#...... sometimes i DO get a little bitter but its not a huge thing in the grand scheme. like. its canon there is nothing i can do

[riverblujay]

You just reblogged my FHSY post with some EXCELLENT tags and I wanted to say you're so right the pair the spare stuff was bizarre. I ended up liking where Sandra Lynn and Jawbone went in SY but at the end of FY it's so weird. Also I'm following you now because you're a self proclaimed Murph girlie and SPMGs like us need to stick together

(aforementioned tags)

ty bestie!!

truly TRULY the worst part of FY for me. like, i super get that they were trying to wrap stuff up after having a super intense combat, so i also don't, like, hold it against d20 that much?? and maybe it would be even less tasteful to me if we didn't have icon and aroace ally murph (and brennan ig but murph like. INITIATED this plot line) giving us Allo/Amatonormativity Personified as baron.

fwiw, im not 100% romance repulsed either. and i GET that teen romance is part of the genre they're trying to convey in fh!! i just think maybe it should have been limited to the teens, at the very least in FY. it's SO awkward and personally i think reads as "brennan had some (head)canons abt who got together with who, eventually, but it's the last episode so there's no time to seed that in a graceful way if he wants his two cents out there." which is his right to have ideas for who among the adults get together, but like--the entire focus of the whole season was the bad kids, not their parents. so it feels weird when your thoughts abt who ends up dating, even if there is SO MUCH context and build up in brennan's head, are presented as a loose thread being tied up in a bow.

ignoring my complicated and by no means exhaustive feelings/rambling on the topic, if you have not listened to naddpod yet i cannot recommend it enough!!!! yes im a murph girlie and i LOVE his dm style (recently saw a comment on a post saying naddpod has less patrons than wbn bc "brennan is a better dm" and it made me FERAL. i get it i shouldn't have read the comments in the first place, and also you (the commenter) hate consequences and dope encounters. literally no one can say a DROP of MURPH SLANDER unless they have listened to eldermourne finale AND c3e27 the king of dragons. combat and encounter design dm of all time FR!!!!)

but i just love how despite naddpods tight editing, you can tell just how much murph, emily, caldwell, and jake care abt each other both as people and as their pcs. emily has literally said the way jake INSTANTLY decided that hardwon loved the crick made her feel always welcome at a table with him. how much the cast makes each other laugh, or cry, or feel any kind of emotion.

ALSO moonshine is SO aroallo coded to me. axmurph aspec allies fr fr. naddpod dnd podcast of all time in my heart <3

[aimfor-theheart]

|| zhongli x afab!reader || E/18+ || smut/a touch of angst/comfort || wc: 7k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

You have never been patient enough for worship. Sometimes, he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared or hated. As a god of hunger, you are not beloved or worshiped by many, if any at all.

You’ve never known the sort of worship that he gives you. 

✧ meet fruit collab masterlist ✧

a/n: this is apart of @willowser 's house server summer collab, meet fruit!! i took plums as my prompt!! this really got away from me and i had a lot of fun with this dynamic and i WILL be writing more of godly wife!reader and zhongli. i have a whole backstory. a huge massive fic i shouldn't work on but will fjdkslfdk i also need to give a special thanks to @itoshisoup , @lorelune , and @petrichorium for helping me with brainstorming and riffing earlier! also finding some godly names for the reader! in particular, mao came up with the name Tanai Zhenjun, which i will leave a note at the end about!! i hope you enjoy this sweet taste!! thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts <333

tags: afab!reader referred to as wife, and has several godly titles that mortals have called her, etc., a complicated relationship between zhongli and reader, mentions of past fights/canon typical violence, erotic fruit eating and feeding, finger sucking, biting, oral sex (f!recieving), some over stimulation, praise, maybe a little sex pollen because the reader causes feelings of hunger/lust/etc. but its consensual and zhongli can withstand it if he wanted, scratching, unhealthy godly dynamics, let me know if i missed anything!

In the shadows of his home, he would know you anywhere. 

(He would know you even if you didn’t appear to him like this, fully formed, and in the visage of mortals. He’d know you in the thunder and the wolves’ howl. He’d know you in autumn’s bitter wind and the fox’s cry. Across all of time, he’d know you.) 

You slip, serpentine, slow and with the easy grace of a predator into the last falling light of the sun; bronzed, honeyed, and appearing before him like you did decades ago, perhaps a hundred of years ago. 

Has it been so long already? 

The sight of you–perhaps simply you, yourself, spark an ache in his chest. Fierce. Hunger pains. 

And after all these years, he welcomes it, savors the pit in his stomach like a sweet fruit. 

You, his god of hunger. 

You, his divine wife. 

He tips his head back, leaning further into the chair at his deep, mahogany desk, as if he could fix his eyes to better see you. As if he could take in more of you, somehow, greedily, hungirly. 

“Hello, my Morax.” You hum and the sun catches in your eye as you step into his life again, after so long without. 

“Hello, my love.” He responds, as if it could’ve just been yesterday.

As if you are his wife and you’ve come home to greet him. As if he is your husband and he’s been working all day without you. 

“It’s been a long time,” he says then, “you’ve been away a long time.” 

You meander closer, on the other side of his desk, peering at the scrolls and papers there. His hands are stained in ink. He catches the downturn of your lips, the small quirking of them in displeasure. Such mortal things, he can hear your voice, the little hiss you get when you dislike something. 

But then your eyes roam to the bowl of fruit, now untouched, that had been brought to him in hopes of eating;

Slices of plum, gold and orange and tender on the inside, their moon-dark skins still curved to them. One still has the pit attached to it, carefully nestled within its flesh. 

Plums always remind him of you. 

(In truth, anything with pits, with bones, with something that can be picked clean and left behind reminds him of you.) 

In an instant, your fingers, nimble–adorned with his jewels, the jewels of his earth, snag a slice.

He watches as you sink your teeth into it, juice bursting, caught on your lip. 

You chew only a moment, swallow slowly as you watch him. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed around Liyue Harbor,” you begin, “I thought I wasn’t allowed around your precious mortals.” 

His voice, low and soft, rumbles in affirmation. “Yes, that is true.” 

“And yet you speak to me like I’m welcome.” You hold the last bite of your slice to your lips, speaking against it, “like I should’ve visited sooner.” 

You bear down into the fruit again. 

“You’ve come to pick a fight?” He asks, “I can feel you’re trying to stir trouble.” 

And it's true; your ability as a god of hunger, to spark it in others. To sharpen and change it from starvation to bloodlust to desire to despair to greed–to any form of hunger. 

You caused whole towns to be decimated, driven mad with just the residuals of you, the feeling of you too near, like a wraith haunting their doorway. You turned tides in the Archon war for him and against him. You have always been one of the biggest threats to Liyue’s peace—to the world. Perhaps even beyond.

You perch on the corner of his desk prettily. 

“I can’t visit my husband?” You purr.

He quirks a brow, “you only ever call me husband when you’re trying to kill me.”

Your grin is a wild slip of excitement, a fissure of heat in the clash of your gazes.

“I am trying to kill you,” you agree, but perhaps you have always been trying to kill him. The battles between you two carved the very land of Liyue and at the end of them, no matter what had transpired, he was still your husband. And you, his wife. “But I don’t feel like fighting tonight.” 

You pluck another slice of plum from the bowl and bring it to your mouth. He watches your lips part to take the fruit in again. 

He thinks of replacing your hand with his own. He thinks of the sticky sweet taste he would find if he licked into your mouth, he thinks of being between your teeth again like the little piece of plum.  

Something inside of him yawns open. 

You’re toying with him. 

“You’re in rare form, then.” he hums and does not deny your draw. He has long since stopped trying not to be swept up in you–he realized it was inevitable at some point. You would always pull at parts of him none of the world had, and like a puppeteer did you play with those strings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You gaze down at him, almost lovingly, if he didn’t know better. 

Then you shift slightly, adjust yourself. 

And the first touch he has of you in decades, perhaps a century, is just a brushing of your calf against his forearm from where you sit atop his desk. Your bare skin beneath the pooling silks of your skirts. 

Heat rips through him like a tearing wound. 

His gaze flicks up to yours. 

“Did you know I was in Liyue?” You ask. 

“I always know the moment you enter my land again.” 

I always know the moment you come home. 

You shift your leg again, this time, a steadier press to his arm. 

He can’t help himself–he shifts his arm, opens his palm up against the curve of your bare calf to fully feel you, to hold you, in any minute way you might let him. Rough calluses scrape up  against the soft skin of your leg, the silk of your dress pooling around his arm, cool and like spun moonlight. 

You let him hold you like this, curl against the contour of you. His hand moves, dips down almost to your ankle, and back up to the bend of your knee. 

“You missed me,” you accuse, your voice a teasing lilt. 

Perhaps it’s you and the heady rush you cast on a room, on him, “yes,” he agrees honestly, “I always do.” 

“So sentimental in your old age. You’ve spent too long around these mortals.” You tell him, looking away so all you give him is the profile of your lovely face. The upward tilt of your chin, the haughty way you look down your nose. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks and he isn’t looking for you to placate him, but his hand is broad and inching up the back of your thigh. He pulls at you, urges you to the edge of the desk, where his other hand fits around the curve of your waist. 

“Don’t get greedy,” you chastise gently, but you still go with the pull of his hold. 

You slip into his lap like you were always meant to be there, fitting to him the way the moon fits into the sky, or the land against the sea. It’s an ancient feeling, bone deep, soul-cut. 

You let your arms fall around his neck loosely and to have you again in his embrace, after so long, does in fact, make him feel greedy. 

“I can feel it,” he says instead, perhaps just to spite you a little–to move another piece in this eternal chess game with you. “I can feel how you ache. I can feel the way you missed me.” 

“I always feel like that,” you snip, deft fingers slipping the band in his hair out so that it all falls free, loose and flowing over his shoulders in a wave of inky black. “I am always hungry like that.” 

“No,” he says and his voice is low like a wolf’s growling, a tiger’s purr, “I know your hunger. And I know this hunger of yours. You missed me.” 

“If you’re looking for a heartfelt confession, you won’t find it in me.” You tell him, proud little god that you’ve always been, “perhaps you’ll find it in your precious mortals.” 

Your voice takes on an edge, just shy of a sneer.

He laughs, a low rumble from his chest, amused, and pleased.

“Oh, that jealousy of yours. I missed that, too.” 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” you hiss like an asp and now, he worries you’ll bring your claws out. Your eyes glint in the last rays of light, like a bolt of lightning, like a spark of flame in a cold night.

He reaches up to touch your face, thumb sweeping over the arc of your jaw bone in a possessive hold. He forces you to look at him. “Come now, I thought you said you weren’t in the mood for a fight.”

“Then don’t test me.” You snap.

He fights back another fond smile in order to not test you further than he already has. 

He leans closer, his nose almost nudging against yours, “if you’re not here to fight. What are you here for?” 

“To eat through all your land until it is barren again.” You murmur and he knows it is just to pester him. Your fingers are winding in his long, silky hair and your eyes have gone half-lidded, so he knows you are not nearly as waspish as you’re pretending to be.

“If I could satiate your hunger, I would.” He murmurs darkly, lips brushing against yours as you carefully hold yourself back, a dog on a strained leash. At your best, you have always been a caged beast, pacing and desperate for escape. At your worst, you have been nothing short of desolation, teeth upon the earth in a vicious grasp, shaking hard, tearing it to shreds. Your bite never compared to your bark. You’d threaten destruction and deliver devastation; even you, surprised with your own vitriol, your own capability for demolition. 

He threatened to muzzle you once, long ago. 

You rear back slightly to look at him, “no, you wouldn’t. What would you have me be? Content?” 

He laughs softly again, low and warm, terribly fond of you despite it all, “yes,” he says very frankly, and then, “soothed, for once in your life.” 

“I won’t ever be soothed while you walk this earth.” You tell him and he cannot tell if you mean it with vengeance or with love. Are you being romantic? Or threatening him? Sometimes, he felt that your violence was supposed to be more like a kiss, and your kiss the type of violence that leaves him ruined for decades after. 

“And you would be after?” He asks, “I don’t think you’d know what to do if you finally managed to kill me in a meaningful capacity. You’d be bored.” 

You move to pull away from him with a snarl but he fastens his hold onto you tighter to get you to stay, he touches your face again, coaxing. “I only tease you.” 

“I said don’t test me.” You respond, but again, there is nothing nearly so vicious in you tonight. 

No, he knows the hunger in you tonight is a soft creature, a warbling, tender one. He’ll be kind to it, he will feed it and tend to it, even if he knows it will only grow larger still. Like caring for a tiger cub, only for it to grow into all those teeth and muscles, to bite the hand that fed it. 

“Forgive me,” he rumbles, and this time, he angles your head so that he can skim the strong line of his nose against your jaw, “let me make it up to you.” 

“You will not be able to,” you say indignantly and his own smile now feels sharper with the challenge, with your throat so near. He settles himself into a burning kiss against your pulse. Inside of him, something catches and sparks. Your hands curl around the muscles of his shoulders. 

