#burning souffles

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

At Your Service - Zenless Zone Zero

Pairing: Lycaon x Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: None

A/N: I love Lycaon so much and this is probably the tamest thing I have of him

Your hands were sweaty. You could feel your stomach rolling with anxiety, your knees weak. You were going to die. All alone, with no one to help you. And it was all your fault. It wasn't like you wanted this to happen. You just wanted to help. Now you were going to suffer for it. Your heart was pounding. 

"What did you do?"

A screech left your lips. You turned around to see Lycaon staring at the kitchen with an incredulous expression. You held your arms out, trying to block the view. He pushed past you, gently lowering your arms. The kitchen was… a mess. FLour coated the countertops. Batter had been flung across the cabinet doors and there was something burning. You could feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. This was truly the worst thing that could ever happen.

You cleared your throat as you sheepishly smiled. "I-I tried making… those cute souffle pancakes. The ones we got at the cafe that one time?"

"Why?" He asked, his ear twitching as he surveyed the damage. "You don't need to cook at all, Master. It's why I am here."

"Well, that's…"

You couldn't tell him the truth. You wanted to treat him, to thank him for all he's done. It wasn't easy to care for you. After your father had died only a couple years prior, he had left Lycaon to care for you. You weren't kind about it. It was a bitter feeling, getting left alone with someone you barely interacted with. Lashing out, insults, trying to run away… you had caused him a lot of trouble and most likely a lot of grief.

After a particularly bad breakdown, he had comforted you. In that moment, you realized how lucky you were to have him. An insurmountable amount of guilt had filled you. You spent the past two years or so trying to make up for it. You were kind, attentive, and tried not to cause trouble. But now, you were afraid you did more harm than good. Lycaon slowly walked around the kitchen. He came to the stove. The burner was still on. He turned it off.

"Lycaon…"

"Do not speak."

A whimper left your lips. "But, I-"

"I said do not speak. Master, this is… this is ridiculous. I work hard to keep this estate clean! If you wanted to make something, you should have asked me for help. Look at this mess."

His stern tone caused you to curl up in yourself. A meek apology left your lips. "I'm sorry."

He sighed, his tail drooping. "It's fine, Master. Just go clean up. You're covered in flour."

"I want to help clean." You protested, stepping closer.

"No." He turned to you and patted your head. "It's best to let me do it. I'll be thorough."

His hand moved to your shoulder and he turned you around, pushing you out of the kitchen. You glanced back at him to see him rolling up his sleeves, ready to get to work. Although his expression had been scolding before, there was an almost imperceptible smile on his face. Your face flushed as you hurried to your room to clean up.

 It was more than wanting to assuage your guilt. You had fallen in love with Von Lycaon. Who wouldn't fall in love with someone like that? He was everything you could wish for in a partner. And if you couldn't truly show your love for him, you wanted to do it in other ways. Having him by your side was enough. But the way he had scowled, his stern tone…

"Ah… I love him so much." You murmured to yourself.

After washing up, you made your way back to the kitchen. It was sparkling clean, like you had never set foot in it. Lycaon had an apron covering his suit. His eyebrows were furrowed as he read a piece of paper on the counter. His tail swayed languidly behind him. Your eyes focused on his muscles. You bit your lip.

"I'm all clean."

Lycaon's gaze turned to you. "Oh. Good." His tail started to wag and his ears flicked happily.

You walked over to him, peeking out behind his arm. Your eyes squinted as you tried to read the paper. "Are you making something?"

"Souffle pancakes."

"Lycaon…" You sighed and gently tugged on your sleeve. "I really am sorry. I wanted to do something good for you. I wanted to give you a gift, make you happy."

Lycaon turned to face you fully. His hands reached out and he cupped your face. Immediately, you felt a blush crawling up your neck and spreading over you. He stared down at you so intently. As if you were the only one who mattered. You swallowed thickly. His ears were pressed flat against his head. 

"You already make me happy, Master. Just by being by your side, I am the happiest I could be. Serving you, seeing you smile, seeing you safe. It is my ultimate duty to make sure you're living your best life."

You frowned. "Can you say my name? Please?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Master, that is-"

"Please." You whispered, your voice almost desperate.

He said your name softly. As if it were a gentle thing, something so fragile, it could break at a moment's notice. Your body practically melted. You wanted him. You needed him. He was the love of your life, the only one you wanted to be near. As your heart pounded in your chest, you brought him down to you, grabbing the straps of the apron. Your lips pressed against his.

You could feel his body stiffen. His hands squeezed your cheeks in surprise. But you didn't back down. Your arms wrapped around his neck. Lycaon finally relaxed, his touch becoming softer. He pulled back and kissed your forehead and then your nose. You scrunched your face and looked up at him.

"Don't you know you're not supposed to kiss your butler?" He scolded gently.

You giggled and shrugged. "I can't help it. You're just so easy to love."

"Master…"

"No. I don't want to be your master anymore." You said softly. "I officially relieve you of your duties."

"Are you firing me?"

"I am. But I do have a new position opening up."

He quirked an eyebrow, his hands now resting on his hips. "Oh? And what's that?"

"Have you ever heard of a househusband?"

[luna-azzurra]

When A Character Is trying to cook but keeps messing up they…

"Did I just put salt instead of sugar? Oops."

"Why is the smoke detector going off again?"

"I swear, this recipe said 'easy'."

"Who knew boiling water could be this complicated?"

"How did I burn the salad? Is that even possible?"

"Uh-oh, was that supposed to be a cup or a tablespoon?"

"The kitchen looks like a war zone."

"I think I just invented a new form of charcoal."

"Was that noise supposed to come from the blender?"

"Why is the dough stuck to the ceiling?"

"I followed the instructions exactly... almost."

"Note to self: never attempt a souffle again."

[chlix]

treatment resistant

bf! chan x fem! reader: he comforts you during a mental health episode

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ANGST like seriously, turns into comfort at the end tho 🙏🏾

word count: 4.7k

warnings: graphic depictions of depression, anxiety/anxiety attacks, and psychosis (paranoia); self worth issues; general self-loathing

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting about six months ago and deliberated posting it, but it's almost the end of the year so i feel like i should release it. i used to feel so validated by fics where reader is depressed and gets comforted, but she was never as depressed as i sometimes was, so i drew a bit from life for this one. everyone please be safe and read the warnings <3

It doesn't start with the dishes. In fact, you think your therapist might tell you that it's not about the dishes at all, but about your own poor self-image, or lack of emotional regulation, or about a thousand other things that are wrong with the way you perceive yourself and the world.

The truth is that lately you've been sleeping way too late and waking up too early, and you're so tired that you can't eat, which makes you so hungry that you can't take naps. You're between jobs and the outlook hasn't been great, your best friend keeps blowing you off in favor of her new boyfriend, and just this week you found out that your favorite bakery is no longer making the souffles that you've been using as a pick me up since you moved into this building.

You don't do well with change, or rejection, or honestly anything, lately. You wake up stressed and you go to sleep stressed. You keep your phone on Do Not Disturb because you can't bear receiving notifications. Just today you've talked yourself out of taking showers twice, only to have a meltdown when you tried to sit on your bed because you felt too dirty to touch your own sheets. You sit on the floor instead. You eat a singular banana for lunch, just to make your headache go away. Your headache does not go away. You feel both unreal and painfully solid, sinking into the ground and on the verge of floating away.

Your boyfriend, Chan, keeps texting you updates about his day, and answering them feels like an exercise in performance art. You scroll through your previous texts to make sure you're adding the right amount of exclamation points, that you're using the same recent emojis. It's like cosplaying a happier version of yourself. A better version, a version that he could love, as opposed to how you are now: greasy and gross and plastered to the floor in your hallway. The idea of him seeing you like this fills you terror, or at least it would if you hadn't burned out your capacity for feeling things already.

A new message pops up.

Chan: Hey baby ❤️ Was thinking of swinging by tonight after work? I can bring dinner with me

Just the thought of eating threatens to make you vomit. You suck in a breath and hold it as you type,

You: If you want something specific go for it! I already started cooking but we could have it another time

Chan: I don't want to waste all your hard work. We can have what you're making. I'm sure it'll be delicious :)

You: I can promise edible. Delicious is up in the air rn 😭

Chan: I have faith in you even if you don't ❤️. I'll be there around seven today

You: Okay! I love you sm, see you then! ❤️❤️❤️

You lock your phone and throw it across the room. Why do you do this to yourself? "Already started cooking?" You haven't showered today.  Normally you try to deter Chan from coming over when you're having a freakazoid episode, but now you've basically invited him in? You have to be normal for an entire evening?

You fall on your back on the ground and put your hands over your face, blocking out the sunshine that insists on steaming through the cracks in the drapes. Your heart is beating so hard you worry you're going into cardiac arrest.

Get off the fucking ground, y/n, you tell yourself. You have to go cook dinner for your boyfriend.

"There is something very wrong with me," you say out loud, very quietly. The silence of your apartment swallows the words. They vanish, as if never said.

You get up.

It takes you two tries to make something even passing as edible. Your head is all over the place, and you burn batches of oil and veggies before you manage to stay in your body long enough to finish making anything. It takes an embarrassing amount of pans and spoons and bowls to make something that should be simple, and as dishes pile up in the sink you feel stupider and stupider. Why are you acting like you don't know how to cook? It's not hard to make some vegetables in stew. You don't know why it's taking every appliance in your kitchen and all of your concentration to execute such a simple task.

By the time you're done cooking, you've stressed yourself out enough that you're getting a tension headache. You close your eyes and brace yourself against the sink, rallying yourself.

Just do these dishes and then you can sit down, you think. Just one more thing.

You pick up a sponge.

You put the sponge down.

There is no way you can do these dishes.

