#he's not elegant in anything that he does

[persicipen]

𑑛 “KEEP AN EYE ON ME” ﾉ WRIOTHESLEY. GENSHIN IMPACT

performer gn reader ﾉ words 1.0k ᯽ bodyguard wriothesley. reader goes on stage — no specifics, so technically it’s still canon au and could be a singer, a dancer, an idol. very suggestive with explicit language but it’s only teased once ﾉ rewritten (old request) because i saw mooties talking about this :3 ᯽ SUGGESTIVE CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

Wriothesley shifts nervously from one leg to another, trying to shake off the itch of an unspecified feeling. Hand brushing through the hair, hoping to gather back his thoughts just like the matted greying strands, but to no avail. You’re not leaving his head, your mirrored silhouette sparkling in his silver eyes.

The way you move, hips swinging to the side and down just as the music gets low, makes him gulp down and blink. He has to make sure he’s not imagining it, for it feels too good to be true.

Then, with a pop, you break out of your routine, the special dance you had trained repeatedly in secret exclusively to surprise the crowd tonight, all while never going against the melody nor losing the perfect rhythm. He’s amazed by your ability to become one with the sound, something he could only dream about.

He’s just here to observe you, but other than that — any possible interruptions or unpleasant events, such as nagging fans or worse. Standing still, silent, and leaning on the wall behind the scene where he can get just a glimpse of the grand performance; he’s cautious. Only pretending to be relaxed, a small part of him is enchanted and enjoying your view while the rest is ready to act. Just in case. He never wishes for anything to happen. The less work there is for him to do, the better for everyone around him.

Yet he lets his mind wander to what-ifs. His fingers tap lightly against the metal buckle of his pants, playing with the leather strap on the side of his thigh. How would you move to a slower song? Does your body still find harmony with this kind of cadence too?

Of course, it does. It has to.

You’re so hardworking, there’s probably nothing you wouldn’t be able to do. But currently in promotion are more dynamic performances, and you have to bounce across the stage, elegant and beautiful like the sight of a deer in the forest — almost magical if not for the heavy instruments buzzing through all the surfaces.

Despite everything, the shine in your eyes and the curve of your smile remain unmoving as ever. You’re captivating, stealing hearts and bringing people to tears of joy. You’re a star that gives them all the happiness they need.

And he’s no different. He sees you as the perfect being. It doesn’t matter if it’s the persona you use on the stage or the one that becomes you when you slump against him after every exhausting performance, mumbling how proud you feel and ranting about the soreness of your body, and other stuff like that. Truly, just incoherent babbling — but he loves to hear everything, making sure at the same time that you two won’t get caught by any pair of prying eyes.

(He always thinks about that, so you don’t have to.)

As the mood slightly changes, the tunes mellow down. Not as much as Wriothesley would love to hear, that would be too good — and you bend down on your knees as you prepare for the next piece. It’s the one he called the sexy one when you were sharing the plan with him a few weeks ago, something you giggled away and shushed him immediately, not wanting to agree out loud.

But it was true. And the live dance was no better.

So now he has to endure watching you twirl on your toes, arching your back, sliding your hands along the curves of your body, all that sensual shit that drives him crazy and yet— and yet he cannot do anything about it, just taking the spectacle as it is, so thrilled to be able to see it from a different perspective.

It’s almost burning, this feeling inside, as his thoughts involuntarily drift off towards lustful imagination. Could it be possible to ask you to do the same move that you just did, but right in front of him? Or maybe even on his lap, the one where you crouch down innocently just to act provocatively once again?

Damn, that would be so hot. He has to clench his fist to calm down and return to the present moment.

When you at last walk offstage after another successful performance, your footsteps sound strangely satisfying as they click-clack down the corridor. There is no doubt about the fatigue and thirst in your expression, yet he has a feeling that you wouldn’t ask for a break aside from a quick few minutes to cool down and change your outfit.

Sweat glistens on your skin, sticking to your hair, making you sparkle in the harsh lights of the changing room. You’re beautiful like that; it’s the sweat of success and because you’re doing something you love. It’s not the same sweat when you stress over something or get sick and have to stay wrapped in hot blankets to fight off the illness.

Nonetheless, it feels nasty, so you quickly grab a towel and hug it closely, tapping gently on your face so as not to ruin your makeup. The cool and soft fabric works wonders on your excited body.

You tell the others it’s just a quick trip to the bathroom, while in reality, you glance towards your bodyguard, and that’s all he needs to know. He thinks that if you could only give him even a light kiss on the cheek, that would be enough, that would make him happy and fill him with a new surge of motivation. Oh, that would be so great.

But everything is different…

As soon as there are just the two of you, he pulls you close, failing to control his rapturing emotions. No, of course, he will not do anything stupid now — you only have a minute or so for him, but he wished for it to be untrue. His lips barely graze against your temple, leaving a tender peck there; you hear his low and velvety voice whisper right into your ear some words.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard later tonight…”

And that’s the only praise that makes you genuinely know that you did exceptionally well on the stage.

[ratsratsratsrtasratsratsrats]

I’m sorry but this was just…too good. Outstanding take, revolutionary new concept in the LiuJiu hurt/comfort economy.

