#my wife...... (gender neutral)

[lovegrowsart]

"zk is an awful ship they'd be so horrible and toxic together" zutara is literally baby's first EtL ship who go from enemies to close friends in canon they're one of the most wholesome interations of the trope imaginable but also i want everyone to know i'd still ship it even if it was horrible and toxic <3 because they're 2d moving pixels and not fucking real <3

[angelyuji]

some thoughts ☺️

cw // drugs, addiction, yandere behavior, abuse (technically)

minors dni!!!

yanderes that would get you addicted to drugs so you would go back to them for that feeling… lemme explain this better

i remember reading a reddit post abt this guy who started using ?nicotine patches? and his gf ended up getting addicted to kissing him cuz she would get that nic buzz when she was with him…. imagine that but it was on purpose becuz then you would keep going back to them.

definitely: wanda maximoff, gojo, constantine, tony stark, ghost (COD)

maybe: deadpool, johnny cage, bruce wayne, sofia falcone, natasha romanoff

i can imagine some characters figuring it out by accident, but i can also imagine some characters doing it on purpose (tony stark, ghost) at a party, peer pressuring you to do lines or smth….

[m1d-45]

room 11-13

summary: albedo is weird. no, not just weird- disgustingly strange.

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: implied stalking [him -> you] ; he is a weird creep!! brief + non described mentioned nudity (of reader, within a drawing)

-> gn reader (you/yours) in a modern au !

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

your roommate was… interesting, to say the least. not that you really had many expectations—unlike apparently everyone else, you didn’t come to university with a plethora of friends packed in your bag. you had no names to list on your housing contract, no familiar faces to look forward to when you came home, just you, a handful of cardboard boxes and a lingering sense that you’d forgotten something.

there was nothing you could pin about him. nothing in specific, no one catalyst you could point to. sure, you don’t see him often, but that isn’t inherently a bad thing. there’s nothing wrong with not going out much, there’s nothing wrong with being a quiet person when you’re living with a stranger. the common room is clean, the sink is (relatively) empty, and none of your things in the fridge have been eaten. he really, by all standards, should be a perfectly fine roommate, but…

albedo was a quiet man. you first met him when you moved in, delicately pouring exact amounts of water into a small tins over the sink without a single sound or stray droplet. he looked up, you exchanged names, and that was that. the rest of your day was spent unpacking in your room, barely hearing the click of his door closing.

you never quite asked what he was doing that first day, but you could put two and two together. he had a habit of leaving pencils or erasers or other supplies on the coffee table, and you often ran into him when he came out of his room to fetch them. you’re not quite sure how you never see him in the living room when you never told him your schedule, but… well, whatever. it didn’t take a genius to know that the guy with charcoal smears across his hands was an artist. and, if you’d somehow missed those, you sometimes ran into half-used palette in the fridge, beads of paint in a myriad of colors sealed neatly in plastic containers, changing every time you checked.

you weren’t sure why they were always there, as you’d definitely seen one when he was in the dorm, but… well, it’s not really your business, is it? maybe he’s busy, maybe he doesn’t want to paint, maybe he’s taking a nap, who cares. you grab what you need and go back to your room; there’s more important things to worry about than a stranger’s hobbies. honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about him. you could hardly claim to know someone you never saw.

well, except when you did see him.

you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as you came back from your chemistry lab, not minding the usual palette of paint beside it. also as usual, you heard his door open as he remembered some random item, not minding the sound of his footsteps as you receded into your own room-

“wait! ah- please…”

you forgotten what his voice sounded like. it’s mostly out of shock, not recognition, that you turn around, seeing him lingering in the entrance to his half of the dorm. his hair is loose around his shoulders, catching the light from the window and glowing gold. his apron is stained with a rainbow of paint, matching the perpetual lines across his hands, and he seems a bit too nervous to be talking with someone he’s been living with for a few months now.

“…i couldn’t make it to the lab today,” he starts, words measured and not at all like his original call, practiced instead of panicked. “could i borrow your notes?”

…you’re in the same chemistry class? you’d never noticed. then again, you’re not sure you could pick him out of a crowd—it’s not like you two were exactly close… but giving him your data was honestly a non-issue. normally you wouldn’t think twice about it, except if he was in your lab section then he should know the rules about missing them.

“you’re going to have to retake the lab anyway, aren’t you? my report won’t help you at all.”

he blinks, like he’d forgotten that fact, and you half hope that’ll be the end of it. you still have your own work to get to, after all.

