#so this is my first real thing involving him

[l4ndonorizz]

looser cooks dinner / lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: blindheart - digital memories

summary: a rainy day ruins lando’s plans, so he crashes yours instead. What starts as trivia and teasing quickly turns into a game of "never have I ever"—and things get a little too real when feelings get involved

wc: 2k

The steady rhythm of rain pattering against your window was the only sound in your cozy living room as you sat curled up on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through your phone. The plans you'd made for the day were officially canceled thanks to the downpour outside, and you’d resigned yourself to a quiet afternoon indoors. A little disappointed, sure, but a rainy day at home wasn’t the worst thing.

Just as you were about to settle into a Netflix binge, a familiar sound pulled your attention—someone knocking at your door. You frowned, glancing out the window where the rain was coming down even harder now. Who would be out in this weather?

When you opened the door, your frown melted into surprise. Standing there, completely drenched but grinning like an idiot, was Lando Norris. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his hoodie soaked through, and droplets of rainwater dripped from his nose. Despite his bedraggled state, he looked utterly unbothered.

"Lando?" you said, struggling not to laugh. "What are you doing here? It’s pouring!"

Lando shrugged, wiping the rain from his face with the back of his hand. “My plans got canceled,” he said, stepping into your apartment without waiting for an invitation. “Figured I’d come to hang out with you instead.”

You closed the door behind him, shaking your head in disbelief. "You didn’t think to call first? I could’ve told you to stay dry."

He grinned, kicking off his soaked shoes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You sighed, grabbing a towel and tossing it at him. "You’re ridiculous."

Lando caught the towel mid-air, already rubbing it over his hair, water droplets falling onto your hardwood floor. "Yeah, but you love me for it," he teased, winking in your direction.

Your heart did that stupid little flip it always seemed to do whenever he was around. Rolling your eyes, you walked toward the kitchen, trying to ignore the way your stomach fluttered. "Do you want some tea or something? You look like a drowned rat."

"Sure. I’ll take whatever you’re having," he called out, following you and dragging the towel through his hair. "What were you up to before I heroically saved you from a boring afternoon?"

You laughed, filling the kettle. "Heroic, huh? I was just about to put on a movie or something. Not exactly thrilling."

“Good thing I showed up, then,” Lando said, leaning against the counter and flashing that mischievous smile that always made your heart race. “I make everything more exciting.”

You shot him a playful look. "Big words for someone who looks like they just swam through a monsoon."

He smirked, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in slightly. "Maybe I just wanted an excuse to come see you."

Your breath caught in your throat at the teasing glint in his eyes, but before you could respond, Lando pulled back, grabbing the tea towel hanging by the sink and starting to dry off his arms.

The kettle whistled, saving you from having to come up with a reply. As you poured the tea, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the rain outside creating a soft backdrop to the moment between you two.

“So,” Lando said, breaking the quiet as he sat at your small kitchen table, “what’s the plan, then? You got a movie picked out, or are we improvising?”

You handed him a steaming mug and shrugged, sitting down across from him. “Depends. Are you in the mood for something chill, or are you going to make us do something ridiculous?”

Lando’s grin widened, his playful side kicking in. “You know me too well. I was thinking…we could go for a walk. Maybe grab some food somewhere.”

“In this rain?” you raised an eyebrow. “You’re not dragging me out in that mess.”

“Okay,” he said, sipping his tea. “what about some indoor games? But…” He leaned in, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “only if we make it interesting. Loser cooks dinner.”

You laughed, already feeling the competitive spark in the air. "What games?"

You handed him a steaming mug of tea and shrugged. “Depends. Are you in the mood for something chill, or are you gonna make us do something ridiculous?”

Lando’s eyes lit up with mischief as he took a sip. “How about we play a game? Trivia quiz, but we make it interesting. Loser has to spill a secret.”

You raised an eyebrow, already feeling the competitive tension in the air. "Trivia? You really think you can beat me?"

He leaned forward, his grin widening. "I don't think—I know."

With a roll of your eyes, you grabbed your phone to pull up a random trivia app. “Alright, Norris, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The game started off light—questions about history, geography, and random pop culture tidbits. Every time Lando got an answer right, he made sure to flash you that cocky grin, and every time he got one wrong, you made sure to gloat just a little.

“So,” you said, smirking after he missed a question about 80s pop music, “looks like you owe me a secret.”

Lando leaned back in his chair, pretending to think deeply before giving you a cheeky grin. “Alright. Secret time. Sometimes, I forget which way the track goes.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your tea. “Seriously?”

He laughed too, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay. Only once! And it was during practice. Not during a race!”

The game continued, with you winning most of the rounds. Lando’s competitiveness flared as the trivia questions became harder, and you could see him getting more serious with each wrong answer.

But then he smirked. “Let’s switch it up. Enough with trivia. How about we play 'Never Have I Ever'? Or are you too scared?”

You narrowed your eyes, accepting the challenge immediately. “Scared? Please. Let’s do it.”

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Alright. I’ll go first. Never have I ever... thrown up after a race.”

You hesitated for a second before raising your hand in mock defeat. “Fine, you got me. I haven’t.”

