#been building the collection for a while so

[cheriedivine]

Youtuber Ellie x Reader Hc’s <3

♡‧₊˚₊✧ pairing: youtuber Ellie Williams x youtuber fem reader (No use of y/n)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ CW: slight cursing

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Tags: just pure fluff tbh

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Author’s note: I’ve been watching so much Izzy&Emma lately and i thought about this fun idea and i love this so much lmk if y’all want a part 2 bc i definitely have more ideas for this ^~^ (maybe also a little one shot?)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ok so Ellie convinced you to start a channel with her for shits and giggles yk but a video of you guys doing a Dress to impress gameplay went viral and it was all over tiktok.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Like the video got 100k views in 48 hours…

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ After that, she was hooked. She begged you to keep making videos together, saying it was ��for the fans,” but really… she just liked having an excuse to be on camera with you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ofc you accepted (how could you not when she was so cute)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ One of your most popular videos is the Couple Drawing Challenge where you switch canvases every 5 minutes. You couldn��t stop laughing, meanwhile Ellie was so serious about it. Like, genuinely stressed every time she had to give up her progress.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The paintings turned out surprisingly good (thanks to her of course), and she hung them up in your shared apartment like they’re museum pieces.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ While you love vlogging little cozy days, behind-the-scenes moments, aesthetic montages, Ellie’s more into chaotic gameplay and silly challenges.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ When you hit 1k subscribers (even though she was ready to celebrate at 100), Ellie made a cake from scratch. It was… questionable looking, but the effort was there. She even tried to pipe "1K BABY" on top with pink frosting. (You chose the colors)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I just KNOW she’s the type to be like “babe we’re not doing a Q&A those are cringe” cut to 5 mins later: “so the first question is ‘who fell first’… it was me. obviously.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ELLIE WOULD FORCE JOEL TO APPEAR IN A VIDEO AND IT WOULD BE THE FUNNIEST SHIT EVER.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ I can imagine him wearing that “I love my lesbian daughter” shirt.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The comments immediately dubbed him “DILF of the Year.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie was disgusted. “Stop hitting on my dad, weirdos.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You made Ellie a swear jar so your videos wouldn’t get demonetized. She tried to cheat by using creative alternatives like “fork” and “ship,” but gave up after a week.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You’ve collected enough for like, a whole sephora haul

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ She bought you the Sabrina Carpenter skin in fortnite just so you’d play with her.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You did. And totally destroyed her. She was… not okay afterward. Her ego’s was a bit bruised ngl

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie insists on matching outfits when you film together. Oversized hoodies, themed shirts, stupid little hats, she loves it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Also, she has her hands on you at all times. Arm around your shoulder, hand on your thigh, holding your pinky. Marking her territory for the creepy dudes in the comments.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ She always deletes hate comments so you wont get sad :( (cutie)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ But what she doesn't know is that you made a secret account so you could fight the incels in your comment section LOL

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You filmed a “Doing my girlfriend’s makeup” video… Ellie ended up looking like a glam rock star and refused to take it off for hours because “I ate this shit up to be honest.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ The comment section was filled with “Is your gf single?, asking for a friend”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You deleted them <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie made you film a ghost hunting vlog in an abandoned building. She screamed first. You have the footage. You’re never letting her live it down.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You guys have a series called “Gayming o’clock” where you play dating sims, fortnite, roblox and chaotic co-op games.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ellie accidentally went viral for being too soft with you on camera — like fixing your mic, brushing your hair away, or whispering “you’re doing so good, babe” mid-filming. The fans LOST IT.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ For your anniversary, she made a cringey but adorable montage of your funniest on-camera moments. It ends with her saying “Here’s to forever. Unless you beat me at Fortnite again, then we’re breaking up.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ There’s a running joke on your channel that Joel is the true star. You guys got him a little trophy and filmed him “accepting his award.” He actually smiled (rare footage!!).

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ You guys always EAT UP the fan edits on tiktok, you have a folder full of them.

[vicorices]

www.hotdozed.com/missdeath_zvika

18+ mdni, pure filth, firefighter!sevika, cam!girl reader, she masturbates to your underwear, sexting and nudes yehaaaaw, phone sex, guided masturbation, perv!sevika forever.

this is an special three-part cool multiverse celebrating 800 followers, they work on their own, but you can also check out ellie's side and make me happy if you'd like to — www.hotdozed.com/missdeath_spacemoth.

her control was currently hanging on by a thread.

sevika must have lost the plot somehow when her entire life paralyzes as the yellow envelope comes to meet her eyes and she stays there for a second, finally resting from a long night putting up with the fire on a residential building outside the city.

she happens to know what's in it. but she keeps staring at it until suddenly kneeling to pick it up from the floor, collecting her house keys and closing the door behind her back: privacy. she needs privacy.

she's quick to tear apart the top of the paper-like textured package, letting the waste fall to the floor before her breathing hitches on her throat and she stays there, planted in the entrance in dead silence.

her muscles are sore, she's tired after a 24-hour shift and she's grumpy, craving to sleep her whole time away from duty — a plan that fails miserably when her mind drifts back to something entirely different that catches her full attention: underwear.

this important package here is indeed, your underwear.

there's a pair of polaroid pictures inside she holds between her fingers for a moment, and the scent of your arousal is simply intoxicating, filling the air of her living room as she tosses her gym bag to the floor, unbuckling her uniform jacket to reveal a fitted white shirt tucked inside her working pants: well this was unexpected.

the air is hot all sudden and she has to search for her reading glasses before she has a good look of the picture, the sight of you wearing the same panties that were on her left hand made sevika's head spin, mouth dry when she sees you're there bending on the waist giving her a nice view of your ass, a warmth sensation going down her spine when she catches up the second one, someone else's fingers shoved inside your mouth while your tits are shown for the camera, and the black underwear you're pulling to the side is more than evident as a trophy almost cause you did, in fact, had more than just a good time using the pair she received in her mail.

you're a luxury clearly. a 200$ dollar luxury she can afford even when it might be a little breach to her economy. does not matter when she can feel her own underwear dampening against the image of you, unbuckling her pants despite the pain on her limbs, lazily dragging herself to bed.

it takes a while to notice the numbers written in black marker on the back of one of the photos, but sevika's breath turns hollow when she's aware that's a phone and a code area, pretty calligraphy, polished when she reads: write me for the review, send pics if you want x

you fucking kissed it with red lipstick.

it's been a while since the last time she felt so good like this — perverted behavior to it's finest when she's smelling on your underwear, pressing the lacy fabric against her nose just to take a sniff at it so she's finally aware of how you really smell after so many times imagining it.

the scent clings to the cotton even when it must be a while since you last used them, she can recognize you sprayed them with your perfume so it's a mix between this intense, fruity scent with subtle notes of citrus in it, and a musky one that is unexpectedly good in her nose. and in that moment sevika knows she would text sooner or later, find out if that was a real number there that you gave her, yet she's too busy now, fixating in something else entirely when her flesh hand goes down and pushes past her pants just to tease herself from over the fabric of her own already-soaked underwear.

laying in the comfortable space of a king-sized mattress, she doesn't need much more than your photos. it's enough to have her panting, fingers moving on their own against the slick folds of her cunt unable to get off her uniform, her shoes or anything at all as sevika takes care of that ache that pools in her stomach, that need that trespass beyond her own being.

so her index and middle finger rub consistently against her clit now, fast, sometimes messy movements: she's tired, can someone blame her? you're the one thing driving her insane to this point only by holding a simple g-string in her hand — and despite any torture sev fucking loves it to the core. how the whole scene turns dirty all sudden, the dry traces of your arousal visible in the fabric as she gives a deep breathe and there it is again.

"fuck-" she curses silently in the middle of a lonely room, hips jerking against her own hand in seek of a more direct contact just because unlike any other time; she’s not able to edge herself, tease like she usually do when seeing one of your streams or your saved videos on your profile in hotdozed. sevika’s quick and she goes straight to the point when filling her own cunt using her thick, long fingers until she's moaning in the privacy of an small apartment in the suburbs, door wide open as she ground her hips against her hand and fuck, she's so needy for it.

a coppery taste leaks into her mouth and she didn't know she was biting on her lower lip so hard it draw blood out of it, but it makes nothing more than spur her on to the point she can hear the wet sound her pussy makes each time she's thrusting herself, sweating, there in the edge, she can still feel her own smell after a whole day of being hard working, her white shirt hanging dirty on her own frame, over her stomach as she has a great view of her fingers stuffing herself until there's no space for more and you're there, there in her mind, under her fucking nose, in her memories — written all over like a damn poem.

your scent mixes so well with her's it's enough to make her cum, it drips between her legs and stains on her damn pants and she knows it's just chaotic, you only cause disorder as she lays on bed for a moment trying to catch on her breath for a second. your underwear now rests on the edge of her pants, barely shoved inside her own soaked-through hip huggers, but not enough to be fully in contact with her fluttering cunt.

and if sevika was intelligent, she would be taking a shower and relishing every single hour of her much-needed days off now, but instead of moving from bed to do so, she's just reaching her phone cause she's been dumb as fuck lately, cleaning her fingers with the tissue papers she keeps on her nightstand before she's saving your phone in her contacts and taking a huge fucking risk she would never even take if being rational.

matter of fact, she shouldn't be allowed near a phone while being this horny. not even technology itself, but she's opening up the camera app and before even fucking checking if it's really you, she's taking this photo of her opened pants and her stomach, happy trail clearly showing since she knows — fucking knows girls get off from it. your underwear is half shoved inside, visible in the shot and before she thinks it twice she's fucking sending it as she writes down:

nice panties. kinda thought your pussy would smell this good.

you don't answer until she's finishing her shower like an hour later or so, about to get some sleep now that she has satisfied herself enough to survive until the next morning, but it's clearly an interrupted plan again as her phone buzzes and sevika's forcing herself to open her eyes: too much curiosity to wait to the next morning, at least, that's the poor excuse she'd be giving to her brain before she sees your name in the screen.

glad you like them, you think a lot about me?

next time you should finger yourself with them on your cunt so you can feel me closer- sevika right? nice view.

