#i am Unaware of my habits and ways of doing things

[pikachu-deluxe]

literally no idea how i am even supposed to know where i land on the neurodivergent or neurotypical thing when i don't even know myself all that well. like, how am i supposed to answer when people ask me things about how i think. idk it just happens lol is probably not the response people are looking for

[ellieslittleburrow]

Resuested by @outof-spite : was wondering if you could do a winchester bros & little sister! reader where theyve been arguing constantly lately, and reader is usually combative and always argues back but, this time shes just over the arguing so she just gives up trying to argue with them and kinda goes mute?

Warnings : family fights, yelling

Pairings : Sam/Dean Winchester x sister!reader

A/N : Sorry for the late postt ❤️❤️

-----

Things happen, right? Misunderstandings, judgement, reproaches and blame, all of them, the worst thing that could happen to a family, more importantly-right now-to yours.

Back from a hunt gone bad, you heavily lay in the backseat of the impala, your feet hung over the left window while your head rests over the opposite side of the car.

"Hey-get your feet off my damn leather." A complaint you've heard one too many times, and one you usually fight but- this time, as a sigh leaves your lips, you uncross your legs and bring them down, consequently lifting your upper body to sit up. An avertion from your side that's different from your usual habits, causing the car to fall into heavily loud silence.

And although it is loud with almost audible thoughts and anger, you still enjoy that while it lasts.

And it fucking doesn't last, in fact, just as soon as you entered the motel, another sentence commenced by Sam sent Dean into a fury, and just as things heated up, you found yourself in the middle of it all-again-

"Hey!!-" The shout is directed at you, this you know and choose to disguard. You would answer but- your body is fatigued and so is our mind, answering seems to lead to no vail. You answer, he fights you, you all go to sleep and wake up forcebly normalizing things, as if your throats aren't sore and your brains aren't fried.

"Hey-i'm talking to you-"

The words sound more bitter this time around, and you find yourself reluctantly lifting your gaze up . You look at Dean, slow and undetermined, exhausted.

"I asked you why you did that-You could've waited for us. I know you said there was no time le-" Dean pauses. "And fucking answer me when i talk to you-"

You shrug, causing a choking gasp out of Dean. His eyes widen and he leans forward. "Are you-Is she provok-are you-"

You throw your jacket over the bed, disdain discerned in your every move and you flop on the bed, unaware of the sudden tension that-again- suddenly settles in.

But the thing is--You don't care anymore. You haven't enough energy to get you to fight them once more, neither to explain or defend yourself. Too damn fucking tired is what you are at the moment-Too damn tired of it all.

"Kid?"

You rest your hand over your forehead, closing your eyes in an effort to soothe your aching muscles, and maybe suck in a little more patience.

"Kid."

Your stomach tightens and soon, you'll recess into a bawling mess, so you get off the bed and pick up your jacket.

Please don't lead to another fight, please..You just want it all to be ov-

"What's wrong?"

You shrug once more, shaking your head to motion that all is fine before heading for the door. But Sam comes your way, blocking the door and you blow a long sigh.

"Come here"

Sam grips both of your arms and swiftly-you find yourself glued to his chest. But all happens all too fast-why would he suddenly get all feely- and before you even realize it, you find yourself pushing against him.

"'im sorry-i'm sorry."

A lump builds up in your throat and as flashes of the past few weeks occupy every single space in your brain, your breathing increases-just as it gets harder to breathe. Just the thought of it all_

Your eyes are slowly flooded with warmth, announcing the tears gathering at your eyes. You need to leave. You need to go.

You choke on a sob.

You can't do this anym- "I know, honey. I've been there. I know." And with that, another sob loudly escapes your throat and a whimper follows.

"i've been there with Dad, i didn't realize we were doing that to you-i'm sorry. I see you. I really am sorry."

You shake your head as your cries fill the room, getting increasingly louder the harder Sam rubs your back. But that's not what you need. Not for them to see you-but for them to fucking stop.

"We'll stop. We'll talk. I promise."

You pull away from him, skeptical of a promise you doubt he can hold. And just as you're about to process that, Dean speaks.

"I'm sorry too." His honest tone makes you sigh. This isn't.what.i.want.

"Sam and i are sort've used to it- we lost sight of the fact that it wasn't affecting just us, but you as well. I really am sorry." Sam looks into your eyes and you slightly lean back, averting your gaze.

"It must've been really stresstful for you the past few weeks." Taken aback by his words, you pull your chin away from his hand and turn around, wiping at your tears before resting your hand against your forehead.

"we're sorry, kid."

You shrug, still mistrusftul. Mistrustful but hopeful. Because Sam and Dean are different, fights and bad things might accure but no matter how disconnected from each other they might be, they always come back to each other. And you are no different. You know them well enough.

Your silence is apprehended as anger. "Okay..We understand, we'll leave."

But it's not anger and it's most certainly not hatred. So you envelop Sam again and bury your face in his chest.

Maybe that'll be enough for him to understand?

His surprise manifests through his still figure. "Thank you, honey." That surprise quickly dissipates and he hugs you back. "It..."

"it's going to be okay, honey. We'll make it okay."

------

I hope it isn't too cringe or too cliché because like-who would say sorry in under a minute. But yeah anyway much love sorry byyiii 🍁🍁🍁❤️❤️❤️

[amazinglyashy]

hi! First of all - i love the way u write omg😭 i basically went through all your posts last evening and today hahah (procrastinating at it’s finest😌) Second - i wanna request a prompt, but i dunno if it’s too close to the one where ‘reader tells the lads boys that she’s too heavy for them’? if so, just ignore this!🫡💗

If not - could you write something about the boys finding out that reader/mc used to have bulimia(/or unspecified ed) and that she’s quietly struggling again, but not telling them? Maybe something angsty/comforting?

Trigger warning - This involves talk about eating disorders. Please use discretion when reading! Oh my gosh, thank you so much!! That means so much, because I used to write a lot years ago but stopped for a long time. I only got back into it recently, so the love I've been receiving has really done a positive number to my confidence. Thank you, lovely <3 I don't think it's possible for me to NOT write this request, because I'm a long time ED sufferer, and I am currently experiencing a harsh relapse unfortunately... You read me like a book, because 'Too Heavy' was a direct reference to that. It's hard, because it's such an invisible problem that oftentimes you suffer alone. Thank you for the request, hopefully I did it some justice, and for you or anyone who may relate to this post. (Also wrote this while listening to Lullaby - Jhameel on repeat. Give it a listen!)

Love and Deepspace Li's find out about your ED (and your current struggle)

Zayne -

The moment he finds out you live with an ED, he's down at the library finding any books he can, and researching as much as possible throughout the hospital and his old college's database.

He's also finding patient testimonials that have been released, so he can find the most compassionate approach that would help you without causing you any more harm than you already are experiencing at the hands of your own mind.

"I found a new restaurant I want to try. Apparently, they make a certain dish really well, I think we should try it together while we go over the latest mission you wished to tell me about."

He knows what you like, so it makes it easy for him to order things to share together places and ensure you're eating.

He will go out to eat every single day if he needs to, that's not any issue to him. Neither is sharing foods or cooking meals that he knows you love, even if they're not particularly his favorite.

He tries not to talk to you much about it, but does his best to be encouraging and nothing more whenever the subject of professional help comes up.

When you start opening up even more to him, he's all ears, and he's exceedingly careful about his choices of words, like he always is, but even more so now. The last thing he wants is to speak a trigger, especially when he's so focused on helping you get better.

He knows it never truly goes away, your disorder. But that's not an issue. It's more... a fact of being with you. And just like you take his problems and disabilities, he will take every single one of yours as well.

In stride, and with love.

Xavier -

He caught on, mostly because he found it strange that one moment you had eaten every single snack in the cupboard, and the next he heard, you hadn't eaten anything all day. He was wondering if it was something he was just unaware of, but-

Quickly finds out what exactly is going on after a few times of this happening. He was worried it was some strange habit, and now he's even more worried finding out it's been something you've been dealing with for quite a while.

He's upset, to say the least. But he'll keep that to himself.

He just wants to help you now.

He'll ask if there's anything that you feel like sharing with him on how to best help you, and there's definitely a note somewhere on his phone with a list of things you told him. If he can do any of them daily, he will. Anything else is always on his mind.

He doesn't let it get in the way of your day to day, though. You still play games together like normal, read together, and go the arcade whenever you both have the opportunity to win some more plushies for your hoards. He's always conscious about his own comments and behavior, but he doesn't ever let it seem like he's keeping an eye on you or trying to supervise you.

The tightrope of trusting you and helping you deal with your disorder is a thin one, and Xavier dances along it with grace.

No matter what, being around him is a comfort. Whether you're having a good day, or a bad day.

Sylus -

He's pretty internally frustrated when he first find out about it, but he doesn't let it show.

It has nothing to do with you or anything you did. He's just used to... having everything under control. For every problem to have a solution solved easily with money, force, or some compassion.

This is something he can't control.

And he hates it.

Aside from that, Sylus is like a light in the dark.

He had a list of trusted professionals to help you, should you want, and multiple of them at that- just in case you don't feel comfortable with the first one or three.

Any food you genuinely like to eat is available at all times, it does not matter if it is three in the morning. Are you wanting it? Nice, it's right there on your plate.

The frequency of which you see him increases, including the twins, despite both situations being... vastly different.

Where he takes you out for dinners at new and gorgeous restaurants, including ones feature in your favorite media or having special events for a game you like- the twins are throwing bags of snacks at you and yelling at you to throw pieces into their mouths and so they can do the same to you.

You will learn Sylus did not ask them to do this, in fact he explicitly told them not to do that.

It's pretty obvious though, they were worried about Sylus. And not just him, but you too.

Probably because of how much Sylus has been concerned about you, even if just in secret.