“I know,” he coos, low and soft, almost sympathetic. “Then at least indulge the hunger you’ve caused in me.” 

This, in the least, you settle into. 

He pulls away barely to sit back, to look at you fully in all of your glory a moment. 

You look back at him, perhaps taking him in as well. 

The smoldering turns into a flame. 

The decades of years unspool inside of him and give way to a racing mind, images of what he wants, how he wants you. 

It is always like this, he thinks, eternally, desiring you, and never getting enough.

He thinks he must know how you feel. 

And then he gives into one of several of his desires that are rearing their large, horned heads inside of him. The beasts of his desire are all chained to you, he thinks. He reaches for the bowl of fruit. 

Perhaps it's your turn to be amused as he brings a slice of plum to your lips. You must know how he was looking at you earlier, you must know his desires if you are the one to stoke them. 

Still, you accept the fruit easily, minding your teeth as his finger slips against your lips. Sticky and soft and warm. You draw his finger into your mouth briefly, closing around it. He can feel the edges of your teeth as he pulls it out. 

The moment you swallow around the piece, he surges up to kiss you. 

To finally kiss you. 

He wishes he could call it something of a greeting or reunion, but it is too desperate and too vicious for that. Your teeth click together, coming up against one another, like an old key coming up against a lock. 

He tastes the plum in your mouth, sweet and a little tart, and can’t help the groan that rumbles out of him. 

Your hands disappear into his hair, tangle in the strands so that he can feel the press of your nails against his scalp. He feels the way you arch into the slide of his hands along your torso, bending to them, as if he is a sculptor. It pulls you closer, opens your hips wider in his lap in a way that makes heat rip through him.

When he pulls away, you’re already hazy-eyed, heady with the quick-burn of this sort of hunger, this lust. 

It pulls at him like the tide on the shore to drag him under. 

This time, when he places his lips to your throat, he sinks into a bite at the tender flesh there. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d treat you more tenderly. As if that might be all you ever needed; more gentleness, and less teeth at your throat. 

But you arch and from your mouth spills your own moan finally, fingers tightening in his hair as if to hold him there. He feels your hips twitch forward, into him, an aborted rock of them, perhaps unknowingly or subconscious.

He wishes you inspired patience in him. 

(Usually, he claims to have a great deal. Unfortunately, he cannot claim the same with you in his arms again. Forgive me, he thinks again, but I haven’t seen you in nearly a century.) 

He stands suddenly with you still wrapped around his waist, hands fit beneath your thighs to lift you and place you on the broad expanse of his desk. Papers get pushed aside, some topple onto the floor in a fluttering mess. You laugh when the bowl of plums rattle precariously, but his mouth covers yours again, and he swallows the sound eagerly. 

He kisses you hard again, hitching your hips up to fit snugly to his, fitting his broad hands over the curves of your waist. You respond in kind, though, and twine your leg around his waist to pull him closer, arch your back to press your chest up to his.

When he pulls away this time, he takes you in, splayed out beneath him. 

“I did miss you,” he gets out roughly.

“Then show me,” you respond, stretching out beneath him, as if to tempt him. 

His hands move over the silk of your dress, bunching parts of it, tangling it. He decides in an instant that he doesn’t actually wish to deal with it, so he sets his hands on the bust and simply pulls. It tears like paper beneath him. And again, you laugh, amused with him now, with what you do to him.

“So impatient.” 

“It’s been a long time, my love.” 

And this time when he kisses you, perhaps you give into him more, feed what he wants. You mewl into his mouth, arch against him, drag your nails down his covered back. 

“Touch me,” you get out, demanding, a little fussy. 

“So impatient.” He mocks dryly. 

For his trouble, you pull harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck, baring his throat to you. 

His broad palm roams up the expanse of your side, your bare stomach, and to your chest. He cups your breast, thumb brushing against the peak in a way that makes you hum and squirm beneath him eagerly. 

You bury your face in his now exposed neck, nudge your nose there, which turns into your warm, open mouth. 

For a moment, surprisingly gentle, until he feels the quick flash of pain from your teeth. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger with a little more pressure than necessary, just to hear the little noise of pain you make. 

He drops his face to the crux of your chest, lips dragging along the skin there, above your beating heart. And for all your bite and bark, you still offer yourself up to him for the taking. You still draw your hands over his shoulders, pushing at the clothes still on him. He doesn’t indulge you, but draws lower, hair spilling over your chest as his mouth opens against your breast. 

He nips and marks, sets his teeth against the tender flesh and sucks a bruise into you. 

“I miss your sharp teeth,” you admit.

He huffs, breath fanning against your skin. He raises his eyes, molten gold, to meet your own, “there’s no pleasing you.” 

And then he captures the bud of your breast in his mouth and at least manages to pull another sound from you, meandering, growing in your own desire. You squirm beneath him again but something inside of him (old and draconic) blinks its eyes open and he seizes your waist to still you the way a predator subdues their prey, sharply, and with a slow rolling of muscle, a flex of their strength. A serpent squeezing down around a mouse. A tiger bearing down on the deer. 

You don’t go easily, though. 

And the moment you feel his resistance, you squirm and push harder, straining. Arching and impatient. 

He nips, he fights back the more base urge to growl, and readjusts his hold on you.

“Stop squirming,” he commands.

“Stop teasing,” you reply, stubborn, and disobedient. 

“Let me enjoy you.” Zhongli responds, watching his own hand sweep over your breast, cover it, and toy with you. 

“Enjoy me later.” You snip, fastening your legs tighter to his waist, hitching him closer. 

And he feels a head rush of your ability pour through him, the tightening of your desire and lust, of your hunger spilling from you. It’s purposeful. He feels the dull thud of his heart kick upwards, the warmth that simmers beneath his skin. He blinks hard with it, but does not succumb. 

“You’re so insolent.” He finally gets out, just shy of a growl, “now hold still for me.” 

His lips skim the top of your stomach as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. 

You sit up onto your elbows, eyeing him, inching your hips to the edge of the desk eagerly. 

“I’ve always liked you best on your knees, Morax.” 

He sinks his teeth into your inner thigh in a more ruthless bite, forcing your legs open even as they threaten to close with the sudden jolt of pain. Hard enough that you hiss through your teeth, twitching towards or away from him, he can’t tell. 

(Images of days long past flash hotly in his mind, in another form, with those sharper teeth you’d said you missed.) 

He feels your hunger burst open like a ripe fruit, like the plum between your teeth. 

He soothes the bite with a slow, lingering pass of his tongue. 

His eyes flick upwards towards you. 

You look a little shaken finally, eyes glassy, teeth stuck in your bottom lip. 

He drags you closer, pulls you flush so that your hips are almost off the edge. You fall back with the movement and he doesn’t give you a moment. He isn’t feeling generous or very kind anymore. 

His mouth opens against you in a crush of heat, eager, perhaps impatient himself. 

A groan, low, from the back of his throat, works out of him at the first taste of you. 

Again, you try to squirm, and something ancient and vicious in him squeezes hard enough on your waist that if you were a mortal, he might sincerely hurt you. He doesn’t care if you’re trying to squirm closer or away, he realizes, he doesn’t care if it hurts a little, as long as he can have you like this. Open. His. 

Ah, he realizes, perhaps he isn’t ignoring your sway as well as he thought he was. 

He delves between soft folds, already slick, but he’ll make it worse still. 

(Perhaps, at one point, he had ideas of being a gentleman of some kind with you. Perhaps, at some point, he thought he would carefully work you open with mouth and soft tongue. He’d be loving and gentle with you. But you’ve always done something horrible to him, something he can’t tame, something he wishes he feared more.) 

You whine a little and the sound pools straight into his own desire for you. 

He fits himself closer, keeps your legs wider apart with his shoulders. 

“Morax,” you gasp and it’s with more heat and desperation than he is anticipating.

His eyes, heavy and gold, flick up towards your face, looking up at you beneath the dark fan of his lashes. 

Oh, you’re closer than he thought, he realizes. 

He doesn’t slow or stop or lessen himself, groans a little, and fits himself tighter to you. He digs his fingers into your skin and keeps you close. 

To his surprise, that is all it takes. 

Your gasp is strangled, perhaps a little surprised, as you arch off the desk in a bow-curve, poised to snap.

You fall to pieces as a cry loosens from your throat. 

He feels you pulse against his tongue and without thinking, he growls a little, a pleased rumble, and doesn’t stop.

He tastes you, savors it, and doesn’t let you hide or pull away from him.

Your hips twist and he follows the movement, wrestling you still, so that he can still enjoy you. 

You’re out of breath, hiccuping a little, trying to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere to go.

He won’t let you go.

He pulls away to rest his head on your inner thigh a moment, “so quick.” He teases, “you must’ve been pent up for it to be that easy.” 

He thinks, I wasn’t even doing that for you yet—I was still enjoying myself. I was being greedy. Hungry in my own way, in the way that you inspire.

“I should leave you now.” You huff, picking yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him, but your eyes are simmering.

He squeezes at your thighs, “you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

And before he can hear your protests, he dips forward again and flattens his tongue against your folds. Slow, broad licks that make you twist and twitch. 

“Morax—“ 

“I’m not finished with you yet, my love.” He says lowly, somewhere against where you’re most tender and sensitive. 

He takes his time teasing now. 

Enjoy me later, you’d said, and he doesn’t think this is what you meant. 

You have never been patient enough for teasing–for worship. Sometimes he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared. You were always Deus Inanis, Tanai Zhenjun, and later, Rapax Regina to the people. You have many names from them, none particularly kind or cherished. You were always the ghoulish god, the bad omen, the drooling maw of a starved predator. Your myth is not a beloved one by most. 

And some dare not even speak your name at all, for fear of inviting you. 

You are not a welcome god in the home and hearth, you are not for protection or courage. You are feared and warded off. You are, at best, used as a condemnation. 

(To him you were always softened with affection, even at your worst; little god, my curse, my love, keeper of my heart.) 

You’ve never known the sort of worship he gives you. 

You struggle with it, keen sharp and broken when he gives it to you. 

Sometimes you have all-out tried to refuse him or hasten him, poured your lust and impatience into him to get your way, to sway him to your own will. He can feel it again now but it never manifests in him the way you’d like it to. You assume his desire is one of his own pleasure. But it has always been this; 

You, belly-up and vulnerable, only for him, delicate in a way the rest of the world will never know. Pleasure-drunk and hazy. Lost to what he can give you–he wants to gorge you. He wishes he could fill the empty place inside of you. 

He’s spent an eternity trying. He’ll spend an eternity more. 

He focuses his intentions, strengthens the pass of his tongue with what he wants. He wants your pleasure. He wants it again and again. 

You curse a little, an ancient word, from when the land was Archon-less and free. 

He lifts his mouth from you briefly, “you are already cursing like that? This will be a long night for you then.” 

He opens his mouth again to taste you, to suck gently, your legs twitching over his shoulders as your breath hitches. 

This time you curse him, hissing through clenched teeth.  

He laughs against you in amusement, low and dark, and smooths a broad hand over the soft plain of your tensing stomach. As if he might soothe you, or perhaps because he wants to feel all of you, have you in his palms, in his arms. Against his mouth.

The next time you fall apart, he doesn’t let up once. His eyes have gone half-lidded and burning, a flint-strike of amber. You try to fight him again, wrestle out of his hold, but he strengthens himself. He steels himself, even, to your pulling of his hair, to your fussing and snapping–all of that melts to whining, to near-crying, as he continues. 

You’re too stubborn to cry for him now–there have been only a handful of times he’s broken you down that much. 

Perhaps if he were feeling crueler, he would try. 

(These instances have always come in the wake of something worse; your largest fights, or worst transgressions where he felt the need to punish. To strip you bare. These are saved, not for his desires, but for your catharsis after all your grief.) 

But your voice has gone higher with desperation, more broken, and he is pleased with that. 

Pleased enough that when you burst on his tongue again, your nails digging into the back of his hand as he holds you, he finally rises. 

Instantly, you twine yourself around him, legs around his waist, arms pulling at the front of his clothes to drag him down into your arms. You are always more desperate for affection like this, softened by pleasure, hungry for more. 

He goes down easily for you.

 Kisses you hard and open, so that you’ll taste yourself from his mouth, the way he tasted the plum from yours. 

You groan weakly and manage to gasp when he pulls away, “please–more. I need more. Need–” 

Always need, you say, when you get like this. Never want. 

“Need you.” 

He hums, the noise lumbering from his chest in a pleased, dark sound. 

“You have me,” he soothes, even as he feels dizzy with your own desire, a headrush of desperation–of need that rushes from you to him. 

Feed me, need me, fill me, possess me, take, take, take me. Fill. Aching–so empty, I’m so empty. Please, please, it hurts– please, I need more, need, need, need–

He lets out a harsh breath. It aches, almost sharply, almost on the wrong side of pain and pleasure. 

He does not torment you any longer. He does not torment himself, either. 

With fingers far more nimble than he feels, he loosens his slacks, he pushes his clothes out of the way just enough, enough to take himself in hand and hiss through his teeth as the head of his cock touches your slick folds. 