It doesn't so much hit you like a train as the realization slowly creeps up on you. It's not that many dishes, really. It looks like a lot, because the pots and bowls are so large, but numerically there's very few items in your sink. It wouldn't even take 30 minutes to clean everything and leave it in the rack for later.

But that's not happening. The idea fills you with a cold and genuine dread, just as strong and perverse as when you'd tried to shower earlier, or sit on your bed. You can't turn on the tap because then the water will touch you, and it will feel Wrong, and then your whole body will feel Wrong, and then you'll die of Sudden Onset Wrongness. And now that you think about it, a lot of your anxiety today has revolved around water, and isn't that a symptom of rabies? Hydrophobia? Did you get rabies somehow? Would you know if you had rabies? Maybe that's the thing that's wrong with you- you're not depressed or insane or just a terrible person living a terrible life. You're just rabid. There's something eating your brain, and that's what's making you into such a fucking failure of a person.

While you're debating the possibility of brain-eating viruses, Chan comes home from work. You automatically turn towards him, a bright smile on your face, and rush to greet him.

"Hey, Channie!" you say, bouncing over to him with a pep you do not feel. "I'm so happy you're here!"

And you are, mostly. You love your boyfriend, really you do. He's loving and attentive, and he's never made you feel like anything less than the number one priority in his life. You have similar values and work ethics, which keeps you on the same page through most difficult periods in either of your lives and careers. You haven't been together long, but your bond is solid, and you really believe you're going to make it far together.

You also really believe you won't if he ever finds out what a complete nutcase you are. So you hide it. You grin at him and you appear light and joyful and easygoing and you brush off his concerns with adages and placations, and you redirect the conversation back to him, because you're a good listener and you love the sound of his voice and you much prefer that activity to any activity that involves you explaining how you laid on the floor for five hours and had an emotional breakdown while slicing cabbage. He has other things to worry about, other problems to solve without adding yourself to the list. You're supposed to be his respite, not another draining task. He doesn't need to know how hard it's been lately. You shouldn't have to say it.

So he doesn't. And you don't.

"Hey baby," he says. He sets his stuff down and kisses you in greeting. "How was your day?"

"Okay," you say. The answer feels curt, but you don't want to ruminate any more on your absolutely fruitless afternoon.

Chan doesn't comment on your strange answer. He takes his shoes off and hangs up his coat, and as he's about to walk past you he spots the mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

"Oh, were you about to do the dishes? I can do them if you'd like."

"You just got home," you protest. "You should go sit down."

"But you've been standing just as long cooking dinner, right? I should do my part."

His insistence is making something terrible expand in your gut. Instead of being flattered at his offer to help, his words feel like a violent condemnation. You should've done the dishes before he got home. You should've finished cleaning the kitchen altogether, so that he can relax in a clean environment. What kind of stupid fucking girlfriend are you, where you can't even do basic chores around the house?

"No, it's okay. I already psyched myself up to do them, so I'll do them."

Chan hums in a tone that's either playful or mocking, you genuinely can't tell which. "Okay, if you say so. Don't be afraid to tap out if the dishes get the better of you."

Great. He thinks you're so stupid you couldn't do the dishes if you tried.

You subtly regulate your breathing as you turn towards the sink. Chan disappears into the apartment out of view, and you give yourself thirty seconds to push your freak-out as far down inside you as you can.

"You're not an idiot, y/n," you tell yourself. "You can do some fucking dishes."

You reach under the sink and pull out some disposable plastic gloves. They make your hands look weirdly swollen and unfamiliar, as if they aren't your hands anymore. For a bizarre moment, you're convinced that they're genuinely not, that someone else's hands have been put on your body. You close your eyes so hard sparks fly in front of you.

Stop being crazy. Do the fucking dishes.

You turn on the water and pick up a bowl.

Chan reappears. You flash him a smile, but say nothing. Chan grins back, all dimples and crescent eyes. He's so handsome it makes you want to rip your own skin off. You thank God every day that you were born beautiful, because you could never have caught his attention with your personality alone. He'd be completely out of your league, and honestly, maybe he still is.

That thought gets shut down and pushed away. One crisis at a time. You don't have hands and you might have rabies, but you definitely have a boyfriend who loves you. There's no point in kicking yourself while you're down.

You turn back to the sink.

You cannot do these fucking dishes.

"Work was funny today," Chan says as he moves over to the stove and opens the pot.

"Mm?"

"Just some technical issues in the studio. Nothing serious, but it gave us some good bloopers."

You pick up a glass cup. You can see your reflection mirrored back at you in the curve, and your eyes are so wide. Have they always been that wide? Are your eyes drier these days than they normally are? You can't tell, because every part of you feels both dehydrated and submerged under water.

"This is really good, babe," Chan says.

You blink. "What?"

Chan holds up his bowl. "The stew. It's great. I told you it would be delicious."

You let out a pleased sound. "Thank you baby. Your encouragement really motivated me."

It was the wrong thing to say. You have no idea how, but from the way Chan's expression changes slightly as he looks at you, you know he's caught on to you acting weird.

"Is everything alright?"

Shit.

"With me? Yeah, I guess so. I've just been really tired lately."

"On the job hunt?" he asks sympathetically. It's like a stake in your heart.

"As always."

He wraps an arm around you and presses a kiss to your hair. "Don't worry, baby. You're super qualified in your field. You'll find something soon."

You need him to stop touching you or you'll start throwing pans at the wall.

"I hope so," is all you say.

"I know so. Just keep faith."

You hum again, noncommittal. It's like you're slowly losing the ability to speak. And the gloves are too tight and the water is so loud and you're nauseous and your head still hurts and it's probably not even the stress, it's probably the rabies, it's turning your brain into swiss cheese as you speak.

After another tight squeeze, Chan lets you go and retrieves his bowl from where he'd set it down. You hope he might leave you to go eat in the living room, but instead he hovers on the opposite side of the island, and continues telling you about his day. Normally, you'd love to hear the play by play of every crazy thing that happened with his group members and managers. Today, it's like nails on a chalkboard. The story is endless, keeps weaving around other anecdotes and tangents and you wish he would just shut up for one second so you can pull yourself together but you can't say that, because he isn't doing anything wrong, you're just being crazy, you're a bad and lazy girlfriend and you can't even put your own issues on hold long enough to listen to your boyfriend talk about his day. Everything is wrong wrong wrong, and you're Wrong and something is Wrong With You and it just keeps going it never stopswhy can't it all just stop-

"Y/N?"

Your name sounds like it's coming from a thousand miles away.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

You turn to look at Chan, see his eyebrows pinched together in concern. You have no idea how long he's been saying your name.

Very calmly, you strip your gloves off and lay them to the side. You turn off the water.

"Sorry," you say. "Give me one moment, please."

You walk past him and down the hall to your bedroom, where you very calmly and gently close the door behind yourself. You climb on to your bed, filthy clothes and all, and pull two of the pillows from the end to rest on top of each other. You tie your hair back with a hair tie, press your face into the stack of pillows below you so that your whole face is covered.

And you just start screaming.

Screaming is therapeutic, apparently. Or at least, it's on the approved list of emotional regulation activities your therapist had given you. As long as you aren't screaming at anyone, it can be an effective form of release. It helps you release the tension from your core and focus that nervous energy into sound and action.

You scream into the pillow as loud as you can. You aren't sure how much it's doing to muffle your sound, but the belief that it's helping allows you to let go. It's tearing at your throat, the intensity of it. Once you start it's hard to stop, you just keep going and going and going, as if you're expelling demons.

When you finally peter out, you pause for a moment, then push yourself onto your knees. You're dizzy. Blood is rushing in your ears. It's oddly hard to breathe, as if you can't get enough air in your lungs. Even the fact of your own body is too much for you. You wish you could abandon it, just for a moment. You wish you could observe this from the outside so that you would better know how to fix it.

Eventually, your breaths calm. The buzzing recedes, leaving room for rational thought. And your chest feels....lighter. No longer is there a bomb sitting in your sternum, waiting to explode. The pressure has equalized. You look down at your hands, fisted in your bedsheets, and they look like your hands.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

You think you can probably do the dishes now.

Gingerly, you climb out of bed and make your way to the door. You open it, prepared to put your smile back on and apologize for your rude exit.

Chan is outside your door.

His eyes are wide with alarm. He looks stiff, hesitant. One of his hands is outstretched towards the door, as if about to knock.

Your face goes blank, wiring short-circuiting as you try to figure out what to say.

"Hey, y/n," Chan says, slow, testing. "Are you okay?"

Your script restarts, and a big smile automatically draws itself on your face. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that. I just got a little overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. It's fine, though. Come on, you can finish telling me your story."

You grab his hand and try to pull him away from the bedroom. He doesn't budge.

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

You turn back to look at him. "Nothing's going on."

"Baby, I understand if you don't want to talk to me about it yet. But you don't need to pretend there's nothing wrong. You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"I heard you screaming in there."

Ice flushes through your body.

"Ah. Well, it's like I said. I got a little overwhelmed. I'm not hurt or anything. Sorry if I worried you."

"A little overwhelmed?" He's getting frustrated now, put off by your blase tone. "You look like you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

"No, I don't," you say, because you don't. You know what you look like when you get like this. You've trained your expressions so well that your face doesn't flush. Your eyes don't tear up. You have to look put together, because if you don't look put together then you can't convince yourself that you are put together.

"Y/n. I know you. I can tell when something's up." He sighs. "I've thought you were a bit distant for the past couple of weeks but I figured you would come to me eventually. But here we are, and you're having an anxiety attack right in front of me and you won't even admit it."

"I'm not having an anxiety attack."

"Love, I know what anxiety looks like. If you'd just let me help-"

"I'm not having an anxiety attack. I don't have anxiety. I would know if I did."