and to be fair, she caught you in a bad moment, a weak one. it's late at night, you're binge-watching this series you're so invested in until the phone you set up specifically for work buzzes and your mouth is watering at the sight of a good, satisfied client and you're debating with your very own self whether if you should answer or fucking not.

she got you hooked clearly, even if it's late — the firefighter pants, the hair on the lower part of her stomach, your panties lose inside her underwear: doomed cause when you zoom in, you swear to fucking heaven you can see her bush there peaking out ready to have some fun and it’s all it takes for you to respond, guilty of all charges.

you're breaking your own rules, the ones you put some good effort in following cause she keeps texting you and suddenly, you're turned on as ever while exchanging fucking texts for free just cause you're attracted to this client who happens to be a pervert who gets off from buying your used underwear.

got well fucked in this, peach? seems you enjoyed yourself on the photos you sent me.

thing is, sevika won't really show it much, but she knows how to flirt. the words roll out of her tongue easily as she's quick to pick up on a girl's attribute, so she's flirting with you until she's slipping another photo this time of the mirror in front of her bed — she had the need to turn up the lights of the room now and you thank her mentally for it as you stare at the picture, sharp angles of her face, she's not wearing anything else on top more than a silver chain that hangs in her neck and lands between her tits, holding the phone between her fingers to show her reflection.

you know that kind of people, the dangerous one — cause you expected a whole weirdo behind the screen, yet you're quickly ashamed of your poor judgment as you have to eat your words cause sevika's indeed fucking hot.

it's different from the other photo. while the first one was messy and dirty, sevika don’t show her face; however now is nothing but the opposite, wet hair that sticks on the sides of her bone structure, wearing a clean, cropped tank top and briefs now that were dangerously low on her belly, at least enough so you can peak a little for the intrinsic lines of her body without even fucking zooming in.

she's playing, you're playing. it's not like you really do that all the time anyway, but your fingers are tapping on the camera app too before wiggling comfortable in bed only to lift up your own shirt — it's simple and effective as you squeeze your tits together, biting on the fabric of your shirt only to pull it slightly upwards, you want to show some as well, tease like she does.

it's far from the complex shit you upload on hotdozed but god — turns sevika on more than ever.

maybe it's the normal factor to it, she can see the wrinkled sheets beneath you, a band shirt she does not recognize, plump lips; you're not wearing make-up and fuck's sake: each photo it's better than the last one. it's just flesh, simple skin but it makes sevikas mouth water, her body stiffens and her muscles ache, burning beneath fatigue and lust.

escalates quickly cause you're sending her an audio of your moans next and sevika cannot fucking believe it, not when she's been masturbating to your stuff months from now. she's pressing the play button before turning on the volume to hear it clearly, low moans that fill out her solitary room, the wet sound of your drenched cunt on the background, barely audible but enough to make her chest explode: you're touching yourself.

you send videos not longer than ten seconds after, fucking riding your pillow and moaning out her name. playing dirty, fucking dirty because that's special content for her only, her favorite so far and she saw plenty already — either way, it fucks her up entirely as the message slips from her fingers without thinking about it: fuck weirdness. if so, sev's been always attracted to it, to the unconventional and the rather unexpected. hope you did too.

free to call ??

she didn't expect your reply either. it seems to take eternal seconds before she can read another one of your texts on her lockscreen again when she's about to forget about it.

yeah, go on.

simple and effective, she needs you to put a final stop on her misery. the phone rings one, two- three times before you're picking it up, voice rough and still panting for air before you talk on the other side of it — it seems she interrupted something important when she's greeted instead, with silence.

"already starting without me?" sevika asks, and her own voice seems to travel throughout her entire apartment, strained, rough as she's already thinking now about her own release, how she should be getting off her uniform before it needs to be double cleaned.

"shit-your voice sounds so fucking nice" you say at the other side, and she recognizes your tone already from your videos, the moans that don't differ much from the ones you're holding on as you speak "i don't really do this- so don't get any weird ideas, i won't answer your calls in the middle of the night. this is special."

"i wouldn't even dream on it, peach" sevika teases, resting her sore back against the head of the bed as she holds the phone against her ear: special, this is special — "now that you settle the basics, are you going to tell me what you're doing right now or do i have to ask you so you start on spilling me the details, huh?"

"i uh- i'm riding my pillow" the tone you use to say it fucks her right in the brain, it's not all so confident and cocky like she usually sees, you're fucking shy as you're moving again and she can feel the sound of your bed creaking as your breathing becomes heavy again "got so turned on- s'all your fault."

"good, so you now you can feel just a bit of what you've been doing to me for months now" sevika spats on the other side, and you let out a moan against her words as you move again and the friction in between your legs sends a shiver down your spine when your folds drag across the usual soft fabric now rough against your sensitive core — "does it feel good baby? does the friction feel nice?"

"yes," you breathe out as you're now moving faster, a wet trace now over the pillow marking up the constant back and forth movement you've been following non-stop "yes, kind of need more-"

"so use your fingers then," she suggests, mushy brain at the idea "i know you have some nice toys doll, stuff your pretty pussy so i can hear."

"pervert," you chuckle on the other side, laughs that are interrupted by the pleasure you were being a victim on, how quick your fingers seem to assault your own clit as you begin to move faster — "fucking pervert wanting to hear me cum- ah shit."

"the things i'd do to go down on you and taste that cum too," you're not putting an end to her misery but only aggravating it all, making sevika's hand sweat as she's sniffing on your fucking underwear again and she cannot get a grip from it, not when it's the closest thing she has to your smell, that same scent that must be coating your pillow now as she can hear the moans that each of your movements elicit "keep moving c'mon, don't stop rubbing on your clit and keep talking to me."

thing is, you cannot really talk after a few seconds. you're reaching your peak and dragging it slowly with each roll on your hips, your fingers rub perfectly against your puffy clit, swollen labia, the friction is fucking killing you to the point your legs are shaking on each side of the pillow, mumbling incoherent words now unable to hold on the phone.

"ride it out," sevika says, biting on her thumb as the pain seems to ground herself — "please doll, don’t stop moving. soak up your sheets and make a mess for me, you deserve it for being so good."

you comply without making her beg, even when you think to do so as you move your hips slowly, her voice sounds awfully nice when she says please, but the friction’s already overstimulating when your folds seem to open up to the form of the pillow now lubricated enough to just slip between your legs and in return, you have no voice to ask for anything at all.

your eyes roll backwards and you know you're in deep trouble when sevika keeps talking you through it, convincing you to grab the dildo in your nightstand, to let the pink head of it kiss your entrance before she reminds how you need to be gentle, rub it slowly in your sore pussy cause that's how she'd do it with her strap before slowly pushing it inside your welcoming hole until you're full, so you’re unable to think about anything else but her cock.

outstanding. you never let a former watcher call you. the phone number was set up for a way of making more money, but you want this from the bottom of your stomach, a desire that much rather feasts on your guts.

and sevika keeps up her promise cause she don't call you the week after, surprisingly good when it comes to follow your rules cause she doesn't push your boundaries but instead, she's letting you call her first — in the dead of the night, when she's least expecting it:

you always call her first.

[piastriprincess]

the day that i met you (i started dreaming)  ⸻  george  russell  x  reader  .

featuring  george  russell  ,  american!reader  ,  meet  cute  ,  fluff . word  count  1.6k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  ,  i  hope  i  did  it  justice  !  this is my first  time  writing  for  george  but  i  actually  love  the  way  it  turned  out  !  i  know  he  lives  in  monaco  now but  he’s  a  proper  english  gent  to  me  forever  .  i  used  some  details  from  my  own  study  abroad  so  don’t  tell  me  it’s  not  accurate  …   it  is  TO  ME  !  argue  with  the  wall  .  come  tell  me  what  you  thought  of  the  fic  or  send  me  a  req  <3  title  from  kingston  by  faye  webster  .

21:  library  books  and  pouring  rain  .

Your first day in London wasn’t supposed to turn out like this, you think bitterly. 

It had started off perfect, really. You woke up to the sun streaming into the windows of your brand-new apartment flat, a tiny, cozy little place to call home while you did your PhD year abroad. With the heat of late summer still hanging in the air, you ventured out to the university library. Walking down the cobblestone streets of Covent Garden towards the imposing neo-Gothic building, admiring the charming little brick buildings with their flower box windows, you were feeling more inspired than you’d ever been back home. You could picture yourself in a movie, the charming young American heroine taking on a big city for the first time. The library was beautiful too, an airy circular room with books stacked all the way up to a massive domed skylight. Although your dissertation was still a somewhat blurry concept, the stack of borrowed books you’d collected and printouts you’d carefully annotated felt like progress, and you hugged them to your chest like a shield as you walked out through the stately oak double doors. Yes, things were going well in London.

Everything was going so well, in fact, that you didn’t think to check the weather before you left the library. Rookie mistake. 

The first drop fell with a fat, ominous splat on your cheek; it was enough to make you pause in the middle of the sidewalk and look up quizzically at the hazy grey sky. You swear you only stopped for a second, but it was enough. The skies cracked open suddenly, and before you knew it the rain was coming down like sheets and soaking through your shirt. 

You didn’t think. You just broke into a run, sneakers splashing through puddles and arms clutching your precious papers to your chest. By the time you managed to duck underneath the eaves of the nearest building — a cozy, golden-lit little café you hadn’t noticed on your earlier walk — you were completely drenched. 

And now here you are, hair plastered to your forehead, jeans suctioned to your legs. And your research. Oh, your research. The ink on your printouts is as hopelessly smeared and runny as your mascara, and the spines on some of your books are so warped they look like they’re cringing right along with you. Forget the charming heroine, you think — you’re a bumbling fool, completely undone by basic British weather. The pouring rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon, and you don’t even have an umbrella. Carefully placing your books on the ground, you slump against the wall, watching the rain blur the sharp edges of the buildings as hot tears prick at the back of your eyes. 

A little bell chimes from somewhere over your head, the café door opens, and then a voice: “Blimey. Are you alright?”