Had to get my thoughts on this out in the form of a mini fic ^^

tw: Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced violence

_______________

It hurts to stand.

It hurts to do much of anything. Which is its own kind of miserable blessing - one is less inclined to fidget with broken fingers. Qiu Janluo sits at the elegant table in front of him, looking every bit the respectable elegant young master. The Qiu patriarch sits beside him, sharing tea and biscuits with the people across the table.

There is a boy too.

At first Shen Jiu wondered if he was a servant too. A happier sort, perhaps, with his fine robes and graceful mien. Not a slave like him. But the moles tell him otherwise. The boy has one under his eye, the boy’s father at the table has one on his upper lip. The boy’s uncle another on his chin. Like drops of spilled ink when one oversaturates a brush and then too hastily drags it towards the paper.

This is why Shen Jiu’s fingers are broken. He spilled a drop of ink during calligraphy practice this morning. The rest of him hurts because he earned a beating for crying out during his punishment. It still hurts to stand, he does so anyways.

The boy fidgets. He isn’t paying attention to the negotiations, his fingers at his left side twitch to grip the hilt of a sword that is not around his waist. His eyes flick to and fro, unable to settle anywhere. Unseemly. Even Shen Jiu can hold still better. Even a filthy slave like him. He offers the boy a glare of disgust and the boy catches his eyes. They stare at each other for a while. Shen Jiu fills his eyes with distaste, but the Liu boy stares back with curiosity- his fidgeting slows.

_______

There is a boy.

Liu Zhige has never seen someone so startlingly beautiful and startlingly baleful at the same time. The boy glares at him with disdain. He wears ill-fitting if neat robes. He looks dressed up for the occasion. And Liu Zhige can see the way his collar is drawn up too high, distorting the elegant lines of the clothing. The faintest hint of purple above that too high collar tells him it’s to hide bruises.

That makes excitement bubble in his gut, makes him long for his sword back. Is the boy a good fighter? He must be if he’s fresh off a spar. He offers the boy a nod, which makes him sneer back at Liu Zhige.

It does not occur to the man who will one day be Liu Qingge, the war god of Bai Zhan, that perhaps the beautiful, baleful boy’s bruises were not from sparring. That the ill fit of his robes was because he was only dressed up for special occasions. That his elegant poise was more the stillness of exhaustion and pain than a nobleman’s bearing. It does not occur to him years later when that boy becomes a disciple of Cang Qiong either. Shen Jiu appearing too late to truly build a proper foundation with haughty airs and a spiteful glare to any who approach him.

He feels bitter at that, disdainful towards Shen Jiu for his laziness. He’s a member of the Qiu family now, is he not? Wedded to Qiu Haitang. A lazy young master. Abandoning his bride to make a joke of cultivating. Dishonourable. Uncommitted.

All that fire in his eyes that Liu Zhige admired back then, that glare that spoke of a rage that he wanted to see on the training grounds…it sours. It sours until all Liu Zhige, and then Liu Qingge, can see is bitterness and conniving. A schemer. A dirty trickster. Every spar afterwards, every challenge, the scum Shen Qingqiu meets with underhanded schemes and street fighting dirty tricks.

To Liu Qingge, he dishonours the fight on purpose.

To Shen Qingqiu, he is doing everything to survive, to claw his way to victory. And a little bit, just a little bit, to spit in the face of the noble young master he can still identify by that mole. That drop of spilled ink.

The hate between them swells. Misunderstandings breed and multiply like rabbits. The bitterness ferments, like peach wine left too long and gone sour. An indisputable truth of Cang Qiong sect is that the peak lords of Bai Zhan and Qing Jing despise each other. So when Liu Qingge qi deviates, there is supposedly only one way for things to end when Shen Qingqiu appears. So then why is Shen Qingqiu reaching for him? Why is Shen Qingqiu pushing what little qi he has into Liu Qingge’s chest whenever he’s close enough? Why is Shen Qiungqiu so…scared?

imagine how painful it would be if the Liu and Qiu family were trading partners or otherwise acquainted.

[booksandabeer]

9 TBRs for 2025

I was delighted to get tagged by the fabulous @burberrycanary! Thank you. <3

The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud

The desire to read Messud's novel about an elementary schoolteacher who seems nice and calm on the outside but is secretly seething with anger and frustration on the inside was sparked by this post and a subsequent conversation with @village-skeptic about unlikeable female protagonists. I've been dying to read this for a while now, but it was surprisingly difficult to find in physical form (I'm sick of looking at screens all day and my library only had the ebook). Package tracking tells me it's finally due to arrive on January 10. I'm genuinely so very excited to read this!

Our Evenings by Alan Hollinghurst

This novel, which traces the life of a gay, biracial actor in England from the 1960s to the pandemic is only one example of a whole number of books* on my TBR about queer middle-aged men looking back on their lives and in the process delving into themes of personal growth, identity, and cultural and societal change. Wonder what that says about me as I approach middle age ever more rapidly myself? One can only speculate, of course...

