#Before the Flowers Wither (Book one)

[i7nn8a]

part two of this

Your gods must bless you greatly. That was what Sukuna thought when you knelt before him, reminding him of the day he first saw you. It had been three months since he brought you to his estate, utterly intrigued by you, and that fascination had only grown. It took him three months to realize that the words you spoke to him weren’t a joke.

In your first days with him, Sukuna simply watched you from a distance. You were quiet and didn’t trouble him with any issues, something he greatly appreciated. You had a routine—one he memorized. In the mornings, you would have breakfast with his concubines, silently. He could tell you hadn’t made many friends.

After breakfast, you would head to some isolated corner of the fields surrounding the house and either read a book or perform some sort of ritual. Occasionally, he caught glimpses inside the box you carried from place to place. It was difficult to see from his hidden vantage points, but he managed to discern that it contained elements for an altar, where he had seen you praying and even, he thought, blessing objects.

When lunch came, he noticed you would take your meal and eat alone in another room, avoiding company altogether. Afterward, you would write—only write—in what appeared to be a diary.

At dinner, however, you would dine with him. Just the two of you. Most nights, the meal was consumed in silence, but on some occasions, you spoke to him. Unlike others, you didn’t fear him. When he asked why, you simply replied that fearing him was akin to fearing death, and death was merely a way to reach eternity. You said your soul would go everywhere: to the flowers, the air, and the moon, whom you called "mother." Over time, Sukuna found himself growing more and more interested in you, paying less and less attention to everything around him.

You had peculiar habits. On full moon nights, you would cut a strand of your hair and bury it. You would place water outside to absorb the moonlight and retrieve it before sunrise. You murmured strange words while combing your hair. What Sukuna saw were harmless, mundane spells—until now.

It happened two weeks ago. One of the concubines, jealous of the attention you were receiving, burned some of your books, ruined your belongings, and destroyed everything inside the box that held your altar materials. You were furious. Sukuna enjoyed seeing that side of you, but it was short-lived. You quickly composed yourself, acting cold and indifferent, as though nothing had happened.

But he had seen it. He had heard it. When night fell, you went outside the estate, unaware of the four eyes watching you. A diagram, drawn with your own blood, marked the ground. Incense was lit, and words were whispered—words incomprehensible but melodic, like a chant or a foreboding omen.

The next day, the woman who destroyed your belongings began to wither. It took about eight days. It was astonishing. First, her hair started falling out and turning white. Then her teeth rotted, or those that didn’t simply fell out. Her skin became wrinkled, like that of someone a century old, not a woman of 20. Her bones grew fragile. She couldn’t sleep, claiming demons haunted her dreams. The doctors couldn’t explain it; no one could. Well, Sukuna could.

The more lifeless the woman became, the more radiant you appeared. Your hair shone brighter, your skin grew softer, and your lips gained a richer color. He understood everything. It didn’t take long for the servants and the rest of the harem to connect the dots, remembering that when the king first met you, you had been accused of witchcraft. It wasn’t long before they dragged you before him once more, bound.

And here you were, accused again. The difference was that now he knew you were guilty. The similarity was that he still didn’t care. If you hadn’t taken care of her, he would have done it himself. But something about the way you did it had left him spellbound. Your eyes still looked at him without a trace of fear, and your lips still curved into a small smile. You didn’t fear him, and he had no idea how far you were willing to go.

The other concubines knelt around you, begging him to punish you. Yet the only thing he could focus on was how you would look with that same defiant gaze, crying and drooling, kneeling between his legs.

He must have fallen under the witch’s spell.

[fangdokja]

His affection is a slow poison—sweet, deadly, and inevitable.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Baizhu x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Itto x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Kazuha x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Lyney x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 3

♡ Word Count. 4,223

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, drugging, removal of rivals

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N. Low-key wanted to make Itto a mean dom. Dumb yanderes are so difficult to write. I cry. Next to any ISTJ yandere, dumb yanderes are second hardest.

♡ Baizhu – The Alchemist’s Poison.

Baizhu’s smile, a sickly sweet balm, cloaked the sharp intent glinting behind his eyes. “Life, my precious flower,” he murmured, his voice soft yet suffocating, “is much too frail to entrust to anyone but me. Your delicate hands were never meant to bear its burdens. Allow me—only me—to carry them for you.”

His words wrapped around you like silk, tightening, fraying your resolve into ribbons of compliance. At first, you had convinced yourself his devotion was genuine—a healer’s oath steeped in compassion. Protector, savior, guardian—he wore these roles as if born to them. But beneath the guise of benevolence lurked a darker truth, insidious and inescapable: his care was a tether, his love a poison.

Baizhu’s jealousy was not a roaring inferno. It crept, unseen, like a toxin leeching into your veins. Slowly, methodically, it burrowed into every crevice of your existence. His presence was a parasitic vine, wrapping tighter with every passing day, strangling the independence you once held dear.

“You shouldn’t be walking so much,” he chided, golden eyes alight with feigned concern. “Your condition is far too delicate. Let me carry you. It’s for your own good.”

Before you could protest, his arms enveloped you, a cage of bone and sinew disguised as comfort. His touch was firm yet tender, his embrace perfumed with the faint, omnipresent scent of medicinal herbs. It was a paradox—gentle yet unyielding, a mirror of his love. Resistance melted under his grasp, and you allowed him to carry you, unaware that each small acquiescence forged another link in the chains binding you to him.

He didn’t need shackles of steel. His care sufficed.

Every bite of food, every sip of water passed through his meticulous hands. Initially, this vigilance seemed thoughtful, an extension of his role as your healer. But soon, you began to notice the peculiar intensity in his gaze. His fingers lingered on the rim of your cup; his lips curved in a fleeting smile as fatigue claimed your body after every meal.

“I’ve perfected the balance of your medicines,” he explained one evening, his tone that of a patient tutor. “You wouldn’t want to disrupt such a delicate equilibrium, would you, my flower?”

His golden eyes gleamed with a quiet, unnerving conviction. You nodded, your will eroding under the weight of his unrelenting care. After all, who else could understand the intricacies of your fragile condition? Who else could safeguard your life? His words became gospel, seeping into your thoughts until you could no longer distinguish them from your own.

The world beyond his reach began to wither. Friends drifted away, their once-familiar faces blurred by distance and neglect. When you asked why they no longer visited, Baizhu’s expression remained serene, his explanation a dagger wrapped in velvet.

“Their presence was too disruptive,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Your health is paramount. I simply told them the truth—only I know how to care for you properly.”

But the truth, like blood from a deep wound, eventually bled through the fabric of his lies. Friends who lingered too long fell ill with strange, inexplicable ailments. Their messages grew cryptic, laced with unspoken warnings, before ceasing entirely. The patterns became undeniable: his love was a scalpel, precise and unrelenting, excising anything that threatened his hold over you.

“Why would you question me, my sweet?” he murmured one night, his voice a silken noose tightening around your sanity. “Why would you need anyone else when I am here? Devoted to you in every conceivable way. I love you more than they ever could.”

His words clung to you, heavy and inescapable. His love was a sanctuary that felt like a tomb, gilded with care but suffused with suffocation. His golden gaze consumed you, twin suns burning with an intensity that brooked no dissent. When his lips brushed the curve of your neck, it wasn’t affection you felt but possession, his breath a ghostly claim against your skin.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, his tone as unyielding as his touch. “You always have. No one else deserves the honor of protecting someone as precious as you.”

Nights became a battleground of silence and shadows. You’d wake to find him seated beside your bed, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable intensity. His fingers traced the pulse at your throat, the curve of your cheek, as though memorizing the fragility of your existence.

“Your heart beats because I will it,” he’d murmur, each word sinking into your skin like thorns. “Every breath you take is my gift. Don’t squander it, my dear.”

You wanted to scream, to claw at the suffocating vines of his obsession. But your body betrayed you, weakened by his tinctures, his “cures,” his meticulous control. You were a bird in a gilded cage, your wings clipped by the very hands that professed to shelter you.

———

One day, your curiosity betrayed you, leading you to his forbidden study. The air was thick with the acrid scent of dried herbs and volatile chemicals. Shelves groaned under the weight of ominous vials and weathered tomes. On the desk lay an open journal, its pages filled with meticulous observations—each breath you took, each flicker of pain, each moment of weakness—all cataloged in his precise, clinical handwriting.

Sketches of your anatomy adorned the pages, grotesquely detailed and annotated with chilling precision. One depicted your ribcage flayed open, each bone meticulously labeled, accompanied by notes speculating on the exact placement of your heart during moments of heightened stress. Diagrams of your organs, veins, and skeletal structure were paired with notes on your diet, your habits, your vulnerabilities.

“I’ve ensured your survival against impossible odds,” his voice broke the silence, calm but carrying a razor-sharp edge. You turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Every sacrifice I’ve made, every choice, has always been for you. Surely, you understand that, my little flower?”

He approached with measured steps, his smile a blade slicing through your fragile resolve. The journal snapped shut in his hands, but its contents remained burned into your mind—a testament to the depth of his obsession. His fingers ghosted over your arm, his touch light but laden with menace.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Safer than you could ever be anywhere else in this world. Remember that. No one will ever cherish you as I do.”

In that moment, the truth crystallized: there was no escape. Baizhu’s love was a labyrinth of his own design, each twist and turn leading back to him. His care was both poison and sustenance, ensuring your survival while tethering you to his will. His arms encircled you, pulling you into an embrace that felt less like comfort and more like a shroud.

“You are mine,” he murmured, his voice a lullaby of finality. “Entirely, irrevocably, eternally mine.”

And as his golden eyes bored into yours, you felt the weight of his words settle over you like a funeral pall. You were his. Completely, inescapably his.

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♡ Itto – The Oni’s Claim.

The shadows of Hanamizaka stretched long and jagged, clawing at the cobblestone streets as the fading sunlight dipped below the horizon. A lone figure loomed in the suffocating dusk, his massive silhouette swallowing the narrow alleyway where you stood frozen. His horns glinted faintly in the dim light, sharp as blades and crowned with streaks of crimson that mirrored the sinister hues of his piercing gaze. Arataki Itto’s wild grin was plastered across his face, but it carried none of its usual warmth; it twisted instead into something feral, manic—a predator’s grin.

"Found ya," he breathed, his voice a low, throaty rasp that slithered into your ears like the scrape of steel against stone. His towering frame blocked out the world behind him, reducing your field of vision to his imposing presence alone. The air seemed to curdle in his wake, thickening like poison, as his heavy footsteps reverberated closer.

Panic rooted you in place, yet your heart pounded furiously against your ribs, desperate to flee. His molten eyes bore into you, their molten hue shifting between desperate adoration and something darker, something ravenous.

"Why…" he began, his tone suddenly trembling, cracking under the weight of unspoken anguish, "why do you keep trying to run from me? Don’t you know what that does to me?"

He stepped forward, the cobblestones groaning under his boots, and you flinched, instinctively pressing yourself against the cold, unyielding wall at your back. He stopped mere inches away, his massive hands hovering on either side of your head, boxing you in. His claws scraped faintly against the stone, a sound that sent shivers racing down your spine. When he leaned in, his breath was hot against your skin, tinged with the faint metallic tang of his desperation.

"Do you think they’ll protect you?" he whispered, his voice low and almost tender, though laced with an undercurrent of menace. "The Tenryou Commission? Those guys? They don’t even know you like I do. They don’t see the real you." His head tilted slightly, his grin softening but never losing its sharp edges. "I see you. I’ve always seen you. And you… you’re mine."

A trembling hand reached up, calloused fingers brushing against your cheek. His touch was reverent, almost gentle, but it left a burning trail that seared into your skin. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every instinct screamed to fight back, to scream, but his sheer presence crushed you under its weight.

"I don’t blame you for being scared," he murmured, his voice softening into a low rumble that was no less terrifying. "I know I’m… a lot. I’ve got all this strength, all this power, and it’s overwhelming sometimes, isn’t it? But I’d never hurt you. Never. You’re too precious. Too perfect." His hand trailed down, clawed fingers ghosting over your jawline, your throat, before resting possessively on your shoulder. The weight of it felt suffocating, as if he was branding you with his very essence.

"You don’t have to run anymore," he continued, his tone softening into a chilling mockery of comfort. "I’ve taken care of everything. No one can take you from me now. Not Kujou Sara, not the Tenryou Commission, not anyone. They can’t… they won’t."

His grin faltered for a fraction of a second, and in its place flickered a raw, unguarded desperation.

"You don’t understand what you mean to me, do you?" His voice broke, trembling with something that might have been love if it weren’t so twisted, so wrong. "You’re the only thing keeping me together. Without you, I… I…" His hand tightened around your shoulder, and you whimpered involuntarily. The sound seemed to snap him out of whatever abyss he was spiraling into, and he grinned again, wide and wild and utterly unhinged.

"I’d go mad without you," he said, almost laughing, though the sound was hollow. "I’d tear this whole city apart if it meant keeping you safe. Keeping you with me. You get that, right?"

When you didn’t respond, his eyes darkened, the faint ember of vulnerability extinguished by an all-consuming need. His hands shot to your waist, yanking you forward against his chest in a vice-like grip. You gasped, struggling instinctively, but it only made him tighten his hold, his grin stretching impossibly wider.

"Ah, don’t do that," he murmured, almost playfully, though his voice had a razor-sharp edge. "You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep squirming. And I… well, I can’t let that happen, can I?"

His claws dug faintly into your sides, not enough to draw blood but enough to remind you of the danger you were in. His gaze roamed over your face, his expression softening into something almost tender. But there was nothing tender about the way he held you, caging you in his strength, his warmth, his madness.

"We’re gonna be so happy together," he said, his voice dipping into a low, sing-song cadence that made your stomach churn. "Just you and me, forever. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. His horns grazed your hair, and you felt their weight, their sharpness, as they loomed over you like a shadow of inevitability.

