#it's a good game and one worth preserving

[twistedpink]

Mc inserts x TWST characters pt.2 (OG post) (Pt.3)

(non-yuu pairings that fit into the plot of twst, if you like this then you might want to look at the first part!)

Savanclaw!Mc x Cater Diamond

Enemies to lovers with your favourite diva!! The two of you compete constantly through magicam and spelldrive, getting progressively pettier until the only solution is to kiss it out.. You’re trying to keep an ear out for your junior, and it just so happens Cater’s sniffing out your plan to go for gold in this year’s tournament. You might as well take the chance to mess with him! It’s so easy to love the face he makes when you give him the slip, and you’re totally making it your wallpaper when this is all over.

“Yo, Babe! If you’re in the same dorm, then you know Ruggie, yeah? We need to have a chat”

“Ohmigod you totally think all beastmen know each other, don’t you?? cancled :)”

Shroud!Mc x Vil Schoenheit

Ids attached himself to engineering and gaming pretty early, but your passion is fully unattainable. You’d clung onto pop idols and the art of stage makeup from an early age. Your longest running interest by far is Vil Schoenheit,, He rescued you from destructive habits and encouraged you to value self improvement. You’ve probably invested millions into his career (every thaumark sent anonymously, you’d die if he started to recognize your attached messages). Supporting Ortho in his SDC audition is your official reason to talk with him, and all the teasing from Idia will be so worth it when your Schoenheit debut palette gets signed! You’ve kept it in mint condition behind glass for years admiring it- and waiting for THE day.

“Mr. Schoenheit? My younger brother performed for you today, and uh, your signature please?”

“Normally I’d send both of you home for this. I’m sure you’re well aware of my paparazzi policy, However, I haven’t seen this particular relic in years! Just what have you done to preserve the quality?”

Pomefiore!Mc x Ruggie Bucchi

You’re #1 in the business of pissing off your parents- shopping copious amounts and then going to school across the country satiated you for awhile, but they’ve done something particularly revenge worthy now. The best scandal you can think of is getting a trashy boytoy to bring home for the break, but you’re not really into idiots.. Ruggie can be a very good actor given the right motivations, and he might even fool you into a real relationship before next semester.

“C’mon it’s not like I’ll need a script, sugar. I’m a natural, scout’s honor!”

“Either way, it won’t hurt to rehearse for convenience :/ Kiss me now so we don’t look stupid later.”

Scarabia!Mc x Floyd leech

God you hate that fish faced idiot >:( It’s bad enough that the housewarden’s moodswings guaranteed your holiday plans were all shot, but now Jamil’s getting hounded by the mafia! It’s your responsibility to get them off his back, but it’s not like you’re enjoying it. Somehow it’s even worse to watch Floyd when he’s playing dumb, and his emotional roller coaster keeps you walking on eggshells. The show must go on though, and if you’ve gotta play “wrestle until the biting stops” then you’ll do it :/

“Floyd, it’s dinner time, and I will tear you a new one if it means you’ll get moving.”

“PLEASEEEE tiger sharky just one more round :( I’ll even give your pen back!!”

Octavinelle!Mc x Kalim Al-Asim

You’re probably one of the most talkative of octavinelle students, and definitely a solid salesman. Kalim’s a prime target for resales and marketing practice, so naturally you join the pop music club. A year of “playing nice for the jackpot” leads you to lie awake at night, terrified that he’ll see through your facade and ditch you- it would cut off your best friendship, you’d be forced to leave the club! At some point you realize you’d stopped selling him things months ago, and your worst nightmare happened right under your nose. You fell in love.

“Hey, that solo was so inspiring! You’re really making progress!”

“It still isn’t on par with yours, though. Are you available to keep practicing after school? I’m sure Jamil would appreciate the break, and I would enjoy the company..”

Staff!Mc x Lilia Vanrouge

Of course your first job would come with some pet bat, it was too good to be true :( Full time at a bits and bobs shop near one of the best schools in the country WITH flexible hours? You must’ve been desperate to accept without reading about your babysitting in the footnote. He comes in everyday during your shift (regardless of the hours you take, it’s like he has a sixth sense), and has the audacity to exist in your space! It’s not like he even does anything to get banned!! He just stands there. Menacingly. You’re waiting for the day where he leaves convincing evidence that he’s there to traffic you or something- because if you didn’t know better you’d think he has a big, fat crush on you.

“Darling, how is the shop? I’ve taken care of those juvenile delinquents for you!”

“Taken care of? Whatever. Get back to class, kid.”

[sundayenjoyer]

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖤𝖠𝖱 𝖮𝖥 𝖥𝖫𝖤𝖲𝖧 𝖨𝖲 𝖬𝖮𝖲𝖳 𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖠𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧 𝖸𝖮𝖴

You decide that your darling husband has been overworking himself too much, thus you decide to plot a whole day's worth of trouble for your lovely scholar.

—🎕 wc ; 2.2k

—🎕 CW ; Middle-aged ratio, transmasc ratio, written with both ratio and reader as old, but imagine what you want, nipple sucking, pussy spanking, fingering with gloves on, incorrect use of glove(used as a plug I suppose), semi-public sex, office sex, praise, sadist reader, hickeys on the top surgery scars(ratio receiving), edging(ratio receiving), breeding(attempt at your own discretion considering this economy), slight dacryphilia (if you squint), dumbification, temperature play(brief mention)No gendered pronouns used for reader and can be read with a strap in mind, no beta we die like real men, writer is asexual, English is not my first language and ion mean that as a flex in grammar meaning this might be cooked. If I missed any, do tell.

—🎕 my first post is fucking smut I'm so fucking cooked bro like not even a hello?? I digress; this is best read with Southbound by Artemas in the background

Veritas Ratio was a smart man; most would consider him a paragon of intellect. He was an erudite scholar known for his knowledge in broad subjects, seeking to spread knowledge to the vast galaxies. So why was it that he was so easily dumbed down?

"Professor, Good evening," You spoke, a slight fondness in your tone, "Something the matter?"

As if you haven't been taunting him for hours. Like you weren't turning the already grey strands at the root of his scalp even whiter.

You've been taunting him for what felt like 5 system hours; A hard grip on his waist, nails digging into his waist here and there, kissing him a little too eagerly in some empty hall when his seminar concluded, and at the peak of your audacity, even pressed your thighs between his legs and pinched at his chest a few times with far too cold hands to be accidental under the pretense of 'Helping relieve stress'. Veritas was well-versed in these games you'd play. At the start, you'd go slow, pacing yourself so that by the end of it, he'd be furious, nerves lit on fire and more bothered than he'd like to admit. You knew to only tease when you were sure no one was there. Honestly, his age has gotten to him and made him far too lenient on fools who run on the dopamine rushes of sex. He was far too lenient on himself and seemed to mimic the behaviour of the individual stated, unknowingly becoming one himself.

"You know what you're doing." Veritas spat, a soft grimace though you knew it was not only light-hearted, and from the looks of the slight tremors of his hands, he was eager. Years of trained composure were lost to searing passion, simmering and boiling for hours, creating a complex flavour of confusion, irritation, and hesitant arousal. "Enlighten me."

So many years spent together, yet you get on his nerves all the same.

Veritas furrowed his brows further before pulling you close, reliving the same song and dance from earlier today and his past experiences with you. Sinking his teeth onto your lips as if you wouldn't bite back once he grew confident, a dance of who gets to outsmart the other was always how you both liked to play things to the point where even a simple kiss turned into teeth and tongue, legs between one another and to a fault, you both dumbed each other down to a level where compared to your everyday selves, would be an insult.

It didn't take long for you to win this game, as at this point, Veritas was too filled with need and eagerness to fight back, but that didn't mean he bit back his arguments any less. "Professor, such a shameless sight. Thighs spread on your co-worker's lap. Don't you have a reputation to preserve?" You'd taunt him as if that'd fluster him when all you've done all day is test his patience.

"For such an established man, you talk just as much as those who are all bark and no bite." He'd return, and that was your cue to stop talking. The formerly idle and gloved fingers dipping betwixt his thighs, trousers long forgotten in some part of your office and one leg held up by your other hand to give you easy access but even then, he was flexible but you can only do so much yourself when you're nearing your fifties. The soft fabric of those gloves of yours easily sinks in with an embarrassingly loud slick sound, soon joined by another finger due to how eager your husband has been. Cooing soft praises into his ear while you stretched him out, perfect cunt responding so well to whispered words into his ear that the scientific part of you sparked the greed of testing waters. Toying with certain keywords, kissing his reddened ear, and studying the reactions as though he was the perfect little toy. While you've done this many times before it's still a wonderful experience slowly coaxing surrender from your beloved Doctor that you can't help but try to make it a game for yourself, how loud can you make him whine, how wet can you get him without letting him cum, all of it.

It didn't take long for your deft fingers to get him to teeter on the edge, and it took even less time to notice his ticks. Reminiscent of the ticks of a countdown timer, for every second passed, a sharp click would sound; for every second inching closer to his release, his muscles would tense up, his thighs would shake a little more, and he braced himself to finish.

Unfortunately, you had other plans, and you swiftly pulled your fingers out despite knowing the consequences of your actions, potentially leading to an irritated husband in the morning if you fail to fulfil his expectations for such insolence.

"I apologise, my dear." You lied, and you weren't sorry for anything. You enjoyed breaking your husband, thoroughly. "The lights will shut off in a few minutes. Would you mind a relocation? Perhaps... somewhere well suited for this?" You asked, feigning a sweet tone and when you heard the soft grinding of your husband's teeth and the opening of his mouth that'd likely release a few whines at best and less than pleasant words at worst. Before your husband could hurl curses on you, he felt a sharp sting. His watery eyes had more wetness from the hot pain, while he could only uselessly let out a strained moan as he was in the middle of a rebut.

You softly massaged his clit, giving the area a bit of respite before landing a couple more hits while you circled the soft bud in between. "Try again," you ordered. "Y-Yes. It's alright." Your husband spoke, adopting a more docile response due to his mind still reeling from the mix of pain and pleasure.

"Good boy, so good to me, only me." You cooed whilst slowly switching places, letting him sit on your desk while you took your stained gloves. The pristine white had now turned greyish and slightly see-through. But that didn't matter; you didn't need to dispose of it now when you had the perfect place to hide the evidence of your passion. "Shhh, my love, my love, settle down. Don't finish just yet." You insisted as you slowly stuffed the satin gloves inside, keeping your beloved Doctor full and warm. At the same time, you licked the excess off, the slick wetness on your tongue to savour the fruits of your labour tasted ever sweeter. At the same time, you watched the expression of your beloved while he panted and tried to desperately look presentable enough to walk out.

Hc start | Time skip start

His chest is super sensitive. Like if you have cold hands, he'd come so fast. Like the added sensation of cold and if you were feeling nice and sucked and bit on his nipples he'd start whining from how sensitive the temp shifts are. If you don't have cold hands, dip them in ice water and rub your fingers softly onto his nipples, then when you mouth on them with your warm mouth, he'd go crazy.

Speaking of temp play, he'd likely be really sensitive, even tho he's at the age of mid-life crises. He'd love it if you used cold fingers to scissor him open, the contrast of his warmth and your cold hands and possibly your cold tongue on his clit would drive him so insane, poor thing.

Hc end | Time skip end

By the time you both got into your shared spaceship, you both couldn't keep your hands away from each other. Depravity in the way you both could hardly walk without caressing the other and dragging both of your feet. You two could be mistaken for drunks from how poorly you two could keep your balance.

Soon enough, you two arrived in your bedroom, a brief moment of separation from your kiss to shed your clothes, most of it anyway. Veritas had removed his slacks and anything that could prevent your access to his entirety and only left his button up on.

After you laid your husband onto the bed, without even bothering to remove your clothes. You spread his legs, reverence in the way you slowly removed the soaked satin from his noisy cunt before immediately placing kisses on his inner thighs, allowing a small moment of respite that was surely appreciated.