“still… it would give me something to reference, so when i do it i’ll know if my results are reasonable.” his brows are drawn, genuinely worried, crystal blue carrying a surprising amount of emotion despite the careful cadence of his words. “i’d greatly appreciate your assistance on this matter… i don’t have a reliable way to contact anyone else in the class.”

it only takes you a few moments to weigh the pros and cons. at worst, your partner can back you up if he tries to steal your work. at best, nothing happens and you’ve earned a bit of goodwill.

you shrug, taking off your bag and setting it on the counter, unzipping the main pocket and digging for your lab manual. you find it and flip to today’s lab, mentally wondering what an artist would think of the irritated scribbles down the side of the page. whatever the case, you hold it out toward the hallway he was before, only to find him barely a foot away. he’s stood over your shoulder, letting your manual bump into his chest without a flinch, without an ounce of the worry from before.

without an ounce of anything at all, really. his face is flat, empty, just staring down at the words in front of him without seeming to read them at all.

“…sorry,” you start, “i didn’t hear you-”

“don’t be sorry.” with a blink, he’s back, taking the manual with a gentle smile. “thank you for your help. i’ll return it by tonight.”

“…yeah, take your time.”

you’re not going to question what or why whatever happened did. it’s.. just easier if you don’t. you grab your bag and go to your room, focused on anything else.

you don’t find it in the common area, on the coffee table or by the sink or in any reasonable area. he doesn’t knock on your door to return it. no, instead, you trip over it the next day as you leave your room, squinting in the dark to see it laying on the carpet, a note taped to the front.

yeah, you’re not reading that. not now, at least. you’re certain albedo is a nice guy, if socially awkward, but… you can give him the benefit of the doubt later. you shove the note in a drawer and forget about it, going to class. if you just ignore it, you won’t have to deal with it.

it must not have been anything important, because he doesn’t ever bring it up again. it’s almost as if nothing happened. there’s a new pencil on the common room whenever you walk by, he ducks his head and smiles sheepishly when grabbing it, and nothing is new. you try to look for him in the lab, if only to be courteous, but never find him. it’s not a big class… but whatever, you’re not too familiar with his face anyway. after a week or two, you stop trying.

it’s wishful thinking, really.

you have to do a double take when opening the fridge one day, the paint on the palette looking, from the corner of your eye, like a human hand. it’s just skin-toned paints, delicately mixed into a color that somewhat looks like yours.. by the looks of it, he must have fussed with the tint for a while. normally there’s only small bubbles of paint, but this is excessively fine refinement.. he must just be a perfectionist.

you can’t leave your room without running into him. not just like before, with brief intersections as he grabs what he’s forgotten, but actual interactions. he sits on the couch, drawing in a small notebook, asking you about your classes like he’s not supposed to be in his own classes. sure, he could be taking some online, but it’s like he never leaves the dorm.

he asks as usual, one day, what class you’re going to. when you finally gather your courage and ask why he himself isn’t going to the lab, he startles, like he’d forgotten he was attending. there were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t going—maybe he was in a different section of the class, or he had a car and had reduced travel time, or quite literally anything other than silence. but he sat there, staring at you like you were the one who had mixed up your schedule, with the same painfully empty look as before.

you left soon after that.

if asked to describe albedo in three words or less, you’d fumble for a few moments before landing on “fine, but weird.” if asked to do so with any other level of detail, you’d probably end up saying the exact same thing.

and that’s fine. you didn’t really expect to become best friends with your roommate. but for archons’ sake, he’s just so… uncanny.

you’ve never seen any other food in the fridge but yours. you cannot remember ever seeing or hearing him leave or enter the dorm, or ever remember not seeing some sign of him being there. his door was perpetually closed, the faint sound of scratching coming from behind it, and he’d just… freeze at random. like he recedes into himself, leaving a hollow husk until he returns, eyes left as flat disks set into an unfeeling face. there’s nothing inherently wrong with not showing many expressions, but whatever he’s got going on is far more concerning than that.

so really, who could blame you for being curious? his sketchbook is just there, laying open on the table, only partially masked by the small bag of supplies next to it. the door to the bathroom is closed, you really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this, but it’s not like he even bothered to close it.

still, it’s wrong.

still, having something solid to point to could really help if you ever need to make a complaint to an RA.

oh archons, this is such a bad idea.