"Everyone has bad days and hard times, baby. You don't have to be defensive. I'm not accusing you of anything."

"You say you're not accusing me of anything after unilaterally diagnosing me with anxiety?"

Chan lets out a long breath. "That wasn't what I meant. I just mean-"

"You can't just assign me disorders when you decide I'm acting irrationally. You don't know my medical history. You don't even know me that well. You don't know if my behavior is normal or not."

"You can't be getting upset at me for 'not knowing you' when it's clear you're actively hiding things from me," Chan says, patience thinning. "I see you're in distress and you're picking apart my wording? I'm trying to help you."

"I didn't say I wanted your help."

"You're my partner! Of course I'm going to help you!"

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because-" You choke on it and slam your lips shut.

Chan's face is drawn in irritation. He makes a go on gesture. But you can't go on. It's like the words are trapped in bubbling tar.

Your silence stretches. Chan sighs and drags a hand down his face in exhaustion. He'd gone out of his way to come visit you and now he regrets it. You've wasted his evening and ruined his mood. It's only a matter of time before he realizes you ruin everything. Hell realize he's drowning in all your mess and decide to save himself, and then you'll be alone again.

You draw in a breath of your own, but you're still lightheaded.

"Why did you invite me over if you didn't want me to see you like this?" he asks finally. "You don't have to see me every day if that's not what you want."

All the anger is gone from his voice. He's being so patient that your own stubbornness is acrid in comparison. You swallow, hard. Every muscle in your body is tense. You have the pull the words out of your throat with hooks, one syllable at a time.

"I wanted to see you," you explain, stilted and pathetic. "I thought I could pretend for long enough."

"Pretend what?"

That I'm not crazy. That I'm not falling apart. That I'm normal and easygoing and a joy to be around and definitely not rabid.

It's impossible to say. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you know that something is. You can't do the dishes. And you can't do this.

Your knees buckle and you sink to the floor of the hallway.

"Y/n?"

You don't respond. You're just staring straight ahead, all your thoughts whirring so fast that you're having trouble parsing any of them.

"Y/n? Hey, baby, sweetheart, can you look at me?"

You blink, and he's in front of you, on your level. He's trying to look calm but you can see the panic in his eyes. It only makes your chest tighter. You're dragging him down, you're cursing him. He needs to get out or you'll have his blood on your hands.

"We need to break up," you whisper.

Chan reels back like he's been slapped. "What?"

"We can't- we need to break up. I shouldn't have invited you over. I'm sorry."

"I..." Chan is at a loss for words. "You don't mean that."

But you do mean it. With everything in your body. "We can't be together."

"Baby, I don't know what you're thinking, but we don't have to break up if you don't want to. I don't want to break up."

You feel sick with his sureness. How can he claim to know you better than you know yourself?

"You don't get it," you say. Your tone is unnatural, words strange on your tongue. "We just can't be together."

"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

"Just look at me."

"I am looking at you. And all I see is my beautiful, wonderful, perfect girlfriend who is having a very bad day and might be making some hasty decisions."

"Not a bad day. A bad life. I'm fucked up, Chan." The words come out with such a quiet malice that it shocks even yourself. "I can't even do the fucking dishes."

"I can do the dishes, love. I said it wasn't a big deal."

"No no no. It's not about the dishes." You're struggling to explain- the words are getting twisted, the thoughts all merge together- "I can't do anything. It's not about the fucking dishes. It's about- I can't-"

And you burst into tears

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm really sorry. I just-"

"It's okay," he soothes. "It's okay. I understand now."

He doesn't. He can't, and you know that full well. You shake your head, vision blurring from your tears. You're so embarassed and it's making you cry worse. You think you must look so ugly right now. He must be repulsed by you. You're repulsed by yourself, your own misery making your skin crawl.

"Can I touch you, baby? I want to hold you."

You shouldn't. You'll infect him. You'll ruin him and take away everything that makes him good. Why is he even still talking to you? Why doesn't he leave?

"You don't have to-to feel obligated. I can just- if you give me a second-"

"I don't feel obligated," he says, patient but firm. "I love you. I want to hold you all the time."

Something in your chest cracks. You're so weak. It's pathetic. But you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"Please," you whisper, defeated.

Chan reaches out and pulls you into his arm. You're both still on the ground, but he rearranges you so you can hide your face in his shoulder, and you do, too humiliated by your tears to be able to look at his face. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and your traitorous body relaxes without your permission.

"You've been struggling for a long time haven't you?" he asks. "You didn't want me to pity you."

You don't say anything. You can't bear to.

"Well, I don't pity you. I think you're very strong, trying to deal with this on your own. You made me dinner today even though you didn't really want to, right? That was very kind of you to do. You take such good care of me, baby. You light up my life. Isn't it fair that I should get to take care of you too? Can't I return the favor by helping you now?"

"It's not the same," you mumble into his shirt, because the magnitude of the two asks isn't comparable. You chopped up some vegetables and threw them in a pot. He is witnessing you have a mental breakdown in your hallway. You're not equally yoked. It's too much to ask of anyone.

"Whether it's the same or not doesn't matter. Love isn't transactional. It doesn't have to be equal effort every single time. This isn't a favor I'm returning. I'm comforting you because you're upset, and I hate to see you cry. Do you believe me when I say I want to see you happy and smiling? That I would do anything to ensure it?"

You finally pull away from him, wiping away your tears on your sleeve. "You might have to go find a new girlfriend then," you say, voice cracking from the tears and the weight of your despair.

"I don't want a new girlfriend. I want you." He's hesitant, but he continues. "There are ways of getting help, you know. We can try some things, like therapy, or medication. I can help you. You don't have to feel this way all the time."

You shake your head. "I'm in therapy and on meds already. None of it really....works on me. I have fewer bad days than I used to but they still leave me like...like this. And they just drag on....it turns to weeks and months, and I can't....I can't do anything." You let out a shaky breath and make yourself stop talking. Even after all this, the urge to hold back is engrained in you. "You deserve better."

"I think I decide what I deserve," Chan says. "I know it's hard to open up about things like this, but what's worse than you being depressed is you hiding it from me. How can we work on this if you're pretending it's not real?"

"I wanted to be good for you. I wanted to be...to be easy."

Chan leans forward and cups your face in his hands. He looks you right in the eyes, and you see that they're glossy with their own unshed tears. "I don't need you to be easy. No one is. I just want you to be you. And I want you to let me be there for you. In everything. Including this. I want all of you. Do you think you can do that? Can you try?" He wipes away your tears with his thumb.

You swallow harshly. It goes against everything in you, everything you've taught yourself. Chan loves you. He wants to stay. Even though it may all crash and burn later, even though he might still turn on you or reject you or give up on you and declare this all a lost cause, right now he wants to stay. He believes in you. And you want to hold on to that belief as long as it lasts.

"Okay. I'll try."

A relieved smile stretches across his face.

"That's my girl," he says, and presses a kiss to your forehead. It makes something like pride settle in your chest, as if the part of you that cracked earlier might not stay jagged forever.

"Let's get off the floor, hmm? I feel like you might've spent enough time down here today."

You definitely hadn't mentioned that. Maybe he really does understand more than you'd thought possible. You don't know exactly how to feel about that, but you allow a bit of gratefulness to come through as he stands up on his own and reaches a hand down to pull you up. You wipe your eyes one last time, let out a breath, and take his hand.

[altocat]

How do the Firsts deal with boredom? And how catastrophic are the results lmao

Genesis:

Burn something

Pick a fight with someone

Say something outlandish that gets him in trouble

Blow something up

End up spending an entire weekend being sat on by Angeal or Sephiroth so he doesn't cause any more trouble

Angeal: He moistly tries to pick up productive habits to alleviate boredom. Reading a book. Knitting. Going on his phone for helpful gardening tips, or downloading a lengthy PDF file on the history of Gaia or something of that nature. No catastrophic results here! Angeal is a good noodle who gets good noodle points.

Zack: He mostly fidgets. Furiously tapping his feet on the ground, jittering about in his seat. Maybe he'll hum to himself. MAYBE his eye will start twitching because he's under stimulated and slowly going insane. And MAAAAAAAAYBE he just might accidentally end up exploding the break room kitchen because he wanted to see what would happen if he tried to bake a "breakfast burrito souffle" in the microwave.

Sephiroth: Will literally just sit there quietly dissociating from reality for hours on end. Blank-faced. Eyes distant. Completely off in his own little world. Maybe he's travelling the planet. Maybe he's dwelling on the past. Or maybe he's just mentally gone, turning his brain off like a light switch. Either way, Hojo taught him to never fidget or make a fuss when he's not being entertained. So he'll just obediently sit here and not cause any trouble, lest there be consequences.

....................or maybe he'll just sit on Hojo's desk and do this instead.