You look up sharply at the man standing above you and nearly gasp. Dashing, that’s the only word to describe him — tall and lean in a way that makes your cheeks heat up, chestnut hair falling effortlessly across his forehead, and big, brilliant blue eyes trained directly on your face. You’re suddenly very aware of how you probably look, makeup smudged under your eyes and your clothes clinging to your body. You wipe quickly at your eyes, straightening up. “Oh. I’m fine, thanks,” you say as you tuck a soggy strand of hair behind your ear, and you hate how hollow it sounds. 

“American,” he says, a note of surprise in his voice. You nod in response. “Well, welcome to London,” he says, smiling, and your stomach flips. 

You try to smile back, but it’s forced. “Thanks. Bit of a rough first day.”

He frowns. “Well. That won’t do. London’s brilliant, you can’t have a bad impression of it right off. Here, take this.”

He holds out an umbrella to you, handle first. It’s sleek, black, expensive — the type of thing carried by a man who plans ahead, who’s never, ever surprised. There’s a little circular logo carved into the handle, three lines converging in the center. Mercedes, you think distantly, although you’re not sure you’re right; you don’t know a thing about cars. You stare at the umbrella, at everything it represents, for an instant longer, then back up at him. “I can’t,” you say reluctantly. “How would I get it back to you?”

That stops him short, and he stands there considering for a moment. You take the opportunity to drink him in again, eyes trailing up the oxford shirt with the rolled up shirtsleeves exposing tanned, muscular forearms, the strong jawline, the full lips. 

“Well, I’m heading home too,” he says finally, with a soft smile. “I don’t mind walking you.” 

You hesitate again. You don’t know him, and normally you would be more suspicious of a strange man knowing where you live. But — and it sounds crazy, but you know it — he’s a gentleman. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, like the romantic lead of a period drama, telling you it would really be his honor to escort you home. Against all odds, you find yourself wanting to say yes. 

“Okay. But you have to tell me your name first,” you say, raising your eyebrows. You tell yourself you’re being safe, making sure he’s not a serial killer. But really, you just want to know it. 

He laughs a little at that, though you’re not sure why it’s funny, and extends his hand to you. “George. George Russell.” 

You shake his hand, and tell him your name in return. He repeats it, and it sounds like honey dripping off his tongue, sweeter than you’ve ever heard it before. You let him step closer to you and open the umbrella above your heads, and he scoops your books under his arm without even asking you. It’s so ridiculously kind, reminds you so much of home, that your heart does a little stutter in your chest. 

“Right, shall we?” he says, his shoulder brushing against yours as you maneuver slowly down the sidewalk. The contact feels electric, heat pooling under your skin. “So tell me, how’d you end up in London?”

You’re not normally so open with someone you barely know. Maybe it’s the way that he’s the first person on this continent who feels like he’s actually listening to you, maybe you just want him to know you, but you open your mouth and the words start spilling out. You tell him about your dissertation, your family back home, how scary it is to be in a completely unfamiliar world, but exciting too. He’s quiet as he listens, thoughtful in his responses: he’s close to his family, tells you all about his travels all over the globe for work. The walk is all too short. You find yourself wanting to know everything about him now that you’ve had a little taste. 

“Thank you,” you say as you gather your papers in your hands, reluctant to leave now that you’ve reached your destination. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Couldn’t very well leave a damsel in distress, could I?” he smiles at you, those big blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly of me.”

You smile up at him, and it isn’t forced at all. “Well. Thank you anyway, George.” He’s looking down at you through his lashes, eyes soft. The air between you feels charged, weighty. If this were a movie, he’d kiss you right now, and there’d be nothing gentlemanly about it. You think, for a moment, that you see him leaning in; your eyes flutter shut, and—

George clears his throat, blinking hard. “No problem.”

Your eyes snap open, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You let go of the umbrella, and it feels like you’re letting go of something important, something you should be holding onto with both hands. But there was a moment, you know there was. And he didn’t take it. You turn, walking slowly up your steps, shoulders set just a little lower than they were before. 

You’re fumbling for your keys, about to go inside, when he calls your name. You turn around. “Yeah?”

He shuffles his feet slightly, like he can’t decide whether to walk away or come closer. He’s nervous, you realize, and your heart swoops in your chest watching the soft line of his mouth as he worries his lip in between his teeth. “C-could I get your number? You know, in case you need another escort out of the rain.”

You just smile at him, pulling your phone out of your pocket and tossing it to him with rain-slick hands. He catches it — reflexes surprisingly quick — and starts tapping in a new contact. You watch his brows knit together slightly as he types before handing it back to you, his fingers brushing over yours. You don’t even pretend to ignore the sparks that simmer under your skin this time, and at the last moment you press up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek before you head back up the stairs. George goes pink up to the ears and stands there for a moment, fingers pressed against the spot your lips touched, smiling at you like he can't believe you're real.

Maybe you were the heroine all along, you think dreamily to yourself, standing on your stoop as you watch his back retreat into the rain. You just got the genre wrong. He's the one who turns around this time, like he can’t help but take one last look at you before he rounds the corner, and you smile so wide your cheeks hurt. 

Funny that. You were in a romance the whole time. 

[darlingweareatragedy]

his new high

Warnings: DUB-CON, Organized-Crime, Drug (Shimmer) Use, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness

Summary ~ You soothed his pain in a way shimmer never could, and now he’d rather destroy your dreams than watch you leave his arms.

The first time Silco saw you, it was in the fading light of a backroom chem lab. You were bent over a half-conscious man, stitching his torn arm with mechanical precision. His screams filled the room, curses and desperate pleas, but you remained calm, steady, your voice soothing. There was no hesitation in your movements, no tremor in your hands. You didn’t look up when he entered. Not even when the room fell into that particular kind of silence, the delirious ramblings of the injured man fading as he slipped into unconsciousness. It was the kind of silence that settled when someone powerful walks in.

You didn’t fear him. That was your first mistake.

“Most people flinch,” he said eventually, his voice a smooth rich timber. One eye gleamed with an unsettling interest. The other was ruined, unblinking.

You tied off the final stitch and set the needle aside. “Then most people aren’t busy saving someone’s life.”

Silco smiled, it wasn’t a kind smile.

He started showing up more often, sometimes to have you patch up one of his men, stitch a wound, or set a broken limb. Then came the calls for help with research, concoctions, healing. Gradually, he began to trust you enough to assist him in administering shimmer to his red eye. He always had a reason. But over time, those reasons began to wear thin. You were sharp enough to notice

“You don’t need me, Silco,” you told him one evening, after his lieutenant left with freshly bandaged ribs. “You just want something.”

He stepped closer, the scent of smoke and oil clinging to him, the faint metallic tang of shimmer still lingering around his skin.

“And you’re so sure that’s a bad thing?” he murmured. “Wanting something.”

The obsession wasn’t sudden. It was a drip. Slow. Poisoned.

A package on your desk one morning, a vial of rare solvent, only available in Piltover, wrapped in black silk. A gift of soft velvet-lined gloves, with a note: “To protect your hands. We can’t afford to lose them.”

A word to your landlord, suddenly, your rent dropped to nothing. "Consider it... gratitude," Silco’s voice had been like a velvet noose, tightening around you.

You told yourself you weren’t his. But his people stopped calling you by name. They started calling you Silco’s medic. Then, simply, Silco’s.

He kept coming back. Each time, it was a new wound, a dislocated shoulder, a burned hand, a poisoned operative. But he never left right after. He lingered, watching you as you worked. Sometimes, he brought rare supplies, claiming they were for your patients, but he always insisted on giving them to you directly.

He learned your rhythms. What made you laugh, when you skipped meals, how your brow creased when you were focused, how you chewed your lip when you were uncertain.

And somewhere in that quiet obsession, shimmer began collecting dust.

You never saw the moment it shifted. The moment his need for you went from admiration to something darker. Something possessive. Addictive.

One day, while you were restocking shimmer, you mentioned it, absently. “I’ve applied for a fellowship in Piltover. Medical sciences. If I get in... I’ll be gone for a while.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

You turned slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze, a cold burn against your skin. Silco was staring at you like you’d just ripped the breath from his lungs.

Piltover. The word alone was bile in his mouth.

“You want to leave?” he asked, too calm, like it was a simple question.

“For a year. Maybe two.”

“For them?”

“No. For me.”

He stepped closer. You could feel the heat of him now, the tension building between you. “You don’t need that. Everything you’ve built ... we've built, it’s here. These people need you. I need—”

He stopped himself, like he was choking on the words.

You stared. “You need...?”

He looked away, jaw clenched, before answering coldly, “The undercity needs you.”

But the lie hung in the air, thick and suffocating, like smoke.

After that, things changed. The guards around your clinic doubled. Your mail stopped arriving.

And one morning, you found a letter from the Academy , torn at the seal, empty, discarded in your trash bin.

You confronted him, and he didn’t even pretend to be innocent.

“You belong here,” he said, his voice low, trembling with a quiet madness that chilled you. “They’ll use you. Break you. Strip you of everything that makes you... you.”

“And you won’t?” you shot back.

He stepped closer. So close that you could feel his breath on your lips. “No,” he whispered. “I’ll worship you.”

“You belong here,” he said, the words trembling with a quiet madness that sent a chill skittering down your spine. “With the undercity. With me. Piltover would ruin you.....strip away everything that makes you… you.”

“Ruin me?” you shot back, your voice rising as you took a defiant step toward him. “You’re the one caging me! The guards, the missing mail, this—” You thrust the torn letter toward him, your hand shaking. “You don’t get to decide my life!”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Don’t I?” he murmured, closing the gap between you with a predator’s grace. The heat of his body was suffocating, the scent of him, smoke, oil, and that faint metallic tang, wrapping around you like a chain. His hand rose, fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt like a lie, a trap disguised as affection. “Everything I’ve done, the rare solvents, the gloves, your rent, it was for you. Because you’re mine.”

You jerked away, but the examination table pressed against the backs of your thighs, cold and unyielding, trapping you in his orbit. “I’m not yours,” you said, your voice wavering despite your resolve. “I’m not some… thing you can own, Silco. This is obsession, it’s not love. It’s control.”

His hand froze, his expression flickering...pain, anger, then something deeper, more unhinged. “Control?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “No, my dear. It’s devotion.” He stepped closer, his body crowding yours, his breath hot against your lips. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The way we fit. The way you calm the storm inside me.” His fingers slid to the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair, not pulling but holding you in place, anchoring you to him. “You’re my salvation.”

