiers realized is that they had stopped right in front of your room to talk, just as you were about to walk out. You stopped in your tracks and listened to their conversation.

It’s Bucky’s birthday? How did you not know that? Sure it’s not like you’re the best of friends, but you’re still pretty close. You should’ve known that.

So you decide to do something nice for him today while still respecting his wishes of having a low-key day. You take your purse and jacket and head to the garage, getting into your car and driving towards the city.

Truth is, you’ve always had a crush on the Sergeant. It was hard not to when he looked the way he did, and he was as sweet as Bucky was. 

As intimidating as he might look, you knew how shy he could be. He got flustered easily when he got a compliment, and you found him so adorable when he started blushing and stuttering.

You go to the bookstore you know Bucky loves to browse when he is in the city, it’s a small store that’s filled with second hand books. Bucky always said that he loved to give books a second chance, just like he got one after Hydra. 

You look through the books until you find the perfect one: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.

The team saw the movie together when it was Steve’s turn to pick, and as you sat next to Bucky you heard him quietly talk with Steve about the details they remembered from reading the book in the 30s. 

You go to Bucky’s favorite bakery next and buy two dozen of his favorite cupcakes, and when you see that they sell different colors of candles you have to buy a gold and black one.

You drive back to the compound and, after dropping the rest of the cupcakes in the kitchen for the team, you take one, putting the candle on top of it and taking a lighter. You go to Bucky’s room, cupcake in one hand and gift bag in the other, and knock on his door. 

“Come in.” Bucky says from inside, thinking it’s Steve coming to bother him again.

You open the door slightly and look inside, seeing him sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard and a book in his hands.

“Am I bothering you?” You ask hesitantly.

“N-no, you’re not. Come in.” Bucky says quickly, closing his book and sitting up straighter.

You open the door completely and enter his room, taking a couple of steps towards him before stopping. “I… I got you something.”

Bucky’s eyes widen a little as he sees the cupcake and the gift bag you’re holding out to him.

“Did Steve tell you?” His eyes narrow a little, and you squirm a little under his gaze and shake your head.

“I overheard you talking about it…” You say quietly, a little embarrassed. “I get that you don’t want a party or anything, but I thought… I don’t know, I just wanted to do something nice for you on your birthday…”

You start to second guess yourself as he just looks at you and, just as you’re about to backtrack on your stupid idea and leave him alone, he smiles brightly at you, sitting on the edge of his bed and patting the spot next to him.

You sit next to him and you put the bag on his bed so you can light the candle and hold the cupcake out to him with a smile. “Make a wish.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. He knows what he wants to wish for, the thing is he already got his wish: you in his room, sitting with him on his bed. But he makes his wish anyway before blowing out the candle.

He wished for you to be his.

You smile at each other for a moment before you snap yourself out of it, shaking your head a little and picking up his present and giving it to him.

He puts the cupcake on his nightstand as he takes the bag and opens it and you can see his face light up when he sees it as he runs his fingers down the cover before looking at you with a smile. “Thank you, doll.”

You smile back at him and lean in to kiss his cheek. “Happy birthday, Bucky.” You say before getting up and leaving, letting him have his peaceful day of relaxation. 

Bucky watches you go with a slight blush, his hand over his cheek where you kissed it and a goofy smile on his face.

Perhaps celebrating his birthday is not such a bad thing after all.

[holmsister]

The thing about kabru is that a lot of his conclusions are right DESPITE the fact that he starts from very faulty basis.

Example: his conclusion that the Toudens don't really care about people in the dungeon that much. He's right. But he comes at this conclusion by observing them giving away like all of their money in charity and assuming NO ONE can authentically be that generous/bad with money and therefore assuming that there is something darker at play.

But like. His assumption is wrong. The Toudens are just genuinely that fucking bad with money and just actually frankly don't care to learn to be better because they are here to explore the dungeon and nothing else.

They dont really care about the people they're giving the money to. They just don't really care about the money either.

And like. This fascinates me. He's utterly convinced that Everyone Is Out To Get Everyone Else All The Time. The Toudens seemingly go against this basic conviction he has about how the world works, so he NEEDS to reveal their true nature, so he can confirm his worldview to himself. That is such a fucked up way of looking at reality. Who hurt you, baby.

And then when he eventually meets Laios and realises that no, actually, he is truly just that simple, he cycles through the stages of grief like fifteen times before finally resigning to the truth: he needs to be his friend. He needs to know more about him and understand him. Because he is living proof that the world can be a simpler, kinder, more genuine place, in a way. That's why I think he is so sure that Laios can be a good king.

[uva124]

THE MOMENT WE WERE ALL WAITING FOR, FINALLY FINISHED THE DESIGN OF ASTER YESSSSSS ✨✨✨✨✨✨❤❤

This design belongs to the Wish rewrite called "The kingdom of wishes" (Written by @annymation and soon illustrated by @emillyverse and me)

Sorry for the delay, but this guy had so many things to draw and I also had a thousand ideas that it took me a while to capture them all (4 drawings wow, even I'm surprised lol)

Now after this introduction I will tell you the procedure of its design :]

2D MODEL:

-Maybe some don't notice it, but for the 2D drawing of Aster I didn't add many shadows, because in the classic Disney movies the animation doesn't have many shadows if we look closely, this is for several reasons (at that time they had to inking FRAME BY FRAME, can you imagine how much longer it would have taken to add detailed shadows? I really have respect for the animators)

(Here are some examples of what I'm trying to explain)

-As I said before, I didn't detach myself much from the concept art of the movie, I just added some other details that occurred to me, Anny and Emy.

-We decided that his cape would have the constellations of the signs of the zodiac (It was Emy's idea), which in the final result are on the cape, the constellations are noticeable more or less depending on Aster's mood.

-In the Wish rewrite it is mentioned that Aster's hair is like a candle (Reference to Hades) so I decided not to add the lineart in that part

His hair changes depending on his emotions, but not only that, but also his lineart, the calmer he is, the cleaner his animation will be, however with strong emotions (anger, sadness, nervousness) his details will be more neglected, especially when He is REALLY angry, by the way I made his hair look like a flame to give more drama to his design and also make a reference to Ember from Elemental

And as a final detail, the star-shaped gem that she has as a brooch changes color, just like her earrings.

3D MODEL:

-When Aster disguises himself as a human, his details on his clothes would disappear and the shape of his accessories would change to ones without a star shape, also the tone of yellow would look duller, you know so as not to draw attention (although he is dressed like a prince with a giant cape, the boy doesn't know how to hide the truth very well lmao)

-In general, it's just that the design becomes simpler, the only thing that changes is her hair that is no longer a flame, her freckles that are no longer little stars, her clothes no longer have so many details and her mark on her eye disappears(￣▽￣) .

By the way, I wanted to thank @the-autistic-idiot for giving us the great idea of ​​Aster having a star-shaped mark on his eye :D.

-Also, I think that those who have seen my other Wish redesigns are wondering why it seems like I had spit a rainbow at Aster's 3D drawings, what happened is that when I was painting my neurons said ✨Change your coloring✨ and well, The drawing in the end came out like this, although I honestly like it better, it better represents how I draw in a traditional way

Yes, basically the coloring of my drawings is as if a unicorn had spit on them lol

FINAL COMMENTS:

-It was very fun to draw Aster! The boy really has a lot of changes, but thanks to him I already discovered my digital drawing style so I am satisfied.

-Again sorry for the delay, I know that for many Aster must be their favorite character so I hope your wait was worth it :]

See you next time!✨✨

[artdnldsn]

thinking about 2019 art finally becoming too fed up with his diet. all these strange-colored liquids that taste like shit, the protein shakes that make him sick and stay on his tongue no matter how many times he tries brushing his teeth, because it feels like it’s in his dna after years of doing this shit. the sight of his meals makes him want to barf because they all look so bland, so lifeless—the chicken breast so disgustingly white he actually finds himself wanting to cry a few times because he’s thinking of all the poor bastards that had to die to end up on his plate only for them to taste like shit and for him to not even enjoy eating them.

and you just know he’s had to slip up a few times. they’re staying at another hotel, tashi is sleeping by his side peacefully, the room is completely dark, and he’s just lying there on his back, his eyes open wide as he stares into the ceiling, images of all the shit he’s eaten in his life passing behind his mental gaze, like those shitty burgers from the college cafeteria, or the ice cream he would sneak from his childhood home fridge because he liked the thrill of it and he knew it was forbidden to eat so much of it but he just couldn’t help himself, and those delicious cookies his grandma used to bake that tasted like love. and he can almost taste it on his tongue, but it’s not enough. it’s like, in his head, him actually enjoying food is connected to the simpler times, to the happier times, and he misses the food, but at the same time he misses his youth, and his hopes, and his dreams, and most of them have come true—hell, tashi is still by his side, his beautiful daughter is sleeping in her own room, he has a tournament tomorrow morning—but he just knows he won’t be able to fall asleep tonight because he just wants to revert to his younger self for a fleeting second.

so, he crawls out of bed, careful not to wake tashi up, slides a hoodie on, and he feels like a fucking criminal as he calls an uber to the closest subway. he feels like he’s pulling a bank heist or some shit, but he’s not really thinking for himself at this point. and as he sits down into the car, he knows he’s being stupid because there were lily’s snacks back at their hotel room, but he would feel guilty for eating them because what if she woke up craving them and found out they were gone, and she would be sad, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it, and what if then tashi would question him about where they went—no, he can’t risk that. and he’s so far gone in his thoughts and anxieties that he’s sure everyone at the hotel is in on it, too, that everyone will find out if he walks down into the lobby and orders a quesadilla, and they will deny him, like, “sorry, mr. donaldson, this dish is off the menu, and this one, too, and that one, and actually everything is off, here is some water for your worries,” and he already feels embarrassed even though none of it has happened and all of it is in his head.

he would rather tashi thinks he’s off cheating on her or something in the middle of the night than her knowing the truth, that he’s just so desperate for some empty calories, for something so sugared-up it makes his brain feel fuzzy, that he’s driving through the night city’s empty streets, already anticipating absolutely devouring that shit. and when he finally gets there, the fluorescent lighting of the subway hits him like a deer in the headlights, making him feel like he’s being questioned as he makes his way to the counter, feeling the only other person’s gaze on him, sure that he knows him, sure that he judges him. he sees the girl who works there smile at him, and he doesn’t even look her in the eye as he places his order, and it would be enough for lily to last a week or to feed a group of five or something, and he actually ponders eating it all in the parking lot like a stray dog just not to stay under these fucking lights for any second longer—

“would you like cookies or some ice cream with your sandwich?” the worker’s soft voice snaps him out of his whirlwind of shame, and he looks up at her, his lips pressed tightly together, it taking him a few seconds to process the question, and then he nods once, the corners of his lips pulling up slightly to mirror the girl’s polite smile.