before you can convince yourself not to, you walk over and sit in his usual place on the couch, picking up his sketchbook and gritting your teeth through the fact that there’s no way this is morally justified.

the current spread is plain. it’s entirely in pencil, repeated iterations of different kinds of jewelry. rings, with ornate spirals and diamonds along the sides, leading into a gem of many different cuts. some simple stud earrings, some hoops, a necklace draped around a half-drawn bust, the chain sketched to look like blooming flowers strung together. there’s some notes in another script, but other than that, it’s entirely normal. there’s nothing weird about a guy that draws bracelets in his spare time. but your mind itches to find a justification, searching for proof, and you’re already in too deep. despite your better judgement, you turn the page, doing your best not to drop it when you do.

it’s you.

you, at least six times on two pages alone. smiling, waving, fixing your hair, by the seven you feel faintly sick, fingers digging into the pages as you try to rationalize what you’re seeing.

it could just be a one off. maybe you have a particularly interesting face to draw? except the next page is the same, and so is the next, and you flip through them all with the edge of your thumb and it’s all you.

all of it. every single page that has ink on it has your face. from the very front to the very back, with only a page or two of white left, and it’s clear that the jewelry was an intentional decoy. there’s a spread dedicated to just your hands, one to various outfits he’s seen you in, one- archons, one in various stages of undress, barely granting you the dignity of keeping them from the waist up. the worst part, really, is how accurate they are, clear proof of just how much time he’s spent staring at you.

you recognize his voice now, quiet and measured as he calls your name. that could just be your heart in your ears, though.

he has that same blank expression again, standing in the doorway, looking between you and the book. you’re certain he can see the paled fingertips of your grip on the cover. “do… do you not like them?”

“…what?”

he settles back into himself, sad, shoulders slumping and eyes downturned. “they’re just practices, i promise. the actual painting looks much better…”

bile threatens the back of your throat. “the painting?”

“yes, the painting. the one i mentioned in my note…”

…the note. his note. the one you didn’t read. the one he gave you after a grand total of one significant interactions, before which you all but considered him a ghost. and he decided that making a painting of you was a normal thing to do?

“…it makes sense you forgot it. i can’t imagine i’ve ever come close to properly capturing your beauty… it doesn't matter the medium, i never seem to get it right...”

he crosses his arms, picking idly at his lips with one hand, like he’s discussing a particularly annoying problem on his homework and not the fact that he has drawings of you topless. after a few moments of mumbling, he shakes his head. “i’ll do better. i promise i will. one day i'll draw something that finds even a fraction of your perfection.”

you don’t care. all you want is to get out of here, to lock your doors and try not to call the cops while he’s in earshot. “it’s fine, albedo”

the lie is a poison that seems to sting him upon arrival, a ripple of shock crossing his impassive expression. “it's not fine, not at all. how can i call myself an artist if i fail to impress my muse? please, give me time, i promise i can do better-”

“it’s fine,” you repeat, setting the sketchbook down and realizing with another stab of disgust that he’s written your name on the front cover. you stand, hands buzzing with the echo of what you’ve witnessed, not caring for the crestfallen look on his face. “…you’re a talented artist,” you grit out.

and you’re going to be sick.

[tcustodisart]

ive been obsessed with wolfheart for months, ty for feeding us the good food

I'm more than happy to provide <3 (Seriously I am so happy Shadowheart is a furry, werewolves activate the neuron for me).

[technicrot]

in a taya mood so i made some petpet gifs of some of their kingdom sprites! will make ones of the crob and disguise sprites soon

[olteacup-writes]

gn!MC x Renee (Step 1)

sum: mc who favorites ren and looks up to her <3

note; since this is set in step 1 renee will be refereed to with he/him and the name Darren !!

im not the best at writing and don't really know how to write that well so please forgive me for any mistakes or the bad grammar :3

The first time Darren saw you was when he went to his mom’s class, you just had this look in your eyes. Basically mesmerizing by him, he could practically see the stars in your eyes, he didn’t know how to feel.

It was… strange? Qiu would be talking to you but you’d just be looking at him, why him? He didn’t understand what you saw in him, he just shrugged it off and thought it was because he was older, kids tend to look up to older kids. It didn’t make sense when he grabbed Baxter, Baxter was older than him and you were still focusing on him!

You said bye to him first, before Qiu and Baxter? He found it weird, he even asked Qiu about it! Of course Qiu didn’t have anything to say, “they probably just think you’re cool, Darren.” Maybe he was right.