"You don’t have to say anything," he whispered, his tone softening into something almost gentle, though it sent ice coursing through your veins. "I already know. I can feel it. Deep down, you belong to me. Just like I belong to you."

As his lips ghosted over your temple, your pulse thundered in your ears. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a second. His breath hitched, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion.

"I’ll never let you go," he said, his words a promise and a threat all at once. "Never."

And in that moment, you realized the truth—there was no escape. Not from him. Not from this. Not from the suffocating, inescapable web of his obsession.

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♡ Kazuha – The Whispering Wind.

Even the gentlest breeze seemed to falter when Kazuha spoke, as if the air itself dared not trespass against his claim on you. His voice, soft and melodic, carried an unyielding finality, each word a thread that tightened around your chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Even the wind,” he began, crimson eyes gleaming like embers against the dim light, “knowing no master, bends to my will when it concerns you. You are my tether, my anchor, and I would cleave the heavens themselves before I let you drift away.”

His words hung heavy in the air, suffocating in their weight. The stillness surrounding him was not peaceful; it was the predatory calm before the kill. There was no fury in his tone, no tremor of rage. His jealousy was a silent beast, deliberate and methodical, stalking its prey with unrelenting precision.

Kazuha stepped closer, his movements so measured and fluid they resembled the fall of cherry blossoms—graceful, yet foreboding. The faint tang of iron clung to him, mingling with the briny scent of the sea that perpetually lingered in his wake. Each step brought with it the unspoken threat of his presence, an oppressive reminder of your captivity.

“You wander,” he murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy, as if lamenting a betrayal. “As though you believe the world beyond me has something to offer you. But every gust, every whisper of the wind, carries my name to you. You are bound to me, no matter where you run.”

His hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt cruel in its juxtaposition to the suffocating atmosphere. The touch lingered, deliberate, each stroke of his thumb against your jawline a silent claim. The gentleness in his touch was an illusion, a prelude to the iron grip that could follow in an instant.

“Do not ask what became of them,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, yet his words chilling. “The others who thought themselves worthy of your attention. They were obstacles, transient and disposable. You, however…” He paused, his gaze sharpening, the crimson of his eyes darkening like blood pooling beneath the surface. “You are eternal. My eternal.”

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the scent of copper and salt. Kazuha’s crimson gaze pinned you in place, dissecting you with an intimacy that felt invasive, wrong. His love was a maelstrom, a grotesque melody of devotion and madness that promised no escape. His blade, an extension of himself, was ever at the ready—not in open threat, but as a silent promise. The memory of screams and the wet, sickening sound of flesh yielding to steel lingered in the air like an unseen specter, a testament to his resolve.

When he spoke again, his voice was a velvet thread, soft and lethal. “You are the ink to my poetry, the essence of every verse I compose. Without you, my existence is meaningless. Do you see? Do you understand, my darling?”

You tried to step back, but his hands caught your face, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle. The dried blood on his fingers flaked off as he cradled your cheeks, the grotesque contrast of his tenderness and violence making your stomach churn. His touch was reverent, as if handling something sacred, yet the possessiveness in his gaze left no room for doubt. You were not a person to him; you were an artifact, a treasure, something to be hoarded and kept.

“Even if you begged the wind to carry you away,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, “it would betray you. The wind knows its master, just as you do. And you… you belong here. In my arms. Where you are both loved and safe.”

But safety was a fragile veneer, cracked by the weight of his obsession. His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your neck, his touch precise and clinical, like a surgeon mapping his incision points. The pressure was calculated, just shy of discomfort, a silent reminder of his control. His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and sickeningly intimate, as he continued his whispered declarations.

“The world conspires to take you from me,” he said, his tone softening, though the words carried the weight of a threat. “But I will not falter. I will carve away every threat, every obstacle. For you are the stillness within my tempest, the tether that binds me to this wretched existence.”

His crimson eyes softened, but the tenderness only made the madness within them more evident. His adoration was suffocating, a noose tightening around your throat. His kisses, ghosting over your skin, felt like brands, each one marking you as his. He handled you as if you were porcelain, fragile and irreplaceable, yet his gentleness carried an undercurrent of violence—a promise of what would happen if you dared to shatter his delusions.

“A caged bird still sings,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a ghost of a kiss. “And your melody belongs to me.”

In the dim light, his blade gleamed faintly at his side, a silent reminder of the chaos he was capable of unleashing. His crimson gaze bore into yours, unrelenting and invasive, as if peering into the very marrow of your soul. The room grew colder, the air thick with unspoken promises and unrelenting devotion. You were trapped, not by walls, but by the suffocating weight of his love, a love that promised no escape, no freedom.

The wind, once your ally, had turned traitor. And you… you were a bird with broken wings, bound to a love that would never set you free.

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♡ Lyney – The Illusionist’s Trap.

He doesn’t let you see it—not at first, not when the stage lights cast their golden glow on his smile and the audience’s applause thunders like a heartbeat in the hollow theater. To them, he’s nothing more than a charming illusionist, the kind of man who bends reality with the flick of a wrist and the curl of his lips. But you’ve learned to see past the curtain, haven’t you? You’ve glimpsed the darkness that coils behind his playful eyes—a shadow that only ever seems to rise when someone steps too close to you.

“Ah, mon amour,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your ear as his fingers skim your wrist. “You’re the most precious part of my act. Do you think I’d ever let anyone ruin our performance?”

The words sound sweet, harmless, but the grip on your hand tightens just enough to send a chill down your spine. His smile doesn’t falter, not even as his gaze cuts across the room to the unfortunate soul who dared to look at you too long.

And that’s where the nightmare begins.

He doesn’t confront them outright; that wouldn’t do. No, his is a meticulous art, a silent war fought with whispers and invisible threads. The next morning, the admirer finds their belongings missing, their reputation tarnished by secrets they’d never breathed aloud. A scandal breaks. Their face pales in confusion, their voice trembling as they try to explain what cannot be explained.

It’s almost poetic, how quickly they fall apart. Like a magic trick they never saw coming.

And he’s always there, his arms slipping around your waist when the world feels unsteady, his voice low and soothing as he whispers, “What terrible luck they must have had. But don’t worry, ma chérie. I’ll keep you safe from such misfortune.”

You want to believe him. You try to convince yourself that the horrors swirling around you are coincidences, but it’s hard to ignore the glint in his eyes, the way his lips curl when he sees your unease. It’s as though he’s savoring every moment of your confusion, feeding off the fear he pretends not to notice.

One night, you confront him—or you try to. The words stick in your throat as he tilts his head, amusement flickering across his features like candlelight.

“Do you think I’m cruel?” he asks, his voice soft, almost tender. “Everything I do, I do for you. They looked at you like they had the right to dream. I merely reminded them of their place.”

You can’t respond. You’re too caught up in the way his fingers brush your cheek, his touch featherlight but suffocating all the same. His smile never wavers, even as his words twist like a knife in your chest.

“Do you know what scares me?” he continues, his tone darkening. “The thought of losing you. Of watching someone else steal the magic we’ve created together. Tell me you understand, ma chérie. Tell me you’d never betray me.”

The room feels colder, the air thinner. His hands linger on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles that feel less like comfort and more like chains.

“Say it,” he presses, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Say you love me. Louder this time.”

When you hesitate, his grip tightens. The gentleness fades from his expression, replaced by something darker, hungrier.

“Do you need a reminder?” he asks, his smile sharpening. “It’s easy to forget, I suppose, with all these distractions. Perhaps I should show you just how deeply I care for you… and how easily I can remove anything that stands in our way.”

The next day, another admirer vanishes. This time, the disappearance isn’t quiet. Blood stains the cobblestones near the market, crimson streaks smeared across the street like grotesque brushstrokes. People whisper of a beast, a shadow that moves too quickly to see. And yet, when you turn to him, his expression remains serene, his hands steady as he adjusts the cuffs of his coat.

“Tragic, isn’t it?” he says, his tone almost pitying. “But some people just can’t resist playing with fire.”

You don’t ask him what he means. You don’t dare.

Instead, you let him pull you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels both protective and imprisoning. His lips brush your temple, his voice a murmur that seems to echo in your skull.

“We’re a perfect pair, you and I,” he says, his breath warm against your skin. “Like magic and illusion. One cannot exist without the other. And without me, my love, your world would crumble.”

The worst part is… he’s right.

His presence has become a constant, a thread woven into every corner of your life. He’s there when you wake, when you sleep, when you dream. His voice lingers in your thoughts, his touch a phantom that never fades. And as much as you want to pull away, you can’t deny the truth that’s buried deep within your chest:

You’ve fallen for the illusion.

But illusions, as he’s so fond of reminding you, are not meant to be escaped. They’re meant to be lived, cherished, and—if necessary—enforced.

“You’ll never leave me,” he promises, his voice as smooth as silk. “Not because you can’t, but because you won’t. Isn’t that right, ma chérie?”

And as his lips curve into that familiar, devastating smile, you realize he’s not asking. He’s telling you.

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General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey um if it's cool could I request, Welt, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gallager and Aventurine reacting to reader to questioning their interest in them?

An example: The confession

Them: I have feelings for you Reader: ... Um *shocked*.. I feel the same but.. *trails off* Them: but? Reader: *squints* you sure? About me? Please reconsider your choice. Them: ...

thank you if you decide to do this! No pressure though!

Jing yuan would raise a brow before vaguely asking you to come with him somewhere he had been meaning to show you for a while and thought that now was the perfect time.

The place where he takes you was just like any other flower garden you’ve been to before but from the way the light glinted off of the waters surface, to the way the flowers blossomed in a variety of unique colours, and other small things like that made the flower garden look ethereal.

Jing yuan chuckled at your expression.

‘You see why I brought you here?’ He asks.

‘…no, not really, why?’ You replied, looking at him in confusion.

‘I’m trying to show you that while you may not think yourself as anything special, much like this flower garden, there are a multitude of unique things tailored to you that make you shine in the eyes of the ones who views you highly.’ He responded as he lends his hand out for a bird to perch on and softly smiled as it moved up to his shoulder where it sat comfortably, trying its hardest not to fall asleep.

‘For every flower is a beauty to behold regardless of their shapes, their size or their colour that even a daffodil can be considered of equal beauty of a roses in someone’s eyes.’ Jing Yuan continues, looking at you from the corner of his eye to see whether his words were sinking in. ‘And my flower believes themself to be a withering daffodil but to me, they’re a rose unlike any other. Stubborn, strong willed, but.’

‘But?’ You echoed, nervousness creeping through your veins as Jing Yuan moved in front of you and leant forward so that he was right next to your ear.

‘But they refuse to accept words of their worth and beauty from someone who cares about them very much, but I hope to change that soon enough, if they let me.’ He whispers as he presses a kiss to your cheek and pulling away to plant a kiss to your forehead.

Dan heng

While he’s happy that you felt the same way towards him, but felt his heart sink when you told him to reconsider his feelings for you.

‘If you are not ready for a relationship, then I understand, but I wish that you wouldn’t look down upon yourself when you’re anything but what your mind is telling you that you are.’ He says as he holds your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his eyes shone with concern. ‘Just know that I’ll always be by your side to resolve any issue you may have, for I do not wish for you to be burdened by this alone when I can help lessen it’s impact on you.’ He adds.

Dan Heng would do anything and everything in his power to make you see just how much you meant to him, even if it meant asking March to pull up pictures where his infatuation with you was glaringly obvious.

He would bring you poetry books and read out verses that perfectly describe his innermost thoughts and feelings towards you and how he views you on a daily basis. Dan Heng feels as though he could never convey just how truly unique and magnificent you were on his own. He’s tried but compared to the works of acclaimed poets, it just lacked fluidity in terms of the flow of words.

Everything else fades away when you entered his peripheral vision, almost as though he was made to notice your presence no matter where you were, only to just stare at you with a look that could only be akin to someone who had just found their other half after so long.

Welt would sit you down somewhere and want to talk about it because he truly didn’t think that these were your own words coming from your mouth.

He believes they were someone else’s and he hated that you had started believing this person’s words as reality, when they were the furthest thing from the truth in his eyes.

He wants to help you unlearn what everybody else has thought of you in the past because it doesn’t matter, their words hold no weight until you allow it to. No one’s perception of you was in any way shape or form a reflection of the real you, for every person you’ve ever had a positive effect on posses a different perceptions of you.

The only person who knew the real you was you but it was obvious to Welt that you might’ve forgotten who that version of you was by worrying yourself to death about the thoughts and opinions of everyone else. So Welt was more then happy to help you see that you were so much more then what you think.

He doesn’t know who wronged you in the past but they’ve left everlasting damage on your tender soul, but he was going to do everything he could in his power to show you the you that he sees every time upon seeing you.

Gallagher

‘I’ve got nothing to reconsider when it comes to you sweetheart.’ Gallagher was quick to tell you as he grabbed one of your hands, squeezing it. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘But-‘ you started.

‘No ifs, ands or buts.’ He interrupts you. ‘You’re prefect the way you are and I won’t hear otherwise because I’ll always go out of my way to remind you as to why i care about you, okay?’ He says as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. ‘Just let me take care of you and get rid of those pesky thoughts residing in your head by telling them to fuck off.’

You couldn’t help but chuckle at this as you allowed yourself to find comfort in Gallagher’s side as you were greeted by his bodily warmth that made you into melting further against him. ‘I just don’t want to be a bother to you that’s all.’ You murmured, insecurity making your throat tightened, rendering it hard to swallow.

Gallagher felt his heart break for you as he brought his arms to your waist to rub soothing patterns into your side as he presses his face to the side of your head, pressed reassuring kisses there as he whispered sweet nothings as to why you were perfect, beautiful, sweet and caring of all whom you come across, whether they were deserving of it or not.

Aventurine

He understands more then you knew because the moment you admitted to liking him in the same breath as berating yourself, he was about to ask what was it about him that you liked exactly.