He doesn't want his feelings to make you feel anything but loved, so prepare for a speech the second you feel any kind of guilty. You're not getting out of this one.

Not until you know how much he cares about you, no matter what.

Rafayel -

The way he treats it is extremely encompassing. The way he sees it, is if you're sad or not doing too hot mentally, it's going to affect every part of your brain, including the parts that make you feel the way you do with your ED.

Driving you somewhere? He's playing upbeat music pounding out of the speakers of his sports car, singing along goofily or making up new words. You haven't eaten in a long time? Too bad, suddenly he's hungry and wants a snack. In fact, he wants a snack every couple of hours. If you binged and feel like dying, he'll be offering you water and any distraction he can to get your mind off of your appearance or the guilt of your binge.

He will spend more of his own free time at the gym if he needs to to work off any extra weight he gains just to help you eat, if eating with him is what helps you and he doesn't want you to see him change and feel guilty over it. He doesn't care.

Constant, constant praise with him. It is not about your appearance, unless it's something you can change. Clothing you picked out, the way your makeup looks today, a hairstyle you did to yourself, etc. So many compliments on your achievements or work, all with a sweet smile across his face.

If it's really bad, he'll paint you gorgeous works in different sizes, that are conveniently perfectly sized to display directly over any mirrors in your apartment.

Whatever you need, he's on it.

He'll be there for you no matter your highs or your lows.

[drdemonprince]

the porn addiction anon made me think to ask, do you have an opinion on viewing self-harm behaviors as an addiction?

i personally have found it to be a helpful way of looking at my relationship with it and fairly accurate to my experience with urges and tolerances etc, and i don't personally care whether it's ever officially considered an addiction or not, but i am curious about the conversation about it and your opinion if you have one.

thank you for reading this and if you respond, thank you for your response!

I think that the 'addiction' frame for self-harm can make the most sense if you're personally on board with a goal of abstinence -- but I would still caution against it somewhat, as research generallly suggests that when a person views a behavior pattern as being caused by an 'addiction' they are less likely to feel that they have agency over it, and are more likely to experience shame when they experience relapses.

What I find most appealing and helpful in understanding self-harm, both for myself and others, is to appreciate the multiple needs that the self-harm typically satisfies. This can be things like providing an endorphin rush, distracting from a disturbing situation, a physical outlet for emotional pain, a means of conveying to others that you are suffering, a source of stimulation, a means of grounding oneself within one's body, an intense enough sensation to shock you out of dissociation, a way to burn off excess energy, an acceptable outlet for one's anger, a way to take control over one's own body, a means of accessing privacy, a means of expressing a meltdown or any number of other things.

When we can see that self-harm is beneficial and sensible in several key ways, it's easier to view it as just one option among many for meeting a person's needs -- and sometimes it might be the best option! Appreciating what self-harm meaningfully does for us allows us to make clearer decisions about what is lacking or painful for us in life at the moment, and minimizing the unwanted damage caused by it. This framing also centers the self-harming person as having the authority to determine what is best for their own life, even while honoring that they might require support getting their needs satisfied.

For example, I used to look down on my excessive exercise habit as solely an eating disorder symptom, one that I was "addicted" to and shamefully couldn't shake. But any time I tried to force myself to not exercise the way I wanted to, I felt cranky, pent up, resentful, stressed, and was actually prone to more damaging forms of self-harm.

It was only after reading more about harm reductionist approaches to eating disorders that I figured out that the long walks I love to go on are not *only* a means of purging, though that is how they began -- they also provide me a needed energy valve, a space to meditate and daydream, an excuse to get away from people when I'm feeling trapped, and a daily obligation that for many years prevented me from overworking, because it consumed up so much time in my day.

I was most prone to long, long, longgg walks that bordered on physically damaging when I was trapped in a house that was not emotionally safe to me, completely overwhelmed with stress due to school and work, and unaware of the sensory and energy-expenditure needs related to my neurodivergence. Now that I'm in a better situation, I still need to exercise almost every day to keep my anxiety and rage even somewhat at bay, but I don't need to do it for *hours*, and I'm making my body stronger rather than weakening myself. I have other ways of addressing my sensory needs, seeking privacy, finding stimulation, and so on. Compared to others I can still seem a bit compulsively physical, exercising even when I am sick, and when I can't work exercise into my daily schedule I do get fucking irate -- but really, what's the problem? It doesn't really qualify as self-harm anymore.

The same logic works on most of the other forms of self-harm I have exhibited, too, from seeking out abusive relationships to reading transphobic hate forums. I did those things because I was completely emotionally blunted, depressed, isolated, and craving stimuli that reinforced my existing self-hatred. And those forms of self-harm intellectually engaged me, filled me with excitement, and shocked my system in ways both good and bad. I'm glad I don't do that shit anymore mostly, but it didn't get better because I realized I was "addicted" to self-harming or anything like that. I had to work on addressing the unmet need.

I hope that others who view self-harming differently will sound off in the notes, because I do think the forms my self-harm has taken are significantly different from things like cutting, burning, etc, and what works for me won't work for everybody else. For the most part I have only physically struck myself when I'm in the midst of a meltdown, so that form of self-injury hardly even ranks as "self harm" to me because it's not really intentional.

[puranami]

✿ Omelette - The Morning After ✿

A/N: I did leave the original with a point to start a follow up if the mood struck, and people have been showing interest, so here we are... doing our best __φ(．．✿)

Summary: The morning after Sanji found you cooking an omelette in your underwear at an ungodly hour, you are no longer overtired and must deal with the fallout.

Content: Despite the scenario - it's all SFW and fluffy like dem eggs were. Even more pining with a nice side dish of denial, G/N reader ✿

(Part 1) - (Part 3)

"Oh my god..."

You cringe into your pillow, unsure of how you are supposed to face the day, and especially Sanji, after last night's omelette fuelled shenanigans. The entire thing had felt like a dream, and you would have gone on with the rest of your life believing that's what it was were it not for one glaring issue.

Sanji's nightshirt.

It was still comfortably wrapped around you, still with that sweet and musky scent that had enveloped you as you finally managed to sleep, and you couldn't help nuzzling into the sleeves with a contented sigh.

"No! Stop that!" you shouted internally, forcing yourself up in your hammock. "You do not have feelings for him, he does not have feelings for you; he was just being a good friend lending you his shirt because you were a dumbass who forgot to put on pants!"

You felt your chest tighten somewhat at your inner monologue. Maybe you did have a tiny bit of a crush, truly miniscule really, nothing to get yourself worked up about. You let out another small sigh, starting to fiddle with the top button, knowing you had to take it off and return it.

But you just couldn't bring yourself to.

Surely it'd be okay to hang onto it a little longer, right? It would be bad manners to hand back a dirty shirt, so you should definitely wash it first at the very least. And since you aren't due to do your laundry for a couple more days; maybe you can wear it at night in the meantime?

You let out an audible groan, flopping back down onto your pillow face first, hardly able to believe your own thoughts.

"Why am I being so weird about this?" The cycle of cringing into your pillow begins again.

A sudden knock at your door surprises you, and you nearly fall out of your hammock. The door opens a crack, not enough to see in or out of, and a familiar voice greets you.

"Just wanted to check in, darling, you're missing breakfast, and if you don't get there soon," Sanji trails off, not needing to elaborate on the eating habits of your captain. He gives you a moment to respond, but you can't find any of your words; you needed more time to overthink about how you were going to talk to him! You pull your blanket up over your head in a poor attempt to hide from the situation.

Thinking you were still asleep, and knowing that you were properly covered thanks to his actions during the night, he opens the door further and peeks his head in.

"Darling?"

He lets out a little laugh seeing your blanket covered form still in your hammock. Letting himself into the room fully he makes his way over to your little sanctuary, unaware of the utter panic contained within, before crouching down beside you. A gentle hand rocks you ever so slightly in an attempt to rouse you from your assumed slumber.

"It's time to wake up, love," he almost whispers.

You instinctively groan at the pet name, mentally cursing yourself for it immediately after - you can't pretend to be asleep anymore now. Resigning yourself to your fate, you slowly pull the blanket down a little, at least enough to look at him.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He beams, always happy for any time in your presence. "You're going to miss breakfast."

God damn this radiance in human form. You take a stabilising breath before reluctantly sitting up, allowing your blanket to fall down to your waist. Sanji couldn't help the cheeky little smirk that graced his face upon seeing his nightshirt; you could have easily taken it off once you got back to your quarters, but here it still was.

"What's the face for?" You grumble, poking his forehead and lightly pushing him back. Sanji giggled as he lost his balance, deciding it best to sit beside you instead of crouching. He leaned his arms on the side of the hammock and looked up at your pouting face, smiling at how cute you were.

"Comfy, sweet?" The amusement in his voice was painfully apparent as he gave the collar of the shirt a playful tug.

Burying your face into sleeve covered hands to hide the blush you felt forming, you let out an exasperated sigh, falling onto your back while muttering various curses, causing Sanji to let out a hearty laugh. As much as he was enjoying how flustered you were, he was cautious about pushing things too far; he wanted to win your affections, and too much teasing may undermine that for him. He gently pats the top of your head, making you jump slightly from the unexpected touch.

"You know, if you want to keep a hold of it, I wouldn't mind." You pull your hands down to look at him, eyes wide while still covering the lower half of your face. It was like he could see right through you, like he had heard your earlier thoughts about keeping it, at least for a couple more nights. What witchcraft was this!

"W-what? No! I..." you finally manage to blurt out, sitting up once more. Time to attempt some damage control and deny everything! "I appreciate that you were just helping me out, a-and I was gonna wash it before giving it back!" Sanji had taken to leaning on one of his hands, a lazy smile on his face, endlessly amused by this whole thing. He's never actually seen you in this state before - you're usually so composed.