*see also: Four Squares by Bobby Finger; My Ex-Life by Stephen McCauley; Caledonian Road by Andrew O'Hagan

Madhouse at the End of the Earth: The Belgica's Journey into the Dark Antarctic Night by Julian Sancton

Not much to say about this except that my thirst for books about doomed (Ant)arctic expeditions has apparently still not been quenched. I guess this is my version of True Crime. This has made several Best-of lists, so I hope that it'll be well-written (and edited!) too, which is not always a given with nonfiction books.

The Winter Soldier by Daniel Mason

The assumption is an obvious one to make, but no, this has nothing to do with the #1 Blorbo of my heart. This is actually a novel about a young medical student from Vienna thrown into a remote WWI field hospital, where he soon leaves behind any romantic notions about glory and heroism as he faces the brutal reality of war. I've read the first 50 pages of this a while ago, and I'm really eager to get back to it.

Effingers by Gabriele Tergit

This 1951 novel is often described as the "Jewish Buddenbrooks"—a comparison that I understand for marketing purposes but that I nevertheless do not like for a whole host of reasons. It’s an epic, multigenerational story about a German-Jewish family from the late 19th century through WWII. I got a beautiful special hardcover edition of this for Christmas and I can't wait to savor all 904 pages of it.

Secret City: The Hidden History of Gay Washington by James Kirchick

Speaking of long books. I bought this 848-page brick of a political and social history of queer (not exclusively gay as the misleading title would suggest) Washington at the height of my Fellow Travelers obsession... and then I just never got around to reading it. A failure that I really want to make up for this year.

Daddy by Emma Cline

I already very much liked but did not unreservedly love Emma Cline's debut The Girls. However, I was completely blown away by her follow-up novel The Guest, which she published last year, and which instantly catapulted her to auto-buy status for me. So, it's only natural that I would want to read the only book of hers that I haven't read yet. Daddy is a short story collection, which will hopefully deliver the same sharp observations, wonderfully complex characters, and elegant & precise prose that I have adored so much in her novels.

The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden

To be honest, the premise of this—historical fiction with supernatural elements, following a combat nurse during WWI searching for her missing brother—does not super excite me (anything magical realism-adjacent has traditionally not been a great success for me) and reviews seem to be pretty mixed. But. Katherine Arden is the author of my beloved Winternight Trilogy*, so I will at least give this a fair chance.

*seriously I want to grab all the Romantasy girlies and shove this into their hands instead of whatever latest abomination Cassandra Clare or Sarah J. Maas have cooked up. ...uh, sorry if you're a fan? 😬

Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan

I read and enjoyed Jennifer Egan's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel A Visit from the Goon Squad many years ago and have been meaning to read another book by her ever since. When a couple of my family members asked what I wanted for Christmas and I put together a little list for them (cause that's what I do), I stumbled upon Manhattan Beach. It's a blend of historical fiction, mystery, and family drama set in Depression-era New York City, about a young woman who pioneers as the first professional female diver at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Does that not sound like the perfect book for me? Seriously, the summary reads like I made it up in fever dream!

--

Looking back over this list, I'm somewhat surprised to realize that it gives the impression that I'm much more of a historical fiction reader than I actually am. Or thought myself to be, I guess. Huh! How about that.

Ok tagging: @ethicalhorseslaughter, @burninblood, @thisonesatellite, @between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place, @voylitscope, @aimmyarrowshigh, @weenhand, @painted-doe, @buckrogers, @maplefiasco and everyone else who wants to do this! Show me your books, please.

(I know this has been making the rounds, so apologies if I double- or triple-tagged anyone.)

[yonomori-rei]

I’ll kill for you

Pairing: Beast!Dazai x (slightly) bratty!reader 

Genre: no clue, honestly

Content warning: swearing, kissing, slightly suggestive near the end, and surprisingly Dazai does not mention suicide, which clearly shows how wrong this is.

Synopsis: You’ve had enough of being neglected by your boyfriend, so you decided to do something about it. Unfortunately, it backfired, and only made things worse. Or maybe, it didn’t...

You can feel yourself heating up. Yet the room is freezing, and that revealing outfit of yours barely covers enough skin to be considered enough to keep the cold out. Your body is reaching scorching temperatures, and you feel euphoric pain rushing incessantly through your veins, burning everything in its path. The all-consuming inferno has swallowed you whole, and instead of goosebumps from the chilly atmosphere, there is a thin layer of sweat covering your body. Cheeks graced with a pink blush and pupils dilated, as short, staggering breaths leave your sweet, full lips. Only one man can reduce you to such a pathetic state with minimal effort.

And that man was the Port Mafia’s boss.

Dazai Osamu.

His gun is smoking, just as you are. Cold, brown eyes regard the dead man before him, a beautiful sneer playing on those soft lips you’ve always loved to feel on your skin. His elegant figure is covered in his signature, black trench coat, giving him a powerful aura that causes every man in the room to shiver in fear. How spineless, you think silently to yourself. But it is fitting that a man of his fortitude causes fear in the hearts of all who cross paths with him. Your attention falls on the maroon scarf draped over his broad shoulders, which matches the shade of your lipstick. Or rather, you had hunted every beauty outlet to find that exact shade of lipstick to match his scarf. Same difference. He’s dressed formally in an impeccable suit, layers on top of layers, but you crave to rip everything off him. It drives you insane how he’s covered every inch of his body, whilst you stand there shamelessly in pieces of fabric that was barely there to even be called clothing. 

