#need to learn how to draw him properly he's been in the corner of my mind for a few days

[loveisurvival]

Kaito Momota has officially become Google's first result for the word "Guy"

[myfandomprompts]

You Belong To Me Now

Summary: Aemond has become Prince Regent, and there is now nothing holding him from claiming you.

A/N: Quick smutty darkish!Aemond x Reader I wrote, nothing fancy

Words: 2.8k Masterlist [Spanish version - Wattpad by daisy_dont]

Warnings: praise kink, biting, vaginal, bruises, choking, obsession, dom, blowjob

Aemond had been Regent for a few months now, and although the Valyrian steel of the Conqueror’s crown didn’t rest upon his head yet, it was now an undeniable fact to every member of the realm that he had been born for this. All could finally witness his real worth, his superiority and how good he was at being a commander, a King.

No, he excelled at it. The Blacks haven’t even dared to approach King’s Landing even once in the last few months, and under his command all fear him, all obey him. He was far better at this than his father ever was, than his sister ever will be, and certainly than his broken brother is, tucked in his bed.

His new duties obliged him to be away often, to ride Vhagar and lead his armies on the usurpers who wanted to decimate them and take his city, but when he was back in the Red Keep, all he sees is you.

In fact, he wonders why he had never noticed you before as he crosses paths with you in the corridors, watches you in the throne room during audiences, laughing and hugging your lady friends. Maybe you are part of a House who came to the capital in order to help grow his army, that you are the daughter of an ally he had never bothered to be properly introduced to, because this was all they were to him: his subjects.

Nevertheless you are there, bright as the sun when he spots you when he least expects it and, despite his limited vision, he doesn’t seem to miss your presence, ever. He doesn’t miss the way you play with your hair when you're deep in thought, how your hips sway when you walk, how your fingers surround the glass you take to drink and how the skin of your throat glows as you swallow the liquid.

That he became obsessed was an understatement. There was no rest for his mind, and even amidst the excitement of the battle he thought about your appreciative look when he would return, triumphant. He had talked to you once, the sound of your voice making the hair on his skin raise in delight as he was introduced to you. He knew your name now, and he wouldn't stop there, you occupied every corner of his mind and inhabited his skin.

However and to his greatest dismay, the crown keeps him occupied, reducing the occurrences he can observe you, enjoying how you don't cower under his gaze; you staring back at him like it's a game, one that he never intends to lose.

He doesn’t miss the glances you draw from other lords either, eliciting an icy violence deep within his body and it makes his desire for you grow ever greater. He wants you to be his, completely.

This is why he sends for you one night, confident that you cannot refuse after spending the day looking at you like a starved dog, the lust between his legs becoming harder and harder to control. But he was Aemond Targaryen, and what he wanted, he would have. 

When you enter his chambers and he dismisses his servant; you look at a loss, but intrigued, like a deer caught between hounds but you are still composed, the very image of a Lady from a House he had only bothered to learn its name today. All he knows, deep in his gut, is that you are right where you are supposed to be.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

He takes in your looks, the way your eyes glints with curiosity, the heaving of your chest constricted in this infernal gown he only wishes to rip off, and how sweet you look as you blush out of uneasiness.

When you shake your head so softly, he grins before coming to stand before you. “You’re here to help me with a matter that needs tending to. But first, I need assistance removing my clothes.”

The widening of your eyes makes the colour of it stand out better, and he waits for you to process his order and obey, admiring your beautiful features and the way your lips part in shock. “Go on."

He knows you cannot refuse, seeing the slight confusion in your eyes as your hands reach the buckles of his collar, undoing it one by one with your pretty, trembling little fingers. It takes all of his patience to not move his hands over your form and revel in the sight, smiling to himself.

When his green doublet is removed, his linen shirt remains and he doesn’t let you take a breath when you pull away. “It’s not over, is it? Continue.”

You cast an almost fearful glare at him before resuming your task, helping him out of his shirt gently with concentrated eyes and when your skin touches his in the process, he has to stop a shaky exhale from escaping his mouth.

He sees how you look at his toned chest, pale defined arms, and then glance at his trousers with tight lips. He retains a sneer as he turns away from you and towards his bed, surprising you with his sudden departure.

“Do you know how the other lords look at you, sweet thing? How they look and look, like they had a chance with you? Do you know how much they wish they could bury their cocks into you and take you as they pleased?”

You turn a lovely shade of red, spreading from your face to your neck and below your cleavage, his lewd words disconcerting you and your perfect little honour. How he likes it on you, that innocence.

“Of course you don’t,” he continues, taking a seat at the edge of his bed and not missing a piece of your deliciously growing, panicking state. “You don’t care about them, do you? You just care about serving your Kingdom at most of your capacities.”

You swallow, your body noticeably relaxing lightly at his words but the movement draws his eye to your neck and he instantly wishes he could mark you there, right at the junction of it, where a mole he had not noticed before lays.

“My Prince, I-”

“Come here,” he beckons, patting on his lap after your croaked out attempt of a response. He will spare you the need to explain that yes, you do want to serve your realm loyally, and thus serve him as well. 

You hesitate, eyes darting between his legs and his face, and the lust grows at the thought that he might have to make you obey by other means. But at the sight of his hard expression, you have the good sense to approach, slowly, coming to stand between his legs and he grabs your hips at once, lowering you down onto his lap abruptly.

You let out a yelp at that, your legs forced to straddle him and you have to cling on his shoulders for support, face flushed and thinking fast. Aemond, on the other hand, feels every cell of his body come alive, a wicked smile appearing on his face.

“You know, I haven’t been with many women, but you… you’re something else, aren’t you? You make me understand why men look at women the way they do, what they find so irresistible about them....” he murmurs, putting one strand of your hair aside while his eye trails the pumping of the veins in your delicate neck. “Why all of those lords look at you… But they can’t have you.”

His tone is firmer now, unforgiving. “I have a claim on you they don’t have, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence you came here. That you are in this castle, under my protection.”

You seem unable to speak and the little noises he hears as you try to take a more comfortable position on his lap are like music to him, making him harder under his pants. He takes your hips a little too roughly than he intended in order to pull you to him.

“I’ve been thinking about you for days now, and I ran out of patience, so here is what is going to happen, sweetling. You’re going to take my cock, fully, like the sweet and obedient lady you are so I can feel every damn corner of your cunt, deep enough for me to fill you up.”

With his last sentence he pulls you closer onto him so you can finally feel his hardened state and you whimper in shock, the sound resonating into the room like a pathetic echo as he takes in the sweet scent of your skin, his nose trailing your neck hungrily.

“Hmm, my little pet, so flustered…” he praises as you tense on top of him, your pelvis hitting his member delectably. “You didn’t think I rode the largest dragon in the world and had nothing to show for it, did you?” 

He takes a few more moments to enjoy the friction of your layers against his groin, feeling your body turn soft before gently pushing you away from him to let you unlace the ties of your gown with a commanding look. When you are bare before him, he licks his lips, the sight of your pretty little pussy making his now free cock throb in anticipation.

“You are gonna take me so well, you want to please your Prince, don’t you?”

The way you quickly nod in submission destabilises him so much that he has to take a moment before finding his composure again, his desire slowly growing out of control as he stares at you. But he must be patient, enjoy this, because he is no low man, nothing like the rest of them. So he sits back on the bed and invites you to him, noticing your already blown pupils staring at him.

He doesn’t care that you aren’t prepared, that it might be difficult for you to take him this early because the urge to sheath himself deep inside of you is too strong. But when you hover over him and your folds meet his tip you are so fucking wet that all his fears are swept away, replaced by the indescribable lust that takes hold of him, eager to have you, exactly like you want him.

The sensation makes him unable to concentrate before he puts his hands on your thigh to help you down, and it’s absolutely amazing. You’re warm, tight, right for him; the sweet moan that escapes your lips making him twitch as he looks at your knitted brows that tells him you are feeling him, truly feeling him. You go achingly slow and he can’t help but hiss in frustration, but at this point you deserve to have your own pace; he will be able to take his due later, when you’re accustomed to him.

He can tell from your expression that it hurts, and it makes his loins surge with fire at the thought, the wickedness of it so darkly satisfying. 

“That’s it, all of it. You’re doing so well.”

He finally feels resistance nudging at his tip and he knows you are completely his now, looking at his cock buried deep inside your cunt and you let out a high pitch moan when you still, flesh against flesh in the most deliciously painful kind of way.

It feels right, he can almost feel your heartbeat upon his length and when he slightly withdraws in order to surge his hips forward, instantly hitting your depth hard, you wail loudly.

Aemond laughs as he squeezes your hips harder. “My sweet pet, so beautiful for me. How is it to feel it so deep? Do you want to move for me?”

He grunts when you start to move; he doesn’t have to do anything, your warmth and slickness making him absolutely wanton, and he doesn’t think he had ever felt this complete in his life. It allows him to look at you, take in your bouncing breasts, magnificently round, and he can’t help but reach for them, propping himself up on a sitting position before biting one of your nipples hard, and the sound you let out makes him want to do it again.

But for now he wants to mark you everywhere, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, your delicate shoulders. He wants to cover you with his tongue and bruise you while you ride him so exquisitely, his mind foggy and half conscious. He feels your nails digging into his back when he sucks at the base of your neck, leaving a trail of drool that covers your skin. He bullies your breasts for his own pleasure and his cock feels every one of your jolts, squeezing him.

He makes you swivel, his length briefly sliding out of you before he lays you down on your belly and enters you again, lacing one arm behind your back to help him pound into you mercilessly, taking full control for the first time and it feels so good that a shameless growl resonates deep within his throat.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” he asks with a grin, admiring your back and the curve of your ass.

“Promised…” you pant through your moans. “To Lord Blount…”

“I see… Then Lord Blount will have an assignment in a land far away very soon,” he purrs with arrogance as he quickens his pace.

The new angle makes you moan loudly, your position seemingly uncomfortable enough to make each rocking of his hips like it’s the last you’ll be able to take. Soon you’re clenching around him, screaming out loud while your shattering orgasm turns you into a puddle in his arms when he lifts you against his chest, whispering in your ear.

“Fucking hell, you like that, don’t you? You couldn’t help but come all over my cock like the good lady you are.”

He keeps jerking his hips until you grow completely silent, feeling his legs momentarily weak when your walls give him a particularly strong squeeze and he withdraws.

You’re unable to move so he lets you lay back on the bed as he examines your folds, red and swollen from his brutal pace and he passes one finger between them to gather your slick. You moan at the sensation as he tastes you, licking his fingers hungrily.

“Bloody Seven, you taste delicious,” he praises as you try to find your breathing. “You’re mine from now on, understood?"

He barely acknowledges the curt nod you make before he laces his fingers around your neck, drawn to its softness and the bruises that begin to form there. He strokes the column of it softly, thoroughly, before grasping the base of your throat so he can hold on to it, hovering over you as he slides gently into you again, your folds spasming briefly from your aftershock. He sees you close your eyes, hiding your beautiful irises from him and he wishes you would look at him, something you do when you feel his hand around your neck constricting.

“Aem-” you let out.

“What is it?” he asks, watching your lips make the most amazing sounds he had ever heard while he rocks into you, his weight on your neck. “Is it my name you want to say? You can scream it if you want.”

But you don’t, to his greatest displeasure, apparently unable to do so as your features stiffen, so he snakes a hand to your dripping cunt, zoning on your swollen clit and you tremble beneath him. When he works your bud, fingers circling it at an unrelenting pace, your lips form an “o” and he decides here and there that he will cum in your mouth. For now, he concentrates on the roll of his hips and the movements of his fingers, one over your neck and the other making you grind onto it in yearning.

You are at his mercy.

“Will you scream my name now, pretty little thing? I can feel you close…”

It takes a tremendous effort from his part to not come undone himself when you finally do, trapped at his own game as you pulse around him, your back arching, and the way you finally cry out his name doesn’t help the little restraint he has left. He growls when you go limp under him, unwilling to let go of your neck and overstimulated bud as he works you through your climax.

“On all fours,” he commands when he finds enough composure to speak, propping himself up on his knees on the mattress and daring to pump himself a few times while you do as told.

He instantly comes to grab your hair, your expression completely in disarray from his brutal ministration on you and, when your mouth meets his weeping head, he can’t process anything, the contrast between the intensity of your folds and the soft warmth and slowness of your tongue killing him. He has the greatest desire to buck his hips into your mouth, to take it all, but your tongue traces along his throbbing vein right before you suck at his most sensitive part and he finishes right there with a croaked moan, painting your mouth with his seed.

You are both panting hard, and when he looks at you behind his hooded eyes, admiring his work, he brings your chin between his fingers and wipes your lips, glossy from his release. “You’ll be there each time I come back, won’t you, pet?”

You nod frantically, exhausted before falling on the bed next to him.