Lando nodded, pleased with himself. “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever… crashed a go-kart into a wall,” you shot back with a teasing smile.

Lando’s face turned a bit pink, and he raised his hand sheepishly. “I was 11, alright? It was an accident.”

You both laughed, but as the game progressed, the questions got more personal, more daring. The atmosphere between you two shifted slightly, becoming more intimate, more...charged.

Lando’s eyes sparkled as he spoke next. “Never have I ever kissed someone I really liked but pretended it didn’t mean anything.”

You paused, your heart skipping a beat. There was something in the way he said it, like it wasn’t just part of the game anymore.

You raised your hand slowly, feeling a flush creep up your neck. Lando’s eyes flickered with interest, and the tension in the room seemed to heighten. You couldn’t help but ask, “What about you?”

He didn’t raise his hand, just sat there, staring at you. His playful smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, more serious.

“Never have I ever…” Lando started, but this time his voice was softer. His gaze met yours, holding it for just a little too long. “Fallen for a best friend and didn’t know what to do about it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. The rain outside, the cozy warmth of the kitchen, and the playful banter from before felt like a backdrop to the sudden shift between you two. You couldn’t look away from him, and the quiet confession in his eyes made your pulse race.

Neither of you raised a hand.

The air was thick with unsaid words, and for the first time, the comfortable dynamic you’d always had felt different—heavier, like you were both standing on the edge of something.

"Lando," you started, unsure of what to say next, but he cut you off, his voice soft but steady.

“I didn’t come here just because my plans were canceled,” he admitted, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I wanted to see you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and you realized in that moment that everything had changed. Somewhere between the laughter and the silly games, the lines between friendship and something more had blurred.

You didn’t know what to say. The playful banter from earlier was gone, replaced with an intensity you weren’t prepared for. You opened your mouth to respond, but Lando stood up, closing the distance between you and taking your hand gently.

He smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Never have I ever… been this nervous."

You stared at him, your heart racing, and without thinking, you reached up and placed your other hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Well,” you whispered, “you’re not alone.”

And with that, you leaned in, the distance between you disappearing as you kissed him, the rain outside a quiet backdrop to the moment you'd both been waiting for, without even knowing it.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like you were both testing the waters. But when Lando’s hand slid up to gently cup your cheek, everything shifted. The hesitation melted away, and you deepened the kiss, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours. The rain outside seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Lando pulled you closer, his other hand resting on your waist as the kiss grew more intense. The soft hum of the rain and the warmth of the room seemed to wrap around you both, creating a bubble where nothing else existed.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Lando rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he whispered, “That was… not how I expected today to go.”

You laughed softly, your hands still resting on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “Yeah, me neither.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room was filled with the comfortable silence that only came after something long overdue. Lando opened his eyes slowly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart race all over again.

“What happens now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando smiled softly, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Now… I think we stop pretending this is just friendship.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, the weight of his words settling in. “You mean…?”

He nodded, his smile growing. “Yeah. I mean… I’ve liked you for a while now. Just didn’t know how to say it.”

You blinked, the realization hitting you like a wave. All the little moments, the teasing glances, the playful flirting—it had all meant something more. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Lando chuckled softly, his hand dropping to yours. “I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

You smiled, feeling the tension between you unravel into something lighter, more certain. “I guess I was too busy pretending I didn’t feel the same.”

Lando’s grin widened, and he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Now what?”

“Well,” Lando said, glancing around the kitchen, “I did promise we’d cook dinner. And since you technically beat me in trivia…”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly but keeping your hand in his. “Oh, no. You’re still cooking. I won fair and square.”

Lando pouted dramatically, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Fine. But you’re helping.”

You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face as you nodded. “Deal.”

[mikuni14]

The On1y One - Ep 12

I have mixed feelings about the finale of this beautiful series.

First, I'll write what I particularly liked, which is something that relatively rarely appears in BL series, which is the correct portrayal of teenage boys in terms of sex 😊 Usually, it is shown that they are either very experienced, like adult porn actors, or the seme is very experienced and the uke blushes and shies away from the slightest touch, or neither of them is interested in sex.

In The On1y One, horny teenage boys are horny, they're aroused by even the smallest things, they fantasize about sex, whose thoughts about sex come at the most inconvenient moments, who panic, who at the same time want to be close, but who are also terrified by closeness (like Tian, ​​who was afraid to even lie in the same bed with Wang). And who randomly get erections.

It was so real in its naturalness, panic and awkwardness.