When you received the go-ahead and the proper safety precautions were set in place you finally latched your mouth onto your lover's clit, mouthing expertly on the bud while your ungloved hand, the same one you used to torture him earlier, stuffed him full again earning a more free sound. Inhibitions now long forgotten Veritas freely expressed himself, calloused hands, dry from years of sterilisation and soap now sit clammy on your head, gripping so tightly and lifting his own slightly to grind into your mouth, you allowed him to take control of this, getting off on his own pace as a reward for enduring the walk from your office to here.

You worship in the way you reciprocated Veritas' fervour, not letting a single drop go to waste when he finally came into your mouth, and you lapped it up like it was a gift from the Aeons, like a man in the desert with ambrosia. You switched your mouth for your fingers and vice versa, your mouth savouring the taste while your hands rubbed tight circles around the bud, prolonging the orgasm until your lover let go of your hair and you could properly rise.

Veritas had a fucked out expression, chest heaving so wonderfully and with a head tilted to the left. He could feel the faint pulse of his climax along with the beating of his heart, hammering against his ears from the adrenaline. He bonelessly reached out for you, kissing you and tasting himself on his tongue while you buried yourself deep inside of him, a slow pace despite the preparations made beforehand not to stimulate your beloved thoughtlessly. You instead allowed him to adjust while you parted from his lips and tenderly sucked on his chest, resting him for a bit without ceasing completely.

You nipped softly at the scars on his body; some were bites, teeth, and bruises from previous times spent loving each other, but the ones you paid special attention to were the ones you knew made Veritas cry out. You teethed on his top surgery scars, canines scratching tenderly against the healed flesh and making new hickeys on the scars, decorating it with your marks of affection like verbatim from how often you do this, how much you love this, how you both enjoy this.

Soft whines came from Veritas' lips, what was once a stern and cold professor now laid a boneless mess, mind-reeling from the pleasure, especially when you rubbed at the sensitive and delicately bruising skin, touching just a few inches shy from his nipples and slightly scratching your nails against his flesh, alternating between the pads of your pointer finger and the tip of your trimmed nails until you suddenly pinched and tweaked at the bud on his chest, the delightful squeeze only making his eyes watery and a slight grimace form on your darling professor's face.

You saw a sharp glare get shot in your direction, clearly Veritas' way of warning you to stop playing with him, but it certainly just felt like a far cry from the typical expression your beloved wore that made students nervous. No, you couldn't be afraid, not when you heard the soft whispers of his voice, when he panted, when you saw the way his blush extended to his ears and bridge of his Greek nose.

Situations like this reminded you how beautiful your husband was as if the very sight of his wasn't reminder enough; you thought how lucky you were, having someone who was equal parts the magnum opus and the begetter. It just solidified something for you; if Veritas was an art piece, his artist must have loved him dearly.

His breathing hitched when you began to move, tantalising with the slow pacing you rewarded(tortured) him. Lithe fingers expertly rubbing tight circles against his clit while providing a soft and slow pace, like tired mornings awoken so sinfully with desire and spent together a lazy and yet almost too stimulating pace that had him feeling like cotton stuffed his head and static filled his ears.

It wasn't long until the two of you were coming, hips stuttering. The loud sounds coming from Veritas were growing loud as desperate pleas along the lines of begging for more and not to stop fell from his lips like shrill whines. At the same time, you could only shush him, reassuring him you're not that cruel just yet until you both came, sticky fluids and a pleasing warmth grew in your husband's stomach, breeding him so well while his overworked head grew empty and hazy. At the same time, you continued soothing him while you rutted your hips, slowing down until you were just barely grinding and prolonging both of your orgasms.

—🎕 Hey chat, I don't really know how to end this, but I really hope you guys liked this, and I'm rlly lonely you guys should deff msg me>, <

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

CHERISH (MY LOVE)!

❤︎ you have no clue just how much your fate is intertwined with that of adisorn's. ❤︎ adisorn moore x gn reader ❤︎ wc: 1k ❤︎ content warning(s): yandere, stalking/adisorn is your stalker, written before full game release/based on adisorn as portrayed in the free demo, demo spoilers ❤︎ adisorn moore is from the game online obsession being developed by sourmiiiilk

Adisorn Moore gets such a rush when you indirectly think of him as your guardian angel. 

“I got another one of those weird letters,” your text to him reads so casually. “Something about my mayo expiring. And they were right.”

He still remembers the day he sent you the first letter. Words couldn’t properly articulate the complex emotions writhing and coursing through his veins, consuming his waking senses and taking root somewhere in between his trembling heart and racing mind. You were so sweet, so witty, and yet so unsuspecting. 

“Again? That’s so creepy…,” Adisorn’s quick to write back to you. Eight months wasn’t a long time, but he was thorough. He needed to win your trust, to convince you that he was just as ordinary as you were. You never suspected a thing, and he wanted to keep it that way. What you had with him was pure, and he considers it his duty to preserve that purity for as long as he could.

He hopes you can forgive him. You will. He knows you will. 

Your reply is instantaneous. “Yeah, it’s weird, but… There’s really not much I can do at this point. I don’t like the thought of being watched in any capacity, but what can I do? The letters are helpful, and the police won’t do anything about it.”

Helpful. He likes that. The words are nothing more than an afterthought to you probably, but it’s the world to Adison. You take his little tips seriously. You don’t consider him a threat. You think they’re worth listening to. You heed his letters. You touched the same paper that he did, your gentle eyes going over the words that he typed up and picked just for you. 

If he was a better man, he would suggest that you visit the police again. But it’s a good litmus test for him—the local authorities are useless. It gives him more wiggle room, and it leaves you vulnerable. Sure, there’s the matter of figuring out just how vigilant your friends and distant family would be, but the first line of defense around you has crumbled a long time ago. 

A ping from you breaks his rambling thoughts. “Maybe it’s a bad prank? A new Tik Tok trend? People will do anything on that damn app for attention, and I’ve already seen some kids on campus trying to do street interviews in hopes of making their big break.”

There’s a moment of silence before he sees your typing bubble floating at the bottom of his phone screen.

“Maybe whoever’s sending these letters genuinely just wants to help. I don’t think any of my neighbors are that kind of people, but who knows? Can’t judge ‘em based on what little I know,” you confess wholeheartedly to him. “Or it could be my landlord. I mean, I get it. I’m not the most organized person, so it doesn’t hurt to have a guardian angel of sorts watching over me.”

There’s a warmth spreading from his fingertips, up his arms, and gripping like the rush of first love at his heart. A guardian angel. It’s stupid, and it’s so childish, but it makes Adison so happy to think that you find his little advances as something special. Only you could turn someone like him, someone so rotten, into someone worth salvaging and someone worth loving. 

“If you insist,” he types back to you. He swallows thickly at the thought of you actually appreciating the letters. Should he write to you more frequently? Observing your life was such a treat to him. He wants to know more about you, every little bit that you’ve been keeping from him. Once he got a taste, he couldn’t turn back. “You should still be careful though. Wouldn’t want some bad guy snatching someone as cute as you up. That’s my job, you know!”

“Oh, quit it, Adi,” you’re too used to taking his flirting and countering it in your own way. “No one’s snatching me up. I’m too busy keeping you company and covering your ass during Star Blitz. Nimo’s already cracking jokes about how they can’t wait to babysit our future kids, so you can only imagine how much worse it’ll get if I spend any more time with you.”

The corners of his scarred lips twitch as Adisorn bites back a small laugh. He doesn’t dislike the thought of both spending more time with you and a future together. Wouldn’t that be so much fun? Then he wouldn’t always have to creep around the edges of your life, like a shadow gobbling up the rays of light cast its way. He could be by your side as he always wanted. 

Sure, he’d have to make some changes to your pace of life, but knowing you, you would learn to love it. You would learn to love him. Truly for who he was, rather than the small bits and pieces he’s built up for himself. Eight painstaking months was nothing in exchange for the prize of a lifetime with you. His entire life up until this point, as miserable and cruel and dark as it was, was nothing but a small price to pay at the thought of having you all to himself. There would be no more hurt, no more pesky interferences, no more space between your radiance and him once he could put everything into motion.

His aim has always been simple.

Your love is the reason he’s living again. You’re the breath on his scarred mouth, the blood in his tangled veins, the thump-thump in his calloused heart, the warmth coming from the body of a whole person. He’s undeserving, and yet he craves for it, the addictive sensation of your honeyed affection rousing up his cold heart and spreading warmth throughout his decaying body. 

You awaken something deep inside of him.

He has to cling to that light, the saving grace in the darkness that he’s wallowed in forever.

Adison knows what he has to do. 

To breach that final distance separating you from him.

To keep the promise of his love.

To cherish you tenderly. 

x

[simpforsolas]

So my biggest problem with Solas x Mythal isn’t that I’m “jealous” of their relationship or anything like that. In fact, I really like the concept of her being a toxic and abusive relationship he has to let go of to be able to move forward and find true happiness with the inquisitor.

My problem is that it cheapens Solas’s motivations and seems to make his only reasoning for tearing down the veil be loyalty to Mythal. It also, to me, downplays the significance of the inquisitor’s influence on him. This was disappointing because in Inquisition, we were introduced to Solas as this very wise, idealistic, and thoughtful person who cared deeply for his causes. Justice for Mythal was one of his motivations, but I never interpreted it as his main motivation. I thought his main motivation was always to make a better world and fix his mistakes.

I truly believe that he’s not wrong about some things. The veil IS a wound inflicted on this world. It was made by him; it’s not the world’s natural state. It’s falling apart and broken. It creates a class divide between mages and non-mages, and by separating spirits from the physical realm, it makes them more susceptible to corruption into demons and makes people scared of them. There are tons of instances through DAO - DAI where weak spots in the veil lead to mass demon possessions and death. It made a world where elves die instead of live forever, and where they either live in slums or as shadows of their former glory in the woods. But DATV didn’t address ANY of this. It painted Solas to be this lovesick pup whose motivation was purely emotion-based, and it didn’t help that this game didn’t go into Thedas’s socio-political climate so a new player wouldn’t understand that the world of Thedas is seriously messed up, and that Solas’s plan would resolve a lot of the issues in need of fixing.

The problem is, and always has been, the cost. Solas restoring the natural order of the world would cost thousands of lives, and destroy the current world and all the good it has to offer. In order to abandon this plan, Solas needed to not only be released from Mythal’s service, but to let go of the world of the past. He needed to acknowledge that the world he loved is gone, that a new world that he also loves has taken its place, and that it deserves a chance to live. It’s sort of implied that he goes through this shift in belief in Trespasser, but it’s not enough at the time, and that’s okay.

Anyway, with all this in mind, this is how I’m choosing to interpret Solas’s entire redemption arc. Solas did have his reasons to tear down the veil that he passionately believed in, but through his interactions with the inquisitor and rook, the only reason that truly remained was that he didn't want to fail Mythal. They changed his perspective on the world, and showed him that it’s a world worth preserving, even if it’s different. He didn’t want to do what he had to do, and by the end of DAI and/or Veilguard, the only thing keeping him tied to his course was duty to Mythal. So she has to free him to allow him to move on.

However. If Mythal had released him from his service at the beginning of inquisition, because Solas hadn’t gained any affection for the new world, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been like "cool i'm doing this anyway because I want to.” Changing his course required two things: having his heart changed by the inquisitor, and Mythal allowing him to move on. Unfortunately I feel like the game is a little sloppy with this and makes it feel like freedom from Mythal is all that matters, but my dear friends, she is not. It was a team effort all around, and Solas’s redemption would not have been possible without our beloved inquisitor. 💜

[o-sachi]

Wishlist! - Headcanons for WinBre Week!