A/N: Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for the beta reading, so much <3

[hobiebrownismygod]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MORE SUNSHINE/INNOCENT READER X HOBIE ITS MY LIFELINE I NEED IT PLEASEPLELPSPLZOLSPSLSPSLSKLSPSLSLSLSLSLSLSLZLZLLZLZPLSSPLSL PLEASDEEEEEE IM BANGING ON THE CASTLES WALLS HURUEHEGEH🙏🙏🙏🙏

this took me forever to respond to I'm sorry 😭 im glad you like this trope tho! Thank you for requesting <3

Hobie Brown x Sunshine!Reader

☆ It took his S/O months to muster up the courage to tell him they liked him only for him to straight up go "cool. Are we a thing now?"

☆ They're not one for confrontation and can get pretty shy so he's always there to be the blunt one!

☆ For example, when one of their coworkers kept calling them the wrong name, and they were too shy to correct them, Hobie was the one who told them and made sure the coworker learned his S/O's name properly 😭

☆ His S/O was extremely embarrassed but there was nothing they could really do about it at that point (Hobie was extremely proud of himself for doing that and made sure they knew it)

☆ His S/O doodles whenever they get bored, especially on their arms and legs. They draw cute little animals and flowers and things like that and Hobie absolutely loves them.

☆ He likes to carry around a marker with him so if his S/O ever gets bored, they can draw! He always has his arm out ready to let them draw on him, because even tho his S/O is a little hesitant about it, Hobie LOVES letting them draw on him. They're like little mini tattoos that remind him of them!

☆ Whenever he goes and puts graffiti on walls and buildings outside, he brings his S/O along so they can draw one of their little doodles on the side!

☆ Whenever someone that knows Hobie sees one of those murals/spray paintings, they can always tell it was his because of his S/O's little doodles in the corner!

☆ He also taught his S/O how to spray paint so they could come with him. When he first taught them how to spray paint, they weren't able to figure out the right amount of pressure to put on the spray, so he'd hold their hand and help lead them in the right direction for the first few paintings

☆ He would stand behind them, one hand on their waist, the other hand holding the bottle steady while his S/O stood in front, eyes slightly squinted as they sprayed the paint all over the walls, getting it everywhere

☆ He loved getting to wipe the paint off their face after every painting. His S/O never understood how so much paint could get on them in such little time, but they didn't mind. Hobie was always there to clean them up.

☆ His S/O also loves to read and is always curled up in bed reading a book in their free-time. They're a very expressive reader, and their face always changes whenever a new character pops up or when the plot starts to thicken. Hobie loves watching his S/O read.

☆ Sometimes, when he's really craving some affection, he'll come up behind them and cuddle them while they're reading, nuzzling his head into their shoulder while they smile, eyes glancing down at him before going back to the pages

☆ He'll also let his S/O curl up in his lap, or use him like a comfy chair while they read. He's a pretty skinny, boney person, but he can turn into the softest chair when he wants

☆ Hobie hates phones. He hates when people are on their phones when with friends. He hates when people are looking at their phones when he's trying to talk to them. His S/O knows this and makes sure to never have their phone out when he's around, so he can have their full attention. He loves that.

☆ He loves when his S/O listens to him. He could rant on for hours about whatever he wants, whether its capitalism, or some new gizmo he's building, but his S/O will always be there to listen to him, nodding along and smiling.

☆ Sometimes when he's been talking for a long time, he'll suddenly realize just how lucky he is to have someone so attentive with him. He'll stop talking and his S/O will be confused for a moment, only to be pulled into a hug and a kiss within seconds, trapped in his long lanky arms.

☆ He loves giving his S/O surprise kisses, watching their expression light up and their face turn hot. He'll come up from behind them, arms wrapping around their waist and pulling them in, to leave soft kisses peppering along their cheeks and lips.

☆ Sometimes he'll hide when his S/O comes home, just to jump out from around the corner and tackle them to the ground, covering their face in hundreds of sweet pecks.

☆ And on some rare occasions, his S/O'll attempt to do the same. Sadly, his spider-sense keeps him from getting surprised, so he always knows when it's gonna happen. He pretends to get surprised anyways, because he thinks it's cute when his S/O giggles while on their tiptoes, trying to reach his lips.

⋆｡°✩

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @rinverse @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @d0uble-tr0ubl3 @lauryn2558 @choccymilkdrinker @sunasslut69 @ask-1610-miles @ask-1610miles @axels-garden @eli21345 @miniaturesuitfox @spotconlon55 @riris-radioactive-panther

[television-overload]

fate is the handspike

(an X-Files ficlet)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

Starting on February 23, 1964, Teena Mulder begins to worry about her young son. At first, she thinks maybe he's wishing for a little sister, a wish that will be granted very soon. But he insists the little girl he talks to is called Dana, and she's too little to play, but she likes when he reads his books to her.

(fic below the cut)

i.

At first, Teena thinks it's cute.

"She's just a baby, mommy, she can't play yet," he'd say.

"Oh, is that right?" she'd reply, indulging him in his childish fantasies. Perhaps this was his way of asking for a sister. The other moms in the neighborhood often urged her to give Fox a sibling, citing a child's need for company and social engagement, but Fox had always seemed so happy to play alone. She's not on the best of terms with her husband at the moment, either, which complicates things.

But then there's times when she sees Fox on the floor, legs splayed out before him as he recites his favorite picture books to his imaginary friend, and she wonders if she ought to be worried. Just a little.

Dr. Seuss, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog... The boy has a photographic memory. Though he's too young to properly read, he has a grasp on the basic plots and recounts them in great detail, turning the pages as he goes.

"This one is called 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Dana," he says, because his friend's name—he insists—is Dana. He turns the book in his hand and shows the colorful illustration on the cover to a patch of carpet on the living room floor. "Don't worry, it's not scary," he assures her. Her. It. Whatever it is he's spent his days talking to since late February.

When he tells the story, he uses his own name, instead of 'Max.' That's how she'd always read it to him, and that's the only way he knows.

"And Fox told the monsters to be still!" he narrates with enthusiasm. "He used a magic trick and looked right in their BIG yellow eyes, and they were all scared. They said Fox is the most wild thing of all, and they made him king!"

ii.

There was one night when she'd woken to find Fox standing in the corner of his room, speaking softly to the wall.

"Shh, it's okay, Dana," he soothed in his little voice. "Here, I'll sing you a song. Twinkle twinkle little star...."

She never tells Bill what she's seen. He's always too busy to notice himself. But others know.

"He's quite an imaginative young fellow," Spender notes, taking a draw from his cigarette as Fox rolls around in the grass outside the house in Quonochontaug. Since "Dana" learned to crawl, he's been even more preoccupied than usual. He shows her all his toys, tells her the names of all his action figures. He announces to his mother one day that he's going to teach Dana how to walk. That she can only stand on her own for a little bit right now, but she doesn't cry anymore when she falls down.

Bill, if he ever catches wind of this, must think he's talking about one of the other kids from Teena's ladies' group. But there's no "Dana" in this neighborhood. Not on the Vineyard, either. She's checked.

iii.

The day she finds out she's pregnant, a part of her wonders. Though her knowledge of her husband's work is small, she knows enough to gather that things she might have thought impossible, could in fact be possible. Perhaps her son had been having visions of his baby sister, long before she was even conceived. Maybe it had simply been a sign that he would one day be a big brother. Soon.

She'd long since dispelled thoughts of ghosts and hauntings and exorcisms.

He tells Dana all about the baby in mommy's tummy. He giggles and makes silly faces, pausing in between sentences, which she gathers must mean his friend has developed the ability to speak.

"Mommy, she said my name! That's right! Fox! Fox!"

iv.

When Samantha is born, "Dana" seems to disappear overnight. This, at least, supports her theory that he had simply been preparing himself for a new sibling, and after a few years, she's completely dismissed the issue. Fox shows no other signs of strange or unusual behavior. He is nothing but a doting big brother, who occasionally gets annoyed by his freckle-faced kid sister, as any brother is wont to do. He reads to her, plays games with her, watches the television with her. They're two peas in a pod, and not once does the name "Dana" escape his lips. She is all but forgotten.

Until he's twelve years old. Samantha is gone, and Teena lacks the patience to deal with his questioning.

"Mom? Does the name 'Dana' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What? Of course not, Fox, why would you ask such a thing?"

He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumping. "No reason. Forget I asked."

v.

When Fox lays awake at night, the bedroom next to his now dull and empty, he thinks he can hear a voice. It isn't Samantha's—though he'd thought so at first.

"By heaven, man," she reads, "we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!"

What does this girl know about fate? What does she know of this upside-down world?

"Read the next chapter, Dana!" he hears another girl's voice speak. The words are faint—muffled—like he's underwater. But her voice is clear.

He falls asleep, like most nights, listening to the tales of Ahab and Starbuck, and a great white whale.

-.-.-

Tag List ♡: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @numinousmysteries @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf @thursdayinspace

[orangesand-lemons-234]

Albert running into his art studio wasn't something Jack expected on a random Wednesday evening, but there he was.

He had a tattered notebook in his hands, and his fingers were stained splatters of different colours with what looked to be water colour paints. His face was red and puffy, showing that he must've been crying before he'd came over.

"Al? What's wrong with ya?"

"I need you to teach me how to draw and paint... right now."

Jack snickered, only to be met with Albert's face. "Oh, you're serious?"

Albert raised an eyebrow at him. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm serious as a heart attack."

"Albert, you can't just learn how to paint overnight." He explained. "It takes years to learn- I've been doing it for ages, and I'm still learning."

"Well then, teach me the basics! Please!" Albert exclaimed. "Show me how to draw a person- it doesn't even have to be everything! Show me the easiest of the easiest skills you know!"

Jack stared at him for a moment before speaking again. "Right, Albert, where is this coming from?"

Albert huffed and slid the notebook towards Jack. "I saw you drawin' Davey, and I wanted to try it out myself and draw Race, but I couldn't- I didn't understand how to do it. Every time i did it, it just didn't look like Race."

Jack flipped through the pages and saw the countless drawings of Racetrack on each page. Some were just plain pencil doodles, while others were coloured or painted in.

They actually weren't half bad. Some were definitely a little rushed, while others looked to have genuine time put into them. But on every page, you could read Albert's aggravated annotations in the corner.

"doesn’t look like race."

"too shape-y."

"wtf am i even doing here"

"sketch looked so much better"

"too stiff"

"who even is that"

"why can't i draw my boyfriend???"

"Okay, are you stressed out over this?" Jack asked, holding the notebook up.

Albert nodded slowly, scratching at the skin around his fingernails. At this, Jack threw the book into a drawer and shut it. He got up and walked over to a shelf, pulling a plain sketchbook off of it.

"Right, c'mere." Jack said, signalling to Albert to sit on the seat at his desk. He then grabbed a stool from the corner and sat it next to him. "We're gonna forget about your other sketchbook, and we're gonna start a different one, 'kay? I got this one off of Denton a while ago, but I'monly halfway through my current one, so this can be yours."

Albert nodded again, rubbing at his eyes. Jack reached over into a small basket on the corner of the desk and pulled out a sticker. It was of Simba from the Lion King. He peeled off the back and quickly stuck it onto the front cover.

"There. Now it's really all yours. Got your favourite character and all."

This got a laugh out of Albert, which told Jack that they were free to carry on.

"So something you should know about drawing is that sometimes you just can't draw the people you love. It's odd- some sorta science behind it, I think, but I don't know the real cause." Jack explained. "For me? I think it's because you love that person so much that you don't know how to draw them in a way that does that admiration for them justice."

"But you drew Davey for his birthday?" Albert questioned.

"Albo, when's David's birthday?"

"May 18th?"

"I began plannin' that painting in December. It took me half a year to plan that and practice that and draft that properly."

"Oh."

Jack patted his shoulder and smiled a little. "You don't have to do all that, though, but I can teach you bit by bit how to get to a point where you'd maybe like to try that out?"

"Okay then." Albert smiled back. He wasn't picking at his skin now, and he looked excited to begin.

"So, first step: pick up a pencil. Seems pretty simple, but you wouldn't believe how many times I've accidentally picked up a paintbrush instead."

-

That night, Albert fell asleep the second his head reached the pillow. He'd left the sketchbook out on his bedside table, alongside his bracelet and his black stud earrings.

Race leaned over to give him a kiss before he fell asleep himself, only to notice the book, which he didn't recognise.

He picked it up and went to open it. If it's a diary or something, he'll put it right down, but he did wanna see what it might be.

On the first page, he saw a sketch of himself. There were a few notes in Jack's handwriting littering the page, but that's not what he was focused on.

He didn't care if it wasn't perfect or anything.

Albert had drawn him. And he loved it.

[talesfrommedinastation]

On Infantilization and Tech

I'll say it because I'm extra spicy today.

I see a lot of folks saying that Tech shouldn't be infantilized, and he should not be kept away from adult relationships.

Got it. 100% agree.

However....

Infantilization isn't just regarding relationships. It also involves how the person is perceived in greater society.