How silly. It was clothing – specifically your clothing – that had caused this problem in the first place.

“If you don’t want to end up like this bastard, I suggest you don’t touch what’s mine.”

It’s directed at the crowd of his subordinates surrounding you. His mocking voice makes the heat worse, causing you to let out a whimper that results in all the men in the room to freeze, and Dazai’s head to whip around to give you an impassive look that soon turns teasing. 

“My, my, Bella’, who would’ve thought my voice turns you on so much?”

You audibly swallow, imploring him to not make it worse with innocent eyes, but he pays no heed to your pleas as he casually tosses the gun away, before stalking towards you with predatory intent. He doesn’t stop, not until he physically cannot get any closer, and you place a shaking hand on his lean chest, not quite pushing him away, but trying to desperately put some distance between you.

With a quick shake of his hand, all the men rush out like uncivilised animals, eager to get away from their boss. A clever decision really, considering the fact that beneath that calm façade, Dazai is beyond furious. Furious at his moronic subordinate, but also, furious at the shivering girl in his arms.

“You’ve been quite...insolent of late, don’t you think, my darling?” The term of endearment that leaves his lips is anything but endearing. What would have been sweet has been turned bitter with that sardonic tone of his, and a loud, wanton whine leaves your mouth, a dark blush making its way across you face when you realise how shameless you sound.

He tuts in disappointment, before calmly asking,

“What made you think it was a good idea to parade around the Port Mafia headquarters dressed like this?” He gestures at you scantily clad self.

Wincing under his sharp gaze, you stutter out,

“’M s-sorry, O-osa, didn’t m-mean to...”

Dazai raises an eyebrow at your obvious lie, and the way his eyes darken promptly induces you to backtrack and let the truth tumble out of your mouth,

“You barely pay attention to me, Osa! What did you expect me to do?! Of course, I would dress like this and hope someone will please me! And your subordinate got the hint!”

Dazai is not happy with your response. At all. In fact, he is so enraged by your audacity that he let out a low growl that makes your head swim from that horrible heat that suddenly seemed to grow tenfold. A large, bandaged hand rests on the column of your neck, the cold providing you no relief, but instead, making the fire burning within you much much worse.

“You. Are. Mine. Understand, little flower? No one else can touch you,” he leans in closer, whispering huskily in your ear, “No one else can so much as look at you,” and to ensure he caused adequate damage, he gently teases your earlobe between his teeth, “No one, no one in this world, can please you like I do.”

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, soft pants filling the air, betraying how aroused you are by this dominant display from your man. You’d hoped you’d get a reaction like this when you decided to wear this revealing outfit earlier that day. After all, Dazai had neglected you for weeks, and you are a woman with needs and wants of her own. And his unsuspecting men were the perfect target for your twisted little game. Pity, one of them got a bit carried away and grabbed your arse just when Dazai decided to pass through. And that had resulted in that man’s death by your lovely boyfriend’s hand.

The very same boyfriend whose face is only inches apart from yours, noses bumping into each other as you stare into his omniscient eyes. 

Before you can react, his lips attack yours with punishing vigour, claiming you, reminding you, indicating that you are his, and his only. He’s swallowing your pathetic, little noises, smirking against your lips as he revels at how easily he has reduced you into this pitiful mess. And it makes you want more, makes you feel heady at how his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer as he nibbles on your lower lip. Dazai is slowly killing you, but you’re loving every second of it. And before you know it, he’s pushed you backwards onto the couch, and his strong arms cage you and prevent him from falling on top of you. And although you’ve broken apart, the strings of saliva still connecting you drives you feral, causing you to haphazardly throw your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and grinding against him repeatedly.

Letting out a shaky breath, Dazai utters,

“It appears I have to fuck the brattiness out of you, Belladonna.”

A/N: I may or may not have got a bit carried away...I’m a sucker for Beast Dazai 😣

[celestialdetected-moved]

Arawn fights dirty. He has no formal combat training, he taught himself how to use the weapons he fights with, and being short and not very strong his method is "anything that'll get me the upper hand". He'll bite, scratch, throw dirt in his opponent's eyes, anything to make sure he wins. He WILL kick you while you're down, he will go just a little too far to make sure someone he put down doesn't get back up. He fights like a feral street cat.

[starry-bi-sky]

MMMM twins au with danny and dan except its og TUE timeline danny and dan

ok okay i neeeeed o write this down and share it before i explode buT. as the title says. twins danny and dan (who im going to be calling James/Jamie bc i cannot express how much i despise the name dan) where, instead of disappearing into the ghost zone after he's separated from danny's body, Dan rips out Vlad's ghost half, tears THAT in half, and fuses one half with himself and the other with Danny.