Molten. Fluttering still with sensitivity, with desperation. 

Your hips roll, eager, trying to urge him closer, inside–

“Morax–” you cry and the sound twists something in his chest, blooms like a bruise being pressed on. 

 He presses inside you and fills you in one, deep thrust. 

You gasp sharply, you pull at him, force him to collapse over you nearly, cover you completely. You cling to him, you wrap yourself around him like a serpent, now constricting him–

(He’s never been able to tell who is the serpent and who is the mouse, anyways. Who is the tiger or the deer? Was he capturing you? Or were you always capturing him?)

You hold him so tightly, calves flexing around his back, that he can hardly pull out from you to thrust.

He groans, almost in frustration, or maybe some form of defeat. 

“Darling,” he gets out roughly, “my love. My little god.”

The old, affectionate nickname burns through you and he can feel the desire like a knife’s blade in his own stomach. You moan– a soft, warbling sound. 

He manages to move his hips, barely leaving the hot clutch of you, to push back in deeper, harder. 

“Please–” you gasp, “more–kiss me. Touch me.”

“So demanding,” he scolds, but he kisses you hard, with too much teeth and roughness, and fits his palms over the sides of your body. He takes handfuls of curves, of your waist and your breasts, rough hands bending over the lines of you the way the light of the moon bends over the hills and valleys of his land. 

His next thrust is harder, a little rougher. You turn your face into his throat after you break the kiss and your teeth sink down into him hard. 

You always draw blood. You always have to leave your mark on him, on all that you’ve touched. 

But then you draw your tongue over the wound, licking softly, perhaps in apology. Perhaps to satiate another need that winds around inside you. 

Your hand tangles in his hair again and he bites back another raw groan as he thrusts, in and out, on a slow, rough drag. You’re clinging to him, tight and so wet that it’s making his thoughts bleary and clouded. Your lust shadows any rationality; your hunger possesses him. 

“Harder,” you gasp, you beg, you plead. 

And he thinks who am I to deny you? Who am I to deny the god of my hunger? 

His hand slips over your arm, your free one clawing at his clothed back still. He knows you will mourn not getting your nails into his skin after, but he will let you satiate the need all you like later. He’ll savor the way you try to tear him apart, like he always does. 

(And sometimes, he swears, you’re just trying to tear down his skin to be closer. Deeper in him. Scratching at his ribs and his sides like you want in, in, in. A bad dog at his door. A wraith that claws at his soul.)      

As he pulls at your forearm, flattening it out against the desk beneath you to pin you beneath him, he knocks into the bowl of fruit. 

The last of the plum slices tip out onto the desk and the remaining juice at the bottom of the bowl pools in a sticky mess over the wood, some over your forearm and wrist, over his own, too. 

He thinks you move without thinking, bringing his wrist up to your lips where you lick up a stripe up into his palm, against his thumb. 

You take his thumb into your mouth with ease and he cups your cheek in a possessive hold as he lets you suckle, tongue soft and warm and gentle against the pad of it. You groan, lashes fluttering, and this seems to please some part of you. 

His thumb in your mouth, cock lodged deep inside you. 

He pushes himself deeper on his next thrust, enough that you whine a little, eyes going glassy, cheeks hollowing around his thumb. 

He can feel the spit pooling in your mouth, wet and slick, can feel the way your walls squeeze and flutter around him desperately. 

He presses on your tongue, thrust growing a little faster, but still hard, deep–a little ruthless. 

But it’s what you need–so it’s what he gives you. 

You hold his wrist, little nails digging into his skin, desperate to keep his thumb between your lips. He can feel the press of your teeth in the meat of his hand. 

He readjusts, tries to draw his thumb out barely, only for you to latch down tighter on his wrist, and slide it back into your mouth with a noise of protest. Saliva spills a little, slick and messy against your bottom lip, against his hand. 

He coos, but it’s too dark to sound reassuring, and sounds more like a rough purr, just shy of a pleased growl. 

“I won’t go anywhere,” he soothes lowly, but it sounds like less of a comfort from a husband, and more of a promise from the beast you shouldn’t have let in in the first place. It’s loving in the same way a possession is. “My little god, I have you now.” 

Your peak this time makes something inside of him roar open. He feels your inner muscles bear down on him, fluttering desperately. 

Your eyes tip behind your eyelids, hiccuped breath against his hand as it twists into a guttural sound that he feels against his palm. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, turning your face so that he can press open mouthed kisses against your throat, suck a bruise there, turn the flesh tender, “I’ve got you. Good girl–that’s it.” 

Perhaps he draws blood when he bites you this time, too. Tastes it sharp on his tongue, the blood of a god. He lifts his head from your neck and finally draws his thumb from your mouth, spit slick as he traces your bottom lip. He pulls himself up from you to gaze down at you, slack jawed and messy, near feverish with your lust. 

His hips quicken, harder, and you reach out to splay your hand out against his tensing stomach, to push at him a little. 

But he doesn’t stop, feels you nip at his thumb, still making a mess of your lips and chin. 

Your legs are still hitched tight around him, drawing him in, keeping him close. 

He squeezes your hip with his free hand, he loses his rhythm when you draw his thumb back into your mouth, suckling softly on it. 

He groans, feels his own pleasure in a rush down his spine, a burst of heat that unfurls like a supernova. Collapses inward. Expands outwards. He buries himself inside of you, as deep as he can manage, deep enough that you make a little noise of pain maybe, but you hold him tight to you. Again, you constrict around him, dragging him back down by his clothes to slot your mouth against his as he fills you. 

It’s your turn to hum, pleased, almost purring, tightening your hold around him, locking him against you.

The kiss this time is slower, but dirtier, all tongue, open and messy. He groans into it, holding your jaw, feeling himself twitch inside of you, his own eyes fluttering with pleasure, lashes against your cheek. 

When you both pull away, you’re out of breath. Chests rising and falling against each other. 

You seem subdued now, heavy-lidded, but your lips drag to his cheek, down to the curve of his jaw. 

You roll your hips a little.

“More–” You murmur, “I want more.” 

His laugh tapers into a moan. He flexes his hips a little, heat simmering beneath his own skin. 

Your hands pull at his clothes finally, tugging at them, pulling at buttons until they snap and burst beneath your fingers, until you reveal bare skin. Instantly, your hands are on him, nails scratching into his chest gently, over his shoulders. 

(He’s going to take you to bed after this and he’ll rid you of the scraps of your clothes and the rest of his. He'll get rid of anything between you.) 

The ache in him builds again and suddenly he’s rocking into you again, deep and slow, watching the way he disappears inside of you. The mess he’s already made of you, the way he wants to make it all worse. He feels feverish himself now, a little lost to the sight– his desire suddenly feels inhuman. Monstrous. Too big for his own skin. 

You always seem to remind him of his divinity. 

“Hold me,” you demand now and as if commanded, he goes to you. 

He gets his arms around you and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His desire unwinds. Time unspools from him. He loses himself in the pull of you, in the undertow of desire and hunger. He tries to satiate the ache you have carved in him. The ache you always have nestled inside of you. 

You beg him of more–more pain and more pleasure and more of him–until he feels near mindless with it. Gone with it. 

Shuddering with sensitivity and feeling you tremble with it, too. 

He doesn’t regain himself until another peak has been reached and fallen from, until he realizes the hour; the moon hanging in the window of his study like a copper penny. He forces himself to slow. To lodge himself deep and go still inside of you and let his head fall to your chest.

You cradle his skull, fingers slipping into his hair, catching your breath as the haze fades for a moment. 

He picks his head up barely, shifts only so he can catch your gaze. 

“Stay for a while.” He demands now. 

 You let go of a sigh, deep, perhaps tired. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed.” You hum softly. 

“Will you behave?” He asks and you lean down to kiss him–sweeter now. Perhaps apologizing. He accepts your affection with warmth, though. 

“You know how I get restless.” You respond, fingers tracing along the nape of his neck, one of them trailing down the bend of his jaw. 

You are softest now, like this. It’s a rare sight; one he savors, one he will stay hungry for his whole life, he thinks. 

“Yes,” he agrees, perhaps fondly, perhaps sadly. “If you could keep mortals out of it, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Even if I tried to kill you again?” You ask, finger tracing the bow of his upper lip. 

He smiles faintly and you touch the corner of his mouth, “yes,” he agrees, “even then.” 

“Or tried to steal your Gnosis again?” 

He snorts softly, picking himself up further to hover over you, to gaze down at you with more love than you have ever known what to do with. “You can certainly try again.” 

“Perhaps I should try harder this time.” The threat is fangless this time and you are at least soothed somewhat for now. He knows it won’t last long. 

But for now, he takes advantage of it. He cups your cheek, brushes his thumb along your jaw affectionately, and for once, you nuzzle into the touch. You rub your cheek into his palm like a cat. 

A flash of your teeth. You bite down into his hand. 

He laughs softly, but pulls his hand from you, dislodges your teeth from his flesh. 

Slowly, he tries to detangle himself from you. You are reluctant, but he appeases you with promises of more, of his bedroom. Of a bath and whatever you want. 

“More plums,” you say, letting him carry you to his bedroom like a young bride, cradled in his arms. “I’ve always loved plums.” 

He smiles, “I know. They remind me of you.” 

The admittance is a tender one, one that he has held for centuries that has finally loosened from his mouth like a bird taking to flight. 

In the morning, when you have slipped from him and his bed and his life once more, all that’s left are the marks you left on him, the deep scratches and latches of your teeth on tan skin–

And the pits of plums you devoured before you left. Not one is spared and he thinks his heart never has been, either. 

Not from you, his wife, his curse, his love–not from his god of hunger. 

***

a/n part ii: thank you for reading!! here are those notes on the reader's godly names:

There are three titles the reader is referred to. Two of them are latin, similar to Rex Lapis, and the third is from @itoshisoup, and is Tanai Zhenjun, which mao explained as such: "贪爱 (tanai) is a Buddhist term that is often translated as "craving", and refers to desire for both physical and mental things. From my understanding, tanai is sometimes considered a cause of suffering (苦 or ku), but is sometimes considered closely related to suffering in other ways. Given the motif of hunger, I would name the god Tanai, and additionally give them the honorific "Zhenjun" (a title associated with Taoist gods - much like "Dijun", which is the honorific in Zhongli's Chinese title, Yanwang Dijun; however, it is a lesser title than Dijun). Tanai Zhenjun is therefore what I'd call them."

The other two are Deus Inanis and Rapax Regina, which mean "empty god" and "rapacious/ravenous queen" in Latin.

i plan to write more of this reader and use these godly names again soon &lt;3

[the-s1lly-corner]

hi! Hooe ur having a good day so far ;)

if its not a big thing to ask, could you do the TADC crew with a s/o who has a really big sweet tooth? Like they dont need to eat, but anytime something slightly sweet is presented they always eat it no matter what? Thank you!

TADC cast x a reader w/ a sweet tooth!

yipee third request of the day! just got 13 more then im all caught up!! thinking about it more i might reopen requests day after tomorrow, if i finish all the current requests today!

CAINE:

congrats! there isnt a better source of sugar in the digital world than from the tooth man himself; bro literally pulled a cake out of thin air youre set for life if you want to eat treats! i like to think he would make a mental note of what sweets are your favorite and for what reason; taste, texture, smell, stuff like that

i personally hc that since caine is an ai he cant really taste, at least not in the same way we can, so bonus idea, imagine describing what things taste like to him, ,i think thats cute

POMNI:

when you told pomni that you had a sweet tooth, she assumed that you had a normal sweet tooth; as in you simply liked having a little treat here and there. imagine her shock when caine promises sweets as a reward for completing an IHA and you end up going full ham trying to secure the reward. maybe its because your sweet tooth is that intense, or maybe you havent had many chances to indulge since entering the digital world... whatever it may be, i think pomni would give you her candies and treats; she seems like a more bitter flavor enjoyer

RAGATHA:

writing her part first because i just got struck with an idea but imagine the two of you baking something together; bonus you keep trying to eat the stuff before its fully done (ex. you keep eating some of the frosting before it can be put on a cupcake or something). she playfully swats your hand when you try to snag more of whatever you're baking together. gives an apologetic look; would the treat not be better when its complete? come on reader, practice patience!

thats another idea for a real world au thing with ragatha, you two running a little baking business; i think that would be cute

JAX:

you guys fist fight over a bag of sour patch kids sorry i dont make the rules. i hc that jax has a huge sweet tooth, especially for sour candies. so uh, if you like sour candies youre going to have to make a stash... but considering jax has keys to some peoples rooms, you might wanna be smart about it... will share his candy with you if youre feeling extra bad one day, though

KINGER:

sweets, a loving partner, and a cozy pillow fort. does it get more comforting than that? okay maybe it can, if you pair a cup of hot coco with your cinnamon roll, but hey! side note, we see kinger sitting at the table at the end of the pilot... with food... so like.. how does he eat? does it just clip through his face? did he only get food to be polite? now i have a few questions... i dont think kinger would be a huge sweet fan; not really craving sugar that often... i think he would be a spice lover, though, this man would love himself a spice cake me thinks

ZOOBLE:

also not a particularly huge sweet fan, but i think similar to jax they would love sour candies. unlike jax, though, they wont go snooping around for your stash, though! probably snags stuff from the common areas if caine has like a communal candy store in the circus, or if not... stares at jax. you WILL hear from them if you leave your candy wrappers around though!