So....when you're writing about Tech, let me ask you:

Is he respected as an adult? His opinion taken seriously?

Are his ideas dismissed as childish or dorky?

Does he have a cool and/or IMPORTANT job? Or is he shoved into Dork Corner dicking around with engine parts?

Is his partner the dominant one who takes charge of everything?

Is it another team member in charge?

Is he contributing in a way that is fulfilling and respectful of his background and knowledge?

Or is he just toddering around until someone rescues him?

I get plot, I understand that character arcs need to happen. But every time I start a fic where Tech's being bossed around or taken care of by someone else, canon or otherwise, I immediately log out.

Why am I saying all of this?

Because I am a neurodivergent person who receives this horseshit on a regular basis.

I'm not a dumbass or lazy. I have a Ph.D and have been working in my field for 16 years. But I have been passed over and mocked and teased and shoved into corners because I'm biologically female, I'm a wife and mother, and I am vaguely on the spectrum.

Poor wittle Dr. Meat Muffin and her weak womanly ways, must help her over puddles and shit.

I'm putting in my yearly review right now. I expect that I will be talked down by my department director, despite performing wildly well.

I will be going to a conference shortly too. My colleagues with the smoother, charming voices will use the grants I wrote as a basis for THEIR grant writing course, of which I am being forced to take.

Learning about writing properly using your own writing as an example is a level of hell I didn't know existed and yet, here I am.

Maybe it's God's punishment for that Spiderman/Tech drawing I did earlier, who the fuck knows.

The point is, when you're writing about neurodivergent people, give them opportunities to use their skills and brains and contribute in fulfilling ways.

There's more than one way to infantilize someone, don't be that person.

Bleh.

[kisskiss-slashslash]

I have a Jason request:D

Request(sorry if it’s too specific): Jason is beginning to notice that their s/o (who does witchcraft) is becoming more and more distant or busy (this also happens a couple days before his birthday) then on the day of his birthday his s/o comes up to him practically jumping up and down from happiness and tells him they have a big present for him. Turns out his s/o made a spell where his mothers ghost is visible for 24 hours but she cannot touch anything and is only visible for him and his s/o to see:)

The only draw back is that after the 24 hours his s/o is SUPER tired and can’t even walk for a couple of weeks bc it took a lot out of them

A happy ending for him and his s/o<3

Ty and have a great day<3

Oooo I love this one.

A very special birthday surprise

The time around his birthday is hard enough for Jason as it is. But now you have been rather distant for days now, always coming up with excuses when he tries to spend time with you. But you also seem so damn *happy* all of the time. His mind keeps coming up with terrible scenarios, of you planning to leave him or seeing someone else, or…

What would he do then? No matter how enraged he would be, he couldn’t imagine ever hurting you. Could he just let you go?

His birthday is just 24 hours away. Maybe you just wanted to wait until after that to leave, so you wouldn’t make the day that keeps bringing back his worst memories even worse for him. Now during these 24 hours, he barely sees you. You are hiding in your little witchey corner, and he hears you softly mumbling to yourself, though it almost sounds like you are holding an actual conversation with someone who is responding to you.

Jason stares at the old clock you brought in from one of the cabins. Just fiften more seconds to midnight.

Had he done anything to deserve you ignoring him like this? The past years, you spent almost his entire birthday snuggled up to him, trying to drown out the painful memories with your love and affection.

Ten seconds.

Was it the last group of campers? Has he been too brutal to them, and scared you off?

Five seconds.

Either way, learning to live without you again would be heartbreaking. Just another scar in his psyche.

One second. And exactly on the stroke of midnight, the curtain sectioning your witching-corner off from the rest of your shack parts and you step out.

“Happy Birthday, Jason”, you say with a smile.

But Jason barely notices you. Because next to you stands the semi-transparent form of his mother, smiling at him with tears in her eyes.

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck. “I figured you might wanna spend your birthday with your mom again, so I gathered everything I needed to make her spirit visible for you, at least for the duration of your birthday. I wanted it to be a surprise and it needed a lot of preparation, that’s why I was so distant from you lately, so… Happy Birthday.”

Within a split second you find yourself side to side with the icy presence of Pamela, pressed against Jason’s broad chest. His arms go right through her body, but she is acting like she is getting hugged anyway.

“Oh Jason”, Pamela says in the hollow voice typical for ghosts. “My special… special boy. I’m so sorry… For everything you had to go through.”

Jason squeezes both of you even tighter for a second, hot tears dripping from underneath his mask.

“I… uh…”, you start, despite the tight hug making speaking a bit difficult. “I also got us some cake and soda.” You free your arms and cub his cheeks with your hands. “So what do you say we celebrate your birthday properly this year?”

[noforkingclue]

“I barely know you, and yet I already regret it.” with Bond

-🐺

Note: requests are currently closed

Hope you like it anon :)

Prompt list- list

Title: Lessons

James Bond tag list: @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You gritted your teeth and glared up at the man you were dancing with. He looked down at you and raised an eyebrows in amusement. His grip around your waist tightened and he pulled you closer against him.

“I barely know you, and yet I already regret it.”

“M said you wanted to get out in the field more,” Bond said, “And now’s your chance.”

“Yes,” you whispered, “But I didn’t mean this.”

“This?”

“I didn’t expect to get chucked in at the deep end.”

“Just relax,” said Bond, “you’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“I’m out of my depth.”

You closed your eyes and rested your head against Bond’s chest. A small part of you was excited about this. After all, this was James Bond you were working with, easily one of the best agents in MI6. His reputation was definitely well earned if the stories were anything to go by.

On the downside, he had definitely earned his reputation.

Eve had raised her eyebrows when you told her who you had been assigned to work with. Even Q paused a bit and M had warned you to be careful. Of course you had heard about this side of Bond’s reputation as well (who hadn’t?) but you were determined not to be another notch on his belt.

You stiffened as you felt Bond’s hand move lower. You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes.

“Careful Bond,” you said, “watch where that hand is going.”

“M has tasked me with teaching you,” Bond said, his lips grazing against your cheek, “and that’s what I’m doing.”

“And what lesson is this? How to seduce your co-workers?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“First thing you need to learn,” Bond’s hand was now resting against in the small of your back, “is how to be an effective liar.”

“Excuse me? I was telling the truth.”

Bond gave you a look which told you that he didn’t believe you.

“You never struck me as someone who would like teaching,” you said dryly, “or do you just want someone to call you ‘sir’?”

The corner of Bond’s lips twitched and the two of you locked eyes for a second. You felt your cheeks get hot and quickly broke it. Bond sighed and said,

“Second lesson- don’t back down.”

“Under any circumstance?”

“Most.”

“Going to give me any hints as to when?”

“You’ll know.”

Bond twirled you around and you gasped and wrapped your arms around him. You felt very self-conscious, not used to being this close to someone else and the feeling of people watching you.

“Third lesson.”

“Another? Feeling like I’m learning more in one night than I ever did during training.”

“Third lesson,” Bond said firmly, “Is to teach you how to dance properly.”

Bond winced as you stood on his foot again. You smirked up at him pleased that you had one small win over the more experience agent.

[arcielee]

28 and Billy x (my) girlfriend reader? 👉👈

Lyrics // "Scars are fading every day You seem a little more like yourself"

This drabble exists in the same universe as Lazy Sunday, just delving into how they first met. I hope you like it! 💜

It could be said that fate waited to weave Billy into your life, but you have never believed in that sort of thing. 

You would say it was purely happenstance that the coffeehouse was hiring after your quarter-life crisis that pushed you to withdraw from your university and live damn-near a nomad for half a year. You had sold most of your belongings to weightlessly flit across Europe, creating a constellation of cities visited until your fundings ran dry. 

At first your parents had been empathetic, thrilled even that their prodigal daughter returned to London, and even offered you to stay with them with your promise to enroll and finish your degree. You balked at their proposition, transitioning to flat-out refuse, and instead found your independence at this antique coffeehouse and a newfound passion for creating artwork in microfoam, with a natural skill that you quickly became renowned for. 

This was how you met Billy.

He moved as if he did not wish to draw any attention to himself, but your eyes noticed him, his long and lithe frame, and how he needed to dip to pass through the door to enter. There was an awkward grace with his gate as he moved towards the till, a flush staining his skin and the glisten of perspiration from a long day that was coppering his disheveled sandy locks, curling onto his brow and the back of his neck; there was a matching mess of stubble across his angular jaw. 

Despite the shop’s display to showcase your niche talent, he still quietly asked for a flat black. 

You watched him, your skepticism tucked away behind your now mastered customer-service-smile, as his slender fingers rummaged to pull out three £1 and one 50p coins that clanged onto the wood countertop. 

He then sat at the end of the bar, solemn and quiet, stirring in seven sugar packets and sipping gingerly. Your eyes would return to him and his morose air; there was something heavy on his wiry shoulders and it seemed to hunch him over his mug. 

In truth, he was kind of pitiful, and it tugged at your heart in such a way that when he finished his cup, you were quick to refill it without him even asking. It was then that he properly met with your gaze and that was the first time you saw his brilliant blue eyes that almost glittered under the fluorescent lighting. His lips curled with his soft smile when he thanked you.

You could not help your smile in return. 

He came back until it was habitual, always near the end of the day, the end of your shift, to a point that you found yourself making a fresh pot so the coffee would be warm and ready for his arrival. Billy–as you learned his name–showed himself to be an open book with any question you dared, and you enjoyed his low cadence as he shared about his life decisions that inevitably brought him here. 

The shame burned bright from him and your hand seemed so small when you reached across to lay it on top of his own, a light touch, your thumb drawing small circles. Billy was flustered with the gesture, his rose coloring bringing a new tensity so his eyes were now the same cerulean that stretched over a cloudless summer sky. 

“Why are you so nice to me still?” The conflict played across his sharp features, his obvious want for a connection but his own skepticism of your genuineness. 

You offered a small smile. “I like you, Billy,” you admitted, squeezing his hand for a moment. You then understood he would never make a move. “Let me finish closing up and I am going to take you to dinner.”

His flush darkened. “I’m still in my work clothes–” 

“And I’ll be in mine.” You interrupted with your laugh and his lips quirked in the corners slightly. “It won’t take me very long, wait for me?” 

And Billy did, finishing his coffee before pushing away from the bar so you could finish wiping it down. You could feel his eyes on you, brighter now, flitting along with your every movement until you finally stopped to stare back at him, arching an eyebrow to dare him, relishing in the lines that dimplied his cheeks with his shy smile.

You could not help but smile back; in part it was because you did actually like this pitiful boy, but also your quiet realization that the weight Billy had been carrying since he first came in had seemingly lifted from his shoulders on this night.

Spotify Wrapped 2023

[standfucker]

Koby & OC Headcanons for Anon

Characters: Koby, John (OC)

CW: none

For anon- I hope you find this satisfactory ^_^

Garp’s unit is stationed on an island’s Marine outpost for the month. In Koby’s precious little spare time, he sneaks out at night to train. He’s in the woods near the beach for hours, punching trees with all his might, unaware that he’s being watched.

John, meanwhile, is curious about the scrawny kid bloodying his fists under the moonlight, but he doesn’t approach him yet–he has a complicated relationship with the Marines, so he keeps his distance.

A week later, Koby gets separated from his squad in the maze-like town square of the island’s biggest city. Lost, he wanders into a back alley and is met with some huge, menacing ruffians keen to take advantage of a wayward Marine recruit. Koby’s attempt to talk them down swiftly fails, and they surround him, brandishing clubs and knives…

“Hey, Chore Boy,” says a new voice, and everyone’s head turns to see John. “When you throw a punch, try doing it like this.” He dashes forward, plants his foot, and decks the biggest gangster in the face, sending him flying down the entirety of the alley and through the nearest building.

The other gangsters are stunned, but quickly recover and rush the new guy. John draws back so his opponents are forced to converge, then plants his feet again, knees bent slightly, stance solid. He clenches his dominant fist, and bright, blue sparks crackle around his fingers.

”Blue Lightning!” He twists and throws the punch. There’s a flash upon impact, a small shockwave that has his opponents sailing through the air and landing with heavy thuds. All the men are knocked out. Koby just stares at the back of his savior, who takes in a breath before patting himself off and looking over his shoulder. “Did you see my form? Form’s important when you punch.”

-”Yes, I… wow, you were incredible! How did you do that?” Koby asks. John explains that he’s been training for a long time, and he saw how Koby was practicing on his own. John offers to give Koby some pointers the next time he trains, but first, how about getting shown his way around town?

They talk as John leads Koby back to where he needs to be, introducing themselves properly. The two immediately get along, already having some things in common with their pink hair and friendly demeanors. When they turn the right corner and see Koby’s unit in the distance, John stays where he is, not wanting to get close. “Go on ahead. I’ll meet you in the forest tonight.”