ᯓ what are the furin boys putting on their wishlist this year? ᯓ characters; sakura haruka, suo hayato, sugishita kyotaro, mitsuki kiryu, kaji ren, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo ᯓ tags; just plain platonic headcanons

[🐟]: for day 5 - holidays prompt! @windbreakerweek

Sakura Haruka

"Ehhh? No... I don't want anything..."

He's only saying that because he'd feel like too much of a burden knowing someone might go out of their way to get him a present.

But he's like the easiest person to give a gift to because he will appreciate anything you give him. Hell, the fact that you even thought to get him anything is a gift in and of itself.

Although, he'd prefer something that isn't super expensive.

Wishlist: a new blanket, coupons for omurice, another pair of shoes (pls get our boy a new pair of shoes)

Suo Hayato

"Oh? A gift? How thoughtful of you."

Not really choosy when it comes to gifts either. He's probably hella rich and has everything that he wants already, so gifts are like a kind gesture to him if anything.

Although, he prefers gifts with meaning over ones that are practical.

It's because he can buy the practical stuff, but he can't put in meaning into things that he buys for himself.

Wishlist: rare tea leaves, lucky trinket, calligraphy brush (a hobby he picked up recently)

Sugishita Kyotaro

"For me? Why."

Doesn't really think about gifts, both in the sense of giving and receiving it.

But if you give him one, he'll be over the moon. Doesn't matter what it is really. He's similar to Sakura in this regard.

However, his issue with gifts is that he doesn't know how to react when he's given one. Is a thank you enough? Should he get them a gift too? He's so overwhelmed. Poor guy...

Wishlist: a small plant for his room, a plain shirt, Ume's approval (he's been told you can't put things like this on a wishlist, but he got mad)

Mitsuki Kiryu

"Yippee! You're the best. Thank you so much."

He likes to joke about stuff that he likes to receive. Also jokes about not needing gifts because his fangirls already give him more than enough.

He judges gifts based on aesthetic appeal rather than its practical use. He doesn't care if its useless as long as it'll look good on him or in his room.

I just know this dude has the best reactions when given any gift. Even if he has experienced it soooo many times, he'll make you feel as if he's so thankful for it each time.

Wishlist: gems for the game he's playing, a cat charm, a hamburger phone case (so he can alternate between that and the hotdog phone case)

Kaji Ren

"Wha? What's the occasion? Well, thanks. I guess..."

Super adamant about not wanting to receive any gifts. He says he's happy enough to have loyal friends by his side. Honestly, he's just scared to get emotional if the gift ends up being too good.

Gifts from close friends hold more value to him regardless of what the gift is.

It's pretty easy to predict the things that he would like...

Wishlist: a box of lollipops, a new hoodie, a year's worth of Spotify subscriptions (me too actually sob)

Umemiya Hajime

"Whaddaya know? I also have a little something for you here!"

It actually puts a bit of pressure on you to find Ume the perfect gift because he is THE GIFT GIVER. It's like he always knows what everyone would love.

A really simple guy. Even quality time is considered a gift in his eyes.

Ume prefers gifts that aren't the usual kinds of things you'd buy from the store, so stuff like handmade gifts, home cooked meals, and letters are his favorite things to receive.

Wishlist: a new trowel for gardening, a shirt that says "Tomato Dad", a dinner party with the entire Furin student body (awww)

Hiragi Toma

"Thanks. I'll make sure to use this."

He's like an old man, so gifts that are practical are is preference. His eyes go wide when the thing is multi-purpose and a steal for its price.

He's also the type of person to preserve gift bags to use for another time. Although, he has definitely gifted back to a person using a bag given to him by that same person before...

A big believer of the saying, "It's the thought that counts."

Wishlist: stomach medicine... lots of it, hair gel, perfume/cologne (I JUST KNOW HE SMELLS GOOD)

Togame Jo

"Aww, this for me? You didn't have to."

Nonchalant as fuck when receiving gifts, but trust me, he is sobbing inside. He's so happy someone thought of him.

Also prefers practical gifts, but it hardly matters. As long as you got him something, he'll be grateful for it.

He won't admit it but he enjoys the moment of unwrapping the gift. Even better if it's wrapped neatly and with a bow on top. Kame's not sure why, but he just loves that part.

Wishlist: food foood fooooood, a new pair of sandals, fancy shogi set (to show off to the old men he plays with lol)

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[synchodai]

I recently got these tags for @sera-wasnever on my Ketheric Thorm post and it got me thinking about the ability to appeal to him vs the ability to appeal to Orin and Gortash.

Because my main qualm in that post about Ketheric was that you don't get to curse out him the way you can literally say "Fuck you, Gortash" or "You're a psycho, Orin" (actual in-game dialogue lines). Obviously, I think Ketheric was treated with more narrative sympathy among the Dead Three.

BUT I disagree that you CAN'T appeal to the other two -- or rather, trigger a crisis of faith by tugging at something personal. Ketheric's is more straightforward and obviously has more content and dialogue surrounding it. You have entire areas and inventory items meant to humanize him. Isobel's old room, his bust, the note he keeps in his corpse, his wife's diary, etc. There are a lot of things programmed into this game to make you feel sorry for this old man.

Compare that to Orin and Gortash. The area that's meant to humanize Orin and equip you with the thing that triggers her crisis of faith is her room with her mother's preserved corpse. You can argue that for Gortash, it's the Flymm house, but I don't think the Flymms are actually the trigger for his crisis of faith because you don't use his parents during his boss fight to make him waver like you do with Orin and Ketheric.

You can't be like "you're a sicko whose parents abused you" (he'd be like "well, yes") or "you can still be good for the sake of your loved ones" (he'd be like "lmao, funny joke"). If you kill his parents, he mentions it with the gravity of experiencing a minor shipping delay and goes on business as usual.

However, there IS something that canonically does spark hesitation. It is extremely brief but it is very much spelled out in the game, and it is very much infamous.

DARK URGE: For what it's worth, I think I always liked you, too. NARRATOR: There is hesitation in his eye for one moment. A passing thought of all the times spent together you’ll never remember.

That hesitation that shows that there's recognition of something human beneath the monster is seen in all of the Dead Three Chosens' confrontations. You pull it out of Ketheric by talking about how he loves his dead wife. You pull it out of Orin by telling her she was a victim of abuse and incest. Obviously, these truths fundamentally challenge how they perceive the world and themselves. How could Ketheric be a warmongerer who destroys families and tortures his daughter when his wife would hate him for it? How could Orin be the ultimate predator she's posturing herself as if you reveal she's been a helpless victim of Bhaal's cult too?

And for Gortash, the thing that challenges him enough to make him hesitate is... the Dark Urge telling him they liked him? Huh? Well... ain't that laden with implications.

There are no cries of despair like Orin or Ketheric, but there is something. Instead of manipulating and feeding you his agenda and his ideology, this is the only time in all your interactions with Gortash that he asks you what YOU think ("Is that what you...") -- but that line is quickly cut off when the current situation you're both in reasserts itself through the Elder Brain making earthquakes.

With Orin and Ketheric, it's Bhaal and Myrkul who interfere and hastily cut off their Chosen's potential redemptive change of heart. With Gortash, however, it's not god but these reminders that he's stuck having to see through his crumbling grand plans that smacks him back into villain mode. It's not Bane that's stopping the player character from bringing out less monstrous, more sympathetic Gortash who even so very briefly questions this path of evil he's found himself in -- it's reality, and that's just tragic.

[creampuffqueen]

Hey:)

I feel you’re one of the, if not the most qualified people to ask this question, how would you describe Yangchen? Like, personality, emotions, thoughts, everything that comes to mind. I encourage a nerd out.

I’m thinking of doing a thing at a later date when I’ve chased down all my thoughts, got my confidence and my notes in order and I want other interpretations of her than mine and what’s on the wiki 😅 you’re the next best after the wiki when it comes to details regarding her

(It’s just shedding season, I’m still panda beneath all the fur🎈🐼)

Nerd out about Yangchen???? Actually, forget veterinary medicine, this is the dream career for me. 

To me, Yangchen’s character is made up of a few basic things:

Her deep compassion for other people

A constant, underlying sadness

Major imposter syndrome

Feral Little Sister Energy

I feel like when I want to give someone a basic rundown on Yangchen’s character, these are the first things that come to mind and therefore the things I mention. Obviously, just mentioning these character aspects doesn’t exactly tie them together cohesively, so that’s what I plan to do here!

You guessed, it under the cut… it’s 2415 words long…

Without further ado, Avatar Yangchen!

Compassion

To start off, it’s important to understand that Yangchen is a deeply caring and compassionate person. For better or worse, she cares so, so much about other people. It’s one of the things that makes her such a fantastic Avatar, and it’s this deep compassion that keeps her from abandoning all hope when it seems like the world just keeps on taking. 

Her compassion is also what compels her to do the things she does in the novels – and arguably her appearance in the comics as well. There’s a quote she gives during Dawn that I think encapsulates her feelings on this quite well: “We fight for people we’ve never met and never will”. 

Yangchen cares for humanity, and truly believes in its goodness, or at the very least its worth. She strays from this belief occasionally during the books, but at the end she always comes back to it. She will continue to fight for humanity as the Avatar – the most thankless job in the entire universe – because she believes there is good in the world. Does she have bad experiences with some of the worst of humanity? Yes. Does she have some jaded views of people? Also yes. But at the end of the day she still believes in goodness, and strives to do what she can to promote and preserve it. 

This compassion shows up in many ways during the novels. She is a talented healer and largely enjoys the work. I touched on this a bit in my post discussing her relationship with waterbending, how she prefers healing as a skill because of the way it directly benefits others. When a maid in Bin-Er is injured on the job, Yangchen quietly pays for her treatment. When she first meets Kavik, believing him to be homeless, she immediately offers him money in a hopeful attempt to help him. She donates all the gifts she receives as the Avatar to the air temples to help fund the nearby towns. She heals Yingsu from an arrow wound – the woman who was trying to kill her five minutes before!

Really, this is the ultimate reason why she is the way she is during the novels! Namely, a cunning, manipulative spymaster. This all starts because she heard things were bad in the shang towns, and wanted to do whatever she could to ease the suffering. She is the way she is because of past experiences of being spied on, because when her plans are revealed before they’re ready she isn’t able to help people. She is a person who cares unfathomably deeply about others, and found the best way to help as many people as possible was to play the awful, twisted game her world was intent on continuing. 

Sadness & Imposter Syndrome

While Yangchen’s deep sadness as a person and her extreme imposter syndrome are highly connected, there are a few extras about both that need to be touched on. 

Namely, the fact that Yangchen doesn’t really feel like her own person, and all the ways that affects her. 

It isn’t always obvious during the novels, as her POV is only half of each book and she has a few coping mechanisms to help her out, but the voices of her past lives never stop talking. Never. Like I said, she has some ways to cope, to keep herself present, to tune out the voices at least enough to focus, but they are still constant. 

And that is just… yikes!!

I’ve said it before, but Yangchen and Korra have some eerily similar parallels to their stories. Both of them learned they were the Avatar at a very young age. Korra learned when she was 4 because she started bending other elements. Yangchen began experiencing voices and visions from her past lives when she was around 7, after which she quickly put together her identity as the Avatar. 

Avatars are typically not revealed until they turn 16. Clearly, there is a good reason for this. All of the Avatars we have stories for that found out younger than that have had… a lot of pressure on their shoulders. Pressure that affected them deeply. Yangchen is no exception. In her case, it is honestly even more extreme, because not only did she have the pressure of being the Avatar, she was also constantly reliving trauma from her past lives.

Unlike other Avatars who have to specifically call up their past lives in order to hear their stories (or explicitly trigger them, as Aang did during Avatar Day), Yangchen is constantly and unwillingly reliving her past experiences. She is hearing voices, she is having flashbacks, and at certain points even dissociating fully from her body as another Avatar takes over and speaks. 

