#paper topic depends

[skitskatdacat63]

Please god, can someone give me the strength to write ANOTHER 900 word essay in German, I DON'T WANNA I DONT WANNA PLEASE NO

[sidewalk-scrawls]

Doing a literature search in the computer vision field is so fucking weird because I look at a paper from like 2019 and think, "damn that's old."

[cerealmonster15]

HANG ON

STEVEN KING SAID THAT????? girl. what da hell.

[dokjaism]

kinda wanna make an entire study about how dyslexia can affect people who speak multiple languages

[violetsandshrikes]

to all my researchers, students and people in general who love learning: if you don't know this already, i'm about to give you a game changer

connectedpapers

the basic rundown is: you use the search bar to enter a topic, scientific paper name or DOI. the website then offers you a list of papers on the topic, and you choose the one you're looking for/most relevant one. from here, it makes a tree diagram of related papers that are clustered based on topic relatability and colour-coded by time they were produced!

for example: here i search "human B12"

i go ahead and choose the first paper, meaning my graph will be based around it and start from the topics of "b12 levels" and "fraility syndrome"

here is the graph output! you can scroll through all the papers included on the left, and clicking on each one shows you it's position on the chart + will pull up details on the paper on the right hand column (title, authors, citations, abstract/summary and links where the paper can be found)

you get a few free graphs a month before you have to sign up, and i think the free version gives you up to 5 a month. there are paid versions but it really depends how often you need to use this kinda thing.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ tommy gets jealous | oneshot

♡ fandom; Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003/2006)

♡ characters; Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; mentions of kidnapping and violence, don’t date people who want to slash you irl not a good foundation for a relationship

♡notes; I put on my big boy panties and wrote something other than a bulleted list!!

I just love a good “i trust you but i sure as fuck don’t trust anybody else” type jealously trope. Also some Tommy doing ASL!! We love a (selectively?) mute king.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

You were an oblivious person. Most of the time, anyways. You’d been totally shocked when Luda Mae didn’t let you leave the night you arrived at the Hewitt house, totally shocked when Charlie told you Thomas was obsessed with you, and more surprised still that Charlie had been right.

You weren’t stupid— you put two and two together that these folks were cannibals as soon as you saw the basement. You nearly talked Monty into letting you go, and you slipped your restraints a couple times before you were settled in. You’d done well in school and still could read a book in one sitting.

Maybe… socially inept was a better word, harsh as it sounded. It was only people that you had a such a hard time with. You trusted them, but you could almost never wrap your head around what they were thinking.

Like the customers that stayed too long . It happened a lot. Bikers and tourists and all sorts of folks would stop in when you were working in the convenience store, and usually more than once a day a man would stay leaned on the counter, chatting away until his buddies were about to leave him. Sometimes they’d be alone, and Luda would give you a break early and they’d go off looking all huffy.

It very rarely occurred to you that the men were trying to flirt. You didn’t think of yourself as someone that happened to- and treated all customers the same. Why would they think you wanted to bang em when all you did was smile? Being nice was part of your job.

Luda Mae payed no mind to the men or your conversations. If there’d been any cause for concern, she’d be able to quash it very easily. But she found it endearing, especially your confusion and apathy when they did get balls enough to be blunt . In her mind you were so devoted to Thomas that other men were just nuisances.

That’s why no one had mentioned it to Thomas. He rarely came up to help now that you were there to help Luda Mae, but today there was extra stock, and her joints had been aching from the weather. You were on register, Luda Mae relaxed in a rocker on the porch, and Tommy stalked the aisles and put out trinkets and canned food and all the other junk you sold. You were trying not to go distract him and stood leaned over the counter, doodling on some scrap paper between customers.

“Well hello darlin,” A man drawled, hands on his belt buckle. He was trying too hard to be a real Texan, but he wasn’t from up North like you. “You got any cigarettes back there?”

“Sure do! Let’s see… got Camels, Lucky Strike- I really like these ones, the Salems, they’re menthol-“

“You look too sweet to smoke. I’ll take the Camels,”

“Well, only do it on special occasions,” you shrugged, not paying much attention as Thomas stalked towards the front “Anything else?”

“Well. That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re free or not tonight.”

You blinked, then furrowed your brow “You tryna ask me out?”

“Well I- oho shit!” The man laughed uncomfortably as he noticed Thomas right behind him “You scared me there big guy-“

He huffed and slunk behind the counter as the man nervously tried to get back on topic “Anyways… ahem…so about that date-?”

You huffed and out a hand on your hip “Well, depends?”

He perked up a bit “On what?”

“If you can beat my boyfriend in a fight.” On cue Thomas wrapped his arms around you from behind, growling as he hooked his chin on your head.

The man quickly turned tail and mumbled something about being out of practice, forgetting the cigarettes completely. You could feel Tommy relax and turned to let him pick you up and set you on the counter. Even then you weren’t eye to eye with the giant of a man…but it was closer, and you liked feeling tiny anyway.

“…hi baby.” You cooed and loosely wrapped your arms around his neck. He huffed and nuzzled you, as he often did as a form of reassurance. You giggled and pecked his mask “Annoying, right?”

He nodded and scowled, keeping his grip tight on your hips

“…what’s wrong?”

He hesitated but pulled back to sign ‘Mine. All mine. Right?’

You giggled again “Of course! All yours- always.”

He smiled softly- the sort of expression only you could coax out of him ‘Always’

[motimatcha]

miss you

hazbin hotel Adam x fem!reader

what happens to Adam when you go away for a long time?

Adam really depends on how much attention you give him. As a man who was abandoned by two wives for a "duck" and as a man who was clearly abandoned in subsequent relationships (which most likely were), your attention and confirmation that you are not going anywhere is very important to him.

Adam will probably never admit it, but he gets very worried if he doesn't see you for most of his day. Moreover, you don’t have to have any contact with each other, if Adam just sees you a couple of times a day and you pay your attention to him, he will be more than calm.

And therefore, the information that you will have to leave heaven for two whole weeks, just because you need to start teaching people on the true path, on the righteous path, did not make him happy at all. Most likely, there was a whole scene where Adam tried, if not to beg you to stay, then at least to go with you. He was ultimately not allowed.

Adam, of course, accompanies you (along with Lute, to whom you give instructions on how to deal with your man). He wants to enjoy his last moments with you before the long days of waiting for your return begin. His hands never stop touching your body: constantly holding your hand, intertwining your fingers, putting his hand on your waist, touching your wings, stroking your hair, kissing and all that - he wants to remember the feeling of your body, taste and voice for the entire time while you're gone.

It holds up relatively well. At first. Over time, it becomes noticeable to everyone how his character is deteriorating, it becomes even worse until the moment of your relationship, which is an indicator and a wake-up call for other angels. Everything reminded him of you, especially being in your common home (not surprising): your things, photographs, smell. Adam, at first, even out of habit, sets the table for two, before remembering that you are temporarily absent. Your portion goes to Lute, who feels awkward.

Perhaps the climax was when Adam decided to take up his work as the leader of the exorcists. He needed at least something to prevent obsessive thoughts from entering his head, and due to the fact that the seraphim refused to provide him with any information about you, these thoughts visit him quite often. Adam locks himself in his office and finally touches the papers and documents that required his attention.

He spends his time working from early morning until late evening, sometimes simply spending the night in his office. Adam becomes nervous, tense and angry with every matter that he cannot solve due to his hot-tempered nature, since some decisions required a sensitive attitude and could not be solved with a snap of his fingers. Usually he asked for your help or advice, but due to your absence, he had to turn to Lute, who was also not known for her kindness and gentleness of character.

Adam begins to get annoyed by other angels, especially the happy angels or couples that he meets here and there. "Why are they so happy?" — flashes through his head, or: “Everyone is deliberately getting on my nerves?!”. At some point, Adam breaks down. This probably happened in his office, when some angel handed him a new stack of documents and raised the topic of your absence.

Lute, who was returning to Adam’s office, found a picture of a frightened angel lying on the floor, and Adam bending over him and almost growling at him to get out. After this incident, the angels try to tiptoe around Adam, not look in his direction and not breathe, and God is a witness to whoever upsets Adam’s fragile mental balance. From now on, all matters are transferred personally to Lute, so that she can take everything to Adam.

The angels begin to mentally count the days until your return so that this nightmare ends.

At the end of the last day, when the sky turned a shade of scarlet, as if bursting into flame, a golden portal opened in the sky testified that the angels sent to earth were returning. The rising wind pulled the curly clouds inward, which is why at first it was impossible to say for sure which of the angels appeared in heaven first.

Lute stood in the front row among those awaiting the return of their loved ones. It would be more accurate to say that she was floating almost a couple of meters from the portal, which was slowly distorting space to create a stable corridor between two dimensions. She needed to meet with you as soon as possible while Adam is in a meeting where he is 100% likely to be reprimanded for his behavior over the past two weeks.

— Lute? — sincere surprise is heard in your voice when you leave the portal and see her, and not Adam. — And where?..

— It’s because of him that we need to hurry.

Lute extends his hand to you, which you immediately take. The angel exorcist pulls you along, causing you to jerk forward sharply at first, but in time you begin to flap your own wings, trying to keep up with the girl.

During these two weeks among people, you forgot how powerful exorcist angels are.

You can't help but notice how some angels accompany you with looks of encouragement, looks of relief. You can only wonder what this is connected with, but Adam will definitely be the main figure in this matter. It was suspiciously quiet in parliament, only the rustling of papers, the fluttering of wings, and barely audible whispers coming from the offices behind the high doors. Initially, it was suspicious that Lute brought you here, and not to your home or Adam’s home, and only when approaching his office did you clearly see this certain line, an exclusion zone, where there is not a single ascended soul except you and Lute.

— Adam is now at a meeting, — Lute informs you and, taking out the keys, opens the door to the office, — Please wait for him here.

Lute's voice was full of unspoken pleas and a little panic, as if something terrible would happen if you left. Perhaps Lute’s fears were not so far from the truth, because who knows what Adam will do if he doesn’t see you today; he already missed the opportunity to meet you first. Lute leaves, apparently after Adam, so that he does not waste his time searching for you near the portal to Earth.

Adam's office greets you with darkness, illuminated by light from the crack under the door. The room is hot and stuffy, and there is a sour taste; you doubt that Adam ventilated his own office or did it very rarely. The room was surprisingly tidy and the mountain of documents that was on the table during your last visit was missing, indicating that there was work. Having spread your wings, you fly up to the thickly curtained window to not only let the light of the setting sun into the room, but also to give way to the fresh evening air.

Fingers pull the string and the curtains part to the sides, raising clouds of dust from the windowsill. It immediately becomes lighter, warmer and more comfortable, even a certain atmosphere of romance and mystery creeps in. You pull the handles of the windows, allowing them to creak open and immediately a cool breeze slid over your body, ruffling your hair and feathers of your wings. Until Adam's hot hands touched your waist.

— Hi Adam, — you say and turn in his arms so you’re face to face. — Well, what have you already done?

Adam's grip only became stronger on your waist, but not yet so pressing as to cut off your access to oxygen. Adam, like a cat or dog that was starving for the attention of its beloved owner, wanted to be as close to you as possible, to occupy all your thoughts - a selfish desire to be your only priority. His hand takes your wrist to bring it to his face and rub against your palm, tickling the sensitive skin with the stubble that has begun to grow. Adam looked really tired, as evidenced not only by the dark circles under his eyes, but also by his slow, inhibited actions.

— Sweet tits, who do you even think I am?.. And in general, I really missed my beauty, who left her beloved guy for two weeks. Do you know how I suffered for you?

Looking around his office again and remembering the looks that accompanied you from the other angels, you could imagine the scale of the tragedy that Adam caused every day. And it was honestly and sincerely funny, even a little sweet; a laugh escapes your lips, causing Adam to smile as well before scooping you up in his arms and turning to face his desk, setting you down on the dark wooden surface.

— Next time I’ll go with you, wherever it may be, — Adam promised you with a threat, and then his smile turns from gentle to anticipatory. The fingers on your sides dig deeper into your skin and pull you towards the edge of the table, causing you to wrap your legs around his body and feel his growing erection. — And now you have to take care of the fact that you abandoned me for two weeks.

[enviedear]

my modern!jace hcs and thoughts…

request ⊹ jacaerys masterlist

౨ৎ ┄───────╮ got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be hcs... but i can't help it! modern!jace scratches an itch somewhere in my brain—especially lawyer/law student!jace. don't question the family dynamics too much for this au. i don't have the brain capacity to rearrange and fix that mess <3

╰───────┄ ౨ৎ

twenty-two and a recent graduate. he majored in law with a minor in public policy. his younger brother, lucerys, makes frequent comments about how boring it all must be, but jacaerys velaryon loves it. he’s following the family line, after all.

he took office at one of his mother’s law firms, a by-product of having a family in the affairs of state. however, the firm is actually headed by his mother’s aunt, rhaenys. his mother, rhaenyra is in the middle of an election, running opposite otto hightower—a man jacaerys is lax to admit kinship to.

on paper he’s an associate, in practice, he’s whatever his family and their board need him to be. he likes it that way—being dependable.

he has such a large family, even disregarding those somewhat estranged. if you asked him to directly place everyone to their respective titles he couldn’t, so he settles for the ease of endless uncles, aunts, and cousins.

his schedule is usually packed—so when he is free, he likes to spend his time well. his best friend, cregan, gets him out of the house most the time. an easy task since the stark family owns numerous ski resorts. a perfect respite from his life of public service, at least that’s what cregan says.

jace absolutely hates the media, not necessarily social media though. his instagram stories are frequently full of reposts or camera roll dumps, his twitter constantly active but he mourns public likes. he loves to engage with factitious headlines about himself and his family, to his mother’s chagrin. he’s blocked on all social media by the estranged hightower news, headed by his mother’s old friend turned step-mother, alicent. a topic the family attempts to gloss over when in public.

has a laundry list of fashion houses at his disposal. he went viral once for “mogging” in armani at his grandfather’s funeral. he drunkenly admitted after the service that he figured viserys would have deemed it a rather lovely suit, despite the occasion. mostly, he shares his uncle laenor’s love for couture, a man who is firm in belief that a bit of pageantry never hurt anyone. almost exclusively wears canali for everyday wear, a luxury his paychecks find no issue with fulfilling.

listens to every single book he 'reads'. his airpods are constantly in his ears but he rarely opts for music. he listens to the greats on repeat, or at least that's what he calls them—near constant loops of orwell and machiavelli. he has a guilty pleasure for brandon sanderson novels though.