Your heart pounded, a traitor that refused to still. You wanted to push him away, to scream, but his proximity, the raw intensity of his gaze, stirred something within you, fear, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something you couldn’t name. “You’re wrong,” you said, but the words lacked conviction, your voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushed the pulse point at your throat, and you hated the way your body responded, a shiver racing through you, warm and treacherous.

“Liar,” he purred, his lips grazing your ear, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “You’ve never flinched from me before, not when you stitched my men, not when you held my gaze while dosing my eye. Why now?” His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat. His lips brushed there, a fleeting kiss that made you gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing his coat, unsure whether to push or pull. “Because you know what I want… and part of you wants it too.”

“No,” you said, louder, shoving against his chest. But he was immovable, a wall of lean muscle and unshakable will. His free hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of your waist, possessive and warm. The touch was electric, and you shuddered, caught between revulsion and a spark that flickered low in your belly. “Silco, stop,” you said, your voice trembling. “This isn’t right.”

His eyes softened for a moment, a glimpse of the man who’d once brought you rare supplies, who’d watched you work with quiet reverence. But the darkness surged back, drowning that fleeting light. “Right?” he murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. “Nothing in this world is right. But you… you’re perfect.” His lips crashed against yours, not gentle but desperate, hungry, as if he could consume you, bind you to him through sheer force of will.

You turned your head, breaking the kiss, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved to your jaw, your neck, leaving a trail of bruising kisses that drew a whimper from your lips. His hand slid higher, pushing your shirt up to expose the soft skin of your stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs with a reverence that belied the coercion. “Silco, please,” you said, but the words were a plea, not a command, and he heard it.

“You say no, but your body begs for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with triumph. His hand cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your undershirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to a peak. He groaned against your skin, the sound raw and primal, and you hated the way it sent a pulse of heat between your thighs. “You’re mine,” he said, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, his touch both gentle and demanding, a paradox that left you dizzy.

You pushed at him again, but your hands faltered, your resolve fraying under the onslaught of sensation. His other hand moved lower, deft fingers unbuttoning your pants, slipping inside to find you already wet, a betrayal that made him groan low in his throat. “See?” he said, his voice a dark caress. “You want this. You want me.”

Tears stung your eyes as you shook your head, but your body was a traitor, responding to his touch with a heat you couldn’t deny. His fingers teased you, slow and deliberate, coaxing pleasure you didn’t want to feel. “Silco, please,” you said, but the words were softer now, your voice breaking as he pushed you toward an edge you didn’t want to cross.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, pulling back to meet your gaze, his good eye dark with need, the ruined one a void that seemed to swallow your protests. “Tell me, and I’ll make it good for you.”

You stared at him, torn between the fear in your heart and the heat in your body. “I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what you wanted. The uncertainty was a crack in your armor, and Silco seized it.

He kissed you again, softer this time, but no less possessive, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers worked you, pushing you closer to a precipice. When he pulled back, he lifted you onto the examination table, the cold metal biting into your bare skin, baring you to his hungry gaze. His hands were everywhere, on your thighs, your hips, your breasts, claiming every inch of you as he spread your legs and stepped between them.

His trousers were already undone, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh, and you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, unsure whether you were pulling him closer or pushing him away. “I’ll worship you,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he positioned himself at your entrance. He entered you slowly, deliberately, each inch a claim, a promise, a curse. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you, the stretch both painful and intoxicating.

He moved with a reverence that belied the coercion, his thrusts deep and measured, his hands cradling your face as if you were something precious, something sacred. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a low chant as he drove into you, each movement pushing you closer to an edge you couldn’t escape. And as pleasure built despite your protests, you felt yourself unraveling, giving in to the storm that was Silco, his touch, his voice, his obsession.

He didn’t shoot shimmer anymore.

He had traded one addiction for another.

You were his new high now.

[r0-boat]

Flushing out the transphobs with Paimon NSFW alphabet

Cw: biting, blood, mentioning period sex like once, sadism.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sex with Paimon is very intense and messy, so there is nothing like bathing together with cuddles, kisses, and words of affirmation before snuggling in bed with the robes on and watching reality TV shows.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your lips there's just something about making your lips bleed while kissing you that sends shivers up his spine. Laughing up your blood with his tongue staining those pretty little lips with his pink cherry chapstick.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Nice and messy, all over your face and body, running down those legs, dripping on the sheets. Covering you in his cum, on your breasts, your ass, your stomach. Anywhere where his cum can reach.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Paimon has a 'streaming' account and has been wanting you to 'collaborate' with him for a while now. He thinks that not only his fans but also he and you will enjoy it very much. Show everyone on the online space how good he is at making you scream, sharing the cute little faces you make with the entirety of hell and maybe even making some devils jealous.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Paimon has the experience of a devil from Abbaddon. He not only knows what he is doing, but he is damn good at it, and he has a lot of pride about it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favorite is classic missionary holding your hands down onto the bed, making you look up at him, or you make those cute little faces and pleasure and kiss you deep.

If for some reason that's not available a close second is anywhere where his mouth has easy access to your skin. Nice soft and easy to make bleed.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

80% of the time Paimon is on the goofier side, where he is having sex to enjoy this intimacy with you.

The other there 20% however.... It's hardcore angry. Where he just wants to use you like a fuck toy.... Be careful when he's in one of those moods. You will have purple and bloody skin and deep bite wounds everywhere the next morning.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Groomed to perfection ❤️

He does like hair on his partners but on him personally he'd rather be shaved.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Atmosphere and romance is important to Paimon. Yeah sex is great, But it's so much better if there is build up.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Duh? Who doesn't? Jacking off is healthy. Everyone wacks their dick.

Sometimes like any other devil in Gehenna He gets so angry he jacks off.

But most of the time he usually films at for his 'streams' And he has not subtle about who he's thinking about or what he is thinking about.

If you asked I'm pretty sure Paimon would just tell you casually like talking about the weather.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Period Sex (obvious one let's continue)

Paimon is a BIG bitter, And they don't just take little nibbles like a pussy. His teeth is sinking into your skin and he is leaving marks. And they will bite you for any reason positive or negative even neutral. Paimon is a shark with hands and legs You smell good at therefore you get bite.

You are bleeding from your nose or from a wound? Paimon will taste maybe have a bite.

Little piranha Paimon.

They also have a massive thing for dulling you up with all their collection of makeup just to fucking ruin you. They may not look at it, but Pinemont leads more sadist than masochist in my eyes. They get off to seeing your face swollen full of tears, blood, and makeup smeared with cum all over it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In their bed. His bedroom is very nice and smells very good, he just cleaned it for you and look he brought in a charcuterie board as well :).

Let him feed little cheese and meats to you while he gropes and touches you. In his bedroom no one can take your attention from him and he can have you all to himself and the two of you can hang out before during and after sex :)))).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Any wound or bruise, if you are bleeding and look a little messed up.

But on the other hand, if you have a nice outfit on maybe even makeup your hair is nicely done all they can think about is ruining you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Paimon will not share. Streaming sex with you is an exception because he's the one fucking you. But he will not share you with anyone else. Paimon gets way too possessive and competitive and usually it will end in blood. Blood that is not his or yours.

Paimon also prefers not to fuck you in public You grab too many eyes. Too many devils trying to grab your attention.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

RAAAAA PUSSY AND COCK RAAAA!

SIT ON HIS FACE RIGHT NOW!!!

SMEAR HIS LIPSTICK ON YOUR SHAFT!!!

GRIND ON HIS FACE.

AND OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND TAKE HIS COCK LET HIM FUCK YOUR THROAT! DOES THE BURN OF HIS COCK RESIZING YOUR THROAT FEEL GOOD?

(I imagine him wearing this shirt called "I love rainforest pussy." )

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual at first but slowly becoming more fast and rough. Paimon seems to get rougher and rougher over time until this year force of his hip slamming against you is making your legs shake. Please beg he wants to hear your pathetic little human voice bag.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He understands why people like quickies It just isn't for him, when he is pissed however and all he can think about is tearing into the first fuckable body he can see. That goes out the window. Along with anything else that I've said that he doesn't like.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

It's never just fucking with Paimon there has to be something new and exciting. Something that keeps the adrenaline running.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Paimon has the stamina of a horse on crack and his secret is just pacing yourself making sure to slow down every once in awhile when you feel close as well as plenty of stamina training. He also says "Violence :)" but that's a joke I think.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes! Oh fuck yes do you want to see his collection all pink for your pink tax pleasure!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Don't.Tease.Paimon. Paimon is usually a happy-go-lucky person but their patients only last so long. A little bit of teasing is ok but if it happens a little bit too much it gets tiring very quickly. And if you don't give him what he is craving he is going to take it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He doesn't give a fuck how loud he is, if you're being too loud let them hear. He's got to make sure that other devils know that if they want your favor he is a threat. And to stay away.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Paimon loves the concept of slashers, and would love to roleplay that in bed with a gun to your head or a knife to your throat fucking you. It's just... He's bad at it. Paimon It's just not a very good actor. But when they are angry however....

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A very pretty cock,silky soft cock nice and smooth, a little bit on the longer side tham the thicker side, with heavy balls, with a sensitive tip, that loves to drool.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Paimon sex drive is high very high, You just never know because he doesn't really talk about it all that much. He's more worried about other things.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Paimon usually doesn't sleep after sex, he'd rather spend after sex cuddling and having a lazy time in bed but not sleeping.

[arschbiene]

My super long headcanon on my flavor of Brandenburg below (heavy emphasis on no right or wrong on a very colorful german state with a complex history, this is just how I like to do it).

This is autistically long but I don't care, I am have a personal emergency and this has been keeping me occupied. This is for me but just sharing on my blog. Subject to change xoxoxoxo

Relationship to the Empire:

Begrudgingly obedient when he must be. He understands this is a dance between being bold and meek. Deeply aware that upward mobility is a game of social graces and military posturing.

Manipulates the system, can be very audacious with his demands and maneuvering.

Careful that the Empire and it's representative children always see him in an ideal light. Wants to seem the toothless dog, Gilbert does not understand this is intentional.