Shit happens, and BOOM. Two morally ambiguous and perhaps slightly murderous demonic twins from hell. Daniel James Fenton and his Twin WHose Always Been Here What Are You Talking About :) James Daniel Fenton. They are both depressed, lonely, and one bad day from becoming a mass extinction event :)

this is because i got grabbed by the hair today and dragged into the SVSS fandom screaming and the fanart of Shen Jiu/Shen Yuan/Shen Quingqiu (????) with his fan entranced me. Ice Prince Core is my favorite thing so naturally i have to implant that onto my favorite blorbos ever :)

After the Incident, both their appearances changed and they're practically identical to each other. Sorta. They both have heterochromia and salt-and-pepper hair. But Danny has one green eye and one blue eye and white hair with black streaks, while Jamie has one blue eye and one green eye and black hair with white streaks. I'm iving them both long hair, for funsies <3

nobody can tell them apart, they keep getting confused on whose who and frankly the mix-match hair and eyes make it worse not better asjd. they're horrifically codependent. please do not separate :)

and because i must. im pulling a blood blossom/tales of the passerine and giving them to pre-robin batman. batman and his terrifying demon(??) twins. nobody is quite sure if they're human or not, and the scourge of gotham are a little too terrified to ask.

(they dont HAVE to go to batman while he's pre-robin. however. i think its much funnier that way bc gotham isn't use to A) Batman having kids, and B) Batman having TERRIFYING kids yet. think of all the new fun rumors)

they both use war fans while they're out, and neither of them use their ghost forms because they at least have the remaining empathy to know that they're more likely to murder someone accidentally as a ghost :). Ghost form is for fellow mythicals and Functionally Immortals Only! Not for Squishy Humans.

Jamie: murder. bloodshed. revengggee Bruce: no. no. Justice. peace!! hope! Danny: bittinngggg. blooood. ^-^

They're honestly not bad kids they're just horrifically traumatized two halves of a whole that can never be reunited ever again :).

idk what their vigilante names are but i do know that the underground refer to them in horrified whispers as 'the twins'. this all stemmed from the desperate and sudden urge to see Danny and Jamie, as their vigilante selves, hiding the lower half of their faces with fans and looking terrifyingly judgmental while they do it <333

[journey-to-the-attic]

the new nightmare is cool but i think not putting them in hanfu was an missed opportunity

(+ long hair version that i wasn't as sure about)

[murmurmurl]

I actually find gender swapping characters really interesting (what part of their expression is dictated by gender norms vs certain events in their life vs their personal preferences that wouldn't change either way, etc.) so now I wanna draw what that would look like in my ocs except I am in pain rn so I'm forced to just lie there and be plagued by visions

[angrybatart]

I drew him too close to the spoiler drawing. Oops. But I like how he's turning out, so enjoy.

[swordmaid]

thinking about hag romance sparring 🤭 which I think is a very rare event bc god forbid astarion breaks a nail but in the off chances they do it becomes a matter of who fights more dirty bc shri’iia overpowers him in strength but he has faster reflexes and he’s very inclined to cheat. so then it becomes this fun little spar where it’s his dual daggers vs her one polearm, astarion always trying to disarm her by doing funky moves and distracting her vs shri’iia going for his shin and ankles so he trips over. then they forego the weapons and end up just rolling around the floor like kittens trying to pin each other down - which astarion does bc he has a secret third knife that he whips out and holds over her that forces her to yield and shri’iia’s like oh noooo u caught meeee. che..! whatever should I dooooo 🤭🤭😏😏 very quickly becomes foreplay and whoever was watching them spar is just like brother eughhhhh 😟😟😒😒🤢🚫🚫

[clovreat3r]

GREGORY’S GANGSTALICIOUS SNEAKS

[littlegildedswallow]

I need to stop getting so offended everytime a fictional serial killer is obviously (poorly) modeled after hannibal.

[zehecatl]

the thing about queer vampires and werewolves, to me, is that i find it works best when the vampires are men, and the werewolves are women

primarily just because it turns the expectations on its head. vampires, in my opinion, are more feminine. like, their vibe is way more restrained and put together, and a lot of their energy reminds me of the seductress archtype

and then you have werewolves, who're usually violent and messy, who're more beast than 'man', and to me, making the werewolves wlw, and the vampires mlm, is just. it appeals to the queer experience, i think

also i find the reverse very boring, because it always end up so typical and bland. like maybe if i got a feral unhinged lady vampire i'd reconsider, but it's just. the exact same as every 'nooo, our girl is DANGEROUS guys it's totally different' female character, innit? at least with male vampires we see a more vain view of them, a less hypermasculine take, simply by the very nature of the genre

and with werewolves, there's just no way to really avoid the mess of it, is there? like you can't make a lady werewolf who isn't also, in some way or another, ruled by her instinct, who's pulled into violence- at least not without completely ignoring the very basic traits of the genre

and also women look really good covered in blood and gore and i think we deserve more feral women. like. as a treat

[bruciemilf]

There’s something off about Bruce.

Dick’s eye is trained for detail; He has to calculate every leap, every step, every breath, every count. He’s a showman. Everything is routine, and routine is everything.

Injury isn’t unusual, especially for his father .He out stubborns Tim in resisting medical examinations, after all.

