#masked man producer

[orangewasfab]

ethoooo

[drowsinginspace]

This show is making me suspect Howard of all people and I hate it. WHAT IS HAPPENING?? GIVE US MORE CLUES!! WHY ARE WE BACK AT SUSPECTING THE NEIGHBOURS??

[raurquiz]

#happybirthday @LeoDiCaprio #leonardodicaprio #actor #producer #inception #titanic #thedeparted #KillersoftheFlowerMoon #thewolfofwallstreet #TotalEclipse #RomeoandJuliet #TheManintheIronMask #CatchMeIfYouCan #TheAviator #BloodDiamond #ShutterIsland #DjangoUnchained #TheGreatGatsby

[agp]

transitioning into manhood is an extremely common way of talking about cis manhood, both formally and casually, but if i were to talk about my time transitioning into manhood, and how i realized that wasnt necessary and in the end womanhood was what was most comfortable for me and my body, i believe i would likely get accused of being a deceitful predator attempting to pass myself off as detrans. i would be tricking others into accepting my womanhood by implying i was coercively assigned female because of the use of the word 'transitioning' speaking as a woman in the common phrase used to describe the process of becoming a man

and while i could accuse others of being the ones drawing parallels between my struggles during a past attempt at becoming a man and those of former trans men and continue to stigmatize this association, what if i dont fucking want to? what if i believe 'transitioning into manhood' should be for everyone who wishes to name their own struggles this way, both past and present?

what if i believe trans women are not fundamentally already men with no need for such transition? what if i believe we are no more 'transitioning away from manhood' than certain cis women, who instead are said to have 'detransitioned back from manhood'? what if i believe those coercively assigned female at birth are not necessarily already women by virtue of such assignment either? what if i believe language of becoming and transition is just as relevant in our struggles as women, cis or trans, detrans or otherwise? what if i believe i cant say these things together without being accused of conflating fundamentally different things?

what if i refuse to comply with the notion that we must necessarily reject our similarities? what if i express these beliefs? would i be so strange?

[carvers-hawke]

you know healing, and especially more advanced spirit healing, probably requires an extensive knowledge of anatomy right? gotta know how to direct the magic to put the body back properly and all, yeah?

and how a big part of the study of anatomy involved the dissection of animals and, ultimately, of the human body. so, logically, makes sense that mages who pursue healing would have to study anatomy extensively.

except access to cadavers has historically been difficult (I mean, to the point a whole profession existed solely around digging up bodies to sell to doctors) so how's a mage to find quality cadavers in a circle? not like there's a whole ritual where if you take too long you get killed just to be safe...

now imagine a young anders, spirit healer savant, having to dissect the bodies of apprentices who failed their harrowing, or mages who had killed themselves. because, for practicalitys sake, you can't just pass up the opportunity if you want to study. and healing is one of the nobler pursuits for mages, to the extent that they are allowed to intentionally engage with denizens of the fade to further their abilities. so he has to reckon with the fact that people he knew, people he might have shared jokes with, had just been laughing so hard they couldn't breath a few days ago, has been depersonalized into a cadaver to be taken apart piece by piece and studied. for the greater good.

in the worst of it, when he's alone in solitary, he thinks to himself that, if he dies here--from neglect, abuse, or his own hand--at least he'll still be of some use to someone.

[clonerightsagenda]

I have had lots of thoughts and conversations about what happens to the W359 characters postcanon but if COVID happens in their universe Doug has not left the house in three years.

[kagedbird]

I'm 95% sure I caught covid from my coworker who drives me to and from work. :(

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Senpai is your go-to reliable classmate. Not only is he smart and one of the top students, but he's part of multiple sport clubs and overall a skilled athlete. Truly an admirable individual.

What you don't know is that he's a rancid otaku who can't differentiate between fiction and reality. All that assiduous training isn't for any competition, but preparation for a potential disaster. What if there's a zombie apocalypse like in Highschool of the Dead? He must be fit enough to protect you from the mindless masses! Or, even worse, he could be isekai'd into an RPG world. "Thank God you can use a sword," you'd cry against his chest. He grins at the thought.

Well, there's also the fact that he's obsessed with you. Secretly, of course. He's seen the way you look at him: nothing but a good Samaritan, lacking anything special. He needs to win your heart differently. He needs to impress you first. Oh, he can already picture it! "Senpai? It was you, all along?" He'd ruffle your hair with a humble smirk.

Consequently, you're now being followed around by a masked weirdo. The first encounter was a humiliating affair. You were about to reach your school, when someone dramatically jumped on top of the gate, towering above you. The man - wearing a paper bag from the fresh produce aisle - handed you a rose in a poof of smoke. Its petals fluttered in the air and scattered all around, as everyone turned to look at you. A confession? Who was the mysterious suitor?

"I'm going to be late," you explained, pushing the flower back.

What's wrong with that guy, you wondered, speeding away from the scene.

Too simple? Too direct? Don't worry, (Y/N) Darling. He's full of ideas.