jacaerys is embarrassed to have a chauffeur for any and all events with his family, but he does an excellent job at hiding it. he’s is chronically good at masking any signs of disdain. his family would tell you he’s perfectly agreeable— his brothers, lucerys and joffrey, know him better, can spot his muddled ill temper through anything. he can hold his tongue most of the time, far better than the rest of his family, but he’s known to have his moments.

on his own, he drives a aston martin valour. wrapped olive green with burnt orange accents. it was pricey, a fact his uncle corlys never ceases to remind him of, but he loves it. gave it a name and everything—vermax.

the only cousins he talks to regularly are the twins, baela and rhaena. they flock together during board meetings, three ideal images of the pristine image their family attempts to portray. he and baela are most like minded, so much so that the rest of the board jokes they’re reading each others minds.

on the opposite end of the spectrum, alicent’s children— aegon, aemond, and helena, are of much different minds. the eldest of the them is prepped to take over his grandfather’s media empire. a complete disaster waiting to happen given aegon’s incessant and very public bad behavior. jace figures the young man more of a puppet if anything. the second born is somehow an even worse case, behavior less public but far more… sadistic. aemond is known in well to do social circles for his vitriol, mouth constantly fixed to land a cutting blow.

the youngest, helena, is actually quite sweet albeit heavily reclusive. she’s the founder of several successful ventures, thrust into the spotlight at a young age. these days the most the public get from her is a monthly blog update—refined and well crafted—detailing a mix of what she learned that month and a few run-on sentences about insects. but she always finds time for him at their disjointed family events, no matter the animosity in the room. she’s one of his favorite people to talk to. jace swears that somehow, she always knows just what to say.

on sunday’s he winds up at one of his uncle daemon’s golf courses. am agreement he took up after the death of viserys. his uncle is lonely without his brother, and he’s never had to tell jace that for him to know it. jace is rather shit at the sport, but he’s found that as long as daemon has a drink in his hand, nothing will be commented on. sometimes luke will tag along just to gloat, his younger brother has always been at golf.

every christmas he takes his siblings on a hunt. just like their dad, harwin, used to. it’s gotten to be a big deal after so many years. his mother often reminds him, jokingly, that he is the reason their home has become the holiday stomping grounds. he’s replied back many times that at least that saves them from the hightower’s grounds, and their brutish security detail. headed by one criston cole, he’s has never gotten a good feel for the man—or the men under his command.

jace can’t fall asleep without some form of auditory stimulation. he blames laenor, always gifting a young jace pirated lullaby cd’s… for some reason. nowadays, he’s usually a listening to a history podcast before bed. never picky on the topic or timeframe, he could listen to the tales of the past forever.

additionally—jacaerys loves linguistics. if you looked through his search history you’d find the following searches: why do we feel different when speaking in a different language? / are there languages with no numbers? / what happened to the transatlantic accent? / “where did the word ‘cocktail’ come from?

he has successfully created and maintained a masked dj persona after a drunken dare in ibiza from rhaena. he’s booked a handful of gigs, all without his name attached to it. rhaena keeps it a secret, at the promise she gets to accompany him at her own whim.

jace has only ever publicly has had one relationship. he dated cregan’s half-sister for a few years, sara. sure he had to deal with his best friends griping for a few years, but he really did love the girl. they broke up due to their schedules, moreso, his schedule. he promised baela he won’t make the same mistake in his next relationship.

he never has trouble finding people to fawn over him, but he does have a horrible issue with committing. not that he wants to play the field or hurt hearts, but he truly believes no one will ever give him the grace he needs to feel secure in the relationship. he feels like he already has too much baggage, carrying his own and his family’s. at this point, he’d rather have a few hookups as opposed to being let down—jacaerys hates that the most about himself, above all else.

that’s why he so confused as of late. unable to seem get his mind off of someone—something completely unaccustomed to him. you’re fresh at the firm, relegated to coffee runs and still straight to the book but god—jace thinks you're perfect.

he didn't even fully grasp his fixation on you until asking himself why on earth he keeps volunteering you to sit in on his client meetings. he almost shutters everytime he remembers the stupid excuse he forced out after you dared to ask him why—"i just write so slow, and i don't want to miss anything." a lie. jacaerys could tune out a client for an entire session and still win a case, but he determined early he'd rather bask in yout presence instead. however diluted he must keep his feelings...

[hazelfoureyes]

Loss of decorum (part two)

I’m feeling too angsty to finish up part nine of ADIF (they’re so in love I can’t make them feel angsty in this moment) or write the very smutty Radioapple so… we’re here! 🫠 better than not writing ig

Part 1

How Alastor ended up dry humping a hotel resident in a hallway.

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x GN!Reader, pillow humping, reader humping, violence against bedding, angsty little shit」

MINORS DNI 🍷 🛏️

What could he do? What power did he have when your existence collided so mercilessly into his?

You had started out as another thing in his peripheral.

He wasn’t sure when his perception of you shifted from the American Common Squirrel energy wielding sinner to a black hole of his focus.

You were always moving, be it your body or your mouth. Depending on if the topic fell under one of your litany of obsessions, you could go on for far too long. Your voice became background noise. Ambient sound he didn’t notice anymore until you left the room and suddenly— ah, the uncomfortable silence.

The shape shifting from small, inferior creature in his orbit to something substantially worse was too subtle for Alastor to clock it.

Was he finding a space to settle while he read the paper? Well where were you mindlessly mumbling to yourself…. That’d be a good spot.

Everyone gathered in the common area to waste time discussing the future? He’d find himself waiting for your arrival before zoning out.

Distance soon became irksome. He’d approach the bar inches behind you in hopes you’d jump and shriek with surprise. But you’d be so focused on whatever nonsense task you were busy with (like cleaning or bonding with Husk) to notice him, moving away from his bubble before registering any shock.

The audacity.

It only got worse from there.

Your scent lingering faintly in the air where you had just been. The warmth of your hand still seeping from the wood of the bar top.

Absence was suddenly something he became acutely aware of now. The void left behind from you in every room, and soon, on every piece of him.

He was taken by surprise himself when one day you forgot yourself and placed a hand on his lower back. Just trying to get his attention so you could walk behind him safely, Alastor spun around and gave you the dirtiest look.

“Excuse you.” He hissed, and to his dismay you smiled back and moved on. But the feeling lingered on his back. And when he removed his coat and waist coat before bed he could still feel the pressure of that hand. Small compared to his own, he noted, as he let his larger palm settle over your ghostly one to try and replace the sensation. It was of no use. You’d marked him somehow.

A slap to his arm when he said something you thought was hilarious did it too. Then the time your leg brushed against his for a moment when you took a seat beside him. He moved to a nearby chair but it had been too late. Before long he was covered in your absence. It spread, a piece of thigh now the knee up. He could feel it. All the places you no longer were.

Alastor was quite sure he had blacked out. The first night he lost some battle he wasn’t aware was waging in himself, he left his body entirely. The beginning of the trouble. He remembered undressing and checking his skin for any signs of you. And then….

Somehow, at some point, he’d pulled his pants down enough to free the uncomfortable tightness there. Unsure of when, he grabbed hold of a pillow. He was sure it was the whiskey… he told himself as much as he thrust down into the long and soft tube of down-feathers. His head was heavy, antlers looming and forcing him to rest his forehead against the mattress.

What exactly he was thinking about he couldn’t say for sure. It was all a blur of sweat and fuzzy images and errant feathers as his claws tore into the pillow accidentally. He’d been too rough, hands shredding the fabric and hips thrusting the poor stuffing from its casing.

Humid breath primed the sheets for the drool that left his panting, open mouth. While your name could only be pieced together across butchered syllables intermingled with gasps and groans, you were there. He focused on the sound of you, the nape of your neck, the warmth of your skin, the softness he was sure you had for him.

And then the pillow was utterly ruined, messy in ways not entirely dissimilar to his earthside victims. Different fluids, different innards, same principle, he thought. A moment of passion he struggled to control.

A moment that became a pattern. A routine.

Alcohol didn’t help, as he often found himself destroying more bedding when he imbibed… no, it didn’t help. Until it helped too much.

Until you followed him down an empty hallway late at night. Stumbling and slurring, having gone drink-to-drink with him, you reached out and hugged his arm against your chest and said his name in a way he could only perceive as intimate.

Once again, his memory was full of holes about the details. But soon you were on the wall, his hands at your chin and hip, one of your legs around his thigh as he pressed his growing erection into you. He pulled back nearly as quickly as he pressed in, but when you moaned he flinched.

“Do you like this?” Barely understandable as it was diced by the static sharpness of his radio tones.

You nodded, sliding both hands up his wide chest and holding onto his shoulders. He wished he could stop, his face pure frustration as his body took the reins. He watched somewhat helplessly as he humped into you like a hapless teenager. His muscles knew the motions now by heart, memory driving the feeling of his cock up and down your core. Through the discomfort of the friction you found the pleasure of the circumstance.

His hands pulled your legs up by the thighs and you wrapped your body around him instinctively. So tight and determined was your hold on him that he could let his hands roam elsewhere. Tenderly and clumsily he tried to not tear you like your pillow counterparts. His hands roamed and flexed as if telegraphing his thoughts of calm down, gentle.

Drunk or not, you were aware it was a public space so you bit your lip to keep the louder sounds down. Alastor felt his cock jump with every whine you made; his body lit up by just your stifled moans into his chest.

You felt it too, the twitching of something large and solid rubbing against you. Your body tried to roll back against his thrusts, chasing the pleasure available there, but Alastor held you firm in response. “Don’t move, I’m already at my limit.”

For some reason he had thought he could pull away before cumming, but he couldn’t. It was impossible to stop himself, not with you so eagerly clinging to him. His body grew stiff against you, breath held in his lungs as you looked down to see the smallest sheen forming just to the side of his pants zipper.

You wanted to touch it, to feel the sticky proof of his want for you, but found yourself landing ass first as your support disappeared with no warning. He heard your yelp as your tailbone hit the hard floor but he was already gone in every sense that mattered.

He went about the following day glaring menacingly at you; an unspoken warning.

You took the hint.

But when Alastor found himself again rubbing his clothed erection into yet another pillow, he suddenly regretted the cold attitude he gave you. The pillow was now utterly useless.

It lacked the scent of you that rose off your neck, heated blood rushing through your veins. It was too soft, no true form to accept his cock and give him the sensation of closeness to something so tantalizingly unknown. The room was too quiet, your satisfied sounds so loud in his memory. The bunch of feathers and fabric wasn’t capable of wrapping trembling arms around his body to remind him this was something both parties wanted. No twitches. No warmth. No sighs.

No accident that night when he tore the pillow in half. He’d fucked himself by not quite fucking you. Nothing in his bed would be able to satisfy him any longer. Before, he could ignore the occasional physical arousal easily enough as he had nothing to compare that option against. He’d nearly always powered through it, and when it was just unbearable his fist was enough.

Then, somehow, for some reason, he needed to act out the way you made him feel. His thighs and core throbbing to move. The pillow was fine, if not embarrassing in new and horrifying ways.

And now, his hand and cushions were all moot. He’d had a glimpse of what he didn’t know he was missing. Ignorant bliss torn from him like it had been from Adam in his garden.

He simply couldn’t go back. Alastor wondered how long he could keep himself from you. Worried if your hands would snake up his shoulders again or push him away.

Panic turned his blood cold and cock soft. What if you denied him? What if the damage had already been done to you both?

He knew the only way to find out was to try again.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @whateverlololo

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

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[kianely]

“HOLD ME, KISS ME”

i. PAIRING — Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

ii. SYNOPSIS— Aware that your boyfriend hasn’t been granted the privilege of a homemade meal in ages, you decided to pull out your family’s recipe book and stir something up for him. He showed his appreciation in more ways than one, how could he not reward his little chef after all your time tinkering in the kitchen?

iii. CONTENT WARNINGS— Fluff to eventual smut (MDNI) Leon’s a bit awkward with his feelings, he scarfs down every last crumb on his plate, oral sex, fingering, creampie (reader receives all), mentions of aftercare, Leon calls reader “baby” and “sweetheart.” I left the contents of the meal as ambiguous, because I wanted it to depend on the reader’s own upbringing and culture. Written with RE4 Leon in mind.

iv. WORD COUNT— 4.6K

01— PREPARATION

Leon couldn’t remember the last time he was given the simple joy of eating a homemade meal. No, he grew up accustomed to enjoying the lunch trays that all schools gave out. He’d block out the noises of his peers complaining about the blandness of the food, because that food was the standard for him. The flavor of the dishes his orphanage provided is committed in his memory, a hint of nostalgia when he looks back on it.

And of course, the same followed into his academy and career. He’d eat institutional meals during his academy days, too wrapped up in his extensive training to pick up on cooking skills himself. MRE’s were obviously his go to during his government training period, and that followed into the missions he was deployed on.

To sum it up, the last homemade meal he probably had was when his parents were alive. He would never complain about it, far too grateful of a person to even see it as an issue—he would take what was provided, with an appreciative mindset.

You’re a sweetheart though, his sweetheart. And after learning the extent of his past, god you wished you had met him sooner. Because for as long as you’ve dated him, you can’t remember a single time where Leon mentioned an individual that was even remotely significant to him prior to his government days. Well—aside from a girlfriend who hastily broke up with him, and you just presumed she hadn’t been the best considering how little Leon had to say about her. Couldn’t even remember her face or voice anymore, he claimed. And you believed him, rightfully so. Leon looked at you as if you were more fascinating than the wonders of space, with no trace of feelings for any prior people he had been in a relationship with. You were the star on top of the Christmas tree for him.

Lounging lazily on your couch, a sleepy grunt brought your attention to Leon—who had come over to your house for a movie night. But he always ended up napping or resting his eyes for a good half an hour, feeling safe only in your presence and allowing his guard to lower. He was snuggled against you, head against your chest and an arm around your midsection.

You always let him sleep a little, it could do some good against those growing eye bags of his. He always liked it—resting against you, feeling safe with you by his side and the comforting golden like hue the lamp on your tableside emitted. The only time he could allow his mind to rest was with you, it was reasonable.

Your nose was stuck between the pages of your family’s old recipe book. The pages were old—wrinkled and a far cry from the original brightness of the white sheet of paper it once was. You wanted to cook something for him. But you didn’t want it to be something off of a google website or youtube tutorial. You wanted something authentic to your upbringing, that way it would be more meaningful and you wouldn’t be going into it completely blind.

Yeah, of course Leon has eaten at your house before. But…it’s always been microwaveable food or something that could be made within five minutes, like eggs— not anything that you actually put your entire heart into. He was big on dinner dates at restaurants, so the topic of cooking was never really brought up. You wanted to make him an actual meal. One with sides and maybe a small dessert, you’d seen the way Leon eats—you’d definitely need to make enough for seconds. With that physique and job of his, god knows he needs his energy.