He wasn’t sure, he wasn’t sure when he caught the walnut in his mouth, he wasn’t sure if you’d thrown in on purpose. Did you mean for it to get to him? When you looked down and waved at him, he wasn’t sure what to feel, he looked away. But he was kinda glad, he liked how it came from you. It made him feel kind of special in a way, he knows it wasn’t on purpose, there’s no way you intentionally made him get the walnut.

Still next time you guys hanged out he smiled a bit, he was excited to ride his bike. He was excited to race, and he might’ve been a bit excited to see you.. he liked your helmet! And once again you greeted him first, once you all got to the park you even raced with him and Qiu! Your reason was… something, “if Darren’s racing, I’ll race too.”

How were you not embarrassed? Apparently you were good at riding bikes.. and fast, it was basically a race between you and Qiu, that was until you fell from your bike. You stopped talking to Qiu and started to look around, you were looking for something.. or someone. You were looking for him, he knew it, you caught his eye before you fell.

Of course you got injured when you fell, it was a scratch on your hand, it was bleeding. He winced at the impact, but he still crouched down and asked if you were okay. He was concerned�� it was a bad injury! And you just looked so.. scared? Well that probably wasn’t the right word.

You were smiling, the moment he asked if you were okay there was a stupid grin on your face. It replaced the tears that gathered in your eyes, Qiu offered his bandanna since neither of them had bandaids. You refused at first, you insisted you could do it yourself and that you didn’t need help, but Darren could see you struggling.

He took it upon himself to help you, Qiu almost told him not to but you quickly let him help. Of course you did, he was your favorite after all, right? Darren had to admit he kinda liked having you around, usually people looked up to Qiu, him included. But with you around he got to feel like that, he understood why Qiu had his big ego now.

shhh this sucks but i wanted to give it a try anyways :3

please note that im not good at writing and i just wanted to do this as a silly little thing! im not shakespeare and there's going to be A LOT of mistakes in my writing. i kinda rushed this since i just made it while at the doctors office lol

[hellyeahmfwitchcrafttime]

what if v1 was a girl. Like yeah sure there's mirage but what if v1 ultrakill, the one you played as during ultrakill, was a girl/fem. what if they liked wearing dresses and doing their makeup and being a girl and liked being called a girl. What if they cried while watching I saw the tv glow or playing as Bridget from guilty gear because they realized that being a girl made sense to them more than anything else and they should stop trying to deny that feeling from themself. What if.

[gracieo]

Knuckles that say WIFE GUY!

[wuddshipp]

I'm gonna keep on drawing as a read The Legend of Luke. It's been many years since I read it. The response to it has been beautiful and wonderful. You guys have been brightening my day and making me laugh. <3

Reading the second chapter where they conspire a false trial to remind Martin of all he's done for them and that he is allowed to go to a home he barely remembers... ugh. I was nearly weeping.

Also shout out to Trimp for her stellar descriptions of the characters. The ancient huge badger (Bella). The tiniest, frailest, oldest mouse she'd ever seen (Germaine) and Martin as "the sturdy beast with strong features and friendly tone" and that she liked all three of them immediately. I was cackling

I like to think that she immediately recognized a fellow northerner.

[ryansosilly]

Could the sinner really be redeemed? Can he be saved or just lulled to temporary rest? Is peace of mind an achievable, realistic goal for the truly wicked by heart?

Nikto was by all means a good soldier. An unstoppable force once on the field, the only thing that could possibly stop him from finishing this mission was a bullet in the head, point blank.

As proof that he has yet to be stopped, he was still there, alive. Here and there would be a better thing to say. He couldn't keep himself down by any means of the word. All of Nikto, every one of them had differing views and nobody around him could really guess who they were speaking with. Only you. To your surprise it was not that difficult. The contrast between his different 'selves' was pretty prominent, it only takes actual care and to pay attention to notice. Something nobody else was willing to put. Of course, there were those mandatory therapy sessions Nikto was forced into just to still be deployed but they were nothing but a legality. Even his therapist understood that in how..broken, twisted of a man Nikto is, laid the true strength he had. Frankly? He wouldn't be 'Nobody', 'Nikto', if it weren't for the trauma. He knew it, they knew it, his teammates and therapist..nobody stopped to think further. It made everything simple for him.