“double chocolate chip, please,” he says quietly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he suddenly feels like he is a teenager all over again, doing something he knows is wrong, but it feels better with him feeling like he has an accomplice in the face of her.

when he gets back to the hotel, he’s gonna sleep like a baby through the rest of the night.

[yan-lorkai]

Could I request a Ciel x Mother!reader who comes back to life after the fire? Reader doesn’t really remember what happened or how they are here now but spends their time giving Ciel love he’s missed

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, platonic yandere, slightly angst

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Ciel remembers seeing his parents' body, your body. He vividly remembers the look of terror etched on your face, remembers the smell of burning flesh, remembers how the flames engulfed the house and everything it once stood for.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ When he and Sebastian made the pact, the boy asked if there was a way to revive his family. He wished he could see his brother again, hear his father's soft laugh and feel your warm hugs, but the demon insisted there was no way for that.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ "Once a person dies, their soul is collected by Shinigami." Was the explanation offered. It was an explanation that didn't bring him any comfort at all and one that he hated, but he could do nothing but accept, however reluctantly.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Even without a family, Ciel proved capable of rebuilding the Phantomhive name and reputation again. He carries out all of the Queen's tasks with great excellence, leads the Funtom company and makes good investments. He buries himself in work and the adrenaline of his missions so he doesn't have to think about and miss his little family, the longing for simpler, happier times. On quiet days, where there is no form of distraction, however, he misses you, his brother and father too, his heart still cries for your absence and motivates him to complete his revenge.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ So... How can you be here now? Wearing the same clothes you wore that night a few years ago, the same beautiful smile and sparkling eyes that soothed him after a nightmare. How can you be here? He's gone through grief, he's continually faced sadness, but he can't stop the feeling of happiness and relief from taking over his chest as soon as you look at each other.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You can't remember what happened, but he supposes it's for the best. He also wouldn't want to remember many of the things that happened, but he has to tell you, because you deserve to know the truth. It's a long, uncomfortable conversation, and by the end you're both crying together.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But the comfort you bring to him, the affection and love he needs, make the pain in his heart lessen. He can handle everything now that you're back, he can enjoy your headpats after a hard day's work, hear you hum a lullaby to him at night, enjoy your delicious dishes, to have your hugs, in short, to live his characteristic double life between being Count Phantomhive and his son.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ And he tries to be a good son to you, he tries to make you proud of him, after so long feeling alone he needs this as much as you do, he needs the deep connection between mother and son. And he swims in his love as if he were still a little boy laughing and exploring the world in small steps, Sebastian likes to tease him for that. But Ciel can't bring himself to care. You are here and that's all that matters.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Though part of him wants to know how and why you are here and now, how it's possible - even Sebastian has a contemplative expression on his face, thinking and thinking and never coming to a conclusion. If Shinigami hold a person's soul when they die, Ciel can only hope that none of them come after you, because now that you're back he promises to protect you. He will use all the resources necessary to keep you alive and well.

[amandacanwrite]

More Headcanons for the Gale Babes: Pining Edition

Tagging At Their Request: @eclecticqueennerd @jeneralmischief @thewizardhole

Tagging Because I Thought You May Want To Know I posted It: @lewdisescariot @ollypopwrites @rissi-chan @foreskinfinder87

Here are some headcanons about Gale behind the scenes as he pines for you/Tav (Goodnatured, Gender Neutral) Bear with some things that are just regular ole canon for a moment and then I will get into the headcanony stuff near the middle.

Upon Your First Meeting

"I'm Usually better at this." "At Introductions?" "Hah...At magic."

Safe to say that he was well aware of just HOW much trouble he was in very shortly after beginning to travel with you.

The words "Do NOT do this to yourself, you ridiculous, touch-starved man," may or may not have been said to the mirror...or to a mirror double of himself.

But godsdamnit, you just had to continue being...kind and courageous and well spoken and your eyes...and your lips and Focus--FOCUS GALE DEKARIOS

And hells, what a world it would be if he could stop putting his foot so squarely into his mouth.

"Gods, Gale. Really did a number with that thing you said, didn't you? They probably thing you're pompous--which you are--perhaps rightfully so, you are a very gifted wizard..."

He uh...talks to himself a lot. Old habit from the tower, you see. You only catch him doing it a couple of times though, and rarely hear what he said.

"Oh, just thinking out loud, you know!"

Once He's Gotten To Know You A Bit

"Go on, Gale. You're among Friends." "I may just be about to remedy that."

It's hard to pin point the exact moment he fell in love with you. But the realization was nothing short of devastating for him.

As a younger man, he may have been brought to tears reading a tragedy like his. Abandoned by a former lover, forsaken in a plight brought on by wishing to do her a grand gesture, falling for a simpler love...one he may never have because of the orb threatening to level a city in his chest.

Sometimes at night, he watches you asleep in your bedroll, wondering if he had met you as a young man...if he'd perchance seen you on the streets of Waterdeep or sitting at the bar in The Yawning Portal perhaps he'd never wound up in this position in the first place.

Perhaps he would have simply been chosen by Mystra, and not have fallen in love with her.

It feels wrong...even to think it. He wonders if Mystra can sense the betrayal in those thoughts--in the wish that he'd never fallen in love with her.

But it's hard not to feel that way when he has to spend every waking moment next to you.

And when he watches everyone else in camp seemingly falling over themselves to get to you as well.

He makes his peace with the fact that there is simply no way that he can compete with the pale elf who is constantly making eyes at you...calling you darling.

He remembers meeting people like that in school. He remembers burying himself in his studies to distract himself from the fact that he'd never felt particularly charming or even efficacious in matters of the heart.

Of course that all changed when Mystra chose him. Before he'd wooed her, he'd managed to have a few dalliances as a teen, even going into his early adulthood.

But you're the first he's ever wanted to have something with since Mystra had forsaken him.

He still carries the charm he'd cultivated. It's hard not to get at least a little full of yourself when the goddess of magic herself chooses you. Harder still to drop the habit after he'd committed to it, even while sequestered to his tower.

He'd been deep in thought on these matters when you checked in on him one night.

"Nothing to worry about. Just a wizard stewing on matters of the arcane and curious, I assure you."

When he finally has to reveal the truth of his affliction to you and the others in the party, he's devastated all over again. He's ready to once again be banished for his crimes, to be newly punished for his folly, however well intentioned he was in acquiring it.

But...you simply don't... It seems you never do what he expects because you hardly bat an eye. Even when Astarion tells you to kick him to the proverbial curb, you let him stay.

It's that night he conjures the image of Mystra in his hand, turning it this way and that to see if it still hurts to look upon her as it used to.

When you wander over to inquire about her visage, he is relieved to find it doesn't bother him to speak of her, and daunted by the ache in his chest that you seem to inspire in him.

He keeps trying to find a way to tell you how he feels, but he simply can't form the words without choking on them.

Until that night with the teiflings...and well...let's just be honest, the generously flowing alcohol.

He just wants to share a moment with you--a foolish idea to help you experience the weave using him as a conduit. A bit cheeky he realizes--knowing perhaps better than you might the sort of sensual, intimate nature that being connected through the weave can be. But he can't help it, it is the only relief he can find for this torturous pining. To be allowed to be of one mind with you for just a fleeting second is too tempting to refuse.

When You Imagine Sharing A Kiss With Him

"I'm sorry...I wasn't expecting...but it is a pleasant image to be sure. Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome."

How can he convince himself that he won't immediately ruin this? Does he even remember how to kiss? God's it's been so long.

He lies in his tent, banging the heel of his hand against his forehead.

"You should have just kissed them, you damned fool. How long have you wanted this? And apparently they want it, too. And you were linked with the weave! What could have been more perfect? Why didn't you just kiss them, you blithering idiot."

When he doesn't kiss you for a while, you worry you may have made him uncomfortable with the thought. Really, he simply can't find the perfect time between all of the bloodshed and bandages.

He gets sloppy in battle, too worried that someone will take you way before he has a chance to make good on that dream you shared with him. Not the best course of action for a man who can literally implode in the event that he dies.

And then he had to go and say that stupid thing about danger and...other forms of stimulation.

"Perhaps," he tells himself one night. "Perhaps, Gale of Waterdeep, you will actually make a gesture more than a silly joke and a stammering admission of liking to kiss. Your actions so far have not hinted that you will, but perhaps there is hope for you yet."

In the end it's a night where you're near out of provisions that gives him the opportunity to close this blasted distance betwixt you.

He's having a melt down of sorts. About the lack of decent food in camp. How is he to feed all of you with nothing but a few half-eaten apples and a fish head?

You suggest a walk, not far from camp. You're sure you can scrounge up some berries, or some tubers--maybe even a squirrel or a rabbit. In truth, you're not sure you'll find anything, but you can sense that Gale needs time away. Needs privacy. Needs space to simply feel things without an audience.