“Mm,” a soft mumble from Leon, who was beginning to stir awake after a short but very much needed nap, his light colored eyelashes were beginning to flutter.

You laughed quietly, threading your fingers through his tousled hair. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

He let out an amused exhale at the nickname he had earned, the corners of his lips curled up a little into a lazy smile. “Oh, is that what I am now?”

“Mhm. Keep it up and I’ll have to start charging you for using me as a pillow.” Your voice was a playful one, spoken through a laugh as you hid the recipe book behind the pillow your head was propped against. It can’t be a surprise if he caught a glimpse, right?

“You can have every last penny in my damn bank account,” was his response—to which you simply snickered over. His American Express Black visa card was like an endless void of wealth.

Leon rolled one of his shoulders to remove some kinks as he sat up properly, missing your comforting body warmth already.

He always looked the prettiest like this: somewhat messy golden hair, slight flush on his cheeks, sleepy eyes that you didn’t want to look away from, and some marks on one of his cheeks from it being pressed up snugly against the fabric of your shirt.

“Looks like I missed the ending credits,” he glanced over at the now turned off television—he’d fallen asleep during the last half hour of the movie, like usual. Not that he was missing out, he had watched most movies so it wasn’t a bother. Plus, when it came time to actually sleep, like a healthy eight hours and all, he never could. So he took any nap time that his body granted him. “Can I put another one on?”

“Yeah, as long as you don’t yap my ear off about how silly the protagonists are again.” You could never escape hearing Leon’s muttered quips whenever the two of you watched something—it was funny, Leon had seen all the bigger issues in the world and yet he got frustrated by the decisions of fictional characters.

“What’s the fun in that?”

02— EXECUTION

You were given the perfect opportunity. Ingredients and dishes were already scattered all throughout your kitchen counters, and your recipe book was hoisted up nicely on a stand so it wouldn’t get dirty.

Leon was returning from a long briefing at his headquarters and the plan was for him to head directly to your house afterwards. He was going to go on a mission soon and his goal was always to spend as much time with you as possible. He’d latch onto your damn side all day, if he could.

You had the windows above the sink opened up to let some fresh air in, the curtains flowing a bit with each graze of breeze. It was cold as hell outside, but it helped ventilate all the heat that was gathering from the stove and oven. The television was on a low level, just some background noise to seep into the kitchen.

While you let some ingredients heat up on a large skillet, you cast your attention towards decorating the table up a bit. Not too much, but enough to make a difference. A candle of Leon’s favorite scent placed on the center of the surface, matching mugs already set—maybe they seemed a little too casual given the stupid puns written on them, but you figured Leon would appreciate it more than some fancy cups.

An hour and a half passed by and Leon was barely arriving, ready to complain about some of his rather annoying coworkers to you. If age didn’t give him gray hairs soon, the people in his line of work definitely would.

He had a set of keys to your house, fumbling with them as he unlocked the door.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice called out once he entered, for the sake of letting you know he wasn’t an intruder or anything. He usually expected to see you lounging on the couch, but not tonight. Instead, his senses were met with the tasty aroma coming from the kitchen, and the loud clatter of sounds from there as well.

Like a dog smelling a treat, his attention was immediately drawn and he naturally walked over to your kitchen, his curious eyes took in the scene.

Leon had seen a lot, inexplicable creatures that should have the power to make him still in his tracks—but they never did. Now, the sight of the homely decorated kitchen and the nice arrangement of plates on the kitchen table was something that made him pause in his steps. It looked straight out of a romance movie, something that would be described in a romance novel.

And you, the light of his life waiting for him with a small smile on your face. You looked a bit nervous, eyebrows furrowed together ever so slightly but still trying to muster some confidence.

Leon didn’t know whether he felt more like crying or grinning like a damn idiot. A mixture of the two, probably. The lump forming in his throat made him unable to vocalize his gratitude, his voice would crack and sound like a damn croak if he tried.

“Uh,” that’s all he could manage. He was usually good at showing his gratitude, but with such a thoughtful gesture like this, he felt all his known vocabulary scramble around in his mind into a jumbled mess.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You egged him on, wanting to hear the rest of his sentence—it wasn’t often you saw Leon all speechless, not with the banter and quips that came in his boyfriend package.

“That’s…” he trailed off, his hand motioning towards the scene you had oh so beautifully displayed for his eyes and use alone. “That’s just…” he looked over to you, corners of his eyes crinkling from the happiness that reached his eyes. “You did all this?”

His words were quiet, and for a second he feared you’d think he didn’t appreciate it. But he noticed the chuckle and shake of head you did at his performance. “Mhm, didn’t know it was possible for you to freeze up like this.”

He let out an exhale, grin forming on his face. God, he loved you.

“C’mere,” he muttered that out while moving towards you, enveloping your frame with his arms—having to hold back on squeezing you like he wanted to for the sake of not crushing your bones. He had a bad case of cuteness aggression for you.

The aroma of the food you cooked subsided when the scent of Leon’s cologne filled your senses instead—cool and earthy, one you could drown yourself in and pinpoint a mile away.

Leon kissed the top of your head as he articulated his thoughts, wanting to form them into actual words without spluttering—and without taking too much time because he’d be devastated if the meal you cooked for him went cold.

“You’re squishing me,” you grumbled, palms finding the surface of Leon’s chest and lazily trying to push him away. “Take a seat, it’s all ready.”

“I know, I know.” He placed his hands on your hips, guiding the two of you over to the table. He managed to land one last kiss against your forehead before fully parting. “It’s just really nice. I can’t even remember the last time I had—“

“A homemade meal?” You chimed in, to which he nodded as he sat down, his eyes flicking down to look at the food and sides more closely. His mouth was watering, he didn’t even need any utensils to dig in, he could just use his hands.

You knew him well, and reached over to playfully nudge his shoulder. “Don’t hold back on my sake,” You scooped up a spoonful of the food and brought it up towards his mouth. “Say ah…”

“Wish I could take a picture of this,” he grinned out, complying and opening his mouth for you to feed him.

You watched him eagerly as you set the spoon down against his plate and watched him chew, trying to hold back a smile—your eyes brimming with elation, your one true love was eating your meal, composed of all the love and emotion you poured into it.

Leon’s eyes shut with delight when his taste buds were flooded with all the savory flavors, letting out an involuntary groan. God, had he really been missing out on this for all these years?

There’d be mini hearts floating above his head if this were a cartoon. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Your question came out a little more thrilled than you had hoped, and Leon caught onto it, you were so cute it was killing him.

“Yeah,” he echoed, hand reaching to hold yours over the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. “How long did it take you to do all this?”

While you responded, he was digging into the food—good thing you made seconds, because only a minute had passed and the surface of his plate was already beginning to show.

“—the time passed by really quickly though, when you unlocked the door I had barely served the food onto the plates. You got here right on time.”

You had never seen Leon eat this damn fast, maybe because the two of you usually ate in restaurants and he had to be a little courteous in public. Or maybe, he was making up for the years he had gone without the taste of a homemade meal.

“Easy there, tiger.” You were a little nervous he might fucking choke. What a way for your boyfriend to go, ‘death by choking on his partner’s food’ written on his gravestone. Would that be murder on your part? Anyways.

Leon’s cheeks blossomed with a rosy hue when he was called out, taking a breather instead of another mouthful. He felt spoiled now. You spoiled him. He had no idea how he would ever return to his bland tasting mission foods or even the dishes from the high rated food areas around, they all pale in comparison to your cooking. The secret ingredient they lacked was your love—the one thing that made his taste buds feel like they were swimming in an ocean of flavor.

“Sorry, it just really hits the spot.” He glanced over at your plate and realized that he was very much ahead, smiling bashfully to himself when he looked back up at you. “What can I say? Your cooking is delicious, none of it is going to go to waste.”

He looked over to the dessert you had made, it was untouched, there was no way in hell he was going to try it without you also finishing your plate of the main meal first, so the two of you could eat it at the same time. “So, what led to all this?” His question wasn’t a rude one, just out of pure awe and curiosity. What the hell had he done to deserve such a generous gesture?

“I dunno,” you shrugged out, not wanting to sound too sentimental or anything, “I just thought it would be nice.”

“C’mon, there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

“Well…” you trailed off, giving in and sighing. “You’ve trusted me with a lot of information about yourself and I love you. I thought that maybe instead of going out for dinner or ordering take out, I could give the kitchen a go and treat you to a hot and fresh homemade meal. It’s more special that way.”

“I love you too,” those words tumbled from his lips quietly, as if telling you the most valuable piece of information he holds. He felt his heart doing somersaults, already knowing he was going to spend his life reliving this memory, holding it close to him in a special pocket within the chambers of his heart.

The rest of the hour was spent domestically, sharing the dessert and Leon insisting that he clean everything up—from the dishes to wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor all while he listened in on you ramble about random things, he didn’t want to let you lift a single finger after all you had done for him. And of course, he took some mini breaks in between to snatch a sweet kiss from you, savoring the sweet taste of the dessert the two of you had eaten.

03— RESULTS (18+)

“Can’t believe you cooked for me,” Leon murmured against your ear, breath fanning over your skin as his hands snaked up and down your sides before settling on your hips. There was a rasp to his voice, a familiar one. He was starving despite the meal he had just eaten, every nerve in his body needing to feel you in order to truly feel full. He had a sweet tooth for you, and his craving needed to be satiated.

“I’m just glad you liked it,” you responded, mind already fuzzy with the way your lover’s hands grazed over you. “I was a little worried my cooking wouldn’t live up to all the 5 star restaurants we’ve eaten at.”

“Are you kidding?” His question was rhetorical, his mind set on a straight beeline to your bedroom. “Maybe I should show appreciation for my little chef then, hm?”

“Mm, maybe.”

That’s all it took for you to end up with your back against the headboard of your bed, legs spread with Leon adorning the space between them.

His moans were muffled against you, the vibrations sending blood straight to your bundle of nerves. He was so damn loud whenever he got a taste of you.

Leon’s hips were grinding against the mattress, cock leaking so much that his pants were surely already ruined. Yeah, he was so desperate to have his face stuffed against you that he didn’t even fucking unzip his pants.

You, on the other hand, were getting the best head of your life. One hand curled against your bedsheets meanwhile the other one had a hold on Leon’s hair, involuntary pulling and tugging with each movement of his mouth. Your noises just egged Leon on, each moan or gasp that left your mouth was responded to by a grunt of his own.

“Fuck,” he pulled back for a second to catch his breath, littering gentle kisses against your inner thigh, coating the area with the mixture of his own drool and your fluids that were on his chin.

“Wanna do this every fuckin’ day.” A kiss. “Come home, get on my knees, and taste you.” Another one. “Make you come over my face again and again.” His tongue lapped across your skin. “Suffocate between your thighs.”

“Leon!” You were desperate, hips bucking up into nothing and meeting the air of the room.

His eyes flicked to yours, letting out a soft growl when he saw the dazed out expression on your face. His favorite one—looking like a damn deer in the headlights with the way your eyes were pleading for him, lips parted and ready to beg if need be. He wanted to hear you say it. “What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“You,” you replied breathlessly, tugging his head further up so he could get the damn message and continue. Leon was licking his lips already, mouth salivating at just how much your arousal was showing.

“You have me,” he was being a tease, massaging your inner thigh with one of his hands, kneading the flesh and blowing out some air directly at the area between your thighs. The way you squirmed around made him want to palm himself right on the spot. But he held back, you were his first priority.

“Want you inside,” you could barely even utter those three words out, the words blending together and sounding slurred.

A smirk found its way onto Leon’s lips, “yeah? right here?” He teasingly rubbed your already throbbing hole with his fingers, letting out a contented sigh at the way your legs jolted in response.

“Yeah, but…your cock, not just your fingers.” You whined out in complaint, knowing that it would take a while to get to the main prize.

“Shh, I know. That’s all you think about, my cock huh? You’ll get it, don’t worry, jus’ gotta prep you for it.” He slid a finger in until his knuckle disappeared, his fingers were so fucking thick that even one stretched you out. He raised his body further up, trailing kisses from the bottom of your stomach all the way to the middle of your chest.

“So reactive,” he murmured out, noticing the heave of your chest and how your stomach would tighten up with each thrust of his finger. His free hand grazed over the left side of your chest, pinching and twisting your hardened nipple.

“You’re driving me crazy,” your voice was strained, nails scratching Leon’s scalp but he welcomed the sting of it.

“Mission accomplished, then.” His voice was a rumble against your chest, tongue darting out to flick against your other nipple before sucking it gently, wet noises produced in the process. He had no shame, stimulating practically every single one of your senses and looking hot as hell doing it.

His tongue circled around your nipple for another few moments before he began trailing kisses up your collarbones and to your neck, the hiccup of your breath made him growl, burying himself into the scent of your soap and shampoo.

He slid another finger into you while igniting your body into flames, letting out a string of profanity under his breath when you took it with ease. “Fuck, you’re ready for me.” Not a question, but an observation, and suddenly Leon became very aware of the way his cock was begging to be freed from the confines of his pants.

He sat back on his knees and let out a breathless laugh at the way you whined from the loss of contact, he took his belt off in a hurry and unzipped his pants. Pavlog’s dog experiment. The sound of Leon’s fly coming undone made your mouth salivate in response because you knew what was coming.

Your eyes were fixated on him, watching the way he tugged his pants and boxers down—breath hitching at the way his cock slapped up against his stomach, already leaking and ready to stuff you full.

He placed one of his hands against the bone of your hip, his other one stroking his cock a bit as he inched towards you. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, fuck, just put it in already.” Your impatience earned a huff of amusement from Leon, who tapped the tip of his cock against your hole a couple times before guiding it in. His head tilted back, mouth parting and letting out a groan when he filled you up completely—your head thrashed against the pillow, feeling him reconstruct the shape of your insides.

His cock was buried snugly in you, heavy balls pressed against the bottom of your ass, ready to shoot his load within a moment's notice. Leon was breathing inconsistently against you, kissing the corner of your mouth before making his way towards the shell of your ear. “Signal?”

“Green,” that whiny response from you was all it took for Leon’s hips to begin moving.

“God, you’re sucking me right in already.” His hip thrusts were slow but deep, each jolt making the headboard thump against the wall. “Give me your hand please,” The shakiness in his voice was cute, no matter how many times the two of you did this, he always asked for the same thing.

So you did just that, hand reaching for one of his—he immediately laced his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing over yours.

You moved your other arm under and over his shoulder to paw at his back, he hissed when your nails dug into his back scratched him up, undoubtedly leaving red marks on his pale skin—it would hurt like a bitch later but all it did was turn him on right now. “That’s it. Mark me up, baby. I’m yours, all yours.”