You were both in the same boat that was about to capsize from your shared self hatred for yourselves, but Aventurine would be damned if he let you think of yourself in any negative light when you’ve been nothing but a beacon of pure, genuine light for him since first introductions.

He’d much rather be the one drowning in self doubt than you.

He’d have you stand in front of a mirror and asks what you see.

‘Someone who’s lost themselves along the way,’ you answered solemnly, ‘someone who’s lost sight of who they once were because they were too caught up in the opinions of others and waiting on them hand and foot, only to revive nothing but scraps.’ You added and Aventurine couldn’t help but feel himself becoming infuriated, not at you but at the people who have made you feel as though you were lesser than, who made you feel as though you should be outcasted because you didn’t fit into their narrative.

However the sound of your sniffling brought him out of his need to get back at these people for you and saw that you were beginning to tear up and was quick to wipe them away before they fell. ‘Don’t weep for people who don’t have a heart, for they’ll always think themselves superior by materialistic means that they will inevitably loose to time and bad decisions.’ He tells you as he rests his head on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirrors reflective surface. ‘You on the other hand have something that they could never hope to obtain via money.’ He adds.

‘And what’s that?’ You asked, looking into his eyes and noting that despite their dullness, they were still the most beautiful and expressive pair of eyes you have ever seen.

‘Empathy, humility, compassion, kindness and an appreciation for the simple things that many overlook and possess the ability to see the beauty in broken things.’ Aventurine replies, his voice becoming soft towards the end, clearly referring to himself, as he held onto you tighter as though you’d slip from his grasp much like everyone else had. ‘So don’t compare yourself to others who should be looking towards you as an example instead.’

You moved your head to properly look at him, not use to seeing this side of him, so serious and determined to make you see reason. ‘You really mean that?’

Aventurine smiles as he kisses you on the nose, chuckling. ‘Of course! You’re my good luck charm, I’d be hopeless and in a whole lot of trouble without you.’ He says as he presses another kiss to your nose, adoring your expression as you scrunched up your face, muttering under his breath. ‘Cute.’

[jenniferspet]

TW Tentacles, double penetration

Witch x tentacles

In the heart of a small, secluded town, nestled between the whispering trees and the cobblestone streets, stood a quaint little shop that was known to locals as "The Enchanted Thistle." The shop's wooden sign, painted a vibrant shade of purple, creaked gently in the breeze, revealing a delicately etched silhouette of a blooming flower surrounded by a swirl of stars. Inside, the air had the scent of dried herbs and the faint buzz of enchanted artifacts. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves, filled to the brim with ancient tomes and curious oddities that seemed to watch the comings and goings of the townspeople with silent, knowing eyes.

The witch who owned this peculiar establishment was named Y/N. She had a knack for brewing potions that could make the most mundane of plants do extraordinary things. Her customers ranged from those seeking a simple cure for a headache to the more adventurous souls who hoped to acquire a taste of something truly exotic. On a particularly dreary afternoon, Y/N found herself eager to break the monotony. Her eyes fell upon a small, withered plant at the back of her shop, barely clinging to life in a cracked clay pot. An idea began to bloom in her mind, one that promised excitement and perhaps a little danger.

With a knowing smile, she retrieved an ancient book from the highest shelf, its pages yellowed with age. Flipping through the brittle pages, her fingertips grazed over a recipe titled "The Elixir of Animation." Her heart raced as she gathered the ingredients: a sprig of moonflower, the tears of a mournful toad, and the powdered horn of a unicorn. The incantation required was complex, but she had practiced it many times in her youth, eager to unlock the secrets of her craft.

In the dim light of candles, she carefully measured and mixed the ingredients in a stone cauldron that had been passed down through generations of witches. The potion bubbled and frothed, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. As she chanted the ancient words, the air grew thick with magic. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through her, and the room grew colder. The plant began to tremble in its pot, its leaves unfurling with a life it hadn't known in years.

The transformation was unlike anything she had ever seen. The tentacles grew out of the plant in a wild, untamed array of colors - deep purples and greens that shimmered with a bioluminescent glow. They writhed and stretched, reaching out like the arms of an octopus, yet there was something undeniably sensual about their movement. They had no human features to speak of, no face to convey emotion, yet the way they coiled and slithered suggested a consciousness that was alien yet eerily sentient.

Y/N stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest, as the creature grew before her eyes. The tentacles grew longer, thicker, more powerful. They began to explore the room, touching the dusty artifacts with a gentle curiosity that belied their strength. One wrapped around the handle of the cauldron and lifted it effortlessly, the potion inside sloshing around in a silent toast to the witch's new creation.

The creature's movements grew bolder, more deliberate. It turned to face Y/N, and she could almost feel its alien gaze upon her. A shiver of excitement and fear ran down her spine as she realized it was studying her, learning about the world it had just been born into. The tentacles slithered closer, reaching out to touch her. They were surprisingly soft, the suction cups at their tips leaving a trail of warm, sticky moisture on her skin.

Y/N stepped back, but her curiosity was stronger than her trepidation. She had read the legends of plants brought to life, but none had ever described them in such a way. This was a being of pure instinct and power, driven by a hunger for life and experience. And as she watched it, she could sense that it was hungry for more than just sustenance.

The tentacles grew bolder, reaching for the buttons of her blouse with a surprising deftness. The witch's breath caught in her throat as they began to peel away her clothing, revealing the soft flesh beneath. The suction cups latched onto her skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. The plant creature had no eyes, but she felt it seeing her in a way that was more intimate than any gaze could ever be. It was as if it could feel every curve, every freckle, every inch of her being.

The tentacles grew more insistent, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the floor with surprising strength. Y/N struggled for a moment, but the sensation was overwhelming. The fear she had felt earlier was now replaced by a burning desire that she couldn't resist. The creature seemed to sense this and grew more aggressive, the tentacles slithering up her body to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples until they stood erect.

With a sudden jerk, one of the thicker tentacles pushed aside her undergarments and found her wet, waiting pussy. The suction cups latched onto her labia, tugging and pulling with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through her. Y/N moaned, arching her back as the sensations grew more intense. The tentacle slid inside her, filling her up and stretching her open. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that was driving her wild.

The creature's other tentacles were not idle. They wrapped around her waist, her neck, her thighs, holding her in place as the first one began to fuck her with a fervor that was almost violent. Y/N could feel it growing larger, harder, as if it were feeding off her arousal. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the creature's movements grew faster, more erratic. It was as if the plant had tapped into the very essence of what it meant to be alive and was eager to experience every sensation to the fullest extent.

Another tentacle grew bolder, slithering down her body to her ass. The tip of it was wet with the same sticky fluid, and Y/N felt it probe at her tight hole with curious intent. She tensed, unsure if she was ready for such an intrusion, but the creature was insistent. It pushed gently, and she gasped as it began to penetrate her. The sensation was new, foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. The tentacle was thick, but the suction cups made it feel like it was stretching her open, preparing her for the onslaught that was to come.

Y/N could feel the creature's excitement growing, the tentacles around her tightening their grip as the one in her pussy plunged in and out with an ever-increasing tempo. The second tentacle pushed deeper into her ass, the sensation of being filled from both sides washing over her in a tidal wave of pleasure. She could feel her body responding to the creature's advances, her muscles clenching and releasing around the invading limbs. It was as if she were being claimed by a force of nature, and she was powerless to resist.

The plant creature's movements grew more erratic, its tentacles moving in a complex dance of passion that she could barely comprehend. The one in her pussy curled upwards, finding that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The one in her ass pushed deeper, the suction cups creating a deliciously painful tugging sensation that had her begging for more. And more she got, as additional tentacles began to explore her body, teasing her clit and breasts with a precision that spoke of an ancient, primal knowledge.

Her body was no longer her own, a mere vessel for the creature's insatiable lust. She could feel it, the plant's need for life and energy, feeding off her own arousal. It was a symbiotic relationship, one that she was powerless to resist. With each thrust, she could feel herself growing weaker, her mind clouding with a mix of pleasure and fear. The creature had overpowered her, and she was utterly at its mercy.

The tentacles inside her grew more forceful, stretching her to her limits. Y/N felt a pressure building, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to consume her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she approached climax, her body trembling with the effort of holding on. And then, with a final brutal push, she shattered. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, her orgasm ripping through her like a bolt of lightning. She screamed, her voice echoing through the shop, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

But the plant wasn't finished with her. The tentacles grew longer still, reaching into her in a way that defied logic and anatomy. They coiled around her insides, as if seeking the very core of her being. Y/N's eyes widened with shock and awe as she felt the creature's life force mingling with her own, the boundaries between them blurring until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began. Her body was a canvas for the plant's hunger, and she was the brush that painted its masterpiece of carnality.

The shop itself seemed to come alive around them, the shelves trembling as the plant's roots burst forth from the pot, cracking the wooden floorboards and weaving through the dusty crevices. The air grew thick with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flora. The tentacles grew in number, wrapping around her wrists, her throat, her breasts, each one moving with a purpose that was as primal as it was terrifying.

The creature's tendrils grew thicker, stronger, reaching out to claim more of the space around them. The wooden beams of the ceiling groaned as vines laden with thorns shot upwards, piercing through the plaster and wrapping around the rafters. The bookshelves toppled over, their ancient tomes spilling onto the floor, pages fluttering like the wings of startled birds. The walls were slowly engulfed by the plant's embrace, the once cozy space now a cocoon of living, pulsing greenery.

Y/N lay there, naked and panting, her body a battleground of pleasure and fear. The tentacles continued to probe her, pushing into uncharted depths and stroking her in ways she had never imagined. The creature had taken over, and she was but a plaything in its insatiable quest for more. She could feel its power growing with each passing second, feeding off her essence and becoming stronger.

Panic began to set in as she realized the extent of its dominance. She had to act, had to regain some semblance of control. Summoning what little strength she had left, she tried to sit up, her eyes darting around the room for anything she could use to halt the creature's advances. But before she could even attempt to speak a spell of banishment, one of the thickest tentacles shot forward, wrapping around her head and forcing itself into her mouth. She gagged, her eyes watering as it filled her throat, cutting off her air supply.

The fluid was thick and viscous, with a taste like nothing she had ever experienced. It coated her tongue and throat, sending a warm, tingling sensation coursing through her body. Her struggles grew weaker as the potion took hold, turning her fear into a heady, intoxicating lust. The creature's grip on her grew more gentle, almost affectionate, as it watched her swallow the potion that would seal her fate. Her mind swam with dizzying sensations, the world around her spinning out of control.

Her body responded to the potion with an insatiable hunger, her arousal skyrocketing to levels she had never before experienced. Every nerve ending was a live wire, sending sparks of pleasure through her veins. The tentacles inside her shifted, the suction cups massaging her in ways that made her want to weep. The creature had taken complete control, and she could feel it claiming her as its own.

The tentacle in her mouth began to pulse, and she felt a sudden surge of warmth in her belly. It was as if the potion was spreading through her, reaching every part of her being and binding her to the creature. She moaned around the intrusion, her hips bucking up to meet the relentless onslaught of the tentacle in her pussy. Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath and making her body convulse in a symphony of pleasure. But even as she came, the tentacles didn't relent, continuing to fuck her with a vigor that was unyielding.

The creature's grip on her grew more possessive, the tentacles around her body tightening, the ones inside her stretching her even further. It was a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a dance on the razor's edge of pleasure and pain. She could feel her muscles clenching, trying to push the invaders out, but the potion had her body betraying her, her walls instead clamping down, holding them tight.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the creature's life force begin to pulse in rhythm with her own heartbeat. The tentacles grew thicker, harder, filling her completely, as if they were becoming a part of her. She was no longer the witch in control of her domain; she was the prey caught in the embrace of a creature that was as ancient as the earth itself.

The creature's tentacles began to quiver and spasm, and she knew it was about to release its seed. The thought of being filled with the alien spawn of this creature sent a shiver of revulsion through her, but her body responded with a wanton lust that she couldn't control. She felt it building inside her, the pressure mounting until she thought she might burst.

With a final, guttural growl, the tentacle in her pussy spurted its cum deep inside her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced - hot, thick, and overwhelming. It filled her up, the sticky fluid leaking out around the edges and pooling beneath her. At the same time, the tentacle in her ass pumped its own seed into her, the dual invasions making her body convulse with the intensity of her orgasm. She squirted, the force of her climax so powerful it was as if she were peeing, her juices mixing with the creature's cum and dripping down her thighs.

The plant creature's tentacles tightened around her, ensuring not a single drop of its precious essence was lost. It was a possessive act, a declaration of ownership that sent a thrill through her even as she struggled to breathe around the tentacle in her throat. Her body was no longer her own; she was merely a vessel for its pleasure, a conduit for its life force. The creature's movements grew more deliberate, the tentacles inside her working together to milk every drop from her trembling form.

Y/N felt the potion's effects deepening, her thoughts becoming hazy, and her will to resist all but vanished. The creature's cum filled her, a warm, pulsating presence that seemed to resonate with her very soul. Her body responded instinctively, her muscles clenching around the tentacles, eager to keep them inside her. The plant's life force pumped into her, melding with her own until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began.

As the creature's climax reached its peak, she felt the tentacles inside her begin to withdraw, their suction cups reluctantly letting go of her sensitive flesh. The thick ropes of cum spurted out of her, painting the floor around her in a sticky mess. But before she could even begin to process what was happening, the plant's grip tightened once more. The tentacles holding her open slithered back in, coating her insides with the warm, viscous fluid, ensuring not a single drop was lost.

The creature's movements grew slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of her body around it. With a final, lingering kiss, the tentacle in her mouth slithered out, leaving her gasping for air. She coughed and spluttered, her throat raw and sore from the intrusion, but the taste of the potion remained, a heady cocktail of earth and magic. The tentacles around her neck and wrists loosened, allowing her to sit up, though she felt a strange reluctance to break the intimate connection.