"It's alright, love, I have other shirts," he shrugs. Throughout this entire exchange, you hadn't reacted to any of his terms of endearment like you usually do.

Maybe it was time to try his luck.

"You wear it much better than I do, anyway." Sanji flashes you a flirty wink, and you feel your resolve starting to crumble. In a last ditch attempt to salvage your carefully crafted aloof image you throw your blanket over him.

"Stop looking at me with your dumb face!"

The man is unfazed.

Giggling like an idiot he flips the blanket back over the hammock, keeping his hands up afterwards in surrender.

"Alright, alright, I yield." He lifts himself off of the floor, patting down the back of his suit trousers. "Breakfast has probably been demolished by now, so when you're ready, come to the kitchen, and I'll make something special for you." He graces you with one last signature golden smile, before heading out, pausing at your door momentarily.

"How does an omelette sound, love?" He can't help snickering, and your face flushes deep red.

"Out!!" You yell as you throw your pillow at him, which he easily bats away while laughing. Once he was gone and the door was shut you cursed; it felt like your heart was trying to escape the confines of your body, and the intensity was overwhelming.

You refused to admit it, but you were down bad for this beautiful menace.

To be continued? Oh no! Welp, looks like the oneshot I initially started with has turned into a little series :3c I really enjoy writing Sanji, can you tell?

[mikashisus]

there’s just smth so… healing abt sethoscara.

as someone who also deals with immense trauma, let me explain:

first of all - as much as i love kazuscara as well, im starting to love sethoscara more simply bc of this fact: sethos has no ties whatsoever to wanderer’s past.

like i said above, i also deal with a lot of trauma. it has been very hard to overcome, and i still struggle with it even years after it happened. i do still interact with some of the ppl involved (bc they’re members of my family and i have long forgiven them), but i have met some wonderful ppl who have no ties to my past or trauma whatsoever and being around them without them knowing of said trauma is so… freeing. it’s kind of healing, in a way, too.

it’s like a breath of fresh air when u finally take that step away from those who know about or were involved in ur hurt, and get to know others who are not aware. bc those ppl who are unaware or weren’t there when it happened don’t judge u or see u differently bc of what happened in ur past.

and i think sethos would help wanderer take a step towards healing from all his trauma. sethos isn’t aware of who wanderer was before. he only just met him recently, he’s completely unaware of wanderer’s trauma and his past.

that in and of itself could feel so so so refreshing to wanderer - having someone who doesn’t know a thing and has no ties whatsoever to his previous identity.

nahida is probably helping him heal as well, but she knows. she’s aware. she knew him when he was still scaramouche, the sixth of the fatui harbingers; therefore her thoughts on him are different as opposed to someone who is just meeting wanderer for the very first time and doesn’t know a thing about him.

same goes for the traveler (and paimon technically ig). they know. they have ties to who he was before.

kazuha, although he never met wanderer before the irminsul wipe and is still unaware of his true identity, has ties to wanderer. if they were to meet and kazuha possibly found out abt wanderer’s true identity, it could cause kazuha to judge him based on his previous incarnation instead of his current identity.

but not sethos. sethos judges him not based on who he was before, but who he is at the current moment. and his thoughts on him will be determined based on his current words and actions.

*it’s important to note that i am not trying to start any ship wars or bash on kazuscara - bc frankly, i love kazuscara!! they’re my sillies!! but i am a multishipper, so ofc im going to giggle over sethoscara as well! AND compare their dynamics :))

*i apologize if anything was repetitive, i have a bad habit of repeating things over and over. usually it’s due to a lack of getting my thoughts in order. sigh adhd.

[bucca2]

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

[666writingcafe]

A Lesson in Demon Anatomy (NSFW)

Asmo has made a huge mistake.

Okay, maybe "huge mistake" is a bit dramatic, but there's no doubt that he messed up in his calculations. He thought that everyone was out of the house and wouldn't be returning for quite a while, so he felt okay walking around in his birthday suit.

It's something that he used to do nearly every day, but when the exchange program was in the works, he agreed to put a stop to it in order to create a good impression on whomever was going to stay with him and his brothers. However, when he got the opportunity to be alone, he couldn't help but resort back to old habits.

So, one could imagine his surprise when he strolls into the sitting room to find MC stretched out on the couch. They were reading a book, but of course they looked up when they heard footsteps heading their direction, and now...

"I'm so sorry, MC!" Asmo exclaims. "I had no idea that you were even in here! I thought you were studying at the library, but if I'd had known you were coming home, I would have put something on so that I would be presentable and---"

"It's pretty," MC murmurs, interrupting Asmo's train of thought. In that moment, he realizes that his beloved human has their eyes directly trained on his nether regions.

That's odd, he thinks. I didn't think I had that effect on MC.

"Oh, this ol' thing?" Asmo asks, gesturing downwards. MC nods their head, failing to look up at his face.

"Would you like a closer look?"

Why am I so nervous? Millions of individuals have seen me naked before. I should be used to people's reactions.

"If you're okay with it," MC responds. Gingerly, Asmo walks over to them. MC sits up as he approaches, and when he's standing in front of them, they finally look into Asmo's eyes.

Asmo nearly falls backwards from the sheer amount of lust that suddenly surges through his body. Avatars of Sin are like lightning rods in that way; they are attracted to the energy of their sin, and the energy is attracted to them.

Usually, Asmo is able to mitigate the effects of someone's lust with his own, but he hasn't felt this much of it from another individual in a long time. And the fact that it's coming from MC of all people, one of the only beings he's ever known that has been able to resist his demonic charm...

"Can I touch it?" MC asks, forcing Asmo to focus on the present moment.

"Of course you can!" he answers, trying to hide the fact that he's starting to hear the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. MC gently wraps their hand around the underside and runs their thumb over the skin.

"Is there a reason why it's bumpy?" A part of Asmo is relieved by the question, because it means that he can put aside his feelings for a bit and focus on the answer.

"It's part of a defense mechanism. As you might have learned, a demon has different levels to their form. You've seen the first and second, but I'm not sure if you've witnessed anyone shift above that. Anyway, our appearance significantly changes in the third level, and things begin sprouting in all sorts of places."

"Including dicks?"

"Especially dicks. Mine sprouts stringers. They become poisonous in the fourth level."

"Like a scorpion."

"Exactly."

"Have you killed anyone with it?"

"There was a period of time where that was my weapon of choice, yes."

Why is MC staring at me like that?

"Is it safe in this state?"

"It better be, or a whole lot of people would be coming for my ass." MC's hand moves to the small of Asmo's back, and the Avatar of Lust allows them to guide him closer to them.

"May I?" they ask. Asmo can only manage a nod. He shouldn't be this nervous; he's received plenty of blow jobs before. Why is this one any different?

Perhaps it's because it's been a while since someone's been this...enthusiastic.

What Asmo is unaware of in the moment---and what he doesn't learn until after the fact---is that MC's discovered that they derive intense pleasure from sucking dick. However, once he knows that this side of MC exists...

Let's just say that he sits back and watches as his brothers fall prey to MC's wild side.

[carcarcraziiv2]

I LOVE YOUR JEALOUS APHELIOS AHH. I keep re-reading it!! Can I request a jealous kayn? NSFW or SFW is fine :3

THAT IS SO SWEET, ILYSM FOR TELLING ME THIS <3 <3 <3. Truly, it makes me happy to know people actually ENJOY what I am writing! Gives me a real boost to keep goin', ya know?!

And you literally bet your ass I will, Kayn is my ngjfhdsgjkh just my dirty lil' guy and I love him so gd much.

THIS is going to be NSFW. There will be warnings. I can't NOT do NSFW when I'm doing a jealousy trope. On god though? I had a random urge to make it soft Kayn so.... enjoy :3

P.S. SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG BUT I HOPE YOU LOVE IT <3

18+ MDNI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~18+ MDNI

TW: Jealousy, violence (literally just a punch), kind of mental illness? (Idk how I honestly classify Rhaast in this AU, but just in case), sex, masked man doing to do (ooo c;).

AS ALWAYS! Enter at your own risk. ILYSM <3

18+ MDNI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~18+ MDNI

Jealous Kayn

The concert was a success, as per usual. The crowd was dispersing, however a few guys stuck around in the V.I.P area you chose to sit in to support your boyfriend, Kayn.

You chose to help the venue workers begin cleanup duty as you waited for Kayn to come retrieve you. There were round tables scattered about, people having left their empty cups and trash all over the place.

"You don't have to help clean up you know," a friendly young man came over to where you had a trash bag held open, scooping litter into it. "Patrons don't generally stick around for this part. I'm Jack, what's your name?"

"Oh, I don't really mind at all. I travel with the band, so I try to make a habit of helping out," you smile. "I'm y/n, nice to meet you."

"Travel with the band, huh? So do you like help w- whoa! You okay?," Jack starts, before you trip over the bag you're holding in front of you and nearly fall.

Luckily, he was there to catch you so you didn't make any more of a fool of yourself.

Unbeknownst to you though, Kayn had just walked in to fetch you. His eyes widened in shock before his brow furrowed, his features turning to a scowl as he witnessed you in another man's arms.

You hadn't even noticed his presence yet, not until you felt a force lift you up by one of your arms so that you were standing tall again.

"Oh, Kayn! The show was gre-," you don't get to finish your sentence before Kayn is throwing a punch at Jacks face. The only thing you can do in response is drop your mouth open in shock.

"Whoa what the fuck man!," the friendly venue worker shouts, his hand coming up to cup his face. You rush over to him, noticing Kayn about to throw another in his direction. You step in front of Jack just in time for the blow not to hit him, Kayn barely stopping before accidentally hitting you.

"Knock it off, you idiot!" You holler, pushing your boyfriend in his chest. He stumbles back slightly, taken aback by your defense of this man who clearly just had his hands all over you.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as you watched his face turn from shocked to a scowl. He was clearly upset at you, but you were too upset with him to give a shit.

"Just go back to the hotel, Kayn. I'll find my own way back." Kayn stood there for a moment, his hands balled into fists as he seemed to study you for a reaction.

When you didn't falter your gaze, he conceded.

"Fine. Have fun with him," he snarled, whipping around and stomping away.

As you rushed back over to Jack to apologize and offer him assistance, you were unaware that Kayn still watched from the shadows of the small hallway in which he came from.

You idiot, Rhaast scolded him. "Shut up," he responded aloud. You let your emotions control the situation, you fool. Now our love is embarrassed and mad at us. Kayn hit himself on the head, then smoothed down his hair. "Fuck, you're right," he sighed. Although he knew he should go apologize to both of you, he felt defeated- disappointed in himself. He was so scared of losing you he made a minor situation worse. Not to mention, Yone was certainly going to hear about the incident from the venue management.

At that point, the only thing he could think to do was follow your order and return to the hotel.

To your surprise, Kayn made sure one of the guys stuck around to bring you back, too.

~~~~~

Yone was the one to take you to the hotel, silent for the entire drive until you arrived at your desitination.

"Go make up," he said, unlocking the door. "Kayn's mood will surely get worse after our conversation tomorrow."

"Ugh, thanks for the ride Yone," you sighed, thanking him as you left the vehicle. You entered the hotel, taking the elevator up to the room the two of you were sharing.

Steeling your nerves, you sifted through your pockets for the key card, taking it out and unlocking the door.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon entry, but it was definitely not what greeted you.

Kayn sat shirtless on the patio, a lit cigarette smoldering in the ash tray, his body glimmering slightly from the moonlight caressing his skin.

And when you looked at his face... you saw it adorning his Rhaast mask.

Whatever edgy pity party shit that he is pulling, I don't care. I am staying in here. You dropped your phone and belongings onto the counter, silently scowling at him until his head slowly turned your direction.

You always liked his Rhaast side. So protective and levelheaded. Although very dominant sometimes, he always made your comfort a priority.

He stood, opened the sliding glass door, entered, then shut it behind him without turning around.

"Y/N," he said plainly, putting his hands in his pockets as he awaited your response.

"Yes?" You said, carelessly sassy with your tone as you looked anywhere other than the sculpted man prowling towards you. "What do you want?"

"You know I'm on your side, little one," Rhaast says as he approaches. You took a step back in unison with each of his until you were undoubtedly trapped between him and the white hotel wall. His body radiated heat that seeped into your skin, and you breathed deep to calm yourself.

"Ka- Rhaast. I don't know what to say. What happened earlier was really fucked up."

"I know, I know. Don't worry- I gave him a piece of my mind. That idiot never treats you right," his hand reaches up, gently caressing your face before lifting your chin to look at him.

You can't help your brow furrowing, lip pouting.

"Kayn doesn't treat me badly... he just read the situation wrong."

Checkmate, asshole. Kayn hisses to Rhaast. In return, he takes off his mask, revealing his wild but soft eyes. The contradiction between the obvious curiosity in his gaze and the demanding flicker of arousal made the muscles in your stomach tighten.

"He almost hit you, do you understand? Know's better than to endanger our love like that," his expression was so pained you could only imagine the war that was waging in his head right now.

"It's okay, love... really," you sighed. "I just didn't want any more violence to happen, and it seemed inevitable unless I intervened the way that I did. I know you- or Kayn- would never hit me. And I always know you treat me right."

Rhaast pouts his lower lip, and you have sudden overwhelming urge to kiss him. It wasn't your intention; you really did want to talk about everything... but you just couldn't stop yourself.

The kiss was tender, soft. He let out a sigh when you did it, almost a whimper- so out of character for him. It was almost as if he was relieved. He knew that you had forgiven him. You didn't feel so trapped between him and the wall anymore when Rhaast's hands gently pulled you closer to him to deepen the kiss.

"Thank you for always protecting me, Rhaast. Kayn, I love you," you smile against his lips, your hands touching his face. He pulls away only for a moment to look you in the eyes before grabbing you around your ass and lifting you up. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you towards the bed.

Holding onto the back of his neck, you squirmed in his arms as the he lowered you onto the soft cotton bedding. The bed was cool under the fabric of your clothes, a delicious contradiction to the heat radiating between you and Kayn.

The two of you bite and suck and play amongst each other's lips, your body gradually becoming more and more aroused. When you look back into his eyes, you can tell Kayn has returned.

"I'm sorry, my love, but I can't control myself when it comes to you," he says, a shy but sly smile taking over the canvas of his face. He looks so cheeky, trying to get you to forgive him still even when you're sure he knows your hardly angry anymore.

Now you're just turned on.

"I understand- I can't say I wouldn't have reacted the same way... Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you make it up to me?" You smile back at him, tracing a finger down the soft skin of his muscular bare chest. He tilted his head in response, raising a brow. His body towered over you as the two of you lay there, encompassing you in his thrilling aura.

"You dirty little thing," he cooed before nuzzling his face into your neck, his wet tongue dragging along your skin before placing a soft nibble. You whimpered at the feeling as he continued scraping his teeth along your flesh.

"I would destroy everything for you, my love," his voice is sweet like a summer wind, warm emotions ruffling straight through to your heart. Kayn was everything- the sun, the moon, the stars. In this moment before you share the most intimate of actions, you felt so close to him.

He was being so open after the events that had occurred. You realized perhaps Rhaast was his way of communicating the things he didn't really want to say, and it made you feel warm inside that he was comfortable enough with you to share that side of him.

Your thoughts came to an abrupt stop when Kayn sat up to help you out of your clothes, removing his own swiftly. Your mouth hung open at the sight of him removing the black leather belt from his pants, the corded muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers fumbled with the buckle. When he looked back up at you with a feline gaze, you swore you could see flickers of Rhaast.

He bends, crawling over your squirming frame. The air was thick with tension as he began caressing your body with his large hands. They were rough on your soft skin as he pinched and prodded your nipples, leaning down slowly to suck them one by one.

There was this thing about Kayn- he never stopped watching you. Always looking at your expression, gauging how certain things made you feel. You were so enthralled by the way he looked at you while pleasing you that that alone had your heat rising.

He made his way down your body, peppering kisses and bites as he traveled. Once he reached your front, you hissed in a breath at the first feeling of his tongue on you.

He licked and sucked, his warm tongue caressing everywhere perfectly as he serviced you.

"Fuck, Kayn that feels so good," you moaned, grabbing his hair and tugging- to which he responded with a growl. You knew how that made him feel, and you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you in that moment. Sure, his mouth felt great, but you knew his cock would feel even better.

He almost became feral, you noticed, as he ceased his movements and sat up, grabbing you and pulling your legs towards him so you were at the edge of the bed.

"You drive me fuckin' crazy baby," his voice gravely, he gripped his thick member, stroking it a few times while looking at you through thick lashes. "I'm going to fuck you, now. Show you who you belong to, right my love?"

"Please Kayn, P-Please fuck me now," you whimpered, your cheeks warm and flushed, a hand caressing your front while the other rested idly by your head.

"I love it when you beg. Only for me, baby. Yeah- fuck," he stammered a bit as he pressed his tip to your entrance, watching his dick become engulfed slowly by your hole. "You're always so gods damned tight for me."

The feeling of his dick had your brain melting, your hand stopping for a moment. Kayn noticed, stopped his movements, and gave you a look.

"Did I tell you to stop, love?" All you could do in response between whimpers was shake your head, and you moved your hand back to keep pleasing yourself as he started picking up the pace. "Gooood, good fucking b/g."

He continued his pace, grunting every few seconds in sync with his thrusts. You rolled your eyes back into your head as you felt yourself climb higher and higher. Kayn leaned down and kissed you passionately, biting your lip as he released you.

"Cum for me, love. I'm not going to last much longer with you gripping me like this. He hissed in his breath as you shuddered and cried out, reaching your climax. Your vision blurred, a few tears dripping down your face as you gripped his forearms.

"Fuck baby- Fuck I'm gonna cum," Kayn groans, whipping his head back. "Take my cum baby, that's it, fuuuuuuck." His hips buck against you as he finds his release and lets out shuttering breaths as he slows to a stop.

He pulls out slowly, leaving you feeling empty but content as he pulls you up further onto the bed and collapses onto the plush mattress.

"Maybe I should get jealous more often if this is how the night ends up," he smiles, and you roll your eyes in response.

"Maybe I shouldn't have rewarded you for that behavior," you giggle, and he scoffs. "Next time let's talk about it first, unless the person you're jealous of actually looks like he is doing something bad?"

"Yeah yeah, I know," now it was his turn to roll his eyes, returning to his normal sassy self for a moment before softening again. "I really am sorry, Y/N. I love you."

"I know you are. Oh and by the way, you may want to save the rest of your apologies for your talk with Yone tomorrow..."

"Shit," was all he responded, shaking his head. "Great... Whatever, he'll get over it. He loves me."

"Yeah, so do I Kayn. So do I," you smile, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight my love."

"Goodnight, baby." He responds, and as when you fall asleep you dream of Kayn and Rhaast and the lovely life you share. Even through the ups and downs he will always be your everything.

[glassrowboat]

🎲 i wish for a good kiss Prompt

30. Kiss to the palm of the hand

Let Me Help. Baizhu.

Word count: 1,700+

Can you tell I love him and hate him at the same time? Fucking bitch-

His hand was shaking. Trembling under the effort to keep his arm up in the air, like it was the greatest war of the century, he was fighting. Would people shout, fill the air with their screams as blades, unlike the one he was holding, clashed?

“I can help,” you offered, hand outstretched to take the razor away from his grip. To free him of the blade you have been questioning since the moment he picked it up.

A part of you was expecting it to slip out of his grasp, to fall to the floor with a clatter, but it still came to no surprise Baizhu tried to hold it as tight as he could. Or, rather, as tight as he could right now.

“I am fine, my petal.” Baizhu insisted.

“Truly?”

For a moment, Baizhu didn't say anything in response, lips pressed together in a thin line as he no doubt mulled over what words he'd pick out this time.

If he would say any at all.

Most likely because he didn't want to, not when all that would come out of him was another lie. Fibs, he liked to call them, like that made it any better. A habit of his that had started far too many fights whispered under both your breaths in an attempt to make sure Qiqi stayed asleep as heated words passed in the middle of the night. Her head nestled into a pillow, completely unaware of you pleading for Baizhu to stop lying to you. To himself.

He opened his mouth again, mouth agape as he decided on the words: “I can manage this.”

In the end, he was still lying to himself.

“Fine.” You said, taking a step back to allow him some room to breathe. It wasn't far, but the thought of leaving him like this just because you were upset was imprudent. And far too cold.

Baizhu went back to what he was trying to do before. Razor in hand as he stared at the mirror, reflecting back the stubble dotting his chin and current sickened state. One you knew he hated to see.

To let you see.

It had been a big deal- still is, actually- when Baizhu first let you into the backroom during one of his episodes. Not even Qiqi was allowed to see him in this state for more than a few seconds as she brought him trays of tea and occasionally lotus shoot soup. His eyes would be hollow behind those golden glasses, sweat covering his skinny form as he shook in place, lips tinted in a red that you knew was anything but lipstick as he tried to manage a smile for you.

At the time, you wanted to hiss at him to stop with the act, but you knew better. The act was, sometimes, the one thing keeping him together.

So you kept your mouth shut that first time you saw him coughing up blood into the bucket he kept by the bed. Bit your lip until you were sure it was raw as you watched. You could do nothing but be there for him. Hand running along his back, pulling Baizhu's hair out of the way, helping him drink the tea so there was the taste of something pleasant on his tongue as you whispered about how would make it through this.

Sometimes, you thought you were a liar yourself when those words were spilled.

“It's rare for you to see me unshaven, isn't it?”

For you could never know when Baizhu had fully reached his limit until it was too late.

“It is.” You agreed. Voice short and curt even as you told him you can help.

Tentatively, he lowered the razor. Having looked up at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You still knick your own legs, my dear.”

“That hasn't happened in like a month.”

With a huff, you looked back over at the sleeping snake, all curled up in a coil of her own making as she tried to recover from the long night. Unlike you, she didn't have the luxury of getting to pass out as Baizhu coughed and wheezed. Even then, he still tried to run his hand through your hair, easing you as Changsheng kept him stable the entire night long.

A hypocrite you wanted to call him. Just like how you want to tear that contract of his to shreds. To toss it out into the rocks right outside the pharmacy like the world's worst confetti every time he uses a power that would have him stuck inside paying the price.

He was far too generous. With his time, with his effort, with his very own life, for Baizhu was a man who would tear off pieces of himself and give them out with a kindly smile.

Philanthropic to a fault, but that was part of the reason you fell in love with him in the first place.

That day, the patient had walked away with a pep in their step, and Baizhu had fallen into bed.

Just as it always went.

Cut from your own thoughts with a startle and a small gasp you looked down to find Baizhu had reached out to you. Holding onto your ring finger to trace over the jade wrapped around it, a snake motif etched into the stone that was currently hidden behind his thumb as it traced over the pattern. “Petal?”

“Yeah, wifey?”

You couldn't help the grin that came from you as he laughed. His joy always proved infectious even if it was cut off by a loud and sudden cough.

Whispers of apologies came from you as you fetched him a glass of water. Raising it to his lips and you helped Baizhu drink down what he could even as shaving cream got on the rim of the cup. It matters little, anyway. Having to spare some time to clean it up was nothing compared to what he went through for others.

“Sorry, Bai, I know better than to make jokes when you're like this.”

“It's quite alright.”

“No, it's-”

“But my petal, ‘wifey?’” He hummed. Even when his voice was hoarse and broken from every wretch, it truly had such a melodic nature to it. “We're not even married yet, and you're already calling me such a lovely name?”

“Please, it suits you.”

“And shall I call you husband?”

“Well…” Just the image of Baizhu coming up behind you in the pharmacy as he works, trying to maneuver around behind you with a jar full of dried herbs in hand and a kiss being pressed to your forehead as he says ‘excuse me, husband’ certainly did something to you. Even if that something was just amuse you. Surely, those on the older side lingering around would raise a brow at the sight.

“Just drink your water.”

Leaning against the counter, the corner of the material pressing into your rear, you looked back down at the floor. Staring down the scuffs in the polished wood. Something so beautiful that has been torn apart, shaped into what was demanded of it. The wood didn't have a choice, but he did.

Baizhu always did.

“Did anyone drop off any shoutao bao this morning? Last week, there was some in the usual stock of gifts left right outside, and I must admit to craving-”

Just like he was choosing to distract you. To make it easier for you to stand here with him.

“You can't eat like this. We both know that.” You huffed, only to regret it a second later. A sigh “Look. Just…Cmon Bai.”

Baizhu pulled the razor away from his face. Only one line had been dragged across his chin, and it had taken the time of this entire conversation for him to gather enough strength to do so without risking cutting his skin. The silver shining in the low light of the lanterns. “You are just as stubborn as I am.”

“What's that Liyuan saying again?” You asked, mainly to yourself even if it caused Baizhu to glance over at you. “Dead ducks and something something.”

“‘Dead ducks’ is the full term. Though, to so readily imply I am beyond help isn't very nice.”

“Then prove me wrong.”

Grabbing his hand, you pulled the razor away, letting it rest on the counter for now. One can't plead their case if they feel they need to watch for any mishaps or slip ups. Now, can they?

“If I even knick you in the slightest, you can bring this very moment up to me and be like: ‘my oh so precious darling fiance, do you not recall what happened last time?”’

“Your accent is coming along, my petal. Give it a bit more time, and you might even sound like you truly do hail from Chenyu Vale.”

“I need it for every time I mock you.” You said with a scoff.

Raising Baizhu's hand to your lips you press a kiss to the center of his palm. To his fingers. To the spot right over his pulse. All while Baizhu watches, lips quirked up every time your lips met his skin. ‘I love you’ is repeated between each gentle kiss. Trying to give him all you could in this quiet hour that only you shared before he turned around and passed his own life out like candy. Again.

“You would normally call this guilt tripping or bribing if I pulled the same thing.” Baizhu pointed out.

“That's,” another kiss, “because when it comes from you, it is.”

There was silence for a moment, just your breathing his short gasps for air, but it was interrupted all too shortly as you could hear the sound of the razor against the counter again as its picked up. Sliding over that smooth surface for only a moment. You were about to take it back, snatch it, and hold it out of arm's reach, but he was already speaking before you could interject.

“Then this once, my dear. However-”

“If I do knick you, you'll hold it over my head for months?”

There was that grin again, teeth poking out from his chapped lips. You'd have to urge him into drinking more water soon enough. The little he got down clearly wouldn't suffice, but for now, all you could do was hold the blade to his skin.

Trust was such a hard thing for you two, having to work around lies and wishful thinking on both your ends. It was something to work on. Built day by day like a house being slowly erected. Walls being raised to stand tall, windows to be put in, insulation, a roof. But first, you have to start from the ground up, and you swiped the razor along his skin for the first time.

“So, wifey?”

“Baizhu, I swear to Morax, you better shut up and let me work.”

[youhideastar]

Rule of Law: Deleted Endings

A couple of folks have indicated that they'd be interested in seeing the many, many failed attempts I had at drafting an ending to Rule of Law. 😂 Truly, the ending persecuted me for days. It's like that Edison quote about learning 200 ways not to make a lightbulb. Anyway, if you are interested, read on!

There's a piece of writing advice that, if you can't write anything good to follow a particular line/paragraph, you should delete the line/paragraph. It crossed my mind many times that this advice was maybe correct and I should therefore delete the lines:

“Mn.” Lan Wangji rises to his feet, and Lan Jingyi joins him. “This person would also need a strong sense of justice. A strong work ethic. And a sense of humor.” He studies the young man before him, who was once a small, loud boy with a habit of interrupting Lan Wangji’s lessons to ask impertinent questions. “Lan Jingyi. I am proud of you.”

Because I was having a devil of a time following them. But my gut told me that I absolutely should not do that. That those lines were very, very important to the emotional core of the fic. And now that I have figured out how to end it, I'm so glad I kept them. The fic needs them.

But yeah... what comes next? The problem is that those lines have the feel of an ending to them already--but they're not quite enough to wrap up the fic, to tie a bow on it. I got the idea to have Jingyi say he was proud of Lan Wangji in return quite early, but discarded it since it would be such a violation of the norms of their society. I eventually decided to go with it anyway, but only after approximately a dozen alternatives:

#1:

For a moment, they pause on the porch, looking out over the mass of cultivators who have come for the conference: rogue cultivators in homespun and rich young masters in fine brocade; juniors looking around with awe and elders conversing in somber tones. Across the yard, Luo Qingyang is deep in discussion with Meishan Yu’s head disciple, holding Little Mianmian’s hand. Nie Huaisang is fluttering his fan; Wen Ning is crouched amid a gaggle of children, letting them trace their fingers over the black veins on his neck.

“I can take those for copying,” Lan Jingyi says, holding out his hands for the stack of papers. He smiles again. “I think you have someone to meet.”

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji entrusts the papers to Lan Jingyi and turns his steps toward the back hill.

Wrong - takes the focus off of LJY and LWJ, but the very last line would make it into the final version.

#2:

As they depart the office, Lan Jingyi asks, “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

“I do not know,” Lan Wangji replies.

Lan Jingyi smiles. “Yeah. I guess that’s the point.”

Who decides?

“Indeed.”

The proposals have been gathered. Their fate is no longer in his hands.

Lan Wangji entrusts the stack of papers to Lan Jingyi, and turns his steps toward the back hill.

He thinks he hears the sound of a flute.

The early parts of this are actually fine, but they're still not an ending, and the transition to the bit about the back hill was brutally abrupt and would not smooth out no matter what I did.

#3:

“Who knows if the rule will even make it into the book.”

“We cannot know,” Lan Wangji agrees. Now, he smiles. “But I will vote for it.”

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun.” He laughs. The sound is slightly watery. “And thank you for—doing all this just based on my wild idea.”

This material is all fine but is not getting us closer to an ending.

#4:

He coughs. “Anyway, let me take those for copying. You have a meeting with a rogue cultivator to get to.”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow, but hands over the stack of paper. “I was unaware,” he says.

“As your assistant, I know these things,” Lan Jingyi says, grinning. “He’s on the back hill. With his donkey.”

“Ah.”

The beginning of the phase where I thought I needed to go out on an explicitly Wangxian note. There are going to be a lot of these and they're all wrong, because the ending needs to be about Lan Jingyi. He's the heart. Of the fic, and of the reason I wrote the fic.

#5:

He coughs. “Anyway. Let me take those for copying; you have… somebody to meet, don’t you?”

Lan Wangji does not ask how Lan Jingyi knows: it is the job of a good assistant to know these things. “Mn.” He hands the stack of papers over. It feels heavier than the mere weight of the paper.

Substantially similar to the last one and wrong for the same reason.

#6:

As they walk onto the porch, he says cheerfully, “Even if no one votes for it tomorrow, I’ll always have that.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. At the next bend in the path that leads to the Jingshi, a figure is leaning against a lantern stand. Dangling from his hands, Lan Wangji can make out two jars of Emperor’s Smile. “Good night, Lan Jingyi.”

“Good night, Hanguang-jun.”

I really wanted the fic to be canon-compliant, which would mean WWX would meet LWJ in the back hill, but by this point I was desperate and was willing to sacrifice canon-compliance if it could get me an ending that didn't suck. Spoiler alert: it couldn't.

#7:

As they walk onto the porch, papers in hand, Lan Jingyi says, “Let me take those for copying – it looks like you’ve got a meeting.”

Lan Wangji follows his gaze. There, in the bend of the path, is a figure in black – facing away, and holding two dangling jars of Emperor’s Smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong-ola.

#8:

As they walk onto the porch, Lan Wangji asks, “Are the preparations for tomorrow complete?”

Lan Jingyi smiles. “Almost. Just waiting on one last guest.” Putting on an air of innocence, he offers, “Should I go to the back hill to meet him?”

“No need,” says Lan Wangji, with a small smile of his own. “I know where to find him.”

Cute! But no. WWX shows up exactly the right amount in this fic. Any more is too much.

#9:

In silence, they carry the stack of papers out of Lan Wangji’s office, through the paths of Cloud Recesses—crowded, now, with guests for tomorrow’s conference—to the scribes’ hall.

At the door, the chief scribe greets them with a polite smile and bow. “Hanguang-jun. Lan-shao-gongzi. Is the compilation complete?”

Lan Wangji nods, and hands her the file. Her eyes widen when she takes it from him.

“It’s heavy,” she says.

It is. Lan Wangji had noticed that himself. There is more than paper and ink carried in those pages.

New direction: we're going to actually take the rules for copying, and therefore go out focusing on the rules rather than LJY and LWJ. Not a bad idea thematically! But it just didn't work.

#10:

At the closed door, they pause.

“Hanguang-jun,” Lan Jingyi whispers, “Do you ever wish we just—picked the best rules ourselves and got rid of the rest?”

Who decides?

“No.”

Then, unexpectedly, Lan Jingyi smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”

Together, they knock on the door.

This one would borrow the first few lines of the last one - carrying the papers to the scribes again. This one is, hopefully, redundant. If you get this far in the fic and still don't understand that LWJ shouldn't pick the rules, I've failed.

#11:

As they walk out onto the porch, Lan Jingyi blurts, “Hanguang-jun knows this junior has a history of disregarding proper etiquette and seniority, so this junior hopes Hanguang-jun will forgive him for saying he’s—he’s proud of you, too.”

Lan Wangji pauses, and turns to face his assistant, who blushes.

“Everyone knows you didn’t really want this job,” Lan Jingyi mumbles. “Hanguang-jun worked hard and gave up a lot. So. This junior is proud.”

After having tried what felt like literally everything else, I decided to try having LJY say he was proud of LWJ in return, to see if it would write. It would!! Not like this, though--too clunky--so one more iteration was required.

#12 (final version):

Lan Jingyi blinks hard for a moment, then looks away. “Thank you, Hanguang-jun.”

As they step onto the porch, Lan Jingyi clutches the file of proposals to his chest and blurts out, “This junior is proud of you, too, Hanguang-jun.”

It is, of course, a breach of etiquette and seniority for a junior to speak to Lan Wangji in such a way.

But if Lan Wangji placed a higher value on etiquette and seniority than on sincerity, he would have selected a different assistant.

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji, with a rare smile. Then he turns away and sets out for the path that will lead him to the back hill.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[peterdarlingg]

Bad Habits

warnings: none

Paring: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter is still getting used to your habits.

A/n: surprise, I finally wrote something! It’s not the best and it’s a bit short andd it’s not edited so just a warning. Gif is by @peterrparkor But I hope you enjoy none the less and any feedback would be appreciated. 🩷

“What are you doing?”

Peter sat up on the couch brows furrowed, looking at you as you abruptly got up, stood there for a few seconds and walked into the kitchen.

“I want eat brownies so I’m gonna make some.” You stated simply.

“Okay…” peter trailed off. You often did that sort of thing. You would be sitting down together and then an idea would pop into your mind and if you really wanted it you would go do it. He was still kinda getting used to you doing that.

It was 3 am and you woke up hungry. You decided you were craving a big mac. So you proceeded to get up, put on a jacket over your pajamas and left Peter a pillow to cuddle instead.

“Where the hell are you?” Peter sounded over the phone. He was pissed.

“I was hungry so I went to get a Big Mac.” You said nonchalantly, unaware of peter’s state.

Unbeknownst to you, peter woke up suddenly, not sensing you next to him while he was stirring in his sleep and didn’t find you there sleeping soundly as you were next him.

After looking for you all over the small apartment and not finding you, he started to panic. Frantically pulling at his hair and calling you after you didn’t answer like 2 times.

“What…now?” He asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah.” You answered still oblivious to peter’s panicked state. “Well, why were you not answering your phone?” Peter pressed.

“Oh, I’m sorry pete, I have it on silent mode so I didn’t hear it.” You said feeling a bit guilty.

“Okay, when are you getting back? I miss you,” he pouted, starting to calm down knowing you were safe. “I’m already on my way back. I’ll be there in 5.”

When you walked through the door that night happy with your purchase and ready to devour the sandwich, peter was already waiting at the door and enveloped you in very, very tight hug. “Pete, can’t breathe.” You told him voice strained.

“Sorry, sorry.” He pulled away and gave you a passionate kiss that left you dizzy.

You looked at him, he looked tired and his hair disheveled you fussed from running his hand through it too many times, and suddenly you felt really guilty.

“I’m really sorry Peter. I promise to tell you what I’m doing next time. I just- before I moved in with you- before we were together, I’d just- I was alone…and I was just running on autopilot just doing whatever came to mind. I guess I’m still getting used to not being alone…” you trailed off.

“Baby, it’s okay.” He hugged you and kissed your temple. “We’re okay, I was just worried about you, I’m sorry if I came off a bit harsh.” “No, you didn’t I’m sorry. I promise from now on I’ll never leave without telling you, it’s just a habit, a bad one at that.”

Peter cuddled you extra harder after you ate and went to sleep that night.

That was the first time Peter experienced this habit of yours.

“You know…” peter trailed as he walked over to you. “Spider-man can just swing to get you some brownies and be back in like 5 minutes.” He said cockily. “Yeah, yeah I know.” You rolled your eyes, smiling getting out the ingredients.

“It’s better from scratch.” You said smiling.

“Fine, I’ll indulge,” he rolled his eyes playfully.

“There’s no difference though,” he said under his breath. But you heard him. “Peter!” You looked at him angrily but the look in your eyes informed peter that you were just joking around. “I’m sorry, I’ll help, how do I help?”

You started telling Peter what to do. He mixed the dry ingredients while you mixed the wet ingredients and in 10 minutes the brownie batter was ready for the oven that you had preheated.

“I’m actually really excited, I’ve never baked anything before.” Peter said giddily as he sat down on the couch with you to continue watching the movie that was playing.

“Really? Never?” You asked him. “Yeah, I’ve never had the chance to I guess,” he looked a bit embarrassed, and suddenly you were reminded of Peter’s life and how hard he had it. You made it your mission to always make him happy because he deserved nothing else but. Your timer went off for the brownies and you shot up from the couch. “Yay, they’re ready!”

“Oh my goodness these taste amazing,” peter moaned as he tasted the delicious goodness of the fudgy brownies that you made together. “You were right.” Peter told you sheepishly.

“Right about what?” You asked mouthful of brownies.

“Brownies from scratch are better.” He said smiling eyes crinkling.

You smiled at him adoringly and you both continued to eat your baked goodie together, sitting in comfortable silence.

[hoasvuon]

(3:42 AM)

It’s 3:42 AM and you and Taehyun are sitting at a diner booth, ordering breakfast because as you told him, “Breakfast is a social construct and I refuse to let my life be run by society’s rules.”

There’s a feeling Taehyun can’t put his finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s so early in the morning, or the fact that the lights in the diner light up your face in a way that makes it seem like you’re in a black and white movie, illuminating your features. All he can do is focus on the smallest details about you, how you drum the edge of the table as you’re waiting for your food, how you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you are gazing out the window in a way that makes him think that maybe there is something nostalgic out there that he simply can’t see. You reach out to grab the ice water the waitress had given you, holding it in between two hands, and he knows that in a few seconds, you’ll complain about how your hands are cold now (but he won’t mind because it gives him an excuse to hold your hands in between his and blow warm air on them).

Even when the waitress comes with your dishes, he can’t place the feeling he gets when he looks at you. But he’s jolted out of his thoughts when he hears you talking to yourself.

“Oh no”, you mumble sadly, “I put too much ketchup on my eggs, now they’re ruined”

He looks down and sees that, yes, there is quite a large spot of ketchup on your scrambled eggs, far too close to your pancakes, and he knows that though you might be slightly joking, you also will feel a bit sad later in the morning.

Without hesitation, he reaches over with his spoon and scoops up some of the ketchup, leaving just the amount he knows you like. He places it on a stray napkin, and as he looks back up, you have a small smile on your face. 

“Thank you, you say. “I lo-“, you close your mouth quickly and look down at your plate, and let out a small cough. You hadn’t said those words before, and it seemed like 3 AM in a random diner might not be the best place. 

Taehyun looks at you, and how you hold your fork a bit tighter in your hand, a habit you picked up from childhood. He sees how you place the tiniest of salt on your hash browns because even if they’re perfectly seasoned, you feel unsettled without doing it. How, inevitably, you’ll end up giving your bacon to him because even though you insist you like bacon, you don’t, and always refuse to replace it because you know he loves bacon and you want to give him yours. He thinks about all these little things he knows about you that make you you, and how he is utterly, irreversibly, completely enamored with you. And he realizes, how utterly, irreversibly, completely in love with you. 

"I love you", Taehyun blurts out, “I love you too.”, he says the second as a bit of an afterthought, as if to make sure that you love him as well.

It’s a bit of a scary feeling, knowing that one person holds the key to your entire being, and trusting them not to destroy you. But, Taehyun thinks, everyone in this world will end up hurt one way or another. And that no matter what fights the two of you get into, how many small arguments have happened, he could never truly be upset with you. You could tear him apart and he would be okay with it because it’s you. He can’t help but think that if you were the one to hurt him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You look at him, a bit surprised but with a soft smile on your face, and eyes crinkling at the edges. You nod, and respond, “I love you too.” He sees how you’re smiling to yourself even though you are looking down at your plate, avoiding his gaze. 

The world is still spinning, and outside people are walking by the window, unaware of the blossoming feelings of first love. But it’s 3:48 AM in a random diner, and Taehyun thinks to himself, he’s in love.

[austinsastrology8991]

> Interceptions; through signs/houses <

interceptions are an overcharged, under-appreciated facet within a natives chart. its something you are acutely aware of and are usually extremely distasteful/uncomfortable of. Its something that was neglected in previous lifetimes so you are forced to fix it now...

1st/7th house or Aries/Libra - these people are very noticeable but in a uncomfortable way for themselves and others... they come off extremely strong (they are very imposing accidentally but also not in a good way) and they are always switching between being extremely self conscious of this or very idgaf. This creates a dynamic where they come off very wat da fuq > and are projected onto a lot and have a habit of projecting onto others a lot. 2nd/8th house or Taurus/Scorpio - These people are very insecure, but others are usually extremely unaware of this, which only accelerates the natives insecurity. To others they come off very valuable(2)/powerful(8) but usually they do not relate to this feeling within themselves at all. They however may overcompensate these feelings of inferiority by appearing stronger than they feel inside, and they are very good at convincing others this. Until it does inevitably crumble and everyone is shocked because their facade is relatively strong. 3rd/9th house or Gemini/Sagitarrius - These people are very talkative or the opposite; they are mindful of their answers and those of others, but because of their overthinking tendencies it makes them very fidgety and always need to have a great deal of input into the conversation. This makes others not sure if they smart, because they low key annoying to talk to (ya'll just sayin too much) but they dont appreciate their own cleverness because they mentioned every dot point in existence and this makes them feel stupid; don't know what a summary means or you made 5 summaries which defeats the purpose of one in the first place. 4th/10th house or cancer/capricorn - These guys had a rough childhood and you've never seen a more self protective person of their image. So they never reveal much and this statue-esque vibe they give off is very unesettling and many people talk about this lack of care they display because everyone knows ya'll just give a shit way too much. They avoid responsibility and emotional vulnerability often, and it creates conflicts within their personal life and that of their reputation. 5th/11th house or leo/aquarius - They doin a lot of vibin and not in a viby way. Its too much and they know it too and this creates conflict within their personality of not feeling like they shine in the way they wish they could, so they try even harder to shine the way they envisioned. But too others its the same song / dance we are so used to seeing this with them. This creates conflict in their presence within the community, and it can make them have a poor self image/ identity. 6th/12th house or virgo/pisces - they work a lot but they never satisfied with what they did, so they again work even harder. You can find these guys up at 4 am still tinkering their assignment/ project and even if theirs so many details implanted into it, its never enough and so they still doing more. They also neglect things that are necessary such as eating, or cleaning, because they are so focused on what they wanted to accomplish. This hurts their spirit because they never feel satisfied with what they have done with their life, despite working so damn hard.

> Im going to talk about double signs in my next post; and your double signs are what makes your interceptions far more bearable/ useful. But I want to encourage everyone to work on their interceptions, because it is a weakness, but it really can become a strength if you just put some practical work into it. < How to find interception? easy check yo house cusp; E.g. >

intercepted aries/libra in 12th/6th ;p > BEcause the Aries / Libra symbols is absent ^^^^ also after pisces and before taurus is 'Aries' which is swallowed up within the 12th house****** <That should make it obvious how to read now**** Oh and we always getting 2 gifs do not worry and these gifs *special* they encapsulate intercepted energy perfectly.... actually intercepted energy initself is encapsulation!!!

[weepinglycoris]

Nica and His Rings (Nica Scwartz x Reader

Disclaimer: Again, I'm in that weird moment of zen where my brain decided I should cook after long downtimes so please don't expect much lmao I put this together at 2 AM. AGAIN. HELP. Dari brainrot soon? 👁️👁️

Warnings: None

WC: 1232

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

It was really just harmless curiosity on your side of things. Maybe Liam rubbed off on you. You weren't sure.

Nica was particularly invested in showing you the way he could tie cherry stems with his tongue, but instead of actually paying attention to that act, your eyes kept wandering to his hand that he used to feed himself the cherries and fingers adorned with an abnormally high number of rings. You ended up getting entranced by the joints and contours of his fingers, the small, subtle movement the rings would make whenever he would bend them, and the sole, barren ring finger that had not a single piece of jewelry adorning it.

“Now, now, Robin, are you actually more focused on my hands instead of my tricks?”

Of course, Nica was not going to beat around the bush because you were just so cute and helpless, not even hiding the fact that the moment your eyes wandered to his hands. That almost too innocent, unaware gaze made him feel many things, like wanting to aggressively squish you until you were out of air.

He's not cruel like that, of course, so he settles for grabbing your chin with the hand that you were so eagerly staring at, metal-studded fingers settling on your cheeks and squishing them together, your lips forcefully puckered as he makes you meet his eyes. You make an involuntary sound at the action as he tugs you closer to his own face, an alluring smirk gracing his lips.

Almost forgetting that he asked you a question, you mustered the best of your ability to answer him, but you couldn't think of an excuse because you were still fixated on the way the cold metal touched your skin.

“’M sorry… Your rings kinda distracted me.”

A harmless action, really, but Nica chuckles in amusement at your honesty. Ever the earnest little robin were. He liked it.

So, he'll entertain you.

“Oh? What about my rings? What's so interesting about them?”

As he asked that question, he removes the firmness of the force he used to grab your cheeks as his thumb tantalizingly started to rub on your cheek, deliberately getting close to your lips but pulling back once he was about to touch it. Your poor, poor lips.

Gods above, how were you going to be able to focus with his antics?

Still, you weren't going to fold so easily (even if every fiber of your body wants to, at this point), so you steeled your gaze at him. You could've sworn his own deep blue eyes just glinted.

“You wear a lot of them, on every finger except the actual finger you should be wearing them on.”

Nica leaned back a bit as he rested his chin on the palm of his free hand, and again, your eyes ended up breaking contact with his just to observe the accessories he wore. Why were they so eyecatching?

He hummed in interest.

“So you noticed that. Quite perceptive, Robin.”

Now, you can't tell if he intentionally did that to take as bait or he was actually praising you for noticing, but something inside you is quite annoyed with that tone he used to call you robin.

He then goes wordless as he picked up another stem of cherries and popped it into his mouth using his other hand. The one he was using to keep you captive right now never left your face. And frankly, you could easily push it aside as he didn't put any actual force behind the grip anymore.

Something just kept the both of you glued to your current positions.

“Do you really want to know why? The answer may disappoint you. You might stop making such a cute face.”

Okay, now he's really just messing with you. He might not even give a truthful answer, but a part of you is secretly hoping you would be made privy to that information. You've spent enough time with him to start noticing his little habits. The way his eyes would drift off to a whole other plane at moments of silence, the way his practiced smirk would be replaced with a thin line in a split second once he was caught off guard, the brief moments of vulnerability he would unintentionally show you the more often you stayed by his side amidst his frivolous nature, all of those moments made you believe that you were slowly starting to creep into his closed off heart. Albeit slowly.

Regardless, you think of a response.

Driven by instinct, you reached out to gently take the hand he used to cage your face in and gently clasped it between yours. Treating it like a delicate thing, you trailed your fingers over the rings embracing his skin as your ears picked up the sound of his breath hitching. He didn't expect that kind of reaction.

Entranced, you began to talk.

“It’s probably just conjecture but… with the way you act around others… you're not looking for commitment.”

That much was obvious.