He looked down at the way his hips were rutting against yours, speeding the pace up a bit as his eyes flicked back into yours. He felt some pride that he was the one who had you falling apart, the one that made that dumb and needy expression form on your face.

“Feels so good,” you slurred out, your senses turning fuzzy, he was filling you up so good, reaching so deep that it had you seeing stars and clenching down on him. You wrapped your legs around his torso, needing to cling onto him.

“Baby—” he gasped out as soon as he felt the way you tightened up, squeezing your hand in response. “Ease up for me, not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“I know, I know…” you babbled out, but you couldn’t relax your body completely with the way your own hips snapped up to meet his.

Leon knew he was going to come soon, how could anyone hold back? You were making him addicted to you.

“Can I come inside you?” He somehow managed to grit that out, breathing rate growing in intensity.

You nodded almost immediately, wanting to feel him paint your insides white and feel the warmth of his cum, rambling almost incoherently. “Mhm, want you to fill me up. Please, please, please. I need it.”

“Shit, I will, don’t worry. Just gotta make sure you come first.” He was always so insistent on your pleasure, pressing his lips against yours and swallowing all of the pretty noises you made. Tongues swirling sloppily against each other, he loved the way you were barely even able to kiss him back properly. God, the tiny and quiet whimpers you let out were making his cock twitch inside you. You were trembling, too overwhelmed by the feeling of the coil in your stomach, but it’s okay, because you let Leon guide the kiss, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth.

Leon was losing it, holding back on spilling inside you, he needed to make sure you came before he did—but it was so hard with the way your ankles were crossed against his back and keeping him in place.

“Leon,” you sobbed his name out through an exhale, digging your heels into the arch of his back. “Too much, ‘s too much—” He could read your body well, the way you were holding onto his body so tightly he felt stuck, the way your voice turned up a pitch higher than usual.

“That’s it,” he lifted his hand to cradle the back of your head and hold you close, pressing kisses against the side of your head. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come all over my cock, you can do it. Let me feel you.”

You buried your head against his shoulder, breath fanning against his skin and incomprehensible mumbles of his name tipping out of your mouth, like if Leon was your God and you were chanting him a prayer.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, vision going white with a final call of his name, clenching around him and hissing when you felt his load spill inside you in ropes, his hips thrusting some more times in you before he stilled inside you.

He held you close as you shook against him, keeping you stable like he always did.

Silence, aside from the sounds of yours and Leons panting and the sound of the bedsheets twisting as you adjusted your position a bit, planting your feet back against the mattress and gasping softly when you felt him slowly pull out of you. Running a hand through Leon’s now damp hair, you let out a breathless chuckle. “You’re insatiable.”

“Not denying that,” managing to catch his breath, Leon propped himself up by pressing his palm against the pillow, pressing a gentle and loving kiss against your lips, his own curling up into a smile. “Stay right here. I’ll get you some water and clean you up.”

“No way in hell, mister,” you mumbled out, wanting to cuddle up with him before getting to that. You could handle being dehydrated for five more minutes in favor of being in his arms and some pillow talk. “Don’t get up yet, five more minutes.”

“Anything for my favorite chef.”

[finnlongman]

When I was an undergrad, I made a point of trying to sidetrack my supervisors as much as possible during supervisions, so that we could go off on a tangent and use up half the time discussing something barely related to my essay, and therefore have less time to dwell on its flaws.

(For those unfamiliar with the Cambridge supervision system, each week you're required to write an essay about a topic you probably knew nothing about before being handed the reading list, and then you spend an hour discussing it one-on-one, or in small groups depending on the subject, with your supervisor, who may be a random PhD student or may be the person who wrote half the reading list, depending on your luck.)

Once, I'd had a particularly bad week and had not written my essay about Scandinavian settlement in England, so I was having a more discussion-based supervision drawing on some bullet points I'd written. This would have been in my first term of first year, if I remember correctly. And we were talking about reasons why Vikings might settle rather than simply raiding, and my supervisor made some comment about them wanting "somewhere to wash their socks".

Sensing a potential avenue for distraction and also genuinely curious, I immediately asked, "Did Vikings wear socks?". My supervisor took the bait, and we passed the next ten minutes discussing a sock found preserved in York, of seemingly Scandinavian make, that would appear to answer that question in the affirmative. I remember very little else from that module, but nine years down the line, I remembered that there was a Scandinavian-style sock found in York.

Anyway, today I showed up to the department's graduate presentations (compulsory) and discovered that the first of the two talks was entirely about this sock. I was honestly so pleased. I now know several more things about this sock! I have some details to pad out my vague understanding that there was something distinctive about how it was made! I have been introduced to the complex question of "did the English wear socks or were they a Scandinavian fashion?"! (Answer: there is no definitive evidence for widespread early English sock-wearing, but textile evidence is complicated, so this may not be conclusive.)

This is probably not what most people took from the "England Before The Normans" paper, but frankly, I never was any good at keeping track of kings. I would rather learn about the socks. And today -- just as in that supervision nine years ago -- I did.

[david-talks-sw]

Debunking more myths in the GFFA: the Jedi and the clones.

I wrote a post debunking the various myths about how "the Jedi condone slavery", a while ago. Something I had omitted (because it's such a big topic) was the following two statements that concern the clone troopers' relations with the Jedi:

"The clones were genetically bred to have accelerated growth, so they're technically child soldiers."

"The clones were slaves of the Jedi."

Both the above statements are inaccurate, let's explore why. 

"The clones were child soldiers"

Let's get the easy one out of the way first, because it's a logic that cuts both ways. If age is our only determination of the maturity of a Star Wars character, then Grogu is not a baby. He is aged 50, and is thus a middle-aged man.

Who cruelly eats the babies of a woman...

... and knowingly tortures animals for his own sadistic pleasure.

Of course, I'm kidding. Grogu's none of the above things.

The narrative frames him as a cute baby who does innocent baby stuff. Him eating the eggs is played off as comedic, as is him lifting with the frog. To this day, some fans still call him "Baby Yoda".

Conversely, despite the clones being 10/14-years-old, their actions, behaviors, way of thinking, sense of humor, morals etc, are all those of an adult.

Like, Ahsoka is technically older than Rex in this scene.

The scene doesn't portray them as peers, though. This isn't written as "a teen and a tween talking". No, Rex looks, acts and behaves like a grown-up and is thus framed as such by the narrative.

You can make the argument "they're child soldiers", but (unless you're doing so in bad faith) you'd also have to argue that "Grogu's an adult".

"The clones were the Jedi's slaves"

Nope. For all intents and purposes, they're in the same boat as the Jedi, who George Lucas stated multiple times had been drafted to fight in the war.

Again: both the Jedi (monk/diplomats untrained for fighting on a battlefield) and clones (literally bred en masse only to fight) are being forced to fight by Palpatine and the Senate.

Though, on paper, the clones were commissioned by Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, it was actually done by the Sith (who either manipulated or assassinated Sifo-Dyas then stole his identity, depending on the continuity you choose to adhere to). The rest of the Jedi had no idea these clones were being created.

So while the clones are slaves... they're not owned by the Jedi.

They're the army of the Republic, they belong to the Senate. This isn't exactly a scoop, they refer to the clones as something to purchase...

... and manufacture.

As far as the Senate’s concerned, clones are property, like droids. 

Like there's a whole subplot in The Bad Batch about this very point: after the war, the clones are decommissioned and left out to dry because they literally have no rights, they served their purpose.

The only trooper to ever canonically blame the Jedi for the clones' enslavement is Slick, who the narrative frames as having been bribed and manipulated by Asajj Ventress into betraying his comrades.

Also, the only canonical Jedi shown to ever be mean, dismissive or mistreating the clones in any way, is Pong Krell.

And it's eventually revealed he’s in fact a full-on traitor, hence why the story frames him as an antagonistic dick from the moment he's introduced. He doesn’t represent the Jedi in any way.

We know this because the other Jedi we’ve been shown are always prioritizing their clones’ lives over theirs, if given the chance.

Finally, if we wanna get even more specific... as Commander-in-Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR), the clones belong to Palpatine. 

Palpatine who is a Sith Lord. 

Palpatine who arranged for the creation of the clones and had them all injected with a chip that would activate upon hearing a code-word...

... and forced them to murder their Jedi without hesitation or remorse.

When you bear all that  ⬆️  in mind and when you read this quote by George Lucas...

"The Jedi won't lead droids. Their whole basis is connecting with the life force. They'd just say, 'That's not the way we operate. We don't function with non-life-forms.” So if there is to be a Republic army, it would have to be an army of humans."    - The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020  

... narratively-speaking, everything falls into place.

Sidious knows that:

If he orchestrates a war designed to thin the Jedi's numbers, corrupt their values and plunge the galaxy into chaos...

If he wants to draft the Jedi - peace-keeping diplomats who’d never willingly join the fray - to fight in his war...

... then the only way they won't resist the draft and abstain from fighting is if they think joining the conflict will save lives.

So he creates a set of cruel, sadistic villains for them to face, opponents who will target innocent civilians at every turn...

... and instead of lifeless droids, he prepares for the Jedi an army of men... living, mortal people who, despite being well-trained, will be completely out of their league when facing the likes of Dooku...

... Ventress...

... Grievous...

... Savage Opress...

... or the defoliator, a tank that annihilates organic matter.

Thus, in order to save as many clone and civilian lives, the Jedi join the fray despite knowing that doing so will corrupt their values. 

And as the war rages on, a bond of respect is formed between the two groups.

Clearly, the Jedi don't like the fact that the Republic is using the clones to fight a war, but for that matter, they don't like being in a war, in fact they advocated against it.

However, it's happening regardless of their issues with the idea or personal philosophies. Said The Clone Wars writer Henry Gilroy:

"I’d rather not get into the Jedi’s philosophical issues about an army of living beings created to fight, but the Jedi are in a tough spot themselves, being peacekeepers turned warriors trying to save the Republic."

And bear in mind, the Jedi are basically space psychics, the clones are living beings that they can individually feel in the Force... 

... so the Jedi feel every death but need to move on, regardless, only being able to mourn the troopers at the end of every battle.

We see this in the Legends continuity too, by the way.

(that is, when the writers actually try to engage with the narrative)

Also, if you ask the clones, they’re grateful the Jedi have their backs.

When Depa Billaba voices her concerns about how the war is impacting the Jedi's principles, troopers Grey and Styles are quick to make it clear how grateful they all are for the Jedi's involvement:

So the clones aren't the Jedi's slaves. If anything, they're both slaves of the Republic (considering how low the Jedi's status actually is in the hierarchy).

Only I'd argue the clones have it much, much worse. 

The Senate sees the Jedi as "ugh, the holier-than-thou space-monk lapdogs who work for us"... but a Jedi has the option to give up that responsibility. They can leave the Order, no fuss or stigma. 

A clone trooper cannot leave the GAR! If they do, they’re marked for treason and execution. Again, they’re not perceived as “people”.

And it doesn’t help that the Kaminoans, the clones’ very creators, see the troopers as products/units/merchandise. A notion that the Jedi are quick to correct whenever they get the chance.

How The Clone Wars writers describe the clones' relationship with the Jedi.

George Lucas hasn’t spoken much about this subject aside from the quote from further up. But to be fair... the Prequels aren’t about the clones’ dynamic with the Jedi, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t talk on that subject so much.

He did mention that part of The Clone Wars’ perks is that he could:

“Do stories about some of the individual clones and get to know them.”

But that’s as far as it gets. 

So for this part, I'm just gonna let Dave Filoni, showrunner of The Clone Wars and the upcoming series Ahsoka, and TCW writer Henry Gilroy - both of whom worked closely with Lucas - take the wheel. They make themselves pretty clear on how the clone/Jedi dynamic is meant to be viewed. 

Here’s Henry Gilroy:

"In my mind, the Jedi see the clones as individuals, living beings that have the same right to life as any other being, but understand that they have a job to do."

"The clones see the Jedi as their commanding officers on one hand, but also, at least subconsciously, they look to them for clues to social/moral behavior."    

"Some clones may find themselves getting philosophical leadership from the Jedi that helps them answer some of the deeper questions of life."    

"We thought this was a great opportunity to show how the Jedi interact with clones. Specifically, Yoda in a teaching role of the clones, who were socially new, who kind of grew up— who were created to fight, and he really broadened their horizons and helped them realize there was a great big universe out there that was bigger than just fighting and killing."    

And here’s Dave Filoni’s comments:

"I truly believe that the Jedi try to humanize their clones and make them more individual, as Henry says."    

"I think we saw that in Revenge of the Sith, when the Clones were colorful and named under the Jedi Generals, and then in the final shots of the film with Palpatine and Vader near the new Death Star, the ships are grey, the color and life is sucked out. The Stormtroopers are only numbers and identified by black and white armor or uniforms in A New Hope." 

"The soldiers have become disposable to the Emperor."    

"That is something the Jedi would never do."    

"Yoda teaching the clones much like he taught Luke. ‘Cause that was kind of natural for [the Jedi], a natural instinct to take to these clones like they’re students."    

None of the above quotes from two different writers of The Clone Wars, who had many interactions with George Lucas, frame the Jedi and the clones’ relationship in a negative way. 

How much more proof do we need that "the clones were slaves of the Jedi” isn’t the intended narrative?

My point being that while the clones' ordeal is indeed horrible, the Jedi have nothing to do with it. The narrative of The Clone Wars always frames it as the fault of the Sith, the Senate and the Kaminoans.

If you go by the intended narrative, the Jedi were the clones' teachers and brothers-in-arms. The clones and the Jedi were not just comrades.

They were friends.