”I should introduce you to Garp! You deserve some recognition,” Koby says, but John politely refuses. Before Koby leaves, he adds, “you should think about enlisting! You would make a great Marine.” John’s expression changes, lips pressing together tightly. He gives Koby a forced smile and says he’ll think about it.

After that, they meet when Koby sneaks out. John teaches him any basics Koby hasn’t already learned, demonstrating proper stances and forms. Koby’s a fast learner, so they even get to some more advanced techniques. Koby builds enough confidence to try sparring. John’s clearly advanced far ahead of him, but goes easy, always explaining to Koby what mistakes he made and helping him improve.

While they take breaks, they talk. John leans about Koby’s time spent as a pirate’s prisoner and sympathizes���pirates took something from John, too, but he won’t elaborate. Koby learns that John’s childhood was largely spent constantly training with an overbearing, brutally tough father.

Eventually, Koby has to set sail. John shows up once the boat has just left port, waving him goodbye. Koby enthusiastically waves back, and Garp squints at John’s distant figure. “Eh? Who the hell is that?” “A friend I made on the island,” Koby answers. Garp takes out a spyglass to get a better look. His jaw drops.  “What the–that’s John!” “You know him?” “Know him? He’s Admiral Akainu’s son!” “WHAT?!”

John and Koby don’t meet again for months, until they run into each other on another island. Koby immediately unloads all the questions he’s been holding onto, namely why? John tells him to slow down, and brings him to his favorite local eatery first.

“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t important,” John said. “As for why I’m not a Marine…I still haven’t decided if that’s the right path for me. It’s…it’s complicated. For now, I just travel around and hone my skills.”

Koby accepts this, not that he has too much choice–he’s just glad he won’t get in trouble for hanging out with John, unlike a certain other rubbery friend of his.

From there on, John and Koby run into each other every now and then whenever they both wind up on the same island. John’s always the one that finds Koby, spying on local Marines and utilizing Observation Haki to sense if he’s near so they can hang out and train.

As Koby gets stronger, their sparring grows more intense, their relationship going from friends to rivals. Each time, no matter how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other, they always reunite with a smile and a solid fistbump.

[cyberrat]

71st Batch Of Fics: 10th Fill

Hanzo/Genji – Inheritance AU – Part 7 – fem!Hanzo – Family bathing fun time.

---

“You are right, of course. They’re well trained… just a little flick of my finger-” she does just that, flicking her index finger out toward Genji, and immediately he can hear three men taking one step forward, “-and they are just waiting for me to tell them how they should rip you into pieces.”

Genji swallows thickly, heart suddenly thumping in his chest again; this time not at all because he’s horny.

Still, he puts on a brave face and grins as he leans back. “You talk about them like they’re dogs… you think they appreciate that?”

Hanzo slowly puts her little towel off to the side of the tub. She looks more relaxed than during any of the other – two – times Genji had seen her. She certainly seems more talkative.

“They appreciate anything and everything I do to them,” Hanzo murmurs. Her smoky voice makes that sound that much… better. Genji licks his lips. The corner of Hanzo’s mouth briefly twitches up when she sees that, then moves her hand again in a lazy but short waving motion.

Genji can see from the corners of his eyes how the guards sink back into the shadows quietly.

Hanzo continues while watching him closely: “They are being well compensated for their… efforts.”

The trap thrown out is so blatant and yet Genji finds himself almost physically struggling against the need to ask more about it. Try and wriggle some information out of her. Make her say something juicy that will validate his imagination running wild and free.

Instead he says with a croak: “Sounds like a good deal.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrow. She watches him from underneath her heavy eyelids. Is it just him or can he see just a little inkling of begrudging respect? “Indeed.”

She has stretched her arms back out along the edge of her tub, fingers idly drawing little nonsensical patterns against the rounded stone.

It’s only then, surprisingly enough, that Genji drops his gaze to her chest. And only as a semi accident.

He can’t see much. The water is a little milky and the mist wafting over its surface only lets him stare at her cleavage like a teen getting off on the sight of a goddamn ankle. At this point he feels like he could get off on that too. Maybe have her little feet stepping on his cock too? Make him feel the pain?

“Eyes back on my face now.”

Hanzo’s voice has him look up even before the words properly register. It makes him feel like she has allowed him to stare at her tits which… what? What does that even mean?

Genji can feel the withdrawal badly. He needs something in his system. That’s why he feels so paranoid.

Hanzo doesn’t say more. She just looks at him. And he looks back. And in the hot water below his cock is desperately hard. He can’t get up before her for fear of her sicking her dogs on him. So while she is here, Genji has to stay.

He’s a prisoner of his own damn making.

“You know… if daddy dearest doesn’t have me in his will after all… I could be useful to you. I can learn just as well as those guards of yours.”

Hanzo hums thoughtfully. She slowly puts a finger against her lips, tracing their shape as she thinks about his words. “So you mean to say you could make yourself actually useful… instead of just being some dead weight that I have to deal with because our father found it impossible not to get some random call girl pregnant.”

Genji leans back against the wall of the hot tub and shrugs one shoulder, trying to at least pretend like he’s not desperately craving both a hit and the warm embrace of his big sister’s cunt.

“I’m saying that I’m definitely worth more alive than dead.”

“Hm. We’ll see about that.”

Hanzo so casually threatening him is better than he wants it to be. He stares at her through the mist. The heat is starting to get to his head and makes it even more difficult to think than it already had been.

He bounces his leg beneath the water but at least she can’t see that. She’s dissecting his every sign of weakness, it feels like.

Utterly and completely ruthless.

“When will the testimony be read?”

“In two days.” She keeps moving her finger along her lips and it becomes more and more distracting. Genji stares at Hanzo’s mouth, wondering just how she’d look with it wrapped around a cock. Doesn’t even have to be his. He’d pay to watch her suck off just about anybody at this point. While he stares, her mouth slowly stretches into a smile.

Is it the first one he’s seen from her? It looks predatory and more like a show of her perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. In his cooking brain he can imagine her digging them into flesh and ripping out a bloody piece of meat all too well. “The question is… will you make it until then?” she asks in an almost purr.

Genji is getting short of breath. It starts to dimly dawn on him just how dangerous this woman is.

She doesn’t need any of the guards posted around the estate. She only has them so she doesn’t have to dirty her own hands with the viscera of her opponents.

A wild animal waiting to strike.

“I am sure I will,” Genji replies as casually as he can before changing the subject. “Tell me about yourself, big sister… do you have family? Husband or kids? We’re blood related and I know so little of you…”

“And I know that much more about you, Genji,” she replies silkily without missing a beat. “About what clubs you frequent most… about who are your favorite drug dealers… how often you jerk off that pathetic little dick of yours.”

Her eyes seem to be the only thing clear through the hot mist, their blackness absolutely hypnotic to him as she speaks. She is determined to catch him slipping, that much is obvious. She wants to tease him into failing and his body is only too eager to comply. But his brain isn’t.

The withdrawal makes it feel like it is itching all over but that is only a boon at this point. It keeps him more or less sharp and alert. He stares right back at Hanzo, overly aware of how the water laps at her naked body.

“You’ve let your dogs watch me, hm? I don’t care. I got an exhibitionist streak a mile wide. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Again that brief flicker in her eyes. The begrudging respect though he can’t quite pinpoint yet what it is that tickles it out of her.

She chuckles softly. The sound sends ripples of sensation over what is exposed of his arms, goosebumps raising. His nipples become desperately tight in the hot water.

“Hm,” she hums softly. She reaches for a glass of wine that he hadn’t even noticed sitting right there until her fingers curl around it and bringing it to her mouth to take a little sip. “You are a bit… interesting. I have to admit.”

He exhales a soft breath, trying not to make it too obvious that he’s held it in the first place.Fuck why is everything she says and does so intense?

[originemesis]

@deathinfeathers xxx

"I DON'T KNOW, Adam! Okay? I don't know what I was thinking—I don't know what I was believing or what I was doing or what I am doing! You were gone! You were gone and I needed somebody to pay for it!!" What else was she supposed to do? Forgive? Forget? Move on? To what? What is there to move on to without him? He's everything. He's always been everything. The foundation on which her existance, her life, her identity is built. There was nothing before him and there would be nothing after him. If this past year and the truths which have been unearthed over it's course has cemented anything as immutable fact, it is that. There is no Lute without Adam. Literally. figuratively. Indisputably. In a twisted, roundabout sort of way, she is to him what he is to Yahweh. A warped reflection—down to the earthen characteristics of her pseudo-corporeal form. Does he feel godly when he looks at her? She has to wonder, if he even understands how fundamentally inconceivable it is for her to be without him? There is no place or purpose for her in this world that isn't by his side. Heaven? The council? The almighty? Fuck them. Fuck them all. All that she is is for him, from him, of him—her creation may have been ill-conceived and based In little more than vanity, but wasn't his as well? What crimes has he committed which the creator is not equally guilty of? The more she has learned about the forces which make the wheels of this universe turn the more she has come to realize that the supposed greater purpose they were all brought into this world to serve does not exist. It's all vanity. It's all bullshit. Talons rake through snowy strands, abusing the underlying flesh in an endeavor to distract from the tingling sensation crawling up her sinuses and pooling in the corners of her eyes. He sidles in and she can feel his warmth seeping into the space separating her arm from his. The sensation draws her marigolds a few degrees in his direction, just far enough to catch sight of his bleary silhouette out of her peripherals. She listens. Listens well, evidenced by the attentive swivel of a pointed ear. Just to keep my head above the surface, he says. Sounds familiar. Except she hadn't been doing a very convincing job of it. And it shows, too, in the dullness of her skin, poorly kempt feathers, eyes which look through but never at. There's no real fire in her anymore—utterly beaten down in every conceivable way. A slow blink as knuckles meet with cheek, dislodging a little, watery pearl which had been clinging to her lashes for dear life. "It's just you...Adam. It's always been you. What else could i possibly want for?" The words come hushed and brittle through twitching lips. "I have never thought of you as unremarkable...or insufficient...Not back then. Not now. Not ever."

Raising her head to properly face him at long last, she sucks a needless breath through clenched teeth into nonexistent lungs, a hand rising to grasp his reaching fingers loosely within an ashen palm. It still comes naturally. "The shit that they spew, up there...it's just noise. I never heard a word...because I know you...you are everything those poor, blind saps wish they could be if they had one, singular ounce of sense stowed away somewhere inside their essence of being. You were made with this incredible gift of choice, of free will. Free...and yet, all they've ever done is put you in chains....what a miserable fate, to subject something so extraordinary to." The free hand finds it's perch upon a bronze cheek, touching the plush pad of a thumb to the soft arch beneath the umbra cradling the sliver of gold that remains in his eyes. "...you are perfect."

Somebody had to pay for it-

Well wasn't she the cutest thing to have ever worshipped him? Maybe the only thing, despite how every soul on earth traced the rotten apple core of their being- the very atoms that created a golem husk of a holding cell for mortality- back to him. All that he'd done on earth would still be, and the signs of his contributions still remained etched into his ethereal form. Maybe not in the directly obvious way that initials were carved into tree bark like the scar of A+E he'd used as a talon sharpening target shortly before his perfect disaster of a storm in Eden toppled the tree that bore it.

No, it was more like the gradual pulling of sand grains by a ceaseless tide- never really diminishing the shoreline enough to ever erase it. Particle by particle, time stripped the one iota of what separated men from the monsters born of Lilith and transferred them to new depths- transformed them into some human passing hybrid of the two because even if not all of Earth's apples were bad, one rotten one would spoil the bunch in every other batch. Endless were those poisoned seeds swallowed, and the evidence of each piece of him passed showed in the ever sleepless bags under his gaze muddled with the ever present need for several caffeinated drinks throughout the day. It culminated in the clear chaos of constant cowlicks cocked in a mixture of bed and helmet hair, in wings tucked in to blanket the filling in of flanks not starved since Eden's exclusively vegan menu, in the grumpy slouch of stiff shoulders, and tacked onto the end of Lucifer's sentiment as a resounding punctuation: so this is what you've been up to? Deteriorating. The image of God.

And yet none of those filthy sinners, nor the angels tasked with the expectation of service to the divine worshipped him. 'The Man' didn't look the part anymore. Was that why He started all this? To remember what absolute power actually resembled before pieces of it were either divided, or corrupted and rotted away? A castle in the sand, gradually drying out and crumbling to an indication of what it had once been. Perhaps that was the feeling of a potter gazing down on the toil of their work- the very earth spun, molded and fired to hopefully withstand the cracks and chips that would eventually find it- ruin it. And yet, she with her own shiny newness to reflect his own deteriorated beginnings didn't seem to notice when her crockery came with chips. That or she saw them as well used for a reason. That or she saw it as a challenge to add her own marks to show she'd loved it more for its inconsistencies. Worship like that...was everlasting. An Ever After. How could he have even considered she'd turn him away now ? Even if the crack from a curb stomp into hell would definitely drop molten soup into her lap if she chose to sup from him now.