For Bruce, secrets are protection. He lied about every injury he had when Dick was Robin, suffering in silent agony as the pain grew and grew, a tradition he carries on from Jason to Damian.

If Bruce screams, it’s bad.

“God fucking dammit, how the fuck does he do this? Who the fuck breaks their femur AND just carries on? Jesus FUCKING Christ.”

Bruce curses under his breath, profanity hushed. Dick’s veins freeze, blood turning to stone. He guesses his shock is obvious because Jason mirrors it to perfection.

One; Bruce doesn’t curse.

Two; He definitely doesn’t curse in a jersey accent.

The unease is pungent. Alfred practically tastes it, vitriolic as anything. His chest is taut, pulse slow, “Sir,” it’s cautious, “Shall I prepare the supplies?”

‘Bruce’ waves his hand, voice gruffer, lower, smokey, “Yeah, thanks, babe,”

Alfred blinks. And whoever pretends to be Bruce, blinks back, almost like a deer being cornered by an English hound, smile a bit boyish and unsure.

“…Thomas?”

“… Okay, you’re gonna laugh—“

Dick is reeling, because apparently:

His dead grandparents have been possessing his father throughout the years and they, wards to the best detective in the world, never caught on.

“Look, I get you’re pissed, BUT,” It’s so unbelievably weird watching Bruce be so expressive;

His hands move energetically, like they have their own voices, and his rain soft voice catches on fire when his father talks through him,

“This IS 50% MY body, technically.“

“Thomas, dear, that is not how that works. Come now, you’re scaring our grandchildren.”

And Jason’s voice is uncharacteristically soft when he speaks, more posh, more elegant . That is not his brother.

Alfred passes out, to no one’s surprise.

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hi! I wanted to say I absolutely adore your art and headcannons! I wanted to ask if you would be interested in making a headcannon for our lovely harbingers where there is someone trying to sabotage their relationship with the reader like for example the person is saying that the reader is cheating or is saying mean things about the harbingers and that they have ,,proof" it is if course a lie. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to tho!

(Absolutely genius idea! Sorry to keep you waiting! I’m a slow writer…)

✦ When others try to sabotage your relationship with them

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

(tw: general mentions of violence and blood. sfw) 

Being intimate with a powerful Fatui Harbinger provides the illusory dream of having riches, power, and status. Some watch you with hushed murmurs as you accompany your beloved with linked arms, looking all elegant beside him. Perhaps some people cannot comprehend how such a ruthless Fatuus can even court someone like you. Others simply cannot comprehend that status and money is not a key factor in your relationship.

✧ To crossfire with Pierro is to go against every single Fatui Harbinger. The Director is known far and wide as a man of cold words and power beyond the seven nations. All valuable intel and actions are reported to him first and foremost, as even the top Harbingers bow before him. You, on the other hand, were not meant to bow before him. The Jester shall never let you lower your head, because it is he who shall stoop to worship you. 

However recently, a certain rumor reached his ears. His spies related to him info that certain Fatui soldiers, some lowly commoners at the bottom of the ranks, are spreading uncouth jabs about you and Pierro. Intel states that these fools think you infiltrated the Fatui and The Director’s inner circle by some intimate provocation and seduction; that you’re in it for the money and status.

Pierro’s gloved hands gripped the papers. Nevertheless, his expression is placid as always. 

Thus, the culprit now sat in Pierro’s office, trembling as the room oozed with murderous silence. The Jester never raised his voice, nor did he question the man who “joked” about you. The fellow kept spitting apologies, begging for mercy. He knew it was futile to lie or waste the Director's patience.

And the Jester? It took everything in his power not to get his gloved hands bloodied. To hear someone accuse you - his most cherished, as a shallow harlot? Consequences shall be faced. Calming his boiling turmoil, Pierro continued to conduct himself professionally:

He made sure the man and his entire generation met their oblivion. 

With the recruitment of his best spies, he ascertained that the culprit’s disappearance was not felt by a single soul, his entire family gone, and all traces of spread rumors eradicated. Above all, it was orchestrated so that you would remain unaware that anyone dared to tarnish your reputation.

You carried on with your life, blissfully unaware and undisturbed. Even now, you came in knocking on his office, asking: “Long day at work, honey? I can bring you some tea or coffee if you want.”

The Jester's smile returned, throwing away some crumbled documents into the trash can - “A tea break would be excellent, my divine.”

If it’s blood that needs to be spilled to protect you and his private affairs, then Pierro won’t think twice. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the way of the blade speaks more for its wielder than words. If you wish to prove your stance, you better be prepared to face the First Fatui Harbinger, as his might will test you in a relentless duel of strength. So what do you think happened when Capitano overheard someone calling you “weak”? That his beloved does not deserve an ounce of his attention, because you are a meek being compared to the Harbinger? 

His hand instantly found its place on the hilt of his claymore. He left no room for negotiation or doubt. He marched straight towards the culprit, unsheathed his weapon, and pointed the sharp point of his blade straight at the person.

“If you are so confident to spit such insolence about them, then you must be equally confident with your strength. Let your blade speak.”