[transmutationisms]

how do i know what’s right?

i feel like i have zero critical thinking skills ;-;

a lot of the time when someone poses an idea or a theory they think they’re right, and so they use language that enforces that. but then someone refutes it, and uses language affirming what they believe and i see the point in their argument. and then it gets refuted again and again and again and im just confused.

hi great question. i would love it if there were a single easy litmus test to figure out who's 'right' and whose info i should trust! unfortunately things are rarely this easy, and it's actually completely normal to be overwhelmed by the amount of information being produced and shared, especially when it comes to topics you haven't researched/lived/etc. for most of us, this will be most topics!

i'd preface this by saying that i think your overall attitude here is actually a good one. you're framing it in a pretty self-deprecating way—but actually, imo this type of openness to discussion and disagreement is a really good place to start, esp when dealing with topics that are new to you. nobody enters a contentious debate with a fully fledged, defensible viewpoint. you might feel like you're just treading water here, making no progress toward being able to evaluate arguments for yourself, but i highly doubt that's true.

all of that said: while i again cannot give you a single litmus test for figuring out what's 'right', there are four pretty basic sets of questions that i automatically run through when encountering a new idea, source, topic, or argument: we can call these origin, purpose, value, and limitations.

origin: who's the author? do they have any institutional affiliations? who pays their salary? is this argument or paper funded in any way? is the argument dependent upon the author's social position or status (race, class, etc) and if so, are those factors being discussed clearly? does the author have ties to a particular nation-state or stakes in defending such a nation-state? what's the class character of the author and the argument? what's the social, economic, and intellectual context that gave rise to this argument or source?

purpose: why is this source or person disseminating this information or making this argument? are they trying to sell you anything? are their funders? are they trying to persuade you of a particular political viewpoint? keeping in mind the answers to the 'origin' questions, are there particular ideological positions you would expect to find in this source or argument, and are they present? what are the stakes for the author or source? what about for those who cite the source or further disseminate or publish it?

value: what does this source or argument accomplish well? what aspects of the argument are new to you and strike you as insightful? are there linkages being made that you haven't encountered elsewhere, and that you think are effectively and sufficiently defended? are there statistics or empirical data that might be useful to you in forming your own argument, even if you disagree with how this source or author is interpreting them? what does this argument or source tell you about the types of debates being had, and the rules of those debates?

limitations: where does this argument or source fail you or fall apart? are there obvious rhetorical fallacies you can identify? is the author forgetting or overlooking some piece of information that you know of from elsewhere? which viewpoints may be omitted? keeping in mind the answers to the 'purpose' questions, if this source is defending a particular ideology or political position, is that one you agree with? is it only defensible so long as the author omits or distorts certain pieces of information? are there points where the argument jumps from evidence to a conclusion that the evidence can't fully support? are there alternative explanations for the evidence?

over time you will often find that it becomes more and more automatic to ask yourself these questions. you will also find that the more you read/hear about a particular topic, the faster you can determine whether someone is presenting all of the evidence, presenting it fairly, and using it to fully defend the argument they ultimately want to make. and you will probably also find that at some point, you're able to synthesise your own argument by pulling the strong parts from multiple other people's viewpoints, combining them with your own thinking, and fitting them together in a way that adequately explains and materially analyses the issue at hand.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 22

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 21, Part 23

Warnings: Sagau Imposter au reader with lots of gore and stuff. Minors are warned but not prohibited.

“What a shrewd mortal you are.” The snake hisses as she travels down Baizhu’s arm to face you better. The V-shaped tongue does little to hide the ivory fangs hidden in her maw.

“I appreciate the compliment, but I suggest you reserve your judgment for the main topics of our discussion.”

“Arrogant too, I see!” An amused scoff leaves Changsheng at your bold words, all while Baizhu’s smile remains unchanging. After shutting the door behind him, he keeps his arm perched for Changsheng before sitting on the small stool near the bed.

“It seems you’re feeling much better now than last night. Are you experiencing any pain or discomfort?” 

“None at all.” You lie politely. Getting tied down here any longer than the decided discharge time would be a hassle. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Baizhu trails off to write something down on the paper he’s holding as Changsheng decides to start the discussion. Despite her small body, she speaks with the same pride the Adepti held. 

“We are already well aware of your body’s abnormalities. But in order for us to get a proper grasp of the scar tissue culture, you’ll need to answer some personal questions.”

Smiling without a hint of unease, you respond as you sit up to face them. “Seems you’re quite interested in me. Or should I say suspicious?”

A swift denial is what you expect. Maybe a truthful answer showcasing her confidence could happen too.

“Does a human who would rather hide their face, rather than accept the consequences of being bare, have any right to question my curiosity?”

Snakes are known to be sly for a reason. Baizhu’s slight upturned eyes at Changsheng’s words only solidify that belief further.

“I guess it was a dumb question.” You shrug, the subtle jab rolling off you with ease. “I am quite popular, I strongly doubt that you've had a patient quite like me.”

Your teeth are bared in a grin at Changsheng, fully aware of what the display means to the animal. 

She merely hmph’s at you before turning her head to the side as Baizhu cuts in amicably.

“Depending on what I discover in this sample, your words may be true Y/N. Why not first explain how you are the Creator’s oracle?”

Lips pursing as your eyes travel to the side of the room, your finger taps rhythmically on your chin. Wondering, contemplating on how you should answer.

At your silence, Changsheng’s eyes narrow as if she's frowning, while Baizhu’s smile turns almost sympathetic.

“I wouldn't pry into this matter as your physician, but as being an adventurer is your official occupation, I felt the need to question this Oracle one. Quite a few jobs connected to The Creator tend to manifest some otherwise unseen conditions.”

If one looked at it on the surface, they would see a concerned doctor looking to take all situations in accouint. But all you see is an ill person investigating a promising lead.

Baizhu’s quest for immortality was always closely connected to the Adepti, and you just had to be outed by a disciple of one.

“It's not like that child was the only one to refer to you as such. Why would an Oracle even hide such basic information from trusted acolytes like ourselves?”

Changsheng’s tone is scathing, and her question is sarcastic. The hot and cold of the pair’s demeanor and words were easy to recognize.

The kind of tactic they were trying to pull on you was the classic ‘good cop, bad cop’ schtick. 

Baizhu’s honeyed words were to coax the information from someone nervous and fearful, while Changsheng’s harshness was meant to pressure and intimidate someone into spilling. 

Something this dubious in a medical setting shouldn't exist. At least not yet, anyway. Most medical malpractice from eras in the past were born from discrimination, religious propaganda and general inexperience of the human anatomy and physiology.

It sure as hell shouldn't work on any sane adult, let alone from someone like Baizhu who is widely trusted but also suspected.

But then you think back on the kind of people that exist in Teyvat. The strange practices seen as normal, the terrifying yet mesmerizing creatures that roam, and your cult…

Yeah, more than one person must have bent to their will. While you doubt it was done with any bad intention. The fact of the matter is that Baizhu could have removed your mask, but clearly didn't. It still wasn't right.

Then again, why should you care? As long as you keep yourself in check to not reveal any more than necessary, then you were satisfied with that.

No need to play hero in a world that can't see past someone's physical features. The heart you once had that urged you to try and change to become a better person has already been burned away.

“Well, this is classified information, but I do have approval to explain my unique circumstances in these kinds of cases.”  

Your smile is sheepish as you tilt your head and avoid their matching piercing gaze. As if you caved into their words and finally came clean.

“I suppose you can say that being an adventurer is my day job, as my true mission is to uncover the truths behind cult members and acolytes alike on their devotion to the Holy One.”

Baizhu’s smile widens, just a smidge at your words. Changsheng is not nearly as impressed and hisses out her first question.

“And how does that justify the matching scars along your body to the Almighty?”

Just how did Changsheng get to say such brutal questions without being frowned upon? Probably because she's a talking snake.

Many adults in this world probably find it unimaginable and fear her, thinking she's on the level of an Adepti. Others may view her as almost unreal and much like a doll to be played with, downplaying her words and sharp intellect like a child.

You just find her as surreal as a dream; Almost detached in a way from the sheer absurdity of a talking snake. It's only thanks to your knowledge from when you were a player that you can see her for herself.

Smiling, you reply to her question with a carefully constructed answer. Admittedly, this question was always one you were afraid of encountering.

“This body belongs to The Creator, and The Creator alone. When I was first summoned by the Almighty and commanded of my mission, they desired to mark me in a way that no one could deny as a connection to them. I chose to be scarred in the same fashion as them.”

A wide smile, almost manic in nature, stretches across your mouth. Calloused fingers intertwined before covering your lips as if to coyly hide. 

“And what better way is there? A subtle yet bold imprinting of the Creator’s hold over me. A way to experience the suffering our poor God must have gone through to be branded like that.”

Words spoken colorfully are nearly purred before you're left with uncontrollable giggles. You finally calm down with a dreamy sigh as you look at the contracted partners.

Baizhu and Changsheng are silent throughout your whole act. The only movement made was them sharing a glance.

And there is only one emotion you can see bloom so vividly in their exchanged eyes. 

Discomfort.

---------------

It's safe to say that neither of them asked any more questions about the matter. Changsheng basically fled the room to “bask in the sun on the windowsill in the hall rather than stay with a human like that.”

You don't take any offense to it. In fact, you're overjoyed that your act worked. The only way to stop them from coming to the natural question of: “Does this mean their face is also like the Creator’s?” was to stop them from wanting to think on that train of thought.

It's exactly why you've been so careful to not let your body be so exposed. At least in regard to your torso, as scars on limbs are much easier to disregard.

Acting as a fanatic really was one of the best and easiest ways to throw off suspicion. No one really tries to dig for anything from a crazy person. After all, they have no sensible rhyme or reason to their actions.

It, of course, came with its own risks. Doing it too much will make people think that you’re actually insane rather than just unstable and will never trust you. And even the act itself can only work in certain situations with the right people, or else everything will fall apart.

That’s why you only use it when you see no other choice like now. Both Baizhu and Changsheng are under confidentiality agreements to not speak about you as a patient and considering the normal behavior for believers, your actions shouldn’t be too taboo.

Just a tad bit surprising.

The feather-light tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts as you look at the ever-present smile on the doctor. Baizhu sits back down on the stool once he’s sure he has your attention before speaking.

“Since you’ve explained more than enough about your background, we can move on to taking a culture sample of the scar tissue.” Your eyes roam the room for any tools needed for the procedure, and furrow when you fail to find any.

“At least that’s what I would say if I didn’t take it during the initial treatment.” If Baizhu wasn’t such a good doctor, you would ask if his license was revoked yet. This sure as hell doesn’t sound legal.

Annoyance must have been clear on your face as Baizhu leans a little closer to respond calmly. “I can assure you that this is very normal and practiced by many physicians. I just felt the need to tell you, as we agreed to you receiving a form of compensation.”

His eyes slither down your body to linger on where he must have taken the sample. “It would have been a hassle for us both if I waited till now to take it. I would have had to cut your skin after it healed so nicely, meaning you would be at risk for an infection.”

Baizhu may not be acting as obviously as a fanatic as you were earlier, but he was making you wildly uncomfortable. It’s a struggle to keep your body from tensing up under his growing gaze.

“So what did you choose as compensation? Last time we spoke about this, I don’t believe you had a set answer yet.”

With your mind reorienting back to how you can gain from this situation, you request your choice confidently.

“I want the strongest knock-out drug or sedation or whatever other name it goes by that you have. Something that can’t be obtained over the counter. Something that borders on being illegal.”

Was it strange to request this? It seems so, judging by Baizhu’s smile dropping as his eyebrows pinch together in what could be confused as worry.

But it’s a necessity to you.

Yelan and Shenhe couldn’t be dealt with due to the strength imbalance. That would take months, if not years, for you to get to a level where you can fight them one on one without using every means possible to win. Other acolytes exist that were even better than them, some that weren’t even human.

As the environment and tools in your disposal were much different and limited compared to when you were on Earth, you needed something more on the trap side. Having that weird, almost instant knowledge of weapons, elemental energy and rare bursts of power was the most you could ask for in combat. But it would be best to avoid combat if you can.

This drug would be the perfect way to.

“There are plenty of sleeping aids available over the counter. Why not choose from them rather than get a prescription for one from me?”

Baizhu is more than well aware of why you are requesting this, as he specifically addresses it as a mere ‘sleeping aid’. Whether he’s worried about you or for you doesn’t matter.

“I’m not questioning and probing for more answers as to how my tissue sample is so connected to your research. So you shouldn’t be trying to question mine, either.”

His whole face seems to light up at your swift and defensive response. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear.”

A smooth chuckle leaves him as he leans down to whisper into your ear from where you sit on the bed. “I’ll get you exactly what you desire and with any luck, my research will make leaps and bounds of progress.”

Goosebumps are raised across your skin as he stands back up straight. The square-framed glasses almost hiding the slitted golden eyes that try to devour you glint from the sunlight streaming in.

Baizhu leaves and you can finally breathe.

—----------------------

Time passes by slowly and with little options to cure your boredom, you find yourself engrossed in deciding which of Teyvat’s many delicacies you want to try. Last time you cooked on Beidou’s ship, the cooking laws followed the same logic as it did when you played the game.

It was one of the few perks you had from being the Creator. You had to make it count.

Even if it was just to distract yourself from overthinking the upcoming meeting with Ningguang.

It’s the wind’s echoing of the footsteps gradually getting louder that pull you out of the screen and back into the present. With a satisfying stretch, you sit up properly and yell a “Come in!” when a knock rings out.

Different shades of blue hair can be seen entering as Xingqiu strolls in with Chongyun behind him.

You greet them first with a toothy smile and lazy wave. “It's been a while since we last saw each other. Glad to see you both made it back here safely.”

Tension immediately leaves Xingqiu’s shoulders at your words, as Chongyun moves past him to take a hold of your shoulders.

“How could you be so reckless?!” His hair is slicked back, giving you a clear view of his pinched brows and lips bitten raw.

“The Adepti aren't beings to mess with, you could have really died!” Did he think the Adepti were responsible for your injuries? It would be the only logical conclusion, since Yelan chasing you was definitely a secret operation and Shenhe was just by chance.

“I shouldn't have let the confusing mess sweep me along, making me blindly listen to you. Maybe then you wouldn't have gotten this seriously hurt.”

He's hot, you blandly take note as his fingers dig into the clothing. It even seeped through your clothing, but you can't bring yourself to push him off.

Not when he's trying to hide how they shake as if he's the one shivering in a snowstorm.

“Why did you push us to leave with the victims? You and Xingqiu are eloquent enough to have convinced them to let you come back with us! How could you push us away?!”

… Was he trying to blame you? Briefly looking away from the frosty yet heated gaze of Chongyun, you glance at Xingqiu. His head is turned away, and he makes no effort to stop or step in.

“If you just let us help you rather than pushing us away, everything could have been avoided!” What the hell? “I should have just ran back when we were still close enough. Then you wouldn't have been so severely hurt.”

The constant whiplash of Chongyun’s words and emotions confused you. Grabbing his hands, you pry him off and pushed him away.

“I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Okay, maybe better choices could have been made, but what's the point in dwelling on them now?” There's an annoyed bite to your tone that slips out.

Like gasoline to a fire, Chongyun explodes on you.

“What's the point?! The point is that you nearly died due to something that could have been prevented if we just thought a little harder! What if you died? What would you do then? Nothing! Because it'd be too late!”

His face is red as he yells, and his words feel like a forgotten consciousness crawling back to you. Infesting you with the long forgotten fear of what death had in store for you.