But sometimes no matter how simple ones life is, nothing will stay the same. A change here and there, an unexpected switch, break, snap or trigger and everything goes back to shit. Nikto constantly needs to be knocked into his damn place. A wild rabid dog punched and kicked into place by the higher ups just for him to bite them and run away for a day or two. Childish, he knows. Stupid decision, he knows.

But he made him do it. Nikto wasn't at fault for running away.

It was a pretty damn unlucky time for that to happen. Everything piled up in his head, the voices being louder than before during a night at a safehouse. He has actively been going through a manic episode for the past days, he had lost track of it. Gripping his mask as he violently shook his body. He hated feeling like this but oh it felt so good.. his only peace of mind was the possibility of a death, of a redemption or some sort of magic potion to revert everything back to how it was. He couldn't handle this state he was in, so, to prevent himself from being seen like that, he ran away.

A stormy, rainy middle of the night, even the bustling highway had almost fully emptied out, leaving nothing but a foggy semi visible road with bright yellow signs. How did he get all the way out of the forest to the highway? He didn't have a clue but he felt so...good. The rational part of his brain was screaming that was a horrible idea!!! If they catch him out, disregarding orders and doing as he fucking wishes, he'll be in a really damn big trouble he doesn't need right now but the mania had other plans.

He... they? Who? Nobody was still in full gear, believing that anytime now, someone, or something, will come out and try to catch him, so might as well be prepared! A gun prepared in the ready as he stood in the middle of the street, staring at one same point. His body was still shaking even if he could hardly feel it from the cold.

Nobody was coming. There was no-one there, not a single car. That ruined Nikto's mood even more. What did he even want? Why would he want someone to catch him? Is that a game for you, Nikto?

Well, lucky for you..

As Niktos body started to give up from the unexpected rush of adrenaline and the freezing cold started to creep in to under his gear. No amount of gear can keep the cold out when he felt it inside of himself long ago. His legs freezing. To him, all of this had happened in the blink of an eye.

To you? The worried you? It has been almost 2 days. Nobody managed to find the man. Why? They weren't on a search. Only you noticed. So, doing the responsible thing.. you took an umbrella during the very next night of Nikto's disappearance and went out.

Weird, this rain hasn't stopped for days now? If anything, it's only getting stronger..

The umbrella did a surprisingly good job at keeping you dry and resisting the wind but your vision was still ' impaired ' from the neverending fogs taking over the entire street, maybe the whole city. This horrible weather hasn't moved and does not seem to be planning on leaving. Nikto found it fitting, you not so much.

Ah. Could you guess..

By the street, against a tree with an injured leg covered in dry blood lays Nikto. You found him. Slowly stepping closer to him, your grip on the umbrella remaining as tight as possible. If this was some sort of a cheesy movie, you'd say that Nikto might just be the direct source of this heavy rain and strong wind.

Nikto..Nikto?

In front of his eyes..from his very eyes, he could swear that he saw an angel, perhaps an angel of death, coming to claim him already. That umbrella above you, your clothes.. he could swear there were black wings right behind you as you stopped your steps right in front of him.

Eyes barely open, he took a deep breath, letting it out. There was no longer any little amount of warm breath showing from his 'mouth' as his body was colder than the very cold streets under him.

'it matches me' he thought to himself. Matching his heart. The heart that felt..ever so tiny bit warmer now that an angel as beautiful as you came to claim him. For once, he didn't want to fight. The dog did not bite anymore.

You spoke, spoke again and asked questions but weren't met with any reaction or answers. Was there a point in speaking?

Moving your umbrella from protecting you to being above the injured soldier. You weren't the one who needed protection even if Nikto may not view it as such. Maybe you really were an angel and he wasn't just deluded man who had given up to his insanity. Maybe..

Maybe.

Maybe..

The rain 'stopped' . It felt..a little less cold for Nikto. The only thing he could remember before passing out for who knows which time now was..how close you were, how..warm you felt just from getting closer. If he could ever believe his eyes again, he couldn't hope for anything but you in front of him until the end. Maybe it was just the mania speaking for him.

Maybe it was just the need for love, the need to be known, felt and seen that spoke for him. Maybe.

Before he could reawake and be greeted by the heavenly kiss he didn't think of being worthy of, he felt himself being picked up by the arms. After so many years, no matter your state, a soldier must remain awake. Calling him a light sleeper would be an understatement.

"Let's go back."