GANGLE:

speaking of candy wrappers, i think gangle would keep them! gives them a use; depending on what kind of material they are or like... if theyre foldable (think like a gum wrapper) she makes little pieces of origami for you! hearts, frogs, flowers, things like that! sometimes gets you some candy so she can get the wrappers. also likes how the crinkling feels n sounds!

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 26

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, preparing for war, trauma

Some Myra comfort! She's so sweet and innocent.

Whumpee's face lit up knowingly as he followed the leader down the halls, his chest feeling just a little bit lighter.

Flint opened a door and Whumpee took one step in, only to have his waist tackle-hugged.

"Myra," Whumpee laughed, gently prying the little girl off him. "You have to be careful around me so I don't trip or step on you! I'm too tall to see you sometimes."

"Sorry!" Myra chirped. "Flint told me you're going on a journey, so I made you something to take with you!"

Whumpee's chest twinged with a hint of bitter sadness. 'Journey' was a rather mild way of saying 'off to war'. And he might not even be coming back alive from that 'journey'.

He watched as Myra darted off to a small kid table where a few other children were seated staring wide-eyed with fear at Whumpee, halting their playing just to gawk. Crayons and papers were scattered all around it.

Myra snatched up something and hurried back, standing on her tip-toes to hold it up to Whumpee.

A genuine smile inched onto his face at the scrappy stick figure scrawled onto it with the lines on its face resembling scars, an attempted portrait of himself. A few random flowers floated around the figure, along with 'good luck!' scrawled in wobbly pen lines.

"Well? Do you like it?!?" Myra squealed.

Whumpee took the paper from her hands oh-so-delicately, and gently patted her head, his large hand dwarfing it.

"Yes, Myra, it is very good," he chuckled. "I like it very much." Myra beamed up at him as he carefully folded the paper several times and tucked it safely into one of the pockets on his protective vest. It would be his good luck charm as he marched off to yet another battle.

"All right, Myra, you got to say your goodbyes, like I promised," Flint said with a sigh. "We're short on time, so Whumpee has to go now, okay? Go on and keep playing with your other friends."

Myra scowled at him as he shooed her away, but reluctantly trudged off to where the other children were again.

"...Thank you for letting me have that," Whumpee breathed once she was out of earshot.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Flint replied in exasperation. "The instant I told her you were 'going away' for awhile, the little demon started badgering me nonstop to set something up before you left so she could give you her 'gift'."

Whumpee couldn't help the huge smile that twisted his lips, lightly touching the pocket with Myra's stick figure drawing. Another gift. He'd never get used to getting those, and each one made him melt all over again, craving even the most basic social interactions that weren't about war and death.

Myra brought out his softer, kinder side in a way he couldn't explain. Made him feel human, like he wasn't Weapon. Not a monster. Even people like Max still had a healthy amount of fear of him, he could always see it in their faces, well-hidden yet ever-present, but Myra... she had no fear in her eyes whenever she ran up to Whumpee, and it was a breath of fresh air, a shining ray of sunshine in the darkness constantly clouding Whumpee's thoughts.

Myra never cared that he'd killed Leader to save her, never worried that he might hurt her being the giant war dog he was, five times her size. One person who wasn't afraid of how dangerous he was -- and he was a hero to her.

Whumpee didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay in this room and pretend everything was all right for just one second -- have Myra teach him how to write words, and draw, and do all the things he'd never gotten to do as Weapon! He wanted to be a kid again, innocent and naive and blind to everything.

...But there was a battle to be fought. For Flint's army. Jake's team. Innocent families. And Myra. So Whumpee reluctantly turned around, and followed Flint back to his team, mentally bracing and preparing himself for the task ahead.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @cepheusgalaxy

@theforeverdyingperson

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

barista suguru and reader has the biggest crush on him that they try to ask him out but got too nervous to do so!! however.. reader suddenly see him at a party they were invited in, and what does alcohol do to a person sometimes? confidence, and they hook up (eventually got together??) I'm not sure if this request makes sense, and English isn't my first language..

omg hi anon thank you for the ask - not sure if you're an AOT fan but @humanitys-strongest-bamf has an amazing fic similar to this w Levi and its god tier

anywaysss here we go <3

(The ages in this are all fucked up lol, Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji are 22 and Gojo, Geto, and Shoko are like 25)

content warning: Haibara and Nanami are lovers lmao, weed, alcohol, cigarettes, hookup culture

(this is my original drawing please do not repost)

-

Being well known on your college campus is a blessing and a curse. You loved being involved in a lot of clubs and participating in social events. Going to the library or trying to study was nearly impossible with how many people knew you. However being a senior, you needed to focus and get things done. You lived a little ways off campus to save money and started frequenting a little coffee shop a few blocks from your apartment.

The first time you stopped, you had been walking home from class when a storm with bad winds blew in, and you decided to just study in this cafe until the storm passes. There are little tables all throughout, you grab one near the back and pull out some of your course materials and get started writing notes and going over chapters for your quiz in a few days. That is when a yawn washes over you and the exhaustion from late nights sets in. You figure you might as well get a drink while you're at this coffee shop.

Walking up to the counter you squint up at the menu board trying to decide what you're in the mood for.

"What can I get for you?" a man's voice asks.

Lost in your indecisiveness you don't even look down to make eye contact reading between Americano, Latte, Cold Brew, etc.

"Mmmm, not sure yet, I may need a few minutes," biting your bottom lip thinking about how much caffeine you want to intake today.

"We also have a list of specials down in front of you," he says politely and you see him walk away out of your peripherals.

The thing is, you're not a huge coffee person. Half the time it's too sweet, half the time it's too bitter. The caffeine gives you jitters and makes you anxious. Also sometimes coffee just messes your stomach up so you just have given up on expensive coffee places and opt for making your own shitty coffee at home.

You glance down at the specials list, reading them to yourself,

"Almond Joy Latte

Sparkling Green Tea Refresher

Pink Velvet Cold Brew

Barista's Choice"

You finally look up at the employee, a tall man that is turned around cleaning the espresso machine. His hair is pulled back into a cute bun and his frame is just large. You look at his hands, so large and strong with some veins protruding. He has a black button up on with the sleeves rolled up, exposing tattoos on his forearms. Matching it with black pants and a black apron, he looks kind of dark and mysterious.

He turns around and catches your eye, forgetting all the words that were about to form in your head.

"Still need a minute?" He squints his eyes a little and smiles softly as your eyes rake over his whole face. He has a piece of black bangs sticking out from the bun, pierced ears, a lip ring, amber eyes, and an amazingly chiseled jaw. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out and you can feel the heat spread across your cheeks.

"Uh, I, sorry," you shake your head and try to laugh at your own stupor, "Can I do the barista's choice?"

He nods, "Any preferences?"

"Uhm, no, whatever you like," you completely lie through your teeth trying to seem chill. He taps in the order on the iPad at the register and flips it over for you to pay and sign. At least it isn't too expensive if you don't like it, but you eagerly press the "25%" tip button hoping Mr. tall, dark, and handsome appreciates it.

"I'll bring it over to you when it's ready," he smiles and nods his head towards where you were seated.

"Thanks," you smile awkwardly walking back to your course materials, although it's not like you'll be focusing on anything other than the barista soon. You not-so-casually watch him work, obsessed with a man you've hardly spoken to once.

A few minutes later he brings over a cute tea cup and saucer, and you immediately smile when he sets it down, seeing the little design on top.

"It's a dirty chai...like a chai tea latte with a shot of espresso in it and a little special touch. Let me know if you like it."

The man smirks and walks away before you can even properly thank him. You burn your tongue eagerly taking a sip too soon, trying to find another excuse to talk to him. You try to take your mind off of it by scrolling through instagram for a bit while drinking your latte but around this time of year its all couples and engagements and babies which only adds to how down bad you feel. You get a text from your friend Nobara letting you know that a friend of her friend, Megumi, is having a party Friday and the friend told Megumi who told Nobara that they could bring whoever. After deciphering the word vomit of a text she sent you you send back a "thumbs up emoji" letting her know you'll be there because nobody else has invited you anywhere yet.

You finish your drink and decide to pack up your stuff and head home, a few blocks in the rain won't hurt you. It might cool you off from thinking about the dreamy barista you just met. You set the cute mug on the counter, and he turns around when he hears the noise. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking 'how was it?'

"It was great," you smile, "uhm, have a good one," you slightly shrug and turn around to go before he can add anything, just like he did to you earlier.

-

The next few days are uneventful, you walk by the coffee shop every day on your way to campus, wondering if he is working or if you should go in, but not wanting to struggle to pick a drink or pay for coffee again.

On Friday Nobara walks back to your apartment with you, she commutes in to town so whenever there is a party or something going on she crashes on your couch. She eyes the little cafe, "Want coffee? I think tonight might be pretty fun from the sounds of it!" She practically squeals and you find it adorable how excited she is. "Sure" you grumble, holding the door open for her.

She waltzes right up to the counter, decisive as always, and knows exactly what she wants. You trail behind her, not seeing any employees at the counter, squinting up at the menu board yet again. That's when you hear giggling come from the back room and see the handsome barista come out with some supplies, followed by a cute girl with a short brown bob who seems to be helping him.

You can't help but think about his beautiful laugh, and how you can hear it again.

"See ya tonight Shoko" he says, putting his apron back on and refocusing his attention to Nobara.

"Bye Geto!" This so called Shoko calls back to him as she walks out the front door. You cant help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the way he was in the backroom with his apron off and laughing with a girl.

Like girl - quit being delusional, you just heard his name for the first time and he probably doesn't even know who you are.

"Y/n, what do you want?" Nobara interrupts your talk with yourself.

"I'll have what she's having," you say overly confident, smiling at Geto. They both side eye you and you just remain oblivious, opting to go on your phone as you let your friend pay for your coffee as payment for her 'hotel' for the night. The two of you move out of the way and stand off to the side waiting for your drinks while Nobara talks about how Megumi's other friend Yuji is going to be there tonight with his big brother Sukuna and how excited she is because they're both sooo attractive. You nod your head along with what she says while scrolling on your phone. It's not that you don't care what she's saying, it's just that she knows so much about everything. All the gossip on campus is at your fingertips because of her, good or bad. You zone out staring at whatever drinks the barista is making, watching his damn good looking hands do his job. He walks over to you with two cups and you can't help but just stare at him. His outfit today consists of jeans and a tight black tshirt with a flannel jacket over top.

"Two iced matcha lattes with coconut milk and a strawberry cold foam on top," He smiles as Nobara eagerly grabs both of the drinks and hands one to you.

She sips it right away, "This is the best I've ever had thank youuu," she dramatically draws out while pulling you out the door heading to your apartment again. You look back to see him watching you leave and give a small wave with the hand that is holding your drink. You can't tell if you're imagining it but you think you see a faint blush over his cheeks.

-

You and Nobara enjoy your typical pregame activities, getting ready together, listening to music, and sharing a blunt.

"The guy at the coffee shop was checking you out," she half slurs, talking while applying her lip gloss.

"What makes you say that?" You think she's messing with you but you also hadn't told her about your little crush.

"When I was ordering he was staring at you the WHOLE time. Like he didn't even make eye contact with me I don't think!" She wines, "God it's not fair he's so gorgeous."

"To be fair Nobara, you think most guys are gorgeous" You giggle and walk towards the freezer to grab some liquor. "Speaking of gorgeous men, who's party are we even going to tonight?"

"I think it's at some guy named Satoru Gojo's house? I guess he's good childhood friends with Megumi from when he didn't really have a dad." There goes your friend, sharing other people's business when she didn't really need to.

"Mmm," you nod and throw back a shot of liquor, "I think I had a class with him when I was like a freshman and he was a senior. A real interesting character."

"Maybe you can introduce me and I'll get lucky," Nobara raises her eyebrows at you.

"You will not be having sex on my couch." You say sternly before you both erupt in a fit of giggles. Gathering a few last minute things before heading out, you also grab a reusable shopping tote and fill it with a little bit of your own alcohol, you never know what they may or may not have at these kinds of parties.

-

Walking there was a little chilly but overall a nice night for the time of year. This guy must've gone to your school and hadn't left yet given the proximity of his house to your apartment and to campus.

You walk in and see Yuji Itadori right away with his friendly smile and big personality. He gives you both hugs and you know at least if Nobara doesn't get lucky with anyone else she can rely on Yuji.

Your energetic friend holds your hand as she searches the rest of the party to find her friend Megumi. He stands in the kitchen with a white haired man that you faintly think is this Gojo guy, both getting ready to shotgun a beer together. You and Nobara wait to see who wins before interrupting, grabbing drinks out of the cooler and setting down your bag with liquor and hard seltzers in it. It appears that Gojo finishes just a second before Megumi and you hear Nobara interrupting, "Gumi what was that?! You lost like a little bitch?"