“So what?! That's for me to deal with, not you! If I die then, I die and if I live, then I live.” There's an ugly smile on your face that twists into a snarl. “You don't need to feel responsible for what happened, okay? So don't try to berate me and stew on what is already done.”

Jitters run through Chongyun’s body as he breathes loudly and takes a step forward-Only to get stopped by Xingqiu grabbing his arm.

“Stop it Chongyun. That's enough, your yang spirit is out of control and making you hotheaded.”

“But they-”

“Enough.” Xingqiu’s voice is firm as his grip visibly tightens around the joint. “Cool off inside the room or outside. It's your choice.”

Chongyun glares at Xingqiu before ripping his hand away and stomping to the corner. It's only with the distance that you can see how his fingers tremble worse than an addict.

The popsicle he pulls out is shoved into his throat as sweat visibly sticks to his skin and his haggard breathing becomes visible.

Maybe you should feel sympathetic, but all you can hear is his anger and accusations in your ears.

“Y/N…” Xingqiu’s voice calls out, and you finally get to see his face and take note of the slight red rim around his eyes.

He's been crying, you realize, and what makes it worse is how uncomfortable you feel at the sight.

“Chongyun was definitely in the wrong for getting so mad and starting the fight with you.” He glances over at the Cryo user, who refuses to look at either of you. 

You can spot faint bite marks dotting his fingernails.

“But it's not completely his fault either. He-We’ve been worried ever since we arrived at Liyue and never found you. We tried to-”

“That still doesn't make sense. Just why get so worked up over me missing a few days. I'm an adult, I'll be fine. Hell, I am fine!”

You're agitated and on edge, but for the life of you, you can't tell why. A small part of you, the sensible part of your brain, is already whispering that you're going too far, but you shut it down.

“Why even get mad at me about this? Why not the Adepti?!” Xingqiu’s silent stare at you is like needles prickling your skin.

The annoyance, frustration and confusion are what you cling to at this moment.

“Is it because they're firm believers of the Creator? Is it because you can't trust me as an Oracle?! Or is it because-”

“IT’S BECAUSE WE CARE!” Chongyun bellows out from his spot, whipping around to face you once more.

He takes long strides to you and reaches out his hands to touch you, to grab you-

But stops abruptly at your poorly hidden flinch. His expression morphs into something less fiery, with more hesitancy in his actions.

You let his hands awkwardly rest once again on your shoulders. But instead of the heat you experienced before, his fingers are cool but not cold.

“We were worried because we care about you.” Chongyun doesn't look the same as before. You decide to blame his hairstyle for that.

“I'm sorry for getting so worked up.” He starts slowly, his grip loosening with each word he utters. “I took the anger I had against myself on you, and I'm sorry for that.”

It's foreign to have them worry over your safety. To truly get this emotional over the thought of you dying.

But when you think back to your words and how you reacted in this whole argument, embarrassment creeps in.

“I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have snapped so easily and accused you guys of strange things.”

Yun Jin’s betrayal may have bothered you more than you realized. Not that you were unfamiliar with betrayal, but you didn't expect that a traditionally ‘good’ character would be so quick to sway.

The more you think about it, the more shame you feel.

“While I'm glad you both have made up for the high stress argument, I'm afraid we have more serious matters to discuss.”

Xingqiu’s words alert you both back into the present as he smoothly separates you from Chongyun.

“Ah, that's right, I almost forgot…” Chongyun mumbles to himself, only making you more confused on what the issue was.

“I'm not sure how, but the Qixing knew that you were the main party responsible for saving the kidnapped victims even before you arrived here in this state.”

What? 

The surprise must have been clear on your face as Xingqiu repeated his words and explained with more detail.

“Ganyu did arrive and focus the spotlight on her, but the Qixing immediately poked holes in it. The most adamant was the Yuheng.”

How would your incident with the Geovishap hatchling make Keqing believe you would save the children and not be the one to kidnap them?

The guild wouldn't disclose that information. It was literally stated on the contract Khan signed due to the seriousness of the commission. The breech in the confidentiality contract would be enough to warrant a lawsuit or legal action, they wouldn't risk it.

Did you talk to any guards about the case when searching for information? Anyone notable enough to report to Keqing?

It was no use, you couldn't remember all the details due to how long it's been since then.

“We thought that maybe you had already talked to her, so we brushed it off, but it got worse when we tried to go find you.”

Xingqiu gestures animatedly as he speaks. “Not only were there almost double the guards around the main entrances and exits, but I noticed at least four guards following me in the days leading up to your appearance.”

“We were repeatedly stopped from leaving and even when we tried leaving through unconventional ways, they still found us.” Chongyun finishes as he recounts the events.

“Only once were we able to leave the city in the dead of night, and it was the Yuheng herself that stopped us. She said that since we brought the victims back, she had reason to keep us in the city until further notice.”

Xingqiu scowls as he remembers the memory before cursing. “One hell of a convenient ass excuse.”

Chongyun finishes their story as he opens the curtain slightly and gestures to you to look out with him.

“This morning we both received letters saying we were free to leave now. It was just a few minutes later that we heard about you being brought here. And what do we see when we came to visit the first time?”

Following Chongyun’s line of sight, your breath catches at the sight of a Millelith guard hiding in a shaded area under a golden leaf tree.

“There’s even more in buildings and outside the window view.” Xingqiu adds as he takes the other side beside you.

Knuckles clutching the window sill tightly, you forcibly breathe in and out. Thoughts of just how long they've been watching you, what they could have done, and what they could have seen whirls around your brain.

All those Crystalflies, weasel thieves and the conversations you exchanged were now at risk of being exposed. With your heart thumping painfully loud in your chest, you wonder: What could they have already reported?

What was all your work in keeping out of the Qixing’s sight for? Ganyu didn't have much power, Keqing is set against you, Yun Jin betrayed you, Beidou’s gone and Ningguang already tried to off you with Yelan.

What did you possibly have left?

The two hands that lay on you startle but also ground you back to the present. Smooth skin and icy fingers draw your eyes to switch between the two vision holders.

“It'll be okay, Y/N. If they truly wanted to kill you, then they wouldn't have let you rest easily here.” 

“It's true, Ningguang once poisoned the water supply that specifically went to certain patients in a different clinic.”

And now you feel like shit again. It's not like you could trust Baizhu-you weren't even completely sure whether he intentionally hid the existence of the guards!

At your visible dampened mood, Chongyun lightly kicks Xingqiu’s shin, who only hisses at the pain before retaliating.

Watching them childishly fight like this is fun, a simple and small pleasure that you savor after all the bad news and confusing mysteries. 

That's right. You weren't alone. Not totally, at least.

It was painful to think about how your plan to avoid and leisurely please the Qixing failed, but it wasn't all over. Xingqiu and Chongyun thoroughly proved themselves on whose side they were on.

And if push came to shove, you could agree to marry Zhongli and let him deal with your problems.

“Don't worry too much, you two.” At your sudden but cryptic words, both of them stop and look at you.

Smiling serenely despite the turbulence your heart was suffering through, you give a vague explanation. 

“I already have a scheduled meeting with Ningguang. I'll either be praised by the masses as the oracle I am, or show up in a casket at the Wangsheng’s Funeral Parlor.”

Ending it with a sneaky grin, you press a finger to your lips. “I'm aiming for the third option of getting minor recognition before hitchhiking to Mondstadt.”

Rewriting this crap since TUMBLR KICKED ME OUT. I copy the ending that I wrote and only one word of it actually saved for me to paste. I wanna strangle this website. But anyway, got back from vacation, slept, unpacked and finished setting up everything properly after my editor finished. Just rechecked and turns out Tumblr also removed all the italics and bold which I had to re-add, how NICE I did manage to get a whole nice length chapter finished while I was away but I'm saving that for later as school is starting. I wanna have it there and post it in a while when I'm swamped while trying to get my school in order. So. Looking. Forward. To. It. :) I finished reading a few previous chapters to keep everything on track and wow. Y/N used to be so happy and hopeful lol. I would ask what happened but I’M what happened. It was still really fun to reread the adventure with Ayato. Perhaps it wasn’t obvious but Baizhu didn’t completely fall for the fanatic act. Changsheng trust her own judgement too much to look past the surface unless the person is visibly mysterious or pulling away. That’s why Baizhu could act the way he does despite the initial discomfort he felt (which was not faked) Taglist: Open as always!

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[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Mistake

Pairing: Scarecrow/Reader (6.1k words)

Summary: Sharing a basement with Jonathan Crane proves to be every inch the nightmare it could be as an error on his part results in him being left victim to his own fear toxin while you are left to pick up the pieces of his mistake.

Fic Masterlist /// Link to AO3

Whole Day Off Masterlist

“And what about Harley Quinn? She seems nice. I mean- outside of all the obvious crime stuff.”

“Harleen has the potential to do great things but allows herself to be misled as she rapidly falls into co-dependency with her romantic interests. She would do well to develop her own skills and attempt to forge her own path but it seems unlikely.”

“Well, yeah, but is she nice?”

Visibly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Crane nods. His knees are tucked smoothly under his desk, spine curled into its usual shrimp-like positioning as he hunches over the chemicals which are slowly being mixed by his expert hand.

“Yes, I suppose she has a certain charm to her when she’s not running her mouth.”

Delighted by the confirmation, you roll onto your side as you sink further into the semi-comfortable fabric of his couch. As naked as a babe, the chill of the room feels wonderful against your skin and you shift your thighs as you disturb the pleasant ache there.

You couldn’t quite recall who had been responsible for initiating but it didn’t really matter as you had quickly found yourself wrapped around his cock as you perched your ass off the edge of his workstation. He hadn’t even bothered to undress, simply releasing his cock from his slacks as he gripped at your hips with thin, insistent fingers. It had been messy and sloppy and ridiculously fucking hot as your hand brushed various papers aside in their fight to gain some purchase against the wood.

Crane had been just as enthusiastic, finishing surprisingly quickly and taking a moment to use his fingers to bring about your own release while he enjoyed his own comedown. Minus your usual toys and games, your body feel relatively peaceful after you had both finished – with the only exception being a deliciously aching, red mark which Crane had sucked into the heft of your left breast, just above the nipple.

A quick shower had washed away the mess left between your legs, your combined release swirling down the drain as you grimaced at some of the mould which you could see developing in the corners of the barely maintained bathroom. A mental note to maybe pick up some bleach before your next visit was neatly filed away for future consideration and leaving the bathroom had resulted in your naked frame dropping to the couch as you allowed your body to finish drying naturally.

To his credit, Crane has taken your willing nakedness with little more than a raised eyebrow as he glanced back at you from his workstation – the papers neatly rearranged as he fell back into his work routine with a casualness that suggested he hadn’t just fucked someone in that same space not ten minutes earlier. He had already taken a moment to explain that he was developing a new and experimental strain of toxin and that his attention would be mostly pulled towards that for the remainder of the evening.

But that couldn’t stop you from asking questions.

When his attention was split in such a manner, you had long since found it easier to get certain types of information from Crane as his mind chose to focus on his actions rather than his speech. Mostly you liked to ask about trivial matters, such as his opinion on various topics and his thoughts on his fellow costumed villains.

“Is Harley the nicest one? Like, if you had to choose.”

“Probably.” Crane confirmed, adding a few clear droplets of liquid to the beaker in his left hand. “Her danger lies in how loose her lips are when it comes to sharing information with others, mostly her clownish paramour.”

Sensing a slight tension in his tone, you follow up with a curiosity that makes your head tilt further towards him. A shark smelling the blood of fresh gossip.

“Are you and the Joker friendly?”

At that, Crane fully pauses his work and spins in his chair to face you fully.

“Joker is friends with no one as the concept is beyond him. He acts as more of a useful tool or a roadblock depending on his ever-changing mood. I do not enjoy spending time in his presence as his unpredictability is contemptuous.”

Falling into a comfortable silence, you know what you want to ask but uncertainty over how to do so respectfully makes you hesitate for a moment.

“Not to mention that he once almost beat me to death with a wooden chair.”

You ignore that, having learned that follow-up questions rarely led to any further information.

“The Joker, does he, like, can you- the toxin?”

You wince at how disjointed the question sounds but Crane doesn’t seem to mind as much as he shakes his head and spins back to his desk.

“If my toxin afflicts him then he shows no outward sign as such.”

Interesting.

“Then who’s the worst? Of all the costumed villains, which one is the most dangerous because the news stations and papers can never seem to agree. Lots of them say Joker but, y’know, you know them better than they do.”

Swirling two identical beakers between his fingers, Crane appears to consider the question for a moment as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

“Lazlo Valentin is a particularly disturbed individual. Most of my colleagues – Nygma, Dent, Ivy, etc – do not have a tendency to play with their food for long, mostly preferring to kill and move on with their plans. However, what Valentin does with his victims is cruel. Full body modifications with a complete removal of all mental individuality, a living puppet with no will and no purpose. A walking corpse with no joy, anger, or fear.”

Crane sniffed distastefully before continuing.

“A fate worse than death. Even those enthralled by Ivy quickly succumb to her toxins or are saved from them, but those dolls of Valentin’s are unsalvageable.”

You shudder at the thought, flexing your fingers against your hips. Professor Pyg always looked quite frightening in the arrest photos which littered the tabloids as his crazed eyes - always dilated and wild - shone from that horrible pig mask he donned as his blood-soaked heft was bundled into a police van.

“A couple of the girls I used to work with always thought the Riddler was handsome.” Forcing a slight tease into your tone, you slip your arm under your neck to prop your head up. “They liked his suits, I think. And they said he was cute.”

The derisive snort was all the response you needed as Crane refuted the very idea.

“I believe your friends would benefit from severe psychological interventions.” He offered dryly.

Laughing at that, you shift enough to stretch; raising your hands overhead until a satisfying pop sounds somewhere in your shoulders.

Glancing over, you just manage to catch Crane watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Easily distracted, Dr. Crane?” You ask, rolling back into your original position.

He chooses to disregard the tease – his attention focusing back on his toxin as his shoulders drop into a more relaxed position. The quiet is comfortable and you take the opportunity to plan out the remainer of your week, from work goals to nightly dinners. Your apartment had been left in some state. The constant fluctuation between your time there, at work, and your ongoing meetings with Crane had left little time for some much-needed deep cleaning and if you were going to be picking up bleach for this nasty basement then it seemed outrageous to not get your own shit in order.

A crash of something which sounds like smashing glass brings your attention back to Crane and your whole body flinches in place as it is immediately followed by a sharp bellowing noise as Crane throws himself back from his chair to stand with an almost inhumane speed.