After walking in silence for a while you ask him if he's alright.

"No. No I am categorically not alright. Not at all. I am filthy. I am covered in goblin blood. The orb refuses to be sated. I cannot find a way to properly feed you so that you'll have the strength to fight another day. And on top of it all--rounding out the depths of my misery--you so bravely showed me the intimacy you wanted to share, yet I cannot for the life of me figure out how to adequately stage that moment so that it is worthy of the splendor that you are."

It's hard not to be touched by his admission, but you don't want him to be miserable. So you make it easy for him. You simply stride up to him and plant a kiss on his lips.

"Is that better?" you ask him. "Now you needn't fret about the last thing."

His simply...gawks at you. Stares in utter befuddlement, his mouth slightly agape. For a moment, you're certain you've broken the poor wizard. You almost have the urge to wave your hand in front of his face to see if his soul has left his body. Then he smears his hand down his face and groans

"NO," he says. "No it is not better. That is not a proper first kiss worthy of how I feel about you. I can do much better than a first kiss like that."

You remind him that that was technically your first kiss with him. He is welcome to show you how it is properly done.

You expect the slow burn with him--expect him to have to ponder that for a few days, perhaps even a few weeks, before he makes good on it.

But he has had enough of waiting. He drops his bag off to the side and unstraps his bow from his back in a quick flurry of movement. He reaches for you, gently grasping the soft curves of your face and pulling you toward him, claiming your mouth with his own.

It is a frantic, desperate thing, this kiss. Simultaneously overwhelming and buoyant. You find yourself lifting up onto your toes and leaning against him as he tilts his head, seeking some opening to taste you, to feel you on his lips.

Your knees buckle, and his hands move from your face to catch you, crushing you against him as if he wishes to match every curve of you to every corresponding curve of his own body.

His lips are soft, though they are posessive. When you finally allow him across the threshold of your lips, he tastes like that fragment of weave you shared with him. He tastes of pure connection.

And then, just like that moment, it is over. You're left panting and weak as he holds you against his chest, his face flush, his brow gently curved with worry.

You blink dreamily up at him. "Oh." you say.

"'Oh?'" he asks incredulously. "Please tell me you have more to say than 'Oh.' Or at least specify the quality of that 'Oh.' Hells, if I'm to get any sleep at all--"

You simply lift your fingers to his lips, pressing the tips to quiet him. "Consider me properly schooled in how it's meant to be done," you say. "You're an excellent teacher."

He heaves a sigh. "Oh," he says. "I know."

I hope you enjoyed this! I'm sorry if it's not as satisfying since it's a lot of like...subtext for canon things. I have more Ideas but this is already quite long. Do let me know if you would still like to see more or if you have anything you'd like to see or expand on with an actual small fic. I have been having so much fun with these.

[fruitjoos]

do you trust me?

bully!patrick x reader

summary: bully patrick…. leads to [redacted] 18+

warnings friendly banter, light smut + i’m a little rusty so… be gentle

you met patrick when you were ten. he lived next door, just a skinny kid with dirty sneakers who always wanted to ride bikes. you didn’t mind. the two of you were inseparable then, tethered by boredom and proximity. you got older, though. things shift. kids don’t stay innocent, not for long.

by high school, patrick had drifted, caught up with the boys who reeked of arrogance and cigarettes, the ones who slammed lockers too hard and swaggered through the halls like they owned them. you were still you. quiet, stubborn. not the kind of person who backed down, but never loud about it either. when patrick started cracking jokes at your expense, you told yourself it didn’t matter. it shouldn’t, but god, did it sting. the way he laughed too loud, punched your shoulder too hard, joined his new friends in making you the punchline.

the first time he called you "freak" it landed like a rock to the chest. right there in the middle of a crowd, his voice sharp, eyes avoiding yours. you tried to brush it off, tried to pretend that the patrick from years ago was still buried somewhere under the snide smirks and dirty jokes. but when he started pulling your hair, burping in your face, it was harder to believe.

then there was the history project. the one that felt like a joke before it even started. partners, the teacher said, and you hoped, quietly, fiercely, that patrick wouldn’t be assigned to you. but life has a cruel sense of humor, doesn’t it? your name with his, as if the universe couldn’t resist rubbing salt in the wound. his groan reached your ears before yours even escaped your throat, and when he asked to switch partners, the heat rose to your cheeks. it was like you were something to be ashamed of, something small and pitiful.

after school, he found you at your locker, the same locker he used to stand next to, back when he wasn’t so... different. "what's up, loser," he muttered, shoulder checking you as if it were nothing, like you hadn’t spent summers kicking soccer balls in the backyard, sharing popsicles and trading comic books. now, all he had for you was sarcasm and a half hearted, "i’ll be over at six to work on the project."

he didn’t even wait for a reply. just walked off, hands shoved in his pockets like the conversation was already forgotten. his friends watched him go, smirking, like you were just another part of their cruel little game.

you got home, trying to shake off the sour taste the day left in your mouth. your dad asked how school was, but it was a formality. he wasn’t really listening, not past your shoulder, at least. "good," you lied, because the truth wasn’t worth the effort.

then the doorbell rang. you knew it was him before you even checked. he used to come over without knocking, back when things were simpler. now, it felt wrong, like he didn’t belong here anymore, yet he walked in like he still did, brushing past you without so much as a glance. the strap of his bag almost hit your face. typical.

your mom lit up like it was some reunion, like she didn’t notice the shift between you. “patrick, sweetheart,” she cooed, pulling him into a hug, her hand smoothing over his curls like she used to. it made your stomach twist, hearing her treat him like he hadn’t changed. but he had, hadn’t he?

you didn’t wait around for their small talk. upstairs felt safer, quieter. patrick followed, like he always had a right to, like he didn’t need to ask permission. he knew the way. he’d been in your room a hundred times. back then, when he was your friend. now, though, he was just the guy who sat behind you in class, yanked your ponytail when he wanted answers, and whispered insults under his breath.

funny how things turn out.

time dragged, the minutes between words heavy, like even the clock didn’t want to be there. patrick sat slouched at your desk, picking at his fingernails, bored already. he mentioned he only had an hour. just enough time before he had to meet his friends at the dump. a dive bar downtown, the kind of place that smelled like sweat and stale beer. you raised an eyebrow, asking if he was even old enough to get in, knowing full well he wasn’t. he pulled out a fake ID with a flourish, like it was something to be proud of. 23. five years older than his real age. you shook your head, a bitter scoff escaping before you could stop it.

"what?" he snapped, catching the edge in your voice. "stop being such a goody two shoes, will you?" he leaned in, voice dropping low, sharp. "no one likes a prude." his words, hissed in your own room, your space, hit harder than you thought they would. this wasn’t the boy who used to make you laugh until you cried. this wasn’t the patrick who snuck out to the park with you at midnight, just to talk about stupid dreams and shared your secrets with.

you could feel the tears gathering, uninvited, in the corners of your eyes. you didn’t want to cry. not in front of him. not when he’d see it as some kind of victory. but it was like he could sense it, the moment your breath hitched. he sighed, like the weight of your sadness was too much for him to carry. “don’t,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “don’t cry, okay?”

but it was too late, and the first tear slipped down your cheek. you sniffled, wiping at your face quickly, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, but his tone changed. "i’m sorry," he said, almost too soft to believe. he said it again, as if repetition might make it real. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it.”

for a few long moments, neither of you said anything. you sat there, on the edge of your bed, while he fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket, the silence growing thicker, heavier.

then he spoke, too casually, too easily. “i know how to make you feel better.”

“lay back,” he said, his voice firmer than you expected, almost a command. you blinked, caught off guard. “what?” you asked, still wiping the tears from your cheeks, not sure if you heard him right.

“do you trust me?” he asked, and his eyes had that look again, the one that used to be familiar, the one that always dared you to go along with whatever half baked idea he had.

“no,” you scoffed, voice thick, still bitter from his words earlier. you didn’t even hesitate, but your chest tightened a little, because there was a time when that question wouldn’t have needed to be asked.

he tilted his head, the silent gesture pressing the question again, almost like a challenge. you sighed, exhaling the fight from your lungs. “fine,” you muttered, lying back from the edge of the bed. you didn’t know why you were giving in. maybe a part of you still believed that under all the rough edges, he was still the patrick you used to know.

his eyes scanned over your room for a second before grabbing something. “put this on,” he said, handing it to you.

you looked down at it, blinking in confusion. a pink sleeping mask, silky and soft to the touch. ridiculous, absurd. you stared at it, then at him, trying to make sense of the moment. “what... are you doing?” you asked, more to yourself than him.

he didn’t answer, just nodded toward the mask. you could tell he was waiting, watching, like the whole thing was some inside joke you weren’t in on yet. for reasons you couldn’t explain, you did as he said, slipping the mask over your head. maybe you were tired. maybe you just didn’t want to argue anymore. or maybe, somewhere deep down, you did still trust him, even if you hated admitting it.

you blinked, confused, the world blurring slightly behind the mask. there was no sound, no movement from patrick, just this heavy stillness. the quiet stretched on, unsettling, until suddenly, you felt his hands lifting up your skirt—firm, steady, grasping your thighs. he pulled them forward, guiding your legs around his shoulders.