The poor fool tried to defend himself with excuses. But his mocking meant nothing to the Captain’s weapon. Before you know it, there is an ongoing duel initiated by Il Capitano. The witnesses know that whoever is on the receiving end of his wrath has no chance of surviving. Not when a single swing of his weapon causes craters on the ground.

The man was about to collapse, accepting his violent demise. But just as Capitano was about to unleash his final lesson, your voice rang out amongst the crowd.

“Hey! Cease this commotion at once!” - you stepped up, your expression stern as you stood in front of your beloved. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the Captain’s already stoic body language shifted. His claymore was sheathed back to its place.

“My beloved, you shouldn’t have seen this…”

“And yet I did. It would’ve reached my ears anyway. What did I say about temperamental duels, Capitano? Morons are not worth it.” 

“He called you weak. I cannot allow it.”

For a minute, Capitano kept his head hung low in reverence. You stood with your arms on your hips, scolding him. Was it not for your intervention, that person who vocally mocked you would’ve been lying dead now. Instead, you spared the offender, and the man was allowed to flee in humiliation. 

The conflict was eradicated, and Capitano's imposing demeanor showed he didn't regret his actions. Considering how even Capitano bowed to your words, the accuser realized - you are not weak. Because if there was one person who made the First Harbinger go motionless then it was you. 

✧ Today was a good day for Il Dottore, but you weren't sure why. He was a tad clingy, his steps laced with a sense of giddiness. Giving you extra squeezes while hugging, smothering you with longer kisses on the cheek. Even as you sat idly in his lab, you watched him as he worked on some paperwork with a grin.

Thus you questioned him, lazily strolling around his lab and observing the countless tools or vials. But he waved off his excitement, tapping his pencil over some papers - “Nothing of major importance, but I did have something interesting happen recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue.

“An idiot made a pathetic attempt at spreading rumors about us.” - You stopped in your tracks, going still as you held some miscellaneous container with what seemed to be tissue samples. The Harbinger continued: “Some fool spoke behind your back; stating that anyone who is close with a heretical scholar is bound to be equally insane. They thought that if their words didn't reach you, then it's of no consequence.”

Your expression fell somber with each word Dottore spoke. He said it with such profound avidity, that his voice demonstrated threatening intent behind them. So he continued. “But you know me, dear. Nothing goes past me. Vile nicknames are nothing new to me. My work is not for the faint of heart, and those pesky cretins enjoy concealing their fear with profane titles. And they can call me whatever they want. However, I won't allow them to call you names. Not because of my work.”

You averted your gaze sadly onto the samples of veins and organs in vials. You pretended to inspect them, but your sorrow was more prominent. You suspected Dottore already did something, hence his unusual giddiness today. Thus, you inquired in a soft whisper - “So… what did you do?”

“I handled it, naturally.”

“...You did? What happened? To the person who said such things, I mean.”

“What happened? Dear, you're holding them in your hands right now.” - Il Dottore beamed, pointing at the vials of organs you held. 

✧ Today, Scaramouche was eerily silent. You were accompanying him during one of his work expeditions, aiding him with certain formalities regarding his Fatui subordinates. The 6th had soldiers working under him, and although he did not care for their training, he did not tolerate any incompetent weaklings.

Therefore, you decided to lend a hand. You helped conduct a training program for his underlings, making sure all standards were met. It’s not the first time you did so, since The Puppeteer often placed you as the second in command whenever he was absent. And the Fatui soldiers did not conceal their thrill - it’s like you were their favorite substitute teacher who was more cheerful and forgiving than their superior.

Either way, Scaramouche saw that the mission was going smoothly. But soon, lightning would strike. A certain Fatuus, an agent in training, was getting too charmful with you. It was during the usual training assigned by you, and this person was focusing more on his conversation with you than his training:

Telling you how you are a remarkably skilled person. How it’s a marvel to see someone so delightful as you working alongside the Balladeer. How you shouldn’t waste your time with someone as aggravating as Lord Harbinger Scaramouche. He’s even leaning closer towards you.

You smiled uncomfortably, your attempts at polite disagreement did not work with this agent. Yet now you felt the static in the air, and that’s when you realized - Your beloved heard all of it.

On this usual, unassuming morning, Scaramouche walked silently and struck a man with lightning. All eyes turned towards the commotion as you stood behind the Harbinger. His fists were clenched, sparks of electro crackling from them.

He may have been silent the whole day, but don’t mistake his silence for impassivity.

“Next time, know your place,” - he seethed, standing over the person who endeavored to sweet talk you. He permitted his subordinates too much leeway, now they dare charm you with empty flirts. Scaramouche would’ve stomped that man’s head if he wanted, but he wouldn’t create such a grotesque scene in your presence. Instead, he turned away, held your hand, and pulled you away.

He gave you a day off, his mind already conjuring plans to deal with his underlings later. At least he scoffed out an apology. Not for what he did; he does not lament that. Just a small ‘sorry’ for giving you a quick fright. The lightning strike was very loud, after all. 