Vanity of the creator had kept the burdening weight of his soul pinned to the clouds with clothespins until there simply wasn't enough of Him to recognize in man, and though there many more- endless, really, each of them bore such a furthering resemblance from the source material that there were no qualms to hold when they all landed in hell, and he with them now... unrecognizable and with the same vanity still stuck like a badge on what remained because he would never fully shake that human feeling of fleeting satisfaction in seeing himself in his sons or in her eyes when they'd filled with tears over her favored bowl shattered on the ground in pieces she'd try to glue together if he wasn't so quick to sweep up and bin himself.

As she speaks, he fidgets. Talons still toying with the wet globule guarded by her lashes like the boughs of a gold pear, he rubs its resplendence into the memory of warped fingerprints once it pops as if the burn of holy tears could brand him a new set made uniquely of her.

Kneading the burn in, he disguises a soft hiss as a scoff, the ridges of his smile always a twitch away from formulating the most outlandish observation he could manage from context clues read backwards. "Really-? So the sex was bangin' and definitely not mid?" With a snort and a shift that caused the counter stool to creak under the effort, he blinks as she sits up to catch the burnished remnants of his eyes with hers. A half formed wince chars the corner of his eye when the mold of her hand mashes the golden smears in like an ointment left to burn but mend all the same. Hearing the truth...at least theirs take the form of a butterfly wing's beat on her breath certainly feels conductive to closing the wounds left to fester like the raised flesh along his back where one wing was no more than severed bone gnawed down, but it still burned the same.

"Tch. Then you know I was free to keep'em on." He's soft, the state of her hand on his cheek translating through the hushed grit of a soul still on the mend from all the deep bruising of angelic steel's punishing punctures that if it were not for the involuntary opening of a chest portal some fifteen of fifty plus, would have ended his solo career. "I wouldn't just break a chain that you're a link in..." Said chest portal had begun to yawn at his clavicle, though instead of the golden light beyond- a swirl of darkness pervaded. Three shards of a halo now felled floated inside, and from the combined light of them it almost seemed like the inner workings of the different dimension shimmered. "Course, it does make a bitchin' ring, huh?"

With a pause, he permeates in the praise, the claw of his thumb rolling circles along the back of her palm, neck arched down to keep her damp gaze with the same ghost of a smile he'd seen her off with against the backdrop of heaven captured briefly in a closing circle.

"...perfect-ly capable of lying to you. Was going to lie to you even at the end there." The hint of low-hanging humor seems to stall, and the weight of his tail in her lap straps her in place like a seatbelt for a roller coaster ride she didn't ask for- but at least came with feathers to tickle her triceps. "Back before you took off, I was going to tell you that you're ugly when you cry." It wasn't a secret he didn't like waterworks, especially on her- a lieutenant that needed to look like she inflicted tears and never shed them. Messed up her pretty face, he'd claim. "But that's the farthest thing from the truth. You weren't made for me, and I wasn't made for anyone. Yet everything you do...everything you are-" Another scoff and the itch to shake his head ends with pressing his face into her open palm, nosing in place like a bull impatient for a pat.

"Look, being perfect by heaven's standards? It's overrated- it's cringe. But what I see when I look at you doing...literally anything? It's enough."

-and isn't that what he always wanted to be?

"You've always been." A quick tilt of his head earns her the nubs on his forehead combing through the crown of her silver with a Shepard's care. "Now...are you going to be enough of a good little demon ass destroyer and bring it in, or do I gotta simmer in the cringe-stew some more?"

[seldaryne]

my formatting got really weird when i went to edit, i had more space but apparently im forbidden from keeping them thanks tumblr

possibly will just make additions to this post as needed, might make new ones?? idk lol

anyway, adjustment:

i actually think over time that she Should & does become more expressive, she just doesn't really realize it?

majority of the emoting is done with her eyes/the brow area, less so other parts of her face. so if you're paying enough attention, you can probably see her working out a thought in real-time before she opens her mouth. possibly you'll even be able to predict what it's going to be too, depending on your powers of observation. in that way, it honestly looks a bit endearing. the lack of conscious awareness keeps it organic, pushing aside the intimidating mask for brief moments.

she does laugh. very quietly, very reserved, but she does. it's not likely you'll hear her over a crowd of people, but she'll draw a hand up to her mouth & her shoulders shake gently. it's unpracticed & clumsy, but even she knows there's a very good chance this is probably the first part of her life where she's had the opportunity to do it. she still wishes her first instinct wasn't to hide and internalize joy, and she tells herself that it should come with time.

astarion very much enjoys that sound. after a while, he learns which words will bring it out & which will earn him an unimpressed gaze, and plays into the former more often than not. he may as well find some use for his internal warehouse of canned lines.

there are also the adored rare smiles. he likes the way they always, always start with a softening in the eyes, dropping a layer of her guard that she never notices she's holding onto still. she needs to glance away when it starts to reach her lips, curving gently up at the corners and perhaps offering a small flash of teeth too. that's very real, and so is the way she becomes nearly bashful (or maybe flustered is the word) if he insists on trying to see more of it. understandably, she's never been properly flirted with before (he honestly wouldn't even count his own early 'attempts'), but it's a shame. bhaal's chosen is painfully cute in these moments, and perhaps there's a small, smug part of him that enjoys knowing he's been the only one able to discover it.

speaking of other small tells--her tail takes on a very, very slight relaxed sway over the course of act 3 if she's feeling particularly content. due to the nature of what's actually happening at the time, this isn't spotted a whole lot, but considering how rigid she usually holds herself (she considers it to be disciplined), it's more obvious to the eye. watching velrith try to relax her posture if she's not laying down for sleep is somewhat amusing; she still doesn't know how to do that, and is, in fact, hyperaware that she resembles a dog attempting to get comfortable at best, which makes the whole act anything but comfortable. perfectly straight posture is her default, and there's no reason to change that (does she slouch?? can she slouch?)

she makes herself small when she sleeps. this is another recent change; in another life, sleeping lightly on her back was really the only way to do it. she's still not a heavy sleeper (the idea of having another sleep-murder to wake up to is a reasonably distressing one) but she'll curl up on herself now, facing away from any sources of light. she might even go as far as to put her entire body under the blanket, with the smallest part of a foot or hand sticking out for thermoregulation. she's gotten so good at this, it's possible to mistake the shape under the covers for an unmade bed.

clingy in her sleep. she gets pretty touchy over time in general, but this is more heightened. a lifetime of touch deprivation comes out completely unshielded when she's unconscious. this typically isn't a loose hold either. not suffocating, but it's solid. it doesn't have to be a separate person in her arms, but she's discovered that she needs something there. an extra pillow, a backpack stuffed with clothes, a rolled up blanket--just... something, really. again, kind of sweet, kind of sad. big spoon, little spoon, whatever. she's got no real preference, and is somewhat relieved to find that's normal.

the tail usually ends up on astarion if he's close enough. he still thinks it feels weird as hell & physically startled awake the first few times he felt it on his leg.

there's anxiety that comes with the initial co-sleeping on a more regular basis thing. she's absolutely concerned about the risk she poses just by being who she is, & everything she has still feels so damn breakable. there's no actual solution to this. all the reassurances in the world don't ease her mind or erase the possibility of an incident. she simply has to trust that the people around her will not allow it. (fortunately she's somewhat compact if restraints are needed. still Very strong, but she's not tall or broad by any means & can be folded up & subdued. this is weirdly comforting for her to know.)

haven't finished the durge pt yet (idc about spoiling anything though that has 0 impact on me enjoying the game fdgh) but i've been thinking Thoughts.

edit okay as i was writing this i went ahead and just read up on the backstory so i could continue my thoughts in a coherent manner lmfao

(lots of info here, apparently ive gotten Very attached to her in the last uh. three weeks give or take. kinda sorta chronological?? idk it makes sense to me lmao)

--

velrith probably definitely only settled on that name in act 2. prior that she was just called whatever people drifted to if they needed her attention. & she didn't really care, having a void for memories will do that to a bitch, but it can make introductions awkward or give them a weird 'im too good to even give you my identity' energy. not super great when paired with someone who doesn't really emote or put a ton of effort into masking tonal inflections. she pointedly allowed other people to do more of the talking as a result for a while & would get roped into conversations that way.

i'd like to go ahead and tie in astarion's frequent use of pet names here to this too. he's got a goal here, and can't just drop a 'hey you' every time he's angling for something. it's easier to fill in the blanks that way & make sure it doesn't come across as cold and calculated as the seduction actually is for a time. of course, the mental gymnastics weren't necessary here. aside from the fact that she's extremely intense about her oath & therefore is legally obligated to send cazador straight to hell on sight, he'd also have the same luck with a low-effort, straightforward 'do you want to have sex?' the lines are... usually fine, never actually crossing boundaries, but she does find a lot of them to be really goddamn weird & unnecessary when the point could be made in less than 10 words.

picture a distraught-looking sighthound & you have the general idea of the face she makes when he lays it on thick. she's giving her best shot at a socially appropriate expression. it's not working.

also on names, she can't say for sure if that's who she was before or if she just pieced together syllables that sounded like Something from memory. again, doesn't really matter either way, since she's not in any hurry to reclaim her former self. it's fine.

ketheric felt straightforward. a tragic figure who she did extend an olive branch towards, but ultimately felt nothing when it came time to bring her blade down (besides, isobel seemed like she knew what she was talking about when velrith confessed [suddenly coming back into her room just to point-blank tell her about the desire to spill her blood] certain thoughts of violence towards the cleric, and it felt like the sort of assurance she should be trusting, right? more than any of her own emotions, anyway.)

gortash gives her the ick. like, there's no other way to describe that one. he actually probably still would even without all the history (and the fact that he needed to repent for what he'd done to karlach), but the slimy over-familiarity was really the nail in the coffin there. velrith isn't smooth nor particularly socially gifted, but she has a certain air of formal pride she carries herself with. acting like you know her better than she does herself (even if it may very well be the truth!) is so beyond an overstep of what she's able to function with. stripping away everything else, if he even tried to touch her casually on the shoulder, he would have been liable to lose that hand.

orin troubles her. for the obvious reasons, but she also just... pities her. almost. pre-tadpole, velrith was honestly relatively similar compared to her current personality. colder and more able to justify slaughter, sure, but still staunchly refusing to compromise her own feelings for social games. she understood how the game pieces moved when she watched other people, even when she was younger, but if asked to copy the same techniques, she was only ever able to bludgeon straight through in a line. consequently, people don't really care how strange you are if you're just that good at your job. orin made a one-sided rivalry out of someone who otherwise just regarded her as a peer in the same arena, and now sees her as someone who wouldn't have been able to take the chance at redemption even if it had been on the table. she was too far gone, unable to stand on her own or cope with the fact that she would always be lesser than someone who genuinely could not have cared less about standings. maybe if velrith had feigned some interest, there wouldn't have been so much hatred. or maybe there would have.

either way, she sees orin in a depressing light. someone who had nothing and no one but the prospect of power, and who crumbled as soon as that chance at power was taken away. to let her live would have been to co-sign on her projecting those emotions outwards. velrith isn't stupid and knows there's a good chance she might have gone the same way if she hadn't been lucky enough to receive her parasite. in another life, she thinks that maybe she could have found a connection, and they might have saved each other (either genuinely or in a twisted version of the word). this isn't a thought she shares with anyone. she thinks about that death and their interactions for a long time afterwards.

her 'normal' childhood sometimes comes to her in fleeting memories that disappear out of her periphery if she focuses too hard. she thinks she liked her parents, and they seemed like nice people from what she can semi-recall. but she can also tell that there's always just been something wrong with her if she compares herself to other people. many of these snippets feature her looking anywhere but at her parents' faces, unable to express herself verbally in a way they could understand (the words were right, they way she used them was... her own, shall we say?). something flipped at some point, and all of the sudden she would stare too much at them, not blinking or looking away at the right moments. they'd seemed to squirm a bit under this. they always seemed a bit sad when they looked at her, as if they'd loved her but she was never quite as they hoped she would be.

she had to be taught what to do during a hug as an older child instead of leaving her arms limp at her sides. she knows that.

she doesn't remember killing them. she doesn't remember how it would have felt to receive her first order or how she was unable to do anything but listen to the violent urges.

there's more guilt for not feeling much towards them than there is for the killing.

the staring hasn't shifted again. she knows she looks at people too hard and/or too long, looks at them dead in the eyes and studies their faces, but she can't help it. one, it's good to be aware and alert. two, looking away doesn't seem to be the answer either. at least this way they know she's paying attention, right?

she thinks she shouldn't care about these things, that it's so ridiculous coming from her blood-soaked past, laughable that she'd wonder what it meant to have people relax in your presence instead of becoming more visibly anxious. but she wants to be good, she really, really does. she wants to be able to join a group like everyone else, slipping seamlessly into their words and laughing how they laugh instead of her own (the faintest of smiles and a soft rush of air running past her lips, blink-and-you'll-miss-it laughter that may as well not exist outside of her head). she doesn't hate herself for these things, because she doesn't know how else to be, but she does wonder. she wants to know what it's like for these things to be easy. bhaal's favourite hadn't been blessed with charisma, apparently.