“patrick?” your voice came out small, the confusion clear, but you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t read whatever expression he wore. just as his name left your lips, you felt him move, closing the space between you. and then, unexpectedly, a cold, slimy glob landed with a wet splat on your cunt. his lips met your soft, surprisingly already soaked pussy. soft, warmer than you imagined, pressing gently but with a certainty that made your heart lurch.

it was so sudden, so out of place in the middle of this strange, awkward moment that your mind couldn’t catch up to your body. for a second, you froze, not sure what to do or think. this was patrick. the same boy who had spent the past year mocking you, pulling at your hair, calling you names. but now, here he was, lapping up your juices, his breath mingling with the heat radiating from your core, like none of that had happened. like this was the only thing that mattered.

his velvety tongue swirled around your pink, swollen nub. your body jolted as his teeth nipped at it. your mouth hung open as you gripped onto the sheets, trying to ground yourself. the slurping sounds he made sent shivers up your spine, “fuck.” you gasped, almost uncontrollably. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing gentle kisses against your clit. almost like he was in love with it. in love with you. “i didn’t mean to make you cry.” he added, his warm breath adding to your pleasure. he asked if you forgive him and all you could do was nod, whimpering a small, “yes.” your eyebrows knitting together in satisfaction. his tongue flicked over your clit vigorously, making you come within seconds.

your hole clenched rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. your fingers tangled in a few of his curls. “when did you learn how to do that?” you panted, eyes still covered. he shrugged as if you could see him before pulling the mask from over your eyes. your cheeks instantly flushing when reality hit you. your ex best friend, bully or whatever just sucked an orgasm out of you. for fun. to please you. to make you forgive him. because he still cares, clearly.

he pressed his lips that were smothered in your liquids against your own. the taste of yourself soaking into your tongue. “you were my first experiment,” he murmured, his voice low. before you could process the weight of his words, he leaned in again, pressing another soft, almost calculated peck against your trembling lips.

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XII

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

This morning you had been greeted by Feyre, her chirpy voice had a sense of urgency to it as she asked if you had any plans for the day. “We are hosting a very formal and stuffy figure from the Court of Nightmares, and we would feel better if you weren’t around for it.”

Your brows raised, but Feyre quickly cut in again. “Not because we don’t like you or anything, but our visitor is quite.. atrocious. I wouldn’t subject anyone to his presence if necessary.” She spent a moment looking for the right words, but whoever this was clearly was not someone Feyre liked or even tolerated.

You nodded, “I’m no dignitary, I’m not sure my presence would be necessary in the slightest.”

You felt a pang in Feyre’s chest, something quick and gone in a flash. Guilt, maybe. It was getting easier to feel the emotions of the people around you, however it was difficult to distinguish everyone’s emotions. The way Feyre felt happiness was different than how Rhysand felt it, causing it to be more work for you to decipher individual emotions.

But something about Rhys’s emotions felt familiar.

“Was there anywhere you’d like to spend the day?”

You thought for a moment, having spent the past few days exploring the city’s restaurants. “Is there a library in Velaris?”

Feyre’s eyes lit up in delight, “I know just the place. Azriel will lead you there.”

Your heart stopped momentarily, blinking. You hadn’t seen Azriel since your power display a few days ago, and when you had asked, Feyre told you he had been gone on a mission for a few days, having just got back in last night.

But that didn’t mean he was far from your thoughts. 

The first night he was gone you were plagued with dreams about him, his shadows cloaking the two of you in a thick darkness as you fell through the skies. As the nights went on, the dreams became more intimate - both sexually and emotionally. One night you dreamt of holding his hand, that dream immediately being followed up with a dream of him bending you over the vanity and forcing you to watch the two of you in the mirror.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew being near him would be difficult, these feelings so new for you.

“Are you unavailable?” Your words came out stuttered, uncertain. She quirked a brow at you before her gaze softened. “I am, yes. So is Rhysand.”

Mother’s tits.

“I am terribly sorry, this was very.. Abrupt.” She chose her words carefully, a mask of politeness on her face. “But I can assure you that you’ll be fine with Azriel.”

Something pinged in your chest, a sharp warmth crawling your skin at her words.

“Thank you for the reassurance.” 

She nodded before heading to walk away and your head reeled at the conversation as her steps retreated. Why was it your powers only really worked on males? Were their emotions that much simpler to untangle and assign names to?

You were lost in thought about how unreadable Feyre was to you when a soft breeze carried the scent of pine and night chilled mist.

Azriel.

You turned, his hazel eyes standing out amongst the shadows covering his face. He smiled at you, each day the bags beneath his eyes growing smaller, the crook of his lips getting bigger.

And more inviting.

“Did you sleep well?”

Your face flushed, thinking back to the lack of sleep you had gotten. Every time you had closed your eyes, it was as if your brain were playing a story between the two of you, a moving picture of a make believe life, flashes of joy and heartbreak and domesticity.

You coughed it away, “yes, thanks. Did you?” 

He merely hummed in response, deepening your blush. He looked at you as if he knew what you were up to all night - how your sleep was plagued with images of his hands, his legs, his mouth. How in a last ditch effort to find some peace, your hand slipped beneath your nightgown as you thought about the vivid dreams of his fingers, his scarred hands in lieu of your own.

The breath rushed from you. Had you said his name while thinking of him?

You could feel his amusement in your chest, and you pushed him slightly, not moving him in the slightest.

“Can you take me to the library?” You were quick to change the subject, not wanting to know exactly what your neighbor heard you doing. He nodded, his face looking at you with less amusement and more kindness. 

It made him radiant.

“Where is this library?”

You grabbed a coat, tightening it around yourself before heading toward the front door. You stopped when you realized he wasn’t following you, turning on your heel to look at him. He nodded his head toward the balcony, moving toward it.

“No.”

He put his arms across his chest, one of his siphons glowing a deep blue on his chest.

“Why not?”

“I don’t fly. Wingless, remember?” You moved your hand behind your head to show the empty space your wings took up. Your words caused a pained expression to cross his face, but it was over just as quickly as it came.

“Yes, I am aware. Are you aware I have two arms?”

You gaped at him, “you can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like an unserious male?”

“You look very jovial to me.”

He scoffed, “will you please come with me to the balcony so I can take you to the library?”

“Why can’t we walk?”

“It’s impossible to get there on foot.”

The surprise was all over your face. “Is this a flying library?”

“No.”

“Then there must be a footpath somewhere.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His shadows peeked over his shoulders, as if they were laughing. “There is, but it’s a 10,000 step staircase. What would you prefer?”

You thought it over, contemplating being in the sky, in Azriel’s arms, or passing out halfway up the steps.

You chose the former, Azriel hoisting you into his arms bridal style. He carried you as if you weighed nothing, walking you to the balcony, each step heating your face. His hands wrapped around your waist and legs, his touch doing something to you that you were praying to the Cauldron wouldn’t shift your scent enough for him to notice.

“Are you ready?”

You swallowed hard, before nodding, face full of heat, “is it too late to say I’m afraid of heights?” 

He squinted, “just a little late.”

His wings stretched out behind him, his knees bending slightly as he took off into the skies, his large wings flapping quickly to get you both airborne. You screamed in his hold, causing his grip to tighten around you as he held you. “I’ve got you.”

His voice did little to soothe the panic inside of you. Your arms tightened around his neck, holding on for dear life. You hid your face in his neck as he flew high up in the sky, gaining altitude. 

“I always thought flying was a sacred thing.” Your words were meant to distract yourself, but they only caused you further discomfort as he responded.

“It can be. Some Illyrians go on mating flights.”

Your brows raised, moving in his arms to get a better look at his face, but he continued looking forward. 

“Have you ever been on one?”

The flap of his wings halted suddenly, his flight pattern stuttering, causing the two of you to dip suddenly before picking back up, a soft scream coming from your lips.

“That is a very private question.” His smile lessened, and you felt like a reprimanded child with his response. Your mouth went dry, desperate to change the conversation and to have him change the look on his face.

“Do you like flying?”

He sighed, happy for the shift in conversation. “I do. I like flying with my brothers.”

“Brothers? I thought you had only one.”

His flight stopped again, and you heard him curse underneath his breath.

“Yes I have two brothers. They’re both a pain in my ass.”

You giggled, your fingers subconsciously playing with the hair on the back of his neck. Once you realized what you were doing, you pulled your hand away, not wanting to see the look of annoyance you thought you would find.

Instead his face was covered in disappointment, quickly covered up with stoicism.

“Why’d you tell me you only had one?”

He shrugged, the movement strange as he held you. You could tell he wouldn’t elaborate more, opting to stay quiet. His shrug was enough of a dismissal for you to steer the topic away from his lie.

“I don’t have any siblings. At least none that I know of.”

He nodded, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, “it’s not your fault.”

You turned away, watching a massive castle come into view. “Wow.”

You took in the stone architecture, the structure built right into the side of the mountain. You could see where the ten thousand steps came from, a direction you’re glad you avoided.

Azriel banked to the right, flying the two of you to land directly on a balcony. His landing was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the landings you had seen in your village.

“Thank you, Azriel.”

“You can call me Az.”

You looked up at him, and you felt something like vulnerability in your stomach.

“Okay, Az.”

Now you felt butterflies at how happy he looked at the nickname.

“I’ll be back for you in a few hours, don’t fly off with any strange bats.”

You giggled, looking out the window. “As if I didn’t fly here in the arms of a strange bat.”

Az smiled, and his emotions felt familiar in your chest as well. Like Rhysand’s, but different. They felt stronger, something inside of you urging you to fix it. His chest felt heavy, but like the weight was manageable. As the two of you spoke, it got lighter and lighter, occasional flickers of joy and amusement slipping through.

He nodded, “yes but I’m the least strange of them all.”

With those words, he turned and walked away, taking off from the balcony, but not before he glanced back at you one last time before he disappeared in the sky.

After he left, you craned your head, looking around the library. You didn’t see anyone, but you heard shuffling and occasional floor scuffing, so you knew at least someone was here. You walked around for a while, your hands feeling the stacks as you searched the titles, pulling anything seeming of interest. You had pilfered through Rhys and Feyre’s library at the River House, but this one was much, much bigger.