My mixed feelings mainly come down to the fact that I lacked closure. I don't like it when I feel like the story is unfinished (I'm not talking about cliffhangers or ambiguous endings) , when in a series a particular season doesn't end with some kind of clasp that ties together what happened throughout the season . I expected that this season (not even knowing if there would be a second one) probably wouldn't end with them starting a romantic relationship, but I expected some kind of conclusion between them. I would even accept their separation, the "break-up" of their relationship, if I knew that they knew where they stood together and, most importantly, TOGETHER MADE THIS DECISION, however heartbreaking it was. I miss their communication here at the end, and after all, they talked to each other the entire series, talking about their own feelings. I keep repeating that I have to feel equality in a relationship to be involved in it, and unfortunately I can't help but feel that Tian is the one who is the most wronged and hurt in this relationship. It was Wang who made the decision that hurt Tian so much, it was Tian who was abandoned again, even though he thought that THIS TIME, it would be different, when, for the first time in his life, he trusted, believed, had hope, had home. It was Wang who had nerves of steel and an analytical mind, who assessed the situation and made the best decision, while Tian only watched from the sidelines with a broken heart, being faced with a situation that had already happened, having no influence on the unfolding events. Of course Wang suffers, I do not deny it to him at all, I know he's hurt too. His first love, first fascination, first infatuation is so unfortunate, and it is not his fault, nor his beloved's. And I perfectly understand his decision, his choice. Wang actually has a very analytical mind, who assesses what he sees, he's also completely devoid of any illusions about reality. He immediately deciphered Jia Hao, his realistic view of the world can also be seen in his contacts with Tian, ​​his family, the rest of the class, the teachers. Similarly, we see him analyzing his relationship with Tian, ​​when he recalls the scenes with him and calmly comes to the conclusion that what he feels is love and - in my opinion - he also knows that Tian has feelings for him. And he immediately comes to another conclusion that this feeling has no future - at least not now. His internal monologue is very telling, when he states that he knows what he feels, but they are brothers.

The contrast between him and Tian is very interesting, although Tian is also very analytical, smart and in tune with his feelings. Only that when Tian knows his feelings, he is able to simply live with them and love Sheng from afar, while Wang cannot live in hiding and it's hard for him not to act on these feelings, which is visible in how much he wants to be close to Tian, how he finds excuses to be with him and how he knows that he cannot and how he knows that he has to give them space, because he will not control it in the end.

And all of this is ok and logical and consistent with their characters, and they both suffer, but Tian suffers much more and only follows Sheng's decisions. And there is no closure to their shared story, there is nothing that the viewer would judge as yes, they know about each other and they make this difficult decision to "break up" together.

The teachers' storyline was cut off just as abruptly, the series also dropped a bombshell about where Tian's scar came from… and leave it at that.

Looking at this ending objectively, I understand everything. The finale was beautiful, heartbreaking, moving, I had tears in my eyes, especially watching Tian, ​​my abandoned, beloved boy. I also feel sorry for Wang, for how much he sacrificed, knowing his capabilities and ambitions. He did it for himself and for Tian, ​​because personally I can't imagine them keeping their romantic and sexual relationship a secret, which in 2012 between boys who are considered by everyone to be BROTHERS, would be devastating for them. Wang already has to come up with excuses to explain their closeness to the outside world, and if they were in a relationship it would be even worse and ultimately impossible. The series is wonderful and I love it. I love the characters, I love the actors. That being said, I was unpleasantly mentally transported to the times of Eternal Summer, Bangkok Love Story, Love of Siam and a whole bunch of Asian productions from that era, the endings of which broke my heart 💔 It was, I admit, very weird and um, kind of hurt me, I honestly thought I'd never have to experience something like this again, hence my unpreparedness for the pain...

That's why I'll mentally stay on my happy pink cloud, like this one: 🥰

[thinkinginpen]

Jazz and Desire

a/n: This one is just to tease you guys because I felt like it: pairing: bucky x reader w/c: 4.4k warnings: romance, hinting, love, etc. summary: Going on a first date with Bucky and he takes you home.

Bucky looks at his watch for the twelfth time in the last half hour.

"Relax," you say. "You look like a college kid on his first date."

"I'm nervous," Bucky replies. He straightens his tie and sighs. It's hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but you swear he looks a little red-faced. "It's been a while since I've done this."

"And here I thought you were some sort of World War 2 playboy." You take a sip of your drink, looking him up and down. He's a little dressed up for a dark dive like this, but you're certainly not complaining.

Bucky shrugs, trying to look casual as he takes a drink of his own. "I don't know if that's an accurate description. Most of my dates in that era never made it past second base."

You laugh. "Bucky Barnes, are you saying you were a nice boy during the war?"

"Hey, I tried to be a gentleman," Bucky says, although he's smiling. "I'll have you know, I was quite the charmer."

"And humble, too." You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile.

"I'm serious," Bucky says, leaning in a little closer. "When I was trying to impress someone, I was the sweetest guy you'll ever meet."

His voice lowers a bit, his smile growing a little more wicked. "Until you got me alone, that is."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool even though you can feel the heat rising in your face.

"Oh, so you were a nice boy when someone was watching but a bad boy behind closed doors?"

Bucky grins at your reaction.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I was a good boy in public and a very bad boy in private."

He smirks and lets his eyes wander up and down your body, obviously enjoying how flustered he's making you.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you try to keep up the banter.

"And what kind of bad things did you like to do behind closed doors, Sarge?"

Bucky leans in even closer, his voice lowered to a near-whisper as he murmurs in your ear.

"Let's just say it involves a lot less talking and a lot more…"

He suddenly pulls back, leaving you hanging for a moment before finishing the sentence.