He could so vaguely hear your voice. Who..were you? [Redacted], are you an angel? A good or a bad omen? Why would you help a man like that? Did nobody teach you to let the weak die?

His eyes, once again, betraying him, falling back short. He couldn't hear your voice anymore. Only the loud loud rain that sounded like gunshots, deafening his already hurting numb ears. All he could hear was...?

?

Breathing..soft breathing. The one of a calm person. A person..not one that lives inside of Nikto's head. But someone else. He was being saved for once. Of course, when in the battlefield, he was brought up to his feet a couple times before, patched up but..never has he been saved.

No strength in him was left to think, to fight, to respond. He was at your mercy and instead of finishing the job, you took him 'home'. If he was awake, able to speak, he would be yelling at you to finish him off. You should've killed him when you had the chance. Were you stupid or just too soft for the army? Was he disgusted or thankful? Answers for which he couldn't think right now.

All he knew for a certain was that he wasn't alone and that everyone within him had involuntarily accepted your help. For which..as much as he hates it, he'll be indebted to you. He'll be nice for a day or two, maybe a week then everything will go back to normal.

That was the plan.

Oh..but the plan.. the plan was ignored, the mission unsuccessful.

He let you help him. Again. Again..again. and never repaid you. Every time he felt like he was losing himself, he'll subconscious limp to your room, his mind going back to that rainy night. When he was saved. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to be saved more than he wanted to be alive, to be alone.

Tonight, being especially tough on him. Everyone and everything was so loud. Earlier a bomb exploded so close to him, his ears were still bleeding but he refused to get himself checked out due to panic. What if he hurt himself badly enough to never be able to hear your voice again? He surely deserves it.

He 'deserves' it. He believes he does. Yet.. he is limping to you after the mission, shaky hands on the walls, leaving bloody prints all across it without a single fuck left in the world to give.

He needs to get to you. To the one who makes it ever so slightly closer to bearable. His saviour.

Stumbling down the halls, ignoring the nasty looks he got from other soldiers and just..focusing on the ground, his feet. Left foot, right foot.. he remembers how you helped him get on his feet so many times. Was it just something you did for everyone? Of course it was. Teamwork was a main thing for everyone here..yet.. you felt gentle to him.

Too gentle for him to consciously want to get close to. But now? That ' consciousness' was no longer there. What remains was only the broken shell of what used to be a man, a walking upcoming suicide, a living Ghost.

Closer to a zombie, a corpse that moves and growls in pain, he made his way down to your office. Once again, it was in the middle of the night. He got lucky that you took a night shift, finishing some paperwork. (Some of which, was meant for Nikto to fill but without telling him, you took most of the loads of work.) That's when you heard the thumping, the stomping and dragging of feet coming up to your door and stopping abruptly.

You spun your chair around to look at the door just in time to see it being kicked out open.

There he stood, once again, a broken mess. There was nothing visible in his eyes. No life, no ideas, no thoughts. Truly, a dead man. Yet, he walked. Walked..stepped right inside your room, walking up to you.

The desk was directly in front of the door with only the chair in between. Perfect set up for him if you ask. A simple room, he quite liked it. (Which was his excuse he used to justify sleeping in the office when you did work because you made his nightmares less worse just be being there.)

The silence was deafening, only the drops of blood hitting the floor along with the heavy sounds of his dirty boots that were muddled by a carpet making a sound. You understood, he understood. Nothing else was needed before he collapsed down on his knees right in front of you. One of his arms grabbed the armrest of your chair and the other one grabbed your ankle, pulling you and the entire chair closer. He was in no means gentle. Nikto didn't even think he was capable of being gentle. Maybe you'll get a bruise on your ankle for that grip but it was completely irrelevant.

His grip lessened immediately when he saw you didn't fight. Both arms releasing what they held as he rested then on your lap instead, his head laying down on his arms. From then, he was completely motionless. He could barely breathe with the mask on and in that position but to him, being close and not alone was far more important than any stupid amounts of air.

Your hand slowly put down the pen on the desk, making sure to not spin the chair around while you were putting the pen back on it's place. No need to wake him up now.

You stayed during his worst times. You stayed during his best. You stayed.

So, he'll stay. For an hour or two, he'll cry unknowingly. Most of his disfigured face could not even feel such sensations anymore. He needed you to look at him and tell him that he is crying. The water droplets were too gentle, too insignificant to feel against his bruised up, mostly skinless face. The face you still caressed so lovingly when you decided to help him. When you were nice enough to suggest him vaseline to make his face less itchy. When you cleaned and put on his mask.. a damn privilege for which you waited literal years to get. You waited for him. You were patient and careful. You understood.