After picking a stack of books you could barely carry, you wandered through the floors, looking for the perfect spot to curl up. You weren’t sure how Azriel was going to find you, but he only told you to stay in the library, and you were technically following his instructions.

A few floors below, you found a quaint little corner nook that had a fireplace, a few cozy chairs, some blankets, and the walls were covered in old maps. You smiled, satisfied at how perfect the spot seemed before dropping into the chair, opening the first book in your pile, quickly getting lost in the pages.

You weren’t sure how long you had been engrossed in your book, half of it finished, when footsteps interrupted your reading. You looked up, expecting to find Azriel, but the male before you wasn’t him. He wasn’t even Illyrian. You had never seen a full high fae male before - Rhys was the first wingless male you had ever seen. This male looked… different. He was incredibly attractive, long blonde hair and brown eyes observing you. He had a small button nose that curved up at the end, and you were taken aback by just how pale he was. His skin was practically translucent, the color of his veins visible through his skin.

You didn’t know fae could be so pale. 

You smiled in greeting, nodding politely. He looked up and down your body, and you straightened from the relaxed position you had taken while reading, putting a bookmark in your book before setting it down.

“Well, I don’t believe I have ever been so engrossed in a book myself. It must be fascinating.”

You smiled, your lips straining at the action. He made you feel weird, his emotions a confusing ball inside of you you began attempting to untangle. “Oh, yes. I love a good mystery novel.”

His ears perked at your words, his lips quirking in a smile that made him more sinister than attractive. 

“I am quite fond of mysteries as well.” 

He thumbed through the shelves that surrounded your nook, silent strides across the rug, making his way further into your cozy corner. “And perhaps I have found one.”

You gave a half laugh, confused at his words.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doing away from Illyria?”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, I’m no birdie.”

His eyebrows raised, an expression of faux shock on his face. “Forgive me, I can be insensitive to your people’s ways.” He stopped in front of the fireplace, the light casting his light in shadow. “Where were you from?”

You eyed him wearily before telling him, “Tartu.”

He moved to the left, his gaze set on the map on the wall, his finger tracing around a few spots near your village, creating a line between the spots and your village.

“In such a small village, I imagine Velaris is a fairytale.”

His words held no malice, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of slime coating his words as they hit your ears.

“Yes, I would agree. It’s a beautiful city.”

He walked the room, eyes lingering on the books lining the walls, his entire presence filling you with dread. “Rhysand makes interesting choices in terms of what he keeps close to the vest. Interesting choice for a High Lord to hide the city he spends most of the year in.”

Your eyes widened at the disrespect toward Rhys - in the few weeks you had spent in Velaris, no one had spoken ill of him to you. “I beg your pardon, I’m not following.”

He rubbed the dust away from his fingers, extending a nod toward you. “He’s a man shrouded in secrets, be cautious of what lies beneath the fog.” He walked toward you, picking up your hand in his. His skin felt like ice as he brought it to his lips, his kiss sending chills through your body.

“What a pleasure it has been, finding you here.”

You search his pale eyes for some flicker of warmth, the ice you found inside making your insides burn with cold. “Likewise.”

The lie rolled off your tongue, watching his blonde hair swish as he left. The room felt suffocating in his scent, and you were never quite able to get as comfortable as you had been before his visit.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog

Thanks for reading ❣️

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.

He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.

"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"

"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.

Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"

Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.

"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.

"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."

It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.

So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.

Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."

He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.

"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."

Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.

But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.

"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.

Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."

The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–

"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."

A scholar.

That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.

"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.

"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"

Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.

And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.

He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.

"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.

Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.

Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.

Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.

Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.

And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.

[next]

[drdemonprince]

Your post about "transitioning to escape gender but then there's more gender" has been rotating furiously in my mind since I saw it. When I first realized I was trans at age 15, I identified as agender, but I knew I wanted to go on T and get top surgery so I decided it would be simpler to tell everyone I was a trans man and that just kind of became the truth. Now 10 years later I'm sorta starting to feel like I wanna actually be agender again, but the idea of an identity shift like that at my current age is terrifying and idek who I'd tell, or how I'd do it, and I don't think I wanna stop using he/him exclusively, and I have no idea why I'm telling *you* this other than that I'm scared to talk to anyone I know about it because it feels like somehow admitting that I was wrong about the gender I fought like hell to become, even though i don't really think that's the case I think my sense of self might just be continuously evolving... but I just wanna say you talking about having a gender shift like once every several years is helping me process this rn and feel like I'm not faking anything now AND wasn't faking anything before.

Dog i am right there with you. As a kid I always thought gender was bullshit, the coercive nature of it disgusted and scared me and I rebelled against it the best that I could. I loathed being assigned to any gender category, I never identified as a "girl", but I didn't really identify with any other category either. Puberty terrified me (and of course, it does most young people, but it felt like it would only more deeply entrench the category that I was assigned to in other people's minds, it made it more difficult to escape). I had trans friends as a teen but it did not occur to me to transition because there was really no end goal that I wanted to head toward, I just knew what I wanted to avoid and not experience. I coped mostly by degendering my body with a fairly androgynous style and way of presenting myself to the word and mannerisms, but also by starving myself which was not so great, and not sustainable. I considered transness for myself, even trying on a friend's binder and presenting masculinely at certain queer events, but it seemed to me at the time like just another way in which to obsess over gender, a foolish coercive socially constructed thing that i was trying to avoid.

In my 20s, I learned more about nonbinary people and figured that explained things pretty well. I was enamored with the transition journeys of some other trans people, largely trans women more than trans masculine ones (with some trans-effeminate faggot boy exceptions), but I still didn't want to take on all the expense and uncertainty and hassle of navigating the medical system for myself. I didn't think that the pursuit of being happy merited taking on so many risks or fiddling with myself so much. I saw it as an extravagance I didn't deserve, I guess, and I also couldn't locate a target outcome that seemed desirable enough for me. I was still dealing with an eating disorder and recovering from some trauma and didn't really think about my life in the long term. I guess I still don't, haha, whoops.

Eventually I came out as nonbinary, and nobody really gave a shit. There is a lot of useless, solidarity-breaking discourse that happens online about essentially who is "more" oppressed, binary trans people or nonbinary people, and a lot of that fight amounts to the two groups shouting about the ways in which they annoy one another without there being any cogent analysis of power and where oppression comes from (let alone how much those two categories overlap).

But I will say that being a they/them was far more difficult than being a trans guy socially and institutionally, because your identity is completely illegible to every system around you. "binary" trans people struggle under this too, but i have found there are some immense benefits to having a socially and institutionally legible target gender. nobody would fucking actually they/them me. not anyone. not even other trans people and queer people. there were no public gendered spaces for me. there were no spaces for me. there was no way to move through the medical system, professional life, and other public institutions as a nonbinary person. i was still just a cis woman in everyone's eyes. including the people who claimed to support me. and it was massively frustrating.

and so i think ultimately, i took my frustrations with not being at all able to escape coerced gendering as a nonbinary person and combined that with the affinity i do feel for queer men and the general sense of misery i was still experiencing in my life and decided what the hell, i'll round myself up to being a trans guy. i upped my T dose, i dressed more masculinely, i eventually got a super masculine hair cut that really squared off my jawline and got me gendered correctly, and i started more consciously inhabiting queer men's spaces.

and it was pretty dope. for a while. i felt the rush of having gotten away with something. when people effortlessly gendered as male i felt freed at last from the pressure to be a woman. i was no longer being coerced into being something that i was not. i had escaped the enforced category so much that people couldn't even see the history of that category being pushed onto me. there was relief.

but then. as always happens. people made little comments about my handshake being too weak for a man. the hypermasc dudes at the leather bar rolled their eyes at me and all the other effeminate dudes swanning around the bar. the people who picked me up off the apps or at the sauna would always let it slip, eventually, that they had a lot of experience with trans guys, or had most recently been dating all trans guys, and it would make me feel like a stock character to them, yet another category into which all kinds of assumptions had been projected. a type not a person. a few people said my haircut made me look like i was in the military or described me as actually masculine, which was equally jarring because it was so incorrect. people tried to affirm me by saying i was such a dude, i was such a man, i was such a fag, i was such a gay bro, pawing all over me leaving the mark of all their assumptions and oversimplifications behind. i had tried to run away from gender and there i was just BASTING all the time in everybody's goddamn assumptions about gender. trans people didn't talk about it any less than cis people did, they were just as fucking confining to be around.

it honestly feels really dirty. when people try to affirm your gender constantly and can't stop talking about it, when people look past you and see only your body, your history, or the role they have typecast you in, when people use your body as an outlet for their own gender or sexuality explorations, when they keep trying to measure every single facet of existence up into being masculine or being feminine or being toppy or bottomy or any other gendered type, it's claustrophobic.

as a trans man i tried playing this whole gender game and the second i started winning i began to feel even more disgusted with myself. it wasn't a victory or an escape, it was a capitulation. exploring with my identity and presentation has brought positive things into my life and my health has gotten better as a result, and i've made wonderful friends who, like me, are disaffected by this coercive gendering system. so i don't regret any of that. but trying to make myself legible under the existing gendered system was a fool's fucking errand. i wish i hadnt done it to myself and i wish i hadnt had it pushed onto me. to be clear, it was cissexist, binarist society that forced it onto me; even when other queer people coated me in their gendered assumptions that is obviously a byproduct of societal conditioning, and it's conditioning that ive reinforced in my own behavior and outlook toward others plenty of times too. we all do it, and we are all wronged by the existing coercive gender system.

i dont even care how i fucking identify anymore and i have no intention of changing pronouns again or anything, i'm so bored of it, i just actually want off this fucking thing. im not interested in trying to make others understand what i am anymore or in who i am even being simply categorizable, i dont want to obsess anymore over how i am perceived or to attempt engineer my appearance and mannerisms to broadcast an identity to anyone. i dont even want to fuck anybody right now at all because im so sick of how much that's a gender pantomime for people. i want off this fuckin ride man im so done.

it's kind of freeing, to hit this point of complete gender apathy, and i think it is a pretty common stage of identity development for a lot of queer people who have explored multiple identities and roles over time. there is no category that i actually am, or that anyone is, there are just the frameworks that society has given us to work with to understand ourselves, and the ways in which we flatten who we are to be able to make sense of the world using those frameworks. but who i actually am is so much more contextual and mutable than all that. i am a different person in the classroom than i am on the train platform than i am in the bedroom than i am cuddling on the couch than i am when i'm working out than i am when curled up on the floor crying than i am at a big furry convention. who i am continues to change as new people come in and out of my life and age and change and my body alters and as the weather turns. who fuckin knows man it's nothing and everything. i want to let it just be

[misshoneyimhome]

500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“No one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? no one.” I Joseph Woll

Summary; You and Joseph Woll share a wonderful bond - a bond that might just be so strong that none of you dare to risk ruining it. However, one evening, Joe just can't hold it in any longer.