After repeated insults from the Emperor, he realizes good behavior brings no real reward and quickly abandons the effort.

Under the influence of his electors/Gilbert he learns to quickly discard any alliance/relationship/document/etc that no longer benefits him.

Eventually he only ever bends the knee to gain favor or stall his enemies.

His self-interest is a matter of survival, not choice. Does things with a grim necessity, including hurting his brother wife.

Power:

He knows power is perceived, not absolute so he obsesses over his image in public. Gilbert's behavior (especially all his attempts to undermine his authority) feels like an assault on all his efforts.

Does not believe power should be shared, wants to own it entirely.

Resists being equals with Gilbert due to a lack of trust, often asserting dominance with tyranny.

Selfish and overbearing in his need for control.

The more politically helpless or stressed he feels, the more pressure he puts on Gilbert.

At his worst: nitpicking, overly critical, and obsessed with perfection when it's unachievable for someone like him. Can be difficult for Gilbert to be around because this gets suffocating fast.

Appearance:

Tall with a leaner build, shows his muscles in the broadness of his shoulders. Think swimmer or ballet athlete type builds. About 17-20 years old in this era. Gilbert is about 15-18.

Breaks the mold with the other german brothers, has a ton of recessive/foriegn traits but shares some bone structure with Gilbert.

Finds it exhausting to dress in full court regalia, but he refuses to be seen without it. Without the hair, the makeup, the polished veneer, he feels plain and forgettable against his golden siblings.

Vain in an insecure way. Deeply invested in appearances. He fixates on how he looks but can’t see his own beauty. Years of jeering from his brothers have left him doubting it.

For war/home/downtime/small meetings: he braids his hair tightly in different styles. Otherwise a small army of servants curls his hair every morning, only for it to unravel into loose waves as the day goes on which infuriates him. Abusive to his staff and then sorry about it.

In public, he tries to impress with the finest clothing and jewelry. In private, he dresses more modestly. He prefers dark colors to look more mature and composed. Gilbert gets dressed in soft colors and youthful/childish styles. He is obsessive about Gilbert's appearance and grows angry if he refuses to conform to his expectations.

Public Face:

His mask is calm, collected, always pleasant, always charming. He is deliberate in his words and movements. He's soft spoken (in a forced way). Gilbert mocks the difference between his public voice and his rougher tones in private.

He does his best to mask his weaknesses and teaches Gilbert to carry himself with a smile, a pleasant and charming attitude, but Gilbert can't really ever soften himself like Dietrich can. Dietrich’s smile rarely reaches his eyes. His eyes are sad and anxious. His resting expressions are weary and drawn, while Gilbert’s are angry and impatient.

Socially competent, but not likable; Lacks an obvious sincerity and warmth, especially to those with more natural charm or confidence. HRE/Austria mistake this as submission, they like this customer service type engagement. His likability improves with time as he grows less guarded.

Loves beautiful and gentle things. Loves nature, animals. Big on music, philosophy, literature, tries to broaden Gilbert’s mind but he remains a boy of sciences,medicine math and politics. Often in conversation, he finds Gilbert boring and boorish and Gilbert finds him effeminate and preachy. Arts boy married to STEM boy. INSANE jealous when Gilbert is more open and receptive to these topics from others.

Psychological Strain:

He’s has some narc traits but without pathologizing him too much. He acts this way because of extreme strain, desperation, stress, and exhaustion.

He is spread thin and constantly tired, always in some level of pain. Thirty years of war have left damage that manifests as a torso/chest burn that weeps and bleeds.

He is always hiding fatigue and pain, which frays his nerves and temper. He can often be in a bad mood when he is really a gentler spirit underneath it all.

Has an irresponsible streak due to being overwhelmed. Loses things constantly, a big excessive spender due to financial trauma. Always late, always in a rush. Forgetful of appointments and promises. Improves with age and peace.

He’s resilient, but cracking under the extreme stress of being at the mercy of others. War is constant, and the pressure to be perfect wears him down. He is not very suited for the leadership role he’s forced himself into nor the dire circumstances of the era. Prone to depressive Howl like tantrums of despair. Catastrophizes, thinks everything Gilbert does independently is their doom.

He represses everything until he explodes, usually in private. Can be very verbally abusive with the truth, especially with Gilbert. We owe some curing of Gilbert's more stubborn evils due to him.

Self-Perception:

A bit of a Martyr Complex but honestly, valid.

Pragmatic survivor who still tries to lead with values in his opinion. Deeply strategic; Reads the room and reshapes himself as needed. Survival comes before pride. Believes in suffering indignity for the greater good.

Lacks self awareness but thinks he is extremely self aware. Gilbert is in his bitchy teenage years so he is constantly being rocked by the kid's one liners. Contemplates insults for hours in his room and maybe sheds a tear or two when his feelings are hurt before deciding that Gilbert is a nasty feral brat who is wrong and doesn't know anything at all.

Righteous, chosen due to his inherent goodness to ‘save’ Gilbert from himself. Deluded about his own worth/valor, cannot face his faults. Tries to ignore his shame as he crosses his own boundaries and eats shit politically.

Conflict and Lies:

Can fight and defend himself but avoids it when he can. Bold and risky with his military endeavors but personally if it's just him thinks it's a bigger shame to lose a fight than run from it.

Considers Gilbert VERY dangerous to engage with due to his capacity for violence but also feels the need to assert himself physically. Sometimes finds himself feeling frightened in confrontations with the child especially when the power balance isn't in his favor, doesn't like how it makes it feel.

Works on a policy of minimizing damage/losses until he realizes he has to defend himself.

Not the most skilled in battle though he has good training from Netherlands, he is competent, but not talented like Gilbert is. In a 1:1 fight, he will be more defensive/trying to end the conflict/restrain his opponent to reason/bargain with them. Only violent when he must be and then he does not hesitate, does not take pleasure in it. Gilbert's delight in it makes him very upset.

While he is at first careful with his words, he grows more and more vocal and openly critical about the Empire and its dogs as time goes by and he's dissatisfied with his growth.

He tends to lie often and lie well. Strategic with lying and often believable as he is so careful with it, hard to catch him in a lie; avoids confrontation with partial truths or omissions. Tries to keep Gilbert out of the loop, wants him to be innocent, in his mind to stunt his growth and influence, but it’s an impossible endeavor. The more you hide from Gilbert, the more insistent he is in his search.

My era specific Gilbert Headcanon:

Dietrich coveted the calm, stabilized and rehabilitated verison of his brother Tolys and Feliks worked so painstakingly to accomplish. Also deeply coveted his economic vibrancy, land mass, fertile land, food sources, and access to the sea.

Did not understand the grand coordinated effort it took to get Gilbert to this level and how early into recovery he was still. He thinks it's a miracle and overestimates his ability to keep the progress going.

Goes broke to get his brother, this financial desperation plus the rigors of war forces him to begin to strip away foundational privileges that Ducal Prussia has enjoyed under the Polish Crown to loads of protests/resistance/etc.

Personal relationship not much better, wants Gilbert to be in a subordinate position under him when he promised him equality under marriage. Not at all a smooth transition, leaves them both sick and struggling, fighting so bad HRE has to get involved at times as well.

Gilbert immediately rebels and regresses into worrisome and difficult behavior. Defiant and disobedient, he is hyperactive and hard to control. Unpredictable in his behavior, behaves erratically and violently. Extremely troubled, depressed and feeling caged. Worried about Dietrich's intentions for him, worried about being consumed.

Worried about the situation, feeling vulnerable and unprotected. Wants to be involved but Dietrich keeps him out, here is where he really matures his skills to sneak around, lock pick etc.

Dietrich tries to keep him in his lessons, gives him a busy/packed schedule but Gilbert refuses to comply. He has this vision of what he wants Gilbert to be: a doll like young N.Italy that can entertain guests with intelligent conversation and music and make him look so competent and better at raising him into manhood than filthy feliks but nope.

Dietrich's View of Gilbert:

Loves Gilbert like one would a pet or a child, struggles to respect his personhood. Deeply enmeshed in their dynamic and bonded by trauma.

Sees him as a child/subordinate to be guided and suppressed; resents his desire for independence, thinks it ungrateful and childish of him. Dietrich has immense abandonment issues from his childhood and this is just a big trigger for him. Does not understand Gilbert as well as he thinks he does, this improves with time.

Feels threatened/hurt/rejected by Gilbert’s growing belligerent and defiance. Does not want him to grow. Ideally wants him to stay a boy of 15, easy to physically over-power, easy to control. Immature in his cognition and emotion. Easy to manipulate. 

When Gilbert is more trouble than he anticipated, he stops seeing him so much as an asset but as a liability. Cannot control him so escalates in his attempts to: it’s an explosive relationship, lots of fighting/hitting/whipping/etc.

He doesn’t want to beat Gilbert, but he doesn't know what else to do. Yet every punishment only makes Gilbert wilder, which spirals Dietrich deeper into despair, and feeds his self-loathing. Only stops when Gilbert begins to win more of the fights then everything becomes more psychological and emotionally abusive from Dietrich.

The physicality of the german bro family is extremely triggering for Gilbert and difficult for him to deal with, makes him more volatile and dangerous.

The Marriage:

Unwilling husband when he is told it is to be a marriage and not a conservatorship but ultimately settles as the benefits are sold to him. Dietrich sees the marriage as a sacred, stabilizing force: a political and emotional alliance meant to make them both stronger but with him as protector/dominant identity. 

Goes out of his way to prevent the marriage from feeling legitimate out of fear of Gilbert feeling equal to him and growing in power/age.  Will not consummate it, boots Gilbert out of the marriage bed/room. He refuses intimacy, both out of a desire for control and because he infantilizes Gilbert. Wants to keep him a child, malleable, easy to dominate and control. He is not attracted to Gilbert at all but is possessive of him. Evades kissing/touch but does not want him kissed or touched. Tolerates it more when Gilbert is older/more mature but is still standoffish. He is not faithful in marriage, prefers women and other transactional transient relationships, finds the burdens of relationships stressful, but big ol' ugly crush on Ned and France.