consequently, she has a very hard time now figuring out how to actually connect with anyone, or what it should feel like to have friends.

it made her somewhat uncomfortable in the beginning to be asked questions by these people on a regular basis. not even personal questions, just things to signal that she existed to them in some capacity. gale remembers when she'd wrinkled her nose at a certain seasoning, and leaves it off her plate when he makes dinner going forward. lae'zel likes how she fights and asks her questions on technique, asking to spar so she could better understand the answers. shadowheart thinks they're alike with similar holes in their memories, and seeks out her company because of it. she doesn't understand, and for a while she even feels a bit suffocated by it. exposure therapy is really the only remedy here.

initially there are some reasonable assumptions on whether she just dislikes them all that much, or if she thinks she's better than them, or some other nasty reason. it takes approximately two conversations with her for everyone to understand that's not the case. it's like speaking to someone who only every studied social behaviour from an incomplete textbook and was visibly struggling to fill in the gaps in real-time. is she scary? yes, a bit. does she stare at you Way too much when you're speaking to her (at her, really, because you will be carrying that conversation until she's gotten her footing)? also yes. but she's really earnestly trying to sort herself out for the sake of the people around her, brain twisting around itself to learn things that were as easy as breathing to most. and it's sort of sweet, in its own way.

over time, she stops simply caring about these people based on her code of ethics. she starts to remember things about them too, her love language starts to show itself through gift-giving at an absolutely glacial pace, but it's noticeable to literally everyone despite that. a small trinket picked up at the market matching shadowheart's usual taste is pressed into her hand with only a nod before velrith is turning on her heel and almost running away. a tome is thrust at wyll with such startling intensity that the kindness actually comes off as a bit of a threat, but she looks visibly relieved when he takes it with a smile. so on and so forth. every incident like this, every blunt display of 'i notice you. i think you would like this. i thought of you today,' is accompanied by a hasty exit. task accomplished, but now the script has run out, so she's doing the same. she also finds it hard to look at people once the exchange has taken place, and is pretty sure this is an affliction only she suffers from.

she's going to push through it anyway, even if it makes her skin feel like its trying to recoil off her bones.

it also comes out in the protection. again, it's expected as a paladin of devotion, but no one is quite prepared for the molten fury that burns in her eyes or the weight of her voice whenever ghosts from the past arise. not only has she sworn her protection to those suffering from harm (and names like orin, gortash, cazador, viconia & more absolutely qualify as those who cause harm), but it feels personal. acting as shield and guillotine is when velrith is truly in her element, standing tall and embodying the virtues laid out in her tenets.

she is fighting internally just as much as externally, pushing back against base instincts to continue her sworn oath. driving her sword through the flesh of the emperor is just as much about defeating him as it is proving to herself that she is still capable of goodness. if she falls here, she can at least die knowing she was dedicated to rebellion until her very last breath.

this does not mean that she actually registers it when people like her, though. in fact, once she pieces together what her true nature is (she hadn't wanted to kick that poor animal, or make a spectacle of that nice bard's corpse, or try to rip out astarion's throat as he slept--but she had done those things, and more, and what's worse, some of them don't even to her like they would anyone else) she's pretty sure that the unanimous, logical choice would be to put her at a distance.

so she braces, prepares, makes peace with returning to the status quo & starts pulling away before staging her little ted talk. jaheira catches her first, though, and it gets to her. she's not spoken much to the woman, but she's... incredibly understanding, actually. so much so that it leaves velrith with a profound ache in her chest when she rolls over and tries to sleep again (jaheira's insistence, and her promise to stand watch all night in case she lost control again). being around jaheira hurts like hell, but she still seeks her out after that incident. she looks at her kindly but doesn't treat her with any more fragility than before. she's good-humoured when answering question after question about bhaalspawn, and stays honest the whole time too. she seeks her out when she isolates as much as she can on the outside of camp, dropping a sack of potatoes at velrith's feet and sitting beside her so that they can peel them in easy silence.

she likes that the most. sometimes it feels like velrith's head is too full; not from the parasite or the echoes of a murderous god, but from--she's not sure, actually, but it makes thinking hard, and speech tends to take a temporary leave as well. no amount of coaxing makes a difference, it'll return when it decides to. that's the bad sort of silence, the type that other people feel like they should fix so that everyone can be comfortable again. except jaheira, who apparently can figure out what she needs before velrith can even process that question. and sometimes, she just needs to peel some potatoes for a bit.

standing before everyone else, she prepares for the logical choice of rejection again. instead, she's greeted with shrugs, support, sympathy, but overall--not much of a change. that's the part that sends her off, only pausing just long enough to take a breath before excusing herself to the surrounding woods. it hurts so damn much, being loved like this. she wonders if any technicalities in her oath actually require her to slay herself at this point, just based on the implications alone. they should be appalled. fearful. cold. and she'd wound herself up so much inside determining this to already be the only end to her confession. bare your soul, lose what you'd only started to ease into, return to your duty.

the other shoe never does drop, though. it's gone so catastrophically well that she can't even make the tears flow properly (she's only done it once before that she remembers, but that should be adequate). instead, her sobs are muffled gasps against her hands, choking on her own confusion as she sinks to the ground, shaking.

of course, this comes out after the "incident", in the underdark, which means astarion has already seen her cry precisely once of something that seemed to her a similar scale. he's got a better handle on it, he'd like to believe, and he can sense that he's being silently volunteered for the 'fetch our bhaalspawn' quest. she's not hard to find either, an ice-white tiefling amongst the greenery with her head hidden in her arms, folded in on herself like she's not worth the weight of her own bones. it's sad, and a little annoying, actually, because if she was to insist that he possessed worth like it was the most obvious fact in the world, like he was strange for not feeling the same way, why shouldn't that same sentiment extend in her direction.

of course, there's little he can say to soothe in a way that matters, he's not going to make that mistake again, but he's at least able to bring her up for air. yes my love, perhaps it is foolish and unwise for any of us to stay around something so dangerous, but that argument can be made in many directions, not just yours. you would be the first among us to dismiss those very notions if they were coming from someone else, and have done so--multiple times, may i add--as bhaalspawn. if there's upset about the reveal, i'm confident that it's more to do with how you feel than anything else.

and really, what's she supposed to do with that aside from break even more (from relief, maybe? tension and fear of rejection that she hadn't known how to recognize, hadn't known she was holding onto? the understanding that this is not just from him, but on behalf of everyone else too?) and crumble into him.

against all odds, she is worthy of loving. despite her bloodline and her personal shortcomings, she is worthy of that much.

nothing in half-measures, as most paladins tend to be. does she remember when or why or even how she took the oath? not even a bit. but it's the only thing in her head when she wakes up on the mind flayer ship, the sole thing she's sure of, the only guiding direction she has. it should be enough to understand right and wrong, but it isn't for her. following the oath is a choice, something she can steady herself on when nothing else makes sense. devotion to her cause of protection, restoring some of the balance in the world that she lost before orin killed her. maybe that was why she lived; something needed her to right some of her sins before death arrived. or maybe a divine power was looking for someone who wouldn't be missed if they were lost in stopping the ithilids.

whatever it is, she does everything in her power to stick to it. until, of course, life happens (as it tends to) and she does something in the underdark. what did she do? she doesn't know, because she thought she was helping--that myconid was going to betray the colony that took him in when he lost all others. she raised her sword when it was clear a scolding wouldn't change his mind. and then... the sinking feeling that something was wrong.

something was missing. the only part of her that felt like it was anything was gone, and for the first time (maybe ever?) she gets emotional. there's no anchor anymore, no calming guide of tenets to follow.

the oathbreaker knight will find her later, she knows. at camp, she's distraught, and the little bit she dared interact goes out the window entirely. there's nothing anyone could actually say that would help, anyway. this does not stop astarion from trying.

glib as ever, were she in a more normal headspace she would have seen the dismissive comment for the hand-waving attempt at comfort it was. he probably knows there's nothing he can actually say to bring her down, but surely a joke (meant to reassure that she would be fine regardless, whether the oath stayed broken or was re-taken, she was competent on the field and he at least trusted her that much) would be alright?

it was not.

for all that he carried, he could not--did not--understand. of course he could be cavalier about it; despite all that was taken from him, he still had his own gods-damned name. he knew who he was, wasn't scrambling to put together fragments of his own ghost just to make some unimpressive small talk like she was. she has not yet chosen her name at this point, and that oath is where she begins & ends as a person.

he's silent when she snaps, unexpected. like a cornered animal about to tear its own leg out of a trap, daring anyone to come closer to 'help' so that they too can be maimed. a total loss for words, even when she stalks off to keep herself from acting out even further (who knows how prone she would be to violence now? not her!), raising her voice for the first time at him in pure grief.

he doesn't really get it, but he understand more in the middle of all that. the pieces click together in his mind, working themselves out during the berating. the gods never answered his cries, and so his outlook remained fairly bleak on the whole pantheon. paladins occupied a space at the opposite end of the spectrum, and he'd assumed that her more uptight habits were an offshoot from that (it's not like she gave him a ton to work with, either. he did his best from what he was allowed to see). for her, there may as well have been no gods involved in any capacity. it was simply the thing that kept her from fracturing entirely, now gone thanks to a misunderstood line in the agreement.

she still refuses to speak to him, even after she's begged for the oath back--she'll be good this time, really, she'll be good, she promises, it won't happen again, please--and received it successfully. she's not talking much to anyone, feeling both too exhausted and over-sensitive to even contemplate that. his apology isn't... good, exactly. but it's honest and that's really all she gives a shit about. things are still weird and cold for a bit, manifesting in a physical distance & reinforcing just how off his initial read on her was. but it's her first real brush with interpersonal conflict, so learning curves are expected. time and circumstance eventually help things settle, with there being bigger things to worry about.

she's quiet during sex. responsive and hyper-aware of her body, definitely, but still restrained. she enjoys the act, however, despite the lack of volume, and this shows through a readiness to explore and feel things. the ability to feel physical pleasure is something that at least seems to be something she has in common with most people. but she's overly permissive too, sometimes uncomfortably so; she's simply not attached enough to her body to have real concerns or strong preferences. at first glance, this seems to be deference, the need to be agreeable in every situation lest she tip the scales too much in her own direction.

he puts his finger on that after the third encounter, and finds himself taking a break from her for a while after as a result (once again, an act that she's absolutely fine with--god, has the thought of challenging him ever even crossed her mind in this department?). Further observation, however, reveals something else. her actions are exploratory. experimental. there's no frame of reference, she needs to establish preferences all over again for this version of herself. in fact, he sees that this extends to other tasks people ask of her as well. every action or accompaniment is met with the same reserved curiosity, considering what's being asked of her before ultimately deciding to try something new. perhaps that was why he felt like he was being intensely studied if he squints.

there's no doubt that she does see him. but she only sees enough to know that she lacks the connections to actually do anything with that. an unbalanced, vexing sort of safety net. (still, there was probably no one better for him to glue himself to than a paladin, and he tells himself that's why he spends so long trying to figure her out. because surely, her motivations can't be as obviously honest as they come across--can they?)

it's only after she tells him on the name she's privately decided to give herself (private for now, since everyone else will be informed in the morning) that he starts to realize just how much he enjoys kissing her. she's not nearly as practiced as he is, but gods, there's such a single-mindedness to the kisses it actually leaves him dizzy. her focus is so all-encompassing, the world around them may as well have been unravelling at its seams and she still wouldn't break contact. chasing pleasure but holding back just enough to keep her head above the water, prolonging the act as much as she can. he's been kissed before. many times, actually, but not like this.

there is... so much disappointment when rejecting bhaal doesn't actually change anything fundamental in her. on one hand, that really does mean that it's been her personality the entire time. that the good choices she made were hers, and they were worth fighting for.

on the other hand, fostering even that small seed of hope that she might become less of herself and more like other people had been a dangerous game. the distance remains, along with the lack of understanding and knowledge that some things would always be more hard-won for her, while others would simply be entirely beyond her reach. knowing this logically is one thing. accepting it is... entirely different. it will take time, and she will at least allow herself as much so as to properly grieve a version of herself whose body knew how to laugh freely.

she'll be okay.

[devildomdisaster]

Idk if you read Lore Olympus but chapter 129 gave me an angsty request idea.

So Persephone, who’s the goddess of spring, goes into a hibernation-like state and when her emotions go out of control, she ends up growing her hair really long and her body sprouts a lot of plants from her; to the point of covering her and whatever area she’s in with her plants.