This has created a warped sense of self for her. The idea of Yangchen The Person is pale compared to Yangchen The Avatar. She has her own personality, opinions, and beliefs, but to her, none of those are important without her also being the Avatar.

Which brings us to Jetsun. Her older sister. From what we learn in the novels, Yangchen had a happy enough childhood in the Western Air Temple, and that was largely because of Jetsun’s influence. 

Jetsun treated her like a person. She argued with her, she teased her, she played with her, she comforted her. While everyone else was thinking of Yangchen The Avatar, Jetsun was always thinking of Yangchen The Person. Yangchen, her little sister. Who was stubborn, annoying, and most of all loving. While the elders worried what to do about her visions, while the world leaders conspired to take control before she came of age, all concerned about the Avatar, all Jetsun cared about was Yangchen. 

This is why Yangchen is hit so very hard after her death. This is why Jetsun haunts the narrative throughout the novels. After Jetsun died, Yangchen was alone. 

Not only did Jetsun die, she died in a pretty horrific, traumatizing way. A way that was not only horrific and traumatizing, but that Yangchen fully blames herself for. It’s obvious to us as the readers that Yangchen was in no way at fault for Jetsun’s death, but Yangchen is unable to see that perspective. At the start of the novels, she has been blaming herself for her sister’s death for six years. 

The pain is not as sharp, but it is still there, just as constant as the voices in her head. 

Without Jetsun by her side, Yangchen truly feels as though she can’t reach her full potential. She imagines how different she would be if she had Jetsun there to guide her. She imagines she would be better if she had Jetsun there to guide her. 

Which brings us to how this tragedy and sadness ties into her imposter syndrome. 

Like I mentioned earlier, Yangchen has known she was the Avatar from a very young age, and as such has felt the pressure of that role for a long time. She doesn’t know who she is outside of the Avatar, because that’s been her defining life event for as long as she can remember. 

And because of the aforementioned compassion, she takes her job as the Avatar incredibly seriously. She is serious about trying to bring balance about and ease suffering wherever possible. She wants to be a good Avatar, and tries desperately to be one.

The issue is that because of how her past lives work, she doesn’t truly believe it’s possible for her to be a good Avatar, despite all evidence to the contrary. The visions she gets the most are visions of failure. When she speaks with her past lives one on one, the stories she hears are ones of failure. Avatars who couldn’t save their loved ones even with the most powerful bending in the world. Avatars who couldn’t prevent war no matter how hard they tried. 

Yangchen does not want that to be her ending, going into the afterlife with regrets.

(Of course, for those who have read the Kyoshi novels, we unfortunately know how that ends...)

Yangchen is a woman of action. This is rather in conflict with her upbringing from the Air Nomads, who generally prefer to evade, defend, avoid, and observe. Air Nomads don’t seek out conflict. But of course, as the Avatar, Yangchen can’t avoid it. If anything, seeking out conflict is sort of her job.

Her job is to bring balance to the world, and because of how many lives full of regret she’s witnessed, it’s no surprise at all that she prefers to take action. She doesn’t want to sit and wait, she wants to solve problems now. A part of the books I think about often is when Yangchen talks about a recurring theme of her past lives and their regrets – every single one regrets waiting, regrets not taking action when they could have.

So Yangchen takes action. Most of the time it works out. Because she takes action rather than waiting, she often ends up having to do things she considers morally questionable – or even morally reprehensible. I feel it’s important to remind everyone that she was disgusted at herself for using the vacuum technique on the combustionbenders. But Yangchen couldn’t wait around for some other solution to show itself. 

These are the kinds of things that breed her imposter syndrome. The things she has to do to keep balance in the world many times directly go against her views as an Air Nomad. As much as she hates it, she will sacrifice her own spiritual wellbeing for the sake of the world. That is, after all, the single thing she said in the original ATLA show, and therefore the literal start of her personality. 

Just because she is willing to do it doesn’t mean it isn’t painful. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t make her question herself. There are so many moments where she wonders if she truly hates things like spying, manipulating, lying, etc. She thinks if she keeps doing them, clearly she doesn’t hate them. Clearly she isn’t doing them out of desperation or a lack of options. 

When some servants are moved by her performance with the shangs, she feels physically sick. She has to look away. If only they knew. They wouldn’t revere her so much. She doesn’t deserve their love or their praise, she’s nothing but a fake. 

These are thoughts that plague her almost constantly. At one point she tells Kavik that he has to let go of his failures, and not let them haunt him. Later that exact same night she spends hours flinging herself around with airbending until she exhausts herself. Clearly someone who has let go of their failures, right?

This severe imposter syndrome she experiences makes it so difficult for her to recognize her good work. She feels her failures make any good she’s done completely null and void. How can she let herself feel proud of her successes when her failures weigh so much heavier? When there’s still imbalance in the world that she needs to solve? When her own spirit is on its way to be just as spoiled as the peoples’ she’s had to defeat?

Which is why her meeting with Jetsun at the end of Legacy was so, so necessary for her. She needed to meet her sister’s spirit, see that she was alright despite everything, that Yangchen wasn’t at fault for her death. She needed to hear from Jetsun herself that she was good, that she was doing well in the world, that she wasn’t a total failure. And most of all, that even without Jetsun at her side, she was still a good Avatar. 

Feral Little Sister Energy

Ending this on a happier note! Yes, Yangchen’s character is very sad and even tragic at times, but she also has so many moments of fun and light. It’s part of what really draws me to her, I think. She may be the all-powerful Avatar, but she’s also Very Seventeen. 

She can just be an absolute menace at times, and it’s so great. She’s a little sister, it’s in her blood.

Probably the biggest parts of this particular personality trait are her sarcasm and her teasing. She’s also rather blunt at times, not at all afraid to tell it like it is. As well, she has no problems demanding respect from world leaders, which is honestly a good thing because she has to put up with so much shit from them all the time. 

She’s basically a Disney Princess. She has (had) a sky bison that likes to preen and show off. She throws things when she gets mad. She can scream loud enough to burst eardrums, and regularly does. She likes to make little kids laugh. She tells jokes. She teases Kavik because she thinks it’s cute when he gets flustered. She gets worked up over the sound of handwriting. She loves to do crazy tricks on her glider. She’s captain of an airball team and regularly partakes in trash talk. She has a whole wardrobe of creative disguises. She hates the cold. She likes to toss people around with airbending just for fun. She’s almost frighteningly intelligent. 

There are just so many fun little quirks to her character. I’m probably forgetting some, honestly. 

Conclusion

These are the aspects that I feel make up the most important parts of Yangchen’s character. Certainly there are more, but I feel like these are a good starting point, as well as things that all the other parts can be tied into.

Overall, she’s such a well-written, interesting character, and I absolutely loved getting to break her down! Others can feel totally free to add other parts they think are important as well; a more comprehensive view is always better.

Thanks so much for the ask, and I hope this helps!!

[wovendreamscapes]

Azriel's existential crisis (aka Eris is sexy and hot and Azriel is seriously not okay) Also known as the annoying thing that took me two freaking hours to write.

Azriel had never had an actual biological clock before, but watching Eris kneel down to a child’s level and wipe their tear-streaked face with a gentleness that shouldn’t be possible from a male who set people on fire. . . well.

It was ticking. It was clanging. It was screaming at him.

“Come on, little flame” Eris murmured, tucking a loose curl behind the child’s ear. “You’re alright.”

Azriel actually, physically, audibly sighed. Cassian, the bastard, heard him and shot him a look like Mother above, you have it so bad. And he did, but Cassian gets annoying when he is right, so Azriel ignored him.

The kid, a faeling with dirt brown curls and watery hazel eyes, sniffled and peered up at Eris like he hung the stars, and Azriel felt that, because same, kid.

“It hurts,” the child whimpered, holding up a skinned knee.

Eris hummed and tsked sympathetically. “Of course it does. I’ll tell you what. How about I make it better? In return, you tell me who won the very dramatic game of tag I saw earlier?”

The child hesitated, then whispered conspiratorially, “It was Caris, but we’re telling her she cheated. Cause she did.”

Eris nodded solemnly, as if this was the most serious intelligence he’d ever received. “Understandable. And how did she cheat?”

Azriel was fully leaning against a tree now, arms crossed, because Eris looked so—so soft with the child. He wasn’t even using magic, just a damp cloth to dab at the scrape, careful and unhurried. The child hiccuped another sniffle but was clearly distracted by relaying the heinous cheating scandal of Caris, complete with hand gestures.

“Caris pushed me, but she said she tripped, and I know she didn’t, because her eyes did the thing—”

“Ah, the thing,” Eris agreed. “A telltale sign of treachery. Smart boy, being able to see that.”

Azriel clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

It was the voice. The voice.

Eris had a particular way of speaking to children—not like they were idiots, not with that patronizing lilt some adults used. He spoke to them like they were actual people, just smaller, and like their concerns such as skinned knees and cheating and all were actually worth listening to.

Which, of course, they were. But it made something in Azriel ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

“There we go,” Eris said, tying off a tiny bandage with a flourish. “Good as new.”

The child beamed up at him, then promptly launched into his arms, and Azriel saw the Mother.

The kid was hugging Eris like he belonged there, and Eris, to Azriel’s complete lack of surprise, just scooped him up with practiced ease and ruffled his curls.

“Off you go,” Eris said, patting his back. “And remember—Caris may have cheated, but you let her win, didn’t you?”

The kid hesitated, then nodded like this was true. “Yeah. I did.”

Eris winked and set him down. “I thought so.”

The child ran off, dramatically shouting something about an honor duel for the tag championship, and Eris finally turned back to where Azriel was still staring at him like an absolute lunatic.

He arched a brow. “You alright, shadowsinger?”

Azriel made a noise that was meant to be a casual grunt but sounded suspiciously like a distressed whimper.

Cassian howled in laughter. Azriel could swear he heard his shadows laughing too.

“Don’t,” Azriel muttered.

“Too late,” Cassian wheezed. “You should see your face—”

Azriel absolutely refused to acknowledge the warmth on his own cheeks. Instead, he just looked at Eris, at the way his mate was brushing dirt from his hands, looking so damn perfect that Azriel couldn't take it.

“You’re good with them,” he said, and his voice came out rough.

Eris snorted, crossing his arms. “It’s not difficult. They’re just tiny drunk people with no self-preservation. A little respect goes a long way.”

Cassian was still snickering. “You want one, don’t you?” he said, grinning at Azriel. “Admit it.”

Azriel did not dignify that with a response.

He did, however, glare at Cassian, because obviously he wanted one. Multiple. Many. An entire litter. He had visions of red-haired, hazel-eyed, sharp-tongued little nightmares darting through their home, of soft, sleepy murmurs and bedtime stories and—

No. Stop.

Eris cocked his head, clearly amused. “Azriel.”

Azriel swallowed. “Hm?”

“You’re staring again Shadow.”

Azriel absolutely was.

He dragged a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. “I just—” He hesitated. His mate was too perceptive to lie to.

“I want to put a baby in you,” he finally said, with the quiet, calm intensity of a male who had lived too long to get embarrassed easily.

Cassian choked.

Eris blinked. Then, to Azriel’s unending horror, he smirked.

“Oh?” Eris purred. “Do you?”

Azriel groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.” Eris patted his chest condescendingly. “But I regret to inform you that’s not how that works.”

Azriel muttered something truly vulgar under his breath, but Eris just laughed, the bastard, and tugged him forward by the collar.

“Maybe,” Eris mused, eyes alight with something warm, something that made Azriel's cock take notice, “one day we’ll figure something out.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Are you messing with me?”

Eris just kissed him, slow and deep, before murmuring against his lips, “Would I ever do that?”

Azriel grumbled but let himself be kissed, mostly because he didn’t trust himself to keep thinking about the undeniable fact that Eris Vanserra was perfect and needed to be impregnated immediately, no matter how impossible that may be.