Gilbert is attracted to Dietrich at first : Tall dark drink of a young man with beautiful eyes and a beautiful body. Falls for the facade because he’s a dumb 15 year old. His desire for attention/affection/etc is quickly abused by Dietrich as a means of control before he realizes he is being led along.

Feeds Gilbert his own insecurities, constantly in his ear about how he is being perceived by others. Has a tendency to paint everything in a negative light to Gilbert to make him doubt himself, inherently jealous of his relationships with others.

Dietrich denies Gilbert affection/warmth/kindness when he is not listening to him. They ebb back and forth between Gilbert doing without and caving in and trying to be more cooperative because he's just a kid and he needs physical touch/affection he has never been without it before before giving up as he begins to understand he is being manipulated. Makes Gilbert hate the part of himself that yearns and needs even more than he did before.

Makes Gil more attention seeking/hyper-sexual/hedonistic in a toxic maladaptive way by accident by denying him affection. How Gilbert behaves as a Kingdom is a direct reaction to Dietrich’s deprivation.

Conflicted and confused in his role: feels a need to be an Authority but fails at establishing himself as one.

Takes Gilbert’s rebellion and later independence very personally, even when he knows it was inevitable. He equates obedience with love. If Gilbert won't behave, he believes he must not love nor respect him. Hurtful because he does not understand why he is so undeserving of it. He loves Gilbert  and yet does not respect him as an equal. He wants loyalty, obedience, and peace  but he’s miserable when he gets it through force.

Puts all the blame on Gilbert for their dynamic, will not accept any responsibility.

 His responses to Gilbert are rooted in fear: fear that both of their houses are vulnerable, that their union will collapse, that it’ll mean ruin for both of them. Does not believe in Gilbert’s ability to be a stable identity, thinks he is fated for subjugation and erasure by others.  Believes he is protecting, never admits to the harm he has done.

Later: Feels diminished, usurped; union meant to stabilize and empower but instead undermines him. Disillusions him, upset at his leaders. Throws a big messy depressive tantrum about it. Abandons Gilbert to all administrative tasks, rots in his bed and prepares for death that does not arrive.

Eventually they figure it out and have a strained but functional relationship but it's a very destructive one, Gilbert's main trauma is realizing how vulnerable he is to real life long hurt if he allows someone so intimately close to him.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #26

Danny didn’t really think it through. In his defense, there weren’t a lot of guidebooks titled “How to Deal with the Psychotic Future Version of Yourself You Accidentally Redeemed But Are Still Terrified Of.” Jazz suggested therapy. Sam suggested containment. Tucker suggested launching him into deep space. Danny, brilliant and seventeen and sleep-deprived after three days of babysitting a now mostly-reformed Dan Phantom, decided, “Screw it,” ripped open a portal to another dimension, and told him to “go make friends.” Dan grinned, sharp-toothed and wicked, and without hesitation dove through the swirling green and blue mass of unstable ectoplasmic energy.

Thus began the Marvel Universe’s greatest headache.

The first incident happened barely four hours after Dan’s arrival. New York woke up to a brand new urban legend: a demon with burning blue eyes and silver-streaked black hair beating the living shit out of Shocker in the middle of Times Square. People recorded it, of course. Viral videos showed Shocker screaming, running, trying desperately to aim his gauntlets while Dan literally phased through every attack like he was swatting a mosquito. Somewhere in the footage, Dan shouted, “C’MON, MAN! HIT HARDER, YOU’RE EMBARRASSING YOURSELF!” before drop-kicking Shocker into a halal cart.

The Avengers noticed. Specifically, Spider-Man noticed, because Peter Parker had never been so personally offended by something in his life.

“He’s stealing my bit,” Peter whined to MJ later, scrolling through TikTok and watching the mysterious “Blue Devil” bodyslam the Rhino into a GAP storefront. “That’s MY thing. Wisecracking and beating up guys in animal costumes.”

MJ, deadpan as ever, didn’t even look up from her book. “Maybe if you hit the gym once in a while, you could still compete.”

Elsewhere, S.H.I.E.L.D. was losing their collective shit.

Nick Fury reviewed the footage with the grim severity of a man preparing for war. “I want every available agent tailing him. Find out what he is, what he wants, and for God’s sake, do not engage.”

Unfortunately, Dan had other plans. He wanted engagement. Constant, chaotic, no-holds-barred engagement.

When the X-Men tried to approach him peacefully—because, to be fair, a floating, smirking, six-foot-seven superpowered anomaly screamed “mutant”—Dan responded by challenging Wolverine to a fistfight in the middle of Central Park.

“You smell angry,” Dan said, cracking his knuckles and grinning wide. “I like that. C’mon, Knives. Show me what those claws can do.”

Wolverine, never one to back down from a challenge, growled and immediately lunged. It took six X-Men to pull them apart. Logan was half in love and half homicidal.

Jean Grey, massaging her temples afterward, sighed, “He’s not a mutant. He’s something else. Something… worse.”

Meanwhile, Dan wasn’t picky about his opponents. Hero? Villain? Civilian? If you looked at him wrong, he was ready to throw hands. He got into a screaming match with Daredevil over a parking spot. He suplexed Deadpool into a dumpster for calling him “Discount Nightcrawler.” He made Venom cry after a fifteen-minute insult match that Eddie Brock would never fully recover from.

The Fantastic Four tried to reason with him.

“We can help you,” Reed Richards said, voice patient like he was talking to a rabid cat. “We have resources—”

Dan blew up the top three floors of the Baxter Building and left a sticky note on the ruins that said, “UR WELCOME - D.”

The thing was, Dan wasn’t evil anymore. Not really. He wasn’t trying to take over the world. He wasn’t murdering anyone. He just had a lifetime’s worth of rage, grief, and unresolved abandonment issues—and no idea what to do with them except get into constant, escalating, deeply unnecessary fights.

It got to a point where the heroes started treating Dan like a natural disaster.

“Code Blue,” a harried S.H.I.E.L.D. agent barked over comms one afternoon. “I repeat, Code Blue! The entity is currently body-slamming Juggernaut through Grand Central!”

Cap sighed, already pulling on his shield. “Alright, team. Let’s move out.”

Black Widow holstered her guns. “At least it’s not another alien invasion.”

Thor, cheerful as ever, grinned. “I relish a good battle!”

Hawkeye muttered, “You relish being concussed.”

Dan, for his part, loved the attention. He loved the chaos. He loved the feeling of letting loose in a world that could actually handle him, where nobody flinched when he punched through a concrete wall or melted a tank with a blast of pure ectoplasmic fire.

He was happy, in his deeply deranged, borderline-psychotic way.

That didn’t mean he was easy to deal with.

After Dan singlehandedly wrecked a Hydra base (“I was bored, okay?” he said when the Avengers confronted him), Tony Stark decided to try a different tactic.

“Look, Big and Blue,” Tony said, lounging on the ruined remains of what was once a cutting-edge jet. “Ever think about channeling that rage into something… productive? Like, say, joining the Avengers?”

Dan blinked, actually considering it for a full five seconds.

Then he laughed so hard he almost dropped a car on Tony’s head.

“Me? Work with you guys? Under orders? Are you high, Tin Man?”

Steve Rogers, exhausted and already developing a migraine, tried. “You could do a lot of good—”

“I am doing good,” Dan said brightly. “I’m keeping you on your toes. No need to thank me.”

“You broke Clint’s arm last week,” Natasha reminded him.

“He’ll live.”

“He was trying to give you a granola bar.”

Dan shrugged, utterly unbothered. “He looked suspicious.”

The closest thing Dan had to a friend was Deadpool. Not because they got along—they didn’t, not even a little—but because Deadpool was the only one insane enough to keep up.

They had a rivalry. A bloody, chaotic, absolutely incomprehensible rivalry that involved prank wars, bar fights, and one extremely regrettable karaoke contest that left three bars in ruins and a citywide ban on musical gatherings involving either party.

“I hate you,” Dan snarled once, pinning Deadpool to a wall after a four-hour chase across Manhattan.

“I hate you more!” Wade screeched back, thrilled beyond belief.

“Great! Friends forever!” Wade cackled.

Dan screamed into the void.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton was back in his own dimension, blissfully unaware, telling Jazz, “See? Everything’s fine.”

Jazz, reading a news article titled “Unknown Supernatural Entity Causes $3 Billion in Property Damage, Punches Doctor Doom in the Face” quietly considered strangling him.

Eventually, the heroes adapted. Dan was like bad weather. You prepared for him. You kept an eye out for ominous blue clouds and spontaneous outbreaks of screaming. Sometimes he helped. Sometimes he made things worse. Mostly, he made things interesting.

There were even betting pools.

“Fifty bucks says he crashes this gala,” Sam Wilson said, tightening his bowtie before a high-profile Avengers event.

“Hundred says he wears a suit to crash it,” Bucky Barnes added, deadpan.

“Two hundred he punches Tony before dessert,” Carol Danvers said, sipping champagne.

Dan did crash the gala. In a tuxedo.

He punched Tony before the entrees even made it out.

By then, nobody was even surprised.

The turning point came when Galactus tried to devour Earth (again). The heroes mobilized. Big stakes. High drama. Apocalyptic dread.

Dan showed up in the middle of the chaos, lazily floating beside Captain Marvel.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head at the giant cosmic entity looming in the sky. “I’m gonna punch that.”

Carol, blinking, said, “You can’t just punch Galactus.”

Dan, already cracking his knuckles, grinned. “Watch me.”

And then he did.

Nobody knew how. It defied physics, logic, and every law of reality. But somehow, Dan punched Galactus so hard the giant stumbled, clutched his jaw, and left.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Deadpool clapped. “THAT’S MY BEST ENEMY!”

Thor dropped his hammer.

Tony sat down on the ground and decided to reconsider all his life choices.

Steve very seriously said, “We are never letting him leave.”

Thus, against all odds, Dan Phantom—the violent, chaotic, semi-redeemed ghost of a now-erased dystopian future—became an honorary Avenger much to his own dismay.

He didn’t exactly follow rules. He certainly didn’t behave. But when Thanos invaded three months later and Dan showed up by suplexing a Leviathan out of the sky and riding it into battle like a demented cowboy, nobody complained.

Well. Except the Leviathan.