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[eiilese]

what if the strawhats had different roles on the ship⁉️ i swapped everyone’s roles except for luffy because i can’t imagine him being anything but the captain

these are loose redesigns since their canon designs don’t really read as their roles all that much to begin with. some extra doodles and ideas for this in the cut !!

nami, vice captain: i took a lot of inspiration from her beta design!! canon nami already bosses everyone around so she fits right into the role. she wields an extendable staff (usopp still makes it for her); she lost her arm over the time-skip like how zoro lost his eye. i LOVE drawing cargo pants and boots, so she ended up with a sorta bottom-heavy design. frankly it’s probably not her style but i like how she looks

zoro, the cook: my foolproof logic is zoro uses swords = good with knives. he does not use katanas to cut produce however, just normal knives. i was trying to go for “sweaty ramen guy” with the towel around his neck. the majority of the shit he cooks would probably be drowned in alcohol. he also wears his bandana the majority of the time now!! it completes the ramen guy look

sanji, the sniper: i also took inspiration from his beta design for this!!! he has guns!! and perfect aim of course. i was going for more of a mafioso look so germa 66 would be like, a mafia organization on top of all the other villain shit they already do. he has two guns but i didn’t draw a holster bc that’s annoying🤞 he lights his cigarettes with his guns. how would that even work? don’t ask me

usopp, the navigator: his artistic talent lends itself to creating perfect maps! he also still tinkers, making nami’s staff as well as having a specialty for compasses. he uses a slingshot still (no perfect aim we gotta nerf him) and shoots weather-related projectiles. his goggles serve as binoculars, they can zoom to several different distances. i drew him in his zou outfit purely bc it’s my favorite one

chopper, the helmsman: he would predominately use heavy point while maneuvering the wheel. i changed his hat up to look more like a sailor’s cap, with an anchor symbol instead of an X. to be honest i don’t have much else bc helmsman doesn’t bring much to my mind :(

franky, the musician: ROCK N ROLL BABY YEEAHHH come on his stage presence is unmatched. he’s still a cyborg, he has instruments all over his body like apoo does but they were installed manually. his personality changes depending on what genre he’s playing but rock n roll is his default B) (ex. classical calls for a refined gentleman)

robin, the shipwright: her devil fruit gives her as many helpful hands as she needs! she developed nami’s arm (definitely installed some random shit she did Not ask for). she has a robot mecha that she’s able to pilot all by herself using clones. i changed her orange sunglasses to goggle eyewear

brook, the doctor: the irony of being nursed back to health by a literal skeleton 💀the irony of being the doctor of the rumbar pirates yet being the only survivor, saving no one from the poison 💀 i went for a plague doctor look! IM VERY HAPPY WITH HOW HE TURNED OUT i was really tempted to give him the plague mask too, but i feel that would’ve changed his appearance too much compared to the others

jinbei, the archaeologist: the shape of this man demands a little pair of round glasses on his face. he’s an intellectual i tell you!!! plus still a fishman karate master. the history of joyboy and fishman island being so intertwined is how he developed an interest in history

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 2k+

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: implied smut, explicit smut, emotional sex, very sad (don't underestimate the angst huhu), depressed yoongi, reader is pining so hard lord!, creampie, unplanned pregnancy, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Lemme know if you want a part 2? (even though I already know the answer hehe).

Arrangement.

You would rather call it an arrangement - the thing that is going on between you and Yoongi. Anything you have been feeling for him, outside your usual practice, is your, solely your decision or more likely… fault. 

Hence, it’s a given. A given that you shouldn’t feel your heart dropping to your stomach, crashing on whatever is available inside your body and shattering into a thousand pieces, when you find Gyuri walking inside the room. 

Beside you, Yoongi tenses. His body goes rigid as the air inside the room thickens beyond repair. And all of a sudden you can’t breathe. 

Now you understand why Namjoon has been avoiding to reveal the name of the artist all along.

Lee Gyuri - One of the most successful solo artist as well as Min Yoongi’s one true love, who had left him broken so bad that you once found him on the street, unconscious, vomit all over his clothes - is now back in his life… in your life, which has been revolving around him. 

Where she left - You started. 

You picked Yoongi up, put him into pieces, not that you were able to heal the cracks but you at least conjoined it all together. 

And just like that - one night after a long heart to heart talk and a few beers, you found him seethed deep inside you. Yoongi chanted your name again and again as if it’s a mantra that will heal the cracks of his heart all while he rutted in you like a mad man. 

It started from there - the arrangement. 

At the end of long days and even longer nights, whenever both of you were too exhausted to go home, you spent the nights crammed together on Yoongi’s studio couch. 

Quiet whispers, curse words, wandering hands, secret body parts slick with arousal - everything had made your existence dwindle dangerously through his fingers. 

Yoongi always fell asleep right after but you stayed awake, tracing the slope of his nose, bow of his lips, map of his pale skin glinting in the dark. 

You had made a mistake. 

You fell in love.

Now as Gyuri slides inside the room with natural elegance, you hear Yoongi’s breathing getting quicker in pace. 

He is anxious. 