He groans in response but ultimately smiles, "Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because you've been stuck with me since high school."

Watching the altercation, Gojo comes up to you and asks, "You're with them?" Nodding his head at the two immaturely arguing.

"Sadly." you respond taking a swig of your drink.

"I'm Satoru Gojo, this is my place, thanks for coming." He eyes you over top of his black round sunglasses, making you feel like you may be wearing too revealing of clothes.

"I'm y/n, thanks for the invite by proxy," You giggle as Megumi makes his way over to you.

"Y/n, good to see you," the spikey haired boy gives you an awkward side hug, and a little kiss on the top of your head. Satoru raises his eyebrows at the two of you and you roll your eyes. When Megumi and Nobara get distracted and head into another room you fill him in. "Megumi and I may have hooked up once or twice when we were drunk," You blush, revealing your secret that hardly anyone knew to this stranger.

"Mhmm, seems like more than once or twice," Gojo sips his drink and sighs dramatically, leaving the kitchen to you alone.

Just then the back door of the kitchen that leads to the back yard creaks open. You turn to see who it was out of instinct, and recognize the girl with the brown bob from the cafe earlier today. She carries on past you not even really looking at you with her cigarette still lit in her mouth.

You see Nobara in the living room from your spot on the kitchen and mouth to her that you're going outside to smoke. She nods and thumbs up, but it seems that Yuji also read your lips and is interested in joining you.

You head out to the backyard, very dimly lit despite the pretty lights Gojo tried to hang up to make it look more aesthetic. You pull out a dab pen and a cigarette and hold them up for Yuji to take his pick. His eyes light up at the weed pen and he takes a huge inhale.

"God Yuji, careful," you laugh and proceed to take a smaller hit.

Your laugh seems to attract the attention of another group standing outside, and you immediately quiet yourself.

"Do you have a light?" One of them asks although you can't make out names or voices and even if you could you don't know many people here.

"Yeah," you respond, digging out a baby pink lighter that has a "Daddy's Girl" sticker on it, a joke that one of your friends gave you. Hopefully its dark enough that they can't see it.

A blonde guy approaches you to grab it, "Thanks, we have some seats over here if you guys want." Yuji happily follows but you're a little apprehensive. However they do have a firepit going so it is a little brighter over there.

"I'm Kento, this is my boyfriend Yu," the two introduce themselves, lighting their cigs at the same time with your lighter. You take another small hit of your pen as the brunette one comments, "Nice lighter." It makes you cough on your smoke a bit but eventually turns into laughter, "Thank you," You smile grabbing it back from them.

Yuji seems to be a little high from his rather large puff earlier, and you ask, "I'm going to go check on Nobara, you need anything?" He smiles and shakes his head and starts some conversation about an underground fight club with the two guys as you walk back inside. You enter back into the kitchen, grabbing another drink and heading into the living room where you last saw Nobara. She is having a heart to heart with some girl that graduated last year that you know of named Maki. They both have been drinking and just are smiling and agreeing with everything the other says.

She suddenly turns to you when she realizes you're standing there, "Your lover, he's here." She abruptly turns back around ignoring your inquiry of who she is referring to. You see Gojo and Megumi talking in the kitchen and decide to go talk to them instead of standing there looking awkward. You couldn't see from the angle you were at, but the brunette bob cigarette girl was also standing with them chatting.

Gojo waves you over to the conversation, putting a playful arm around your shoulders. "So sweetheart," Satoru starts, slurring his words a little more than he was the last time you talked to him, "Were trying to place bets on who's going to hook up with who tonight."

"Shoko has money on Suguru and Yuki, Megumi bets on Nobara and Yuji, and me, well I have money on you and Megumi." The four of you errupt in laughter and yelling over top of each other of who is correct.

"What are we arguing about?" Another voice asks that just came into the kitchen. You turn to see who it is with Gojo's arm still loosely hanging onto you.

"Suguruuuu" Satoru coos, "Finally joined the party! Shoko here thinks you're going to hook up with Yuki tonight."

"Like hell," he mutters looking to see who his best friends choice of girl is for the evening, before his eyes land on you. You can't help but drop your jaw at the beautiful barista from the cafe standing in front of you. It looks like he just showered, wet hair which is half up half down, and you can smell the fresh body wash radiating off of him.

"Who'd you bet Satoru?" Suguru questions, still having his eyes focused on you.

"I bet little miss y/n here and her boy toy Megumi." He responds and your cheeks flush at the fact this beautiful man may think you're not interested because of Gojo's fat mouth.

"Who'd you bet on?" Shoko asks directed towards Geto.

"I'll have to get back to you on that," he turns to get a drink from the cooler before taking a step outside, you assume to smoke.

You excuse yourself from under Satoru's arm, leaving him Megumi and Shoko to talk about more random gossip. Heading to the backdoor, you try to build up some courage to introduce yourself to this Geto guy. Much to your dismay, as you are walking out of the door in your own thoughts, another person was coming through the door to go inside but was a lot more solid than you. Bouncing back onto your ass you giggle, "I'm so so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you look up to meet the amber eyes you've been thinking about for the past week. It feels like the wind has gotten knocked out of you seeing how close your faces were with him grabbing your hand to help you up.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to knock you over like that,” he slightly laughs. “I’m just grabbing a lighter,” letting go of your hand holding the door open.

“Oh I have one here!” You pull it out of your pocket kicking yourself for showing it to someone else again. Well maybe it will at least start a conversation. You hand it to him and he lights his cigarette, not making a comment and hands it back to you. You also decide to light a cigarette, trying your best to look cool doing it but because of the wind you’re having a little trouble. Suguru sticks up his hand to block the wind for you. His damn hands. It’s like as big as your face up close and you say “thanks” with the cigarette hanging out of your mouth now lit.

“Y/n? Is that your name?” He breaks the silence first.

“Yes, are you Suguru?” You ask sweetly back

“Suguru Geto, the one, the only, barista extrodinaire,” he laughs and draws a puff.

“I like your laugh.” You blurt out, now realizing your judgement is a little impaired from your weed alcohol and nicotine pairing. “Sorry that just kind of came out.”

“That’s okay,” he stares at you with kind eyes ashing his cigarette against Gojos house.

“Did you like the matcha today?” He asks after you don’t respond.

“Actually no,” you bust out laughing, “I don’t like matcha I was just distracted when she was ordering.”

“Distracted by what?” He asks.

“You,” you realize how close your faces are and how intimate the moment is with your glowing cigarettes and how intoxicating the mix of his smell is.

He nods and smirks at your response, glancing down at your lips. “I think I want to get to know you more y/n.”

You gather all the courage that you haven’t had with this man for the past few days and put it all in your lips and lean in to kiss him. He kisses back, graciously, putting his hand against the back of your head as you place your hand on his hard pec. He depends the kiss, moving his lips passionately before entering his tongue into your mouth. His free hand wraps around your waist.

Just as things are getting intense you hear Nobara squeal in the kitchen, “GOJO LOOK!” You both break the kiss laughing, but still pressed up against him.

“I think I may know who my bet is on for tonight,” he winks and gives you another kiss, making your knees weak and release a tiny whimper into his mouth. You pray he didn’t hear it, but instead he asks, “needy daddy’s girl?”

You feel your cheeks grow so warm and cover your face with your hands. “Just kidding pretty girl, your lighter was cute though.”

—

reblogs and comment for a part 2 ?? 🤭🤭

[weird-an]

Billy makes himself a microwave dinner on his birthday. Eating alone, because Neil took Susan on a date to Indianapolis and Max is out somewhere with the Creepy Kids Club.

Swanson Fried Fucking Chicken Dinner. That's how Billy treats himself for turning 18. For somehow surviving until today, more or less by accident.

It tastes bland and nearly burns his tongue, but that doesn't matter. Billy has a bottle of cheap liquor waiting for him. The birthday present he got for himself to wash away the bitter taste of a failed childhood. He didn't even had to kiss the cashier for that, just show off a little skin and give her a wink. A giant win.

He's halfway through the bottle when the doorbell rings. Which he considers to just ignore and then it rings again and well, he's ready to punch whoever dares to disturb his celebration of misery.

He opens the door. Steve Harrington stands in front of him. Hair fluffier than ever like he had styled it - for what exactly?

Harrington isn't his friend, not let alone his boyfriend, no matter what stupid dreams Billy sometimes wakes up with. They're fucking around and its fun. Billy gets to bathe in the sun shining right through Harrington's bright eyes, reminding him of home, but that's it.

And he isn't supposed to come here. Or even call the house. Billy told him that if Harrington dials his number once and that its fucking over - he didn't point out that it's Neil who is going to set an end to their fooling around.

"Happy birthday!" Harrington holds out a box with a giant blue bow on top for him.

Billy stares at the wrapping paper with little fishes on them.

"I don't do that," he just says. His throat feels tight and he wonders if he's already blackout drunk.

"What?" Harrington shoots him a look like he doesn't believe him for a second and then just walks inside the house.

The whole thing, Billy wants to answer. Bows, birthdays, gifts, friendship?

But he can't say anything, because Harrington is inside. Right next to Billy, gently removing his hand from where it's clutching the door knob and closes the door. He's inside the house and somehow they're both still alive.

"Where is your room?" he says, an unreadable expression flickering across his face when he sees the half eaten TV dinner and the amber bottle on the table.

Billy simply stands there, staring at him. "You can't be here."

Harrington snorts. "Apparently I can, Billy." There's that bitchy tone in his voice he always gets when he's disagreeing with something.

When Billy shows him his room, because he can't say no to Harrington's stupid dimples and crooked smile, he's so ashamed.

The ashtray is overflowing, Shauna Grant's eyes seem to judge him and his room just seems so gray and bleak. Harrington doesn't seem to mind. Studies the dart board and the book on the nightstand and then turns around to grin at Billy.

"Open your gift!" Harrington pushes the box in Billy's hand.

Billy has opened a gift before. He thinks. Or at least, he has seen Max opening hers. He tries to tear the wrapping paper. One fish still loses a fin.

Concert tickets. For Mötley Crüe playing in Chicago. In November.

"I'm coming with you." Harrington sounds weirdly enthusiatistic. "If you want me to."

Which means that he wants to hang out with Billy after graduation. After he should go fuck off getting a business degree and marrying a girl that can give him six freaking kids.

It's too much. Not only the tickets, but that Harrington is wanting to continue ... whatever this is. Harrington wanting them to go to Chicago. On a whole trip. To go see one of Billy's favourite bands.

"You... hate Mötley Crüe."

"I like Live Wire."

Which is the first song Billy ever made Harrington sit through, after they shared a smoke, still dizzy from the orgasm. It makes Billy's chest hurt.

"Don't you like it?" Harrington's brown eyes get huge. Like when Billy really has to leave because Neil expects him to mow the lawn or some shit and Steve asks for another quickie.

But Harrington isn't asking for sex right now. Or is he?

"I do," Billy admits. He likes it too much. The gift, the warm feeling inside him, Steve. "Thanks?"

Well. He's got to pay him back somehow, doesn't he? His hands are on Steve's belt, but Steve just takes them, intertwining their fingers.

"It's a gift," Steve says, slowly.

"Your huge dick is a gift," Billy mumbles, ignoring the burn of his cheeks and trying not not stare at Steve's pink lips.

Steve winks at him.

"You'll get that later. Now I'm hungry," he says, pressing a kiss on Billy's lips. Casually. As if that's a thing they do. Kiss a little, cuddle, like they are something.

Billy warms him another microwave dinner. Which tastes awesome now, somehow. Like a Michelin prized meal. His heart is racing the whole time and he feels drunk and sober at once.

He watches Steve chewing, cheeks stuffed full and radiating warmth and happiness. Which seems like a gift, too. This is the best birthday...maybe in forever.

@harringroveweek

[unhetalia]

well. I guess it depends on what relationship head canons you have for ukus if they ever truly got together?

I had to think about this (nap) because I realised just how LITTLE established relationship UKUS I've actually consumed. I think I've read a lot more established RusAme than established UKUS. Maybe because I'm incredibly picky about the latter dynamic? Anyway - because I haven't read a lot of it, I had to think really hard about what it would look like.

I personally don't think there would be obvious differences between Arthur-and-Alfred-as-friends and Arthur-and-Alfred-as-lovers, but that still means talking about how I see Arthur and Alfred as friends.

As friends, banter is a huge part of Alfred and Arthur's dynamic. A long time ago, there was probably real bitterness in their jabs. Over time, it becomes a softer thing. (One of the songs I associate with UKUS is "So American" by Olivia Rodrigo, because I absolutely believe that's one of the things Arthur always says to Alfred - "you're so American", smirking or laughing, no sharpness or rebuke in his words.)