So I would like to request head cannons of the Brothers reacting to an MC who gets really sad whenever the brothers insult or threaten them and after several weeks of being berated by demons it causes MC to shut down and go to their room but mistakes a comfort spell with a plant curse that causes their hair and plants to grow continuously long. The plants fill up MC’s room and while they would normally be surprised at the mistake, they don’t care any more. They allow the plants to to grow, even wrap around their neck and body, and hopes the curse kills them off before the brothers notice as they go in the “hibernation” stage of the curse (The curse causes the victim to grow a lot of plants and vines from their body until they die, which can take a few days).

I’m sorry for being so long and descriptive, I just wanna see the Bros panic and feel guilty that MC felt pushed to do this to themselves but I understand if you don’t want to do it

I don't read Lore Olympus but you described the situation really well so I hope this is something close to what you wanted.

Comfort spell gone wrong

Lately, nothing seemed to be good enough for the demons. No matter what you did one of them would find something to berate you for.

“Mc, your grades are subpar even for an exchange student. You’ll have to try harder in order to not be a disappointment to Diavolo and myself.” Lucifer warned over breakfast.

“Mc, you burned dinner. You should learn to be a better cook.” Beel grumbled. As if you had ever seen any of these ingredients before ending up in the Devildom.

Even Mammon seemed to be in a particularly unpleasant mood. A never-ending string of complaints about how hard it is to protect an ordinary human. “Geez, you’re such a hassle human.”

Taking refuge in the library to study and to give Mammon a break from you proved disastrous and nearly deadly. Somehow you’d managed to spill your cup of tea all over an old somewhat rare text after Asmo had barged in and startled you. Your string of bad luck continued when Satan rounded the corner and saw the soggy tea-stained pages you’d been trying to decipher. In his fit of rage, he’d called you several unpleasant names and asked if you were “capable of doing anything right or if all humans are as stupid as you?” You’d left as quickly as you were able to avoid any more of his wrath.

No matter where you went you kept walking in on Belphie napping and without fail he’d say something nasty to you, that would make tears burn the backs of your eyes.

Levi had angrily called you a “useless normie,” who he wished would “never come back.” and had pushed you from his room with a slam of his door.

Even Asmo who usually just ignored you when he was upset found every reason imaginable to critique your every aspect. Physical and personality. Not a single one of which made you feel any more than worthless.

So was it any wonder when at the end of a long week you’d locked yourself in your room and decided to try that comfort spell you’d heard Solomon talking about? It seemed simple enough. But then your tears had blurred your vision as you’d recited the words and your Latin was still shaky at best. But it was just a few lines! And there was no way you were going to go to one of the brothers for comfort when they had seemed perfectly happy to make you miserable for the last few weeks.

You’d read the spell aloud and curled up hoping that the spell would kick in and you’d feel even just the slightest bit better. The blinding green light and sudden drop in energy was the first and only warning the spell had gone wrong. But being new to magic meant it still sapped your energy, so you didn’t stop to think something might be wrong. By the time you realized what was happening, everything was out of control. Plants had begun to sprout from your skin and the floor around you, growing and growing. With each inch they grew you felt your exhaustion creep up and consume you. You were just so tired. Your eyes fluttered closed. This was wrong! You forced your eyes open again. You need to fix this. The spell! But a short nap wouldn’t hurt, would it? You’d have more energy after you woke up. Then you could go get one of the brothers. Satan would know how to fix this. Or Lucifer! He’d clean the spell up easily. Yes, after you woke up…

Lucifer hadn’t seen you all weekend. He figures you’re most likely studying. But you don’t show up for meals and none of his brothers have seen you either… and oh Diavolo! He can feel the spell from the dining room. How did he not notice sooner? The cold pulling sensation of the spell, like it was sucking the warmth and life from its surroundings.

When Lucifer reaches your door Mammon is already there. Knocking and shouting for you, but there's no answer. He all but breaks your door down, his brothers behind him, and finds you at the center of the spell. Unresponsive and covered in the plants using your energy to grow. The plants had begun climbing up the walls and twisting through your hair, sending out snow-white flowers.

“Beel! Don’t!” Lucifer warns as Beel reaches out to pull a handful of plants from you. “We don’t know what did this and what will happen to Mc if we just rip the spell off like that.”

“Lucifer, Mc did this to themself,” Satan points to the open spellbook. “It looks like they got a comfort spell mixed up.”

Fortunately, your last tired thoughts were correct and Lucifer is able to break the spell quickly. You wake surrounded by the brothers.

Lucifer:

All this happened for a comfort spell? Because you didn’t feel like you could come to him, to any of them?

He’s so sorry Mc. Enough that as he leans down to pick you up out of the mess of withering plants you can feel tears fall onto your face.

“Nothing I did was good enough for you Lucifer. Any of you. I just wanted to feel… I just wanted-”

His heart breaks when he realizes this is his brother’s fault, his fault. “You are always good enough, Mc. Much more than I could ever ask you to be, and if I ever made you feel like you weren't. No, the fact that I made you feel like you weren’t, means I have been truly terrible.”

You’re choking back your own tears now and you curl further into his arms as he carries you down the hall. “You said I was a disappointment.”

“My dear Mc, you have never been, nor could you ever be a disappointment to me. Forgive me for ever making you feel as if you were.”

Lucifer takes you to his bathroom and draws you a bath to wash away the last of the plant matter from your body.

Afterward, he’ll bring you anything you ask for. He wants to wrap you in his arms but doesn’t want to push you, so he asks softly if he can hold you.

He’ll spend weeks trying to make this up to you, even after you forgive him, he’ll be sure to tell you how much he loves you more often than he did before.

Mammon:

Shit human! Why didn’t you come to him? He loves you so much and oh. He made you feel like a burden.

How could he be so stupid when he knows how his brothers make him feel?

Mammon begs for your forgiveness in front of all his brothers.

“Please can ya forgive me? I never meant to make ya feel like a burden. You're the only human I- I want to protect you Mc. I’m so sorry.”

Mammon helps you up and since your room is covered in plants he offers to let you sleep in his room for the night.

He wraps you in blankets and brushes the hair from your face with trembling fingertips.

There are still a few stubborn leaves sticking to your face and in your hair so Mammon takes a warm washcloth and wipes them from your face before gently untangling the plants from your hair.

You’ll be getting little gifts and tokens of mammon’s affections for the foreseeable future.

Levi:

He threw you out of his room when you came to him for comfort and the guilt at seeing you almost die because of it is eating him alive.

He feels frozen

Maybe you would be better off without an otaku shut-in like him. He starts avoiding you like the plague.

You start to think that Levi is so disgusted with the fact that you did that spell that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

Despite this Levi still checks up on you. He wants to know that you are ok, he just does it without you knowing.

He’ll ask his brothers about you and discreetly glance at you during meals to make sure you’re eating enough and look healthy.

A few days later when your favorite and manga anime start showing up outside your door you confront Levi. “Are you mad at me? Do you just not want to be around me after what happened? Levi, I miss you!”

He is shook, and he can’t believe he messed up so badly.

He’s happy that he can invite you to hang out again, and he makes sure to spend long nights gaming or watching movies with you until you fall asleep against him. He’ll even stutter out how much he treasures his time with you, blushing fiercely all the while.

Satan:

Satan feels anger swell up inside him. How could he have let this happen? How could no one have seen how upset you were?

Once the spell has been dissolved he is at your side instantly. Brushing vines from your skin. His fingers are shaking in anger but his touch is so gentle.

When both you and your room are cleaned up Satan sits at your bedside, book in hand, reading to you.

He just wants to be close to you now. He wants you to know how much he cares about you but is still too worked up to get his thoughts out properly.

Eventually, his thoughts calm and he stops reading in the middle of a sentence. “Mc, I am so sorry. I never meant to make you feel unwanted. Every day I spend with you is infinitely better than a day without you. I know the spell was a mistake but… we almost lost you. I almost lost you.”

He wants to talk about what pushed you to do this. He won’t push but he really does think that he will be better able to help you if he understands.

Satan makes sure to spend more time with you from now on. He makes a conscious effort to check his temper at the door and be with you when you need him.

Sometimes he’ll just read to you until one of you confides in the other in quiet voices.

Asmo:

As you blink your eyes open Asmo gently brushes some plants from your cheek.

You are so pale and his heart breaks as you flinch away from him. You feel like a mess and you know you must look like one too so curl your body away from him trying to hide. Trying to avoid his critical gaze.

This is the moment Asmo knows he screwed up.

He draws his hand back, for a moment, before reaching out to you again. Cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away with perfectly manicured hands.

Lucifer has him take you to his bathroom to clean up while the rest of the brothers work to clear the plants from your room.

Asmo is quiet for a long while as he untangles plants from your hair.

“You’re so loved, Mc,” he says softly. “You are.” he insists when you shake your head no.

“More than you could ever know, and it’s our fault for not telling you. My fault for not making you feel worthy.”

After this incident, Asmo wants to make sure you know how beautiful you are. He starts self-care days once a week that soon turn into whole family affairs. Each week different combinations of his brother attend and you all work to pamper each other.

Asmo makes sure nothing like this happens again, he never wants to be part of the reason you feel unloved ever again.

Beel:

At first, Beel thinks you did this on purpose. Once the brothers realize you messed up the spell he is less angry but no less distraught.

Once you wake up, he wants to take you to get desserts. He’s heard humans eat Chocolate/ other sweets to feel better. And this makes sense to him, food does make everything better.

But you don’t want to go to Madam Screams or the kitchen to make your own. You’re still so tired. Not to mention embarrassed that you screwed the spell up this bad.

And now they are all staring at you like they care so much when none of them had any time to notice how they were making you feel before.

When you become unresponsive to the brother’s questions and apologies Beel scoops you up in his arms and walks away with you.

Something about the way he holds you close to his chest and his warmth causes you to finally let go.

You bury your face in his shirt to muffle your crying.

“I just… I felt so alone! And… I...but no one” you gasp out shakily between sobs.

Beel soothes you with soft murmuring as he gently cards his fingers through your hair and strokes down your back.

Once your crying quiets he starts to speak “Don’t do that again. You can always come to me Mc. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t”

Belphie:

Belphie thinks it’s a joke at first. “Man, how could they mess up this bad?”

Then he sees Lucifer’s panicked expression and it hits him how serious this is.

Belphie is immediately by your side. Hands frantically feeling your wrist for a pulse.

After Lucifer breaks the spell and your eyes flutter open Belphie is filled with relief until a wave of guilt washes through him.

He can’t believe he fucked up so badly again. Sure this time he didn’t directly cause you physical harm, but he did play a role in causing you to almost die again.

“I am so very sorry Mc, I never meant to hurt you.”

He does everything he can think of to make it up to you. Anything you ask him for, as long as it’s within his power, is yours. No questions asked.

He asks permission just to hold your hand for weeks afterward as if he thinks you’ll come to your senses and decide you don’t want anything to do with him.

He wants to comfort you so bad.

To make sure you don’t feel like this again Belphie pulls you away to nap with him as often as he can get away with it. Most likely only a few times a week (much less often than he would like). Sometimes he uses this time just to talk with you. Others you really do nap, and Belphie curls himself around you. Occasionally he enters your dreams while you nap together to make sure no nightmares can touch you.

[silverdelirium]

Can I request a very filthy smutty blaise with ass kink and size kink? 🥺

MESSY OFFICE | B.Z

SUMMARY ➠ coworker!blaise teaches you a lesson and fulfills his dreams of fucking you silly.

WARNINGS ➠ oral (male receiving), tad bit of shoe fucking, dumbification, degradation, praising, rough sex, ass kink, size kink, lots of dirty talk, rushed ending. this if filthy lololol

———

blaise took a deep breath before slamming his fist down on the wooden desk of his office. the papers that were placed on top of it went flying around at the sudden movement.

his hands were shaking with irritation. if that fucking landlord could just shut the fuck up about his rent for one second-

the male’s thoughts were cut off by small, rapid knocks against the door. his brows knitted in confusion at the unanticipated invasion.

“come in!”

the door creaked as you entered the room, peeking your head through the doorway at first before going in, shutting the door behind you.

your presence emitted a groan from him. he knew that the moment you both spent time together it would somehow end in a screaming match, and blaise was not in the mood to be dealing with anything right now.

you gave him a sharp glare in response before opening your mouth to speak. yet you were cut off by your own silence as you studied the state of his office.

everything seemed so rustled and chaotic— there were papers thrown in the floor, some were even crumbled and a few candy wrappers were tossed around. “what is this mess?” you spoke, tone lacing with disgust as you picked up an old folder from the worktable; his hand was quick to swat you away, scowling you before leaning back on the desk.

“what do you want?” he squinted at you, roaming his eyes down your body suspiciously— mentally slapping himself for staring at your breasts longer than planned.