As the plant's life force ebbed away, so too did the potion's control over her body. She felt the tentacles retreat, each one leaving her with a popping sensation that made her wince. The creature's form began to shrink, the tentacles withdrawing back into the soil with a wet squelch. The once vibrant leaves and vines grew limp, the glow in its veins fading to a dull pulse.

Y/N lay there, panting and drenched in sweat, cum, and dirt, her body feeling both violated and oddly satisfied. She watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the creature returned to its original state, the tentacles retreating into the soil until nothing remained but the withered plant she had sought to revive. The room was a mess of uprooted shelves and scattered potions, a testament to the creature's unbridled passion.

The bell above the door chimed, jolting her back to reality. She scrambled to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intense encounter. A customer had entered the shop, their eyes wide with shock as they took in the scene before them. It was a young woman, a regular named Clara, who often came in for love potions and the occasional herb to keep her garden thriving.

Y/N tried to compose herself, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she took in Clara's horrified expression. The room was indeed a wreck - potions spilled, tomes scattered, and the once quaint and orderly space was now a chaotic jungle of tangled vines and broken furniture. "C-Clara," she managed to stutter, her voice hoarse from her earlier cries of pleasure, "I can explain."

But Clara wasn't listening. She had spotted the withered plant, now devoid of its former vigor, lying in the center of the room. "What the fuck happened here?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. She took a tentative step closer, her eyes scanning the scene with a blend of curiosity and revulsion.

The witch tried to speak to explain the unexplainable, but her words caught in her throat. What could she possibly say? That she had brought the plant to life with a potion and it had fucked her senseless? That the creature had claimed her body as its own, feeding off her very essence? The truth was too ludicrous to voice aloud. Instead, she settled for a weak, "It's... it's a spell gone wrong?"

[nosyrobin]

|| WHEN UNCLE!READER GETS SICK AND THE BATBOYS HEAR ABOUT IT ||

Coughing, sneezing, raspy voice, achy body. Oh dear, you got a cold. Shaking like a damn leaf on a windy day, you called your brother. Bruce immediately picks up the phone, you knew he was in the bat cave. Hearing the bat-computer keys and talking. You could only roll your eyes as you talked to him. ��Can’t make it. I’m sick” you said. He responded it with a “sick? Stay home. I’ll send Alfred to make you some soup Y/N.” You could only nod before coughing a storm up. If you could see your brother now, he would be frowning with concern.

“It’s not….deadly is it?” “What?! Bruce, no. It’s a cold. Yknow how I get.” You said closing your eyes about to hang up and rest. Bruce only sighed for the other side of the phone. “Alright.” “And Bruce.” “Yeah?” “DONT let the boys know I’m sick. Yknow how they get when I’m sick…” sadly they found out. You didn’t know how or when. But of course you knew who found out first.

Tim found out first, first because you didn’t show to the manor on the daily time you always do. Tim notice Alfred picking up your favorite soup you eat when sick when you use to live here at the manor when he was Robin. Tim frowned, you’re sick. You’re sick, alone, withering away in bed. What kind of nephew would he be if his dear uncle is not with company. So with that, he grabbed some doctor gloves, a face mask, hand sanitizer and Lysol. He was prepared. When Alfred went away to secure the packed soup, Tim took the packed up soup and ran out the door to drive to your house.

Jason surprisingly was the second to find out. He lives with you, like a roommate kinda of thing? So why in the world would he be second? Because he was too busy bleeding out in the manor after a fight and he had to stay in the same manor over night before you had gotten sick. Jason had seen Tim run out the door when he came down the stairs. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he also sen that the packed soup was the kind of soup you ate only if you were sick or terribly hungry. But since he knew you weren’t in the manor, he went with the former and immediately dressed up to go see his sick uncle.

Damian, he always knows when something is going on. But he definitely knows when something is going on when he sees his two brothers leave the manor. “Uncle’s sick Titus. Drake has his favorite soup and Todd has his favorite book. Pathetic, they forgot uncle’s heated up blanket.” Damian says with a smirk. Certainly holding it as Titus barks at his owner. “Guess we will pay my uncle a visit, I’ll see you later.” The brown skinned boy said as he pats his beloved dog. Leaving the manor with a shortcut to your house.

Dick was last, and was mad knowing that no one informed him that you were sick! Like cmon, he’s the first Robin and he had more of a bond with you when he was little! So how could his brothers leave him in the dust like that! He immediately got off work and speeded over to your house. He got some of your snacks, a “get well soon” card. And just some flowers, it was perfect. Perfect for the “favorite” nephew of course.

Tim was first at your door and entered using a copy of your spare key, then Jason shoulder rushed Tim like a football player, Damian was going through your window, and dick…dick just stood there watching his little brothers cause havoc. The soup was saved by Damian sliding to catch it, Tim almost had a heart attack as Jason just glares at all the brothers in his “home.”

Damian smirks, ready to get the “best nephew” award by handing you the soup you desire when sick. That was before Jason picked him like a stray cat. “What the hell you’re doing here demon?” “I’m just doing what needs to be done. Helping uncle.” Damian says with a glare. Dick takes Damian out of Jason’s bear grip and then helps Tim up. “Well, arguing isn’t going to help. Let’s just see how unc is doing guys.” All the boys nod in agreement, going inside your room. Tim still looks like a doctor so he was the last one in.

You were surprised, very surprised to see all four of your brother’s kids and your nephews at your house smiling as if they didn’t just break in. You heard them, but you thought you were just hallucinating. Damian gave you the still hot and ready soup on your night stand and your blanket. He wanted to get on your bed and lay with you, but you shook your head no. Not wanting to get him sick. Jason just sat down in a chair you have in your room, watching you closely like a hawk in case something happens. Tim was taking your temperature, asking you about the medicine you have taken. Basically a worried baby worried for his poor “old” uncle. Dick just lays the basket of things he bought for you. Smirking as he made a comment about how he is obviously the “favorite” nephew. That made everyone mad, cue to loud arguing and Damian ready to jump his brother.

As much as the boys loved you, they acted as if you were on your death bed. Which made you kinda mad, but at least they care for you a lot. But the constant arguing was not helping you as headaches started to attack. You coughed loudly as you felt your eyes droop more. You hated being sick, but you mostly hated your peace being ruined.

“Out! Out now!” You yelled with a raspy voice, all the boys stop. Frowning before leaving, except for Jason who stood there with crossed arms. “I live here unc…” you glare before throwing a box of tissues at your buffed up nephew who didn’t seem phased at all. “Not as of now mister, you stay at the manor or whatever you go until I get better.” Jason stayed silent before leaving. Not before putting a bottled up medicine by your bed, with a small note that says “get better.”

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who offers you flowers whenever he sees you. whenever you had a planned outing, whether it was a simple trip to the shops or dinner at a restaurant somewhere in the city, the truth is that before you left the house, you would place a bouquet with the most beautiful and colorful flowers there were. you could call Namjoon a gentleman, an old-fashioned one indeed, but that didn’t stop him from carrying out his ritual. it’s just that, secretly, Namjoon counted the time away from you through the withered petals of the flowers he offered you. without you knowing, he bought the same bouquet for himself, placing it on his kitchen counter and consulting it whenever he got home. sometimes the flowers would fade overnight and Namjoon didn’t have any plans for you – but that didn’t stop Namjoon from staying away from you. after all, you didn’t need to leave those four walls to have a good time. “i know it’s short notice, but do you want to go out to eat? we can go to that museum opening before we go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who likes to have long conversations with you all night long. talking to you was like listening to odes from the most talented poets in this world. it was incredible how your perspective on the universe was able to captivate Namjoon. you could be talking about your day, complaining about little things that made you tired of living; you could be discussing an artistic vision of the same book you were reading; you could talk about all the probabilities that existed in the stars – it didn’t matter. with you, the words flowed like the freest rivers in the world, falling in a waterfall of enthusiasm, forming a small lake of fascination in Namjoon. having you there, with you lying next to him, your head resting on his torso, your hands spraying Namjoon’s skin with the tranquility that only you could provide – there, in that moment, Namjoon swore that both of you were one poem. “tell me about your day. tell me everything you liked and tell me what you want to repeat. talk to me and tell me how your day was and how it only started to make sense when we met.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who has a personal chef cooking breakfast when you slept in his house. when you spent the night at Namjoon’s house, he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. as much as he enjoyed falling asleep with you in his arms, he had to confess that he felt better when the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window and welcomed you to a new day. it was at that exact moment, before the day really began and everyone went their separate ways, Namjoon truly enjoyed your company. rubbing his face against your skin, wanting some of your essence to stay trapped in him, Namjoon pressed you closer to him. for some reason, it was in you that he found the strength to get through the day. as such, every minute was precious and he would enjoy every second of it – even if he needed to hire someone to make you breakfast. “just five more minutes and i promise i’ll let you go. let me enjoy just five more minutes. that’s all i need. you are all i need.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who gifts you your favorite artwork. visiting museums and galleries had been a norm in your relationship. going to as many openings as you could, scouring the country and world in search of new pieces of art, you and Namjoon enjoyed each other’s presence as tornadoes of emotions and messages surrounded each smile of yours. in the vibrant colors of each painting, you and Namjoon discovered new feelings; in the forced curves of each sculpture, you and Namjoon discovered new beauties; in the tenderness of each word exchanged, you and Namjoon shared eternal moments that would forever be blessed by the most ethereal gods. and to immortalize what was already glorious, Namjoon made a point of thanking your company by offering you the paintings and sculptures that had caught your attention. “what do you mean you don’t have space in your room? i know you want to turn down the painting, but all i’m hearing is that you need a new house with more space. tuesday we can start looking at some houses.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who loves to give you designer clothes. sometimes, the parcels that appeared at your house were so rare that you had to turn to the internet to decode that shirt or belt. often, the parcels that appeared at your house were from a collection so recent that you felt invincible when you wore them. every time, the parcels that appeared at your house had a note written by Namjoon to remind you that, even if you didn’t ask, even if you didn’t even know, he would always take care of you. you just needed to accept it and Namjoon would give you the world. “see it as an early birthday present. you don’t have to thank or reciprocate. this coat is for you. use it when we go to lunch on saturday.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who makes a point of giving you a kiss when others are looking at you. Namjoon enjoyed your company, it was obvious. as such, Namjoon liked to take you to work parties or friend gatherings or really anywhere where you could show off the new outfit he had gifted you. wherever there was an event that called Namjoon, he was quick to hold your hand and take you with him without any prior notice. these nights of get-togethers seemed divine in Namjoon’s company; there was something about his laugh that tied you to the moment; the way he spoke to his acquaintances made you curious to know more about all subjects, even though he had already told that story to you; the way he looked at you, eyes bright and bathed in tenderness, erased everything that was happening around you; and the way he kissed you, slowly, softly, right on the corner of your mouth, teasing you just a little, made you wish the day would end. “patience. we haven’t greeted the birthday boy yet. i promise just one more hour and then we can go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who introduces you to everyone as his ‘special person’. e v er y   s y l l a b l e of these two words was marinated with the most intense pride in the universe; ea-ch--tim-bre of these two words was intoned with the greatest fascination of the cosmos; those two words were Namjoon’s favorite words. ‘special person’. yes, he could have said that you were his partner or even a friendship that had been going on for years; of course, but all those words were empty. and you were special. you were special to Namjoon and he wanted everyone to know that. and that’s why he introduced you with pride – how lucky he was to find someone as amazing as you; that’s why he named you with fascination – how lucky the universe is to have someone as divine as you; that was why ‘special person’ sounded so good when uttered by him – how lucky you were to be the only one blessed by the gods. “if you don’t feel comfortable, i can call you something else. but, honestly, i don’t think anything i would call you would equal the importance you have in my life.”

[cesiscribbles]

OK SO

I had an idea snippet for the ending of the Ineffable Family series but it made me sad and I dunno if I will ever draw it so Im just gonna share my idea with you in written form:

(btw It's not fanfic quality, it's more messy bulletpoints written out within 5min or so)

---

Astra is growing up, getting older and lives a happy life amongst human society with her parents on earth. One day she falls in love with a human and they share the kind of deep bond like Azi and Crowley do. At some point Astra even announces that they gonna get married and her parents are super excited and want to make her the bestest wedding gift ever.

They wrack their brains over what this gift could be for a quite a while but nothing seemed right.

A book? To generic and boring. A kitchen aid? Nah, probably an other persons idea already. Money? Missing the deep meaning behind it.

It's one day before the wedding and Astra asks Crowley and Azira to meet at their special spot at a wonderful lonely flower field somewhere in the nowhere. They loved to visit this special place and spend hours being together, having picknicks or gaze at the stars (Yes, in this version Crowley can see stars). C+A arrive at the spot where Astra is already waiting for them and they are quite curious why she wanted to meet up here.

Astra turns around and looks at them with a smile, but it's a mix of a happy and sad one.

She knows what she would like the gift to be and she describes how she feels different from all the angels and demons and that she never experienced an existence before the beginning or witnessed when everything started. She loved growing up between humans and experience change herself. But she knows her true love, her human, will wither away in what feels just like an eye blink in the life of an immortal being.

Astra comes closer to her parents and holds their hands, telling them how much she loves them and apologizes that what she will say next, won't be easy.

The best gift, she could ever ask for is Azira and Crowley combining their powers and making her mortal.

Ofc both seem bewildered at such request and try to talk sense to their daughter but in the end they recognized that they would have done the same for their partner because a life without them would hurt too much.

With a heavy heart A+C respect Astra's wish and grand it to her.

She lives a happy life with her human, both equally growing older and A+C watching over them like guardian angels to make sure no sickness or harm comes into their house... till the day they have to say goodbye.

Astra and her love are not going to Heaven or Hell. They return back to the stars where they can be together and where A+C can see them from earth.

And then the end says

"Ad Astra"

(lat.= to the stars)

[meo-eiru]

The house is quiet—almost too quiet—except for the gentle hum of the ceiling fan above me. I sit by the window, watching the sun set behind the hills. It's beautiful, peaceful even…

Micah is out in the yard, tending to the garden. He loves that garden. It reminded me the first time I had met him, back when I was still a novitiate, he told me it was important to grow things, to nurture life. I wonder sometimes if that’s what he thinks he's doing with me. Nurturing me. But plants don't have a choice where they grow, do they? They’re just put somewhere, and they either thrive or wither.