Cassian, meanwhile, was still dying behind them. “This is hilarious,” he gasped. “Rhys is gonna lose it.”

Azriel would kill him later.

For now, he had a mate to hold, and an existential crisis to endure.

[rederiswrites]

Tranquil NPC ideas for Veilguard

Veilguard is a very good game, but I think moving away from the concept of Tranquility was a disservice to previous lore and characters, so here are some ideas for Tranquil characters we could have met who are well within the scope of canon.

Minrathous: a Tranquil elf selling herbs and a unique stat boost potion inside the temple. When questioned, she will dispassionately explain that she was a slave, and when she tried to use her ability to do magic to better her family's circumstances, her master instead had her declared dangerous and made Tranquil.

Lords of Fortune: Isabela employs a Tranquil scholar, to be found in the lower level with the other scholar. Ambient dialogue establishes that one of the few known ways to make Isabela truly angry is to abuse or belittle him in any way. If questioned, he reveals that he was made Tranquil at a Circle in the Free Marches, and was a refugee for a time before Isabela found him.

Wardens/Hossberg: In the encampment at Lavendel you find a formerly Tranquil mage working with the Wardens. She was restored from her Tranquility following Wynne's actions in Asunder. She is willing to tell you a little about the experience. Sh says that being made un-Tranquil was excruciating, and almost killed her, but even if it had she would consider it worth it.

Felassan: I can't say what the intent of the creators is, but it's established with Feynriel's quest in DA2 that when you kill someone in the Fade, they're rendered Tranquil in the physical world, not dead. So we are free to imagine finding Felassan wandering the paths of Arlathan, nearly skin and bones, surviving out of the same basic self preservation that we see in other Tranquil. As he does not bear the brand of the Tranquil, it is initially difficult to understand what makes him different.

He is willing to be placed with the Veil Jumpers, offering his knowledge to them and to you. Only after several conversations and meeting The Betrayal of Felassan in the Crossroads can you ask him what happened to him.

[bluesunss]

Beautiful flowers Choi Su-bong x F!reader

summary: A young woman, unable to find love amidst the noise, seeks out silent, gray souls. But one night, a colorful stranger disrupts her silence. She allows herself to be swept away into a multicolored and painful embrace with this stranger whose scent feels so familiar.

warnings: parental neglect, unhealthy habits, swearing, au with no games

word count: 1.2k

a/n: Enjoy!! English isn’t my first language, so please correct me if you spot any typos :)

"Go fuck yourself.”

The first message in a long sequence of insults. Again. When men realised you would not go further - it always ended up this way. An onslaught of insults, torrents of hateful messages. Each grey soul would rot dark after a while.

In the end, you blocked that parasitic number. Your days then settled back into that monotonous routine: university, studying, home, and occasionally work. Once in a while, an invitation to a bar with friends would surface, and you’d follow the group to a club. It offered a distraction for a few hours. But in the end, everything always came crashing back.

That night, you had decided to go out once more - or rather, Se-mi had more or less forced you into it. You complied. A pretty dress, styled hair, perfume, a touch of makeup.

“Men expect a lot and do little.” Your mother used to say this - constantly repeating the folly of men, the importance of self-worth, of preserving one’s purity and inner beauty. The value of peace within over the chaos of relationships. And yet, it was ironic - when she returned home from work, and you leaned over the window ledge to watch yet another car sway to a stop. A familiar screeching sound.

For a woman who never ceased preaching self-respect, she seemed content to accept being nothing more than a backseat fling - never even the passenger princess. Beneath her mask of hypocrisy, you could trace a kind of pained mischief, like a blind person attempting to read Braille. Her lost illusions gripped your heart. Poor, misguided mother. Those who love us and offer counsel often neglect themselves in our stead.

But what could you do? Your fragile heart was weak. Men never entered the apartment. It was always the car. You only heard fragments - muffled sounds, faint groans. Men were mere dark silhouettes, faceless, voiceless. Instruments of pleasure, invisible agents silently eroding your mother’s vulnerabilities - a root carried by the wind, a reed that finally snapped

This wear and tear had painted itself onto you. It had seeped into your being, and now, your eyes sought nameless faces. Men devoid of identity. Each love reduced to a dull, gray soul - a quiet absurdity. Yet, you made efforts - like your mother. Acting differently. Acting too loudly. Laughing too heartily, kissing too passionately.

Then surrendering in the backseat. But you couldn’t. With each man, you retreated. Their gray souls stained yours, a snake tightening its grip around your neck, slowly suffocating you. So you pushed them away, and the insults came raining down - tease, slut, bitch, whore. And who knows what else.

Tonight, you wore less makeup than usual. You didn’t use your mother’s perfume, which had long since aged on her dresser. Nor her lipstick. Just a little - just a touch of lightness. Not tonight. Tonight, you wanted to believe in fairy tales, to imagine that each flower’s worth could be reborn from the ashes of winter.

Se-mi was already waiting outside.

“You good?” she asked. After a pause, she noticed. "I like your makeup. It suits you.”

You smiled, and she took your arm as you walked towards the club a few streets away. The night had already fallen, and it pressed heavily on your skull.

“We’ll stop by a dry cleaner first, and then drop the suit off at my place before going to the bar, okay? You can wait outside if you want.”

She rummaged through her bag, stopping in front of the shop.

“It’s for my cousin’s wedding, kind of urgent,” she smiled apologetically.

You nodded and waited outside. You weren’t a smoker, but you had a bad habit you couldn’t let go of - scraping walls. With your nails, whenever you saw rubble or rough surfaces, you couldn’t resist running your fingers over them, peeling off pieces. The dust crumbled under your touch, lodging itself under your nails, sometimes making them bleed. You only stopped when your hands were white with chalk and clay, mixed with crimson droplets.

Back then, when you hid under the sink in that tiny cupboard, you scratched at the wall. Over time, your mother and you discovered hundreds of small holes, which she thought were caused by termites. You never corrected her.

A scent tickled your nose. Artificially sweet, fruity, pleasant, yet laced with an intoxicating, incense-like undertone. A vape. You looked around, rubbing your hands together, slightly embarrassed. Where was it coming from? Who was it? The scent was familiar. A bit like orange and blueberry - Spain, when your mother had enough money from a secret admirer, and you could still afford vacations.

“Yo, señorita,” a voice called.

Turning your head, you saw a man leaning against a wall near the entrance of the bar, a few meters away. He inhaled a thick puff of vapor, then exhaled it through his nostrils. Not the most respectable behavior, but he didn’t seem to care. He had just catcalled a woman with long brown hair, braided in places. She shot him a dark look and walked on, and he chuckled. Then he felt your eyes on him and looked at you. Taking another drag from his vape, he stepped towards you.

What you hadn’t noticed in the dim light now became clear. Purple hair, a neon top. A face painted with color, rainbow nails. Long tattoos running down his fingers, his hand, and the back of his neck. Ringed-fingers. He tucked the vape into his pocket and stood before you.

“Staring is rude, y’know.”

You stared silently at him.

“If you want an autograph, just ask.”

He was the complete opposite of the men you sought. All colorful, all loud, all cocky. The polar opposite of the silence that filled your days. Only his eyes were black. But around them, a thin blue ring traced something like a galactic orbit, with a faint redness in his irises.

He blew the smoke into your face as you leaned back against the wall, waiting for Se-mi. The scent of your childhood struck you in full force, seeping into your pores. The oxymoron of your life in a single fragrance.

“Are you the quiet type?” he tilted his head. “And do you know who I am?”

You coughed, then it was your turn to shake your head, somewhat dazed by this spectacle.

“I’m the legend Thanos for you, girl.”

He revealed his nails, flashed a smile, and made a somewhat ridiculous showcasing gesture. His rings gleamed under the dim streetlight. A smile escaped you.

“You’re cute. Not my usual type, but cute.”

He scrutinized you carefully, and you did the same. His face was gentle despite a certain hardness - an almost paradoxical contrast. His thick eyebrows gave him a severe look, even in the darkness. And he seemed incapable of standing still.

“Yo, you good? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Say something.”

Words… always words. Did one always have to surrender to words? Nothing. Just silence. For one night, you wanted noise, you didn’t want to be yourself anymore. You were tired of this damp skin and this sweaty dress, tired of your mother’s long fingers reflected in your own, tired of sinking into darkness when the only colors you loved were those of Spain and your childhood. And this man, with the scent of Spain, lavender-tinted hair, and cupid’s-bow lips, was meant to take you away for one night.

So you suddenly wrapped your arms around his neck, making him stumble backward, and just before your lips clumsily met, you did something you had never dared before - you looked him in the eyes. Then, as the glow between you turned warmer, you closed the space between your burning breaths and melted against his mouth, tasting of acidic childhood and sweetness.

Just for one night - to forget.

Just for one night - to remember.

The houses with white shutters. Friendly neighbors. Orange trees stretching in rows. Climbing those orange trees. The juice trickling down your neck, your arm, your throat, and summer pouring into your life. The remnants of a childhood destroyed by sunburns and crumbling walls. A taste so sunlit, so sweet, so fragrant.

The man grabbed your hip roughly, pushed you against the wall, and shoved his tongue down your throat. You yanked his hair, struggling to breathe - he was sloppy and clumsy but so good - god - he was so good, and you devoured him with fervor, sweet against you, his grip tightening as he kept murmuring “fuck, that’s hot.” He talked too much. You bit his lips, let your bag fall during this embrace, and pulled him between buildings, into a dark alley.

Then everything happened fast. Carnal desire consumed you - you wanted the flesh of this forbidden orange - the hem of your dress was lifted, an unbuckling sound. It was rough, good, illicit, and wild - everything your childhood had cursed and stolen from you.

You bit into his skin, sucked at the droplets of blood that surfaced, and he took you with such fervor that the world folded into that moment, into that intoxicating brutality.

When he finished, panting, he zipped up his jeans, muttering fuck, fucking hell, yes, señorita. You lowered your dress, legs trembling, lips quivering with the desire still burning. "Who are you?" he asked, eyes bright and cheeks slightly flushed, as he ran his hand through his purple hair. "Fuck, that was intense man."

You searched for your bag, found it on the ground, and started walking out of the alley.

"Hey, don’t leave, just tell me your name!" The man was following you, still adjusting his belt and his shirt. When he finished, he tried to catch your arm but you slipped away. Walking faster, you left him standing, a blurry mess.

Dazed, he remained there, breathless, his eyes unable to leave your retreating figure. You dusted off your clothes and caught your breath only when you reached the spot where Se-mi was waiting.

She held the package and smiled at you.

“It’s all good. Let’s go."

It was too dark for her to notice your flushed cheeks, your disheveled hair, or the tremor convulsing through your body and senses.

There, in that alley, you had left the evanescence of your most beautiful flower. And now, you had the right to wither.

lmk your opinion on this!!

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(this has been in my drafts since the SuperBowl, after being...inspired by the eagles vs. chiefs game, and the red and the green and...you know.

a slytherin!sirius prongsfoot au. james loses a quidditch game. it's not smut, but its not...not smut-like)

-

Hot water poured over James’s shoulders, forehead resting against the wall. He had lost track of the time, staring at the greying tile grout, blinking water out of his eyes. Or tears. He couldn't tell anymore.

It was just a game. 

Except when it wasn’t

And James hated to admit how much of his own self-worth was tied up in a game of Quidditch. If he wasn’t a star chaser, who was he, really? 

His teammates had clapped him on the back, assuring him they had put up one hell of a fight against Slytherin. They just happened to be better and the wind was blowing in their direction and, and, and, and every excuse to try to make James feel better about the loss of the season. Of his seventh year, no less.

The year he had told himself would be undefeated if he worked hard enough. Just tried a little bit more.

But no.

James vaguely heard the door of the changing rooms open and shut, thinking it as one of his teammates coming to grab something they had forgotten, or at the very least, perhaps Madame Hooch would come to check-up on James to make sure he hadn’t decided to drown himself entirely. 