You place a hand on his knees, under the table. It’s a practiced habit that you adopted over time. Your fingertips help to calm him down. 

Everything is the same. 

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t relax under your touch. 

“Yoongi, can we talk for a moment?” Gyuri requests with a timid voice at the end of the meeting. Her eyes quickly lock with yours for a fraction of a second. 

You half expect for Yoongi to say no. You pray to the universe for his answer to come as negative even when you know –

“Yes. Sure.” 

That Yoongi never stopped loving her for a moment. Yoongi loved, loves and will love only one woman - and that’s not you. 

Even though you don’t feel your legs anymore, you stand up. You choose to take the stairs to exhaust your body so that your sadness can be masked. 

But even as you climb down floors after floors - your heart stays confined in that room locked with two lovers. 

“She said she wants to work it out this time. She has been missing me terribly... she said.” Yoongi doesn’t look away from the blaring computer screen. 

He probably doesn’t have the heart of looking into your eyes. 

Somewhere he, too, knows of the deepest secrets you have been hiding from him. 

“And? What did you say?” You chew on the inside of your mouth, again praying for him to answer something of your liking. 

“That I will think about it.” you knew he would say that. 

“What is there to think about, Yoongi? You still love her.” you force the words out of your mouth even when your throat closes up. 

Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes but you blink those away.

Yoongi finally looks at you, his own eyes glinting with moisture. 

“But what about you?” The question is rhetorical - metaphorical. 

“Me? I will go back to where I started from.” you lie, heart threatening to leap out of your chest. 

You would go back, but not where you started from, you would go back to the night when you picked Yoongi up from the street.

In simpler terms, you would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timelines. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, pretending not to hear anything at all. 

Even though you have to summon all of your willpower to do so - you stay still in your bed. 

Your tears though - keep falling, rolling down the apple of your cheeks and making a small puddle inside the curve of your ear. 

He keeps rambling on the door. 

Sometimes the knocks are steady, sometimes infused with anger but his voice stays low. You wouldn’t hear him calling your name if you weren’t attentive enough.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Yoongi requests again. Through the wood of your door it sounds like a whisper, “Please. I- I want to see you once.” 

Every pore of your body woozes out the desire of letting him in, taking him inside your arms and never ever letting him go. 

But you are afraid. 

He has never once visited you by his own will. 

He only tagged along when you asked him to. 

So you are afraid. 

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he might say what you don’t want to hear. You already know everything - know enough - if he points it out now that he is going to leave you behind as the love of his life is back then you might as well break down, which you definitely don’t want to do. 

You have always appeared to be nonchalant before Yoongi about this arrangement, about his kisses, his marks, his simple ignorance - and you want it to stay that way. 

However, your resolve breaks when you hear a sob, muffled by the door. 

Is he crying? Why? Why is he crying at your door? 

So you get up, pad towards the door and swing it open. 

Yoongi’s head shoots up and you look at his face. 

He is a mess - a mess that you love. 

With dark hair all disheveled, face smeared with tears, lips chapped, Yoongi says, “I am here to end things.” 

This. You were afraid of this. 

Your insides churn and mold into a ball of nothingness. There are words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you choose to stay silent as always.

“Okay.” you reply, holding the door knob again ready to shut it on his beautiful face for once and for all. 

Yoongi forces his hand at the edge of the door, preventing you from closing it. 

He steps inside your apartment and within a few moments, you are being pushed to the door, closing it with the force of your back. 

Yoongi kisses you with everything he has left inside. You kiss him back. 

You don’t know what is happening but if this is for one last time, then you will accept it. 

Your hands wrap around his neck on their own accord. His chapped lips mold perfectly with your moisturized pair. 

They move in perfect sync, perfect rhythm - the rhythm of destruction. 

“Y/N” Yoongi whispers in between the kiss, “I am sorry.” 

You don’t pay his words any mind, rather you let your fingers get lost in his long dark hair. 

The kiss grows hungrier by every second you spend in each other’s hold. 

Yoongi starts directing you towards your bedroom and your small apartment space takes no time to be crossed. 

You soon feel the edge of your bed behind your knees. 

When you fall back - Yoongi falls with you. 

He looks into your eyes, his own eyes telling a thousand different stories all together. But tonight, you don’t try to read those. 

What’s the point when your own chapter is ending? When memories of you will be left to collect dust on the surface? 

What’s the point when he knows he is going back to the one he has always loved? 

His rough calloused hand comes in contact with your cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers again as he reaches down to place a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your right eye.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your left eye.

“I’m sorry.” this time it’s the tip of your nose. 

“I’m sorry” and lastly it’s your lips. 

You have never seen Min Yoongi this emotional. 

After Gyuri left him, he became numb. You were never able to thaw the frozen parts of him. 

But tonight you see a completely different Yoongi. Is this Gyuri’s magic? Has her return made him a human again? 

Yoongi - who never touched you or kissed you more than it’s needed, is now apologizing while kissing every small part of your face? 

You take a sharp breath and reply, “it’s okay.” even though you don’t know what he is apologizing for. For not being able to reciprocate your feelings? For using you when you let him? For leaving you behind after tonight? 