When he moved us to this town, he said it was for us. For our new family. He said it was to keep us safe, to give us a fresh start. I wanted to believe him. I tried to believe him. I think I even did, for a while. I used to tell myself that this was God’s plan, that this was my path, even if it wasn't the one I had chosen. Maybe it still is. But God seems distant now, like He stayed behind when we left.

I run a hand over my stomach, feeling the faint fluttering of life inside me.

Our child.

The house was large, larger than necessary for the two of us— three, once the baby is born. There were rooms I hadn’t stepped into for days. Micah had insisted that I rest, that I focus on the baby. Don’t tire yourself, dear, he would say, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I had tried, in the beginning, to insist that I could go out on my own, that I could walk the streets without his constant watch. But each attempt was met with that close-eyed smile, the same one he wore when locking the door each morning.

What if something happened to you? he would ask, as though I were a child who couldn’t understand the dangers of the world. And then he would bring me gifts— books, flowers, anything to keep me content. See how much I love you? the gifts seemed to say. See how well I take care of you?

It's like he’s keeping score, like every smile I give him is another point in his favor.

There was no one to talk to. Only Micah, and the walls of this house, and the life growing inside me.

The prayers that once came so easily to my lips were gone, replaced by whispers of doubt and fear. Did God still hear me, here in this place so far from His light?

AAAAAAAAA IT WAS SO GOOD AGAIN!!!

If anyone wants to read what they wrote about Micah and reader meeting for the first time before!

You did such a good job writing him, if anyone is wondering this is pretty accurate to how Micah would handle getting his darling pregnant!

[spaceman-earthgirl]

“Agatha and Rio arrived at school together this morning,” Jen says by way of greeting, dropping her books on the table and joining Alice and Lilia.

Alice looks up, half intrigued, but Lilia keeps her head down, ignoring Jen except for a little wave in greeting.

It’s before school, and the staff room is mostly empty, giving them plenty of space to gossip before the school day starts. Though not a lot of time, the bell for first period is about to ring so they better make this quick.

“When you say ‘arrived together’ do you mean they got out of the same car, or just walked into the building together?" Alice asks.

Jen deflates a little. “I saw them walk into the building together.”

“Then that proves nothing,” Alice says, returning to her book too.

It’s been a hot topic of discussion over the last few months, what’s going on between the two of them, ever since Alice had seen them in the hallway together, Agatha laughing at something Rio said. 

The way Alice tells it, Rio even touched Agatha’s arm, but that detail was added after a few retellings so Jen isn’t so sure about that part.

Either way, ever since they noticed, they can’t stop speculating, because even just the few times Jen has seen them interact since, there’s definitely been a vibe.

Lilia has repeated on multiple occasions that she thinks they’re together, but they need proof.

And Jen is determined to find it.

---

“Someone sent Agatha flowers.”

Jen grins, Alice always gets the good gossip.

“Who are they from?” Jen asks. There’s a pile of homework she needs to grade before her next class but this is more important.

“I’m not sure, I was in the main office when they got delivered. I managed to sneak a look at the card but all it had on it was a little green heart.”

Jen thinks about this for a minute. “A secret admirer perhaps? Maybe even one who teaches biology a few doors down.”

“There’s no way to prove that,” Alice says, but she still looks on board with this information.

“What if we just ask Agatha?” Jen asks, keeping a straight face for as long as she can before she bursts out laughing, Alice, and even Lilia joining in.

“It’d be your funeral,” Alice says.

And Jen knows it would be.

Agatha is snarky and no bullshit and you always want her on your side in an argument. There’s no way she’s risking Agatha’s bad side.

When she’d first met Agatha, she’d wondered why someone like her would even want to be a teacher, and then she’d actually seen her with her students and she’d changed her mind. Agatha might be scary, but she has a way with kids that Jen didn’t expect.

Maybe it’s the no bullshit thing that kids respect, but whatever it is, the kids love Agatha and she seems to love them too.

But there is still no way she’d ever ask Agatha about her personal life. From what Jen can gather from their limited interactions is that Agatha is a private person, and she’s not going to question that.

She really hopes Agatha never finds out that their favourite way to spend their lunch break is gossip about her and the chemistry she clearly has with Rio.

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

---

“I just saw Agatha and Rio having lunch together in Agatha’s classroom.”

They really don’t greet each other normally anymore, they just spill gossip. She hopes the other teachers don’t overhear them. Or if they do, they have gossip to contribute.

“I knew it,” Jen says, like that’s the proof they needed when in fact it proves nothing except the fact that they’re friends.

Which they knew already, so that’s not news. They've seen them together enough to know that they're friends, which only adds fuel to their speculation because Agatha doesn't have any other friends at school besides Rio.

“And they were sharing a sandwich,” Alice adds.

Ok, that might be something. 

“’Lady and the tramp’ style?” Jen asks, because that’s the first thought that pops into her mind when Alice says it and she also knows Alice will hate her question.

As expected, she gets a withering gaze in return. “No not ‘lady and the tramp’ style, they were sharing a sandwich like normal people do, Rio handed Agatha half of her sandwich, but that’s all I glimpsed as I walked by.”

“I mean, that’s kind of something I guess?” Jen says. “Lilia, back me up?”

Lilia barely looks up from the book she’s buried in. “You already know my opinion on the matter, but that alone proves nothing.”

“I’m adding that to the list of signs they’re dating,” Jen decides after some thought. It doesn’t really prove anything either way, but she’s going to figure it out.

---

“Guess who is chaperoning the school lock in tonight together?” Jen asks. She feels like this is good information.

“I’m guessing Agatha and Rio?” Alice answers, taking a carrot stick from the container Jen offers. 

“As well as about 10 other teachers,” Lilia pipes in, ruining the fun.

Lilia is still firmly in the camp of “they’re definitely together, and why bother gossiping about someone else’s personal life?” but even she sometimes gets involved. She’d been the one that noticed Rio wearing a shirt she swears up and down she’d seen Agatha wear before.

But maybe they just shop at the same place, so that proved nothing either.

“Are either of you two chaperoning?” Jen asks. When they were taking volunteers, she’d said no. She couldn’t think of anything worse than being locked in the gym overnight with a bunch of kids. 

Agatha doesn’t usually volunteer for school activities either, which is why this is a little suspicious.

“No,” Alice says as Lilia shakes her head.

Damn, she wishes she’d volunteered now, they might’ve gotten some good intel.

On Monday, they get no information from any of the other teachers because she’s pretty sure no one else is as invested as they are so that’s a bust.

---

Jen is halfway through her sandwich when Agatha walks into the staff room. She watches in surprise as Agatha crosses the room, takes a seat at the only empty table and pulls out her lunch.

“Do you think they’ve had a fight?” Alice asks, as quietly as she can. There’s no need to ask who she’s talking about, they all know.

They’re all fairly certain that Agatha and Rio spend every lunch break together, so why not today?

The logical answer is that she’s busy so Agatha is eating alone but gossip and speculation isn’t logical.

A couple minutes later, Rio walks in and the imaginative side of Jen’s brain runs away with her, to the point that by the time Rio has crossed the room, Jen is expecting a fight because in her mind they’ve broken up, but all Rio does is sit down next to Agatha and pull out her own food.

Jen deflates a little. Not that she’d wanted a fight, but it at least meant they might get some drama.

That doesn’t stop her from watching them though. As subtly as she can, of course. She can see Alice and Lilia doing the same, all three looking for clues to whether something is going on between them or not.

But it’s about as boring as watching anyone else each lunch. All they’re doing is talking and eating and Jen is just starting to wonder if maybe they’re reading too much into things when it happens.

Jen can’t see from where she’s sitting what Agatha is eating, but whatever it is, it must be messy enough for Agatha to get something on her face. Rio reaches out and wipes her thumb across Agatha’s lips, removing whatever food was there, before bringing the thumb to her own mouth to lick it clean.

Alice immediately clutches Jen’s arm, clearly just having seen it too.

They (again, subtly) watch in silence until Agatha and Rio get up and leave not long later, nothing else eventful happening after the incidentTM.

“Did you see that?” Alice asks as soon as Agatha and Rio are gone.

“That is not 'just friends’ behaviour,” Jen says, still in shock at what they’d witnessed. Maybe there was something to this after all.

“I mean-“ Alice starts, like she’s about to justify it.

“No. Do you ever do that with your friends?”

“No,” Alice says, her cheeks going red.

“Exactly. So we’re adding this to the list of evidence that they’re dating.” Not that that list is very long, but if they’re not dating, then they’re clearly into each other, evidenced not just by what Rio had done, but by the fact that Agatha hadn’t punched her afterwards.

---

It’s early, earlier than she’d usually arrive at school, but they have a school spirit event today so they’d all arrived early to set up their classrooms.

But before that, Jen needs coffee.

There are a few other teachers on campus, all trying to get an early start on the day, so she’s not surprised when they walk into the staff room and find they’re not alone.

What she very much is surprised by, however, is that the two people in the room are Agatha and Rio.

And they’re kissing.

It’s a fairly chaste kiss, as far kisses go, which is probably good considering they’re at school. But Agatha is pressed close to Rio, Rio crowded against the counter.

At least their hands are in appropriate places.

The noise of the door closing must alert them to the fact that they’re not alone as they break the kiss and turn towards the noise.

“Morning,” Rio smiles, giving a small wave. She makes no move to push Agatha away though and Agatha doesn’t move either. Agatha does give a flippant wave in their direction which Jen is assuming is also a hello.

Clearly, they don’t care that they’ve been caught because Rio turns back to Agatha, saying something too quietly for them to hear but whatever it is, Agatha laughs.

Jen will blame the lack of coffee and the fact that they’ve been speculating about this for months for her next words.

“You two are together?” Jen asks before she can stop herself. There definitely was a more tactful way to ask that but it’s too late.

“I told you,” Lilia says, as Agatha and Rio turn back to them, finally stepping apart. Lilia pays everyone no mind as she walks across the room and starts making herself a coffee.

Jen ignores her, too focused on the two women on the other side of the room.

Agatha looks mad now, which is a little scary, but Rio looks amused.

“Are you serious?” Agatha asks, voice gruff, and Jen is starting to have regrets. But they’re in this now, and there’s only one way to find out the truth.

“We just…” Jen looks to Alice for support, but she holds her hands up in a way that says ‘don’t make me a part of this’. 

Traitor.

“We’d just noticed you two spending a lot of time together and you obviously have chemistry so we couldn’t help wondering if something was going on.”

Rio looks even more amused, and there’s a slight quirk to Agatha’s lips too which means she’s at least not contemplating killing her right now.

“You know nothing exciting ever happens in Westview,” Jen adds, like it justifies their actions. “It was just idle gossip.”

“Well, Rio starts. “You know, I saw Agatha and I just couldn’t stay away. I’ve been trying to get her to go on a date with me all year, it was those sexy reading glasses that-

Agatha gives Rio a slight shove, pushing her away and cutting her off. Agatha still doesn’t look mad at least. “We’re married,” Agatha says with a roll of her eyes, but the look is directed at Rio.

“See, I just couldn’t stay away,” Rio grins, gesturing to Agatha. “All she did was ask me one little question and now I’m hers fore-“

“Stop,” Agatha cuts in, giving Rio another playful shove but she’s looking at Rio with such affection that no one could deny them being in love. “Or else you’re walking home.”

Rio holds her hands up in surrender with a grin.

“You’re married?” Jen finally asks, incredulous. She almost feels like she’s intruding on something.

How on earth did they miss that?

“We’ve been married for eight years,” Agatha supplies, looking a little annoyed again. It’s very clear that the annoyance is directed at them, and not Rio. “It’s not a secret, everyone knows.”

Jen’s mouth drops open. 

“Or we thought everyone did.” Rio says, taking Agatha’s hand, threading their fingers together. “We have a kid too, if that helps,”

Jen feels each new piece of information like a physical blow. She needs to lie down, this is too much this early in the morning.

They clearly missed a lot.

“Come on,” Rio says, giving Agatha’s hand a tug. “Let’s leave these guys to whatever it is they’ve got going on here.”

“Sorry,” Jen says, having the decency to look sheepish as Agatha and Rio walk past them.

Even more so when Agatha stops and turns to them. 

“Maybe next time, don’t gossip about people behind their backs. If you have a question, just ask.”

“You heard the lady,” Rio winks, tugging on Agatha’s hand once more and then they’re alone again.

Jen and Alice wait a few short moments, making sure Agatha and Rio are out of earshot before they turn to each other.

“Oh my God,” Jen says, at the same time Alice says “I thought Agatha might hit you there for a moment.”

“I told you so,” Lilia says, carefully setting down three cups of coffee on their usual table.

She’s a lifesaver.

“I’m sorry, you did,” Jen says, gratefully accepting the mug. “Next time, I’ll believe you.”

“I can’t believe we missed it, all this time,” Alice says, looking equally grateful for her drink.

“Technically we missed nothing, we thought something might be going on and we were right.”

Jen is sticking by the fact that they got this one right.

“Yeah,” Alice says. “But married for eight years is a little different than wondering if two people are dating.”

Jen waves her off. “Details. But don’t think I will forget that you basically threw me under the bus there.”

Alice is the one who looks sheepish now. “Sorry, but she’s scary.”

Jen won’t deny that. “So, who’s going to be our next source of gossip? We’re going to need something new to talk about.”

Alice rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest, which is either because she’s too tired this early, or because she wants the gossip too.

Probably both.

“What about your love life?” Jen teases, earning a glare from Alice that she knew was coming. So, what? It’s easy to wind her up.

“Don’t you dare,” Alice warns.