[rockn-rule]

so. got any thoughts to share with the class about our dear Jack Frost? i bet that lovely smile of his is haunting you right now 😉❄️

Oh boy do i

Jack Frost head cannons here I come

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

*❊- Obviously Jack is fruity, he has to be, and he definitely leans more on the spectrum of bisexual for me

*❊- Jack almost certainly is secretly lukewarm under his jacket, especially with all his layers

*❊- Jack would 100% be a good romantic you can't tell me otherwise- he would probably either make a rose out of ice or freeze one so it stays young forever

*❊- In terms of date ideas, I feel he'd enjoy a nice icy gazebo with some snowmen playing soft, melancholy, songs and a lil blanket and telescope for star gazing

*❊- He so has a fascination with cold stars and pluto

*❊- He'd plan picnic dates at night so that you could watch the Aurora Borealis and meteor showers together

*❊- He's definitely more loyal and obsessive than being cold and distant (ironically)

*❊- He would be the sort to braid your hair, or cut it for you- He'd also probably end up putting ever lasting snowflakes in your hair too

*❊- His fingers are undoubtedly cold, but his chest would definitely be almost burning- and he's definitely using all those layers of icy clothes to hide it

*❊- Probably has a sleigh, but it's definitely be driven by a draft horse that's got blue eyes and a silver coat

*❊- said horse would be be named Boreas, after the Greek god

*❊- He loves animals, especially snow leopards- and he's 100% sad they're going extinct hence why he brings winter early

*❊- He definitely makes slushies you can't tell me he doesn't

*❊- His favourite berry is probably mulberries since they are so resistant to frost

*❊- He probably bakes a lot, definitely leaning more towards souffle's and fancier things

*❊- He's so spy from tf2 coded in ways I can't explain, because he totally drinks wine and margaritas

*❊- He can't get drunk because he drinks so often

*❊- He likes ice ballet, for obvious reasons, and would probably beg you to skate with him- even pulling you gently onto the ice to lead you into a waltz

*❊- He gives me the vibes that he'd like the Russian song 'dark is the night's and some other older Russian songs

*❊- Undoubtedly a good kisser, definitely not the best for sure, but still good

*❊- He gets flustered so fast by simple praises and light touches, he probably whimpers and begs for one last kiss before he goes with puppy dog eyes like the pathetic idiot he is

*❊- Definitely signs 'I love you' in sign language from across the room, or table

*❊- He crosses his legs when sitting and moves a lot because he's got ADHD, maybe even hyper mobility too

*❊- You fall first but he falls faster sorta fella

*❊- He'd wear a dress to annoy the others but then realize he likes it

♡⑅*˖•. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .•˖*⑅♡

I'll be doin more of this eventually so be prepared for even more of 'I am clinical do not perceive me'

[darlingpwease]

My lovely wife you giving me ideas and thinking about imagining Yandere and omega Leon how breed bull he looks

hihi souffle~!!! <333 kith kith<33333

king's favourite

♡ unhealthy behaviour, animalistic behaviour, alternative universe, family making, mention of violence + blood, he has not yet lost powers, forced relationship if you squint, reincarnation themes if you squint; transmigrator!reader (or just isekaid), alpha-like beta!reader

♡ breeding / unprotected sex, rough treatment, nipples play (g.), blood play (r.), womb fucking if you squint, cum inflation if you squint, (spicy & messy)

How did they teach you there? "Get into the situation, understand and forgive"? "There is a spark of goodness in everyone"? "You just have to be patient"?

"We have to wait and everything will get better"?

You waited — many times — and even when you found yourself here, in your own body with several modified features; thought "at last I will live well, nothing is scary after death, I can start again," clinging to the chance to survive is not out of desperation at all, but from the fact that you have already seen similar situations before, using your skills and knowledge mixed with the underdevelopment of the surrounding world.

You don't know what happened here, — you don't want to know — but you're sure it makes you feel better.

After all, you, prepared by the modern world and by some incomprehensible effect caused by changes in your body, are ready for anything as long as your blood flows in your body. Undoubtedly, it is unusual for you in this new world, with these 'alphas', 'betas', 'omegas', only some deltas and gammas are missing, and already five letters from the greek alphavite have been collected, but you get used to it.

You're really getting used to it.

You are lucky to be an unremarkable beta, without this strange smelling dynamics, with these incomprehensible exchanges of smells and even stranger features — like a knot??? womb??? bite glands??? — and questionable courtship.

But no one seems to fall in love with betas.

And then you met him.

If you knew in advance that the betas, it turns out, are also quite attractive for some reason, then you would run as fast as you could from him and from his subordinates — but then you really thought that nothing would happen, "the worst thing is death". And it's not that what happened to you, when violet eyes collided with you and shone like billions of stars, was worse than death.

“Finally.”

But when the only thing you can do is agree, knowing perfectly well and seeing that your refusal means nothing if the 'king of Dark Fall' chose you. In the end, you were nothing more than a charming pet that was chosen from thousands of the same, probably even more beautiful and exciting — but for some reason it was on your figure that the purple eyes stopped and froze, with dilated feline pupils, when a strong slender hand grabbed your wrist, not letting you move away, in front of eyes an equally shocked environment, scorching at you rather than at him, asking themselves 'why are you' than 'what does his behavior mean'.

“Leon,” — he whispers hoarsely, squeezing your hands, not trying to penetrate your personal space, but also not letting you move away, glaring with such a burning gaze that your heart is beating loudly in throat from noisy fear and dull excitement caused rather by adrenaline and that strange aura of power around his body that you can't not react. — “My name. Don't forget it. You're mine now — I chose you.”

From his words, head is slightly dizzy, — or is it from a strange smell that surrounds his body, as if shouting to you that you have a handsome strong mate in front of you? — but you can only nod, realizing that resistance will lead to nothing. You have often seen this in fanfiction, you know what to do — and although this is not a dating simulator or anything like that, you are sure that the actions are not too different.

His eyes dig into your every feature, as if trying to get under your skin, while his hands imperiously but gently squeeze yours, intertwining long fingers with yours, restlessly squeeze and unclench.

A handsome and young aristocrat takes a person from the street as a lover? Isn't this the plot of Cinderella?

You must even be 'lucky' — food, bed and a handsome powerful person who seems to be passionate about you and enough free time. Even if you really are nothing more than a pet, doesn't that mean that you only need to perform your role well and manage your limited time wisely?

You must even be lucky — you think thoughtfully when blood drops on your cheeks.

Someone else's blood, of course — you are too precious; a couple of drops that unintentionally reach your skin while any sounds get stuck in throat. Not that your role is anything more special than a simple 'pet' — but even so, the reaction seems... excessive.

“I'll rip out the hands of anyone who does that again.”

It's cold in the hall, unusually cold, while the blood drips down, staining the floor, forcing the servants to step back restlessly, not even trying to wipe something or help.

“Is that clear? I don't like to repeat myself in such things.”

It's not the right time to ask about a walk — and from the looks of the servants, you can be sure that none of them will even try to approach you in the near future.

“I know you don't remember much...”

LEON begins in a soft, almost timid voice when you squeeze his thigh, climbing between them, and he allows, pushing them apart, obeying every movement and desire, even if you see how his ears, face and chest burn with blush, feeling your respectfully shameless touch.

“But, actually... I... we...”

He hesitates, as if trying to figure out how best to convey this idea to you — but when you gently rub his swollen hard nipple, watching his mouth, LEON blushes even more, covering his face with his hand, while the second grabs your wrist, forcing you to leave it on him.

“... Do you like what you see?”

Purple eyes shine like a cat's in the dimness of the room — his body is soft but strong, with elastic slender legs wrapped around your hips in an almost unbearably tight grip, and sensitive soft skin that easily trembles under your fingers, squeezing it until red prints remain. His purring comes from the chest itself, spreading through the body in hot waves, leaving dryness in the throat from the sight of his full arousal and intoxicating delight of his face, when omega's hands grab the sheet, with wide eyes and rounded mouth watching his smooth belly fill up, unable to see how you push, drawlingly teasing unbearably unbearable unbearably slow, not at all like before, as if his whole body was dependent on you, demanding more, stronger, until everything inside him was torn and destroyed, gnawed to the heart that beating in ears from drunken delight with spots in front of eyes.

His whole body is nothing more than a taut string under you, allowing you to dive deep inside, feeling a strong squeeze and hearing soft sweet purring mixed with quiet submissive moans — only to find yourself locked in a steel grip with strong legs that do not even allow you to move even a millimeter, leaving you deeply buried in the most intimate part that he can bare for you, eager to become as vulnerable and naked as it was before. His whole body is nothing more than a temple that longs to be destroyed, defeated, claimed, and when his pupils dilate like the darkness around, leaving only the noise of breathing and the sounds of contact not just bodily, but something more intimate, he looks not like a 'cute shy omega', but something that it is ready to devour you and make you a part of itself — or to become a part of you, but it is absolutely not ready to remain separate.

“D-Do– you– l-like– what you–... feel?”

His body is nothing more than a cozy nest; the perfect place where you can leave the puppies, bury the hot seed with them deep inside, filling the pliable, ripe, fertile womb with your thrusts which are echoed by the pounding of heart in your ears, nuzzling his so sweet-smelling neck, the aroma of which is mixed with the smell of blood on your back caused by claws scratching skin and looking for even more more more smell, stronger, faster, more, don't stop, just don't stop — his tongue burns like poison, licking intoxicating blood in return for the way you drive into his fertile ready-made body, eager to be breed, fertilized, rounded from your puppy, future king of Dark Fall, who will find a place in his body in need of this.

His nails scratch your hands when his stomach is rounded again - not the same soft, but elastic, easily taking everything inside when you gently lift up, assessing his body, wet with juice, semen and sweat, while tears are still flowing over his beautiful face, with a perfectly rounded mouth and trembling hips, not trying to hide none of the embarrassingly sweet traces that leave a strange taste in your mouth - especially at the sight of his thin pink lips with traces of your blood that he licks, looking into your eyes with his drugged, but aware of everything, for the first time so aware of everything for all the time that you have seen him.

“Why do you... didn't bite? Neck...”

Bites on the nipple — hickeys on the neck — prints on the waist — nail marks on the thigh — bare clean neck wet with sweat.

“... Mine?”

The pupils look steadily into yours, as if not expecting this question, and you can see how he seems to wake us up from a drunken delirium, realizing everything around.

His chest rises and falls several times, as if only now LEON realized what had happened, and a glance at the mog is thrown at the sticky wet mess between his thighs.

But when he looks up again, you don't see anything there but frenzied devotion.

“Yours — and you're mine.”

A bite from something seems too right and true — just like the pulsating mark of his teeth on your neck.