He has already started placing kisses around your jaw, throat, collarbones. His hands fist the hem of your pajama top and he pulls it up revealing your naked chest. 

He doesn’t waste time diving down and taking one of your perked nipples inside his mouth. 

He sucks on it softly, sweetly - like a lover. Your tears start spilling from your eyes finally. But you completely lose it when you feel his own tears on the mound of your breast. You let him sob, as you sob quietly. 

It doesn’t take much time for your clothes and his clothes to join as a hip on the floor of your bedroom. 

Yoongi pumps himself, preparing for one last time to enter you. When he lines his cock on your entrance, he takes a quick glance at your face, as if asking for permission. 

Your tear stained face lights up in a small smile - it’s not fake. 

He enters you, takes up every corner of your walls, fills you with himself - both of your body and heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything anymore. He pushes himself inside you, pounds into you with an unusual pace. 

His face comes to rest on the crook of your neck. You embrace him to stay there, stay with you as long as it lasts. 

For the first time ever, Yoongi doesn’t fucks you - he makes love to you. 

The realization makes you shudder. 

Why now? Why now out of all the time? Why now when everything is ending? 

His breath starts getting labored, you feel yourself hanging close to the edge as well. 

And after a few more thrusts, you let go. He fills you up following your invitation. 

Both of you stay like that even after the deed is done - for a moment, an hour? You don’t know.  

You feel his disposal running down your inner thigh, when he finally slips out of you. 

You sneak a glance in his dark orbs for one last time. With a sore throat and an equally sore heart you whisper, “Be happy, Yoongi.” 

You see one last drop of tear slipping down his eyes when he dips down to cage your lips in his for one last time. 

It’s been a month since that night. 

It’s been a month since you last talked to Yoongi beside work. 

It’s been a month since you last saw Yoongi outside work. 

It’s been a month since you withdrew from Gyuri’s project.

It’s been more than a month since you had your last period. 

As you stand in your bathroom, with the tiny testing kit, those two red lines mock you. 

You thought that night was the last time? But this after effect - where will you go with this? Who will you confide in? 

It can’t be Min Yoongi - can it? 

You have let him slide through your fingers after all. 

Permanent Taglist:

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[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

With his romance with Lavellan, Solas learned a horrific truth—that him simply as a humble man was enough to be lovable. He had been plied out of the Fade by Mythal because of her need for him, and out of devotion, he became something more and dreadful for himself, for her. And she never reciprocated that devotion with the same intensity. He spent millennia fighting for her as a thing he detested—a man of war and death, a being whose mortal body imbued him with innate qualities and emotions that would further twist his Wisdom nature. He was producing the very poisons that would normally corrupt a spirit by virtue of [Being a Person]. The external influences now harbored inside him.

But Lavellan showed him. That being you are, the one that wished to ponder and reminisce of spirits, who valued liberty and freedom and knowledge and the wry observation? That was enough. That was always enough. But he can’t accept it, because millennia of being Fen Harel, being devoted to Mythal and her cause.. to sunder it from himself would feel like a magnificent loss. He has been that for so long, is there anything yet truly left of the Wisdom spirit that once was?

Not only that, but given corporeality, Solas is compelled by the operant [If I can, I must]. He CAN do something about the Veil, so he will. If he doesn’t, then he is forsaking the memory of those he destroyed with his choice. He is forsaking his own principles. To do nothing in the face of injustice and cruelty is a sin he cannot bear.

He comes to the Inquisition as a “humble apostate”, both as disguise and because in his de-powered state he is of little greater use (if he had greater power I’m certain he would have nudged the Inquisition toward their goals). This is a costume he is wearing, or so he tells himself. He exists to advise, to suggest, to subtly direct toward more peaceful and humanitarian and spirit-friendly directives. He operates as something reminiscent of his former [Wisdom] spirit state.

And Lavellan grows to love it, to appreciate it. She grows to appreciate [Solas as Wisdom]. That part of him, the part of him that he has put aside for thousands upon thousands of years, though his nature craves to return to it. Without his ability to be Fen’Harel, it is pretty much all he has. And oh, this mayfly mortal born of a “forsaken ignorant people”, she is drawn to him, seeing him as a [man], seeing him at his (comparatively) weakest, most ineffectual state and finding it pleasing. Desirable. [Enough].

Enough. He is enough as Solas, simply Solas. But if it is enough for Lavellan, why was it not enough for Mythal? No, no, there was a reason. There was a war. War requires more of people. It requires limits to be broken and terrible mantles to be donned.

But Lavellan is fighting an existential war against Corypheus. And she does not demand more of him. She values what little he is able to provide—guidance, insight, his magic. It is [Enough].