How could he not cry?

A hand softly petting his back in a calm soothing manner. Ever so slowly, you leaned down to fully embrace him in a hug while still letting him let his pent up emotions. His ears felt muffled, his legs sore from running, crawling and hiding. Arms sore from carrying all those heavy weapons around, his face..his face simply just always hurt. Something always hurt. Mentally and physically.

But now? Yes, everything still hurt but..now there was a reason for him to want to make it stop hurting. To get the help he needs. His shaking only increased as you caressed him, eyes shut tightly, his teeth clenching, jaw sore. This feeling of vulnerability was sickening to the very core but his core couldn't be more glad than it was now that he got this. That now..he wasn't alone.

You weren't an angel, a god or a therapist but you were his saviour. His angel and his god. The one god that he could pray to and not feel betrayed by. Someone who heard his cries and helped. He couldn't be more thankful. Spiteful, hateful..so many conflicting emotions. Things he couldn't deal with alone.

He felt like the luckiest person alive. He finally felt like a person.

Nikto was no longer just a nobody, a killing machine. When with you, he was someone. He was someone. Someone with a reason to be. And treated as such.

For now, this someone will enjoy your time together. Worshipping the ground you step on for as long as you allow him.

The poor rabid dog has finally been taken to a shelter. Shown love. Shown care. Even if he still bites sometimes, he still has a home.

[m1d-45]

mundane extravagance

summary: there’s a dinner tonight, and you’re not leaving looking anything less than your best.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none :3 petnames dear + darling are used for reader

-> gn!reader (implied to be in formal wear but none is described except a buttoned shirt + one ring)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

dating a harbinger had many perks. living in zapolyarny palace was one, kept safe from the howling storms and the many, many people that had a vendetta against your lover. a guard accompanied you whenever you went off on your own in case they’d managed to infiltrate the fatui, though they were rarely called upon. the regrator’s work was not half as violent as, say, tartaglia’s, so you rarely had want or reason to leave his side.

now, however, you were considering making an exception.

you could handle visits to the northland bank, you could sit in his office and listen as he ranted about some business proposal or another and rather enjoyed doing so, but this… by far, the largest downside to dating the ninth harbinger was the socializing.

parties. galas. anniversary dinners and celebration dinners and grand opening dinners and dinners just because the sun had risen that morning. it was, quite frankly, beyond excessive and more than teetering into exorbitant. he explains them all to you, of course, detailing who will be where and why he doesn’t think another will show while carefully attaching another sparkling chain to his glasses, but it doesn’t help to curb the sheer quantity of events.

but with an event comes a dress code, and with a dress code comes actually getting dressed, and with getting dressed comes your current predicament.

fitted clothes. your first thought was that someone had spilled their drink on him when he told you to come with him for measuring, but he’d been too happy for that. he took you by the hand down a winding pathway in his wing of the palace, landing at unfamiliar plain doors. you were led onto a pedestal with a smile to be still, where you’d stay for the next hour.

he was the one that had actually taken your measurements, of course. why he had led you all the way to the actual fitting room was anybody’s guess, though you suspected it had more to do with theatrics than actual need. he didn’t so much as glance at either the chart of required measurements or the notepad beside it, seemingly memorizing everything. he led you down with a kiss on the cheek and a whispered well done, and it’s like it never happened. any further questions about it were met with a knowing smile and deflection.

by the end of the week, he’d presented you with a nondescript black bag with a hanger sticking out of the top, making you promise not to open it. you hadn’t, and now you wished you did if only to practice putting it on.

he—who else?—knocked at your door, the sound slightly dampened by his gloves. “is everything alright, darling? you’ve been in there for quite a while.”

and who’s fault was it, exactly, that you were struggling to button up a shirt with diamond shaped buttons? none other than him, the man inviting himself in without a word, permanent smile wider than usual.

“is there a problem?”

you let your hands fall, not bothering to try and keep your shirt closed. “were these necessary?”

he closes the door, “everything has its purpose, dear.”

you don’t bother asking him to explain, letting him step closer and tug and smooth your shirt until there’s not a single wrinkle. he’s dressed as perfect as always, done up in black and purple. no matter what he wears, he always manages to slip in *purple*, and today is no exception. amethyst dangles from the corner of his glasses, matching the thick ring wrapped around his thumb. your shirt is a similar color, the black buttons melding with his gloves, each slipped through effortlessly.

one finger nudges your chin up, your collar pulled into perfect shape. he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a thin silver band and slipping it on your pinky finger.