Tropes & warnings; best friend!Joe; friends to lovers - no warnings; (idk, maybe language?)

Other notes; I do apologise if I've written anything close to this before, however, I do just really love this sort of trope - and hopefully, it's still enjoyable 🙏🏼 So much love for our sweet goalie 🤗🌺

Word count; 2.9K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny@justwanderingbutneverlost @cixrosie

➼｡ﾟ

Joseph Woll was undeniably your closest friend. In your eyes, he was the epitome of kindness, and you couldn't help but adore and stand by him through every game, sharing in every triumph as well as every setback. You simply cherished the bond you shared, relishing the relationship and closeness, even though it never strayed beyond the boundaries of friendship. 

_

You had known Joseph ever since his early days with the Maple Leafs, where you had been introduced through a mutual friend. Initially, he was just another aspiring hockey player striving to carve out his place, and you were simply thrilled to get to know him, even if only briefly. However, it didn't take long for you to see the kind heart beneath his competitive exterior, and as time passed, your bond only deepened, evolving into a connection that felt as natural as breathing.

Your relationship was swiftly built on late-night chats, shared jokes, and unwavering support. So, when Joseph returned to the Leafs, you were already there, right at the front, cheering louder than anyone in the crowd. And whether celebrating triumphs or enduring defeats, you remained his constant, the person he could always rely on.

You attended nearly every game you could – especially if you knew he’d play first goalie – often wearing a Leafs jersey with "Woll" proudly displayed on the back. And while others started to notice your constant presence, many assuming you were a couple, you both knew the truth – you were just friends, albeit very close ones.

Spending time together outside the rink was one of the highlights of your friendship. Whether it was a quiet movie night at your place or a lazy Sunday afternoon baking at his, the comfort and ease between you were undeniable. Yet, amidst these moments there were subtle gestures – the brush of his hand against yours when passing the popcorn, the way he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, or the lingering hugs that lasted just a second longer than necessary. These moments were filled with a tension that neither of you acknowledged but both felt.

Yet despite the constant whispers and assumptions from others, Joseph always made it clear how much he valued your friendship. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you,” he’d express, genuine fondness colouring his words. “You’re my rock.”

And each time, you’d smile, brushing off any deeper implications. “That’s what friends are for, right?” you’d reply with a soft smile, though quietly longing for something more.

Believing that Joseph viewed you solely as a friend was simpler, as he frequently emphasised the significance of your friendship and how much he treasured it. Thus, you opted to keep your feelings to yourself, satisfied with the deep connection you both cherished, even if it meant hiding the occasional longing that haunted your sleepless nights. 

_

What you didn’t realise, though, was that Joseph was grappling with his own struggles and had developed a significant crush on you over the years. However, to avoid jeopardising the cherished friendship between you two, he was attempting to create some distance, even though whenever he spent time with you, everything seemed perfect, and he found himself falling even more deeply.

You meant so much more to him than you realised. And it pained him especially to witness you getting hurt, as you had a bad habit of attracting the wrong kind of partners – men who simply failed to recognise your incredible qualities. They would charm you with sweet words and false promises, only to exploit your kindness and leave you feeling used and abandoned. And Joseph was always there to console you and provide a shoulder to cry on, yet each instance tore him apart inside.

He wanted to protect you, to shield you from pain, and show you what genuine love truly entailed. However, fear held him back – the fear that confessing his feelings would change everything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

Yet, he frequently found himself gazing at you when you weren’t looking, his heart swelling with unspoken sentiments. The sparkle in your eyes when discussing something you were passionate about, the warmth that radiated from your laughter, and the gentle kindness you extended to those around you – all captivated him. Each time he witnessed your smile, his heart skipped a beat, and every tear you shed felt like his world crumbling. You were his everything, even if you weren’t aware of it, and he would go to great lengths to keep you in his life, even if it meant concealing his true feelings indefinitely.

He just treasured your friendship too much to risk it, and therefor he concealed his feelings. At times, he even withdrew slightly, attempting to manage the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, and despite your notices and inquiries about his well-being, he maintained his casual and composed facade, offering a reassuring smile while his heart suffered in silence.

However, as the burden of his secret weighed heavily upon him, Joseph gradually recognised that he could reach a breaking point at any moment. And then, one night, he found himself unable to contain it any longer.

_

The atmosphere in the arena was thick with disappointment as the Leafs suffered a 3-1 defeat against the Bruins in the fourth game of the playoffs' first round. Samsonov had started as goalie, but only shortly into the third period, Joseph was called onto the ice, and despite his efforts, the outcome remained unchanged. And now, with the Bruins leading the series 3-1, the Leafs faced a battle for survival in the upcoming playoff game.

The only silver lining for Joseph that night was your unwavering support. However, this time, you weren't alone. You had brought along a date—a guy you'd recently met, chatted with for a few weeks, had some casual coffee dates with, and now wanted to introduce to your everyday life, including Joseph.

And initially, the idea seemed promising, and you were genuinely pleased when he agreed to accompany you to the game. Even as the match unfolded, your date appeared to be enjoying himself.

But when the final buzzer signalled the Leafs' loss, the weight of disappointment hung heavily in the arena, and as you made your way down to meet Joseph, you sensed that perhaps this wasn't the ideal moment for introductions. But there was no turning back now. So, when you saw Josephs’ crestfallen expression, you did your best to offer a gentle smile as you approached him and embraced him tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Joe..." you spoke softly, giving him a light squeeze before pulling back and meeting his gaze with empathy. ���You did so amazingly!” You knew your words couldn't fully heal his wounds, but as always you wanted to express your unwavering support and lighten the mood, even if only slightly.

And in response, Joseph managed a faint smile. "We gave it our all, right?" he sighed deeply, to which you nodded.

"Look on the bright side, there's still a chance for redemption. It'll be a tough fight, but there's hope.” You flashed him a soft smile. “And knowing the Leafs well enough, I’m sure there's a good chance you'll make a comeback."

With those words, it felt as though you had magically lifted the weight from the room just a little. Even other players managed soft smiles as they shared moments with their partners and families, and sensing that the tension had eased, you took the opportunity to introduce your date to your best friend.

At first, things seemed to be going smoothly. They exchanged handshakes, greeting each other with content smiles as they acknowledged the roles, they both played in your life. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something tense about the situation. And unable to pinpoint exactly what it was, you felt a pang when your date suddenly attempted to inject humour by making a snide comment about your relationship with the team. Fortunately, you managed to brush it off, though his words stung. Yet, it was when you felt an urgent need to visit the ladies' room that the atmosphere of the evening took a sudden turn.

"So, you and y/n... you're just friends?" your date asked Joseph as the two of them were left alone, the hallway slowly emptying out.

"Yeah... why do you ask?" Joseph inquired, curious about his intentions.

"Oh, nothing... you just seem... you know, really into her," your date remarked with an overly confident smirk, as if trying to assert dominance in a game with your best friend.

However, Joseph wasn't in the mood for games anymore. He was tired and disappointed by the loss, so he simply shrugged. "Sure, I mean, she's an amazing person, so... yeah, I guess I like her."

"Well, why don't you just make a move on her then?"

Joseph's eyes narrowed at the smart remark from the stranger.

"What do you mean? We're friends, and you're the one dating her..." he felt a little puzzled.

"Oh, come on, man," the guy chuckled darkly. "She's great and all... but to be honest, she's just a good fuck."

Joseph was utterly taken aback by his words. How could he say something so disrespectful straight to his face? You were his best friend, and this guy was talking about you as if you were some casual acquaintances he was merely hooking up with, completely disregarding your feelings. Did he not realise you were dating?

"What are you talking about?" was all Joseph managed to ask, feeling the anger boiling within him, fuelled by the disappointment of the loss.

"What I said... she's nice, but I'm just looking for a good fuck, that's all," your date grinned again, his smirk growing even wider and more arrogant by the second. "Actually, I was hoping to score with some other girls here... like that one over there," he pointed to a tall brunette chatting with Auston. "She's more my type... y/n, she's just... I don't know, like girlfriend material or something—and that's not what I'm after."

Joseph couldn't believe what he was hearing. His heart raced in his chest, his fists clenched at his sides as he took a step closer to your date, his voice low and menacing. "Are you fucking serious right now?" he practically growled. "She's not someone you can just toy with and treat like shit. She's an incredible person, and she deserves far better than someone like you."

Your date looked slightly surprised, muttering something under his breath, as he hadn't anticipated Joseph responding with such force.

Nor had anyone else. Those still lingering in the hallway turned their heads towards him, their eyes widening as they heard the typically sweet and composed goaltender suddenly raise his voice, brimming with intensity.

"Well, if you care about her so much, then be a man and actually do something instead of pretending like you're not in love with her," your date shot back.