"Dancing. We'd do a lot of dancing. What did you think I was going to say?"

You roll your eyes again, trying not to show just how much he's getting to you.

"Oh, I'm sure you were a real Fred Astaire in your heyday."

"I was pretty good," Bucky says, smiling smugly. "And I can still cut a pretty mean rug, if I do say so myself."

He stands up from the stool and straightens his jacket, offering you his hand. "Feel like a demonstration? I have an old record player back at my place."

You hesitate, considering. On the one hand, you were having a good time here in the relative safety of the bar. On the other hand… spending more time alone with Bucky, potentially within touching distance of his bed…

You take a deep breath and reach out, grabbing his hand. "Okay, but you better be able to back up your big talk, soldier."

Bucky grins, obviously pleased that he's talked you into this. He pulls you to your feet with his Vibranium arm as he stands up, his chest suddenly pressed against yours.

"I'll do my best, doll," he says, his voice a low murmur. "But I always deliver."

You can feel your heart racing as he pulls you close, his muscular chest pressed against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, his muscles coiled under his jacket, just waiting to spring into action.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "So, are we heading back to your place to do some dancing, or what?"

Bucky grins, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Dancing, yes. There might be some other things involved too."

He keeps hold of your hand as he guides you out of the bar and into the cool night air. The walk to his apartment is only a few blocks, but it feels like an eternity as the tension between you continues to build.

Finally, you reach his apartment building. Bucky leads you up the stairs to the third floor, unlocking the door and flipping on a light switch.

His apartment is small, but tidy. There's an old record player in the corner, and Bucky heads straight for it. He rifles through his collection of records before pulling one out and carefully placing it on the player.

"You recognize this song?" he asks as he starts the record spinning.

You nod as you recognize the opening bars of the song. It's a slow, sultry jazz number, the kind that's perfect for dancing.

Bucky holds out his regular hand for you, gesturing for you to join him in the small living room. "C'mere."

You take his hand and let him pull you into the middle of the room, then he smoothly pulls you into his arms, your body pressed against his. You can feel the hard muscle of his chest against your cheek as he starts to sway to the music, guiding you in a slow circle across the wooden floor.

Bucky's arms are strong and sure as he leads you around the room. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heart against your cheek, and the warmth of his breath as he speaks quietly in your ear.

"See? Nice, polite boy in public, and not too bad today."

He spins you out in a quick twirl, then pulls you back in tightly, your bodies now pressed even closer together.

You try to say something witty in response, but all that comes out is a small gasp as he pulls you back in. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, the firm muscles of his arms as he holds you close.

"So," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Is this what you did with all the girls back in the forties? Slow dancing?"

"I did a little bit more than dance," he replies, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "But yes, I did a lot of dancing."

He spins you out again, then pulls you back in with a twirl, his arms wrapping tighter around your waist. He's pressed flush against you, his hips pressed against your hips, his thighs pressed against your thighs.

You can feel your face growing warmer as you dance. Bucky's body is like a furnace pressed tightly against yours, the feel of him nearly overwhelming. You can feel the taut muscles of his arms and chest through his shirt, the heat of his breath against your skin as he murmurs in your ear.

"You know," he says, his voice low and raspy. "I wasn't joking about it getting a lot less polite in private."

"Oh really?" you reply, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you with a small hitch in your breath at the end.

"Mm-hm," Bucky says, his lips brushing the soft skin of your ear. "I was a real bad boy behind closed doors. In fact, some of the things I did were downright sinful…"

The low rumble of his voice combined with the warmth of his body is almost too much for you to handle. You can feel yourself starting to lose control, your body responding to his on its own.

"Oh yeah?" you say, your voice breathless. "What kind of… sinful things?"

"Oh, you know… touching… caressing…" Bucky murmurs, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, his hand tracing a lazy path down your back. "Kissing… biting…"

You let out a shuddering gasp as he kisses your neck, his lips trailing down the sensitive skin to your collarbone. The feel of his mouth on your skin is like fire, and you can feel your body responding hungrily to his touch.

"B-Bucky," you whisper, trying to gather your thoughts. "We… we shouldn't…"

"Why not?" Bucky says, his voice low and sultry in your ear. "Aren't you enjoying your date, doll?"

He starts to kiss his way back up your neck, his hand now resting at the small of your back, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"You're a grown woman," he continues, his voice still low and intimate. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself."

Your body betrays you, leaning into his touch as he kisses your neck and shoulders. His words are making it harder and harder to resist him.

"We… we just met," you protest weakly, but you can feel yourself starting to give in.

Bucky chuckles, his breath hot against your skin. "That's never stopped me before."

You take a shaky breath as his lips brush against your ear again, his voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. "I always get what I want, doll. And right now, I want you."

His hand slides down to the curve of your hip, pulling you closer. You can feel the hard planes of his body pressed against yours, and your resistance is rapidly weakening.

Bucky starts kissing his way down your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as his lips travel lower and lower. You can feel yourself losing control, your eyes closing as your head tilts back, your body practically melting into his.