“what the fuck is up your arse today?” you scoffed, crossing your arms and walking closer to him until he had to crane his neck down to look at you.

blaise’s chest heaved up and down as he quickly undid the top button of his shirt, turning away from you and taking long strides around the room. he closed his eyes and really hated himself for wanting nothing more than to shut that smart mouth of yours with his hardening cock. it was too much for him— and if there was one-way blaise loved to take his stress out on, was sex. and god— that stupid little skirt of yours that was begging to be lifted and reveal that sweet cunt that plagued his mind at the worst moments was the last push he needed to man up and fuck you as he had always wanted to.

you observed him in silence, watching how he mumbled something to himself about ‘i can’t think of her like this.’

quietness ran across the walls for a few moments before blaise was back in front of you, muttering a “fuck it” and connecting his lips to yours.

the fleeting kiss had you bewildered for a few seconds, eyes wide and mouth unmoving as the tall man held the back of your head in his palm. you didn’t kiss him back at first, but you didn’t protest either. and you’d be dammed if you didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to get fucked brain dead by blaise zabini.

but who could blame you when you kissed him back with the same— maybe even more— force; it was messy and heated all at once, the frustration that you sensed from earlier was being poured in that kiss. teeth were clashing together as his tongue pressed down on yours, drawing out a breathy moan from you.

blaise cupped your rear with both hands, lifting you in an unforeseen manner, causing you to squeal lightly until you felt your bum being pressed against the cool surface of his messy desk.

he was the first to break apart from the kiss, breathing steadily as he stared down at you— even from your perched up position he was still a few inches taller.

“i’m not gonna hold back” he warned, searching your eyes for any sign of regret or hesitation that you might feel. but he was far from finding any, you wanted blaise to fuck you until he was poking out of your tummy and you wanted it now.

“i don’t care” you breathed out, reconnecting your mouth to his and almost missing out on that keen groan that came out of his mouth.

his large digits scurried under your skirt, unzipping it in a quick motion and pulling it down your legs until it pooled on the floor.

he teasingly ran his index finger up and down the soaked cotton that covered your pulsating pussy. “blaise— please” you shamelessly plead, throwing all your morals out the window and not caring about anything else but being rutted over and over again.

“look at you. begging like a well paid whore when you were being a smart ass with me not even ten minutes ago.” he chuckled, taking pride in the way you whimpered in response, bucking your hips up onto his fingers. “what is it, baby? you want me to fuck you until that dumb baby brain can only think about my cock, yeah?”

his words struck a bit of sense into you and you huffed in response— “are you actually gonna give me what i want and fuck me properly or are you all talk?”

you messed up and you messed up big; you could tell by the way hir pupils dilated and the slow touches against your clothed pussy stopped. his tongue darted out to poke on his left cheek as he laughed lightly, stepping back and harshly bringing you down the desk.

“i’m gonna fuck your throat until you learn how to keep useless stuff to yourself, princess” he warned, signalling down to the floor as he unbuckled his belt.

you tentatively got down on your knees, lightly scraping them against the wooden floor as you rubbed your thighs together, pawing at your lap as blaise’s erection appeared in your view of line.

was that supposed to fit in you?

blaise seemed to notice your unsureness— “you alright there, pretty girl?” his tone was softer, less stern yet with the same accent of authority he always carried.

“i— it’s… big.” you let out, feeling the tip of your ears grow hot as he chuckled before picking up a more alluring timbre “oh i’m gonna make it fit” he winked.

you swallowed thickly, already picturing the delicious stretch this man was gonna provide you. he stroked his large cock sensually before making a beeline with it to your lips, which were already parted in expectancy; he went to tease you for it but was cut off by his low moan that got provoked as the warmth of your mouth enveloped his pulsating tip.

his digits tangled themselves in your hair, good girl’s and just like that’s slipped from his mouth every time your tongue swirled around his head. and the slickness that was pouring out of you was suddenly too much to ignore— hence why you reached down to attempt and soothe the burning sensation. blaise was still enthralled with the way your worked those lips that he had dreamed of having against his around his cock— his hands tightened around your scalp as he thrusted rapidly against your mouth, desperately probing for an orgasm.

a muffled whine came from you as he fucked your throat repeatedly, causing him to look down at your teary eyes, eventually settling his irises on your hand rubbing your greedy cunt.

blaise tutted with a hint of disappointment, making your movements halt as you batted your eyelashes up at him innocently as if your mouth wasn’t stuffed with his cock that was ready to shoot its cum down your fucked out throat.

you went to furrow your brows when he kicked your hand away gently, replacing your fingers with the point of his leather shoe, your wetness already leaking down on his footwear as you whined around his cock, making his hips buck involuntarily at the vibrations— “i was gonna reward you for sucking me so well, but since you’re such a desperate slut you’re gonna have to fuck yourself on my shoe while i throat fuck you, yeah?” he asked demanded.

a weak nod was all he got in response before he was back to gripping your hair in his fist, spit drooling down your chin at the abrupt pace he set without even a warning— not that you minded.

your hips rolled slowly into his shoe, swollen clit fizzing at the stimulation; his shoe hit every right nerve ending, the sounds you made around his cock were filthy and lewd, only making his balls grow tighter as he stilled his hips, rope after rope of cum flooding your mouth.

you moaned lowly against his cock at the feeling of his warm cum spraying down your throat.

he gave tattered breaths and moans as he pulled out of your mouth, barely even taking notice of the whining mess you became, his foot now long gone from your oozing cunt.

“get the fuck up” he breathed out, staring down at your already fucked out-state— saliva all over your chin, along with a few tears decorating your frowning face as you stood up. his large hands came to cup your face, delivering a small kiss on the corner of your mouth before placing his mouth next to your ear and whispering “i’ve been trying to translate your frowns and find out what your fucking problem with me was before bending you over my desk and fucking you stupid.”

you could’ve easily moaned at his words alone if it weren’t for his lips linking with yours in a crazed kiss as he guided you towards his messy desk— which was about to be a whole lot messier.

his hands reassuringly squeezed your waist as he turned you around, his once again hard cock rubbed against your ass as he planted kisses against your neck, sucking on certain spots that had your eyes rolling onto the back of your head— his fingers making quick work of getting your shirt off, throwing it somewhere around the room as he separated himself from your now marked neck, leaving you in your undergarments that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“i’ve been waiting to fuck you senseless for so long, baby. you don’t know how many times i spent with my hand around my cock dreaming about your tight pussy around it.” he groaned out, pushing you forward until your breasts squished against the desk, shuddering at the cold of it.

his palms massaged your left ass cheek before a harsh slap was delivered to it— and his mouth wasn’t there to cover the pornographic moan that came out of you this time, pushing your bum against his hardened dick in anticipation.

blaise grabbed a hold of his cock and steadied himself with a hand on your bum, squeezing. before he moved your panties to the side and teased your pulsating entrance with his tip, groaning slightly at the way your pussy almost swallowed him in as he pushed the tiniest bit in, coaxing a loud cry from you.

“so so tight, princess” he praised, pushing himself all the way in with a single thrust, arousal already gushing down your thighs.

the male wasted no time and in a few moments he had you with your mouth gaped open, eyes going crisscross with every un pitying snap against your hips of his.

“can you feel me all the way up in your pretty guts, baby girl? you like having this slutty cunt being taught a lesson, huh?” he growled out, eyes trained on each bounce of your ass as he sped up— the clapping sounds were enough to give away what was happening to any passerbyers outside his office; not that any of you minded at this point.

“oh! fuck blaise— right there! right there!” you babbled out, shutting your eyes tight as he brought you up with his bicep against your throat, making you loll your head back on his shoulder as his dick continuously hit that spot inside you.

blaise’s other hand snaked around your midriff, pressing down on the evident outline of his cock going in and out of your tummy. “look at me destroying your pretty little insides, sweetheart, bet you won’t be able to sit on this pretty little pussy for the next week” he cooed at you before slamming you forwards until your cheek pressed against his rattling desk.

“don’t stop! don’t stop please!” you sobbed out, squeaking lightly when his palms crashed down roughly on your ass, groans and moans echoing around the room like a chant— the pit in your stomach growing tighter and tighter by the second.

“i’m cumming blaise, i’m fucking cumming” you gasped out, lifting your head back up and pointing your nose to the ceiling as you came all-around blaise’s cock with a loud ecstatic moan.

a whimper passed by your lips as blaise continued to fuck you through your high; and it took him one look to look at the mess you left running down yours and his thighs for him to be pumping you full of his cum, steady thrusts that had him hissing as you clenched around him for a final time.

he pulled out of you to watch his cum blow out of your overstimulated pussy, the aftershocks of the intense orgasm still causing your muscles to spasm every once in a while.

“you made my office a whole lot messier” he grunted out, pointing down to the puddle that fell in between your legs, causing you to flush instantly as he chuckled and pressed light kisses to your temple.

———

🏷: @methblinds @marrymetheonott @adrianscumslut @wh0re4blaise @youreso-golden @saggyb1lls @selenesheart @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dlmmdl @lolooo22 @darlingmalfoy @littlemissnoname13 @i-love-scott-mccall @underappreciated-spoon-321 @daddybutmakeitagirl @fredshufflepuff @dracosafety @riddleswh0rekrux @lostaurorax @alexavolturisblog @s1ater @marauderswh0re1 @andineverwould @starless-starkov @black-rose-29 @tattooedkermit @purpleskymalfoy @emma67 @mypainistemporary @mauvea @teenwolfbitches28 @lissa-duh @paniicing @rav3nclawwhore @fizzleberries @malfoy-girl @alohastitch0626 @caosfanblr @memorycharm @whoreforgeorgeandfred @elizabethrosedarling

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[devilfic]

Giiiirl your Bruce Wayne series owns my whole ass being right now 😩🥵 You're doing a great job with it!! If you don't mind sharing, how did bruce learn about readers mother/what are his feelings towards it? Obvi if that's a spoiler etc it's okay not to share! And I'm a 100% interested to hear any other headcanons you have cooked up, specially about brucexreader and their dynamic 🦇

sfaksjfka thank you so much, lovely!! and I am super excited to share, thank u for asking

how did bruce learn about reader's mother? what are his feelings towards it?

so, disclaimer: I have a plan for the next two parts I've got in mind for this series and I plan to delve more into the history between bruce/reader/the reader's mother in the latter of the two, so to keep from spoiling I'll give ya just a few details

I thought about how bruce sees himself in don mitchell's son, and given how keen he is on collecting robins in the comics, I know he has a soft heart for anybody with a difficult familial situation. in relation to the reader, bruce can't help sympathizing. he lost his parents in one night to a stranger out of the blue, so he can't imagine what it's like to know your parent only has so long left but never knowing when the other shoe will drop. at the same time... he's envious.

he's not proud of it (he hates it), but he often wishes he'd been older like the reader, had seen it coming. the abruptness of losing his parents at such a young age has left him with more sorrow than room to properly grieve. seeing the reader spend time with their mother, having the time to say goodbye, really makes something ugly twist inside him. regardless, he wouldn't wish either situation on his worst enemy.

bruce/bruce x reader headcanons

in "sick day", I mentioned that bruce likes to do charcoal drawings and occasionally draws strangers. bruce also draws people he knows (like alfred, gordon, selina), but he keeps those in his sketchbook. he has a few of you in there but don't ask him how he managed to sketch you without you noticing. he is the shadows

speaking of, when he first started going out on patrol, he kept his drawing materials in his backpack along with his suit. sometimes, he'd pull over on his bike and draw when he had the time. one might've spied a hooded figure standing at a street corner hunched over a detailed drawing of a 7/11 once or twice. he has a lot of half-finished drawings due to suiting up at a moment's notice.

on the rare occasion bruce is up for breakfast (and you're there early), he might come join you, alfred, and dory to eat. occasionally, if he's in a good mood, he might even do the dishes.

bruce has a habit of looming. when you're all working in his dad's study, bruce will often lean over the back of your chair and dictate by your ear... that's when you're lucky enough to know he's there, anyway.

since he's so quiet, you regularly turn down hallways to find him just standing there, bump into him while bustling about, and frighten yourself half to death when you realize he's been standing off in some shadowy corner of the room you're in for who knows how long. alfred and dory are used to it, but you still need some time to adjust.

bruce typically refuses your help to clean him up/tend to his wounds after a rough night of patrol. it's not that he doesn't want (or need) the help, but he has a habit of pretending he isn't hurt when he is. you try not to push him, but seeing him wince in pain while trying to tough it out really frustrates you sometimes (pls yell at him to take care of himself).

in "sick day", bruce didn't immediately get up in a hurry after you both fell asleep together. he'd been mortified to know that he'd curled up to you in the night like a child, but something changed that morning. you'd stayed of your own volition, watching over him and taking care of him because you wanted to. he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a warm body to lie next to. he stayed in bed much longer (respectfully, at a distance) than he'd ever let you know.

he did eventually get up to shower. you were a saint to cut him some slack on the smell and not mention it.

you caught bruce's cold in the end, though.

while not the hands-on caretaker that you are, bruce did send a "get well soon!" card and a person to drop off meals at your apartment/run errands for you that agonizing week. he still won't tell you how much all of that cost.