And although you are a beta, — you do not have the same ability to fertilize as an alpha, — the sight of his belly filled with you excites some base feelings in you.

[t-h-i-n-g]

hi can u do dialogue prompt 26 with percy jackson ? and congrats for the 1000 followers, you deserve it !!

26. “i smell something burning, you’re sure you’re okay in there?” “i’m fine! i’m fine!”

w percy jackson

Event headline. Event masterlist

Percy didn’t understand how the living hell he ended up here. 

He’s an excellent cook.

He’s been cooking for years.

His mother taught him basically before he could walk.

So why the hell were the eggs in front of him burning every single goddamn time he made a new batch.

Spaghetti he can make.

Muffins he can manage.

Souffle is a struggle but it's tolerable.

But eggs.

That's where he draws the line?

Make it make sense for him, please.

Percy doesn’t know how much more his trash can take from the searing hot burning smell of eggs being dished into it before it’ll cry.

Or maybe him.

“Percy?” A faint soft voice called behind the kitchen door.

He’s so glad he got it installed. Screw the point of you saying ‘The house won’t be as open.’ As long as you can’t see him internally screaming at inanimate objects he’s fine.

“Yeah?” he calls back, with a sore attempt of an even tone.

“Everything okay in there? Why’s the door locked?” 

Percy’s gaze darted down to the jiggling door nob.

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast. But I guess it’s not a surprise anymore.”

This was not a lie. But he was kinda planning he could actually present to you a semi pretty looking plate and not a bunch of black blobs.

“I smell something burning, you’re sure you’re okay in there?” you asked.

Percy’s eyes widened as he turned back to the simmering pan. Steam lifted from the cooking material.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” he called rushing to stop the potential disaster. Pulling the pan off of the stove, he turned it off and sat it on a different burner.

Sighing Percy slouched in disappointment as his disgrace of a meal. Slugging his way to the door he opened it and met your concerned expression.

“Breakfast is served,” he grumbled pulling the door back for you to see his monstrosity. You winced at the sight. 

Stepping into the kitchen you scanned the different material and objects scattered about.

“How long have you been at this?” you asked.

“Too long,” Percy stated, dragging a hand down his face.

Your expression softened at his disheaved state. Approaching him you placed an arm around his waist.

“How about we go out for brunch instead?” Percy leaned into your hold.

“As long as you don’t order eggs.”

ty for your request shawty :)))

[thewolvesof1998]

Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @hippolotamus and @daffi-990

Still toiling away for NaNoWriMo and I've been working some more on Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em chapter three (previous snippet and Masterlist):

“I did, didn’t I? Well, I can’t do that if you’re clothes are on,” Eddie says withdrawing his hand from Buck’s underwear. Buck whimpers at the loss of contact before Eddie’s words register, as soon as they do Buck sits up and rips off his shirt. He moves on to his underwear but instead of standing up to take it off, like a sane person, Buck lies down and lifts his hips in the air and pulls them halfway down his thighs. Eddie watches, captivated, as Buck desperately tries to pull them off but they get stuck on one of his ankles. Finally, after a lot of swearing Buck manages to get them off, he throws them on the floor and lies back slightly panting, cheeks pink and avoiding meeting Eddie’s eyes.  “I don’t suppose you can forget you just saw that?” Buck asks Eddie snorts, “I think that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.” Buck throws his arm over his face, “Oh good, great.” “Buck,” Eddie places his hand on Buck’s arm. “Just let me die of embarrassment.” “Buck,” He tries to tug Buck’s arm away from his face but it’s like trying to bend metal, goddamn he like how strong Buck is a little too much, “Darlin’,” but even the nickname doesn’t work. Eddie sighs, “Baby please, I need you to look at me.”  He gets a muffled ‘why’ From Buck, “Because you need to see the truth on my face when I say that you being so desperate for me that you couldn’t even wait to stand to get naked is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”  “Say it again?” Buck asks, his arm finally lowering.  “What? You’re so desperate for me?” Buck shivers “Yes-” shakes his head “-No, the other thing.” Eddie feels a smile tug at his lips, “Baby?” Buck practically melts at the term, “You like when I call you baby?” Buck gives a small nod.  Eddie leans over and presses an open mouth kiss to Buck’s pulse point, “Such a desperate baby, huh?”

tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammy-souffle @smilingbuckley (let me know if you want to be taken off or add to this tag list!)

[milkytheholy1]

Day 8: B Team

This was the perfect time for an experiment, Donnie judged, the lair was practically empty! Leo and Raph had gone out on a mission, Master Splinter had decided to take a walk around the sewers, April and Casey were at school and Mikey was somewhere in his room busy with his comics. Yes, indeed, what a great, splendid, marvellous time to do an experiment.

"With just a single drop of copper sulphate, I should be able to stabilise this new explosive egg bomb. I juuuuust need to make sure I get the measurements exactly, otherwise I could, well, possibly level the city. No biggie." Donnie muttered to himself, his protective goggles slowly etching down his face as he stared intently at what lay before him.

"Of course, this is a piece of cake for me, especially when everything is so quiet and-" he sighed, "Peaceful."

There was one more final check of his mathematics before Donnie started pouring the solution, "Easy...easy...annnndd-"

"Hey, D, what ya workin' on?" Mikey literally popped out of nowhere, "MIKEY!" Donnie all but cried, the solution flying into the air. Donatello saw the world fall into slow motion as his extremely dangerous concoction fizzed in the air, waiting to smash on the ground and destroy them all.

"Oops, my bad. I got it, D!" Mikey leapt into action, catching the beaker with ease and backflipping until his feet touched the floor. He turned to a stunned Donatello, giving the middle child a thumbs up, "What is this stuff anyway, yo? Is it like an alien goo or somethin'?"

"Well actually-"

"OH! Is it like a gel that'll turn me into a superhero? I could be like Crognard or Luffy!" Mikey started bouncing around the room, acting as though his body was made of rubber. Donatello snatched the mixture away before Mikey could cause any more damage, "Actually, Mikey, it is an extremely dangerous experiment that could destroy the whole city."

Donnie gently placed it back down on his workbench, pinching his brows together in frustration, "Woooah, cool." Mikey hummed staring at the rich purple liquid. Donnie pushed his swivel chair to face an awestruck Michelangelo, 'Why are you here? I thought you were reading your comics and NOT bothering me." Donnie frowned, turning back to his project.

Mikey rolled his eyes, pushing away from the desk and deciding to look around the lab, occasionally poking something that caught his interest, "Weeell, I did do that, to begin with. Then I read some wicked stuff Mondo gave me, then after that I got bored and went to cook something, but I got bored doing that so I started playing some video games; y'know, I'm trying to beat Raph's high score?"

Donnie was too stunned to speak, "Then I got bored doing that so I put the TV on and I just so happened to catch One Piece, then it went on the break and I got bored and then I came in here." he turned around to face Donnie with a smile.

"Wow, you did all that in ten minutes?" he gasped, Mikey nearly cried, "IT'S ONLY BEEN TEN MINUTES!" his body deflating to the floor, "I thought it had been an entire day already, dude!" Mikey dragged himself over to Donnie, begging him to create something fun, "What am I gonna do all day, man? What am I gonna do!!!"

"Okay, okay..." Donnie sighed, pushing his younger brother off of him, "I'm sure we can think of something together."

"For real?" Mikey asked, wonder and excitement in his eyes. Donatello chuckled, "Sure, man. C'mon, I got just the thing you can help me with."

---- Later one ----

"What smells like burning?"

"AH! MY SOUFFLE!"

[insecateur]

I'll be standing tall (La Maison-Dieu)

A 10 songs bilingual Sycamore/Lysandre playlist (in honor of Pokémon X&Y's 10th anniversary)

(Unfortunately, I don't use Spotify, so you'll have to make do with this YouTube playlist or look for the songs yourself. But do look under the read more for Lyrics Excerpts and all of that.)

Why a bilingual playlist? Well because I'm a bilingual guy, for a start, and because my experience with Pokémon X&Y in general and this ship in particular has always been bilingual as well (even trilingual, arguably.) I wanted to put together some of my favorite songs in English for them and introduce English-speaking fans to some of my favorite French songs for them, too. A lot of those songs are songs I've quoted, mentioned, or even used as inspiration for art and fic.

(Why is Augustine on the English side and Lysandre on the French side? Because I thought Lysandre would be offended at the idea of being on the English side while Augustine wouldn't care about it as much.)

SIDE A: ENGLISH

Sunburn by Muse

He burns like the sun And I can't look away And he'll burn our horizons Make no mistakes

This is the classic, quintessential PRFR song for me. Its only crime is that it's het, sung from the point of a view of a man singing about a woman. That pesky little detail cannot stop me, however.

Without You I'm Nothing by Placebo (feat David Bowie)

I'm unclean, a libertine And every time you vent your spleen I seem to lose the power of speech You're slipping slowly from my reach You grow me like an evergreen You've never seen the lonely me at all

Do I even need to say anything about this? I listen to this song when I need to make myself Suffer thinking about them. Oh to be unable to bring yourself to say something about your beloved friend's downward spiral...

Hardest of Hearts by Florence + the Machine

Darling heart, I loved you from the start But you'll never know what a fool I've been Darling heart, I loved you from the start But that's no excuse for the state I'm in

My friend sent me this song saying it was about them and they were RIGHT. Shout-out to my friend for that. I like how it can be alternating POV, too.

Changes by The Happy Fits

I try to run away but I find myself, again Stuck in the same place Who will I be today? I can't control the world or change it

This one was suggested by @jonphaedrus and I'm really happy I could have its contribution in here as well. This is very meaningful to me.

Celebrate by Metric

Even the darkest hour soon will be over My friend, it will be over

I couldn't not put a Metric song in there! It was tough finding the right one... But I thought putting a more optimistic spin would be nice, too. I actually associate this song with SLaWCS specifically as well, which is a nice touch.