"B-Bucky," you whisper, your voice sounding weak. "We… we shouldn't…"

He chuckles, his voice low and intimate in your ear, his body pressed up against yours. "Oh, but I think we should."

[alilixx]

Heyy could u write a greg house x reader

Shes a doctor or prob a surgeon and its like season 1 ep 13 , she gets sick and needs a heart transplant or something like that but she doesn’t want to then house convinces her coz he likes her and house lies for her so she can get the transplant and they used to flirt before and all but after that they confess about liking each other and start dating ☺️ thanks

IM SOO SORRYYY SCHOOL STARTED AGAINNN SOO LESS TIME FOR WRITE FANFIC BUT I WILL TRY WRITE FOR EVERY WEDNESDAY AND WEEKEND <33

Surgeon!FemReader x Gregory House

You had already noticed unusual signs for several weeks. At first, it was just fatigue. Nothing more. You convinced yourself it was due to your endless hours in the operating room, those sleepless nights that kept piling up. Just a bit of exhaustion, something every surgeon knows well. But the palpitations intensified, followed by slight dizziness, then that crushing sensation in your chest, as if your own heart was fighting against you. You eventually ran a series of tests, discreetly, hoping it was nothing.

But the results didn’t lie: severe dilated cardiomyopathy. Your heart, your most precious instrument, the one that allowed you to save lives day after day, was betraying you. But you refused to believe it.

Today, as you sat in House’s office, surrounded by his diagnostic team, you were desperately searching for a way out, an alternative explanation. Something that would prove this was all a mistake. After all, you were a doctor, you knew diagnoses were never infallible.

"I want your opinion," you finally said, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from what was coming next. "I did my own tests, but I want to be sure. Maybe I'm too involved to see things clearly."

House looked up, intrigued by your direct tone. "Too involved? You mean, too much in denial."

Cameron stepped forward to review your results, her eyes scanning every detail. "The echocardiograms clearly show dilatation of the heart chambers. You already have a heart murmur, you’ve felt it, haven’t you?"

You frowned, hesitating to respond. Of course you had felt it. But admitting it would make everything more real.

"I want to believe it’s something else," you murmured, your voice betraying, for the first time, a hint of vulnerability. "I’m a surgeon. I can’t... afford to have a failing heart."

Foreman shook his head, pragmatic as always. "You can’t afford not to act either. If you let this get worse, you won’t even have the chance to enter the operating room next time."

You looked away, your throat tight. Fear was rising inside you, a fear you hadn’t felt in a long time. You had always been able to control everything, every incision, every move. But now, it was your own body slipping through your fingers.

House, as always, wasted no time twisting the knife.

"It’s fascinating. You’d rather believe that all this will resolve itself, as if your heart is just going to miraculously decide to heal. Spoiler alert: it won’t." He tilted his head, scrutinizing your face. "But I’m curious. Why consult my team if you’ve already done the tests yourself? Looking for validation or an excuse to do nothing?"

His sarcasm irritated you, but you knew he was right. "Because I want... I want to be sure."

"Sure of what? That you’re dying? Let me confirm it for you, you are. Now that’s settled, we can move on to the next step: you’re refusing the only solution that could save you because you’re afraid of losing control. Interesting, but not surprising."

"I’m not afraid," you retorted, more to convince yourself than to answer him.

House didn’t believe you for a second. He moved closer, leaning his cane against the edge of his desk.

"You’re lying to yourself." His gaze pierced through yours, as if he could see past all your defenses. "You’ve seen how many transplants fail. But you’ve also seen how many succeed. So why condemn yourself when you know you have a chance to make it?"

Silence fell over the room. His words struck you deeper than you wanted to admit. You had spent months running from this reality, pretending it was just a passing episode. But here you were, sitting in front of specialists who left you no escape. That’s when House chose to play his final card.

"I’m going to ask you a very simple question." He sat back behind his desk, tapping the file of his favorite patient: you. "Do you want to die just to stay loyal to your own arrogance? Or do you want to live long enough to annoy me even more?"

You felt a strange warmth rising to your cheeks. House hadn’t spoken those words with his usual cynicism. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you knew he genuinely cared about you. And that thought unsettled you more than anything else.

You lowered your eyes to your trembling hands. You were a surgeon, a strong person. Yet, for the first time in a long while, you felt vulnerable. And House had seen it from the very beginning.

The silence in House’s office was heavy after the intense discussion about your condition. The diagnosis was now certain: a heart transplant was your only chance. Yet, one question remained, one that had been haunting you. If you were really going to undergo this operation, there was only one person you trusted enough to put your life in their hands: House.

So, in a rare moment of vulnerability, you took a deep breath and asked the question you had been dreading from the start.

"I want it to be you. You’ll be my surgeon."

The team exchanged stunned glances. House, however, remained silent for a moment, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. Then he let out a dry laugh.

"Me? No. Bad idea. Very bad idea."

You frowned, stung by his reaction. "Why? You’re one of the best doctors I know."

House straightened up, pressing his cane against the floor before fixing you with an unusually serious look. "I’m not a surgeon. I diagnose. I play with ideas, I take risks, but I don’t hold a scalpel over living patients. I don’t do surgeries."