We Solavellans have dissected and discussed at length about the nature of the relationship being one built on deceit, the moral and ethical quandary of love cultivated under a false identity. Veilguard has confirmed the existential struggle and quiet agony that Solas experienced by transitioning into [Being]. While Lavellan should of course had been informed of his ‘true identity’ before falling in love with him, an argument could still be made that Fen’Harel is not his true identity but a long-worn mask that he wishes he could ditch. The man Lavellan fell in love with is who he should be, who he wants to be. Far more underpowered than he’s comfortable with, sure, but the personality for certain. Just a person giving advice, discussing at length about topics he enioys, exploring memories and ruminating over them, smirking over small verbal sleights of hand and sly tricks, engaging in philosophical debates. All of that is already there, that is who he is in peacetime. The man has known war and conflict for so long that he has mentally split Solas and Fen’Harel as two people, because he needed to, but they are the same. Solas who wields the martial prowess of Fen’Harel. Fen’Harel who possesses the wry levity and artistic sentimentality of Solas. SOLAS YOU ARE BOTH AND MORE THAN THESE TWO HALVES.

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 3)

You reunite with your crow friend! But it seems to need your help with… a man?

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood and death, descriptions of a panic attack, bossman is here yay

“Congratulations! You’ve just won the loyal customer raffle at Linkon Supermarket!”

“But I shop at Bloomshore Mart.”

“Yup, congratulations!”

You furrow your brows, eyeing the paper the delivery driver is enthusiastically waving in your face. Sure enough, it announces the conclusion of the famous supermarket’s year-end raffle, and there it is: your full government name printed neatly under “winner.”

Beyond his shoulder, you notice the other worker unloading boxes from the delivery truck. He’s dressed in the same uniform, with identical dark curls and also sporting a black face mask. He catches your gaze and gives a lazy thumbs-up.

There must be something wrong with your memory, because you could swear you haven’t stepped foot in Linkon Supermarket in years—let alone registered for their raffle. That place isn’t exactly known for catering to the humbler economic classes.

And it’s still 5:30 a.m. Have supermarkets always done graveyard shift deliveries?

“Thanks…” You squint at the driver’s name tag. “…Lukas.”

“No problem!”

Once the two workers finish unloading and stacking boxes of who-knows-what in your living room, they wave cheerfully before speeding off down the street. Half-asleep, you manage only a bemused wave in return.

You think you might’ve been cursed. Or blessed. It’s hard to say. Because ever since your crow friend escaped a week ago, it feels like you’ve already blown through a lifetime’s worth of luck.

In the span of days, you’ve gotten a raise and better employee benefits (odd, considering you’re still just an assistant manager), won lifetime vouchers for three of your favorite food spots, and now, apparently, won a supermarket raffle—complete with at least three months’ worth of groceries.

Rummaging through the boxes, you find they’re stocked with all your usual brands. Snacks, non-perishables, beauty products, household items—everything. Even fresh produce.

For the first time in a while, you won’t have to worry about going hungry.

—

You’re not sure why you’ve come back to the park tonight.

It’s late, and you’ve already visited the crows earlier, spoiling them with extra bags of peanuts thanks to your recent streak of good fortune.

The crows seem to wonder the same thing. While they peck enthusiastically at the peanuts, their beady eyes occasionally flick toward you, as if to silently judge your lack of anything resembling a social life.

Admittedly, you’ve been hoping to see your crow friend again.

You think you’re starting to come to terms with its disappearance. Life goes on, right? It’s just an animal, after all. It probably doesn’t feel the same complex emotions humans do—the kind that have you so affected by its absence after only a few days of sharing a space. (Maybe it was a one-sided friendship all along...) It probably just followed its instincts, leaving to do whatever it is that lone crows do.

Still, a petulant part of you feels bitter. Sure, it left behind a hoard of treasures—trinkets, gems, and gold so polished they must be real (though you’re not ready to think about where it might have stolen them)—but it could’ve at least waited for you to come home before flying off.

In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing you never had pets. Your apparent abandonment issues would be a nightmare to deal with if they got lost, ran away, or died.

Suddenly, a familiar series of shrill caws pierces the air. Before you can process what’s happening, something crashes into your lap, a blur of loose black feathers hitting your face.

Could it be…?

The unmistakable garnet glint in the midnight-feathered avian’s eyes confirms it. Without hesitation, you scoop the bird into your arms, pulling it tightly to your chest, and press a rough, enthusiastic kiss to its head.

“Where have you been?” you exclaim, laughing as you nuzzle the void-like creature against your cheek, smothering it in an embrace. “I’ve been so worried about you!”

Its muffled caws are drowned out by your babbling. “Oh gosh—your wing! How is it?” you say, quickly pulling back to inspect it.

Its feathers look good—healthy, even. In fact, they almost seem brand new, gleaming like a freshly unboxed gadget. Its once-injured left wing no longer looks broken—or as you’d thought before, no longer resembling a mechanical part with a loose screw.

Before you can start fussing over it again, the bird suddenly wriggles free from your grasp and lands steadily on your lap. It caws again, but something’s different. It’s louder, more piercing—frantic. It paces across your lap, continuing to practically scream at you, as if trying to tell you something.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your heart squeezing at the sight of its feathers puffing up with each stressed caw.