You hadn't caught a word of their exchange, but as you returned to the two men, you immediately sensed the tension that had developed between them.

"What's happening?" you asked, curious about the atmosphere.

But the two men just simply continued to lock eyes, before Joseph, being the good guy yet again, decided to diffuse the situation.

"Nothing," he replied, but you didn't buy it for a second.

"Is that so?" You turned to your date, raising a brow as you noticed his overly confident smirk, a sign that he realised Joseph wouldn't stoop to his level.

"Of course," he chuckled lightly. "Joe and I here are just having a man-to-man chat..."

An awkward silence hung in the air, and you weren't sure how to break free from it. But then, your date attempted humour again, and once more, it fell flat. He even followed it up with another arrogant remark, causing the heat to boil over. 

"Just needed to check if there were any other players that were in love with you – or maybe you’re just sleeping with the rest of them."

But that was the final straw for Joseph. And as if acting on instinct, like another person was I control of his actions, he swung his arm, landing a clenched fist right on the guy’s nose, causing your date to stumble back with force, clutching his nose, while a shocked gasp escaped your lips. The sudden violence caught you off guard, leaving you frozen in place, unsure of what to do next, as you had never experienced Joseph act like that. 

And quickly, you stepped forward, placing a hand on Joseph's chest in an attempt to calm him down. "Oh my god, Joe," you gasped, your voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?” 

He merely just stood there, chest heaving with anger though also feeling a sense of satisfaction, as he had finally released the pent-up frustration that had been simmering since your date's first disrespectful comments about you.

Meanwhile, the corridor erupted into light chaos as nearby onlookers gasped and murmured, some about to intervene while others watched wide-eyed, unsure of how to react. But there was no need for panic. Despite no one ever expecting for Joe to act that way, the situation seemed to be swiftly calming. 

And to no one’s surprise, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air as your date looked shocked by Joseph's actions. However, upon realising that you had defended your friend rather than him, he simply huffed. "Guess I see where your loyalty lies..."

But you couldn't help but shoot him a glare, placing the blame squarely on his shoulders for the situation with his disrespectful comments.

"Always," you simply retorted.

And with that, your date straightened his coat and quickly made his exit. 

Then turning your attention to your best friend, who had just behaved in a way you'd never witnessed before, your eyes reflected concern.

"Hey... are you okay?" you repeated softly. 

But Joseph just took a deep breath, his gaze dark as he met yours. "He was out of line, and he needed to be called out on it..."

You were left speechless, unable to fully grasp the gravity of what had happened. Joseph had never displayed such anger, particularly not on your behalf. And his tone with you was something entirely new.

"Joe..." you started, but he cut you off, his frustration still evident, not allowing for you to come up with any more excuses or defences for the jerks you chose to date.

“No one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? no one.” Joseph's voice was unwavering, stern as he locked eyes with you.

Filled with emotions as he swallowed, suppressing the lingering tension, you kept your hand on his chest, while the two of you gradually calmed from the intensity of the situation, and the crowd around you slowly dispersing.

"Why..." you breathed out, your voice barely audibles above a whisper.

"What do you mean, why?" Joseph frowned his brows, his voice still firm. 

"Why did you stand up for me like that?"

"Because I fucking love you! Alright?"

Joseph's confession crashed over you like a wave, leaving you stunned and rooted in place. You gazed at him, trying to comprehend the weight of his words, as the intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you'd seen before, a raw and honest declaration that shattered every barrier you'd erected between friendship and something more.

And for a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you in the dim corridor. The sounds of the murmurs of bystanders became distant echoes as you focused entirely on Joseph.

"Joe," you whispered again, your voice filled with emotion, "I... I don’t know what to say..."

And slowly, Joseph's expression softened, his gaze searching yours for any hint of understanding. "You don't need to say anything, y/n. I just couldn't hold it in any longer. Seeing him disrespect you like that... it just broke me. I love you – I always have - and I can't bear the thought of anyone treating you with anything less than the respect you deserve."

Tears were starting to brim in your eyes as the truth of his words settled over you. All those shared moments, the laughter, the late-night talks, the unspoken support – they all took on new significance, as you realised that the feelings, you'd buried deep inside were mirrored in Joseph's heart.

And this time, it was you acting on pure instinct, almost leaping to reach Joseph, who towered over you, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, closing the distance between you and almost clashed your lips to meet in a heartfelt kiss.

It was a moment you both had yearned for, and now it was finally happening. Joy surged through your body as you let your lips linger on his, moving softly and gently as he too wrapped his arms around you and held you close. And upon pulling apart to catch your breath, both of you couldn't help but smile widely.

"I've loved you too, Joe... for so long,” you breathed softly, your eyes locking with his once more. “I just never really believed you'd feel the same way about me," you confessed.

Relief and joy washed over Joseph's face as he pulled you into a tight embrace. "Of course, I do... y/n, you mean more to me than anyone... and I've always wanted to tell you, but I was too afraid of losing you," he murmured.

And as you held each other closely, the tension of the evening melted away, replaced by a newfound clarity and purpose. Then pulling back slightly, looking up into his eyes, you couldn’t suppress a light chuckle. 

"Why did we wait so long to do this?" you asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Because we're idiots," Joseph simply chuckled, before pulling you in for another kiss.

[sparklingself]

the truth about the void state

I'm reading "At You Command" by Neville at the moment and I suppose this is the book where you get the actual Neville-based source for the void (though I'd argue he mentions this state of I-AM-ness in every book). I think it was divineangelbee who introduced this state to Tumblr and she stated it to be as a technique Neville used to manifest if I remember correct. Truth be told, when you actually read "At Your Command", or any other NG book, you can see that what Neville is trying to tell you is sooo much simpler than actually entering some mystical state where it seems like you've *physically* entered a state of nothingness. It's so so overcomplicated on Tumblr. It makes my head ache, to be honest.

Again, Moses stated, “I AM that I AM.” Now here is something to always bear in mind. You cannot put new wine in old bottles or new patches upon old garments. That is, you cannot take with you into the new consciousness any part of the old man. All of your present beliefs, fears, and limitations are weights that bind you to your present level of consciousness. If you would transcend this level you must leave behind all that is now your present self, or conception of yourself. To do this you take your attention away from all that is now your problem or limitation and dwell upon just being. That is, you say silently but feeling to yourself, “I AM.” Do not condition this ‘awareness’ as yet. Just declare yourself to be, and continue to do so until you are lost in the feeling of just being – faceless and formless. When this expansion of consciousness is attained, then within this formless deep of yourself, give form to the new conception by FEELING yourself to be THAT which you desire to be. You will find within this deep of yourself all things to be divinely possible. Everything in the world which you can conceive of being is to you —within this present formless awareness — a most natural attainment. - NG (At Your Command)

What is this "I AM" state? It's SIMPLY BEING AWARE OF BEING. And you are always aware of being. Neville tells you to just focus on this awareness. You do not have to tingle and open your eyes in pitch black nothingness lol. Neville tells you to enter this "I AM" state every time you pray (feel wish-fulfilled), just for you to release the old man. This means achieving a passive state beforehand where you're just focused on being, not focused I, John Smith, Am, but just focused on the I AM - the awareness of mere existence. This is achieved with a simple meditative state. It really isn't all that complicated. When you're focused on the mere existence of you just being, then you can feel without any limitations coming in your way, you're not limited by your conception of yourself.

Your desires only realise once you have the awareness of having said desires already. The void isn't some magical place where you can just state your wishes and hope for them to realise. In every technique you have to actually identify with your desires. That's when God (your subconscious) finds a way to make them appear in the physical for to him that hath shall be given. Every feeling is impressed into the subconscious and eventually realised, unless overpowered by a stronger feeling of the opposite nature. That's all you need to know: feeling -> reality; void≠magic to getting all your desires.

[rosellacwrites]

Sharp Dressed Man — Part 1

summary: every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man. Especially when he’s a superhero.

pairings: Steven Grant x AFAB!Reader (otherwise undescribed), implied Marc Spector x AFAB!Reader, implied Jake Lockley x AFAB!Reader

rating: M for this part (reader’s horny). Subsequent parts will be E like whoa.

warnings: suit kink, mention of violence (Moon Knight against the bad guys), did I mention suit kink because that’s really all this is, folks

word count: 794

author’s note: This was not written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events, and is not an official entry, but subsequent parts will be, so I’m reposting this now. (I’d have reblogged the original but I can’t fucking find it, thanks, Tumblr.) Happy reading!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You know everything about your boys, by now. Or at least you thought you did. 

Mostly, these days, Jake’s the one handling the work for Khonshu, which is why you see him the least of the three. He’ll come home once in a while, wrecked and needing shelter, and you do your best to patch him up, heal his hurts and fill him with love and care before you have to send him back out into the gods’ world.

But sometimes, Khonshu’s business requires your other partners too. They do their best to keep their life with you strictly separate; you’ve never met Khonshu, and you’re content to have it stay that way. Marc and Steven won’t talk about their secret superhero lives much, not wanting you to worry about them, but you’ve occasionally caught a glimpse of Moon Knight on the news, doing his vigilante thing. 

His superhero suit is interesting, you think. The long cape seems impractical, but you can’t deny it’s got style, and the gleaming crescent blades he wields are alluringly forbidding. The one thing you don’t like is the mask; you’d like to be able to know for sure which one of your boys is on duty on a given evening. It never occurs to you that there might be a much simpler way to tell. 

You’re home alone one night when you learn the truth. The door to your flat creaks, and you hear the noise of the key in the lock; Marc, Steven, and Jake are all sticklers for making sure your door is locked at all times. They know what can happen, if it’s not. 