“Hey! What’s wron-”

In lieu of an answer, Crane dashes towards you and the sudden movement causes a full-bodied recoil as you push yourself further into the couch. Your obvious fear makes no difference to him and you gasp as his hands wrap around your shoulders and pull you harshly to your feet. Something wet touches at your shoulder and you glance down to see a streak of red painting your skin.

Fresh blood.

His blood.

The wound on his wrist, sharp and clean and an obvious result of the glass which had smashed, doesn’t look too deep and your attention snaps back to his face as you go to ask if he needs help fixing it up.

However, your words die in your throat once more as you take in his expression and the genuine anger and urgency which lies within it.

“I’ve made a mistake. The toxin in that smashed beaker has laced the fresh cut. You have only a few minutes to leave before I succumb to its influence.” Grunting as he rolls his shoulders, Crane’s hands slip to your jaw and tense to hold your head in place roughly. “The dose is nowhere near fatal but the experimental elements will increase aggression until the fear takes full root. I would rather you weren’t the subject of my violence. Leave. Now.”

Listening to his explanation with a thudding heart, the coppery scent of his blood makes you feel almost nauseous as you panic in kind.

“I can’t leave- not like,” you gesture to your naked frame with wide eyes, “I can’t make it out like this. My stuff. My keys.”

“This strain blurs the line of fight and flight. If you do not leave my sight then there is a very real chance that you will be severely hurt, little mouse. A fact neither one of us will be particularly enthused about. You are not built to endure the violence this toxin will force upon you.”

Growling the words, Crane’s head darts around the basement as he rapidly seeks a solution – his hands growing tighter on your face until you have to whimper and pull away due to the discomfort.

“My chair.” He hisses out from between clenched teeth as he visibly forces himself to walk towards the dental chair. “Restrain me in my own chair and we will both be kept safe from harm. I have no idea if this strain with cause violence towards the self so this will work well.” The last sentence is spoken with more of an inward inflection as his brilliant mind works in quick overdrive.

You follow him with shaking limbs, adrenaline thrashing through your veins as you watch him drop into the dental chair – his shirt, slacks, and lab coat making his positioning uncomfortable. He takes a moment to strap his own legs in, his teeth biting at his lower lip as he powers through whatever the hell the toxin was beginning to wreak on his trembling frame. Unable to do much more than agree to his demands, you wait until he’s lying back to pull the thick strap over his chest and secure it before doing the same with the wrist restraints.

“If,” Crane grunts, struggling to speak coherently, “if it looks like my vitals are dropping too low then there is a syringe with adrenaline within the drawers. It may help.”

“Jonathan” your body moving on auto-pilot due to the panic and stress which is thumping within your head, “what do I do? You need to tell me what to do. What if-”

“I value you for more than just your body, witty girl. React to the situation as appropriate and do what seems right. But I would like you to leave me, I’d rather not be subject to your observations.”

The strain of his voice and body is palpable, every word taking an obvious effort as he tested his strength against the restraints which held him in place. His hair, the various strands already mussed from your earlier fuck, is pushed back from his face and you take a moment to press your fingers to his jaw in unspoken support as you take his advice to heart and beat a hasty retreat.

Still nude, you do as instructed and let instinct guide you.

Having left him to his heavy breathing, you immediately dart to the stairs and take them two at a time as you twist and lock the latches to the basement door – ensuring that no fresh company can make itself known. In doing so, you are also wilfully locking yourself down here too and that fact doesn’t slip by your thoughts while you dip your hand into your handbag and pull free the bottle of water that you had stashed in there before leaving your apartment.

Taking a gulp of the water, the warmth of the liquid is vaguely repulsive and you swallow it down with a grimace as you quickly throw on your abandoned panties and shirt - not bothering to button the fabric up properly as you attempted to give yourself at least some decency given the turn of events.

Peeking around the corner of the room as a sudden howl of anger makes you jerk in place; you take in Crane’s appearance with a soft inhale.

It's hard to see him like this.

His composure, so typically set in stone and utterly unshakeable, has been stripped away by his own mistake and the sheer scale of the emotion on display makes you feel as though you were bearing witness to something profane.

Something wrong.

Snarling like a wounded animal, Crane pulls at the thick restraints which hold him in place without care. The dental chair creaking dangerously, it does seem capable of holding him back but the knowledge does nothing to bring you any peace as you circle behind him silently.

"I'll kill you!" Crane snarls, his voice high and strained as he screams at nothing. "I'll kill- I'll rip you apart - you fucking bitch!"

Taken aback by the sheer hatred in his voice, your chest shudders as you clutch at your shirt.

"I did it once and I'll do it again…dig you even deeper…show you how little Johnny died well before you did."

It was impossible to not listen, to not steal the little titbits of information which his heightened state was allowing to slip free, and you stow his words away for later consideration.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Someone he had killed in the past? Maybe his first kill? Given the amount of hatred in his voice, it must have been a woman who seriously wronged him. Hell, maybe even his mother. Or a sister.

It’s new information but information which leaves you with more questions than it answers and you continue to stare at him as his rage-filled expression refuses to leave the ceiling – whatever demons existed in that space tormenting him more than your quiet presence ever could.

Eventually, after the seconds had long grown into minutes, the fight seems to leave him and his body goes limp against the chair. Panic swelling in your chest, you slowly approach him to check his vitals.

His chest is moving rapidly, heavy breaths making you relax slightly as you hope that exhaustion will make his experience a little easier. He had said something about aggression being the altered factor in the compound but it was still his fear toxin so a sinking feeling told you that the worst was still to come.

Crimson drips from the restraint which circles his right wrist and the sight of it makes you wince as you recall his earlier injury and how it has still not been treated. Given his relaxed stance, you touch around the skin gently, unable to see the extent of the damage hidden below.

Glancing uncertainly at his lined face, your fingers work quickly to loosen the restraint, unlatching it enough to free his hand as you turn his palm up to see the damage.

As though hit by an unseen electric force, life springs back into him in an instant and you scream in fright - not expecting his sudden movements to spark up again. In a flash, his hand flips the script to wrap around your own and his fingers wrench your pinky back with so much force that you feel the bone creak like an old floorboard before it slips out of place with a jerk. Roaring in pain as a white-hot agony spreads from your damaged finger, you lean down in a frantic effort to use your good hand to pull him off.

Again, it proves to be a mistake as his animalistic growling grows somehow more feral as he drops your hand and instead lashes out with his clawed fingers. He's lightning quick and you feel his sharpened nails digging into the sensitive skin of your throat before you can even register just how much you had messed up. The toxin having stripped him of his sensibilities, his face twisted into something awful and he bares his teeth like a beast as he claws into your neck.

"Jonathan, stop!" You choke out, scratching at his hand with your own fingers as you attempt to pull yourself free. It makes no difference to him, the words not registering in his mind, and the tears in your eyes are quick to blur your vision as you choke and panic. "Dr. Crane!"

Digging your thumb as harshly into his wrist wound as possible, he hisses as he releases you and you can't even take a moment to gather your breath as you throw your entire weight into forcing his hand back into the restraint you had foolishly allowed him free of. It takes a moment, despite his best efforts, and his anger only seems to increase as he finds himself trapped again - his unseeing eyes focusing back on the ceiling and whatever demons are tormenting him.

You run from him, leaving the dentist’s chair to instead get closer to his workstation. Hands shaking so terribly that you can barely open the drawers of his desk, you bring your thumb to your eyes as you wipe away the pained tears that refuse to stop flowing. Your pinky is sitting at an odd angle, the digit throbbing with pain with every slight movement, and your neck feels savaged and wet as small droplets of blood sit on the skin where his nails have dug deeply enough.

Pulling free some alcohol wipes, you tear them open with your teeth and rub them across your neck to clean the small wounds. It stings like hell and a sobbing inhale is all you can manage as you fix yourself up as best you can. The finger will require a doctor but you suspect that it is only dislocated and not truly broken.

Again, he had hurt you.

And again, you were staying to see the events through.

A small voice, one born of fairness given the circumstances, whispers that he wasn’t in his right mind and that he didn’t mean to hurt you in that moment. But with it came a voice of equal measure, one which echoes past events that were better left unspoken.

He didn’t mean it.

He never did and yet…

Shaking your head to knock the thoughts free, you refocus on the task at hand as you gently touch at your pinky with a soft wince.

“Do you want to hit me, Dr. Crane?”

“Right now? Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I don’t know. If it were anyone else-”

You had seen it then, the desire to hurt, to lash out and make himself feel better but he had stayed his hand despite your own attempts to push him into violence.

“I’m sorry.”

Startling at the sudden cry, you almost drop the alcohol wipe which is still clenched between your fingers. Where anger had laced his tones, the voice which now carried across the basement couldn’t have been more different as it contains an anxious desperation. Something entirely foreign to what you know of him. It does make you curious though and your feet move softly against the floor as you creep back around the other side of the basement and glance around the thin curtain which separates that area from the rest of the space.

His eyes are closed, the wire-rimmed glasses haven fallen from his face to lay across his chest, but you can see his eyes moving rapidly beneath the shut lids as they dart around, unseeing. The lines of his face are more pronounced than ever as his features twist with every whimpered word – forehead creasing and lips wrapping around the soft words which spill free.

"I'm sorry, great granny. Don't-don't send me to the church. Not the birds! Please."

A memory rose, unbidden in your mind, as you recall your hands rolling across the expansive skin of his back and the scarring which lay there. Some of the marks were white with age, small and scattered across his shoulders and upper back, and his words gave them a history that made your chest ache.

Despite the many documentaries and conspiracies which cropped up about many of Gotham's finest criminals, their choices and crimes making them a prime piece of media fodder, the details of many rogues were shaky at best when it came to their histories prior to their criminality.

Exceptions like Dent, whose rise and fall had been documented in the public eye for all to see, were rare and a lot of the mystery surrounding the various costumed villains who terrorised Gotham made them almost like folklore curiosities.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Had Jonathan killed his great granny?

He howls and your neck jerks, igniting discomfort in the fresh claw marks, as you approach him slowly. His eyes are still snapped shut, mouth twisted in distress as his head thrashes from side to side – each movement making his shock of hair grow steadily more unkempt and messy. A thick sheen of sweat coats his skin and you pull the cuff of your shift over your fingers as you attempt to wipe away the worst of it.

At the soft touch, Crane startles as though burned and his eyes are wild as they meet your own – the absence of clarity sending a thrill of anxiety through your chest. His lips move but no words can escape, only a stilted whimper which slips free as his head flinches away from your touch.

“Shh, Jonathan.” Shushing him with the softest possible voice you can muster, you allow your shirt to pull back to your wrist as you card your fingers through his damp hair. The restraints are holding as strong as ever and since his aggression has passed, you feel safe in trying to offer him even a little comfort. “There’s no one here but me and you.”

The worst of the toxin seeming to have passed, you grow bolder in your movements as you slip your free hand across his cheek – feeling the bones there pressing into your skin as you soothe him.

Something heavy curls in your stomach, not quite pity, but a sympathy which lies alongside the anxiety and discomfort that pounds within your head.

“Go to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Surprisingly, the gentle words appear to work as whatever strength is keeping him alert seeps from him in a long exhale and his eyes stutter closed. His breathing still erratic as hell, you continue to stroke along his hair until you are convinced that he has passed out.

Once certain, you pull away and retire back to the couch; body slamming against the fabric with an exhausted sigh as you settle in to wait for him to wake up.

x-x-x-x-x

Two hours pass in a blink and the first sign of life from Crane is a hoarse coughing fit which makes your fingers flinch as they thumb through one of the many psychiatric journals which litter the basement. Now empty, the plastic bottle of water which you had been slowly sipping from lies by your side and you accidentally knock it to the floor as you jump from the couch as though electrocuted.

Padding your feet across the basement floor, you can see he is awake as you come closer but you pause at his side to allow him to make the first move. Tension sits heavy in the air, awkwardness and stress hanging between you like a weight.

Crane is a mess.

He looks awful and you can’t help the grimace which stretches your lips as you approach him with all the caution of a handler approaching a wounded lion.

“Are you okay?”

A basic ask and one that is met with emptiness as Crane flexes his hands.

“Let me out.”

Nodding quickly and ignoring the sharpness of his tone as it pierces your chest, your fingers move swiftly as they work through the various restraints which hold him in place. Starting with the ankle restraints, they all remove easily enough until you reach the strap which holds his injured wrist in place. The leather is stained with his blood, the wound having stopped bleeding at some point, and you shudder as you gently pull his wrist free – not wishing to do any more damage than what is already there.

No longer held in place, Crane’s body moves shakily as he pushes himself free of the chair. His expression is queasy and it doesn’t surprise you too much when his first port of call is to make a stilted dash for the nearby bathroom, his long legs visibly trembling with the effort of carrying his struggling body. After a moment, you hear the sound of retching and grimace at how viscerally it echoes across the virtually silent basement.

Uncertainty roils in your heart, a desire to follow and make sure he was okay battling it out with a vague understanding that any attempt to help him at this fragile moment would result in backlash. As such, you remain in place, carefully keeping your dislocated pinky free of the arm of the chair to limit the damage.

Eventually Crane reappears and you can see that he has take the time to make himself presentable. His clothing is neatly fixed into their familiar positions, shirt and pants smoothed out as the lab coat circles his thin frame like a blanket. The wire-rimmed glasses are perched back on his nose, pushed as close to his eyes as possible, and you can tell from the slight sheen of his skin that he has splashed water on his face.

But it does little to hide how obviously worn out he is.

“It would be better if you left. Now.” Crane states, the words coming out as plainly as though he were commenting on the outside weather.

“What?” Not quite sure you had heard him correctly; you give him the chance to repeat.

Despite the casualness of his words, you can see the irritation spark as his instructions go unheeded and he’s forced to make his point once more.

“Your services are not required. So, leave me.”

Stepping away from the dental chair with a swift motion, you don’t bother to hide the genuine confusion you feel as you watch him approach you with a tactical hesitation. “After all- after all that? That’s it? Just leave?”

You can see his struggle, the forced nonchalance barely holding in place as his fingers shake and his lips set into a harsh line as he stops before you – deliberately straightening to his full height to ensure that he towers over your shorter frame. He was angry for sure, but below the anger you could see the shame which really guided his words; the loss of control which always makes him dangerously volatile.

“Whatever you saw, whatever you heard, is meaningless. So, leave me to my work and I will decide when I want to see you next.”

Fire igniting in your soul at the thought of being dismissed like a child, you stand your ground as your partially opened shirt flutters around your thighs.

“No. Absolutely not! Not after all the shit I just had to go through for you.” Tilting your chin up at him with open defiance, you are too annoyed to really take in the anger which sits on his features. “I didn’t wait all this time to be kicked out lik-”

“I said, LEAVE!” Crane hollers, his voice raising heavily on the final word as he lashes out with a careless hand to push you away from him. Unfortunately, since you weren’t expecting the physical touch, his hand catches you off-guard and you trip over your own feet, falling backwards on your ass as your hands splay out to prevent your body from falling any further.