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He was so confident, so skilled at solving impossible cases, and yet, here in front of you, he seemed hesitant. You stepped closer to him, determined to understand.

"Are you afraid of messing up?" you asked, your voice low but sharp.

House let out a sarcastic laugh, but you sensed a certain nervousness behind his tone. "No, I’m afraid of killing someone because of my damn leg and my trembling hands. If you want someone to do this surgery without screwing it up, ask a real surgeon."

His rejection hurt you deeply. You had opened up to him, and he was pushing you away without a moment’s hesitation. You felt anger rising within you, mixed with the pain of a feeling you didn’t want to name.

"I thought I could trust you," you whispered, your eyes burning with disappointment. "But I see I was wrong."

Before he could respond, you turned on your heels and left the office, leaving House and the team behind. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as you walked towards your own uncertain future. Your heart was pounding painfully, both physically and emotionally. He had rejected you when you had offered him your fragile trust.

A few days later, you found yourself in the pre-op room, your face calm, but your mind in turmoil with conflicting emotions. You had finally accepted the transplant, even though it terrified you. Another surgeon had been assigned for the operation, a competent colleague, but not House. His refusal still haunted you, the abrupt way he had pushed you away, as if your life meant nothing to him.

The medical team busied themselves around you, but all you could hear was a dull hum, lost in your thoughts. An anesthesiologist approached, and as you lay down on the operating table, a strange sense of calm washed over you.

Then, in the haze of preparation, something caught your attention. A voice, familiar, behind the masks and caps.

"Start the anesthesia. We’re going ahead with the transplant."

You weakly opened your eyes. It was House.

Your heart skipped a beat, as if, even before the surgery, he already knew how to unsettle you. You tried to move, to speak, but the anesthesia was already taking effect. Everything became blurry, but you heard his voice clearly, that deep, slightly rough voice that comforted you despite yourself.

"Sleep now, it'll be fine. You’ll be alive to yell at me later."

Then total darkness.

You woke up in a hospital room. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, and you felt a dull ache in your chest. But more than that, you felt your heart beating. A new heart. A strange sensation, both comforting and unsettling.

You slowly turned your head, and to your surprise, you saw House sitting in the corner of the room, his gaze fixed on you. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes locked on yours with a new intensity, almost worried.

"I knew you were stubborn, but you really outdid yourself this time," he said, without a hint of humor.

You looked at him, still too weak to speak. Then, slowly, you remembered what had happened before the surgery. He had refused. You had been hurt. But now, he was here.

"You... operated on me?" you finally murmured, your voice hoarse.

House gave a slight nod, avoiding your gaze for a moment. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice, apparently. Everyone’s incompetent except me." But there was something else in his voice, an unspoken admission.

You tried to sit up, but the pain in your chest made you wince. House immediately stood up and moved closer to you. "Take your time. Don’t be stupid."

You stared at him, still in shock from what you had just discovered. "Why? Why did you do it when you said you didn’t want to?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because..." He paused, searching for the right words. That wasn’t like him. "Because I couldn’t let another surgeon kill you. If someone was going to save you or lose you, it had to be me."

He looked straight into your eyes, and this time, you saw the fear behind his usual cynicism. The fear of losing you, the fear of failing. It wasn’t just about the surgery, it was about feelings, the ones he didn’t want to admit, but which were so clear in that suspended moment.

"You were scared," you said softly, a slight smile on your lips. House looked away, grumbling. "I’m not afraid of anything. I’m just smarter than everyone else."

But you knew. You knew he had taken this risk because he cared about you, even if he would never say it outright. You placed your hand on his, a simple gesture, but one that spoke for you. And, against all odds, he didn’t pull his hand away.

The days following the surgery were filled with moments of uncertainty and relief. Each steady beat of your new heart was a promise that life would go on, a victory against fate. But something lingered, like a palpable tension between you and House. He came to see you almost every day, always with his usual sarcasm, but something had changed.

That morning, you woke up with the same familiar pain in your chest, but this time it was different — the pain of healing. You slowly sat up in your bed, observing the soft light filtering through the hospital curtains. Your body was still weak, but each day felt like a small victory. And despite the fatigue, you were more clear-headed than ever.

The door to your room opened gently, and of course, House walked in, leaning on his cane with that familiar limp you knew so well. He stared at you for a moment, as if assessing your condition, then casually remarked:

"How’s my favorite patient? Still alive, apparently."

You managed a smile, even though part of you still wondered why he could never be serious for more than a few seconds. "I’m doing well, Greg. And you know it."

He raised an eyebrow at the sound of his name. That wasn’t something you used often. Usually, you always called him "House," like everyone else.

He came closer and sat in the chair next to your bed, letting out a sigh. "Well, that’s good news. I would have hated to explain to the team that I messed up my best patient. That would be bad for my reputation."

You knew he used humor to mask something deeper. A silence settled in, almost comfortable, but filled with unspoken words.

"Why did you decide to operate on me?" you finally asked, breaking the silence. "I hurt you when I asked, but you did it anyway."