SIDE B: FRENCH

Pâle Septembre by Camille

Mâle si tendre Au début de novembre Devint sourd aux avances de l'amour Mais quel mal me prit De m'éprendre de lui ?

Did you know? This song is the reason why I associate Lysandre with the Tower arcana. Or at least, it's what put the idea into my brain first. This one is also a quintessential PRFR song for me.

7 Vies by Kyo

La vue est magnifique Contemple-la tant que tu peux La lumière alcaline Le bien, l'ennemi du mieux Tant que le temps défile Tout doit se vivre à deux Je pratique le langage des signes Et celui du feu

I think I should be allowed to include some more vibes songs in there, although I'd argue this one fits them well. It's a bit abstract, but it fits.

Tout donner by Maître Gims

Tu es ma maladie Ma guérison quand tu l'décides Mes nuits s'illuminent J'en confonds le jour et la nuit

A desperate, self-destructive pining song... What else could a man want in this world. It's very tasty. I think about those lines way too often.

Aimer à mort by Louane

L'espoir qui joue, le feu, le froid Un souffle au cou, baiser de roi Pour nous reprendre, pour nous défendre Pour se comprendre chaque fois

Another intense but more optimistic one. I want to believe... I want them to believe as well...

Rouge Ardent by Axelle Red

As-tu trouvé, dans les feux, dans les flammes Ton idéal rouge ardent As-tu froid As-tu peur de l'aurore Tu disais "tout s'évapore" Tu as eu tort

It's a song about being in love with a failed idealist. And also the color red is there. What more can I say. (Also, this time it's originally a het song from the POV of a woman singing about a man, which ties it all neatly together, I think.)

Happy 10th anniversary to all my fellow shippers, young and old, new and ancient, whether you were in the trenches with me back in October 2013 on this webbed site or you joined us in 2021 with the Pokémon Masters revival, thank you for loving them always. Here's to loving them more and more in the future, and here's to the Pokémon X&Y remakes as they become clearer and clearer on the horizon. (And maybe we'll get a Legends game, too? Wouldn't that be something...)

[celestial-corner-of-desires]

Good day~ Thank you so very much for another request of mine, it was beautiful as always~ 🌸 I have another one in mind, if I may? Let’s see… How about Dietfried's significant other surprising him by bringing a homemade lunch, made with care and love, at work? And maybe even something for his subordinates too, out of kindness and gratitude. Will that little act of kindness make Dietfried a bit... jealous? I wonder, tee hee hee~

Happy New Year, darling! I hope you will forgive me for the wait. To make up for it, I wanted to sprinkle some... Spice, hehe.

Wiping your sweat off your forehead, you look at all the mini dishes you cooked up in front of you. In recent months, cooking has become one of your new favorite hobbies. Since you spend most of your days caring for the house and not having enough time to travel around, learning new and foreign dishes helps to mend this little desire. You often share your newest creations with your beloved Dietfried, who has been your biggest supporter and encouraged you to try again if you fail. When there were times when the dish got extra burned, or meat was undercooked and raw, Dietfried would wipe tears that you couldn't contain from disappointment in yourself. He would lean in, kissing your forehead, whispering how proud he is of you trying something new, and telling you not to belittle yourself because of a few mistakes.

"Even perfection can make a mistake. And it only makes me love you more than I already do."

And with recent terrorist attacks, Dietfried barely has time to come home, to properly enjoy your dishes, only to come home exhausted, kissing you, and heading to bed. It pained you to see him overworked and how badly his well-being was in this state. To ensure that you were safe, Dietfried asked you to limit your visits to him until the attacks were lowered, since he would never forgive himself if anything were to harm you. You have his heart in your palms, and the mere thought of seeing you in any pain, would break Dietfried. But a small selfish part of you craved those days when you and your beloved would snack on your newest creations, laughing and chattering about everything and nothing at all.

So, an idea popped into your little pretty head.

After checking each dish, you have prepared, you go to grab a basket with a towel to place it in. Firstly, you put in Quiche Lorraine as the main dish, the smell of smoked bacon with cheese decorating the top, making your stomach growl with hunger. As much as you wanted to make new items, you settled on making some of Dietfried's favorite childhood dishes that his mother shared with you. Adding to the Quiche Lorraine, you fixed up some fresh Croque monsieur, a sandwich with melted cheese and ham, topped with fried egg, toasted to perfection. Lastly, you baked up some light-as-air souffles and Paris-Brest to compliment the overall meal.

Glancing to check that you got everything, you went to properly get ready, wearing your favorite dress, complimented with jewelry, and lipstick that made Dietfried irresistible to your lips. Checking yourself out in the mirror, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself. Moving to grab the basket, you also took your purse and keys and walked out of the house.

If your beloved couldn't come to enjoy meals with you, who says you couldn't come to him with meals? And besides, when has Dietfried ever said no to you, when you looked at him like you worship him with your love?

Walking on the streets of the capital, you let the lively noise of your surroundings tune like music, letting your imagination create stories as the different voices and sounds provide you with the basic concept to play from. As you reached the headquarters of the navy, you were greeted by the guards, who recognized you as the naval captain's spouse, opening the gates for you. You thanked the guards, wishing them a good day, heading towards the office of your loved one. Reaching for the handle of the door, you lightly pushed, it before walking up to the receptionist. As she notices your presence, she greets you.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bougainvillea. To what do I own the pleasure of seeing you?"

"I am pleased to see you as well, Mrs. Barbier. I was hoping if I could see Dietf- *ahem* Captain Bougainvillea to hand him his lunch."

Mrs. Barbier was a sweet elderly lady who had been in the military for a few decades. Luckily for her, she never had to partake in war, but the stories of officers and commanders still left some horrific imagery. Ever since you began to date Dietfried and would visit him, Mrs. Barbier would always lightly tease you both about how you would make the perfect married couple. True to those predictions, Dietfried proposed to you later and the rest is history.

"Of course. The captain just got off his meeting with the fleet commander and should be available at this hour."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much. Oh, would you like to try some treats I prepared?"

You found the courage in yourself to say it, as you prepared some baked goods for Dietfried's colleagues as a kind gesture.

A glint of excitement passes through Mrs. Barbier’s eyes, "I would be delighted dear."

Opening the basket, you hand her a small bowl of Paris-Brests, and she takes one of them to sample. Biting into the pastry, she hums in joy as the chocolate and creme cover her taste buds, letting the sweets melt off any stress she has had prior.

"Oh, my goodness, this is so delicious. I remember the captain praising your cooking to others, but this is beyond of what I could have imagined!"

A bashful blush covers your cheeks, as you let out a smile, "I am glad you like it. I wasn't sure that I made them as precisely as the recipe required it to be, but-"

"My dear, if you think those aren't good, you are being too humble. If you decide to open a bakery, I will be your first customer! Oh Piere, boys!" Gentlemen passing by look towards Mrs. Barbier, glancing at the lady. Holding up the bowl, she continues, "Come try those sweets! Mrs. Bougainvillea has baked some of the divine treats you will ever get to taste."

A cool shiver comes down your spine. Sure, Dietfried told you that your cooking was incredible, but you never had someone else try your cooking, especially strangers.

A smile forms on their faces, as they walk forward, taking the pastry in their mouths. As the sweet sensation coats them, an approved groans were let out.

"What a treat!"

"Delicious beyond expectations!"

"Damn, this is better than what my wife has made!"

The anticipating disappointment washes away from your body, as the gentlemen turn to you, thank you, and ask if they could have more. Feeling a bit clustered by the men, you take a small step back, a polite smile placed to ease yourself. You came here to feed your Dietfried, but it seems you got some extra attention than you expected.

"I don't recall surrounding a defenseless woman as part of the Navy protocol, soldiers." A musky voice comes from behind the men, causing them to shiver, turning to the source. Leaning on the wall, arms crossed, Dietfried stares at the soldiers, his eyes darkening ever so slightly, only to soften when his eyes land on you. Your heart can't help but skip a beat at how despite not talking or touching you, a simple glance from him sends you relief you didn't know your body was asking for.

"Captain Bougainvillea, sir!" They salute him.

Returning his gaze to soldiers, he pushes himself off the wall, straddling forward. As he gets close to you, the soldiers move aside to make way. Dietfried stops only mere inches away from you, but you can feel the heat of his body coursing onto you. You give him a shy smile, to which he returns with his gentle smile. Shifting his eyes to Mrs. Barbier, Dietfried lifts his eyebrow at her.

"It would seem you are keeping my spouse from me, Mrs. Barbier.” His tone is jesting, but you can see something else laced at the edges of his eyes. Hunger, darkness, and overwhelming danger. A shiver crawls down from your spine to your thighs. Getting lost in your mind, you shift your eyes from his eyes to his lips, biting the inside of your lip.

God, why does he make you feel so safe in his presence, but so vulnerable and exposed, like a simple touch will undo you and make you crave him to pounce himself into you little cu-

“Dear, are you ok? You are zoning out, aren’t you?” You feel his hand on your face, letting his gloved thumb trace a circular pattern on your cheek.

Blinking yourself from your little wet dreaming, a blush covered your cheek as you answered, “Can’t I come and see my beloved husband without any reason, hm?”

A chuckle escapes Dietfried’s lips, as he looks at the clock, signaling midafternoon, until shifting his eyes to the basket in your arm. “Based on the smell, I don’t believe you came with no reason, my love. Please follow me to my office, Mrs. Bougainvillea.” He gestures with his hand towards the direction of his office, while placing his other hand on your lower back.

Lifting your head up, you nod and bid farewell to the soldiers and Mrs. Barbier as you headed towards the office. You could hear the soldiers chatting between each other over your cooking and how overprotective the naval captain appeared to them.