“Are you footing the water bill for Hogwarts this month?”

Not a teammate.

“Piss off, Black.”

“Not happy to see me?”

“No. Piss off,” James repeated, biting back the urge to say that he couldn’t see Black at all.

He could hear Black sigh though, and in his mind could very clearly see him looking up at the ceiling the way he did when he was annoyed during Prefect meetings, or when a classmate offered an answer in class that was wrong. James knew that sigh. And now he was on the receiving end of it. 

“You’re here alone?”

“What’s it look like.”

“Your mates just left you? That’s a bit shit.”

“I didn’t exactly expect them to hop in here with me, Black,” James rolled his eyes.

“You played a--”

“No.”

“--good game, it was difficult to--”

“Just stop,” James cut him off, picking his head off the shower wall, “Not now. I don’t need any of that, especially not from you.”

“Especially me?

“Yeah, so, again. Piss. Off.”

“Even though of all the people in your life who will tell you exactly what you--”

“I don’t want to--”

“--want to hear, just to preserve your ego--”

“I don’t have an ego and I really don’t--”

“--I’m the one person you can--”

“--want to have a conversation with you!” James said, finally spinning around in the shower to face the entryway. His eyes widened as he saw Sirius standing there, with his arms folded over his chest, leaning against the wall just before it transformed into tile. Just out of reach of the spray, but definitely close enough to see every inch of James’s body. “And not while I’m bloody naked! For Merlin’s sake, Black, can you please just listen? I’m not in the mood for whatever gobshite you have to say.” James told him. As much as James usually enjoyed the back and forth and the tossing and turning that usually came after, now wasn’t the time. When James was far from confident. Far from cocky. Far from wanting to show off for Sirius the way he usually did when they were together, desperate to prove to Sirius--for whatever reason--that he was as great as he was made out to be. 

Sirius pushed himself off the wall, as James stood, spitting water out of his mouth, water continuing to run down his back. 

“Alright,” Sirius said simply. 

“Sorry,” James said, though he didn’t quite know why. Suddenly embarrassed to have shouted at his part-time lover and full-time pain in the arse, and all too aware he was fully exposed. Emotionally. Physically. “Can you--” but James stopped himself as he watched Sirius pull his dark green sweater over his head, shaking out the sleeves evenly before folding it against his chest. “What are you doing?”

“It’s cashmere, I’m not going to throw it on the floor,” Sirius responded, placing the folded sweater on a bench just outside the showers, still within James’s eyeline. 

He pulled off his white long sleeve underneath the sweater next, and repeated the folds. 

Putting on a show.

A private one.

Unwrapping inches of olive skin.

Sirius arched an eyebrow as he pulled at the strap of his belt to undo his trousers, eyes remaining on James as he did so until he was just standing in his briefs at the entryway of the showers.

“What…are you doing?” James asked again, voice nearly caught in his throat.

“You said you didn’t want to have a conversation while you were naked, so I’m…leveling out the playing field,” he responded, tilting his head to the side. Sirius had gotten a haircut recently. Not that James really noticed. Only that curls were still neatly in place when Sirius moved his head, and before, James would occasionally become very distracted when curls would fall. Tumble down.

“That's what you thought I meant?” Sirius shrugged in response, cheeky smirk pulling at his lips, “It’s not. This,” James gestured between them, “is not.”

“I see,” Sirius nodded slowly, “So…I should put my trousers back on then?” Sirius asked, stepping one foot into the shower. 

“I--”

“I should just…leave, right?” Sirius asked, stepping another foot in. James unconsciously took a step backward, luke-warm water further blurring his vision. If he stepped back far enough, Sirius wouldn’t be there at all. He wouldn’t see a thing, and he wouldn’t have to lie and explain what he had been doing or with whom or pretend or…

“The waters not very hot anymore,” James said stupidly. As if the premise of cold water would deter Sirius. Feeling low enough that perhaps it would. 

“Oh…well…” Sirius nodded, as if considering the implications.

“You’re still in your pants.”

“And what are you going to do about that, Potter?” 

James closed his eyes, as he often did when he was near Sirius Black. It seemed easier that way. Less overwhelming. Less consuming. Because looking at Sirius Black--all six foot something something of him, and the dark trail of hair peeking out from over the top of the waistband of his briefs, and his stupid long eyelashes-- was too much sometimes. And it was far easier to grab hold of him, when he wasn’t looking.

Clumsy as it might have been. As it was. James hands reaching forward, Sirius laughing softly when James stumbled around for a moment, hands feeling, literally, blindly until they collided with soft skin. Then with warm cotton.

James kept his eyes closed as he hooked his thumbs into elastic and pulled downward, instinctively falling to his knees as he did so. 

James was soaking wet.

Sirius was dry. 

James could fix that.

He opened his eyes to look up at Sirius, the two of them close enough together that James could make out facial features, as Sirius stared down at him.

One of Sirius’s hands moved to run his fingers through James’s hair, pushing soaked tendrils off his forehead, and he made a soft hum in the back of his throat.

“What?” James asked.

“I like you down there.”

“I can tell.”

“You may not have been happy to see me, but I have to admit,” Sirius said slowly, pulling the curls at the back of James’s head gently, forcing James to look up further, “I had quite the view…have quite the view.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Shut up,” Sirius told him, and James’s eyebrows knitted together for only a brief moment. 

“Gladly, and I’ll have you do the same.”

“What are--” 

James sat up on his haunches, straightening himself out to get more leverage, while his hands reached up to grab Sirius’s arse cheeks, hard. Music as Sirius moaned in response. Ha. James watched as Sirius’s head reclined backward in anticipation of what was to come. 

James’s mouth.

Warm tongue.

Sirius whispering his name over and over again, gripping the back of his head to control the rhythm.

Slow down

Never.

Legs shaking.

Hands, hands, hands.

Maybe James couldn’t win a Quidditch game.

But he certainly could give this gorgeous boy a blowjob, and for the next several minutes that was enough. He could certainly silence Sirius Black, or at least limit his speech to only James, James, James.

Sirius wasn’t dry anymore, and his briefs were collecting water on the shower floor. James would have bruises on his knees, and was hoping he could pass them off as a Quidditch Injury. The fingernail indentations on his shoulders would be harder to explain. Just as all the other marks Sirius had left behind before, which led James to suddenly start changing behind closed doors and not in the middle of his dormitory. 

His friends asked questions.

James never answered. Just relished the moments in private, when he would see the purple bruises left on his collar bones from Sirius, before putting on his uniform shirt in the morning.

Sirius put two fingers underneath James’s chin to tilt his head upward, and this time James stood up, the two of them sharing the shower spray. 

Sirius leaned forward to kiss him. And again. Down James’s neck, biting softly.

Yes.

“You played a good game,” Sirius mumbled softly.

“No, don’t ruin it, come on, I’ll go back down, just--” James started, feeling as Sirius smiled against his skin. “We didn’t anyway…we were in the bin by the half.”

“I didn’t say that,” Sirius responded, between kisses, “I said you played a good game. Your team was awful.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” Sirius said simply. “You are very good.”

“I am supposed to be leading my team. That's not exactly a compliment, Black,” James told him, and he could feel Sirius smile again, this time accompanied by a laugh. 

“Best I could do really.”

“Try harder.”

Sirius' hand came to the side of James’s face, fingers fitting neatly underneath his jaw like they were made to be there. Puzzle pieces. “What would you like me to say, darling?”

“Tell me….tell me I’m good. Just once more.”

“I thought that wasn’t a compliment.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re very good at blowjobs.”

“No. Tell me I’m good at Quidditch.”

“It was bad form of your teammates to just leave you be.”

“Sirius,” James said, drawing out the last syllable.

“What? You were clearly distraught.”

“Dramatic." James had been told that a few times in his life.

“Means you care.”

“Too much.”

Sirius shrugged, and if James wasn’t standing mere inches from his face, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed Sirius shake his head. James knew that head shake, just as he knew the sigh. 

And James realized it wasn’t at him, or about him at all. 

“Tell me. Once more, and I’ll never make you say it again.”

“Until you lose again.”

“We won’t.”

“You,” he emphasized, “are very good at Quidditch.” 

A final kiss. And James thought he could stay in the shower forever with Sirius. Wanted to rest his head, and curl up into the warmth of Sirius. It could be wonderful.

But Sirius turned the water off, a rush of cool air hitting the both of them. He watched as Sirius bent over to grab his soaked briefs off the tile floor, wringing them out, water hitting the ground with a splash. And he waited. Gesturing out into the locker room with one hand, for James to step out first. 

And he did.

Sirius’s clothes were in a neat pile on a bench. Socks tucked into one another. 

James’s were shoved into his cubby in the locker room. 

And Sirius waited for James to start getting dressed before he reached for his own shirt. James pulled his Gryffindor sweatshirt over his head, though he wasn’t as nearly as full of pride as he was this morning when he put it on. 

Perhaps he was a bit of a sore loser. 

Perhaps he took it too seriously. Or got too caught up. It was just a game, after all.

Or maybe he just cared.

“You think I care too much?” James asked, turning his head to catch Sirius pulling on his trousers, with nothing underneath.

Merlin. 

“No,” Sirius told him, redoing the clasp of his belt. Socks. Dragonhide boots, which looked offensively out of place in a Quidditch changing room. Alongside the dark green sweater. Though Sirius Black naked seemed to blend right in. “Anyway, I’m off to enjoy a victory party in the common room. I would invite you but…I think you’d be a bit of a wet blanket at the moment.”

James rolled his eyes, “Piss off, Black.”

“This time I will,” Sirius told him, turning on his heel and walking out of the changing rooms. Briefs left behind on the bench.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

I present to you: at no point in the game is Astarion actually ready for a romantic relationship

Tav is the first person he drank from

The first person he has consensual sex with after 200 years

And he says to them: no one is like you. You're YOU

He genuinely believes that Tav is the *only* person who would be this way, even if it isn't true. He does fall in love with you, he does want you, but I present to you the idea that if things hadn't gone down EXACTLY as they had, Astarion NEVER would have initiated a partnership/romantic relationship for YEARS after escaping Cazador for good.

The man is coded for survival, for self-preservation, and is inherently selfish by nature. It is only because Tav gives selflessly and determinedly reinforces wanting to be with him that he caves in and allows it, but if you try to leave he's thrilled. This is for the best he says, you don't deserve this facade from me he says.

"I don't know how to be with someone even if I want to. I want this to be real but I don't know what real is. I need to not have sex right now"

In act 2, if you break up with him, he agrees with you. He thinks it's the right thing for you because hes not ready. He won't say this unless you initiate a break up but how could he possibly let go of the best thing that's happened to him in his entire undead life? He wouldn't toss out the treasure of you even if he didn't feel ready.

It really does take a patient, calm, supportive Tav to get him in the end, and he DOES want you, I'm not arguing that

I'm arguing that that man is not ready for a committed relationship, doesn't know what a healthy relationship looks like, and in an ideal situation if he thought he had time and options in his life and if he felt safe he would have focused 100% on himself first for a VERY long time.

The tadpoles, the adventure, the pressures of the battles, the fighting the revenge the ascension and the ritual he has to fight or succumb to the fact that the sunlight is gonna nerf him again- all of this contributes to the perfect scene where Tav gets him right "out the gate", first by being a mark and a target and then by simply *not breaking it off with him*

And yes he's in love to the best of his ability to know what love is at this point

And yes he wants you very much

But the man is going through the biggest whiplash of his life and I can say with confidence that he's not... *Ready*. And after all is said and done, Tav will have to continue to be patient with many things with him. There are still a lot of hurdles. He may be with them for a long time before he wakes up one day and realizes, really really realizes, that he's ready.

The power dynamics are off, they're imbalanced. How could he say no to a perfect mark that gives him everything ? Blood, sex, waits when sex is off the table, never breaks up with him never leaves no matter how he rails against them? He can't. He won't, and he doesn't want to, but that doesnt make him emotionally ready for what a genuine relationship is.