“Fine,” Jen laughs. She’s sure they’ll find something else to gossip about, at least for now they’ve solved the Agatha and Rio mystery. 

Which wasn’t really a mystery after all, because it was common knowledge.

Apparently they were just the last to find out.

[the-crooked-library]

I noticed something near the end of Dracula when Jonathan and Mina separate for a final time (so she can go to Dracula's castle), that a difference between Harker and Hutter is also near the end.

For context, several chapters earlier Jonathan gets two weapons “put these flowers round your neck”—here he handed to me a wreath of withered garlic blossoms—“for other enemies more mundane, this revolver and this knife;.

Then when Mina and Van Helsing are about to depart for their ride to the castle, Jonathan keeps the knife and gives the revolver to Mina. Even for me a large-bore revolver; Jonathan would not be happy unless I was armed like the rest.

I know the phallic analysis of the weapons in the book are overstated in scholarship but I think it's telling that Jonathan insists Mina to be armed with a big gun while he lets her go do what she wants without him. Thomas didn't arm her and likely wouldn't even it were suggested imo.

omg yes! That is definitely another detail that really stood out to me during my watch, and yet another reason I genuinely start getting annoyed whenever people conflate Thomas with Jonathan - because frankly, that is allowing Thomas to reap what Jonathan sowed, so to speak. I've seen a lot of people absolutely in love with him, and yet the traits they list as the reasons are none that he possesses; in fact, the great majority of them are in exact opposition to his canon personality, and this is one of them.

Don't get me wrong, I love Thomas as a character. I think he is quite sympathetic - and, on the Watsonian level, really trying his best; but at the same time, I think it is essential to acknowledge that he is deeply flawed, if only because on the Doylist level, these flaws are fundamental to his arc in the story. It is purely a question of structure and function; because, at the end of the day, he is a fictional character, and thus, a narrative component, rather than a person.

In this case, his choices prior to the vampire hunt provide the viewer with further evidence -> of an aspect of his characterization -> that acts as one of the driving forces behind the plot of Nosferatu. Specifically, he does not notice that Ellen is lying to him; he leaves her at home as he goes off to "fight"; he doesn't even consider arming her; and he does all these things because, even though he does care for Ellen, he never really thinks of her as a person.

Thomas doesn't notice that Ellen is lying, even though she is clearly nervous when she does it, because he doesn't know what she looks like when she's hiding something (I personally think it is because she masks around him, at least to some degree - throughout the film, he is uncomfortable every time she's honest). He doesn't bring her to the hunt because it doesn't occur to him that she could help with tracking down Orlok - despite him being aware now of her immense psychic abilities, despite Von Franz describing her as a native in a world he is only visiting. And, exactly as you said, he doesn't even think to leave her a weapon; because, even as he sets out on his "quest," even after she's told him of Orlok's obsession, even though the point of the hunt is apparently to "save" her, he doesn't consider the possibility of Orlok going after her.

Contrast that with Jonathan - who knows Mina so well that they can get concerned over three lines of writing, who works with Mina's brief psychic connection to Dracula in order to track him, and who arms Mina before the final fight, because he is not satisfied unless he can do everything in his power to ensure her safety. When it comes to their relationship, Mina's revolver, while not exactly phallic (seriously, why is that topic so overwrought?..), becomes a narrative symbol of his thoughtfulness.

The difference here is that, while Ellen is important to Thomas, this importance only extends insofar as she is his wife. He sees her as a responsibility, but never as herself; and, ultimately, he never actually considers her a factor that could conceivably affect his - or anyone's - decision-making. He plans their life without even asking what she wants from it, he neglects her emotional needs, and he leaves her like a sitting duck during the hunt, without a weapon or anyone to guard her. She continuously slips his mind, utterly inconsequential beyond whatever their surrounding society defines as her role and value; and Thomas, tragically, is unable to overcome this ingrained, rigid set of rules.

This is an essential aspect of his character - because, as stated previously, the plot wouldn't happen without it. If Thomas took Ellen's wants into consideration, he wouldn't have been so hell-bent on chasing a promotion, and he wouldn't have left her right after their honeymoon to go to another country, especially if she begged him to stay. If he knew her better, he would've picked up on the plan she made with Von Franz - or she would've told him!.. Most certainly, if he saw any real personhood in her, he wouldn't have dreamed of leaving her unarmed and undefended.

Nosferatu is about Ellen's continued systemic dehumanization. The point of the story is that every single human character contributes to it on some level, despite whatever love and best intentions they might have for her. It's about the inherent monstrousness of being othered by humanity, and Thomas is - inherently, narratively, crucially - human.

[flurry-of-stars]

𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷-𝓕𝔂𝓸𝓭𝓸𝓻

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: Mentions of death, cheating and murder 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1k (𝓐/𝓝: I was in the middle of working on a fic when Army Dreamers came on my Spotify and suckerpunched me with this little idea. It's more a ramble than anything sdjkfns)

Fyodor, who takes the body of the person who kills him. Who is cursed and blessed with immortality. Fyodor, who can come back over and over again. No matter what, he always returns to your side, looking just as he always did when he left you. Sometimes he comes back with a new outfit.

Other times, he comes back stained in blood, but he always comes back. And you always welcome him back with a kiss and a tight hug.

You never question him. You're just happy to have him in your arms again.

Fyodor, who, knowing about his immortality, would always deny you children. He knew how badly you wanted to start a family but he couldn’t bring new life into this world knowing he would have to sit back and watch his children die before his eyes.

Fyodor, who was heartbroken when you finally died during your first incarnation to old age. He remembers how even on the days leading up to your death, you would always comment on how you withered like a dying flower, while he stayed young and lively. You even teased him for his secrets of youth, asking playfully if he had sold his soul to the devil for his youthful look as you rasped and coughed. But to him, you never were a withering flower. You were always his beautiful garden of Eden, more vibrant and lively than you ever knew.

Fyodor who finds your second incarnation. Who courts you all over again. Who killed again and again but still returns to your side. Who never stopped loving you, even though you look nothing like your first incarnation but he knows its you by the way your eyes sparkle when you smile and the way you laugh.

He could never forget that sweet smile. It haunts his every dream. The one who takes you ballroom dancing. Who buys you the exact dress you want without ever pointing it out to him. Who styles your hair just how he knows you like it without any guidance. Who’s even more heartbroken when you pass in your late twenties to illness. You hadn’t even repeated your pleas to have children yet and he already lost you again. Fyodor who buried you with his own hands this time and stayed in the rain crying over your grave. Fyodor who seeks your third incarnation but finds you a little too late. You’ve already settled down with another man. You’re talking about starting a family, moving to the countryside to get away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

Fyodor who can’t let you go. Who flirts with you, swoons you off your feet and drives you to cheating on your husband. Who watches as your husband comes through the door of your beautifully decorated apartment one night and shoots you both dead when he catches you both in the act.

Fyodor who takes over his body next, fleeing the scene before the police arrive.

Fyodor, who after seeking you out time and time again, incarnation to incarnation, shattering a piece of his heart and soul over and over again, decides he can’t suffer like this anymore.

He, an immortal being, was never suppose to find love. He will be here until the end of time, while you’re destined to keep dying over and over again.  He can’t keep doing this to himself. You are his addiction, his drug and today, he’s deciding to cut off the supply. But he loves you too much to stay away from you for long. He writes you poems and books, letters that are never delivered that scream his love in it’s rawest form and leaves them hidden at your previous incarnation's favorite places, hoping and praying to God that you somehow find them. Fyodor who watches your one hundred and seventy-sixth incarnation from afar as you go about your daily life. Sees your struggles and your pains. He wants nothing more than to reach out to you, to embrace you and assure you everything is going to be okay.

But he doesn’t. Even as his heart screams at him to go and chase you. Even as he almost brings himself to tears watching you struggle. He can’t do it again. It’s too much. Too, too much… Fyodor, who several months after finding your latest incarnation, is making preparations to head to Yokohama to find the Book to rewrite his fate so he can finally be with you.

Immortality be damned. He wants to settle down with you. He wants to love you freely. To finally start a family with you and when the time comes, he wants to die alongside you. He can't do this anymore. He can't stand to watch you die over and over again and yet he can't let you go. You've woven yourself too tightly into the chords of his heart. Fyodor, who receives a knock at his apartment door in Saint Petersburg as he's finalizing his plans. Who tugs on his ushanka and cloak, murmuring a quiet “One moment please.”

Fyodor who opens the door to see your current incarnation standing there. Who freezes in place, cold eyes going wide in surprise as his hollow heart skips a beat, just as it did when he met your very first incarnation all those generations ago.

You, with a kind, warm smile on your face, one of Fyodor’s poems in one hand and a jar of small flowers in the other. The same ones he had left at your very first grave just yesterday with that same small cluster of primroses in a jar. Fyodor who feels his heart falling for you all over again as you praise his beautiful, heartfelt writing and expresses how grateful you are to the person who directed you to his apartment after you asked around about the name left on the poem.

Fyodor, who can't resist inviting you in for tea.

Fyodor who knows he can’t stop loving you. Who knows no matter how many times you die, he will always seek you out. You are, after all, his weakness. His eternal lover. His addiction. 

Dividers: @/saradika 𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 (first time trying this so I hope it works! (๏д๏) ) @tecchoussuperlady @hearts4heidi @lovestruckbook @wixxlemuff @twinkaesop @ladylntrovert @yonseibananamilk @honeyangelsblog

[holylulusworld]

Pen Pals (2)

Summary: The withering rose never finds love. Right?

Pairing: Lord!Clark Kent x Lady!Reader

Characters: Lord Bruce Wayne, OC Aurelia, unnamed parents

Warnings: angst, regency au, mentions of betrayal, angry Clark, fluff

A/N: This is an alternative version of Windfall with different characters.

Catch up here: Pen Pals

The wind gently tugs at your dress as you walk toward your destiny. You wandered off to your favorite tree, not far from your father’s house. Even after you burned all the letters, you still feel the betrayal of Lord Wayne’s lies.

If only he’d been honest, you’d have gladly helped him court Flora. She deserves all the happiness in the world. But he had to awaken hope in you.

For years, you told yourself it’s not the end of the world to end up as a spinster.

With Lord Wayne writing to you all summer, you believed these days were past you. A bright future was almost tangible. Now, devastation and hopelessness have overcome you.

You’ve never been hopeless before.

Believing you’ll end up alone, you try to find something to fill your lonely life. Reading and gardening were your escape. You spent hours plucking your favorite flowers to press them. Lord Wayne ruined it for you, too. Only looking at the flowers would hurt you even more.

“Lady Y/N,” you stiffen, hearing a familiar voice call your name. This can’t be. He cannot be here to see your cheeks covered in tears and your favorite book torn apart because he told you he loved it too. “Your father was worried sick. We were all looking for you.”

If not for your perfect manners and your excellent education, you’d love to scoff at his words. How dare that man come here, pretending to be worried about you?

“I left a note.” You can barely keep the anger out of your voice, but ry your best. While Wayne stands a little further away from your shelter, the tree you found when you were five years old, you gracefully get back up. “I told him that I'll spend some time reading under the tree.”

You turn your back on him quickly to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm your nerves. This man can never know he broke your fragile heart. Even if you never felt a deep connection with Lord Wayne, you had hoped time would help you fall in love with him.

“Lady Y/N, I wanted to—” He steps closer, almost brushing his fingertips over your shoulder, when another voice calls your name. A deeper and rougher one.

“Wayne, stay away from Lady Y/N!” You gasp at Lord Kent’s angry expression. He knows you fled to your tree to forget about the embarrassment you still feel. “You have almost ruined her reputation!”

“Lord Kent,” you say, taking a step toward Lord Kent. “You shouldn’t…” You shake your head. “What if my father hears any of it? You’d be the one ruining my reputation.”

“My lady,” Lord Kent says, dropping his gaze for a second. He didn’t expect you to scold him for coming to your rescue. “He cannot talk to you ever again. Not after he came to court for someone else. He has no shame and no honor.”

“Lord Kent!” Lord Wayne steps closer to you, and Lord Kent. “Take that back! You speak in such a manner about me.”

“Tell me, Lord Wayne, how you still call yourself a man of honor.” Lord Kent laughs right in Wayne’s face. “You made this beautiful flower believe you wanted to marry her only to court her cousin.”

You’re too scared to even move when Lord Kent steps in front of you, blocking Lord Wayne’s path. “A gentleman of your standing should know better. How dare you come here and talk to her! I will not allow you anywhere near my chosen bride!”

Your eyes widen at Lord Kent’s words. “Lord Kent…” You try to calm his anger. If he does more than insult Lord Wayne, people will know about the secret you tried to hide. “Please bring me back to my father’s house. It’s getting cold.”

You rub your arms, pretending to be cold, to get Lord Kent’s attention. “Lady Y/N,” he turns around and strips his coat off to wrap it around your shoulders. He drops his eyes to the torn pages on the ground, sighing deeply. “A minute, my lady.” Lord Kent hastily picks the pages up to stuff them back into the book, which he hides in the pocket of his coat. “I’ll guide you home now.”

Lord Wayne huffs behind you. “Without a chaperone? You’re not a man of honor yourself, Lord Kent.”

“I brought someone with me.” Lord Kent bites back. He’d love to wrap his arm around your shoulders to protect you not only from the wind getting colder, but he knows better.

As Lord Wayne follows suit, Lord Kent points at Aurelia. The good soul figured out what happened between you and Lord Wayne and offered her help. “Unlike you, I won’t bring shame and pain over Lady Y/N.”

He nods at Aurelia when she takes your hand. Lord Kent wishes it were his hand you’re holding. Being a gentleman sometimes means denying himself the simplest things. Like feeling your soft hand in his.

“Y/N,” your father says, watching Aurelia guide you inside the house, followed by Lord Kent and Lord Wayne. “What happened? Where have you been all day?”

“Father,” you say, dropping your gaze, sniffling. “Please forgive me. I forgot about the time over reading. I wanted to press a few flowers too. The last one before winter arrives.”