But the suit that strides through the door is not a suit you know. Head-to-toe in dazzling white, this suit is a — suit. Three pieces, all so perfectly fitted you think whoever’s supplying the supes these days must have trained on Savile Row: knife-creased trousers flowing like water over his long legs, shawl-collared waistcoat showcasing his broad shoulders and trim waist, and jacket in a rich textured brocade that invites your fingertips. You want, suddenly, to take your shirt off and find out what it feels like against your nipples. You want to learn it with your tongue. 

Even masked, you know your man, his brow adorned with a crescent moon. “Fuck me running,” you breathe, flattening your palms against his chest. “This is — incredible. What an upgrade.” You can’t stop touching him; every part of the suit has its own subtle texture, rich and opulent. He just stands, patient, letting you stroke him all over, and it’s not long before you’re pressing harder, feeling for the muscle underneath. 

And you still don’t know who’s wearing the suit, but given the fact that he hasn’t moved or spoken since you first put your hands on him, you’d put your money on Steven. He’s by far the most patient of your three. But then he waves a hand and his mask vanishes, and you’re proven right; Steven smiles at you. “Hello to you too, sweetheart. Rather dashing, innit?” 

Your eyes go wide, and you grab him by the tie and haul him in for a filthy, desperate kiss. His blood must be up from the fight still; he’s just as fierce as you, giving no quarter, devouring you as though starved for love. A messy night, then. Heavy wet heat has been gathering between your legs since you first touched him, and your cunt clenches when the cool leather of his glove meets your skin. 

“Bloody hell,” he pants, leaning his forehead against yours to catch his breath. “That’s quite the welcome home.” 

“Fuck, Steven,” you sigh. “Who let you out in public looking like that? Did the powers that be decide to improve stats by making everyone too horny to do crimes?” 

“I’ve always had this suit. Didn’t realize you’d only ever seen Marc’s monstrosity.” He laughs, flushing a little. “If I’d known you’d like it this much, I’d have worn it home ages ago.” 

“I never even knew you had two different suits.”

“Different fighting styles, love.” He displays a couple of strikes and parries, showing off for you, and the smooth, lethal grace of his body weakens your knees. He knows exactly what he’s doing right now, and he knows you know it too. 

“The mask part. Does it…” 

He seems to know what you’re asking, a wave of his hand restoring the mask and vanishing it again just as quickly. “You’re wondering if the rest comes off like that too, yeah?” At your glassy-eyed nod, he chuckles again. “Don’t think so. You’ll just have to take it off me the old-fashioned way.” 

You shake your head, and it’s his turn to look at you wide-eyed. 

“Leave it on.” 

to be continued…

[sepublic]

Given Luz’s arc in the Boiling Isles was about expecting fantasy only to encounter reality underneath, I find it fitting her villain follows a similar trajectory. We are introduced to the enigmatic Emperor Belos, a strange and mysterious villain wielding arcane magic. Many of us understandably speculated that he was some sort of lich or other type of demon, and in the end…

He’s just some guy; Just another bigoted human. Even with his human persona Philip Wittebane, he attempts to frame himself as some tragic character unfairly hurt by society…

But again, there’s the simpler truth; He’s just an immature jerk. That’s why he’s disliked. And it’s interesting, how instead of the romanticized, sympathetic, larger than life villain, we have one closer to reality, and accurate to the actual people in power that Belos is based off of; Entitled (wo)manchildren with delusions of grandeur. It’s fittingly mundane and literally what Luz struggled with back home.

Belos is every conservative politician who thinks he’s been deeply wronged by minorities, and blames them for “taking away” a loved one who clearly made their own choice and was happier for it, because self-perceived victimization provides a handy excuse for their banal actions. They say they’re maintaining the sanctity of society but really they just want to control their perfect little worlds, and have more than enough devil’s advocates. Think of guys like Elon Musk; Some mediocre white dude who thinks of himself as particularly exceptional and self-made, when really he just stood on the shoulders of others and stole, and throws a tantrum whenever he doesn’t get his way.

He’s the suburban middle-class white dude who’s bored and thinks shooting lions in Africa makes him a big man. He’s the sweet little brother who started watching a misogynistic streamer and is now a raging bigot who refuses to grow out of it, worshipping other mediocre white men. He’s a mundane bully with no greater reason than that it’s easier to hurt others and put them down to make himself feel taller by comparison; Not so much because he’s been hurt (if at all), but because he doesn’t care.

He’s the bully who cheers for Dumbo because he lacks the self-awareness to realize he’s the villain onscreen. And people like that often don’t accept help, and sometimes they never needed it to begin with because their issues don’t come from a lack of compassion from others. You should try to understand others, but sometimes all you’ll find in some is banality. Belos isn’t some type of made up creature, at his core he’s the exact kind of person you’ll encounter in real life, hence his mundane parallel in Jacob Hopkins.

And this is all very fitting for Luz’s arc; Luz went to the Boiling Isles expecting some form of escapism, but in the end, the exact same problems she encountered at home followed her there. The same type of person that contributed to Luz being deemed deviant in the U.S. also plays a role in Luz feeling unwelcome in the Demon Realm; A Puritan white man, one of the progenitors for the founding fathers of America, and its evangelical culture.

The friends Luz meets, and the people she resolves conflicts with (some of whom do fulfill the sympathetic antagonist niche), are just like you and I. There’s no real difference between witches/demons and humans. What Luz learns in the Boiling Isles still applies to her human life; She didn’t succeed in running away, but actually unwittingly grew to handle it and meeting new people. She developed the self-awareness needed to avoid becoming like those who originally hurt her, and after helping so many others was allowed to realize she was also entitled to setting boundaries and prioritizing her own health.

Luz finding the isles is fundamentally no different than a person in real life moving somewhere else, and/or finding a community of other humans like them, with the presence of kids like Masha and their friends displaying how that applies in real life. Luz still learned how to deal with reality, she had it in herself all along. She didn’t ignore her problems in the Boiling Isles, she faced them there with support. The Demon Realm and Luz’s problems there aren’t all that different from her ‘real’ life, they’re just as real and that’s why they still matter and are good for Luz. It’s all one big metaphor in the sense that it’s equivalent and applicable, and Luz figured that out like the audience did; Her ‘escapism’ was just her life back home but with a different coat of paint, and that’s good.

[paimonial-rage]

why he rejected you (pt 1)

characters: albedo, alhaitham, ayato, baizhu, bennett, childe, chongyun, cyno, diluc, gorou, heizou synopsis: you finally gathered up the bravery to confess your feelings, but much to your dismay, they turned you down. but you deserve to know the reason, right? notes: i'm going about this in alphabetical order, so hopefully part 2 coming hopefully sooner than later

Albedo - Preoccupations

Albedo is many things, but if there’s one thing he’s not, it’s attentive. He is a man with many interests, and thus research and experimentation take up much of his time. If you’re unwilling to claim some of his time as your own, you can’t blame him if he goes days and even weeks without showing his face before you. 

Alhaitham - High Maintenance

It is foolish to go into a relationship with Alhaitham expecting never-ending affection, romantic dates, and the works. Alhaitham, at his core, is a simple man. He is not the emotional sort, nor is he the most affectionate. Thus, he sees no point in entering a relationship with a person that wants more than what he is willing and able to give. 

Ayato - Lofty Eyes

It’s safe to say that Kamisato Ayato is not the easiest person to read. If there is one thing that’s plain to see, however, it is that barring his close associates, there is a wall between him and everyone he interacts with. Oftentimes people wonder if it is due to his job or his secretive personality, but the truth is much simpler than that. Most people, including you, simply aren’t worth his time.

Baizhu - Set Path

For those that visit him regularly, it is quite easy to become comfortable around Dr. Baizhu. Though his medicines are often bitter to the taste, he is not. With kind eyes and a soft voice, it’s easy for one’s heart to be lead astray. But don’t be fooled. Dr. Baizhu is waging a war against fate, and it is to this battle that all his attention and energies will be expended towards.

Bennett - Burdens

Though he may have said yes to you at first, don’t expect it to last long. Sad to say, Bennett is well aware of his unluckiness. No matter how much you try to assure him that it is okay, if he sees his unluck beginning to bleed onto you, there would be only so much he’d be willing to take. It’s okay, though. You deserve better. His burdens are not meant to be yours to bear.

Childe - Spark-less

It’s always easy to see when Childe is fascinated with someone. His ocean-blue eyes light up with excitement whenever they come around. Such people represent a challenge, a dangerous mountain he can scale and overcome. You, however? You do not spark such excitement. Really, you’re not even a rock within his path. 

Chongyun - Self-control

Only those that are close to him are aware of the burdens pure yang energy puts on Chongyun. Losing control is terrible. Depressing. Humiliating. Even if he did like you, the thought of losing himself to the way you make his heart beat and face flush is… it’s horrifying. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt you in the process. So it’s just better to stop this, whatever this is, before it even starts. 

Cyno - Safe

He has no reason to tell you no lol.

Diluc - Love

Diluc would never admit that he is a soft person. You did not get under his skin, nor did your lovely charms grow so heavily upon him. Turning you down didn’t hurt because you do not matter to him. He does not think it’s because his life is dangerous as it is. He does not pay attention to his guilt at the thought of you worriedly waiting for him every evening. He doesn’t think you deserve more, someone able to show their love for you more than him. 

Gorou - Self-sacrifice

Having been raised in a place like Watatsumi Island, Gorou is no stranger to war, hunger, want. He was always taught the importance of sacrifice, a lesson that was even more emphasized upon becoming general. While things have gotten better since the war has come to pass, he is well aware that this peace may not last. This is not the time for distractions.

Heizou - Contentment

Safe to say, there are not many things Heizou is missing from his life. He has a great job that’s exciting and interesting, he has friends and family he can rely on, he’s able to work toward and achieve his goals—he is not in need of much. Really, any more and there’d simply be much too many things on his plate!