Crossing the threshold of the office, you walk towards the desk, placing the basket as Dietfried closed the door. Before you can open the basket’s lid, he quickly strides towards you, clasping your hands, causing you to turn around, only to be met with the clash of his lips on yours. The passion and power behind Dietfried’s lips on yours makes your mind spin around, causing black spots to appear as breath leaves your lungs. You could feel his hands leave your hands, only to trail one of them on your back, while the other on your thighs. You grasp onto him to balance yourself, as his tongue invades your mouth, caressing all your insides. Before you could pass out, Dietfried slowly pulls away, letting you catch your breath. Feeling the air rushed back into your lungs, you open your eyes, only to see Dietfried’s gentle verdurous eyes turn dark like a shade of midnight forest.

“Busy day?” You let the words slip before your mind could process it.

A growl leaves Dietfried’s lips as he brings his hand from your back to your neck, never letting his eyes fall from you.

“Oh, baby. You have no fucking idea how grateful I am for you coming here, all dressed up for me like the prettiest doll in all nation, and with the food that I know you put your hardest to make just for me. However…” He leans forwards, kissing your neck, “Seeing you surrounded by those men, staring at you like you some kind of toy to use to get wasted, it made my blood boil. To let them look at how perfect you are, with the curves crafted by the renowned artists, hair that lures me and bends me to my knees, the lips that make me want you so badly that I lose focus on everything else.”

If there was blush before on your cheeks, your whole body was burning red from the desire Dietfried was whispering on your skin. Getting lost in how your body was reacting to his lips on your neck, you failed to notice Dietfried’s hands snaking down to your waist. He picks you up, settling you on his desk.

You gasped, “What are you doing, Di-“

Before you could finish your question, Dietfried raises the skirt of your dress and spreads your thighs apart. With your lipstick on his lips, he whispers against your thighs, “Enjoying my meal, my doll.”

From this point NSFW material. Proceed with caution.

He dives his head towards your covered clit, kissing it up and down. A moan escapes your lips, as you hold the desk for support. Smirking at the sound, Dietfried pulls your underwear aside, sticking his tongue as he licks, circling the warm skin and sucking on the buds that send shockwaves through your system. You tilt your head back as the sensation rushes towards your core, as his tongue makes its way through your gummy walls. Your thighs, without you thinking, clasped Dietfried to make him move closer to give you more pleasure that your body can’t help but yell at you to grind for.

It's been so long since both of you fucked one another, with the limited opportunities the discussion of going further with sex life, it would seem both of you yearning some friction that only your bodies could provide for one another.

Dietfried knew which spots to touch to make your body know how much he worships you, how every pulsation that he can feel through your body is making his dick harden at the thought of you feeling good. Knowing that he makes you feel how special you are to him, how devoted he is to you and everything you have given him. He wants you to know – no – feel fucking much you alone make him the happiest man in all of human existence.

“Fuck, look at you baby. I only just began, and you are already soaking wet. Have my baby missed me thrusting my cock so deep, pushing against this tight pussy, as you begged for me to make you lose any consciousness you possessed, hm?” He moans into your cunt, as he lets himself breath in the smell of your needy walls, as your pre-cum covers his lips.

“P-p..Ple-please.” You master so coherent thoughts through your fogged mind.

“Please what, baby? You know if you want something you need to say out loud, I can’t do anything unless you tell me. Use your big words baby.”

Using the last strength you could gather, you let your eyes fall to his as you mewl, “Please, fuck me harder till I am full to the brim with your essence.”

The last of string of any control snaps in Dietfried’s eyes as he snarls into your pussy, going faster and sharper as your climax began to grow deep in your core. You try to muffle any moans and screams with your hand, while moving your other hand, grabbing Dietfried’s hair to push him closer. Your body begins to shake as you were on the edge of falling into the bliss, the white fire coursing through your clit, until he growled, “Cum for me.”

The crash came down with such powerful force, leaving you shaking, tears running down your cheeks at how deliciously good that was. You pulled your hand away from his hair, as bliss settles in your body.

Dietfried notices your tears, standing up to kiss them away and then bring his lips to yours, as you wrap your arms around his neck. Though you could taste yourself, there was still distinctive part of Dietfried’s taste that your body could always feel.

“You did so good, baby.” He purrs against your lips.

“Anything for you, my love.” You let out a big smile, feeling warmth of how intimate you two were with each other.

“Can I ask you something?” Letting your finger twirl around with his hair, you hummed for him to continue.

“Would you mind if I fulfill your wish?” Letting your emotional side overrule your rational one, you slip one of your hands down to his pants, feeling is bulge hard as a stone. You run your hand up and down, squeezing him as Dietfried rolls his eyes at how your torturous touches. Deciding to be nice to him, you pull his zipper down, pulling his cock out of his underwear.

Aligning him with your entrance, you signal with your eyes, “Push in and breed me.”

[sinvulkt]

Last Six Sentences

Share the last six sentences you've written. Like this!

thank you @bluntblade for the tag!!! Those sentences were written less than a hour ago, they’re still warm :3

* 𓊝 * NAUTILUS (TV) * 𓊝 *

Dakkar poussa plus loin dans ses souvenirs; c’était important. Les soldats avaient répondu quelque chose à propos de Mya et Renouka, il en était sur, mais les paroles exactes s’enfuyaient comme du sable entre ses mains. La migraine enfla encore et encore, faisant tournoyer la pièce et le forçant à prendre appui sur le mur jusqu'à ce que, à bout de souffle, Dakkar perdit la piste du souvenir qui le narguait aux frontières de sa conscience.

Son regard tomba sur un des symboles qui avaient attiré son attention plus tôt alors qu’il reprenait son équilibre. Le blason de la Compagnie lui faisait face au centre d’une parure dorée, moquant ses peurs et sa faiblesse. Une rage brûlante lui envahit le cœur.

English version bellow the cut.

Dakkar dug deeper into his memories; it was important. The soldiers had said something about Mya and Renouka, he was sure of it, but the exact words were slipping away like sand through his fingers. His headache spiked more and more, making the room spin and forcing him to lean against the wall until, out of breath, Dakkar lost track of the memory taunting him.

His gaze fell on one of the symbols that had caught his attention earlier as he regained his balance. The coat of arms of the Company was facing him in the centre of a golden ornament, mocking his fears and his weakness. A burning rage invaded his heart.

(Go watch this tv serie, it’s inspired from Jules Verne 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea book, and it contains all the best angst and whump tropes you can obtain with a messy bunch of a crew.)

Tagging @kuraiarcoiris @udekai @aimportantdragoncollector @threebea @beguilewritesstuff @stewardofningishzida @numerousbees1106 @trickstress333 @exomal @thehappybaker @wendingways @cinderfeather @yatsukisakura @tramp-fiction @purpleopossum @starmahgalaxies @purple-iris @tonhalszendvics @retciwrites @vandervoiz @insertmeaningfulusername @pebblish @pat-the-togorian @linzerj @kgjhk @fanfictasia @kefalion @doctorgeekery @asteral-feileacan @dreaminghour @silvereddaye @chickadeechickadoo @25centsoda @silvercaptain24 @azzzryel @ash--00 @sarcasticfirefighter @charlottevader @makaronik @wyvunn @in-company-of-misery @starr234

As well as any of you who see this post and want to join in the game!! 🌊 𓊝

[ghostinthegallery]

I just need everyone to know that I enjoy writing Necrons a *completely normal* amount. And I think about how to write them pretty much the average amount too. Just so we're clear.

But y'all I really like writing for Orikan (and not just because of the banter with Trazyn. That's only like 60% of why)

We went on a journey, him and I. Because I hated his robotic guts for easily 2/3rds of Infinite and the Divine...

In my defense, the scene of him shattering all those ancient ceramics enraged me! I've been going to museums since I could walk. I love art and history! I watch the Great Pottery Throwdown!! He did not start off from a sympathetic place.

But damn it, the bastard grew on me! He's obscenely competent, literally the best at what he does, but that doesn't change the fact that he's essentially a servant to more powerful people and that he is *profoundly lonely*

The thing about a lot of characters who think they are smarter than everyone around them is that they are wrong and usually have an arc about needing to be humbled. Orikan actually is smarter than everyone around him! He runs circles around farseers! He pulls time shenanigans that are considered *impossible* on a semi-regular basis. No one can truly compete with him (well, almost no one, put a pin in that).

Except that means he has no equal, no person he can really relate to, and he's painfully aware of that. Jokes about e-girlfriends aside, meeting Vishani was a dream come true, because she was actually someone Orikan respected, who respected him in return, and who he could talk to like a friend. He got that after waiting millions of years.

Except it was all a lie. The god that damned their people decided to ruin Orikan's day in particular in the most personal way possible.

It's a particularly cruel twist because not only are there no other Necrons for Orikan to consider an intellectual equal, there aren't any he can really TRUST. He warned every single one of them that biotransference would be a disaster and no one listened. Not only that, they forced him to give up his body and soul. He was dragged to the furnaces knowing what was going to happen to him, and it doesn't sound like he's gotten a whole lot of "mea culpas" from anyone.

So yeah, everyone's an idiot, their idiocy cost him his literal soul, and the one time he got the friend he craved it turned out to be an evil star god cosplaying his nerd-crush.

Which is a lot of angst to work with as a writer! And it is fun as hell. There's just one more ingredient that truly elevates this tragedy souffle. Time to take out the pin...

The pin is Trazyn. No one should be shocked by this.

Because the thing is, Orikan *does* have an equal, a counterpart, and someone he can...not trust per se, but at least understand. The only problem is that he does not realize it, because that person is Trazyn. Who Orikan hates. A lot.