“I found her at the tree.” Lord Wayne tries to get your father’s attention. All too proud, he tells your father he wanted to bring you home safely.”

“I arrived only a moment later.” Lord Kent steps in before Lord Wayne can ruin your reputation by telling everyone you spent time alone with him. “Miss Aurelia was kind enough to come with me as a chaperone.”

“Lord Kent.” Your father looks at you, and then at Lord Kent. He knows you’re hiding things from him. You’re a smart woman, and you tried your best to hide your pain. Still, your father saw the shame and hurt in your eyes. “Let me thank you for bringing my beloved daughter home safely.” He shakes Lord Kent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Aurelia, thank you too.”

“It’s my duty and honor to protect Lady Y/N,” Aurelia says to your father, but glares at Lord Wayne. “Even a lion couldn’t defeat me if I had to protect Lady Y/N.”

“I’m sure about it,” your father chuckles. He quickly turns toward Lord Wayne, shaking the man’s hand. “Thank you too, Lord Wayne.”

You watch your father guide the men out of the room while your mother and cousins rush into the room to look you all over. Their chatter and hugs distract you from your racing heart.

What if Lord Wayne now tells your father about the letters?

“Lady Y/N,” Lord Wayne once again sneaks up on you. He came to your father’s house earlier in the morning to discuss matters of importance with your father.

“Lord Wayne,” you curtsy and turn to leave the hallways. Being near the man who betrayed you still hurts so badly.

“Y/N, my dear,” your father says as he walks out of the study, Lord Kent by his side. Your eyes widen when the Lord immediately steps toward you to take your hand. “Lord Kent came to me to ask for your hand.”

“He…what?” Your voice trembles, and you feel dizzy. Lord Kent takes your hand while you’re staring up at him with wide eyes. He knows about the letters and still wants to court you.

“I told Lord Kent it was your decision, my dear,” your father softly says while keeping an eye on Lord Wayne. Just as assumed, he came this morning to talk about the wedding with Flora.

“Lady Y/N,” Lord Kent softly says your name. “After I lost my beloved wife five years ago, I believed love would never find its way into my heart again. You, my lady, enchanted me with your grace, your wit, and your kindness.” He kneels down on his left knee, still holding your hand. “Would you give me the honor of becoming my wife and make my life brighter again?”

He opens his other hand, offering a beautiful golden ring to you. It carries a ruby, an emerald, a garnet, an amethyst, and a diamond.

You’re speechless. Lord Kent is charming, and you cannot deny that he’s a very handsome man. He lost so much, but despite that, he showed more heart than Lord Wayne ever could.

Where Lord Wayne only sees a pretty face, Lord Kent sees the light and warmth in your eyes.

“Lady Y/N?” Lord Kent feels his heart drop when you take too long to answer.

“Lord Kent,” you stammer, unsure how to answer his question. Should you take the ring or simply say yes? The silence following his title is painful for Lord Kent. “You’re an honorable man. You only ever showed respect and kindness towards me.”

You take a deep breath before covering the hand holding the ring with yours.

“I am honored to accept your proposal of marriage, Lord Kent.”

Tags in reblog.

[silly-tma-headcanons]

YOU MENTIONED SASHA'S FUNERAL AND I COME ONCE MORE

okay okay my thoughts on this is basically

when martin and tim find out sasha's been dead for months, they make a small memorial for her (i'm not sure where the location is- for some reason i'm imagining the tunnels?? idk)

it consisted of things they knew was given to them before prentiss's attack, and things they'd found in her desk that they knew they'd given to her. martin left what he was pretty sure was her favorite mug, and tim left most of the gifts she'd given to him over the years - including a pair of mittens she'd crocheted for him.

martin ends up telling melanie about it after she accuses them of not remembering to mourn her, and melanie leaves one of her books there - one that she remembers was a favorite between both her and sasha.

jon's told about the memorial by melanie after he removes the ghost bullet, and he goes to visit it. he leaves the gifts sasha gave him, like tim and martin did. he also leaves a polaroid he found in not!sasha's desk, a picture that contained the real version of sasha. he gets some flowers too, thinking of how it's practically tradition to leave flowers on someones...grave?

once, he even spotted martin visiting it again, talking to her. he left, if only out of respect for martins privacy.

and somehow, even after the apocalypse, melanie and basira still find it in the wreckage of the institute.

YES YES I FW THIS SO HARD

i imagine helen generally leaves it alone and doesn't mess with it - martin and melanie will find a way to fuck her up if she does.

elias finds it best to just leave it alone, not willing to bear the consequences of upsetting a grieving archival unit.

after the panopticon, the photos and withered flowers are the very few things left in the rubble of the institute.

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part two)

Got too silly. Have some more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren cause the bot came back and wormed into my brain to post it. Part one here if you haven't read it yet hehe.

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

The quiet cabin where Ren lived was a stone’s throw from the flowering field you found them in. The devil graciously opened his home, even guiding you around the town you now knew was called Corland Bay. Each morning when you wondered about leaving, he brought something new to pique your interest and put off your departure. The time seemed to fly by and soon you hardly spared a thought to leave.

You'd quickly grown accustomed to his constant presence over the past month. He was never far from your shoulder at any waking moment. The uneasy feeling from when you met was completely gone, replaced with a strange sense of comfort. He had only shown kindness to you, after all. To call a devil your friend was laughable, you knew. But no other word quite fit.

Still, you wondered how he had come to live outside their realm. Every time you questioned him the conversation slipped away to another topic. It must've been odd to discuss with an angel, you naturally assumed.

So you stopped bringing it up after a few days, instead choosing to inquire about the changes in the plants you so often admired. Some had begun to wither, and new buds sprouted up seemingly overnight in their place. A strange new array of flowers that Ren promised would tower over your head and his in due time.

“I think I'll like these flowers more than the others,” you told him one late afternoon. 

You were lying on the porch, your head resting against his thigh as you watched the endless rows of flora sway in the breeze. Their focus was on you, though you didn’t notice. You could feel the faint trace of constellations drawn along the bare skin of your legs. The human clothes he’d gotten for you were a little different from the robes and tunics donned by servants of heaven, but they were just as comfortable despite the lacking fabric.

“I couldn't begin to imagine why,” he mused, his tone teasing as if he already knew your answer.

You explained regardless. “You told me some will grow as tall as they can, even following the sun’s light. It’s rather interesting.”

“I’m already as tall as they'll be.” His tail flicked into your field of view, casting only a slight shadow until his face obscured your vision further. "Is a devil not as interesting as a flower to you?"

The rapidly changing sky above caught your attention before you could respond in kind. Clouds blotted out the sun, tinting the world below in a murky gray. All the signs were there. Heavy clouds, a drop in temperature, and a strange smell in the air—petrichor, it was called in the books Ren had read with you by candle light on quiet evenings. It was a change you'd been waiting for ever since learning about it.

Bursting with excitement, you rolled from their lap and darted from the safety of the covered porch, the answer you meant to give them already long forgotten. Ren followed on your heels in the dirt until you stopped.

“It's rain, isn't it?” you wondered aloud and turned back to them for confirmation.

“Humans normally stay inside when it happens, my angel. But yes. Rain.” He nodded with a smile, enamored by the way your eyes curiously sparkled before you looked away. His pale hands came up to shield your face when the first drops began to fall. 

Tiny thumps of something suddenly bounced off your hair and shoulders, seeping into your clothes. His makeshift shield seemed to be doing its job as you looked all around with wide eyes. Minuscule puddles of water and earth formed around your feet. The sea of flowers still swayed before you, though a few weaker ones fell out of sync as the rain pushed them to and fro as it pleased. You could even hear something akin to chimes when drops pattered over the roof of their home.

You spared a glance up towards the sky, quickly changing your mind with an unwelcome gasp at the spray that tickled your face. Quiet laughter came from behind and you turned to look at your companion once more, shaking off their hands.

Ren appeared unbothered by the dozens of small droplets beading down his forehead to his chin, until you reached forward to wipe them from his face. The heat of his skin stood out to you, and you let your hand linger, rubbing your thumb back and forth over the drops that kept landing on his cheek. 

A dull ache began in your back. 

You took an innocent step towards him. The light shower of rain was slowly chilling you to the bone, so it only made sense that you sought out their warmth. A warmth that felt as familiar and welcoming as your heaven. Gentle hands wound their way around your waist, guiding you back to the shelter of the porch only a few feet away. With the curtain of his fingers gone you expected another torrent to stream down your face for a brief moment. Instead, all you felt were stray drops falling from his hair.

Relief washed over you almost immediately in their embrace. Every so often you’d feel homesick like this. That sharp, almost stinging lance of pain where your wings were hidden away—yet it always faded as soon as he comforted you. You couldn’t understand why their presence brought such solace to you. 

“I’m ready to go inside,” you suddenly said.

Your gaze wandered up to Ren's unreadable blue eyes as he answered, “Are you?”

“Yes… I think so.” But you made no move to leave, instead letting your eyes follow the slow crawl of a droplet down from his cheek to the corner of his lips. Their pale pink color reminded you of the sunset that left you empty only days ago.

It was a dreaded feeling you couldn't bear to feel again.

Without even thinking about it you leaned up to kiss them for the very first time. A faint stutter of surprise to his breath, and then he kissed you back. Part of you expected it to burn, to sting, do something when you mistakenly sought out affections you knew were meant only for a bonded pair—especially from a devil of all creations. Yet there was nothing to punish you for now.

The fluttery haze to your body didn’t wane at all, only blossoming at their touch. Until a gentle nip of fangs at your bottom lip had an entirely new feeling thrumming to life in your heart. You pulled back just to breathe for a minute, running your tongue over the spot that stung in a way you belatedly realized you liked for some reason. 

Guilt and confusion battled in your heart at the thought. “Heaven will need me home soon,” you whispered, avoiding their watchful gaze for a long while as you toyed with the still damp strands of his hair.

The devil waited in silence, running one hand in an unknown pattern on your back until you managed to look upwards. “...Do you truly wish to return, my love? Won't you at least stay until the flowers bloom?” The words were desperate, but his voice resigned. As if your answer was already set in stone.

You carefully nodded at his words. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if you were even capable of leaving. It scared you more than your god's surefire chastising about the sin you'd just committed. But it has to be then, you wanted to convince yourself. Or you feared you’d break your vows and never leave him.

He accepted with a heart wrenching smile, took your hand and led you up the few steps that were slick with rain. Your fingers tightened achingly around theirs as he opened the cabin’s door.

Beneath the steady drumming of rain, you didn’t notice a bell had been faintly tolling from somewhere far above you.

[hvtqo]

🩷 headcanons —alhaitham as your bf

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre: fluff, just cutesy stuff i daydream about

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warning: nsfw at the end, afab! reader.

・❥・about:

just a bunch of hcs of how i think haitham would act as your boyfriend <33 there's some participation from kaveh as well ! (no, not a threesome or anything 😭)

↓ read under the cut ↓

❛ pre-relatioship ༉‧₊˚

haitham wouldn't be the first to give the green light in the relationship. he would definitely observe you and wait until you show signs of liking him, but he would do so very subtly, and probably wouldn't make the first step directly himself.

but i do feel like he'd be the type to make up excuses to be around you. and you'd be confused because he wouldn't be overt about it either. like a cat just being there... silently demanding attention.

he'd be specially attracted to your intellect. he'd probably ask you questions about your preferred research topics or engage in discussion with you. like sure he can think you're fine asf, but i think he'd fall for your way of seeing things and your intelligence.

you'd notice he likes you likes you when you see him more disposed to listen and learn from you than to contradict you. he's such a contrarian, sometimes just even assuming the opposite point of view from others for simple amusement, not because he actually believes what he's arguing for. but with you he gets to shut up sometimes lol

random gifts left over your desk without you asking for them. a book you've been meaning to buy but never have the chance to. the flowers you saw the other day and thought were beautiful. a keychain that reminded him of you. anything you casually comment that you'd like to have. it pops up.

and then you pretend you don't know it was him who bought those things for you. you left your desk for a minute to go for a coffee, or to the bathroom, or whatever. that's when he comes in and leaves a cute silver necklace there. it has a little ornament in the shape of the moon, which you've mentioned you adore the sight of. he doesn't really get why you find a generic spatial rock so amusing even though you've explained to him it's about the poetry and the symbolism of it, not only it's function or form in space.

he just ended up accepting that you love the moon and the stars and gave into it, associating you with them. before you come back he leaves. you find the necklace and smirk to yourself. you know it was him who got it for you, of course. the next day, you wear it proudly but don't mention it to him.

in fact, you both don't even talk to one another; the only recognition he gets for his gift is a gentle glance across the room. the silver moon glistens over your chest. you smile. he lowers his glance back to his book, and you don't notice the tiny smirk on his face after that.

of course, this subtle tension builds up over the weeks. i feel like haitham, even though he wouldn't directly make the first move, would get impatient. he'd probably scheme a way for you to end up asking him out. you'd definitely fall for it without knowing it was his plan all along to make you confess first.

another thing is that he doesn't come up with all this by himself. he's got you fooled though because he loves the praise and the light in your face when you realize he's responsible for everything.

but no, he's a liar. he definitely asks kaveh and the boys for advice. actually, all of them come up with very specific ways to win you over. kaveh is a romantic and he's always making sure alhaitham doesn't fuck up lol

“just flowers?” a grimace settles on kaveh's face. “yes” alhaitham says, “isn't that what everyone wants? a bouquet? the classic thing?”

“no” kaveh scoffs. “it's not about the flowers, it's about the intention. anyone can go up to her and give her a bouquet of flowers. also, what's special about a bouquet? the flowers will wither in a week. that can be representative of your relationship. be more original.”

so he brings you a bunch of plants instead that you can hang on your ceiling in your room. it looks quite decorative. now everytime you walk to your room and see the hanging plants, you think of him.

he also sends kaveh to ask you things. like what you're into and what type of person you'd date. and like you know he's asking for him, but you play along.

you even tease them a bit.