✧ Pantalone often gets invited to luxurious meetings or extravagant galas. Any party that is attended by the richest man in Teyvat is a guarantee to make high-society elites turn heads. However, considering your prolonged relationship with your darling Pantalone, you know he secretly despises these social gatherings. Therefore, he takes you with him. Dressed in your finest, Pantalone proudly shows you off to the pompous aristocrats.

People would watch enviously, thinking to themselves: The Regrator’s sweetheart, spoiled by his riches. Your attire is as glorious as his expensive suit. His arm is tenderly linked with yours, always offering you his hand like a true gentleman whenever you two walk. Even as he conversed with various business partners, he always had to make sure his hand was around your waist or your hand.

This dotting behavior made certain ladies of Snezhnaya jealous. They could see you were not a noble-born, nor were you used to the attention during such gatherings. You just timidly accompanied him, and Pantalone kept rambling about you and your benign achievements. Childish, really. You’re probably someone who just ran after and clung to the Harbinger until he relented to keep you. Therefore, a group of ladies initiated the conversation: 

“It’s a pleasure to meet a man such as yourself, Lord Harbinger.” and “Why, a man of your status is probably seeking some interesting company. Oh? You are with someone? My, my, I did not notice them.” or “Surely you desire connections worthy of your status, sir.”

Pantalone had mastered the art of courteous smiling, yet even his act was about to crack. He noticed the way these ladies tried to stand too close to him, pretend you were not in the picture, or even passively mock you. Their insolence stenches, and noticing your silent discomfort caused his heart to sting. But he had a plan.

“Why yes, you are right,” - Pantalone smiled with his charming looks “I do value my time, and it’s important to not waste it on shallow conversationalists. Oh, but it’s such a shame that the people in front of us are just that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Pantalone turned to you, his arms encircling your waist while speaking such backhanded comments with triumphant smiles. The ladies’ smiles fell instantly, and you tried everything to avert your gaze. “Um, Pantalone? Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t bore ourselves with such lowly individuals? Hmm, I agree. There isn’t much to do here anyway, only the greedy will seek something in this superficial gathering. Oh well, let’s go so I can take you to dance, dear.” - Pantalone concluded in his usual enamoring tone “Ladies, if you would excuse yourself.”

In this world, the 9th of the Fatui Harbinger doesn’t excuse himself - others do. Therefore, he took you away, scoffing and checking up on you with hushed whispers. Pantalone was offended. Why do they assume it was you who desperately sought out the rich Harbinger? Little do they know it was Pantalone who used to run and seek your attention just to be yours. Honestly, they’re discrediting his neediness for you. 

✧ Should anyone meddle with Tartaglia’s personal life, they are picking up a brawl. Someone dares to flirt with you? His fists are ready. Someone said something unwelcoming about you? Anything in the vicinity can be used as a weapon. Someone endangers his relationship? Their life is now in danger.

Of course, you’re the one who consistently yanked him out of these fights. Usually, it’s nothing serious, as when you scold your boyfriend for such reckless behavior it ends with his heartfelt words and apologetic chuckles. He finds solace in embracing you from behind, gently enfolding his arms around your shoulders, reassuring himself that all is well.

However, Tartagia is still a Harbinger. Away from home, he’d personally search for intel on the culprit who dares to offend your relationship. Names, records, locations, anything to keep tabs on those who think they can drag his family into bloodshedding matters. Tracking is of no issue, after all, when he was still a young rookie, training as a Fatui agent was just the first step.

Once he determines the offender, he’ll pay a discreet visit to them. And this time, without you dragging him away from fights, there is no place for mercy or jests.

At night, Childe returned home, cheerful as the sight of you getting ready for bed welcomes him. Yet in the dim lights, you’d gasp and approach him with concern, catching traces of smeared blood on his face or hands.

Ajax would just smile; he didn’t need to explain. Instead, he would quietly approach you from behind and envelop his arms around your shoulders in quiet stillness.

[jackass-jones]

Tags by @neuromantis

Yeah definitely that’s why I’m always kinda hesitant to say much about snake as a disabled character cuz it’s like. Certainly not as bad as some shit ive seen but it’s mostly because it’s not incorporated into his character hardly at all, it’s only mentioned when plot convenient

Take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt since I wouldn’t say snake was really written to be A Gay Character but regardless the way snake’s gender and overall personality is portrayed is probably one of the best depictions of gay men I’ve ever seen. He’s very pretty, dressed in expensive clothes reminiscent of a prince, with beautiful wavy hair and an air of poise and sophistication. He’s the smartest person in the room and he KNOWS this and he will not hesitate to be a condescending prick. He’s delicate and funny and charming. He has no fear or hesitation about suggesting he and Junpei share a bed or referencing gay sex. All these things tend to make a character the butt of jokes or at the very least regarded as lesser than the other characters but with snake hes the most admired one here. He’s very capable and is in fact so capable he literally needed to be removed temporarily from the situation so that the others could solve the mystery on their own. He’s absolutely fearless, doesn’t care about pissing off Aoi or getting shot multiple times by Ace. He’s fucking strong as hell and is able to survive being shot multiple times and have enough strength to dig his claws into Ace and force them to burn to death together. Everyone loses their shit without him and he’s the key to escape. He’s cool as hell and he fucks severely