Arthur grew up with a lot of siblings and he's quick witted - but Alfred has amazing memory and can bring up anything anyone has done that he's witnessed, and is really good at knowing exactly what someone finds embarrassing or infuriating. They have fun riling each other up - this is what leads to them trying to scare each other silly every Halloween.

As a couple, this doesn't change. (It works for them, especially since both of them have a hard time expressing themselves sincerely.) The importance of this aspect of their dynamic is the fact that Alfred doesn't get offended by any of Arthur's comments - not the stuff about himself, or his dry, unimpressed observations about everything around him. He finds it funny, and Arthur thrives on that. Arthur has suffered a lot from being tied to people who found him wanting in some way, but Alfred is one of the few people who actively enjoys and seeks out Arthur's company and doesn't seem to find him wanting in some way.

The second thing is they have a good balance of things they enjoy doing together, and things they're dragging each other to. Alfred enjoys a lot of British media and food (once again, something that's more important to Arthur than he can say). Arthur enjoys McDonald's, and doesn't mind eating there when Alfred gets a craving. But Arthur doesn't enjoy the wilderness in the way Alfred does - is a bit ... discomfited at how there's huge swathes of American land that are completely wild. Alfred drags him to these places, for hiking and camping, and Arthur re-discovers a part of himself that he'd lost in England's industrialisation. Meanwhile, Arthur really pushes Alfred to appreciate the depth of English and European history. It allows for both comfort and growth in their relationship.

The third thing - Alfred is high energy, and so curious about the world. I absolutely believe Alfred has a few doctorates under his belt and invents and fixes things in his spare time. While I don't see Alfred working for the government, I can sometimes see him working for NASA. He's constantly tinkering or jotting things down. He's actually incredibly cerebral.

Arthur is physical. He never stopped sword fighting, and practices martial arts. He runs, and goes to the gym, does boxing (I've mentioned these things in my headcanon about England's appearance before). But when he's not doing those things, he does things that quiet his mind. He crochets or knits. Something repetitive and soothing. Meditative.

They can sit for hours in the same room, Arthur knitting while Alfred has blueprints spread over their coffee table. And its peaceful, and you don't think it even matters if the other person is there or not, but Arthur has to go to London for a week to sort something out and Alfred can't get anything done at home and has to go to the office every day.

HAVE I EVEN SAID ANYTHING IN THIS ASK. Basically Alfred and Arthur after having sex is incredibly similar to them before having sex. The act of sex changes everything and nothing all at once. But their relationship is a lot of being able to feel appreciated where you never felt appreciated before, a lot of being able to do things together that you love, and doing things together that you hate but somehow still helps you grow as a person, and also being able to do nothing together.

[lovolee3]

Black tea

First time EVER writing. Please be nice.

gn!reader x Canon!Lev

Warnings: none (maybe be afraid of grammatical and spelling errors)

genre: fluff, canonverse

Words: 503 shitty summary: You help Levi with his paperwork and you both don’t really share the same taste, when it comes to beverages.

tags: @his-sweet-muse You never really liked black tea. It was bitter and you preferred sweet things. Not even the sugary cookies you sometimes got from that cute little bakery not far from the town square could even out the bitter taste of the black tea he always offered you. It had become a habit to help your Captain with some paperwork. You were good with that. Paperwork and numbers. You did it before you joined his squad, when you were still an instructor and your uniform had the crossed swords on your back, not the wings of freedom. You were also good at hiding your feelings, so you didn’t flinch, when you tasted the tea the first time, sitting across from him.  Levi and you worked in silence most of the time, the only sound were the quills flying over paper. By the time you finished today, the moon was already up. Your cup was empty and you were about to leave his office with it, to clean it and put it back in its place in the kitchen, when he called your name. “Yes, sir?” smiling slightly, you turn to look at him. Levi was still sitting at his desk, the dark, huge thing making him look even smaller than he was. You thought it was kinda cute. “You don’t like it.” he simply states, face emotionless as usual. “Hm?”, your head tilts slighty to the side, when you hear his words. You don’t really get, what he’s talking about. Then his eyes fall on the cup.  “The tea. You don’t like it.” Are you imagining it or does he sound a little hurt? “Uhm...”, you feel the heat rising in your face, on your cheeks and are grateful for the lamplight, that’s not bright enough for him to make him see. “Well....” you start, but he speaks over you. “Could’ve simply told me. Wouldn’t have wasted good tea on someone who can’t appreciate it.”. He does sound a little annoyed. And...guilty? You can’t fully pinpoint it and just nod. He wishes you Goodnight and obviously you are excused. So you turn around again, but hesitate, before your hand presses down on the brass handle. “It’s true, I dont like the tea...” you say. Your voice is calm, like most of the times. Something he likes about you, he admitted to himself some time ago. “I don’t like bitter things in general...” Bitter like me comes to his mind. His eyes are on the paper in front of him, not on you. But he can hear the slight smile on your lips when you continue. “But...I really do appreciate you alway carefully prepare it just for me. That’s very sweet. So I don’t mind drinking something bitter for a change. Goodnight, Captain.”, you finish softly. Levi doesn’t look up from his paper, until he hears the soft clank of his office door and your retreating steps. He is grateful the lamplight wasn’t bright enough to make his flaming cheeks and ears visible to you.

[letters-from-dekarios]

[Roux is a human thief who worked for the Guild. He is cold and impersonal on the outside but very affectionate when he likes someone. He romanced Gale but didn't accept the proposal because he had his own stuff to figure out. The letter is written in a scratchy hand, with ink smears and crossed-out letters indicating that it was written rather hastily]

Dearest Gale,

I hope you're doing well. Professorship suits you, I think. I never got to go to school but in my entirely unbiased opinion you make an amazing teacher. I hope you can actually read this, since I know my writing isn't exactly up to snuff, but if you can't then I'm sure you'll spare my feelings somehow.

Baldur's Gate is as busy as ever, although being a hero certainly has its perks. It's weird- people buy me drinks and stuff, now. People know my name and they respect it. Important people want to talk to me, and want my help making decisions.

I don't know if I like it all the time.

Not to be bitter, but must of these nobles would've spit on me a year ago, and the only reason they'll listen to a street rat is because I saved their sorry arses. Oh well, at least I can help some people while I'm at it. Wyll says hello, by the way, but he already writes to you enough, so I'm sure you know that.

I do wonder about your tower, sometimes. Everything you told me made it seem apart from the world, in some pocket of peace that all the chaos couldn't touch. I'd welcome some peace, I think.

I spent my whole life being a sticky-fingered kid, stealing to get by, but you made me feel like more than that. You treated me like a person- a person that mattered.

I'm not good at letters. I know I've been dancing around it for a while, and it only took me so long to write because I was putting it off. I'm sorry about that. But... I still love you. That never went away. I miss having you tell me about anything and everything and nothing at all. I miss having someone hold my hand.

I won't say that I regret my decision- because that would be a lie and I'm trying not to lie so much these days. I needed a little while to figure out who I am what I want.

And... Well, what I want is you. I need you. I need peace. I need to stay in one place, for a while. I understand if our leaving left a sour taste in your mouth. If you want nothing to do with me I won't push you. But if you do want me... Well, I don't own much in the way of material possessions. It wouldn't be that hard to move to Waterdeep.

-Yours, Roux

Dearest Roux,

I am glad to hear from you! It has been awfully too long since we last spoke. At times, I find myself missing the presence you held when we’d camp together. Though I do prefer not having a tadpole to worry of.

Blackstaff is treating me rather well! Though that is no surprise to even the most knowledgeable man. I have taken a quick liking to my work and as most would say, “fit right in”. I walk the halls with the reminder of my history here, and it brings me comfort to remember that I was once much like the very students I teach today. This is about the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced, second only to saving Faerûn.

Baldur’s Gate hasn’t known an ounce of calm peace in decades. But, regardless, they try and feign normalcy after an event as huge as we had conquered. Being a “hero” of sorts is never easy to get used to. I feel as though one can only continue chasing that feeling of “more” as though you must continue with your acts of service to consider yourself worthy of the praise being received.

Nobles spit on anyone they consider lower than they. They’ll even spit on other nobles if given the chance. The opinions they hold in the grand scheme of things should, in all reality, mean nothing. But I do understand the point you draw. It’s an odd experience to have people who’d kill you now kill for you. One does not simply “adjust” to that.

Your words bring a sadness to my heart. The backgrounds of us all were much to be contested with. Look at the likes of Astarion, or Karlach, for example. You, out of all of us, certainly mattered. Without you, I’m sure the rest of us would have either died or been sent back to the hells we came from. I’m sure I would’ve exploded in the midst of the Weave and my memory would’ve long faded without you. I couldn’t be more grateful for your existence and your kindness.

Roux… I have not the words I need to reply to you. What I can say, however, is this; I never stopped loving you. Through it all, I still find myself aching for your presence beside me. I am not mad at you for leaving, I would be a selfish bastard to be angry with you for that. And, quite frankly, I’ve tried to swear off being a selfish bastard after my last consequences.

I cannot blame you for needing time. For needing space. After saving all of Faerûn, it’s only reasonable to need time to understand where you’re at and who you’ve become. It is not within my rights to hold any kind of a grudge after all you’ve done for me. I would wait decades for you, Roux. I would curse the gods for immortality if it meant I’d have you at the end of it all. I would devote my dying breath to your highest altar just to have a glimpse of what could have been.

Perhaps that is idiotic of me. Perhaps you will be thinking I shouldn’t hold onto such a thing for that long. I cannot deny the inclinations of my heart, I never have been able to do that. I cannot tie my heart to yours and cut it off so easily. I am not capable of such an act.

Whatever you have to give, whatever you want to give, all of it will be more than enough. Your association at my side is more than I could ever need in this lifetime and the next. If I am to be reincarnated after death, I shall find you then too. You are all I have ever wanted and all I will ever desire. With you, my breath catches and my heart swells with joy. I have never met a person so comfortable to be around.

You, Roux, will always have a space within my home, my mind, and most especially my heart. Whatever you need, whatever your desire, I shall fulfill it to the best of my ability. However you are, however you come, I will take you in. You are most here in Waterdeep.

And, if it happens to sweeten the deal, Tara misses you, too. My mother has even offered to bake some sweets for your arrival if you do so choose to return here.

I would be more than happy to have you here, Roux. I am not a man who tends to lie on matters of such grave importance, you know that. Write me when you have started your journey to Waterdeep, if you are still interested in coming here, that way I have some time to prepare for your arrival.

Yours in every lifetime,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

[katheriensapple]

Soo, I guess I have a TAWOG AU now

Still learning how tumblr works so i'm probably breaking like a thousand rules of tumblr etiquette or whatever. But fuck it, i'm currently obsessed with TAWOG and all its fucking terrifying lore (the void, the missing characters, Rob, etc).

I just write a fic that takes place in an AU in where Gumball (of all people) is fully aware of the nature and fate of his world and super bitter about it. I love how it gave me the opportunity to explore the mind of a borderline sociopath with a huge ego but also an abuse history and depressing thought process.

sooo, there some of thoughts about this Gumball.

Diagnosed with CD (conduct disorder) but really full blown ASPD.

He hates TV's, radios and anything that has any form of static. But is, in fact, pretty good fixing and rewiring TV's when needed, and has a huge deal of training in hardware operation. Usually the first detecting signal problems or interferences.

He's willing to sit down and watch TV with Darwin, but won't do it out of free will.

Doesn't like studying for principle, but is pretty good at hearing or detecting crucial but completly random details and memorizing them. This advanced or educated vocabulary can make people think he knows more of a subject than he really knows.

A professional bullshitter. Good at telling lies and remembering them. Can ocasionally gaslight Darwin or Penny to make them accept and tell different versions of certain events.

Biromantic with preference for boys, may be ace but too young to know.

Demiboy/Bidemigender.

Has a really unclear/foggy vision of gender/gender identity. Those problems are probably related to trauma but he refuse to work on them. Uses he/him pronouns in person but any pronouns on internet. He try to not think to much of it.

Has the unexplicable skill to know when he's 'acting for an episode' or when 'the cameras are on', so his behavior can vary from a moment to another without any explanation.

Sometimes he is forced to remember himself that he's the main character of a 'for children of 7 or older' cartoon and has to tune it down. His secret wish is to be on Adult Swim. He's angry at the world for take away his 'stabbing previleges' and want them back.

Physically imprudent and without any self-preservation instinct.

He's in love with Rob and has no problem admitting so, the problem is that, for him, love and hate are basically the same.

Extremely possessive with his loved ones.

Usually don't like to describe his feelings as love or, for the contrary, uses the word carelessly or even with strangers. Almost always confused about it.

Not heartless, but yes shameless and ruthless and respectless. Violent, but not always.

Little to no emotional empathy and a huge deal of cognitive empathy.

His only consistent prosocial behavior is trying to no harm his friends or family.

"Rules are no more than pretty dumb suggestions that I ocassionally follow 'cause i don't have ODD". (being ODD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, other disorder he just read about in a DMS-V copy he stole from his psychiatrist).

Not in treament anymore because it's pretty useless for him. He has learned to behave in a socially accepted way for most of the time.