You try to pat its head, hoping to calm it down, but it jumps off your lap and lands on the ground, still cawing. The other crows, clearly spooked by its urgent cries, start to scatter. Bewildered, you bend down, attempting to scoop it into your arms again, but it evades you by hopping a few feet away, still cawing—loudly.

“What is it?” you say, exasperated. I can’t speak crow!

You step closer, bending down once more, but it hops away—again.

You stare up at the heavens. This has to be some cosmic joke. You can’t believe you’re playing this strange version of tag with a bird.

You don’t even realize how far you’ve walked, now a good distance from the bench you were sitting on. You’ve reached the darker area of the park, still desperate to grab the cawing bird and figure out what’s wrong. Then, without warning, your foot catches on a tree root. You stumble, and before you can recover, you hit the cold, wet ground with an unceremonious thud.

“Well, there goes my good luck streak,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Good thing nobody’s around to witness your embarrassing lack of coordination.

“Tell me about it.”

The sudden presence of a deep, unfamiliar voice makes you freeze. Heart pounding wildly, you scramble to sit up, eyes darting toward the source.

It wasn’t a tree root you tripped over. It was a leg—a stretched-out leg attached to a man slumped against one of the park’s statues. A huge, beautiful man, with silver hair and a pair of breathtaking garnet eyes, half-lidded and filled with amusement. He’s clutching his abdomen, the fabric there soaked in dark, ominous red.

Blood.

A field of red datura blooms. A starry night sky with the clouds beneath you. Mountains of gold against jagged walls. A burning plaza. A bloodied claymore.

You don’t register the ringing in your ears or the flash of blurry, unfamiliar images racing through your mind. Your gaze remains locked on the man’s injury. Before you know it, you’re shrugging off your puffer jacket and sweater. Now clad in just your turtleneck, you drop to your knees and press your sweater firmly against his wound.

You, waiting for your turn to walk on stage to receive your diploma. A university staff member rushing toward you. You, running out of the graduation venue. Two totaled SUVs. Three dead bodies.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you work methodically. Stop the bleeding. Stop the blood. Apply pressure. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just keep pressing. Don’t think about how much there is. Don’t panic. You fold the sweater tighter against the wound. Okay, stop the bleeding first. That’s all you know. Just keep the pressure steady. He’s losing too much. Is this enough? Should I tie it off? No, just keep pressing. Keep him alive.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. You have to save them. You have to save him. They can’t leave you. He can’t leave you. Not again.

“Sweetheart.”

The word, softly spoken, snaps you out of your trance. Your eyes lift to meet his, and the world seems to still. You’ve never met this man in your life, but the way he looks at you—it hurts. It feels like an ancient grief has surfaced from the depths of your soul.

You finally notice the state you’re in. You’re shaking. Badly. The cold winter air bites into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. Your palms are scraped from your earlier fall, but you hardly register the sting. The man’s hands—large and warm—enclose your trembling ones, grounding you.

And it’s like you’ve never known peace until this very moment.

note: can u tell the extent of my yearning to be spoiled with groceries LMAO

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[shadow4-1]

Simon never expected to meet someone so perfect over the internet.

He'd never been one for games, much less online ones. But at Soap's pushing, he opted to get a computer and join his sergeants in some friendly competition. During mandatory leave it helped fill his time. He needed a distraction, and it was easy to enjoy the mass produced shooting games so similar to his actual job. He was an excellent player and teammate. It didn't take long for his skill to be recognized.

You were pretty good yourself. You weren't a high ranking player or anything, but you enjoyed the game well enough. You met Simon one evening after getting bullied out of your last random lobby. You were expecting him to be an ass, and yet, he never talked unless it was to chirp commands at you. You really enjoyed his tone of voice. You added him as a friend, and sure enough he added you back.

The two of you were a quiet team at first. Just offered each other commands and nudges of information. But soon enough, during waiting lobbies, the two of you began to chat. You weren't sure if you could call it a friendship - but whatever it was, you enjoyer it.

Eventually Simon had to go back to work. He said he'd be away for a few weeks but that he'd be on later. You didn't think much of it. You honestly forgot about his online absence. A few weeks later, there was a knock on your door. You looked through the peep hole to find a tall, scary man out front. You refused to answer the door, hoping he'd just go away. Instead, you get a message on your game profile from Simon.

"Open the door."

You let him in despite the feeling of unease in your gut.

Simon was a relatively normal sounding guy. At least, you thought he'd been. The skull mask makes goosebumps raise up on your arms. You try to be cordial, offer him some tea, but instead he does a quick sweep of your flat. You eye the locked front door but don't have the courage to run.

When he's satisfied he walks up to you. You never would've thought he was that big. He asks you if what you admitted was true. You couldn't remember what he was talking about. He lifts up the hem of your skirt to spy at your panties. you squeak and try to push it down. The fabric stays lifted.

"I-I don't know?" You try, backing up against your fridge.

Simon regards you with hunger in his eyes.

"Y' said ya were a virgin, Love." He hums, fingers tracing the elastic waistband of your panties. "That true?"

Despite yourself, you nod.

"Yes."