“is this necessary?”

he brings your hand up, pressing a kiss to your knuckles with a smile. “any other issues you need my help with?”

ah, if you weren’t in love with him you’d surely have broken his nose by now. “you picked these intentionally.”

“forget already?” he pulls your hand back, your body following, his hand slipping around your waist. “everything has its purpose, whether you know it or not.”

you don’t bother pointing out that he’s definitely introduced new wrinkles into your clothes, or that your perfectly fitted shirt now feels a bit too tight, or a myriad of other symptoms that assuredly make you unpresentable for tonight’s dinner.

you bite your tongue, because he already knows. his nose just barely brushes yours, breath puffing over your lips and making your heart race.

he smiles, and then he’s gone. his hand leaves yours and he doesn’t even fix your shirt as he steps away, leaving back through the same door with a flash of gems and expensive cologne. “now that you’re all in order, i expect to be leaving soon. any objections?”

your head falls back and your hands flex at your sides, trying and somewhat failing to calm your racing thoughts. the knowledge that he does this on purpose doesn’t make it any easier to brush off. arguably, his easy amusement makes it worse.

“none at all, lonnie.”

you do your best to neaten your shirt, fiddling with the cuff as you leave your room. hes put on his coat, and you swear there’s another ring on one of his hands. he turns as you come in and clicks his tongue, taking your coat off its rack and sweeping it around your shoulders. it’s more of a ceremonial cloak than something that actually keeps you warm, but that doesn’t matter. even in snezhnaya, you can count the number of times you’ve been cold while dating him on half of one hand. money can buy just about everything you could possibly ever want or need.

he pulls your shirt down and chin up, smile never once wavering. “look sharp, dear, and stay close. i’d hate to lose you in the crowd.”

you swear he slips something in your pocket when he pulls away, but don’t bother checking. as conniving as the fatui are, and as slippery as his words can be, you trust him with your life.

and if that includes a definitely not at all suspicious item tucked into your coat pocket, then who are you to question the regrator’s judgement?

[ivanttakethis]

Guardian Cassio (Tov’s guardian)

I used this sci-fi/fantasy picrew to create a portrait of my alnst oc Tov’s guardian, Cassio (they/them)!

Cassio is short for Cassiopeia (like the constellation).

They come from an alien race called the Auru, known for their distinct shade of blue skin/scales.

Aurusians can take on different physical forms, similar to shape shifting.

Cassio shifted into a humanoid form when they bought Tov, hoping that it would be easier for the young human to become comfortable with them.

Their form isn’t a perfect replica of a human, though (see: horns, scales, and lack of pupils).

They stand about 7ft (~213cm) tall, but often wear heels or platforms that make them even taller. By comparison, Tov is 4’11 (150cm).

Tov doesn’t know what Cassio’s original form looks like, but they’ve told her that she wouldn’t be able to recognize/comprehend them.

Cassio speaks to Tov in human language.

Cassio's native language sounds a little like a human language if you hear it in the background. But the more you focus on it, the more un-Earthly it becomes.

They’re a very creative alien with lofty ambitions and a unique style. Some describe their personality as “whimsical” or “spiritual”.

Tov thinks Cassio is a bit flighty and kind of naive, but ultimately harmless. She doesn’t really have any complaints.

Like Tov, they love space and constellations. They have a tattoo of a crescent moon and a star beneath their right eye.

They own a fashion house called Cassiopeia and work on the outfit design team for Alien Stage.

Tov is their first and only pet. They don’t have any plans to buy another.

[banished-away]

feeling slightly vindicated watching an RAS interview bc keep getting this feeling from the drizzt books that theyre very italian-american (as in, i see a lot of things i recognize from italian culture in it, but influenced and changed by american culture) and he said that he based off the culture of menzo partly on his hometown and then the sopranos/godfather which confirmed it to me

also he pronounces menzoberranzan the way i used to before someone else corrected me JKNDSKJFKDS

[ratsbanes]

chat whats the gender neutral version of girlboss/malewife

[kazamajun]

who does tumblr think im proposing to? 🤔🤔

[xiaeom]

levi and diavolo are such wifeguys