House looked away, as he often did when faced with a question that was too personal. He tapped his cane against the floor, searching for words or perhaps a way to sidestep the answer.

"It was a challenge. I couldn’t let another surgeon handle such a complex operation, especially on someone as annoying as you." He smiled, but his gaze betrayed something else, something more sincere. "And I guess I was a little afraid you’d slip away from me."

This confession took you by surprise. You knew House wasn’t the type to openly express his emotions, especially not with such direct words. You watched him in silence, your thoughts swirling. He had taken a huge risk by operating on you, not just medically, but emotionally.

"I’m not going to slip away from you, Greg," you murmured. "Not now."

His eyes settled on you, softer than usual. "Not now," he repeated, almost to himself.

Initially, it was supposed to be temporary. Just long enough for you to fully recover from the surgery, for your body to adjust to the new heart, and for you to be closely monitored, "just in case." House had insisted, almost casually, on this option.

"It would be stupid to leave you alone. If something goes wrong, I’d rather have you in my sight, not on the other side of town," he had said, as if the decision was purely pragmatic.

You had hesitated. Living at House's, even temporarily, seemed risky, given the complexity of your relationship. But somewhere, you felt that beneath his usual cynicism, he genuinely cared about you. So you had agreed, thinking it would last just a few days, maybe a week or two.

The first night at his place was strange. His apartment, which you had visited a few times before, felt more welcoming than you had imagined. A blend of old and modern, of perfectly organized chaos, typical of House. Medical books stacked everywhere, piano sheets scattered about, whiskey bottles casually left on the coffee table. You felt like an intruder in his space, but he made no effort to make you feel otherwise.

"Make yourself at home. I don’t have silk pillows or almond milk, but there’s unlimited Ibuprofen," he had said, settling onto his couch with a glass of whiskey.

That first night was calm. House kept an eye on you from the corner of his gaze, even though he pretended to be absorbed in an old documentary. Despite the strangeness of the situation, a certain serenity had settled in.

The next day, as you began to get used to this new arrangement, someone knocked at the door. You weren’t expecting visitors, especially not this early in the morning. House, already up (for once), went to open it, and you immediately recognized the familiar voice of James Wilson.

"Hey, House, I brought donuts. I wanted to talk to you about a case..." His voice cut off abruptly as he entered the living room and saw you sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in hand.

The silence that followed was almost comical. Wilson looked at you, then at House, then back at you, as if he had stumbled upon a scene he couldn’t quite comprehend.

"What the... ? What are you doing here?"

You gave a slight smile, a bit embarrassed, while House, completely unfazed, grabbed one of the boxes of donuts that Wilson had brought.

"She lives here. Well, temporarily," House replied before taking a bite out of a donut, as if the situation was perfectly normal.

Wilson stood there, speechless for several seconds. "You... you let her live with you? You?"

House shrugged. "It’s easier for post-operative monitoring. And besides, she’s not unbearable. Well, not all the time."

Wilson blinked, still in shock. He slowly sat down on a chair, setting down the other box of donuts. "That... that’s so unlike you, Greg."

"Well, maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe it’s just convenient." House made a dismissive gesture, but you could see that even for him, this situation was still new.

Wilson gave you a questioning look, searching for answers. You simply shrugged, an amused smile on your lips. "It’s temporary, really."

Wilson shook his head, clearly disturbed but also amused. "If you tell me he let you choose a movie last night, I think I’m going to faint."

You laughed lightly, and even House cracked a small smile, despite himself. The tension slowly faded, and Wilson relaxed, even though he continued to shoot you incredulous glances from time to time.

Days passed, and what was supposed to be a temporary arrangement stretched on longer than expected. There was no specific date for your departure, and House didn’t seem in a hurry to see you go. In fact, he even seemed to enjoy your presence, even if he categorically refused to admit it.

One evening, as you settled into the couch with a blanket over your knees, House sat down next to you without a word. He turned on the TV and flipped through channels until he found an old black-and-white movie. It had become a routine: you spent the evenings together, sometimes in silence, sometimes exchanging sarcastic comments about what you were watching.

It was in this tranquility that Wilson made his second appearance at House's place.

"I brought wine," he announced as he walked in, looking noticeably more comfortable with the situation this time.

You smiled, shifting a bit to make room for him. House raised an eyebrow. "Wine? Since when do you bring wine to my place?"

Wilson shrugged. "I thought we could celebrate... I don’t know, this strange normality?" He glanced at you as if to make sure everything was okay.

The evening went off without a hitch. The wine flowed, sarcasm flew, and Wilson, despite his more serious habits, allowed himself to be caught up in the relaxed atmosphere. The movies changed on the screen, but soon it was the discussions that took over.

"I have to say, I’m still surprised you let her stay," Wilson remarked, casting a glance at House.

House, lounging casually on the couch, responded without really looking at Wilson. "It’s not so bad. She doesn’t bother me too much. Unlike you."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I bring you wine, I do my best not to invade your space, and this is how you thank me."

You laughed, shaking your head. "He doesn’t know how to do anything else, James. You know him."