Try to do morally good things only for Darwin's sake.

Recognizes himself as an 'unkind creature' or as evil by nature. In some ways try to keep people (specially Rob) away because he knows he will hurt them eventually if them get too close. This is the main cause of his lying and pretending.

Emotionally shallow, superficial, but sad and angry to the core. His emotional outbursts tend to be brief, intense in some way but utterly infected with a persisting layer of numbness. He recovers from them rather quickly and returns to a normal, calm state for the rest of the day.

Doesn't care about the 90% of people he knows. Very fond of his family and some of his friends, however.

[whumpshaped]

My new years resolution this year is to actually start writing my own stuff instead of just tossing prompts at you to see what you do with em.

With that in mind, do you think you could give me feedback on this trope? You're free to write something based off it as well, of course, and I'll definitely eat that shit up, but maybe just looking for feedback with get the gears going to produce something.

Thinking about characters A + B. They grow up together, the closest of friends. They do great things together, they create a legacy. But as time goes on, fame and fortune does something odd to character A. They become twisted, something quite unlike how they once were, some horrible thing eating them, mind and body and soul. This virus that eats at them begins to then eat at the ever present character B as well, who is faced with the awful decision of still supporting their friend and continuing this legacy, or separating themselves away even if the emotional attachment they have is more like an artery, and cutting it may feel fatal to them.

~𐂂

(Happy New Year, hope it's treating you well thus far! Sorry for always living in your inbox, lol)

BANGER new years resolution, 100% support!!!!! also please never apologise for living in my inbox. i have blankets and snacks here for a reason /j

it got long so putting it under a cut

ABOUT THE PROMPT...... AMAZING. first of all i always love life long friends being tested by fate. because theres so many things that can end/ruin a friendship! it can just be time, people changing, interests shifting and not aligning anymore, but it can be big arguments and big angst!!! and it's HORRID, it's like a breakup!

and because you were lifelong friends everyone is asking about it. B only ever appeared with A and vice versa, and now that they do their own stuff more and more often, everyone is staring and asking "wheres A?" and B just has to grit their teeth and be like "i dont know! im not their handler :)" and they try to make it sound like a joke but it comes out a little bitter.

people are looking at A and B's friendship and forming all these parasocial thoughts about them too. people think its the best friendship. most ideal. will last forever. they place both of them on a pedestal. they might not even realise how A is changing, or they might willfully ignore it because they also grew up with this friendship in a way, they grew up always seeing A and B together and they grew up seeing the two of them do great things.

and some people very much realise that A is changing. sometimes A is alone and does cruel things, and people wish B was there to stop them. why isnt B there? whats going on? but then sometimes B is there, and people see them turn a blind eye, people see B trying to intervene only half heartedly, and they dont understand. does B condone this? and B knows that A's change in behaviour reflects on them poorly, but what are they supposed to do? sever all ties with them? get into huge arguments in the middle of the street? theyre best friends. ..or they used to be. theyre best friends only in name anymore, only because B doesnt know what else to call their relationship, only because theyve never had to call it anything else for the past 30 years.

its uncharted territory, a life without A. its terrifying.

and if B does sever the ties, theyll have to learn to live without A. theyve never had to do that. they have to leave their legacy behind because its tied to A so closely, and now its tainted, and they cant bear to be recognised for it — but its not their choice. theyll forever be "A's best friend". a title once loving but now uttered with disgust because of A's actions. some people even detest them for severing ties, they think B shouldve stayed and helped A. how will A find their way back to being a good person now? without guidance? yet other people detest B for staying even as long as they had.

honestly, B probably changed a lot along with A while they stayed. they mightve tried to go along w it and act the same way, trying to repress the visceral disgust at their own actions. now theyre trying to make amends.

B has to start again. build their life from the ground up. leave the legacy behind. leave the memories behind. make new friends, create new memories, create a new legacy. will it corrupt their next best friend too? will it corrupt them this time? maybe a legacy is useless. maybe new friends are useless. maybe they should live as a recluse, with all the trust issues and social anxiety they now have.

and what about A? did they stop seeing B as a friend a while ago? are they just using B as a prop? are they just dragging B around everywhere because theyre getting increasingly suspicious that B might want to sever ties and leave?

or does it come entirely out of left field? because of course why would anyone want to leave them, theyre A, theyre awesome and perfect, theyre great. people would give an arm and a leg to be their friend.

does A resent B for displaying more morality? does A think its dumb? i imagine A constantly goes on these unhinged rants abt how heroes dont NEED morality, and theyre heroes now! theyre almost gods with that legacy theyre leaving behind.

when B tries to end the friendship quietly and sneak off, A latches on, sinks their claws in deeper. no one fucking leaves them. not on their watch. if it turns into a loud argument, A could get manipulative, blackmail B, say all the things thatd hurt them most because they have 30 years of data and information. or they might sever ties first before B has a chance, so they feel like the choice was theirs to make. but honestly they go through much the same experience. they snap at everyone who asks about B. theyre alone. theyre lonely. they get so much crueller.

eventually they cant refer back to the legacy anymore. no one cares. theyve changed too much. theyre barely the same person. its not their legacy anymore.

happy new year :)

[yutopia-eleftheria]

Shehroz Peony Rose & Ewan Draggoun Headcanons

I decided to do some sketches, and at the same time headcanons for them, since it was Shehroz's birthday on September 26th in my AU. Also Ewan is my cousin and it is his Pokémon Sword OC (and his birthday is on September 25th), and when the game came out, we created some scenarios with his OC and the chairman.7 (and we had so much fun doing it !)♥

Almost 5 years after the game's release, I finally decided to draw some of the moments and talk about the story we created, in the form of headcanons.

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Some sketches :

From painful and sad to funny sketches ! (Yeah we had all kinds of stories and emotions in this)

Sketch 1 :

When Ethernatos (Eternatus) broke out from his shell, it actually created some sort of slight explosions of its "needles", and Shehroz was actually hit by 3 of them, but he didn't notice as it doesn't hurt instantly.

He turned himself in after the whole incident, and he got to jail literally for a day, as he was charged for doing works for Galar, just like Liv Oleana.

3 days after the incident, when he was heading back to Rose Tower alongside the young man to see about the infamous battle tower led by Tarak Landon (Leon), Shehroz felt dizzy and suddenly collapsed.

That's where they noticed the poisonous needles on his body. They had to act quickly otherwise that would led him to his demise.

Ewan managed to take them all out with the help of Tarak and Sonya, but it was more and more painful as each was taken away. Which is why he was bleeding a little from his mouth and nose.

Sketch 2 :

He stayed unconscious for a few days and was constantly checked by everyone. Ewan eventually told Liv about what happened (and Shehroz was like : "Why did you tell her ?..." when he was awake.)

Oh ! And also : he doesn't remember anything about what happened as a side effect.

Even though his "coma state" only lasted a few days, he was still too weak to do anything, so he had to stay in bed for around 2 more weeks before fully healing.

Such a thing happening all of a sudden made Ewan realized that he needs to live his life to its fullest, because you never know when you could possibly leave this World...

Shehroz is so thankful to Ewan that he is like giving him everything he can, and helps him out with everything.

Sketch 3 :

Their relationship is getting better and better as time goes by. And Ewan is actually protective over Shehroz as well.

Ewan became a member of Macro Cosmos. He is considered the third biggest figure of the brand.

Sometimes it's Ewan that accompanies Shehroz around, so someone could stay at the tower to work. He and Liv exchanged their places from time to time.

Ewan is not afraid to be rude if someone insults Shehroz (as you can see above).

Sketch 4 :

As much as Ewan cares about Shehroz and is usually gentle to him, he also LOVES to tease him.

He likes to tell jokes to him, teasing, as well as trying to scare him from behind.

Yeah he is dressed all classy and all (he followed Shehroz's dress code I guess), but he is a prankster to his boss.

Sketch 5 :

Ewan knows very well that Shehroz and Liv love each other.

He fully supports them and even wants them to confess already ! (as they already lost enough time and moments together in his opinion).

His mission ends up being a success as they will become official.

Ewan actually has a huge crush on Sonya, but is too afraid to confess.

Shehroz tries his best to convince Ewan to just go ahead as she is very close to Tarak.

Unfortunately for him, Ewan took too much time and lost her, as she is now officially with Tarak.

He is still very happy for his boss nonetheless, but still very bitter that Sonya is with Tarak.

He tries to comfort himself by looking at pictures of her (see above), but Shehroz doesn't think that it's a good idea to cope.

Eternal Rose :

At some point, Ethernatos' power suddenly triggered out of nowhere and Shehroz lost control and became agressive. The first sign was his eyes turning bright pink.

Ewan had to fight for his life that time. Quickly realizing that, he took out his coat and fought back.

Shehroz managed to take him down and was about to finish him off (as seen above), but Liv had to act otherwise Ewan would have been dead, and Liv didn't wanted Shehroz to have blood on his hands on top of that (although he would not remember it).

This act allows Ewan to subdue Shehroz and calm down Ethernatos's fury until the transformation was off.

Thanks to that, Shehroz will not transform randomly for no reason, however, when he is VERY angry, it's gonna take over.

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BONUS !

Old Sketches I did before having my tablet (2020) :

Back when I was still able to use pens and markers well ...

Sketch 1 :

As mentioned before, Ewan LOVES to tease his boss. When he asks if he was over 40, he answered no (he's 37 in my Headcanon).

Despite this fact being true, Ewan calls him an "old 40 years old man".

Shehroz doesn't like that at all, and he keeps telling him how he would then call older people like Kabu, Sally Opal or Mustar.

Sketch 2 :

If Shehroz is angry, Ethernatos will start to appear slowly, starting with the eyes.

He will also grow sharp teeth as well.

After what happened the first time, Ewan is very cautious.

If he sees Shehroz starting to turn, he will calm down because otherwise, this could end badly for the young man.

If Ewan tease Shehroz, Shehroz will tease him back.

The best example was Sonya, and boy does he love seeing him angry.

He founds it funny (unlike Liv who is terrifying).

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So yeah ; those 2 can be REALLY silly and we had a lot of fun creating these stories back then. Love you cousin ♥ (How are you 16 already ?!...)

[megamanrecut]

I was rereading season 1, which has been very fun, lots of details that stand out more with more context, but there's this one bit with Proto man that shows up more than once that's interesting.

In the first episode, Proto man tells Mega man that "Doc never got around to naming [him]... Too busy with his other inventions." Which is followed up a little during the Mega Pinocchio episode, with Proto man saying he's always been Proto (although not actually saying Dr. Light named him that, which turns out to be true), and when Mega man comments on that sounding a little cold, comments that Dr. Light is "Oblivious to details... I like Proto. It's better than Paaasd or something" (which lol)

Now that I've read the season 0 episode, it caught my eye that the name thing doesn't really get talked about there! Proto names himself very quickly, with no thought or fanfare behind it. Very fitting, but paired with the season 1 lines, I'm trying to puzzle out the incongruity of it (Proto you lying bastard why can't you be easier to understand!!!)

On one hand, if the subtle but present implication that Proto might feel bitter about his name is a retcon, it's one that I wouldn't have spotted if I hadn't reread season 0 recently. It's also just as likely that I'm reading into a set of lines that were just meant to be snarky, he definitely does that a lot too lol.

But I am curious if there's some level of truth to that sort of bitter undertone that I thought was implied! Proto man is a difficult character to understand, especially in season 1, and in general when trying to understand his feelings towards Dr. Light. Their relationship is so interesting to me, so sorry if I really did just read way too deep into it haha!

There was a slight perhaps retcon! (sorry this took awhile, limited internet access atm, also this is long/rambly lol)

I wrote season 0 waaay after season 1 (between Master of Disaster Part 2 and 3 to be exact) and in original s0 drafts, the naming thing didn’t happen as early, but when I finally began editing it that seemed unnecessarily weird/creepy for Dr. Light. So, instead the name thing came up on Proto’s activation day. Some of the emphasis around Proto’s name in S1 (particularly E1) was for dramatic irony.

So for character analysis:

Outside of that, still same deal with Dr. Light/Proto, just more focused on char divisions over specific, resolvable drama. The whole dynamic between Dr. Light and Proto has always been strained at best to total estrangement at its core, and sometimes painful to write. Dr. Light was never really in the wrong, Proto just developed into his own person that wanted nothing to do with ‘domestic human life’ or to have any type of authority figure. Its a huge philosophical difference, but its also a son who feels smothered and hopeless rejecting his loving father who tried his best to understand but could never make it work in time. That dynamic still exists, unsolved, in the good!Proto AUs (Master of Disaster Part 3, Become the Night)

Still, Proto isn’t really bitter by Dr. Light’s actions per se, he was just bitter about living under his roof where he was bored and under stimulated. Even Mega was surprised by this at first. In Mega-Pinocchio he was expecting a specific drama lead to Proto’s defection then was surprised when Proto also denied that Dr. Light really did anything wrong, and even reassured the naming thing didn’t bother him (I had already written the ‘naming’ scene in season 0, which remained unchanged, just happened earlier) It wasn’t until Future Shock when he began understanding Proto a little.