[suguru-getos]

Genshin Impact Men on New Years:

Characters Included: Kinich, Ororon, Capitano <3

-> oh whooo is she? 👀 yes yes it’s me. I just wanna write on the new genshin babies and i’m so looking forward to it after finishing the Natlan archon quest. Genre: Fluff

-> Kinich:

Normally, the saurian hunter wasn’t someone you’d ever see as your boyfriend. But surprisingly so, Kinish rose up the ranks in your heart. Even Ajaw is… less mean to you. You know that because whenever you visit the Scions of the canopy, you’re greeted fairly by Ajaw & it shocks the others. It’s been a few months since you & Kinich have been together. Today, on the New years eve, he doesn’t want to miss the golden chance of spending more time with you.

Be prepared with a table full of delicious feast, prepared by him & his friends. He takes you out in a special spot where the stars are a little more visible & where you can hear how his heart soars when he sees you. “I wanted to tell you something.” He hums, watching your face glisten under the moonlight sun. “Kinich, it’s almost New Years, you sure we should’ve left everyone else and come here?” You chuckle, eyes beaming in joy. He loves you so much. He is always the sensible one, why then, when its you, that his heart loses. Unfair.

“I wanted to share our New Years kiss in peace.” He hums, pulling you close by the waist, wrapping his hands around your body & brushing his lips with yours. The feeling sends jolts and tingles down your spine. The sound of his heart racing quickly masked with the cheers of people in a distance. “Oh— would you look at that. I kissed you for an entire year.” He winked. Dork. :3 you love him so bad <3

-> Ororon:

Honestly, you never knew that someone as emo-looking as Ororon would ever become your boyfriend. You were new in Natlan & Citlali was one of the few people you were friendly to, Ororon calling her, Grand ma was hilarious. Until you knew why. Eventually, you noticed he brings his fresh produce for everyone who he’s fond of. Until, one of these days it was you. A stock of cabbages, freshly grown by Ororon, a beaming grin on his face as he hums, “Y/N, I have brought something for you.” He smiles. You often wonder why you’re so drawn to his child-like, almost innocent smile & the way he just wants to please you all the time. “You know that’s way too many cabbages for a single person, right?” You chuckle, snorting as he pouts cutely. “Well, yeah, but I just wanted to dedicate this produce to my crush & eventually, hopefully, er- my future girlfriend.”

Oh smooth. He did make you feel a tingle in your heart & he did make you feel like you were seen and heard after a long while. After Natlan was saved by the Archon, you & Ororon decided to take a trip to your homeland, to Sumeru. You settled in Puspa cafe with him, countdowning for the New Years together. “I am glad you decided to come to Sumeru with me.” You purred as he kisses your forehead. “I am glad that you brought me with you.” You chuckled, holding his hand and count downing together.

“Three, two…” and when the clock changed, you kissed Ororon, and he smiled. He has been wanting to say this to you but waited for this exact same moment. “I love you, Y/N.” He hums, catching you by surprise. “What?” Before you could smile and reply, he leaned in and kissed your neck briefly. “I really love you.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. You chuckled, how cute- “I love you too, Ororon.”

-> Capitano:

The embrace of Capitano, big & warm despite the pain & grief he continuously carried. “I missed you, my love.” He brushes against your hair, kissing below your neck. He loved cuddles with you, loved the way your body nudged against him. His body, being the perfect big plushie for you to hug. “I missed you too.” You purred, when you first saw this man, he was the Fatui Harbinger that made Everyone cower. He was famous for being as strong as Archons themselves. For a man of that stature to bring you a bouquet of roses everyday after work as long as you’re in Snezhnaya? Unreal.

“I have formulated some new years plans, my love.” He suggests, taking you by a pleasant surprise. “Hmm, what? You are always couped up by work, and I am often not in Snezhnaya; when else would we spend time?” He croons, the big, dangerous & sexy man famous in all of the Nations in Tevyat is planning a date. Hehe, how adorable, you think.

“What is the date plan?” You turn to straddle his lap instead, nuzzling against his chest. He smells different, smells like rugged leather & rum. You can’t quite put a finger on it, but you love it.

And he does make extravagant date plans, but your New Year’s Eve together is a little different. Capitano decided to cook for you. He made all the Snezhnayan dishes, some very own of his, belonging to Khan’ria. You were delighted that he can be so domesticated and so kind. Enjoying a fulfilling dinner on his lap, hearing stories that you’re sure makes his heart bloom… it’s enchantingly relaxing.

And when the clock strucks into the next year, you can’t help but be happily indulged in the process of falling in love with him, all over again. Dancing with him & kissing him lovingly. Tenderly.

[yandere-romanticaa]

The sun shined bright in the vast blue sky, as it always did in the Eternal City. Each footstep you took felt more draining by the minute, like a harsh shackle had been placed onto the soft flesh, the chains rattling loudly inside your mind but the soft echoes within the massive hallway were a gentle reminder that was not the predicament you were in.

An intricate golden bowl was in your hands, its content filled to the brim with various red fruits to consume, the produce fresh and ripe. It was difficult to not grab a little something from the bowl as you walked down the hallway, the sweet juices of the fruit filling your mouth to the brim as you hummed in pleasure, glee shining in your eyes, a (somewhat) pathetic attempt at trying to keep your heartbeat steady and nerves at bay.