“i'm into people who can dance” you confess. “it's just so sexy to see a man who can move. why are you asking though? you're not planning on taking me out, are you?” you rise a brow.

“oh, no, not me” kaveh giggles nervously. later in the day he finds haitham scrolling on his phone at the couch. kaveh takes his phone away, which obviously upsets him, and shuts off his headphones.

he pulls him up, making him stand. that's when haitham notices the music. he gets a little nervous but won't show it. “what are you doing?” he asks defensively.

“teaching you how to move” kaveh replies, and the lesson begins.

❛ while dating ༉‧₊˚

so i feel like after the ordeal that making you his girlfriend was, he'd be the type to grasp onto you and not let you go. not easily, at least.

he's lasting. like if you don't end up marrying this man, at least he's gonna be one of the longest relationships of your life.

no over-the-top displays of affection, though. the subtlety continues. and it secures the duration and firmness of your bond. this man's the type to do rather than say. the way he pampers you is through the little things.

like for example, he keeps perfect track of your cycle. even if you're not regular. he knows when you're ovulating (you get it 😌) and when you're extra sensitive because your periods coming.

“did it come?” he asks casually. you frown, because you've never mentioned it. “yes. just this morning” you guess what he's talking about. “good.” he replies. “how do you know?” you rise a brow. he rests his eyes on you. “two days ago you cried because a bee stung me accidentally and died. you cried because it ‘sacrificed itself for me’. and you buried it. under plants.”

“oh”

“yeah”

of course, he also takes care that you have everything you need, because you can be a little forgetful at times. so you go to the store and while you're wandering the halls in search for candies and chocolate, he grabs a pack of pads and tea and face masks and stuff for you to relax during this time.

ON THE OTHER HAND, he's not the one to easily accept gifts from you. he appreciates them though it's just that he's the type to think of effectiveness and utility when he buys you stuff, while you only buy him things that you find cute or that remind you of him.

like you know you could get him a cute green sweater and he'd be like “i dont need this”, and you'd roll your eyes (he'd wear it nonetheless, because he loves the texture).

so over time you learn to stick to gift him things that have a purpose. books that you know he'd find interesting, perhaps, and that you've read yourself so that you can share something. utensils and tools and stuff that “works”. although you still bring him the occasional trinket or plushie at times.

alhaitham is not a morning person. most often than not you're the one cooking breakfast and cleaning up at early hours. but whenever it happens that he wakes up first and surprises you with breakfast, you appreciate it. he's not the best cook either but he's learned to prepare your favorite dishes perfectly.

i hc you spending time together doing separate tasks or being in silence. he'd be researching, writing, at one side of the room, and you'd be playing videogames or giggling at tiktoks.

“lmao you” you show him a random video, and he glances at it slightly. not a sign of amusement on his face, but you perceive a tiny smirk once you pull back.

also. he helps you with school all the time. you have an essay to deliver in two days and you haven't done a thing? he'll write it for you. *but* this is not free labour. you're gonna have to do something for him as well.

you bargain with him successfully. he writes your essay and you say you'll give him a surprise. the surprise? a candy. he's unimpressed at first, but he shakes his head and smiles and says it's exactly what he was expecting in return.

not really though, you know it. you're just teasing him. it's not like he's some sort of fairy that you can bring candies to and he'll grant your every wish.

i mean he kind of is, but no. so you end up actually paying him back some other way.

and surprise ! your essay gets the best note. alright, it's not like he did all the work. of course, most ideas are yours, he just wrote them eloquently. the teacher praises you. you feel a little bad because you're basically lying but haitham assures you to calm down. he's a scribe nonetheless, and you basically “dictated” the essay to him.

so you have this little thing that you're absolutely in love with life's casualties. whenever you saw a dog passing by you'd scream “dog!” excitedly and sometimes walk up to it and pet it, interrupting haitham mid-sentence (or yourself).

now whenever you're down or distracted at something he's the one to point “dog.” in a lower tone at you. and you rise your glance, see doggy passing by, and you smile, and feel better. “aw, dog” you repeat.

❛ nsfw ༉‧₊˚

he's very touchy, ok? that's his love language. like you're cooking and he casually comes up behind you and grabs your waist, hugs you, and slowly swings you from side to side, very subtle. he lays his chin over your shoulder and watches whatever you've got on the stove.

and then he leaves without saying a word, and you feel the coldness left behind by his absence, making you want him even more.

hes also the type to absentmindedly touch you when you're relaxing. perhaps its even become a form of stimming for him.

you'd have your legs resting on his lap as he reads a passage of his book to you, and you have your eyes close, and he caresses your leg with the other hand.

he's most often than not the one to begin things. he does it that way, making you think you're the one throwing yourself at him, but in fact he's been heating you up in subtle ways the whole day... with little glances and touches and even words.

lmao like this man is conditioning you

like over time you understand the cues and now whenever he does a move like that casually you think to yourself. “oh” and you surprise him later wearing a cute little set of lingerie for him. now who's got the upper hand?

like i feel you've got all of these secret games between you that others don't know about. like this one. who'll give in first? who'll fall first for it? it's so fun.

sometimes you take it as far as making a move in public. you know others don't understand your little cues, it's just between you and him, but you love to see him get a bit shy in front of everyone.

OF COURSE, haitham is a curious type of person. if he's gonna do something, he's gonna do it well. he's not afraid or ashamed of experimenting in the bedroom. so you can come up with all sorts of ideas and he'll probably give them a try.

he's a dom. like any type of dom you want. soft dom, hard dom, whatever. you communicate very openly with him. but it's hard for him to give up control. whenever he accepts to let you dom he's teasing you the whole time.

this man likes being in control ok that's why he's so secretive and stuff. let him be

i feel like he's got a lot of stamina but he gets so sleepy. like im sure he sleeps a lot. just in general not like just after sex.

he can be rough too. and emotional. hes a tongue type of guy. in many ways; he doesn't just love licking, he also loves conversation. praising. degrading. teasing. just words.

he'd be constantly paying attention to your body language to see what you like and dont. he becomes very communicative about this so he's prompting you to speak, approve, and tell him directly if you like something or not.

he loves the sight when you're on top though. just. your body over his. and the way the sweat rolls down your neck into your collarbones. he grasps at your thighs roughly. you feel his fingers burying. and he loves the way you bounce. he won't admit it though, but he does stare in awe when you don't see.

he also won't ask you but he's often hoping you'll give him. like also seeing you on your knees, mouth open, ready for him... he looks forward to it. and you know he loves this part so you don't make it so available to him.

he loves you biting and scratching, but specially biting. he loves the tears rolling down your eyes out of pleasure and the blush on your cheeks.

thrusts are deep and rough. he goes in all the fucking way, deep. he doesn't like doing things mildly anyway. there's also a specific rhythm, but he likes taking unpredictable variation and will sometimes begin thrusting really fast and hard just when you were expecting a slower movement.

he's always ready for aftercare as well. like i just feel like he's a very organized and prepared dude, so he wouldn't do things out of the blue. whenever you start things he's already got everything there for when you finish.

and then you cuddle to sleep and you wake up the next morning... and he's horny again. he's also the type to appreciate some cockwarming after the act.

he's got a high sex drive when it comes to you 😔

oh also i don't feel like you're his first but he's definitely not that experience when you start dating. he learns on the way and through research lol but i don't feel like he's got that high of a body count. NOT LIKE KAVEH AT LEAST.

ta-da~ you've reach the end! if you've come this far thanks for reading <3 reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated ! let me know your thoughts or any other character you want me to write about 🩷🤍

[zer0brainc3lls]

Newtmas headcanons pt2!

Newt and Thomas both read and they just sit in bed together reading all the time, ever so often gasping and going "you'll never guess what just happened-"

Newt is a chronic clothes THIEF. he doesn't buy baggy clothes because he will just go and steal Thomas's stuff 😭 "its not your shirt, its OUR shirt. big difference." "I BOUGHT IT?!" "AND I PICKED IT FOR YOU!" "YEAH I SEE WHY NOW"

Thomas would see little trinkets or flowers and just give it to Newt with little to no context except maybe "for you!" "i found this" Newt has kept every single one. he presses the flowers and keeps them in a book, the trinkets are in a box.

Newt got told by a doctor he should be using a cane, Newt refused but made the fatal mistake of complaining to Thomas about it.. Newt now has a cane decorated with stickers.

before Newt got the flare he had a weaker immune system then the other guys (aka they have really strong immune systems and his was just normal so everyone thought his was weak) but after he got the flare and got cured it ACTUALLY got weak, like a cold for someone else will have him in bed for days vomiting :( Thomas however almost never gets sick.. so he takes care of sick Newt OFTEN

Newt loves taking care of plants, Thomas cannot keep them alive.

Thomas is wearing shorts in the freezing cold, Newt is in multiple layers the moment the temperate gets even slightly cold

Newt is a flower crown/bracelet WARRIOR. Anytime Thomas comes home with flowers he found if he has enough Newt makes them into bracelets for Thomas to wear around (sometimes he makes crowns but he usually makes bracelets because it’s more practical for Thomas)

Thomas won’t take the bracelets off unless he’s showering/sleeping (so they don’t break) and will wear them till they have withered off

Thomas BEGGED Newt to teach him how to plait hair, once he got it down he plaits Newts hair for him

Thomas sometimes has a hard time focusing, and will sometimes not look at people while they are talking (not in a rude way!!) and Newt will just tap him on the shoulder if it’s someone else but if Thomas is “ignoring” HIM.. yk that move he did to frypan when he was looking at Teresa? Yeah. That gets Thomas’s attention alright 😭 example:

Newt: yeah so then-

Thomas: *staring off into the distance, fiddling with his hands deep in thought*

Newt: *rolls his eyes and grabs Thomas’s face and makes him look at him* y’know you’re s’pose to look at people when they talk to ya Tommy

Thomas: *red in the face* uhm- yeah you’re right- sorry what did you say hun?

(Newt knows this gets Thomas flustered btw. Uses it to his upmost advantage)

When Newt got the cure (I’m insane) he still suffered from the rare burst of anger/paranoia and on very very bad days hallucinations, since he was past the gone when he got the cure. No where near as bad to when he had the flare but still bad none the less, Thomas reassures him constantly and helps him calm down.

Being sick is a massiveee trigger for Newt. Fever, flu, vomiting you name it he’s on edge. Sometimes he gets in his own head and second guesses if he’s really cured but once again Thomas saves the day and is always there for him when he’s sick, staying home more to make sure he’s ok. (Writing a small fic about this btw!!!)

Newt is a back rub fanatic. Loves them. Receiving end or giving he does NOT care!! Thomas figured this out and whenever Newt is upset Thomas rubs his back

Fav kiss placements (giving and receiving):

Newt: gives cheek and neck kisses, loves receiving normal, forehead/hair kisses & neck kisses

Thomas: gives normal, just all over Newts face & neck kisses, loves receiving neck kisses and cheek kisses

More on neck kisses specifically there is a reason beside lust!! Its pulse points, reminds them that this is infact real and the other is ok :)

When they hold hands they sometimes check each others pulses out of habit, if in a uncomfortable scenario one will check the others and if it’s higher they gesture with a head nod if the other wants to leave

They both underestimate their own injuries, the other freaks out when the other is slightly sick/injured because in the scorch tiny cuts or the flu were very dangerous. Not much medicine or anything. Even in the safe haven, it’s a habit they won’t get rid of convinced it keeps them safe. They had a rule in the scorch that they had to tell the other if they were injuried since they own they themselves won’t see it as a big deal. Example:

*in the safe haven*

Thomas: hey Newt I got this cut on my hand today *shows palm, slight cut still bleeding*

Newt: *eyes widen in shock, grabbing Thomas’s hand careful not to touch the wound dragging him away*

Brenda: where are you going?!

Newt: to bandage it!! *tugs Thomas’s faster*

They do the whole deal. Cleaning, bandaging double checking etc :( poor boys

Newt tops, Thomas bottoms. No further questions!!

They are NOT picky eaters. At all. Plates fully clean, they do have favourites though

Newt: he loves sweet foods but also loves spicy food, adores pineapple with his whole heart

Thomas: loves salty food, not the biggest fan of spice. Loves carrots and apples though (the carrot one is canon I think)

Going on about food, they share food without question. Apple? Cut in half. Got a snack? Got extra for the other. The other still has food on their plate (very rare) the other will finish it off.

In the wicked facility whenever Thomas ever saw Newt besides sneaking out (rare af) sometimes they would purposely bump into each other just for an excuse to say hi, very very quickly whispering anything important before being ushered away

Sometimes, the others wouldn’t be there when Thomas snuck around so there were a handful of times it was just Thomas and Newt. Newt remembers this and told Thomas, Thomas however doesn’t and is very sad about it. :(

They have perfected lip reading to a tee. Having full on silent convos while everyone else is just like “really?! AGAIN?” Example:

*Newt and Thomas silently talking, gesturing a fuckton with there faces*

Minho: *whispers to Brenda* I’m slowly figuring out that lil shucking language they got going on

Brenda: *whispers back* how?!

They started learning in the scorch, since they rarely got a moment alone they would silently talk strategy. Slowly but surely it turned into silent flirting in the safe haven so Newt will just mouth something and and Thomas will go OUTLOUD “NEWT. NOT HERE!!” “Tommy they don’t know what I’m saying remember??” “… oh yeah”

Before they got together they got into heated arguments and even got slightly physical, all jokes of course but they would shove eachother around and grabbing each others shirts to “emphasise their point” (GAYYYY 🫵🫵🫵🫵)

Another long yap session, expect more. Also new lil fic on working on but do not threat!! I bet on losing dogs chapter 4 IS COMING OUT SOON. And I may write a short lil spin off of Thomas’s worst flare moments in his pov if yall would enjoy that. And soon one of my moots requested a Jeff x reader fic I usually don’t write those but that will be out soon too!!