He has to learn it, with you, over time, but I don't think he'd jump into learning that and going for it and seeing it as worth it if the situation were in any way different

Without the perfect storm of events, I don't see Astarion jumping into "commited relationship" to be clear, I'm not saying that he isn't capable of feelings or doesn't want tav it's just

It doesn't *seem* to match his character or his struggles to me. For a man that is completely self serving, he accidentally catches feels and then doesn't have the strength to cut you loose even though his act 2 confession is practically him asking you to leave him. If you take the Araj route in particular, he VERY plainly lays his shitty behaviour on the table as if daring you to punish him for it... Or maybe just expecting.

In his spontaneous scene it's softer, it's I love you but I don't know how to do this. And still if you say "I don't think you're ready to be in a relationship" he immediately agrees. In act 3, if you've stuck to him the whole time like glue, he never wants to let you go. Again, I think this level of connection is impossibly rare and everything had to happen as it did to get you there, but the power balance is off still. He says partner, equal, and he wants that. And he WILL get there

But he not only has to struggle with his past, his issues, his trauma, he has to struggle with the power imabalance that you're his Savior. YOU defeated Cazador. YOU protected him in camp and didn't stake him on sight. YOU fed him from thinking creatures for the first time. YOU are one of "a very few select people" who have had sex with him and not been slaughtered immediately afterwards.

You're everything to him

And by the end of the game you already see him trying to shift that power imabalance because HE SEES IT. If you say you'll protect him he WINCES and disagrees, he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be below you, but he sees himself that way anyway. And to me, that's the sign that he wasn't ready, he still isn't ready,

But he will be, one day. And I think that makes it a better written romance than thousands I've read, because it's not perfect. There's grey areas. There's things that can make you uncomfortable. There's parts of it that aren't healthy and won't be for a while. Who knows how long until he feels like he's your equal? Until he feels like this relationship is something he ever would have chosen if things were different?

But he does choose you. He does. He wants you. He'd just never have gotten the chance to if it hadn't been "right place right time" imho

[go-go-gojo]

Infinity

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Summary: You learn a bit more about Gojo’s infinity

Rated: G

Genre: Fluff, dating, humor, getting to know each other, physical touch

You recently made a fun game in testing Gojo’s infinity. Not with violence of course - after all, you’re no fighter- but with every day gestures that are normal for people without a 24/7 shield in place. Tapping their shoulder. Patting their head (not something you tried, he’s way too tall), even the soft gesture of covering them with a blanket. He laughed at the shocked look in your face - you had never seen an object float in mid air before.

Gojo is chatting away, cell pressed between his ear and his shoulder, when he stops mid conversation. You fail to hide a cheeky grin, because despite the blindfold you just know he’s glancing at your finger an inch from his cheek.

He chuckles. "Again?"

You smirk. “It really is always on."

“Yeah, yeah, I gotta go.” Gojo says into the phone before hanging up, slipping it back into the pocket of his jacket. He turns his face toward you.

“Alright,” Gojo pinches your cheek. “You got my full attention.

You laugh and place your hand over his. You can’t help but wonder. "Isn't that exhuasting?"

“Not really.” Gojo looks back ahead, leaning his head against the sofa cushion and slips his figer under his blindfold and tugs at it once, and then releasing it, holding his index finger in front of him. "Covering my eyes helps preserve a great deal of my energy. But honestly, it’s just easier to keep it. Takes an annoying amount of effort to acutally turn it off."

You look at him, pensive. You're tend to hold your tongue on such matters, but part of you really wants to say, Perhaps you’ll find someone worth turning it off for.

But you stop yourself. Because it’s about the things he went through to make that happen in the first place.

"Must have dealt with some serious shit," you say instead, "to have to leave that on."

“Yeah,” Gojo said, adding as he trailed off, muttering to no one, “Something great…”

“Huh?”

“Oh-uhm…”

You see the arches of his brows raise, failing to hide the surprise that you knew were in his eyes. Gojo always seemed taken aback when you offered him empathy.

“Truth is,” Gojo quickly composes himself and smiles, crossing one leg over the other. "A girl slapped me in the face once. I didn't even see it coming!”

You cross your arms and scoff. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," he looked down, and his voice grew quiet. "It was...the most jarring moment of my life. I told myself...such a thing would never happen again….it couldn’t.”

You find the half truths weaving themselves in this seemingly tall tale, and decide not to press.

"I'm sorry."

WIthout thinking you drop your head to rest it on his shoulder. Before his infinity could bump you away, Gojo wraps his arm around you, drawing you close against him.

"Heh.” You chuckle, “Good timing."

Gojo presses his lips against your temple.

[yoshinoritoshi]

Hello my dearest friend Yoshi, can I request jealousy HCs like the AOM men trio but with the Game Three men instead (Aesop/Victor/Ganji)? Please and thank you, I'll reward you with a skittle

It's always jealousy and yandere HCs with you people... I see, I see... I think I know what kinda fic to write next... (I'm lying, it's Joseph related.)

•

•

Aesop

The most jealous, but the best at hiding it out of three. He silently stews and sends glares to those who he believes get too close to you, and while he very heavily considers adding to the count under his belt... All you have to do is gently ask him to calm down, and he will. Surprising, you can comfort him a lot with even the simplest gestures, as nothing you do can make him jealous, only those around you are who he distrusts... Not because he believes you are without fault or even incapable of lying to him, but... he can't explain it, he just knows you wouldn't.

Even though you can calm down his jealous tendencies easily, no one else can, which means when you aren't there to help out, even his teammates will suffer if he thinks they've gotten too close to you. 'Forgetting' to embalm them during matches so they lose is one of his favorite things to do, even if it costs him the win. Once he's back within the manor though, he'll gruffly apologize when you ask what happened during that match, but he doesn't regret what he did, only that it upset you.

Though, don't think he's completely tame with you either, sometimes he gets a desire to embalm you... To preserve you so you can admire you for the rest of time, all to himself, unchanging and perfect... But he also feels as if it's an unfitting end for you, ironically enough, as then you'll be no different from the ones he helped his father with, which doesn't suit you. You're worth far more than that to him.

Just be kind and understanding as always, and he (probably) won't feel the need to end anyone's lives... He'll just cause them misfortune during matches so they learn their lesson on talking to you. He knows you might get upset by their loss, which is the only reason why he doesn't outright end them. You're far too emotional... Aesop doesn't know how to deal with that, so he avoids upsetting you as much as he can.

Victor

The least jealous, though he has some traits of it due to his own perceived faults... He thinks himself inadequate for you, so he needs lots of reassurances, yet even after being praised all day long, all it takes is some flirt from anyone in the manor towards you to have him green with envy... For just a moment, before he snaps out of it for your sake. He'll pat his cheeks and shake his head before willing it away, cause he really loves you and trusts you to not entertain any flirts or anything...

Still, when he has all your attention on him, he can be a little overprotective on occasion, grabbing onto your arm so you don't leave his side or pulling you away before they can get any funny ideas- though the moment you're alone he's blushing and insisting he doesn't know what got over him! Hold his face and tell him you don't mind that he gets a little jealous (because he's so cute when he is), and he'll get so red in the face that he passes out on the spot.

Seriously, his jealous behavior is really rare, you may spot it once or twice a month because he's just very good at keeping it hidden. When it's obvious on his face is the only times he's unable to stifle it down, and one hug will have him forgetting all about it in ten minutes tops. Affection melts his heart like a hot knife through better; he can't help it, being shy does that to a man.

Ganji

One may think he'd be excessively jealous... But why would you think that? The truth is that he does get jealous, and he's terrible at hiding it, but he doesn't really care that he can't hide it. Those around you should know when he's upset with them for how they interact with you, and back off so he can keep you close to him instead. He uses his 'intimidating' face to his full advantage in such situations, but in actuality...

Ganji really isn't as tough as he makes himself out to be. Silently clinging to the back of your sleeve in public, to embracing you wholeheartedly the moment you're behind closed doors, apologizing profusely for his behavior... He's so used to protecting himself from the scorn of others that he reacts without thinking when he thinks people are trying to schmooze themselves closer to you. You're his partner, the one he adores above all else, and he'll smile just for you, kindly trying to reassure you that he really isn't angry at all... Especially not with you.

Maybe he does get jealous, maybe he does pull you away from others whenever he wants you to himself, and maybe, just maybe, he's ruined one too many of your shirts in his haste to mark your neck— ahem, I mean, only when you give him permission... Afterwards, he'll happily sit beside you with his arms crossed and eyes closed, proudly grinning as you display your neck so every survivor and hunter knows that he loves you most.

[listslistslists]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕖𝕤𝕥

a collection of lines from the novel Wicked by Gregory Maguire, use as you wish, adjust as needed

Don’t go feeling sympathetic now. I certainly can’t

No one is exempt from grief.

Since when did you ever know your place or keep it, either?

Punishment for your wicked ways, you hedonist.

What the devil do you mean with your riddles and your games?

You cast a shadow if you sit there.

I don’t wear pretty things.

Oh, you terrible mean thing, you’re pretty.

I don’t read very well. SO I don’t think I think very well either. I dress to kill, though.

Does evil exist?

Why ever would a girl be interested in evil?

I wouldn’t know an evil thing if it fell on me.

I am about to sleep, because this is profoundly boring to me.

Well, my stars and garters, a visitor. Such a surprise.

I’m glad I didn’t leave, this is getting good.

It’s the age of daring. We must live in the present. We are young and alive.

Were you born to plague me?

I believe I have been set up to be mortified. I am being humiliated for sport.

She is my world.

Your world is too small if she is it.

Gossip is instructive. It tells which way the wind is blowing.

Settle down, you’re making him mad.

I do not listen to anyone who uses the word immoral.

I’m going to take my leave now while I’m still alive.

Do you even know the meaning of the word pawn?

I have always felt like a pawn.

I won’t lie to you, my dear.

Hold out, my sweet.

You’re making me into a monster.

I’m not as dumb as I act.

I’m not going and you can’t make me.

You wicked woman, you have bewitched me again.

What is there in my life worth preserving?

I love you. So I promise to be careful.

Love makes monsters of us all.

The choice to save yourself can itself be deadly.

Is life worth living in the wrong form?

By your own admission, you have a job to do.

Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others.

No one controls your destiny.

Human feeling, will you look at that. I wouldn’t have guessed you capable.

I’m just not going to die and nobody can make me.

They’re calling you a witch, do you know that?

I don’t think I want to hear about this.

I’ll set you afire and that’ll be the end of it.

I hope you choke.

I can make no comment on the souls of others.

I pray a lot. Not terribly genuinely, I admit, but I try.

Is it possible we could be living our entire lives under someone’s spell?

That farce, that melodrama, how could I forget it?

You should not trust my promise.

I may be kindly disposed to think about what you have said. But I do not bargain.

I think you are a very bad wizard.

As long as people are going to call you a lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it?

However did you get in here without being announced?

Why is my life so plagued?

You smell of blood.

Am I good for nothing in this life?

Everybody needs to grow up and leave home sometimes, but sometimes home doesn't like it.

You were never my friend.

No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst - there is always a choice.

I think it improper to talk about evil all during a meal. It spoils the digestion.

I killed someone today, I can kill you too.

I was only a witness. I was not really alive then.

I don’t want to be saved.

Don’t embarrass yourself and me with this charade of courage.

Whatever my faults, I don’t deserve this.

With a soul there is everlastingness, and life has tortured me enough.

Will this nightmare never end?

[letmedixonyou]

i'm not yours - part 5

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He's dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

words: 2.7k

warnings: alcohol use, swearing, mentions of drugs

A/N: Hi, darlings! Here another part of the series. I'm still not sure how long this whole thing is going to be, but I already have another idea for a longer story. My brain is working overtime these days! It was proofread by my English boyfriend, so I trust there aren’t any major errors.