A bolt of pain, sharp and intense, lances across your injured hand as your pinky connects with the floor and you can’t hold back the howl of pain which rips free of your lips as you quickly pull your wrists forward to cradle your hands to your chest. Facing both the stress of the last few hours and the agony of your hand, there’s no fighting the tears which immediately begin to fall from your eyes and your sobs quickly grow stuttered and messy as you sit there like a pathetic beast, content to wallow in adrenaline-fuelled misery.

Not expecting you to fall, nor the intense reaction which followed, Crane pauses long enough to look down at you – truly look down at you – and even through the hail of tears you can see the genuine regret which passes across his pinched face.

“What happened to your hand?” Crane asks, his hands dropping to loop around your shoulders as he pulls you to your feet once more with a surprising gentleness. His voice is tight, resigned to the answer which he knows is coming.

“You.” Rubbing at your eyes with your good wrist, you can’t hold the truth from him. “When you were on the chair. It lo-looked like you were passing out and I wanted to check the bleeding in your- in your wrist.”

“Let me see.”

His voice softer than it has been in quite some time, you can’t help the flinch of your arm as he takes your other wrist in his hand – examining the damaged pinky with an unreadable expression.

“Hmm, no break. Possible fracture but most likely dislocated.” He mutters to himself, diagnosing the injury with a clinical precision before speaking more clearly as he held your watery eyes with his own. “I will need to reset the bone.”

Nodding even as your lips stutter out a thinly held sob, you know it’s going to hurt like hell and you try to brace for the discomfort as much as possible.

“This won’t be pleasant and I apologise for it. I would never intend to-” Crane cut himself off, perhaps sensing that his words were meaningless in the moment. “But I will fix it and give you some painkillers to manage the discomfort. Follow me.”

He guides you to his work bench and you move on autopilot, allowing him to open a bottle of unknown pills and drop two into your good hand; an offering which you take without hesitation as you swallow the pills dry, ignoring the horribly acrid taste they leave where they press against your tongue. As you do, Crane takes the opportunity to spread your injured hand out on the edge of the wooden table – ignoring the spilled mess which still litters the floor.

“I will need to relocate the bone. Might I suggest that you bite down on your shirt because it won’t be a particularly enjoyable experience.”

Following his advice, you bite down on the cuff of your shirt from your free hand. The fabric tastes of nothing and you choose to focus on the texture as you refuse to look at your injured hand while Crane gently locks his hand around the dislocated pinky, ready to fix his errant mistake.

Without warning or additional comforts, he wrenches the pinky forward before setting it back into place in one swift motion.

The hot pain which explodes from the area has you stamping your feet against the floor as you bite down harshly on the shirt in your mouth. But Crane is as efficient as ever and the intensity of the pain dies as quickly as it started and the dull, aching throb which follows is much more manageable as your bleary eyes attempt to flex the digit – a choice which sparks fresh pain but also a smidge of relief as the pinky twitches at your command.

Giving you a moment to compose yourself as the painkillers still need time to truly kick in, Crane’s attention is snatched up by your throat as you roll your head with a loud exhale to centre your thoughts.

“The marks on your neck?”

A nod.

His jaw flexes and you can feel the disappointment rolling from him in waves as his thin fingers extend in an unspoken question as they hover in the space before your neck. You accept his touch with a slight incline, allowing him to ghost his fingers over the fresh scratches which are no longer bleeding as your throat constricts beneath his digits.

He doesn’t need to ask, already knowing the answer, so he instead takes a step back from you – allowing you some space from him in a vague show of apology. Taking in his appearance, from the tightly pinched expression which has lost all of the earlier irritation which his shame had sparked, to the miniscule tremble which sits in his limbs as he forces himself to still as much as possible, you can feel how tired he is.

How tired you both are.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I-” He begins his retort but it dies in his throat, unable to deny the accusation. His gaze is dull, lacking its usual intensity, and something within it melts the anger which is swirling within your own thoughts.

Reaching out with your good hand, you grasp his hand within your own as you silently lead him over to the couch. Surprisingly, he allows it and you use that to your advantage as you gently push him down to sit on the old fabric.

“I’ll leave when I see you lying down.” You mutter, willing to meet him halfway. “You can’t work like this and it’s only going to result in another accident.”

“You’re right.”

Twisting on the couch, his long frame fills the space in an instant as his legs shift to hang over the arm. His agreement was unexpected and it brings a soft smile to the edge of your lips as you turn and your hands drop to close around your handbag, quickly rifling through it to check that you had everything you needed. Happy to uphold your end of the bargain and leave, you only pause when his voice catches you unawares – the weariness in his tone undeniable.

“You can stay.”

Not willing to pass on the opportunity, you nod at the offer.

You turn back to stand before the couch, looking down at him with a calm expectancy and he grunts as he pulls his upper body up, giving you enough space to slide into the space he had just vacated. Taking the offered seat, you recline comfortably and allow him to lie back once more – his head dropping into your lap with a muffled thud.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” you begin quietly, “and I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t see or hear anything.” At the words he stiffens against your thighs, but you press on regardless. “But I’m not going to ask and I’m okay with staying here until you’ve slept.”

Tracing nonsensical shapes along his hairline with your right hand as you attempt to soothe out the deep lines of his forehead, you inhale softly as his hand loops around your left wrist. Two firm fingers press against your pulse point, feeling the steady beat which thurms there, and the sensation seems to bring some peace to him as he relaxes further into your touch – exhaustion having robbed him of much of his typical stoicism and defensiveness.

“Would you like me to sing something?” You offer, thinking of the small beat-up old radio which sits at the furthest end of his work desk, a testament to his subtle enjoyment of music.

“Please,” he mutters in response, the words barely slipping free of his tight lips as his eyes drift closed, “my day has already been ruined and I think that tone deafness you indulge in may push me over the edge, witty girl.”

Not expecting the teasing insult, it nets him a soft chuckle as you pull at the hair which sits atop the crown of his head with a gentle tug and respond in kind with a similar mutter.

“Bastard.”

[from-izzy]

[00:05] | nct mark lee

"You're not behind," it prompts the grip on his forearm to tighten, "but you are tired and you deserve to rest now."

pairing » nct mark lee x gn!reader (fast proofread once - lmk if i missed anything!)

trope/au » established relationship au!, non-idol au!

genre » maximum hurt and comfort because i need someone to do this for me AND IT'S EXAM SEASON FOR MEJSDKFJHDF, mwork is a fluffy boyfriend in these angst times, mark holding you tight and telling you that everything is fine, boyfriend mark lee concerned for your wellbeing, mark letting you rest against his chest

word count, estimated reading time » 1707, ~6 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » reader is stressed with academics, reader hasn't slept in a while, mark implied to be physically bigger and taller

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist🤍 'especially to you...'

HEYYYY HIIII! double update in a month which is very rare for me now 😭 and thanks for beta-ing a long time ago @sohnric !!

i def still love writing but life commitments can get heavy sometimes 🥹 and with that, this one is for everyone who is in exam prep or just having a hard time academically but also just anyone who needs comfort right now! good luck on your studies and commitments everyone! you can do this!! 🫂

with that being said, my first exam is tomorrow and i am tired-

Literally from the side, you hear the door creaking open, the click of its button free from the metal that houses it on its frame. As always, you choose to ignore it even though your heart drops slightly closer to your stomach. You don't dare to tear your eyes away from the document on your screen, choosing to look at the scorching white with your tired, slightly red eyes.

He called out for you but the only thing he's greeted with is your fingers rapidly against your keyboard. Mark is no longer surprised by your dismissive actions, sighing when it seems like the rhythm becomes faster. 

Slowly, he approaches your study area, a folded finger rubbing against his eyes in an attempt to blink the tiredness away even if it's just for a little bit. When he's close enough to see what you're working on, he can't help but feel proud of your progress. The title of the document takes him back to just a few days ago when you were crying to sleep in his arms, telling him about how you have no idea and that you have hit a wall in the upcoming assignment that seems to be due so soon. 

In reality, it isn't due for two more months, but it's the weighting of the assignment that has you pondering if you can really bear the burden of sleeping when forty per cent of your grade depends on this one paper.

But seeing your hair messy with an overused coffee cup not too far away from the edge of the table, he isn't sure if he would just rather see you cry yourself to sleep or see the obvious dark shadows surrounding your eyes. What he does know right now though, is that you should just rest your whole body after depriving yourself of a whole twenty-four hours with no sleep—slightly more than that now actually.

Mark arrives behind you, the front of his oversized shirt hitting the backseat of your study chair. His arms fall onto your shoulders, slowly massaging your tension away.

"Dinner?" He tests the topic first, genuinely not knowing if you have eaten today as he was busy outside the house.

You respond with a hum, "I promise, I had it." The typing didn't cease as you continued to speak to him, "Go back to bed, Markie."

If only you could turn back to see the face he makes at your dismissive answer. "Can't," he answers simply for now. "Not when I know that you’re out here tired and sleepless."

You know that this is his way of pulling you away from the technology that is keeping you up but you decide to stand your ground, "Just a bit more."

"That's what you've been saying the past half day, bubs." 

The specific timeframe is what made your fingers freeze and you tuck all your fingers into your palm except for two, scrolling up towards the start of the document. Reality suddenly sinks into you when it doesn't feel like you scrolled up a lot, but the grey bar on the right side of the screen shows that you reached the top of the document. The wave of exhaustion finally hits and your eyelids suddenly fall instantly. Mark immediately encircles his arms around you, pulling your back to rest against his chest.

It doesn't take him another second to realise that you're silently sobbing in his arms, upper body trembling in shame and disappointment with how time has passed yet no real effort is physically seen to the real world. Mark presses multiple kisses on the top of your head, tightening his hold and whispering words of comfort. 

"Mark..." You decide to bury your eyes into Mark's arms, the salty liquid trickling down the safety of his arms. "It feels like time is mocking me right now..."

You've always felt this way. Indeed, time will never wait for anyone or anything, yet as humans, it's ironic that we always wait for the right time. It's annoying and it's infuriating to see the long hand of the clock easily circle while you just sit still and watch it happen. 

Mark pulls away only slightly, pulling your seated body out from the table so that he can spin you around to physically put your work behind you. He then kneels in front of you, his hands enveloping yours on top of your lap. 

He doesn't say anything at first and doesn't even dare to fully let go of you even when he wipes your tears away from your cheeks. Mark just offers you a smile with the crease between his eyebrows evident, letting you cry out your feelings a little bit more.

"You're doing so well," he affirms his thoughts out loud. "You don't give yourself enough credit for that, so I'm here to remind you every time."

And he does. 

Mark Lee has always been great at that even when you were both still friends. You were worried that he only did it when you were both still in the flirting stages too, but four years with Mark Lee and he still says the words sincerely and truthfully. In your darkest times, that's all that you need.

Your legs push your bottoms to the edge of the seat and you practically slump into Mark's embrace as you push the seat rolling away behind you. Your arms swing around Mark's neck for stability, hiding your cries in the crook of his neck. 

"I'm tired, Mark..." suddenly the ground felt wobbly, your knees giving out to keep your posture somewhat upright in his hold, “and I feel so dumb.”

Mark quickly refutes with a series of firm shaking of his head, craning his neck just slightly enough to kiss the trail that your tears leave on the apple of your cheeks. You whimper against the touch of his lips and you hate that you’re worrying the person who has proven to you over and over again that he loves you to the moon and back. His black hair fell over his eyes but it’s not hidden enough for you to miss the reassuring glimpse that his orbs gazed you with. 

"Your past achievements prove you otherwise as well and I promise you that you’re not.”

And he really means that. 

Your tiredness is physically shown further by the way you slump over his figure on the floor. Your knee isn't even supporting you on the ground anymore, slipping you further away from him as the fabric of your longer pants helps you slide on the polished floor to bring you closer to your boyfriend.

Mark supports your weight against his, untucking his legs from under him and spreading them beside your figure. Slowly and gently, he turns you around and sits you properly on the squared patterns. Similar to before, he makes you rest your head against where his heart beats calmly while he leans backwards slightly so that you're more comfortable in his arms around your middle. Your fingers stiffly grip his forearm, mind still clouded by the next paragraph of your work and Mark picks this up. 

His eyes drift up to the black font against the white electronic paper. "Tell me the next one." Referring to the idea of your work. 

He does this often, repeating the main ideas of your work so that he can store them inside his long-term memory. This way, he can tell it to you tomorrow. His love transcends forgetfulness, his mind jotting down all the main points so that you don't have to go back to doing work without sleep inside your system any longer. Mark gently sways his upper body and the weight of your eyelids becomes more apparent from the hum he lets out. 

"But I just don't think I deserve to rest." It feels like the world is too active for you to do so. "I feel like I'm behind all the time."

"You're not behind," it prompts the grip on his forearm to tighten, "but you are tired and you deserve to rest now."

That's all the validation you need. You just needed to hear someone say, with a mellow voice and the beating of their heart that contrasts your erratic ones, that it's alright for you to rest, even if it's for a while. The affirmation that you're doing well is gratefully received, but you just needed someone to tell you that your eyelids can fall for the next few hours on a well-deserved mattress, in a safe place.

Next, your voice box finally releases the tension to the air and Mark Lee alternates between kisses to the side of your face and whispers to the shell of your ear all the words that would make the tension around your body fade.

That's the thing about Mark Lee. He would let you cry it out audibly, not like the ones you would bury your entire face to your pillow, suffocating and gasping for air as you tried to keep the weight on your shoulders to yourself when you were still living alone.

The tears from your eyes are valid and so did the sobs that did the same from your lips. The world blurs due to the remnants of some of the stubborn ones that didn't drop to your tear-stricken cheeks—but it's fine because Mark would always turn his head to you, the side of his fingers brushing on your lower lid, careful to not hurt the orbs that he finds love and security in.

Mark still holds you close throughout the whole time, eventually seeing how your chest gradually decreases its frequency in taking deep breaths. 

Exhausted and spent, you managed to whisper, "Thanks, Mark." It's croaked and easy to miss if it wasn't for the proximity that you're both sharing.

"Always." His palm rests on your jawline and he softly turns your head, your ear now on his chest. Mark lands a quick peck on your now slightly upturned lips, "I love you."

"I love you more."

Sleeping is easier for him now that the other side of the mattress is occupied and that he can feel your warmth directly on his skin in a well-deserved resting position.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist 🤍 'especially to you...'

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @haneul-and-clouds