Either way tho, Proto wasn’t really bitter about his name (at least there was never intended bitter subtext there, but can be interpreted however!) I think in a way even if Dr. Light *had* given him a name (like Blues?) he would have been quick to drop that when he became Proto Man (kinda like how he thinks ‘Break Man’ is cringy in Become the Night or how Elec Man calling him ‘Light’ drives him nuts). He doesn’t really like the connection, and would prefer to have no name or a generic one over one picked for him by Dr. Light.

[ferahntics]

Your charcadet headcanons are so adorable!! What about their evolutions? Do you think their personalities change depending on what they evolve into? Also, if you had to choose one, which one is your favorite? Ceruledge has my heart, personally.

Late but I'm so glad you like them!!! I've been thinking about these for a while, so don't worry, this ask has been in the back of my mind for a while, I just wanted to actually come up with interesting ideas c:

Charcadet headcanons here!

Short answer: yes there are some slight differences! Like with age as you grow and mature, same with Pokemon as they evolve, some changes more noticeable than others. Although they retain most traits from their Charcadet days, there are some distinguishable things~

Long answer under the cut!

For both, its true that they are fiercely protective. Armarouge tend to be much more obvious in wanting to protect their trainers, often times leading to reckless charging into danger and will put themselves between their trainer and whatever threat looms. However if they seem to be losing, or they know they can't take it, they can just throw their trainer over shoulder and bolt for it. They have reached that much maturity and are able to tell when they can take something and when it's best to back off.

Ceruledge are more... passive, shall we say. They tend to stick back and have just a smidge more control, usually thinking before acting. Instead, they tend to sit back and just seethe, glaring daggers and making sure they are being watched on by one violent hawk. The slightest movement from whatever they're suspicious of is enough to get a hiss from their flames heating up, ready to strike at a heartbeat. It's. Quite concerning, admittedly.

Armarouge are more emotionally oriented, sometimes a little too much, and can lead to very not-good decisions. Although most mature after evolving, some of them let their emotions go wild even afterwards. They want the best for their trainers and will go the distance for it - and much like Charcadet, they sometimes overestimate their limits and can burn themselves out, flames dulling and betraying their health.

Ceruledge tend to have much better control over their emotions, and usually make the more level-headed decisions. They're equally ready to do anything for those they care about, but are much more careful about where their limits actually lie. They may be more on the reserved side, too. After evolving, they may distance themselves from affection a tad bit - not because they don't want it, but because they fear of letting their guards down and risking some form of ambush.

For Armarouge: after using Armor Cannon, they might struggle with a little bit of arm pain, shoulder and elbow joints, from the recoil of the blast. It’s best they take it easy the next few fights as to not risk any major injuries. Also, using it in a close proximity can be dangerous and unless they have the Flash Fire ability, will damage themselves!

For Ceruledge: using Bitter Blade increases the heat of their body to a pretty dangerous amount and will need a while to cool off. And as the ability states, it does force it to channel some nasty memories - so they can be more touchy afterwards after reliving those, so its best to either leave them alone for a bit, or if you’re more familiar with them, try to keep them grounded. This hugely depends on what kind of relationship the trainer and Ceruledge have.

In terms of affection, they both still very much crave it. Armarouge are more open and love to receive it as much as they love to give it - they can afford to do so. Ceruledge may start off as not wanting it, mostly because it takes them a while to learn they can actually control the flame blades and tune them out (like Chimchar with its fire) - once they figure that out, they allow simple headpats and quick hugs. Not quite as clingy as Armarouge, but they certainly enjoy it more than they show it.

Both still very much crave that sense of protection and safety their trainer can provide them as well. Like before evolution, it's an act of kindness that will never be forgotten by either of the two species.

TLDR: Armarouge is extrovert, Ceruledge is introvert. (I'm joking, but I mean xD)

EDIT: OUGH I didnt answer the question - I love and adore both, honestly, they’re on a very dangerously close tie x-x I love Ceruledge but Armarouge is also hnnnng I cant pick, so I use both on my team JKSDHG

Also added a few more ideas!!

[woundlingus]

can i ask why you hate wayward sisters?

First and foremost, because I know a lot of people feel this way about wayward sisters, it’s got nothing to do with a general disinterest in seeing a woman led cast in the supernatural universe, believing that there cannot be a Supernatural without Sam&Dean, and nothing to do with not wanting success for the girls and the pilot.

I was really excited when they first announced it because I was a huge fan of Jody and Donna and their gaggle of hunter girls, personally my favourite was Alex- maybe because she’s a little Sam coded with wanting to go to medical school and be normal and I’m just really captivated by her origin story as vampire bait. The bitterness came later when it was all for nothing because it never got picked up, behind closed doors it was likely already slammed down by The CW because we know from interviews the president has said he doesn’t think people would care about a show without Sam and Dean, and then to add insult to injury they aired one more wayward sisters relevant episode after the fact.

Most people think of wayward sisters as that one episode, the true pilot episode but that’s not really the case,

You have Patience; where they kill off a very beloved season one character, Missouri, for the character development of a character who would never be relevant again which is both a waste and lazy writing because why should I care about Patience grieving when I don’t even know her? There’s nothing driving a connection here between me and this character other than a one hit wonder from the early days and then they just kill the only interesting thing about the girl before it has time to blossom into something better and tragic.

Then it’s The Bad Place; which is the introduction to Kaia- because every girl we don’t know need their own episode apparently. We didn’t know Sam and Dean and yet they made a perfectly captivating pilot episode where it explored them enough as characters to make them interesting right then and there… but I digress. This is Episode NINE, and Jack only now makes his return to the screen because he’s relevant to move the plot of a different show along. And again, like Patience I just don’t care about Kaia’s struggles because I do not know her as a character, they’ve just thrown her at the audience already laid bare as if that’s meant to make her interesting when it’s made her so flat with no intrigue.

THEN, it’s Wayward Sisters. I just hate the premise of this being an AU thing, like the girls have to go away lest whatever insane bullshit the writers want to throw at them is going to conflict with the world ending drama of the Winchesters. There is nothing particularly interesting about the bad place, it’s an empty forest and sometimes there’s spooky noises in the background, it’s just purgatory with a different colour filter.

Then it fails, and then it’s ANOTHER WAYWARD SISTERS EPISODE! It’s Donna and her niece who never became plot relevant enough for anyone to remember she’s supposed to be in the gang! At least this one is fun because Sam is going to get sold on the black market I guess?

This was the mid season finale in a show that is very clearly entering its last stages of life. They used nearly the entire front half of season 13 to pitch a show that never happened. Could you imagine the kinds of interesting things that could’ve happened in all that time? Maybe something relevant to Jack, or Mary, since those are two characters I want to like very badly and I just can’t sometimes because they weren’t very interesting in season 13. Because they didn’t get a chance to be before they were thrown away. Jack is the big plot, he’s there, then they throw him away, then they bring him back for another show and use that show to throw him away again.

Also, honestly? I don’t really like the girls, but not how you think. It’s nothing to do with being a woman hater, I know it sounds like that when there’s absolutely nothing interesting about some of the male characters I like (*cough* Asmodeus and Loki *cough*) and yet I’ll make huge elaborate headcanons and adore them, but it’s the being a woman myself that makes them harder to stand. A guy being a loser? Whatever. Those women being characterised as motherly angel saints who have a gentle and tender blooming WLW relationships and they’ll coyly hold hands and be chaste lovers, but don’t forget they’re GirlBosses, and they all dress in flannel because they’re just so super tough! But also they all have to wear a full face of makeup to fight vampires! It’s different, because I’m watching that and I know there’s not a hint of irony in it and the writers have written them like that not because they’re being lazy or they’re hacks, but because that’s how they actually see women, that’s what they think women want to see. When a guy character sucks he just sucks, when a woman sucks I can see the misogyny that went into writing her and I don’t want to look. Jody and Donna are Sam and Dean’s peers and I think maybe even younger than them and yet they’re motherly and tender through the horrors. Claire hasn’t had a moment of peace since she was like five years old where she was possessed by an angel who knew her mind couldn’t comprehend consent and used her to kill people, then took her father again and tore her family apart, and then they just take all the teeth out of her bite and make her snappy and quick witted instead because there always needs to be plausible deniability about whether or not a character might dislike the Winchesters because they’re just the specialist little boys ever! It’s the potential that upsets me, it’s that we could’ve really had a female led hunting show and it failed from the jump because they were not writing interesting and complex characters, it’s the same grief I have with Mary that they’ve taken all the complexities about being a hunter and the horrors of what you have to do to survive and they’ve taken the teeth out of these women to make them flatter and more placid characters out of I guess fear of upsetting the male characters? Fear of letting a woman take up space and be loud? It’s not like they can’t be those things and also interesting, Jo and Ellen were interesting, the writers here just don’t care for the women and their relationships they’re writing, they’re just throwing shit at paper and hoping to make bank off women.

It wasn’t one episode and I’m kinda just bitter, it was four episodes about people we never really see again in a season filled with a LOT of things that were insanely interesting to me if my entire blog doesn’t give that away, I’m a little crazed about s13. It was just a massive waste to think about the characterisation time and plot development and relationship building that could’ve been done for characters that actually mattered this season, especially when this is the one where they’re actually going to have Michael V Lucifer. You’d think that would be a bigger deal than it was.

In a season filled with so much already, they dedicated four episodes to a show that doesn’t exist, and the vast majority of plots in the main storyline suffered for it by being incomplete, jarring, or lacklustre.

At least Jensen had the balls to make The Winchesters stand on its own two feet, I guess I have to give him respect for that. Could you imagine if the finale to the show was his back door pilot?

[christlois]

//I just wanted to say, back in my Black Butler days (Which was WAY back like 2009-2019) I used to be a HUGE fan of Ash/Angela in particular, they were my first muse and for that, they still hold an EXTREMELY special place in my heart and sometimes I honestly kinda wanna go back to writing them lol //They were my favourite chracter, and Alois is/was a close second, I wrote cringey fanfic, had based and created a whole OC off a kinda "Combination" of them who I still use today, and also RPed him for a time back on a few ancient forums and Google+ when that was a thing still (I'm ancient lmao) //but overall the former ESPECIALLY barely had ever gotten any content - especially good, genuine content made from love rather than half spite "Look at this asshole" - and putting aside my surprise that the Black Butler fandom is still alive and kicking, i just stumbled across your blog and while I'm not sure entirely what Christlois is about (Please do feel free to give an explanation!) I just wanna say, a combination of my favourite things from my Black Butler days: Being Ash/Angela, Alois, THAT SEASON ONE AND TWO GET SOME ATTENTION, SERIOUSLY THEYRE STILL SO FUCKING GOOD!!!! ill be honest the direction it took with season three onwards kinda was a part of why i fell out of love with the series and just the existence of catholicism/priest aesthetics as a whole lmao) //For the longest time the memory of the Black Butler fandom had left a VERY bitter taste in my mouth since being around in it's heyday as an Ash/Angela RPer was certainly an experience lol, but just looking through your blog, though I don't exactly know what it's about, is such a sweet taste of nostalgia that while I don't exactly find myself missing the community, I miss the characters and story established by the first two seasons greatly. :,) It's kinda odd to say but I was almost certain that Ash/Angela would just fade into obscurity with offhand mentions at best, no one to love and care for them, and so glad to see that someone is caring for them where I couldn't anymore! //While I still find myself coming back to the priestisms (Leonard's 1.3 verse.... *Cough*) after all these years, it's honestly been a nice reminder on just how much these Ash/Angela and Alois have impacted my writing, both in muse writing and creative! Either way, thank you so much for your care put into this and please pardon the long message sfkdhbfkhkdfh

HI HELLO THIS IS SO SWEET OH MY GOD!!!

Where do I even begin? First of all THANK YOU!! I love these angels so bad, and YOU understand. They're a fascinating evil and a very interesting character concept. It's really cool that you roleplayed with them and I bet you had a ton of interesting headcanons and developments, more so than we got from the show! Because the thing is there is not a character as neglected by the fandom and the media as Ash and Angela. For their presence in Season 1, they are never talked about...

And that's not fair! They're so fascinating!! And thank you so much for the ask, genuinely, lenght doesn't bother me at all, and it's nice my mildly sacreligious blog brought some feeling of nostalgia.

ONTO THE INFO DUMPING! You're going to love this!

So Christlois is basically the universe of one specific fic, that being this one , written by me and co-written by @eemoo1o . It's basically a story about Alois turning his back on Claude and instead being swayed to Ash's side, becoming Ash's little puppet as opposed to Queen Victoria. It's mythological, theological, philosophical, and also really really disturbing JFJKSDF there's sebaclaude, sebastian being ciel's weird dad, alois being in-characteredly toyed with (poor boy), and ashgela being a total bastard.

here are some other goodies you might have seen, some animatics about it: part 1, part 2, and an anime opening, and an original song piece (I know...I'm very intense about this hgshdf).

Oh, and this! its unrelated but also I think you'd enjoy it!!: