#i might end up writing it

[trans-jon-rights]

Okay it's dumb self indulgent tma au time

What if. Jon goes back in time after MAG 200. But.

He's a cat. And he just looks like That :

(tiny phone doodle)

And he is there for the whole show, trying to do things differently with very little powers and zero ability to talk

[acid-ixx]

mild spoilers for chapter six for my series again &. again, but i really feel the need to ramble about this, and i'd love to hear anybody's opinion on this hehe.

as i write outline chapter six (and write for chapter five), i'd like to say i couldn't wait to write the reader's face reveal in bruce's perspective. and it's not just angst, for me, this plays a very pivotal turn for the series— because bruce will spiral to insanity.

to never once see a single portrait of your second youngest child, whose presence has long been erased from the manor, not a single image, nor trace of you is sickening to the heart, even if he scours through the internet day and night for a single memoir of you, nothing— but to find your portrait in alfred's living quarters and seeing you for the first time in forever? graduating a milestone no less?

god, he's in for a ride just analyzing every aspect of your physical appearance.

the color of your eyes, the shape of your nose, the quip of your mouth, the fat in your cheeks; even the length of your lashes! god, does he brand it into the deepest parts of his mind to never forget you anymore. his pearl, his treasure.

the longer he stares, the more he notices and gazes even more, obsessive as he stands lonesome in the room with every bone in his body locking up, his eyes unable to look away from the portrait that showcases his baby child.

and there, there it is that he concludes a detail so small it's unrecognizable for someone who's seen it for his entire life; yet it's all the same triggered deranged emotions deep within him.

— you don't just share him and your mother's traits, no, your smile is also reminiscent of his mother's.

martha wayne, who'd died in his arms, laying in a pool of her blood with a bullet grazed deep inside her body. his loving mother, who caressed his face whenever he'd cry from his nightmares, who'd shown him motherly love that until now he still craves.

she died with her pearl necklace that once decorated her porcelain neck spilling to the ground and stained with crimson.

you wore pearl earrings on your graduation.

the thought alone is enough for him to just snap.

this? this is the child that he's been neglecting far too long? who shares the same, loving expression of his mother's? his child? not even a single memory could be conjured with you but fantasies now do. if your happiest moments were within the picture frame that he holds with shivering fingers at present; could your smile be any wider if you'd be with him?

how come he never once noticed? why is bruce always destined to fail left and right? why, just why is he brimming with jealousy for all the people who must've seen your smile before him, and contempt for himself that he was never there to pick you up from the police station beforehand?

bruce isn't a heckler for favoritism, but a darker part of him is motivated to take you away from wherever you are, and to never let anybody else witness his beautiful, little treasure.

he's gotham's knight, first and foremost. but he's a father, too, with goals to protect his children just like a father should.

and the things he'd do for you, his child, now? anything.

if it means he has to see that smile, then he'll turn the world upside-down.

he has to protect your smile.

[mrcatlion]

I have been consuming Zack Lives AUs and would like to offer the headcannon: Zack keeps a habit of taking initiative for transporting Cloud to places even after Cloud wakes up. Usually grabbing and leading Cloud places, but sometimes ends up with Zack full on hoisting Cloud over his shoulder and starts walking.

[joelscruff]

you know i don't mean it (joel miller x reader) 18+

welcome to my 300 follower celebration! \o/ i polled my followers on which character they'd most like to see in some new smut and joel won (not surprised). this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up getting a bit longer than i anticipated, hope you enjoy! summary: you and joel get off together. that's pretty much it. you also have some unresolved feelings for him and he's being closed off. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), praise kink (the term 'good girl' is used maybe 432534 times), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (but make it soft), mutual masturbation, come-play, come-eating, this is filthy word count: about 2.5k | ao3 link

"This is the last time," he mutters under his breath, belt buckle jangling as he lays down across from you, "We can't keep doin' this."

"Yeah, yeah," your hand is already buried in your panties, index finger lightly rotating against your clit, "That's what you said last week too."

He grunts and you watch as he slips his hand inside his jeans and palms himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to relax. He pretends he's doing this for your benefit, like its you who needs help getting off, as if he's not a middle aged man who hasn't been touched by a woman in years. And it's not like you haven't offered, you've genuinely tried to give yourself to him more than a few times, but it's simply a line he won't cross.

Other lines, however, are much easier to cross. It had started out relatively innocent, something that had happened completely by chance, or at least you both led yourselves to believe it was. You'd both had the same idea one night and had ended up getting off together in the same room, you in the chair beside the fireplace of the abandoned ski lodge you'd both been posted in, him on the couch.

"Are you -" he'd gasped into the darkness when he'd heard the wet sound of your fingers a few feet away, plunging in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm.

"Like you're not," you'd hissed back, "I'm not deaf."

"Thought you were sleepin'," he'd muttered, hand stilling on his cock where seconds ago he'd been stroking like his life depended on it.

"And that makes it less weird?"

He'd groaned, releasing himself and sitting up to squint at you in the darkness, "So what are you gonna do about it?"

You glared at him, not bothering to remove your hand from your underwear as you continued to finger yourself, breathing deeply, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going. And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."

After a few seconds of silence, he'd flopped himself back down on the couch and reached for himself again, fucking into his fist, "No talking," he said through his teeth, "Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"

"Deal," you'd replied, and roughly added a third finger as you watched the dark silhouette of him jacking himself off barely six feet away from you.

One night turned into two, turned into five, and now ten. It wasn't every night, only when you were on patrol together. You'd privately asked Tommy to make sure that Joel was your patrol partner as often as possible, because you felt "safer" with him... you're not sure if he'd really believed you.

You're back in the ski lodge again tonight, both of you situated on the couch in your usual positions, on opposite ends and facing each other. It's ridiculous how quickly it's taken you both to get used to these sessions, the casual feeling of it making it even hotter somehow.

"How many fingers are you using this time?" Joel murmurs, eyeing you where you're touching yourself, unable to fully see what he'd like to.

"Up to you," you breathe, still prodding your clit, "How many do you want me to use?"

"Three," he replies, and you watch as he pulls his cock free from the confines of his jeans, jutting large and solid against his stomach, "Real slow, then real fast."

You nod, lifting your hips up to pull your panties free and expose yourself to him, legs wide.

"Stick to my rhythm," he tells you, watching as you trail your middle finger through your folds, "If I stop, you stop. If I tell you to stop-"

"I stop," you answer for him, throwing him a smug smile, "Same rules as always."

He stares at you without speaking, just waiting. You get the hint and begin to slide your finger inside slowly, making eye contact with him under your lashes and smiling languidly. He fists himself just as slow, looking down at your finger and licking his lips.

"Slow enough for you?" you whisper, adding a second and grinning when his eyes darken, "Should I go a bit faster?"

"Not yet," he whispers, thumbing the head of his cock and fucking into his hand at the same pace as your finger, "Keep it nice and slow for me 'til I say so."

You obey, fucking yourself with your middle and ring finger at the slowest pace you can muster. No matter how annoying his orders are you always do as you're told, not because you're afraid of any sort of consequence, but because you like seeing him enjoy himself, seeing him take control. You've only known him for about six months but you've known for a while that he's been lacking any sort of control in his life for a long time; you're glad to be the one who can give it to him.

"Add your third," he whispers and you oblige, slipping your index inside yourself alongside the others, "Good girl," he breathes, "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

You nod, your smugness immediately starting to fade. When he talks to you like this, praises you, it's impossible to keep your hard exterior up for much longer, feeling yourself submit to him. In any other circumstance you love to challenge him, to argue, but in these moments it's the last thing on your mind. You do as you're told, and that's the end of it. He needs control, you need submission.

"Tell me," he whispers.

"I'm your good girl," you breathe, shivering and continuing to shove your fingers in and out at his pace.

He smirks, "Yeah you are."

You continue to fuck yourself at his painfully slow pace, watching him fist his cock at the same speed. He likes to tease you, to build you up until you're begging for it. You thumb your clit and start to whimper, legs trembling.

"Okay, faster now," he tells you, voice low and sultry, "Not too fast, though. Watch me," he tugs at his cock at a bit quicker of a pace, still much too slow for you but you can't do much else but obey him, mirroring him with the thrust of your fingers, "That's it, like that."

After several more thrusts he suddenly stops stroking himself, stilling in his palm. You groan, halting your movements, following the rules.

"How is it that you follow orders so God damn well when you've got your panties around your ankles?" he asks, voice rough, "Yet when we're actually patrollin' you don't listen to a word I say?"

"I'm not your good girl when we're patrolling," you reply with a teasing smile, "But I could be, you know."

He rolls his eyes, "Enough, it's not happening," he nods to your hand, still motionless at your core, "Play with your clit for a second, give me a chance to breathe."

There it is, the line he won't cross. You've already told him that you're willing to give yourself completely over to him, be exactly who he needs, but no matter how many times you try he just won't budge. It's disappointing, truly, because you really do like him. Sure, he's a bit of an ass, plus he's about thirty years older than you, but you've seen the side of him he doesn't show to others. Maybe only hints, but you've seen it. And you care about him.

"I don't do this with anyone else, you know," you whisper, pressing your index finger against your clit and rubbing small circles into it, "You're the only one I'd let treat me the way you do."

He looks at you curiously, raising an eyebrow, "I treat you good, don't I?"

You nod, whimpering a bit as you rub yourself harder, "You do, but you're the only one I'd ever submit to like this, you know that, right?"

He hums, brushes the wide head of his cock with the tip of his thumb, "I know, baby. But it feels so good, doesn't it? You like being my good girl, don't you?"

You bite down on your lip, core aching as your fingers lay still against your folds, save for the index that continues to furiously stimulate your clit, "I do," you whisper, cheeks warming, "I fucking love it."

"There you go," he murmurs softly, then begins to move his fist again, "Use your fingers again, baby, get your pussy all full for me."

You don't need telling twice, your three fingers plunging deep inside yourself without any hesitation. You whimper when your fingertips brush against your favorite spot, so close yet so far. You eye Joel's cock and try to imagine what it would feel like for it to really be inside you, the fat tip of it pounding relentlessly against the deepest parts of your cunt, his girth stretching you out so much your whole body would be shaking. You feel your mouth drop open involuntarily, brow furrowing.

He follows your gaze and frowns at you, pumping himself a bit faster, "You can't have it," he whispers, like he can read your mind, "I know you want it, pretty girl, but you can't. I'm sorry."

"Why?" you mewl, sounding absolutely pathetic as you keep fucking yourself, "I want it so bad, Joel."

"I know you do," he closes his eyes and leans his head back, "Don't ask me why, you just can't."

You'd pout, tease him a little, but he's not looking at you anymore and it physically makes you ache, the way he avoids any allusion to actual sex, an actual relationship. You've asked him so many times and it's always the same answer, never a real reason. You wish you knew why, wish you knew if there was anything at all you could do to make him open up to you.

Instead you mirror his position, tilting your head back against the arm of the sofa and fucking up into yourself, listening to his labored breathing and the slap of skin whenever his fist hits his belly.

"Fast as you can now, baby," he mutters gruffly, close to the edge, "Need you to come for me, need you to be good."

"I'm always good for you, aren't I?" you whimper, opening your eyes to peer at him again, "I always listen, I never break your rules."

"That's right."

"So why can't you fuck me?" you sit up suddenly, yanking your fingers out of yourself and looking at him angrily. He sits up just as quickly, eyes narrowing as he releases his cock and stares at you, "I'm serious, Joel. I want an actual answer."

"You just broke a rule," he mutters and you sigh exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry for breaking the rules," you genuinely mean it; you know how important this control is for him, but you can't help it, "I'll submit again if you just tell me why you won't fuck me. Do you...do you not want me? Is that it? 'Cause I can accept that, I just want to hear you say it. I'm sick of not knowing."

He stares at you incredulously, hand coming up to squeeze the space between his brow and nose, "Jesus, of course I want you, but it's not that simple."

"Yes it-"

"It's not," he interrupts you, shaking his head, "I can't...this isn't..." he exhales deeply, "This isn't the time for this conversation, okay?" You hear raw emotion in his voice, buried deep but still present. Fuck, you didn't mean to make him feel bad.

"...Okay," you finally whisper, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," he runs a hand through his hair, "Look, we can stop-"

"No," you lean back and open your legs wide again, putting yourself on display for him, "No, I wanna be your good girl again, please let me."

"We don't-"

"Joel," you whimper, slipping your fingers back inside, "Let me be your good girl."

His hard expression fades, eyes softening as he peers at you, watching you fuck himself for him.

"It's all yours, even if you won't touch me," you whisper, using your other hand to pull yourself open for him, showing him how full you are, feeling your orgasm start to build in your tummy, "It's yours," you repeat, whimpering.

He nods, stroking himself again hard and fast, brow furrowing in pleasure as he keeps his eyes trained on you, "That's right," he murmurs, "It's mine. You're mine."

You close your eyes tight, "I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, pretty girl," you hear him groan, the snap of his wrist making you completely come undone, "Squeeze around those fingers, pretend they're mine, okay? You can do that, you can pretend."

You shudder at his words and feel your orgasm overtake you, the image of Joel's thick fingers pounding into you enough to send you over the edge. You moan loudly, crying out his name and tossing your head back as you come.

"Good girl," he groans, voice strangled, "Such a good fucking girl for me."

You close your eyes as you ride out the waves of your release, fingers still pumping gently inside of you until it's too much and you pull them out. Sighing contentedly, you open your eyes again and watch Joel relentlessly fuck into his fist, belt buckle still jangling against the couch as he gasps. You want nothing more than to reach forward and take him in your own hand, help him ride out his own release, but you don't. Because those are the rules.

Instead you just watch him, smile at him as he shuts his eyes tight and groans deeply, coming into his fist. You watch the thick white liquid cover the sides of his fingers and you involuntarily salivate, jaw going slack.

"Fuck," you breathe, "Wish I could taste you."

He groans again, hand stilling as he breathes heavily and starts to come down, eyes closed. You sit quietly, panties still hanging off one of your ankles. You'd usually already be putting your clothes back on at this point, but something tells you to stay still, don't move, he's gonna do something different.

He swallows and looks up at you, stares at you for a few moments. You're unsure whether the regular Joel is about to come back, tell you it's time to go back on patrol, grab your gun and be quiet. Or is this still your Joel, the one who tells you you're pretty and good, makes you feel less alone in this shitty world.

"Here," he says, shaking his head and bringing his come-coated fingers up to your mouth, "If you wanna taste, you have five seconds."

Your mouth pops open in surprise, hesitating only for a second before you lean forward and wrap your lips around his fingers, feeling the salty taste of him flood your mouth. Your cunt begins to throb again, your eyes closing as you suck and lick and take everything he's giving you. When you open your eyes again he's still looking at you, but his expression is soft, tender.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

this is now a series, and other parts can be found on my masterlist.

[zhongli-lover-69]

[gay-otlc]

This is a take I've seen fairly often- that trans men & mascs only think they experience transandrophobia because they refuse to accept that what they're experiencing is misogyny.

It's also a completely ridiculous take. The fact that trans men/mascs are targeted by misogyny is a fundamental part of transandrophobia theory. Trans men/mascs, and others who regularly discuss transandrophobia, emphasize over and over again the ways in which trans men/mascs experience misogyny. For example, the idea that they are women and therefore are too stupid and brainwashed to be trusted about their genders, or the sense of entitlement to trans men/mascs' bodies (how dare you ruin your perfect breasts, how dare you transition in a way that makes you unable to carry children, how dare you not be the beautiful woman i want you to be).

In fact, the people who deny that trans men/mascs experience misogyny tend to be the same people who argue against the concept of transandrophobia. They insist that trans men receive male privilege, and in fact actually benefit from misogyny rather than suffer from it.

When trans men/mascs point the ways that they are affected by misogyny, they are accused of spreading TERF rhetoric (as though acknowledging the ways in which people who were assigned female at birth are oppressed automatically means you believe in "sex consciousness" and "afab unity" against anyone assigned male at birth"), or accused of implying that trans women aren't affected by misogyny (they absolutely are, the belief that trans men and women can't both be affected by misogyny stems from oppositional sexism)

All this to say: The people who talk about transandrophobia are well aware that trans men/mascs suffer from misogyny, and aren't denying this out of dysphoria or internalized misogyny- they aren't denying this at all. The people who deny that trans men/mascs suffer from misogyny are the people who believe transandrophobia doesn't exist.

And, transandrophobia isn't "just misogyny." Misogyny is a crucial component of transandrophobia- again, no one who talkes about transandrophobia is denying this- but not the only component.

Trans men/mascs being denied access to gynecological healthcare (that cis women are able to access) because they appear to be men, or have their gender legally changed to male isn't "just misogyny."

Trans men/mascs to losing their friends, support, and abuse and mental health resources when they come out and transition, or reach a point of being "too masculine," isn't "just misogyny".

The belief that going on testosterone will make trans men/mascs dangerous and violent, and the negative rhetoric about bottom surgery, isn't "just misogyny."

Being called a gender traitor and accused siding with the enemy and only transitioning to gain male privilege isn't "just misogyny."

Trans men/mascs being impregnated specifically as a method of forcing them to detransition isn't "just misogyny."

Choosing to use a women's bathroom (either due to safety concerns or transphobic laws) and being kicked out or assaulted for looking male isn't "just misogyny."

Trans men/mascs getting violently attacked because "if you want to be a man so bad, I'll beat you up like one" isn't "just misogyny."

People who talk about transandrophobia very much recognize that trans men/mascs experience misogyny (and are trying to get people who deny transandrophobia to recognize this as well), and there are aspects of transandrophobia that go beyond "just misogyny." Neither of these things contradict each other. In conclusion, "'transandrophobia' is just misogyny but transmascs don't want to admit it" is completely false all around, so I wish it wasn't such a commonly held belief.

[smilesrobotlover]

The sun felt warm as it shone against Talon’s skin, making his eyes grow heavy as he and his carriage slowly moved across Hyrule field. He had just sold some Lon Lon milk in Castle town, and left early in the morning so he could get home as soon as possible. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t a morning person, so he was doing everything in his power to stay awake. The last thing he needed was to fall asleep and get robbed by bandits.

The field was quiet and peaceful, the world not yet awakening from the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The gentle clip-clop of his horse’s hooves against the ground was soothing, and Talon began to feel too relaxed, finally giving in to his desires of dozing off.

A distressed whinny caused him to jolt awake. He looked around, expecting to be attacked by bandits or monsters, but all he saw was a small horse running to him, whinnying frantically at Talon.

“Oh my, where’d you come from, little one?” He wondered out loud, stopping his carriage and hopping off. The horse was noticeably young, with a beautiful chestnut coat and cream colored hair. It was a mare from what Talon could see, and looking at her coat, she seemed awfully familiar to him. She stomped up to Talon and gently bit his hand, attempting to drag him.

“Woah woah woah!” Talon pulled back, giving the horse a weird look. “What do ya think you’re doin’ little one?”

The horse whinnied again and started to shuffle to an area, clearly trying to get Talon to follow. Talon didn’t have much choice but to follow; a horse only acted like this when something was wrong.

“Where’s your rider?” He muttered, following the horse reluctantly. He didn’t know what he was being led to specifically, but seeing the size of the filly with a saddle of all things made him worried for a young rider, possibly injured somewhere. Seeing that Talon was finally following her, the filly started to trot towards a cluster of trees, stopping at a patch of bushes where she began to stomp around, impatiently nibbling and nudging the leaves on the bushes. Talon let out a sigh when he reached the spot, looking around to see if anything was out of the ordinary, but there was nothing. Was this filly just lost and was panicking, hoping to get help? Talon had to admit she seemed to be a smart horse, but he didn’t understand why he was led to a patch of bushes.

“Are you lost, little one?” He asked, watching as the young mare nibbled on the bushes. She nudged the leaves away with her snout while snorting, and Talon was able to catch a glimpse of blonde hair. He gasped and got on his knees, moving the bushes out of the way to reveal a young, blonde-haired boy with green clothes that blended in with the plants surrounding him. He looked to be about the same age as his daughter Malon, barely eleven, and his face was pale and covered in sweat. He wheezed as he breathed and he had a pained expression on his face, and Talon lightly touched his head to feel a burning fever. He frowned and began to shake him gently, seeing if he would wake up. The boy groaned and reacted to his touch, his eyes fluttering open. They landed on Talon immediately and several emotions flickered through his face.

“M-Mr– Bart—ten…” He choked out, his eyes tearing up as he stared at Talon. The farmer blinked for a moment, confused about what he was saying, but he let out a sigh and went to gather the boy in his arms. The poor thing was clearly delirious, and he needed medical attention.

“It’s ok, kiddo, I’ll take care of you,” he assured. The boy felt fragile in his strong arms, and he whimpered in pain as his head rested against Talon’s chest. The farmer wasted no time finding a spot for the boy in his carriage, having to move some empty bottles out of the way and laying strands of hay to add a cushion for him. He gently laid him down, finding a quilt tucked away in the corner of the carriage and swaddled him the best he could. It didn’t look comfy, but it was better than nothing. He tucked the empty bottles away to make sure they didn’t fall on him, and he grabbed a spare rope to tie to the back.

“I hope you don’t mind this, I have a feeling that boy is your rider,” Talon explained, tying the rope to the filly. The young mare surprisingly seemed willing to be tied to the carriage, and waited patiently as Talon hopped on his carriage, resuming his journey with more haste. He tried to keep a steady pace so the carriage wouldn’t jostle, and so that the mare wouldn’t be dragged behind, but he knew he needed to move fast if he wanted to get back to the ranch. He fortunately had medicine stocked up at home, knowing that if he, Malon, or Ingo got sick, he wouldn’t have time to go back and forth getting more, so the boy should be fine when they got there. He just hoped it wouldn’t turn into anything serious—Talon was knowledgeable on illnesses and injuries, but he was no doctor.

The sun was beginning to set when Talon arrived at Lon Lon, and he hopped off the carriage in front of his house, untying the mare and collecting the feverish boy in his arms.

“Daddy!”

Talon glanced up to see his little girl running towards him, an excited smile on her face. Talon smiled back and shifted the boy in his arms slightly.

“You’re back! Did ya get me anything?”

“Why yes, I did,” Talon said, pulling the boy out of the carriage and showing Malon. “I got you a new friend, but he’s a little sick right now.”

Malon’s eyes went big and she stepped forward, gently patting the boy’s arm. “Fairy boy! It’s Fairy boy! Don’t you remember him daddy?”

Talon looked down at the boy again. He was so distracted on getting him into his carriage, he didn’t recognize him as the young boy that visited Lon Lon Ranch over a year ago. Memories of him and Malon playing music at the ranch flooded in, and Talon only felt more inclined to take care of him. The situation became more personal.

“Epona!” Malon squealed, giggling at the filly who trotted towards her excitedly. Talon stared at the two’s reunion, Epona nuzzling Malon’s chest while she sang her favorite song. He smiled warmly at them and quickly headed inside, not wanting to wait much longer. So this boy and that horse used to be here in Lon Lon? Goddesses, it had been a while since Talon’s seen him, and yet it felt like it was only yesterday. Though the fairy boy was in their lives for such a short time, he left an impact on the ranch, specifically with Malon. He was the first kid her age that she’s met and played with, and Malon talked her father’s ear off about him since he went away with Epona in tow. Talon began to grow curious about where he was all this time, and why he was hidden in bushes with a burning fever.

The farmer walked up the stairs that led to his room and he set the sick boy gently on the soft mattress. He stared at him for a moment, his brow furrowed, trying to remember anything else about the little one, but nothing came up, so he turned around to get medicine, water, and a damp cloth. The folks at Lon Lon didn’t get sick often, so he hoped he remembered enough about taking care of a fever. When he went back upstairs to his room, he heard the boy whimpering, shifting in the soft bed. Talon quickly took off his shoes to make him more comfortable and rested his hand on his head. The fever was concerningly strong.

“Excuse me,” Talon said softly, gently shaking the boy. He groaned and his eyes fluttered open again, staring over Talon’s shoulder. He squinted his eyes and frowned.

“Romani? … How…?”

Talon raised an eyebrow and looked behind him, flinching when his daughter suddenly appeared.

“Goddesses, Malon, don’t sneak up on me like that!” He scolded. Malon gave an apologetic look, her dimples appearing as she smiled slightly.

“Sorry, daddy. I just wanted to see Link! It’s been a while!”

Malon leaned over the fairy boy (or Link, Talon supposed), brushing his hair away from his face. Link looked horrified as he watched Malon, clearly looking uncomfortable.

“Malon, sweetie, let’s give him some space,” Talon spoke up, noting Link’s strange expressions. “I oughta give him some medicine anyhow.”

Malon hopped back and gave her father an excited look. “Can I help?”

“Oh! Well…” Talon glanced at the bowl of water and the cloth. “You can help wipe his face when I’m done givin’ him medicine, ok?”

Malon nodded excitedly, watching as Talon helped Link sit up. The boy was so weak that he could barely move on his own, and Talon eventually pulled him into his lap so he could lean against him. Talon gripped Link’s arm firmly so he could stay in place and began rummaging his hand all over the nightstand to grab the medicine. His daughter noticed his searching and grabbed the medicine for him and Talon gave her a grateful nod, uncorking the bottle and bringing it to Link’s lips.

“You think you can drink this?” He asked, and Link nodded, clumsily grabbing at the bottle and drinking it with Talon’s help. Talon had to pull it back a couple of times to make sure it didn’t spill everywhere, but Link was surprisingly cooperative for an eleven-year-old drinking the disgusting medicine; he remembered he always had to fight Malon whenever she needed it. The bottle was soon gone, and Link leaned back against Talon’s chest, his eyes closed. The farmer cradled him for a moment, figuring that Link needed that type of comfort, and Malon walked over as she watched him with her father, her head tilted with fascination.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Malon asked, and Talon looked up at her, nodding confidently.

“I’m sure he will be,” he said, carefully moving Link so he could get off the bed. He laid him down and pulled the blankets over him, giving his hair a soft ruffle before pulling away.

“I’m gonna put the carriage away, Malon. You keep an eye on him, ok?” Talon said, and his daughter nodded back at him. Talon lingered for a moment, worriedly watching them, but finally left the room. Ingo was outside staring at the carriage annoyed, but he quickly scurried away when Talon showed up. The farmer glanced over at Epona, who was watching him silently. Talon frowned and walked over to her, giving her a gentle pat on the snout.

“That boy doesn’t have a family, does he?” He asked, knowing that Epona wouldn’t answer. It was something Talon noticed when Link first arrived. Though he didn’t remember much, he did remember that Link was by himself whenever he saw him. The only company he had was his fairy. Talon shouldn’t be too surprised—if Link really was a Kokiri, then it’d make sense why he’d have no family. But Kokiris died when they left the woods, didn’t they? Or was Link finally experiencing the death a Kokiri had when they were out of the woods? Talon rubbed his eyes with a soft grumble. He really didn’t know if any of that was true, but it made Talon slightly worried. Despite remembering that Link was from the lost woods, Talon couldn’t help but feel that he was a Hylian. Everything down to his mannerisms made him seem far more mature than the Kokiri ever were. They remained as children, their bodies and mentalities never changing, even for centuries. But Link…. His face held a mature understanding of the world that Talon only saw in adults. Either way, Talon couldn’t risk him dying. If he needed to return to the woods, he would take him there, he just needed to learn more about him.

Talon led Epona and his carriage to the barn, letting her and the horses roam with the others before returning to the house with warm Lon Lon milk. He was expecting Link to be sound asleep, but to his surprise, he was already trying to get out of bed despite Malon’s protests.

“Link, honestly! You can’t be gettin’ up now! You could barely drink the medicine my daddy gave to you!” She shouted, trying to shove him back to bed.

“I… I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and hoarse. He brushed Malon off and reached for his shoes, but grew out of breath.

“Link! You’re sick! Lay back down!”

“I can’t stay…”

Talon entered the room with haste, setting the bottle of milk down as he walked up to Link. The boy stared up at him, his light blue eyes wide with guilt.

“Do you need to go to the woods?” Talon asked him, and Link frowned.

“What?”

“The woods? The lost woods? Where all them youngins are in?”

“O-oh, Kokiri forest?”

“Yeah, that. I hear Kokiri die when they’re away from the forest for too long. You… you’re a Kokiri, right?”

A devastated look took over Link’s exhausted face, his eyes spacing out as he looked down. “No…”

Talon frowned at his reaction, and he glanced over at Malon who looked concerned.

“No?”

“I-I’m not going to the woods… I’m not a Kokiri… I don’t belong there anymore. I don’t–I don’t belong anywhere,” Link’s voice grew so quiet that Talon almost didn’t catch what he said at the end. It was quiet in the room, and Link slowly went to grab his shoes, but Talon stopped him.

“What’s the rush then?”

“I… can’t stay….”

“Why not?”

“Because I…. I…” Link stammered, trying to push out a good argument, but with his feverish mind and exhausted body, he couldn’t. Talon sighed and gently pushed him back, and Link obliged, laying down on the pillow, his eyes half closed.

“At least get some rest before you decide to travel, ok?”

Link’s eyes went wide for a second, before closing, and he was finally asleep. Talon sighed and gave his head a pat, giving a proud smile to Malon.

“You handled that well, dear.”

Malon brushed some hair out of her eyes and sighed. “Thanks daddy. He sure is a stubborn one, ain’t he?”

Talon shrugged and stared at the young boy. So he wasn’t a Kokiri, that meant he wasn’t dying, thank the goddesses. But everything else about Link confused him. If he seemingly didn’t belong to the Kokiri anymore, then where did he call home? Did he even have a home? Talon sighed and began to head out of the room.

“I trust you’ll keep a good eye on him?”

Malon nodded. “I won’t let him try to get up next time.”

Talon snorted. “Try not to hurt him too much. You got some Gerudo blood in you, while he’s a simple Hylian,” Talon glanced at Link, “I think. Give him that milk when he wakes up.”

Malon nodded again and plopped herself in a chair, staring at the strange boy in bed. Talon smiled at her, leaving the room once again, feeling exhausted himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link’s fever was persistent. Talon spent a long time with him to see if he was getting better, but he was not. He wasn’t getting worse though, which Talon supposed was better than nothing. Link stayed in bed most of the time, unable to get out due to the fever and to Malon forcing him to rest. Talon always had to make sure she was gentle with him. He knew she had such a gentle and kind soul, but her Gerudo strength, despite having only a little bit of it, was not to be underestimated. Malon stayed by Link’s side the entire time, only leaving when she had chores to do. She would talk the boy’s ear off when she was with him; talking to him about her chores, her favorite animals, and the songs she wrote. She would occasionally sing to him, and he would always listen. Talon couldn’t tell if he wanted to listen, but considering the small smile on his lips whenever his daughter spoke to him, he assumed that he enjoyed the company. Many times, Talon decided to do Malon’s chores for her so she could spend time with her friend, and eventually, Link started to feel better.

Talon allowed him to walk around the ranch, knowing that being in the same room for days couldn’t feel good for anyone, and Link happily obliged. He always seemed anxious, as if there was something he had to be doing, so being able to at least walk around made him a little more cheery than normal. But as soon as he was able to walk around, he once again tried to leave.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Talon asked when he caught Link packing up his things, trying to talk him out of it before he was gone. Link didn’t say anything for a moment, a guilty look on his face.

“I–I need to be elsewhere,” he finally said, finishing packing up his few items scattered across the room.

“Already? I know you’re feelin’ better, and exercise is good for you, but you can’t push yourself.”

Link let out a huff. “I’ll be fine. This fever will go away in due time.”

“Yeah, if you take care of yourself,” Talon argued, and Link shot a glare at him.

“Why do you care?” He suddenly snapped. Talon’s eyes widened at the boy’s sudden hostility. He scratched the back of his head and looked away.

“Is it so wrong for me to care about a sick kid?”

Link’s expression softened and he turned away. “How much do you remember?” He asked softly.

“Huh?”

“How much–how much do you remember of me?”

Talon was taken aback at the strange question. Though he’s only seen Link a couple of times last year, he remembered them pretty well now that he spent more time with the kid.

“I remember you woke me up with a cuccoo and told me my daughter was waitin’ for me. Good thing too ‘cause I didn’t mean to fall asleep at the castle of all places. Poor Malon.” Link stayed still as stone so Talon continued, “I remember you came by our ranch and found my special cuccoo. I teased you about marryin’ my daughter and you got all shy ‘bout it.” Talon chuckled at the memory. Link looked away with an embarrassed look on his face so Talon moved onto the next memory. “I remember you and Malon played all day, and played music as loud as you two could. It sorta annoyed me when I was tryin’ to sleep but I ain’t never seen Malon sing with all her heart like that before. So I let it continue.” Talon sighed and racked everything he remembered about Link, but only one more memory remained. “And then I remember you buyin’ Epona. It broke Malon’s heart to part with that horse but she cared about you and knew you would take great care of her. And that’s about all I remember of you.”

Link continued to face away from Talon, staring blankly at the wall. Talon frowned and walked up to him.

“Why are you askin’ this?”

Link sighed and hugged himself. “You just don’t know me like you used to.”

Talon was taken aback again. “Now what in Farore’s name do you mean by that?”

Link opened his mouth but was interrupted by Malon entering the room. She spotted Link’s packed up possessions and frowned.

“You’re leaving already?” She asked as he quickly finished gathering his things. “Are you sure you feel well enough for it?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said softly, looking up at Talon with another guilty expression. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Talon tilted his head. “You didn’t overstay nothin’ boy. It was my pleasure to have you here.”

Link smiled slightly, but he quickly turned away, a sad and distant look in his eye. Talon stroked his chin and squinted at him.

“Where do you call home?”

Link glanced at Talon, then at the floor. “I—um…”

“Do you… have a home?”

Link didn’t react, and he shifted uncomfortably. Talon sighed.

“Oh… Link, if you have nowhere else to go, you can always stay here—“

“No! I-I mean,” Link shrunk away, clutching onto his shirt. “You-you guys have been very kind but I–I don’t want to be a bother anymore.”

“You were anything but a bother! We loved havin’ you here!” Talon reassured, but Link didn’t look convinced

“I-I can’t stay here for free… I—I don’t—“ Link whimpered slightly, pressing himself further against the wall. Talon backed up slightly, realizing he was being too forceful with the boy. He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Ok, if you don’t wanna stay for free, then you don’t have to,” he said softly.

Link finally looked at him, a sad look on his face. “I don’t have any rupees though.”

“Who said anythin’ about money! How old are ya? Eleven? I can't expect an eleven-year-old to be able to pay rent!”

Link stared at him confused. “Then how…?”

“Well, I can always have ya work around the farm, do whatever chores you’re capable of doin’, in return you get a place to stay and food to eat.”

Link stared for a moment, the gears in his mind turning as he thought about Talon’s offer.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Sorry to put pressure on you,” Talon quickly added, realizing he was still being forceful. “But if you want, we’d love to have you.”

Link was silent for a long time, swaying slightly as Talon and Malon watched him. He finally let out a sigh and looked up at Talon.

“Can I…. Think about it?”

Talon was relieved slightly and nodded. “Of course you can, just know that wherever you go, you’ll always have a place to stay in Lon Lon Ranch.”

Link gave a more genuine smile at him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Talon escorted Link to the entrance with Malon in tow, the two Lon’s chatting about mundane things with Link listening silently. When they reached the entrance, Talon turned to his daughter and nodded.

“Malon, could you get his horse for him?”

“Of course, daddy!”

Talon watched as his daughter ran to where the horses were, then he glanced at Link who still had an unsure look on his face.

“Link?”

Link pursed his lips. “I… I wish there was a way I could repay you for this…”

“Oh, it was on the house,” Talon said, waving his hand. “It’s the least I could do for you.”

Link smiled, his hands clumped up on his chest. “You don’t know how much this means to me… I… thank you…”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. And my offer will always be here for you, or… if you ever wanna visit,” Talon shrugged, “you’re free to visit as well if you don’t wanna stay.”

Link’s face twisted slightly, and he shyly leaned into Talon, which surprised him. He was always so distant from the others, but he was almost hugging the old farmer. Talon wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his back gently, only pulling away when Malon returned with Epona. Link quickly hopped on the horse, discreetly wiped his eye, and he gave the two a nod.

“I guess I’ll… see you around?” He said, and Talon nodded.

“Of course, you be safe out there boy!” Talon said, waving him goodbye.

“Yeah! Come visit! I want to sing with you again!” Malon exclaimed, waving enthusiastically at him. Link grinned at her and nodded at the two. Then he clicked his tongue and ran off on his horse, heading to Din knows where. Talon watched sadly as he disappeared into the field, almost wishing there was more he could do for him. It was strange how much the boy had changed since he first met him. Link was a very playful and hyper boy when they first met him, matching Malon’s hyper energy. But now, he was jaded and serious, almost as if he was an adult trapped in a child’s body. Talon didn’t want to think about what he went through in the past year to get to that point, but he hoped that now Link knew that he didn’t have to face any of it alone, and that he had people to turn to.

He just had to wait for him to reach out.

[sturnina]

Jealousy

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!reader

— tags;; mentions of a physical fight & injury, injury tending, fighting, pet name (baby), no use of yn, toxic habits (overprotectiveness)

— wc;; 1282

— author‘s note;; my take on overprotectiveness since i hate the „touch her and you die“ trope, hope you enjoy <3

He did it again.

You don‘t know how to feel as you silently drive home, Chris in the passenger seat, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging in your mind.

He did it again. He hit a guy just because he looked at you weirdly.

Don‘t get me wrong, you love his protective side. It is hot, honestly. The way he always makes sure everyone knows you‘re his girl, the way his arm sneaks around your waist at parties, the way he gets rid of other boys trying to flirt with you.

But this… this wasn‘t protective, this was violent. He hit a guy, for the second time this week. The second time in four days.

Yes, the guy was rude and obnoxious. Yes, you felt uncomfortable around him. Yes, you were relieved when Chris came to your help after the guy wouldn‘t listen to your No’s.

But Chris‘s punch, it wasn‘t protective. It was violent, brutal, merciless. And of course, the guy hit him back, right on his cheek.

When you glance to your right, you can see the dark patch forming on your boyfriend‘s cheekbone.

You arrive home — your house, not the triplets‘ —, and you go to fetch the first aid kit immediately after entering through the front door. Chris trails in behind you, unbothered by his split lip and bruised cheek.

He just sits down at the kitchen table, knowing you will take care of him. Expecting you to.

You take an ice pack out of the refrigerator and settle down next to Chris, all in complete silence. You can‘t bear to hear his voice now, or your own. You‘re afraid it might give your thoughts away. And your eyes, your eyes will surely betray you, so you keep them focused on the ice, the bruise, your hand, anything but Chris‘s eyes. That he is looking at you constantly isn‘t helping.

But eventually, he picks up on your uncharacteristically silent behaviour.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Everything alright?”

You swallow thickly, knowing your voice will give in the second you try to speak. So you remain silent. For exactly three seconds, dabbing a cotton pad at his split lip, before Chris speaks again.

“That dick won‘t bother you anymore.”

Of course, he thinks that‘s the problem. Of course.

“That‘s not what I‘m worried about,” you mutter, stoically keeping your eyes on his injuries.

“You‘re worried about me? Oh, baby, you know I can take care of myself,“ Chris says warmly.

“That’s not… I am worried about you, Chris. You need to stop this. But-”

“Baby, you know I won‘t,“ he mutters, slowly tilting your chin up with the hand that isn‘t holding the ice pack. “Those pricks deserve it.“

“Besides the fact that no one deserves to get beat up, that‘s not what I mean,“ you say, pulling away from him. “You need to stop or you‘ll end up in serious trouble.“

“I won‘t,“ he says softly. “I promise. I just want to teach them a lesson-”

“You‘re not listening to me, Chris!”

“What are you talking about, of course I‘m listening to you,“ he says, his brows furrowing.

“No you‘re not,“ you scoff. “I see the way you look at the guys you‘re going to hit. I‘m not blind. I can see that you want it.“

“Of course I want it,“ Chris says, laying a hand on your arm. “I need to protect my girl-”

“That‘s not what I mean, and we both know it,“ you snap, quickly closing your mouth and taking a deep breath. “I am just an excuse. Don‘t deny it!“

He already opened his mouth but closes it again, worry and confusion clouding his gaze. “Baby-”

“No. Listen to me,“ you interrupt him, trying to keep your tone calm. “You like the confrontation, don‘t you? The adrenaline? But you can‘t see… You don‘t see the way it‘s hurting me.“

Chris‘s expression falters for a moment. “I don‘t- what are you- what do you mean? I don‘t understand…“ he stutters.

“No, you don‘t,“ you say softly, pulling your arm out of his grip and standing up to bring more distance between you.

He really doesn‘t. He doesn‘t understand the way your heart clenches every time a guy even just glances at you in public. He doesn’t understand the way your thoughts start racing even when someone is just walking in your direction. He doesn‘t understand the way you‘re terrified of talking to anyone while out with him — out of fear to trigger his jealousy.

The air feels thick as you look at his expression, his desperate eyes, the bruise on his cheek and his still-bleeding lip.

“Explain it to me,“ he says, “please, what am I doing wrong?“

“You don‘t see the way you‘re hurting me, hurting everyone around you,“ you whisper, your voice just as thick now. The words feel like they‘re stuck in your throat and you have to force yourself to speak them. „I hate seeing people hurt, especially you. I hate seeing you get hurt, and knowing- knowing that it‘s because of me.“

“That‘s not true, baby, I‘m-”

“Please, Chris,“ you whisper, tears collecting in your eyes, “Please let me finish. I hate avoiding to go- to go out in public with you just because I can‘t… I can‘t trust you not to lash out at someone, I hate b-being scared every time someone looks at me or talks to me, I- I just… I hate seeing you angry, I hate seeing you violent, I hate seeing you like that… And yet you- you keep doing it, n-no matter how o-often I ask you to stop…“ Your throat is clogged, your breaths are laboured, your eyes are watering, and you physically can‘t speak anymore, the words having drained out of your head. But there is one sentence left, one you‘re terrified to even think.

And Chris is just standing there, the words burning in his mind, on his skin, digging into his flesh while he tries not to rush to hug you because he knows, he knows it wouldn‘t help. And then he feels the tears running down his face, and the pain ripping through his chest. You don‘t trust him. You can‘t trust him, you said it yourself. You‘re scared of him.

Fists clenching at his sides, he lets that sink in. Everything he‘s done for you, everything he thought he‘s done for you, crumbles under the heavy weight of reality, the realisation that he‘s been hurting you all along.

He steps forward, raises his arms, and sees the way you cross your arms. A shielding gesture. Chris thinks he can hear his heart finally shatter at that, after slowly cracking over the entire conversation.

There are no words he can use to explain himself. He knows he should apologise. But how do you apologise after terrifying your girl over and over again without even noticing? What words are there to express the mixture of frustration, fear, and self-hatred he‘s feeling against himself?

Chris drops his arms to his sides.

He turns around, and leaves.

And you are left alone. The front door slams closed, but you don‘t even flinch. Your mind is full, and so are your eyes, your ears, everything is clogged with memories, everything is breaking inside you, but you are relieved.

You are relieved, because how could you bear his overwhelming presence any longer, with one last question, one last sentence burning on your mind, a question you can‘t ignore but also can‘t speak, not in front of him?

How can you be sure he will never lash out at you? How can you be sure that you will never be on the receiving end of his fist?

masterlist

[the-magpie-archives]

Tips for writing London as a setting if you've never been there

London's a popular place to set a story! It's often imagined as sexy, cool, and suave. Whilst this is sometimes true, the thing that it predominantly is, is absolutely and entirely chaotic! So here are some aspects that you may not know about:

-Public transport is absolutely crucial to the infrastructure! Few people drive in London because of how well connected it is, and bus stops and train stations are often used as meeting points or details in directions.

-There's a LOT of crime, like, a lot. All cities have it, but London has a lot of variety. Stabbings are incredibly common (to the extent where it becomes a bit of a joke), almost everyone has a story where they've found or seen a dead body, and there are many money laundering/drug den fronts under the guise of highstreet shops (they're not well hidden).

-Despite it's chaos there's a strong code of etiquette most people hold themselves too. Some are actual rules (stand on the right side of escalators, don't queue jump) but some are simply social expectations (don't stop in the middle of the pavement, keep your bags close to your body, don't take up multiple seats.)

-A lot of tourists to the city are COMPLETELY FERAL and widely hated. They'll stand in the middle of the road, block up bridges, swing around cameras and selfie sticks in busy places, and completely ignore the social standards of polite society. People Do Not Like This. (also American tourists have a tendancy to just randomly start conversation with people? It's a bit weird and generally not done but it's not strictly a bad thing.)

-Rush hour is INSANE. We're talking almost static traffic, trains so packed that you're pressed into people on every side, buses that are so full they can't stop to let more people on. Some days it's better some days it's worse, but if you can avoid travelling at those times YOU DO.

-There are a lot of scam artists on the streets. Most major cities have these, they suck, they're aggressive, and they'll take your money! Some give you flowers and then force you to pay, some take photos of you and boost up the price to get them, there's always new ones, they're relentless, and you've gotta tell them to fuck off.

-Black cabs are not at all popular for normal people! They cater to tourists, rich people, and old people. They're great, the cab drivers are hard working and very knowledgeable, but they're also very expensive. Awful as it is, uber's cheaper if you're desperate, but buses go everywhere so it's just not really worth it.

[pokimoko]

haunting the narrative -> haunted by the narrative -> haunting the narrative -> haunted by

[arttsuka]

Some past fiddlestan? (Like Ford just went through the portal. He gone now. Past. Yk?)

The mystery misery yaoi

[adashulaz]

What if, instead of Callum using Dark Magic next season it's Soren. If Callum tried then surely Rayla would bring up the fact that it could kill him or something. So Soren would step in, grabbing the supplies from Callum and just leaving. Soren already knows the plan, he knows when do to the spell and he saw it in the book in front of Callum so that won't be an issue. It doesn't matter if Soren hates Dark Magic, if it keeps Callum alive then it's fine. His job as Crownguard is to protect the royal family and Callum is part of that family. If doing Dark Magic means to protect the royal family then Soren is willing do it.

[inkskinned]

actually, i love you, so you cannot be ugly to me. sometimes i think i have no idea what you actually look like. i know we've been friends for like a while but if someone asked oh who's that i'd talk about how funny you are, how charming. about how i have watched you grow as a person, about how you often choose kindness where i would honestly choose a feral violence. i know you keep a tally of your mistakes and they run around your brain - but in mine? i think they never even make it past the front gate. when i think of you my heart swells up with all the weird shit we've done together and how you've talked me through heartbreak and how i've held your hair back and how we both are like, in therapy, and totally above gossiping, but also like, are going to spill the work tea.

i know! i know you feel ugly. i know you hate that you show symptoms, that you're not normal. you said once - i'm afraid to show others the real me. but i see the other things - about these little quirks that are so, so endearing to me. how you are gentle to strangers. how you stand by your friends. how comfortable you make everybody. how you say hey, did you get home safe? even when it's like 6 feet i'm walking.

i love you. yesterday you spent an hour liveblogging the episode of owl house that you're on and i was like - this person is so fucking amazing. last night you said sorry for infodumping. as if you have anything to apologize for. as if part of the reason we're friends is because i love it when you do this, i love listening. i love you, idiot. i love you so fucking much. i want to stick you in a cage so you stop getting random injuries. i want to throw you into a garbage disposal every time you send me that one specific meme. i love you, i love you, i love you. you mean absolutely everything to me.

[blu3b3rryj4mp1r3]

I made some invader zim blinkies :> f2u ☆

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[patchworkbearss]

Another human hootsie doodle

One overtired toddler who misses her dad vs her four uncles who are trying their goddamn best to calm her down, no one wins and they have a miserable few hours before gricko comes home