The drive was long, painfully hot and quiet, but you finally reached Alexandria's gates. All this time you were thinking about Daryl, the image of his foot stomping on one thing you really wanted. That 80s music cassette could've been such a gem in this stupid world. You couldn't remember the last time you've heard good music, other than some weird 60s psychedelic shit that was surely listened to during LSD trips. For once, you wanted to listen to something you knew you'd enjoy. And he knew that too. He knew you like no one else. You couldn't help but think that he did that on purpose, to sort of get back at you for destroying your friendship.

Back when you were friends, he'd never told you no. He'd always allow you to get giddy and excited about things, like that one time when you found a pink Nintendo DS console with somehow preserved 20% of battery. Your eyes shimmered when you looked at it, and then you turned it on and the screen came to life, a familiar sound played and you let out a squeak, making Daryl chuckle. He made a comment about you being a nerd, and you admitted it proudly. You played some games on it until the battery gave out and then kept it as a keepsake. To this day, the console had an honourable place on your nightstand, making you smile each time you look at it.

Or that one time when you both went on a supply run to town and you saw a shop with clothing you never could afford before zombie outbreak, so you made Daryl go with you and watch you try on dresses, coats and fancy trousers. He was sitting there on the footstool, watching you having fun. You knew this wasn't his thing at all, but yet he spent next two hours just watching you and making comments about how fancy professional, but stupid you looked. You kept a huge fur coat, apparently worth $4000, now free for anybody who wanted it. And you wanted it. Daryl rolled his eyes when you decided to wear the coat all the way back to Alexandria, but never stopped you. You believed he secretly enjoyed how silly it was.

Of course, he wouldn't come back with you in the car - the silence between you would be too much to bear for him and frankly, you were quite glad that he chose to walk. You were fed up with arguing, fighting over nothing, constantly being reminded about the "I love you" you shouted to him a while back. Every time you thought about it, you beat yourself up for ever making the rude comments, escalating the situation instead of calming it. You beat yourself up for ever saying the three words, for ever admitting your feelings, and it was heartbreaking for you to think that your friendship was gone.

Getting out of the truck, the ground crunched under your feet. You wiped some sweat off your forehead and and looked around. A few people looked at you, puzzled by the question of "where the hell is Daryl", especially Carol, who was walking towards you with concerned look on her face.

"Hey," she says, standing in front of you, crossing her arms on her chest. "You okay?"

"Hi," you say and smile gently to her, rubbing your forearm lightly. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Where is Daryl?"

There it is. The question. Of course, everyone was concerned that Daryl wasn't with you. He was a valued member of the group and people have grown fond of him over the years they've spent together. God forbid, something would happen to him. You admit, it was most definitely weird that you and Daryl weren't coming back together, so you could understand why people are so worried about him.

"He chose to walk back," you look away from Carol, feeling some type of embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks. You weren't exactly sure why you felt this way. "We argued. He walked away. Left keys in the truck, so I could come back."

"He chose to walk back?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "You argued? About what? You two never argue."

That would've been right a few weeks ago, before you confessed your love, before he got weirded out. You and Daryl were great friends, almost attached to hip. Always together, always joking around. You never argued when you two were still friends. To some people it was quite weird that you didn't argue, but for you two it was natural. There was just never anything you'd think to argue about. But now? Now, you are sure that the friendship was never going to go back to normal.

"It's a long story, Carol," you say, scratching the top of your head. "And frankly, I don't think I want to go into details with it."

"Alright."

Carol stayed for a minute more, looking you up and down, concern never leaving her face. She must've seen how exhausted and unwilling to talk you were, because she smiled and left, asking no more questions. You watched her figure disappear into her house, the yellow doors of it reflecting the shine of the sun so harshly it made your eyes hurt.

You walked down the street, trying to use the buildings' shadows to your advantage, to hide yourself and get cooler. You couldn't help to think about Daryl and hope that he is staying out of the sun too, and staying hydrated enough. You knew it was silly to worry about him - he's always reasonable, knows how to take care of himself as he did so since he was a kid. Yet, a part of you almost seeks it out. That worry. That anxiety if he is okay. Maybe it was because your feelings for him. Maybe it was simply because he is... was your best friend and you wanted him to be safe. You felt like you will always worry about him in some way, even when you are not friends. You wanted to. Because you cared.

As you walk into your house, the walls provide you with a cool air, hugging your body tightly. You sigh deeply at the sensation and you walk straight into the bathroom. Taking your clothes off, you see yourself in the mirror. All the scars on your body, all the scratches, old and new, were glistening with sweat. You looked at your tattoo - a small detail that no one knew about, not even Daryl. The tattoo was a medium size, black and white Medusa head, gracefully wrapping around the contours of the ribcage. It symbolises transformation and power for you.

You haven’t had the best childhood, and you were raised in a household where emotions were not discussed in a calm manner. It was always a fight, always verbal abuse towards your mother that ended with a door slam from your father, and was never actually resolved or talked about again. Your parents always went to the usual selves a couple days later, bottling up whatever was bothering them. You've heard your mum cry many times because of the fights. You even heard her talking to her friend on the phone about getting a divorce, but it never actually happened. Your guess was she was too scared to actually leave your father.

Getting out of your childhood house was one of the things you dreamt about since you were a child. When you turned 18, instead of going to parties, getting drunk or doing your driving license, you got a job and moved out, marking your body with a tattoo symbolising the moment your life changed.

Hopping into the shower, you wash away all the sweat and grime from the day, desperate trying to wash away your feelings too. You thought about how the situation you are in with Daryl could've been avoided if you just kept your mouth shut. But then... you'll always be living in the shadows of Daryl's relationship. Shadows of Leah. Is that what I want, you asked yourself internally and you knew the answer is no. Sooner or later, Daryl would've found out about it. Sooner or later you would've told him and the same thing would happen. Somehow, even if it meant losing him, you were glad it was sooner rather than later. At least, you're not bottling up the feelings and emotions, just like your parents did.

Another couple weeks pass by and situation between you and Daryl hasn't changed. He's avoiding you like fire, keeping his distance everywhere. You stopped going on supply runs altogether, after speaking with Rick and telling him you don't want to work with Daryl anymore. Rick was shocked and, of course, asked questions, but you kept it short and sweet of an answer and explained you needed a break. He wasn't convinced, maybe it was the look on your face, finally letting you off.

One evening, you decided to open a few bottles of alcohol you stashed in your house. You kept them for special occasions, but you felt like this was an emergency and you just wanted to numb yourself for a little while. Sitting on the porch of your house, you kept sipping on some whiskey straight from the bottle, your mind wandering. You thought about your family, your friends, people you've lost since the zombies became reality. You thought about Daryl, what he was up to, what he was doing. Was he thinking about you too?

The sun was setting on the horizon. Everything looked so beautiful in the orangey hue. The trees were still, and the air was stuffy again, although it smelled like wet ground - a tell-tale of rain. A whole street was calm and quiet - an advantage of choosing to live in the corner of the settlement, next to an old couple, away from the places people would usually go to.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps and you turn your head towards it, hoping it would be Daryl, but the blonde hair in a pony tail and an all black outfit came to focus. Leah.

She stood there, smiling at you gently. You felt awkward and super conscious about the fact you were in love with her boyfriend, so you looked down at your drink as quickly as you looked at her.

"Hi," she says softly, sitting next to you on the steps. Her politeness and kindness was almost bugging you.

She was always quite nice to you and others. Maybe that was why people actually disliked her - it was coming off as ingenuine. The first time she came to Alexandria with Daryl, she was so sweet it almost made your teeth hurt. She spoke softly, all the time, like there was nothing that bothers her, like her zen was always in check. Daryl didn't seem to mind her overly sweet voice and attitude of a little girl who didn't know what to do with themselves. In fact, he seemed to like it which made you cringe. Maybe it was because he was a natural protector. A person that always keeps people safe and when he met Leah, all alone in the woods, his instincts kicked in and he needed to protect her. Or maybe it was because she was not shy in showing that she was interested in him, making eyes at him and laughing at his jokes, even when they were bad ones.

You grumble in response, nodding once to acknowledge Leah. There was a pause, a super uncomfortable silence between you two, before she opened her mouth again.

"You shouldn't drink that much, you know? It's not healthy."

"Okay, Leah," you say dismissively, taking another swig out of the bottle. Leah was the last person you'd listen to when it comes to advice. Or anything, really.

Another long pause happens, and you keep looking at the sunset, trying to avoid her burning gaze. You could tell she was scanning you, like she was trying to figure you out. You didn't care much about how she looked at you. You disliked her and her opinion about you didn't matter.

Leah sighs and clasps her hands on her knee.

"Why did you stop going on supply runs with Daryl?" she asks straightforwardly, and you finally turn your head towards her, tilting it to the side.

Your eyebrows turn upwards. You were trying to assess if she's serious or not. It's been a few weeks since the decision of stopping supply runs with Daryl, so you were sure she was joking, maybe mocking you or something. Your eyes meet and you can see concern on her face. Her lips press together, waiting for your answer. She was nervously tapping her foot on the ground.

"I was just wondering that's all. Did something happen?" she pressed even more. It was starting to get on your nerves a little, but you kept your mouth shut. Sipping on the amber liquid, you leaned against the baluster of the stairs.

The sun was barely visible anymore, the evening has gotten more dark. You could hear cicadas in the grass somewhere, and the slight buzzing of the electricity from the solar panels nearby. If it wasn't for Leah's presence next to you, the evening would've been perfect - full of drunken thoughts about Daryl, blurry vision and calm air.

"Daryl has been really absent lately," she says, shrugging her shoulders. She kept looking at the setting sun as well. "I guess I wanted to know why."

"Me and Daryl aren't friends anymore," you finally say in a low voice, almost like you didn't want to say those words out loud. You feel alcohol drifting around in your veins, so you try to steady your mind to make sure you don't just babble anything inappropriate to her.

"What?" Leah turns her gaze towards you, clearly confused, scowling hard and then turning her eyes towards the ground in front of her. "Why not?"

Again, you glance at her, making sure she was serious. And yet again, all you see is just concern and sincerity in her eyes. She looked genuinely shocked at he information you provided her with, like she actually had no idea what's been happening. Her whole body leaned towards you a little, waiting for any answer from you. But before you can answer her, she speaks up again.

"Daryl doesn't really share things like that with me," her voice almost a whisper, as she's rubbing her arm, either from coolness of the air or just a pure awkwardness of the situation. "I wouldn't have known if you two were not friends anymore. He's quite a mystery, isn't he?"

You swallow hard, the realisation of what she said hitting you like a ton of bricks. Leah was his girlfriend, the person who he should confide in, should talk to about things, especially about things like arguing with his best friend to the point of never speaking to them again. He should be speaking about his fears, dreams and future with her, right? Like couples do?

She doesn't know?

You couldn't help but wonder what else did he conceal from her? Does she know about his past? About his childhood, about Merle? Does she know how he got the scars on his back? Does she know anything about his past, anything at all?

You kept looking at her, completely dumbfounded, not knowing what to say or do. You take another swig out of the bottle, assessing the situation. What can you say? It's not exactly something you should speak about with Daryl's girlfriend. "I'm in love with your boyfriend and he didn't like that, so we aren't friends anymore" or "You boyfriend hates me because I confessed my love for him". You felt like it wasn't your place, wasn't something that you should announce to her. It should've been Daryl who bitches about it to her, not you.

You open your mouth, but the words don't come out. They get stuck in your throat, and you bite your lip, desperately trying to find anything to say, anything at all. Leah looks at you, clearly frustrated with something. Well, probably you. Or Daryl. Or both. She doesn't wait for your answer. Instead, she scoffs, gets up and walks off, leaving you on half-drunk on the stairs of your house, with even more to think about.