Nica just lets you talk first. You just seemed so enraptured by the sight of his hand and rings, even he found it difficult to break you out of that trance.

“It’s probably a reminder.”

As if bursting you out of that bubble, Nica breaks into a laughing fit, and you blink in confusion like you had just woken from a dream.

“Interessant, Robin. No one's ever told me that before.”

You were quite hopeless, psychoanalyzing him like this. Entertained by your answer, the hand you were holding moves to grab you by the wrist as he then brought his other hand to remove a ring resting on his index finger.

“Wh- Hey!”

The silver material shined faintly in the light of the sun’s rays as he eyed the ring before planting a kiss on it, slipping it into your own ring finger.

“You could have just told me you wanted one of my rings for yourself.”

“I wasn't-”

“Return this ring to me and put it on this lonely little ring finger of mine if you really think I fear commitment like what you're assuming.”

You do not understand what thought is running in that mind of his.

“I could just be not in the mood of wearing one there, but you and your adorable little head might start flapping to a thought I'm completely unaware of too. Feel free to keep this one if you wish, as well. I can always get more.”

With one last enigmatic gaze into your eyes, Nica lets go of you and stands up with his bowl of cherries, continuing to snack on them as he leaves the parlor, and you alone.

“Bis dann, Robin.”

You were left to your own devices, and you looked down at the trembling hand that had its ring finger seized by a foreign object glinting in the light.

As you tried to rationalize the way your heart skipped a beat at the way he challenged you, you gulped as your eyes turned resolute to look at the door where Nica left.

“You'll regret that, Nica Schwartz.”

Nica had left the room with a smile different from his usual one, with none bearing witness to the change.

For all the focusing you gave his hands...

...you failed to notice that it was only his right ring finger that didn't have any rings.

Silly robin.

Brain juice drained, goodbye, I'll proofread this once I'm free lmao

Edit 2 hours later: Bonus ending added bc of my silly ass not paying attention to details enough

[oddballwriter]

HEYAA. I’ve been so obsessed with ur MK stuff lately it’s insane. Wondering if I could request a little blurb with Steven? 🙏 Maybe artistic reader who uses Steven as a muse of sorts? 🎨 Maybe Steven finds reader’s sketches of him and Reader is like embarrassed 😨 that he may be uncomfortable with it? Add and change up anything you’d like!! 😽 ur my fav writer thank you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️

Your Drawings Look like Heaven to Me

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: Steven always enjoys your drawings and art, big or small, painting or simple sketch and doodle. But he's a bit surprised when he discovers that you have a habit of drawing a certain muse that you have. 

Warnings: There's nothing that I can actually thing of other than it's mentioned that the reader draws Steven when he's unaware, but I don't think it's that bad. Also 'Y/n' is used once. 

Author’s Snip: This was meant to be just a little blurb but I got the writing equivalent of zoomies. You asked for a cookie and I made you a cake with layers, frosting, and toppings. This is insane how did I do this. I think it's because I've been drinking a monster while writing this. I have paused the video that I was previously watching in the background because I am so focused. I'm not even joking this shit is 1517 words long and that is before I proof and grammar checked it. I think this might be the longest writing I've done thus far. Enjoy your free cake, anon.

Notes: This is written in the lens of a world where it's just Steven, so none of the actual events in the show happen.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven always knew you drew. You met at your jobs at the museum, at the time, you were working the front desk while he of course worked at the gift shop. The two of you weren't all too familiar with each other since you only saw each other in passing. You knew him as Steven from the gift shop, and he knew you as Y/N from the front desk. You did learn more details through others. Steven was a chatty guy who had an impressive knowledge about Egyptology and mythos. And you were the person at the front desk who did nothing but sit there and draw all day when not granting visitors entry, or in most cases, taking a second to scan a preprinted ticket and check the schedule.

Steven heard talk that you were really talented in your art. You were able to draw what were basically pictures of things you saw or even made up. He hadn't seen your actual art till one day he found you sat where he usually did for lunch, drawing the statue man that he talked at everyday. And wow, were they right about how well you could draw. Though while you talked to each other you laughed "Well of course I'm able to draw him perfectly. He doesn't move.".

That lunch break was a long time ago. You two started dating between then and now. Steven managed to leave the museum for a new one that actually let him be a tour guide. You eventually managed to find work that let you use your skills in art instead of using it to beat the boredom of your job. And you also moved in with Steven in his little flat, in which he cleared out some of this clutter to make a space for you to work and make your own.

You would draw little doodles for Steven to have. Like Gus swimming around. An Egyptian god that you made using his books as a reference. You even drew him a little alligator with a speech bubble saying "Later" on a sticky note. He still has it by the way. He laminated it using clear tape and has it in his wallet as a pick-me-up when he's upset or as a lucky charm of sorts. You always made drawings for him. But never once had he thought that you would make drawings of him. Let alone how many drawing you made of him.

Steven isn't a man who likes to snoop around regularly, feeling a massive sense of ruining someone's privacy. But you said that he could always look through your sketchbooks and art pieces if he wanted, as long as it wasn't a commission that was still being worked on, which he respected. You, like any other artist, had a plethora of sketchbooks of different sizes that served different purposes. There were your personal sketchbooks, outline and testing sketchbooks, practice sketchbooks, a lot of sketchbooks with a lot of different things they were for. It amazed him just how many you had and how you were able to remember which is which.

He knew which ones were ones he gifted you though. Steven was never confident when it came to gifting you supplies. He wasn't an artist himself so he didn't know what was perfect and what was something you would say thank you for out of courtesy. One of the things he used as a safe play were sketchbooks. The bookstore he frequented had a section of art stuff and found that the sketchbooks were not only great quality but also had various designs on their covers. So he'd get you one almost every time he went.

When he looked at them on the shelf next to your desk he realized that he had never actually seen inside of those ones. He was a bit hesitant to grab one since he didn't know if you would want him to. It's not like he could ask you right now. You were out running some important errands and he didn't want to bother you. However, they were on the part of the shelf that you put all your regular personal sketchbooks, which he was allowed to look at so he took a one random from the collection and flicked through the pages.

Out of some coincidence, it was the first sketchbook he got you, which was admittedly one he got you before he learned what pages were good for actual art. The first few pages were doodles that were likely from testing how the paper held up with the actual process of drawing which soon stopped and the rest of the art was actually taped on like they originally belonged to another sketchbook.

Steven thought of that as a clever use for the pages. You would sometimes make art you thought was nice on miscellaneous papers and would simply take the piece with the art out and stick it somewhere else. But he soon notices a theme amongst all the doodles and drawings, which then follow into all of the other sketchbooks he gifted you.

Him.

Most of the drawings in these sketchbooks were of him.

They were all different. Some were him lounging around or taking a nap. Something that would have made him unaware of you creating a drawing of him. There was one that was him asleep laying in bed from what would be your side of the bed. His face was calm, the limpness of his arms and body was captured perfectly, the sheets drawn with the most accurate wrinkles, and the lighting gave the impression of the light of the morning that came in through the curtains. It looked like you simply took a picture of him while he slept but it was clearly a sketch drawn using a pen and pencil.

There was these bust and face portraits that spanned through out the books, of course of him. The first were already so good in detail considering these had to be drawings of him from memory. But they only got more detailed as they went on. You managed to get his amount of stubble right. You had the little baby curls that lived along his hair line. The crease between his eyebrows he had since he always had a slight anxious expression. That tiny little dimple that he had next to his nose that he didn't know existed until you pointed it out one time.

Steven's mind was boggling to him to see such detailed drawings of him that looked so carefully done even when they were simply quick sketches. They were life-like. They were him. They were Steven. To be honest, how could it not? You see his face all the time. So why wouldn't you have him completely memorized. It was just the fact that you had taken time and pages to draw him and him alone.

It was a bit jarring, for the both of you, when you walked through the front door with a hand full of groceries and other things from your errands and he was seen looking at all the drawings of him. You were embarrassed that he finally saw all your drawings of him and worried that he would think it was weird. He thought that he crossed a line and breached your privacy.

You two avoided talking about it till Steven finally did during dinner later that evening.

"You, uh, draw me... a lot." Steven spoke. "Yeah. I do." you blush as you avoided eye contact in case his eyes showed that your fear of him finding your habit with drawing him was strange was correct. "Why do you draw me so much?" he questions. You sighed, "It's sort of a habit I formed." you confess. You proceeded to explain how it started,

"I first drew you as an exercise to get rid of some art block. I usually draw faces of people I know as a means to do that. So I drew you. It was okay. But when I looked at it a couple days later I thought that I could do it again to improve on detailing some more. Then I used you as a study for lighting and colors.".

"Then, sometimes, I would just draw you when I thought you looked pretty or thought of you. And that's sort of what I've been doing." you explain further. "I thought you would find it weird if you saw all the times I drew you and so I just put them in the books you got me and hoped you wouldn't see them." you say in a timid manner.

"I don't think it's strange. I think it's actually quite flattering." Steven clarifies. "I was just surprised that you think of me as something worth drawing. Especially with such detail." he remarks. You breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"If I'm entirely honest, love," Steven spoke up, "Never tell me that you're drawing me from where I am. I'll get nervous and possibly ruin the position that you're drawing me in." he remarks.