In the end, Danny was right.

Everything was fine.

If your definition of “fine” included a psychotic ghost terrorizing both heroes and villains equally, destabilizing multiple governments, and becoming a beloved menace.

But hey. Could be worse.

At least he wasn’t totally evil anymore.

[cressidagrey]

THW GIRL IS FREEING HERSELF

I repeat:

SHES FREEING HERSELF. SETTING BOUNDARIES LIKE A SELF RESPECTING QUEEN.

And yes. We are all now collectively conspiring to get Emilie and Lando together. You did this to yourself, prepare for me to be insufferable about it.

Now I need Emilie to attempt to hide it from Belle and belle clocks it via Lando so fast. OR BETTER LANDO COMES TO HWR FOR ADVICE AND SHE CONTINUES TO ACT LIKE EMILIE IS SUCCESSFULLY KEEPING HER SECRET WHILE SHE KNOWS.

Ok wow I’m getting too into it. But also. Belle. Stuffs not fitting. The last 2-ish chapters. I’m calling it now shes pregnant and the engagement is going to have some relation to it and I just AAAAAA

Also 1.5 horses - Emilie I love you. Never change. Charles, fuck you massively.

Max I need my best friends to be like you when it comes to my pets. Every friend group has one of those who will go overboard for other peoples animals (upon further thought…. I might be that person in the friend group 😅😅)

Anyways - still loving the “HELP ME” group chat. More please I live for that chaos 😌.

Have an amazing day. Know that I will be sitting here stalking my notifications until the next update. Chokehold I tell you.

THE GIRL 👏 IS 👏 FREEING 👏 HERSELF!!! Bells said no more crumbs, I am the meal and we are SO here for it 😌✨

And listen. Emilie and Lando?? I did do this to myself and I REGRET NOTHING. The potential for smug miscommunication? The conspiracies? Belle letting Emilie think she’s stealthy when she’s been clocked since day one?? Comedy. Gold. 🫢

Also you calling the 1.5 horses line iconic? Correct. Charles catching strays? Deserved. Max and pets? He is absolutelythe friend who’ll dog-sit and build your cat an elaborate climbing wall, no questions asked.

[bunnibunnidevil]

Sukuna x reader

Kinda soft sukuna, will continue

…

The flames dimmed and the dust settled in Shibuya. The heat from the torch that was now jogo warmed his face. He basked in the glow practically high on the feeling of heat on his skin, high from a fight well earned. A wicked smile formed on his face and he howled with laughter. It echoed across the desolate and dying streets of Shibuya.

He was so goddamn glad to be back. He felt a fraction on his power flowing through his veins. It was orgasmic. Like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Sukuna spun a few times in a circle admiring the toppled and burned building, the human fear that hung ripe in the air. It was a glimpse of his ultimate vision.

Another laugh boiled up in his throat but he stopped.

It was just a glimpse of powerful curse energy, one he knew but was unfamiliar all the same. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He felt eyes on him.

Not the normal kind though. It was the eyes of someone who brain swum around like a goldfish in their head. With deer in headlight eyes and a blatant disregard for life or death. It was someone with so lose a resolve. Where the gaze was coming from he didn’t know. He couldn’t tell it’s intentions either all he could feel from the energy was a squirming ‘kill, kill, kill’. The curse energy drew closer and he flipped around.

He was greeted by a jagged smile a big doe eyes. His heart sunk in his chest and the king of curses almost found himself falling to your knees. “Wha-I watched her die a thousand years ago. What is the meaning of this. A trick?” He said mustering up his bravest voice. Though his resolve wavered inside as he glanced over your features.

You had been his wife, his beloved right hand while he was human. You were taken from him by a traitor. Stabbed through the back and the sliced at the neck, a technique he would later adopt. Slice and sever, slice and sever.

He looked at you now, you were wearing a disheveled black kimono that draped down one of your shoulders, it was long and blood spattered. You hair trailed down your body dragging behind you like the train of a wedding dress.

His breathe caught in his throat, the color of you skin, the flush of your cheeks was made perfect. Whoever was before him looked exactly as his late wife had only this wasn’t human but a curse.

He cocked his eyebrows at your lack of reply. His hand jerked towards your neck but he stopped inches from it when the smell of your skin hit his nose.

Lavender and clean linen, like when you would wash his clothes at home. He gritted his teeth trying not to expose his unraveling composure. “Answer me quick before I get bored with this conversation. No women I used to know will trick me so speak quick” he spit.

You smiled up a5 him tears welling up in your eyes. “A trick?” You repeated, your voice like a ball pin hammer to his eardrums. He hadn’t heard it in so long, he had completely forgotten it. It was a song, beautiful and sweet. His eyes dropped down to your exposed collarbone and he longed to kiss it. Longed to collect you up and squeeze you with the weight of the years spend apart. ‘Is this actually her?’ He thought detecting no other presence, no spell, no nothing. Just cursed energy.

“Do you remember me?” You asked him stupidly and he rolled his eyes. He grabbed you up and squeezed you to his chest. “Stupid women.” He scolded burying his face in your hair. Breathing in the scent, feeling the heat of your skin on his. “How are you here right now?” He asked, he buckled to his knees and held your hips tightly, pressing his face to your stomach.

You sighed and ran your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, I’ve wandered around the forests for…” you trailed off “a long time I think. There was an explosion, I felt your energy far away. I should be dead by now, I should have died when tha5 man stabbed me but-I didn’t. I woke up buried in dirt and moss.” He gritted his teeth. He should have checked back then, with the exposure to his power, the people around him. He should have thought that you becoming a curse was a possibility. Especially after the way he raged, killing, pouring out power after you had been murdered. “You are a curse such as I. That’s how you are still alive after so long. these humans call us special grade curses.” He said plainly. He pondered his words for a moment then sighed. “The humans will kill me again?” You asked an innocent look on your face,

“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.” He said his voice gruff. Regret and pain drowning his previous elation. You hugged his head tightly. “Never be sorry” you whispered sinking down to your knees. You looked at him with your precious eyes and cupped his face. “We are together now, for now” you smiled gently. He nodded and pressed his forehead to yours “I spoke with nurame minutes ago, follow their energy back to where they are. Stay close to this body, the brat Yuji is going to take back over in a littl3 bit. I’ll come to you when it’s time. Stay away from sorceres.” He warned lightly kissing your lips. “Now go, I have business to attend to”

You nodded and kissed his forehead before quickly disappearing. A surge of your curse energy shaking the ground around him.

He stared watching it shake. “Where did she get that power” he questioned. You were no extraordinary human so it seemed improbable you would be a powerful curse. He focused hard on your energy, it was pulsating and electric, wanting and wanting, kill,kill,kill. Like he had felt earlier. You were unbridled and unstable.

Your curse energy was pouring out of you like blood from a severed vein. Pouring and pouring. You shouldn’t have been able to live such output of energy but there you went.

He sighed kicking at the rubble at his feet ‘that damn women didn’t even know she was a curse, shes ignorant to her own condition and untrained.” He put his hand on his forehead and smiled. “It’s always been one thing after another with her I suppose” he said smiling fondly.

He jumped off the precipice of the building towards Megumis energy with a smile on his face.

…..

Hours later after the fun and games were over Sukuna sat in his domain upon his throne. Head in hand his mind running through the days events. Yuji had finally fallen asleep, his cries turned to whimpers in his sleep. Sukuna was thankful for that. He hated the sound of crying.

The memory of you being stabbed flashed through his mind followed by the sight of his own human tears cascading down his face, a vicious laughter echoing through his mind.

He shook the memory away slightly flinching at the reminder.

He sighed and sat back putting his hand behind his head. Kicked his feet up on the side of the throne. “Her curse energy is pink” he mumbled picturing it in his mind, pink and sparkly but electric to the touch. He smiled “how ridiculous”.

Part of him wished you were here now, he couldn’t fathom you still being alive, it had been hundreds of years since you had “died” you living was now a foreign concept to him, especially now that you were a curse. A beautiful and haunting one. He imagined human children who came acrossed you in the woods would tell tales of the beautiful long haired women in the tattered black kimono who wandered the dense forests wild haired, barefoot and alone. He chuckled imagining their fear and disbelief at the sight at you.

He wondered what you thought wandering about like that all those years. His smile disappeared imagining you wandering around, eyes tired and feet dirty, your kimono collecting dirt and blood. He frowned. “You were always helpless without him. Normally he would detest such insignificance but it was different with you.

You were helpless because you needed him. Your soul was entertained with his, it was written in your soul that you belonged to him.

Since the moment your eyes met his.

He thought back to the first time he saw you.

He closed his eyes transporting himself back many years in time, as he had done many times before.

When he opened his eyes he was in your old village. He was a young sorcerer then, with no real goals but financial gain. It was a minor phase in his life, months after he would begin his true destiny but at the moment he was young and shallow.

You were the daughter of the richest merchant in town. By human standards your father was no tyrant though, your village did well due to your fathers well to do attitude. The local economy thrived and poverty was virtually nonexistent. It was by shabby means but everyone seemed to be comfortable.

That day he stood before your father, you were in the room and suddenly he had forgotten why he came.

Seeing you was like breathing in the air after spring rain. You looked so vibrant, so soft and alive. “Excuse me young man you seemed to have gone off into thought.” Your father smiled. Sukuna returned the expression. “It appears so, I have come here to ask for your daughters hand in marriage” he said throwing his other plans to the wind.

It was a complete shock but eventually your father and you agreed due to the mutual financial benefits. Three months in he built you a house down the path from your fathers, it was quaint but beautiful. You grew flowers and a garden. About a year into the marriage you grew pregnant, the local grannies whispered to him it would be a girl. A year and 8 months into the marriage you and his unborn child were stabbed to death in front of him.

He left the village and started his true path. He surprisingly never repayed your village a visit. He buried you in the woods and slaughtered the town around it. Along with the families of those who betrayed him. In hindsight that was the happiest days of his life, had you not been so weak and died he would have never become a curse. He would have grown old with you and died in that simple place

He closed his eyes and he was back in his domain. “I had forgotten, I was to be a father, how ridiculous” he pondered the thought then let it fade away.