Justifiably, to be fair. Trazyn is an asshole (loveable asshole, but still). But more relevantly, Trazyn represents a philosophy Orikan understandably cannot stand. Trazyn represents the past, memory, preservation. None of those things have served Orikan well. Necrontyr society kind of sucked (early deaths to cancer or dying in a war were about the only options). And that was before it fundamentally failed him specifically. Plus, preservation and stasis are anathema to what a chronomancer devotes themselves to being able to do. So yeah, Trazyn may be a genius in his field equal to Orikan, but Orikan does not respect that field, so he can never admit it.

Orikan embodies the "want vs need" principle of character writing. He wants a companion and an equal. He needs to accept that those will not come in the form he expects or even likes. He's nowhere near doing that and it's *deliciously tragic*

How can I not love this hyper-competent, lonely nerd with a tsundere streak and strong motivation to Burn Society to the Ground?

I've been rambling too long, I'm cutting myself off before I start going off about the relationship between Orikan and Imotekh which is admittedly based way less on canon (have they even been in a scene together ever?) and way more my own interpretation and extrapolation.

I'll probably talk about writing other characters too, I love these undead robot idiots to much to shut up

[bcbdrums]

Ron and Drakken's cooking show, part 4

Ron: Now, souffle is very delicate-- Drakken: That's right, it cannot be ignored for even a moment. Shego: *walks in* Drakken: Ah, Shego! Love of my life! Apple of my evil eye! Shego: Is something burning? Drakken: Only my love for you! Ron: Your souffle is on fire.

[lounesdarbois]

Salut Lounès ! Voyons tes réactions à ces quelques citations… taquines ! 

Première citation :

Je suis de ces auteurs qu’ont du souffle, du répondant, du biscoto. J’emmerde le genre entier humain à cause de mon répondant terrible, de ma paire de burnes fantastiques (et bordel de dieu je le prouve !). Je jute, je conclus, je triomphe, je trempe la page de plein génie… De vous à moi, entre copains, c’est ce qu’on me pardonne pas du tout, à la ronde, ce qu’on me pardonnera jamais, jamais, la façon que je termine, que j’achève les entreprises, que je vais au pied comme une reine, à tous les coups. Ils voudraient bien me faire mourir, mes émules, même mes petits élèves, par chagrins, par méchants propos, me faire périr sous les morsures d’une foison de cancrelats, sous les venins d’une pullulation atroce d’aspics effroyablement voyous, martyrivores. Mais ma peau de vache me protège, jusqu’ici j’ai réchappé. Louis-Ferdinand Céline, L’École des cadavres (1938) 

Lounès Darbois : Eh oui ! Dans une confrontation, se coucher excite rarement la pitié de l’adversaire mais plutôt son sadisme. Les cruels sont souvent des lâches et vice-versa. C’est pourquoi il faut être « terrible et fantastique » pour durer et endurer. J’ai une photo de Raymond Poulidor grimpant une côte. Tout est résumé dans l’expression de son visage, le genre qui ne plaisante pas, sourd à la douleur, tendu vers son idéal. Parfois je la regarde. 

Deuxième citation :

(…) il ne s’agit plus de comprendre et d’aider son prochain mais de le fasciner et de l’enculer. Philippe de Vulpillières, L’homme tue et la femme rend fou (2017) 

Lounès Darbois : Brutal mais exact vu les mœurs actuelles ! La fascination, la « possession » sont des caractéristiques du diable. Tendance fatale quand on veut bien croire à tout sauf au bon sens ! Auteur au parcours intéressant soit dit en passant. 

Troisième citation :

Les hommes sont devenus avides, mesquins, menteurs, […] ils ont perdu la foi et le sens du vrai, il n’y a plus de rois, il n’y a plus de bonheur. Ils chercheront la mort sans la trouver ; ils désireront mourir, mais la mort les fuira. Roman von Ungern-Sternberg cité par Léonid Youzéfovitch, Le Baron Ungern (2001) 

Lounès Darbois : Terrible lorsqu’on sait le destin de cet homme. Lui et sa troupe se battaient à 1 contre 100 dans la steppe, dans une guerre sans espoir. La chanson sur les Russes blancs finit bien par « et leur agonie cruelle, la honte de l’Occident ». 

Quatrième citation :

La vie de l’homme oscille, comme un pendule, entre la douleur et l’ennui. Arthur Schopenhauer, Le monde comme volonté et comme représentation (1819) 

Lounès Darbois : Qu’est-ce qui est le plus agaçant : est-ce le poison de la philosophie du soupçon que Schopenhauer et Nietzsche, en suivant les pas de La Rochefoucauld, ont répandu sur les meilleures générations d’Européens qu’ils avaient au contraire pour mission de galvaniser ? Ou est-ce la complaisance dans la déprime où aiment se morfondre les jeunes Blancs intelligents pour justifier leur inertie ? Difficile à dire ! Enfin tout cela mérite une bonne douche froide et deux jours de diète. Il y a plus de sagesse dans la vie sans parole de François d’Assises que dans les 10 000 pages de l’oncle Arthur et j’ai le droit de le dire car je les ai toutes lues ! Flaubert plus laconique disait à Maupassant : « Méfiez vous de la tristesse, c’est un vice. » 

Cinquième citation :

Ainsi devient raciste celui qui ne veut pas voir son pays envahi par l’étranger, réactionnaire celui qui regrette le temps passé, révisionniste celui qui n’adhère pas à la doxa nationale, fondamentaliste celui qui se réclame de la religion de ses pères. Jean de Pingon, préface à Laurent Gruaz, Et si la Savoie redevenait indépendante ? Projet pour un état souverain, catholique et royal (2020) 

Lounès Darbois : La xénophobie que l’on essaie toujours de faire passer pour une agression active est un réflexe de défense à une agression. Au plan des instincts, elle procède de la pulsion de vie ; au plan politique elle est une résistance à la colonisation ; au plan moral elle est morale ; et au plan chrétien… elle est justifiée par la parabole du bon Samaritain : seul l’étranger qui vous sauve est votre prochain, pas les étrangers en général. 

Sixième citation :

Ah la sale gueule des honnêtes gens… Pierre-Antoine Cousteau, pensées et aphorismes (2021) 

Lounès Darbois : Se vérifie souvent chez des gens très fiers d’avoir étudié en école de commerce. 

Septième citation :

La conversation d’une femme : 95 % de reproches. Paul Morand, Journal inutile (1968-1972 et 1973-1976) 

Lounès Darbois : Vrai sauf… sauf si vous l’« honorez », comme on disait jadis. Alors elle vous fiche la paix. 

Huitième citation :

À vingt ans on a déjà plus que du passé. Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Voyage au bout de la nuit (1932) 

Lounès Darbois : Avez-vous déjà eu cette impression malgré tous les voyages que vous avez entrepris, malgré toutes les réalisations que vous avez accomplies, que tout pendant l’enfance et l’adolescence étaient encore plus intense, plus beau, plus spontané, en somme plus vrai ? Il me semble que la vraie vie, c’est l’enfance, et que le reste est accessoire. 

Retrouvez Lounès Darbois chez Kontre Kulture

[dhr-ao3]

The Empress of all Maladies - FR

The Empress of all Maladies - FR https://ift.tt/KTcJviC by LouVenus Draco Malfoy est en train de mourir. Le chef du contingent de Mangemorts le plus meurtrier du monde est à court de temps et d'options. Pour le « savant fou » de la cour de Voldemort, Theodore Nott, la seule solution est d'expérimenter la magie ancienne et de créer un lien d'âme entre son ami et la Fille d'Or disparue. Hermione Granger se cache depuis qu'Harry Potter a rendu son dernier souffle pendant la bataille de Poudlard. Cinq ans plus tard, une trahison va l'arracher à l'obscurité et remettre en question toutes ses notions de moralité, d'amitié et d'amour. Le maître-espion du Seigneur des Ténèbres, Blaise Zabini, est un homme brisé par la douleur. Mais il protégera ce qu'il lui reste dans ce monde avec sa vie... et la vôtre. Un lien égoïste. Une guerre de longue haleine. Un monde changé à jamais. Avec un lien d'âme violemment possessif, Hermione qui se déchaîne, de l'action et de la violence, de l'horreur, du porno, de la guérison, de la vengeance, de la rage féminine et un soupçon de comédie. Double point de vue. Ambiance HEA "tu vas souffrir, mais tu vas en être heureux". Inspiré par beaucoup de choses, mais notamment Frankenstein/Jane Eyre/PIP. Words: 3929, Chapters: 1/90, Language: Français Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Giny Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Theodore Nott, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Lee Jordan, Minerva McGonagall, Crookshanks (Harry Potter), Cormac McLaggen, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Percy Weasley, Antonin Dolohov, Nott Sr. (Harry Potter), Marcus Flint, Penelope Clearwater, Neville Longbottom, Daphne Greengrass Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, Penelope Clearwater/Percy Weasley, Marcus Flint/Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass/Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, sould bond, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Protective Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Legilimency (Harry Potter), Death Eater Theodore Nott, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Raids and Activities, Death Eater Blaise Zabini, Torture, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), War, Inappropriate Use of Legilimency (Harry Potter), Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Draco Malfoy, Forced Bonding, Healer Pansy Parkinson, Crookshanks will fight god or become him, Dark Hermione Granger, he falls first, HEA, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Draco Malfoy Has a Breeding Kink, Come Eating, Fighting As Foreplay, Implied/referenced abortion (not Dramione), Prophecy, A Lot of People Die Here… Like A LOT, Hate Sex, slow emotional burn, Mutual Non-Con, Unreliable Narrator, Female rage, Power Dynamics, Power Play As A Kink, Head Injury, Sexual Manipulation, everyone is morally grey, Unhinged Hermione Granger via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/fZYiImv December 31, 2024 at 01:28PM