Speaking with Mydeimos could be such a daunting thing to do. Whenever his gaze would fall onto you, it felt as though the earth would just swallow your body whole. Tiny bugs most likely had a better standing in his eye than you ever did so why were you rushing to speak to him again?

With a nervous chuckle, you recalled the small acts of kindness the harsh prince would show you. No matter the function or event he would always save a seat for you somewhere, or how he always made sure you came out unscathed from battle or if he was feeling more generous than usual, perhaps be would even share his drink with you.

Naturally, whenever someone would call him out on these little shenanigans, Mydei would shut that person down with lightning speed. He's a lot of things but he is not impolite, he'd reason with a frown.

The relationship you had with him was odd. He terrified you to the core but you still could not bring yourself to genuinely dislike him. Earlier today you had noticed that the man was feeling down - his gaze felt heavier than usual whenever you'd lock eyes, his shoulders were both too rigid and slumped at the same time, everything about him was just off.

And what better way to cheer him up than to bring him something sweet to bite?

The chirping of birds could be heard in the distance as you neared the garden. Greenery and various blooms thrived all over the place, the occasional hint of gold bringing even more life into this small corner of heaven. In a matter of moments you spotted him sitting by his lonesome, golden hair shining brightly beneath the massive tree he sat under, his back facing you. The cascading shadows of the looming branches gave the otherwise serene garden a dark energy, as if some hidden evil was just waiting to jump at you. It gave an even bigger edge to Mydei, his figure looking even more massive than it usually was, the red markings on his body almost looking like real droplets blood, dripping down his being, a warning that you should not approach the resting beast.

Even beasts crave attention. Mydei was no different. Even with all his strength, even with all his might, his wisdom, his curse - he still had a heart, even if he did not act like it.

You carefully made you way towards the man as the grass beneath your feet gave way, masking the sound of upcoming footsteps. Inching closer and closer to him felt wrong but raw, as if you were testing your luck against something. The warrior said nothing as you stood behind him, which made you wonder if he was even aware of your presence.

"What brings you here, little pest?"

Ah, of course. How silly to think that he would be none the wiser of you being close, let alone right behind him. You felt like face palming due to your idiocy but it was too late to back out of this now. Lowering yourself onto the ground, you placed the golden bowl right next to the man, the red fruit tempting him to take a bite.

Wordlessly, he did.

Golden claws inched close to the bowl, his hand now full with strawberries, raspberries and pomegranate seeds as he brought it to his mouth and swallowed it all down with a single gulp.

Wow. Perhaps bringing him a drink would have also been appropriate...

You sat like that in silence with him, your arms resting on your lap as you watched Mydei scarf down the fine fruit, his Adam apple boping up and down each time he would swallow. If he was not so fast, perhaps it could have even been hypnotizing... In a matter of moments, the bowl was completely empty and Mydei let out a sigh, his head now slightly turned towards you. He hummed, the sound low and rumbly, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. His red eye almost looked like a slit underneath the shadows which made you gulp accidentally.

He snorted, the sound loud and amused.

"You are such a confusing person. Has anyone ever told you that?" asked Mydei, his voice even and composed.

"I scare the living daylights out of you, and yet, you never fail to seek me out."

He... He was not wrong. Each time he would open his mouth, you felt like bursting into tears. Whenever he would go out of his way to talk to you, his words would always sting like nothing else, the harsh jabs wounding your heart in the process.

But even with all of the hurt, all of the discomfort he would cause you, there was a bizarre sense of comfort there. It felt less like the sweet embrace of safety and more like a thorny promise to always be there, no matter what. Perhaps you were a little insane, because why else would you do this?

You didn't even realize that you had outstretched your hands and had started to wrap them around his body. Halfway through the action you had realized just what you were doing, which the prince noticed by the sudden jolt. Warmth consumed you both as he allowed you to stay there, to embrace him in the shadows as he pondered on what he ought to do with you.

He hated you. He hated how weak you made him, utterly despised how he felt his soul come to life whenever you took time to pamper him like this. Bringing him fruits, honestly...

Your worst crime of all was having such a fragile and gentle heart. In his eyes, he could easily rip it open, claws tainted with your blood as he could already picture you begging him for mercy, to please not harm you and he would grin, because you had no right to hold so much power over him.

There were many things he wished to say. Many jabs, so many truths he wished to reveal but he ultimately chose not to.

Seeing you willingly come to him like this was enough for him. Even the strongest of predators needed to plan accordingly. Right now, he would bide his time and strike when it was right. Mydei was ready to sink his claws and fangs deep inside you and perhaps you'd let him.

That was the true horror of the situation at hand. The fact that he could maul you beyond recognition and you still would not have the heart to hate him... How dastardly.

How precious.

As a beast, he was pleased to know that such fine prey had so willingly submitted to him. But, as a man, his heart could not help but to shed a tear at the thought that there was someone who actually cared.