He had killed many fathers, many women and children. As a matter of fact every time he killed a women with a child he thought of you. For a m9ment it brought you back to him, only to bleed out in the dirt.

He sighed and closed his eyes picturing your arms around him, the rush of your skin against his own. It was a pitiful string of thoughts but safe in his domain he was free to express all and be witnessed by none. The feeling of your warmth became to real and he smiled. He opened his eyes, you were perched up in his lap head on his chest. “Troublesome girl” he tsked wrapping his arms around you burying his face in your hair.

Your curse energy purred around you randomly crackling around when it mixed with his own. “I apologize for the disobedience, nurame told me you location and I followed your presence.” You said, your voice gentle and light. He smiled running his hand through your long hair. “Im shocked you were even able to get in here. You’re quite impressive these days” he said.

You sat up and looked curious into his face. “Was I not while we were human?” He asked. A shitty joke curled on the top of his tongue but he let it die there. “Only slightly” he hummed and you smiled pleased with the answer.

Quietly you yawned and buried further into his chest. “Where is your bed?” You asked. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t have one, I stopped sleeping.”

“What do you do then?” You asked

“Nothing. Just stare and think”

You slapped you hand to your mouth hiding a laugh. He looked down at you from the corner of his eyes a smug smile on his face. “I’m glad my prison is entertaining you” he rolled his eyes.

“The sorcerers whisper about you” you said dropping your tone low. “Ryomen sukuna, the king of curses . Kill him kill him.” You whispered. He cupped your face bringing your gaze to him. “They should fear me, I’m stronger now then I was” he subtly bragged. You nodded sliding your hands up his chest. “I know” you said “I can feel it which means…” you stepped off his lap on stood before him “you could certainly make a place for us to rest, you must be exhausted after years of no sleep”

He rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist. Beside his throne a copy of your old house emerged and you squealed with delight. “The house! I searched and searched and searched” you smiled running towards it.

He half smiled to himself.

When he entered his old home a wave of nostalgia hit him and as he held you in the bed while you slept he imagined what it would have been like had things not gone south.

He wouldn’t have changed a damn thing but it was nice to pretend.

[labyrinthinesyndicatex]

"I know exactly what you mean about checking notifications before your eyes are even open. It's like we've all collectively forgotten how to just exist without these things beeping at us constantly." The idea of his phone face-down on the table made her appreciate the small rebellion in that gesture. Everyone was so tied to their screens now - herself included - and she found herself nodding emphatically at his words about digital noise. "That shack really is something special. The owner practically prides himself on having zero Wi-Fi. It's this little blue building right on the water, and honestly, the first day without notifications feels weird, but by day two? Total freedom." She thought about how peculiar it was that disconnecting from technology now felt like some radical act of self-care rather than just normal life. The memory of sitting on that weathered deck chair, watching pelicans dive for breakfast while actually tasting her food instead of photographing it made her smile. "You're absolutely right about the waves drowning out all that noise ... and yes, it's been too long since you've properly unplugged. Maybe all of us need that sea and less scrolling like you said. So who are you planning on bringing to the getaway?"

Sterling's been proper guilty of that phone addiction himself lately - checking notifications before his eyes are even fully open in the morning. "Bloody mad how we've become slaves to these little screens, yeah? Can't even take a proper kip without checking messages." The idea of a place with zero wifi sounds like heaven right now. His shoulders relax just thinking about it. "Quite fancy the sound of this shack of yours. No social media nonsense, just actual humans eating actual food." He fiddles with his mobile before purposefully turning it face down on the table. The constant pinging has been doing his head in lately. "Rather brilliant how the ocean drowns out all that digital noise. Been ages since I've properly unplugged." His mind wanders to how peaceful it must be, just sitting there with nothing but waves for company. No alerts, no messages, no constant stream of demands. "Reckon you're right about the therapy bit. Getting quite tired of living life through a bloody screen." He glances at his phone again, fighting the urge to check it. "Maybe we all need a bit more sea and a bit less scrolling."

[yoosung-ah]

Choose your player: aggressive vs. passive-aggressive round 1/?

[originalgenshinscenarios]

Okay I'm done with Natlan and Citlali's quest

My opinion on Citlali improved slightly, but the rest... Ehhh... No. I'm not gonna say that Natlan was bad, cause ngl for me the most boring archon quest was Sumeru. (And I'm saying it because of the fact that the dream loop was ridiculous and I hated it just as much as I hate Nahida which is a ToN)

Spolier rant in tags

[icewindandboringhorror]

I'm so heavily anti-advertising that all pitches sound goofy silly to me/I can never take them seriously, so I have no idea how I'll manage to to advertise my game even if I do finally finish it soon-ish lol...

[fallout-fucker]

Hancock Headcanons (Including Goodneighbour Headcanons) Part One

Surprisingly a really good cook/baker. Will make 5 Star quality full-course meals when high as fuck. Or at least, as good as you can get in the Wasteland if you don't think mutated Brahmin tastes too different from cow. Man's is making steaks.

He also mass bakes when very stressed. There's been times Fahrenheit has walked into the office and seen the kitchenette, the coffee table, any and all of the free surfaces, really, full of trays of baked goodies. Cupcakes, cookies, brownies, special brownies, you name it. When this happens, Daisy has to organise a massive order to traders to make up for all the ingredients he buys. He always gives her extra caps for the inconvenience of Goodneighbour having less eggs and flour, etc, for sale than usual. He makes sure to never take all the stock, though, food's hard enough to come by, especially produce. His town needs it more than he and his baking sessions do.

He always gives away the goods when he's finally calmed down and the stress has eased.

He takes care in making sure the normal goodies are separate from the 'more fun' ones.

The normal goods go to the townsfolk and drifters. He goes to the kids first, though. If it's during the colder months, he'll also take the time to make hot chocolates or warm milk (Depending on what's available) for them.

Actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Makes sure the kids have all got blankets, coats, hats, scalves, gloves, socks and shoes, and beds somewhere warm.

He regularly checks this. Has a little checklist for all the items kiddies need. He isn't letting any kids die in his streets. As far as he's concerned, those are his kids. He knows Goodneighbour isn't exactly the most PG place, but the majority of children in Goodneighbour (Like most people in Goodneighbour) don't have parents or anybody.

He'll leave a few trays on the bar of The Third Rail for pickings. Lowkey likes to decorate it with cake stands and stuff. Makes him feel weirdly calm. He gets to just take his time with it. It's a breather from the rest of his 'Mayoral Duties'.

If he's feeling generous, he'll give away the fun goodies too to anyone that wants 'em (Within reason). But Chems and produce can be pricey so he'll sometimes give those to Daisy to sell so he's not wasting a good amount of his personal stash, especially if he made a lot of goods.

He considered giving them to Charlie at first because The Third Rail is nothing if not the place for a great time, but many people who wander into Goodneighbour are vulnerable. From experience (Both personal and second-hand), Hancock knows alcohol + easily accessible edibles/hard chems + vulnerable and desperate doesn't equal anything good. So, he decided against it.

He refuses to give them to AJ because the guy is sketchy, and he's heard about the whole 'Chems For Kids' thing. Hancock's been working discreetly on solving that issue. If he wasn't keen on drunk adults having access to edibles, you can believe he'd have a real problem with anyone tryna sneak it to kids, let alone that kinda dirty money making its way back to him, and that's if AJ didn't sneak some into his own pockets. Which he likely would.

So, that brought him to Daisy. Besides, it also makes up for the ingredients and he lets her pocket a good percentage of the profit as chems isn't usually her deal.

Once more, actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Like with the children, he makes sure drifters and such also have warm clothes for the Winter.

Also ensures everyone has clothes suited for Summer heat, too.

Essentially, twice a year (Autumn and Spring) he'll go around Goodneighbour with a survey to see who needs what, at least a few weeks in advance of when the seasonal weather for Autumn/Winter and Spring/Summer usually rolls in. Then, he organises a mass order to all of the trading caravans for suitable clothes, shoes, etc. Then he'll organise a day with timeslots and stuff where groups of people can go up to his office and get what they need.

Imagine a watchman at the entrance of the Statehouse, with a name list and time slots, and a queue outside of the door. In Hancock's office, it's full of cardboard boxes and tables. Him, Far, Daisy, and a few watchmen all giving out the items and checking them off.

Hancock has plans and blueprints to expand Goodneighbour so some of the apartment buildings just outside of the walls can be included in the town. Has a few trading deals on hold and watchmen guards he could use as contractors in mind for the job of converting the Pre-War buildings into livable homes when he is able to.

Unfortunately, with the Warehouse rats and Supermutants settling down just outside the gates, he had to postpone the plans to focus on other issues. All his contractors had to stay as Neighbourhood Watch guards and security just in case the mutants attack. The mutants are on his to-do list, but first is the Warehouse job and making sure people can stay warm in the attic instead of the homes he was hoping to have done before Autumn and Winter.

He predicted temporarily losing more workers in the Winter due to sickness, but didn't necessarily expect some to be rats, unfortunately. So, his options are limited when Sole meets him. Hence sending a stranger to Pickman Gallery and other things.

It's also why he doesn't mind traveling with Sole. Until Spring, his hands are mostly tied when it comes to progress.

Staying in town when he knows he can't do all of the things he needs to makes him antsy. He doesn't like sitting around and doing nothing when he knows his people are relying on him, so it helps to get away from it for a while.

[savage-rhi]

🫂

[habitual-creatures]

HABIT! I was trying to find smth but found THIS INSTEAD!

It’s a fur, pelt, thing (idk what it’s called) of a rabbit!

(LEGALLY BOUGHT)

(IT'S CALLED A PELT)

DAMN THAT'S SO SICK! I FUCKING LOVE THAT.

OF COURSE IT'S AWESOME TO SUPPORT LEGAL PELT COLLECTION LIKE THAT.

(FUCK POACHERS AND ILLEGAL PELT PEDDLERS 🖕 BY THE WAY)

I AM A HUGE FAN OF TAXIDERMY AND VULTURE CULTURE MYSELF. SO SEEING OTHERS TALK ABOUT THEIR OWN COLLECTION OR THINGS THEY'VE FOUND AND BOUGHT IS AWESOME!

[ REGARDS, HABIT ]