"That’s true," Wilson replied with a smile. "But anyway, I’m glad you’re recovering well. He seems to be taking good care of you."

You turned to House, who was clearly avoiding your gaze. "He’s doing what he can," you said softly, but with a smile in your voice.

House pretended not to hear, focusing on the television. But in his silences, you could feel that he was getting used to this new life.

Days passed, and what was supposed to be a temporary living arrangement quietly settled into a routine. Little by little, you had begun to integrate into House's daily life, and he, without a word, had allowed you to do so.

One evening, after a long day at the hospital, you got home before him. House had sent you a terse message: "I’ll be late. Bistro operation in the kitchen." You smiled at his words, already imagining what that meant.

Tired but determined not to let it get you down, you began rummaging through House's kitchen cabinets. He had everything, but nothing was in its place. A controlled chaos that, surprisingly, made sense to you. You grabbed some vegetables and an old skillet, determined to prepare something before his return. The kitchen was a place where you could lose yourself in simple tasks, away from the complexities of your work as a surgeon.

A few dozen minutes later, as you were focused on a sauce you were preparing, the door opened. House entered, looking tired but intrigued by the aromas wafting from the kitchen.

"Are you pretending to be a chef now?" he said as he approached you.

You smiled without turning around, continuing to stir the sauce. "I thought it would be a change from pizza boxes and whiskey."

House leaned in slightly to smell what you were making, nodding his head in approval. "I suppose that works for me. But if it’s bad, you’ll hear me complain for days."

You chuckled softly, knowing very well he meant it half-seriously. He made no attempt to push you away from the kitchen; on the contrary, he grabbed a knife and started slicing the bread, his movements precise despite the cane that always lingered nearby.

The scene was almost domestic. House, with his usual sarcasm, and you, focused on your sauce. You didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a certain peace in these simple moments. You sensed that he was getting used to this new dynamic, even though he was still incapable of admitting it out loud.

"I have to admit," he finally said, slicing a piece of bread, "you’re not doing too badly for a surgeon. Maybe it’s time to change careers."

You gave him an amused look. "You say that now, but just wait until you taste it."

"Oh, I fully intend to critique every bite."

He was smiling slightly, but you could feel the bond growing a little stronger with each shared meal, each simple task completed together.

It had been a long time since you had left the operating room, but you didn’t miss your home at all, and House understood that... well, House is House.

A few weeks later, after several similar evenings, you had finally made official what was happening between you. It hadn’t been a grand romantic declaration, far from it. As with everything involving House, things had evolved naturally, in a sort of unspoken agreement that was becoming clearer and clearer. One evening, as you were both settled on the couch, he had placed his hand over yours, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you mind if we drop the ‘temporary’?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the television screen.

You felt your heart race, even though the question was posed in that casual tone that characterized him. You squeezed his hand slightly in response, your smile overshadowing the answer you didn’t even need to say. Indeed, it was his way of asking you to be his girlfriend.

The following Monday, things were different, but not enough to shake up the universe of Princeton-Plainsboro. You had decided to keep nothing hidden, but without making it a topic of conversation. After all, it was impossible to hide anything from House’s team.

Wilson, of course, was the first to react. When he saw you enter the hospital together that morning, he furrowed his brow, an expression somewhere between amusement and surprise.

"So, it’s official? You finally made it official?"

True to form, House simply rolled his eyes. "Officially? If it makes you happy to label it that way, then yes."

Wilson smiled, a little too pleased with himself. "I knew this would happen, but I have to say, it’s impressive that you held out this long before admitting it."

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, amused by the dynamic between the two friends. "He has his moments of resistance," you added jokingly.

But the real test came when you arrived in the diagnostic room, where House’s team was already gathered. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman were discussing a new case, but they all looked up when you walked in together.

Chase was the first to react, his eternal smirk in place. "Oh, I see. That’s why we all stayed until midnight last week. You had ‘personal’ plans."

House stopped, crossing his arms with a piercing look. "You’re right, Chase. And if you keep talking, you’ll end up with the chore of sanding the autopsy room again. Unless, of course, you want to find yourself a social life."

Foreman cracked a playful smile while Cameron seemed half-surprised, half-envious. "So... you’re together?" she asked with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

You exchanged a glance with House. You hadn’t discussed how you were going to handle this with the rest of the team, but it seemed it was already out in the open.

"Yes," you replied simply, with confidence. "We’re together."

Without missing a beat, House added with a smirk, "But don’t worry. It’s not going to affect my desire to make your lives miserable."

You had gotten into the habit of cooking together from time to time, even though House continued to tease you about your culinary skills. You also spent many quiet evenings talking about everything and nothing or simply watching movies in silence.

One evening, as you were chopping vegetables in the kitchen, House approached you and set a glass of wine on the counter.

"Looks like we’ve become boring, huh?"

You laughed softly, setting down the knife. "If that’s what you call boring, I’m perfectly fine with that."

He looked at you, a smile softer than usual on his lips. "Well, as long as you’re okay with it, I guess I can get used to the boredom."

It was the first time he admitted, without sarcasm or dark humor, that he enjoyed this new life together. And you knew that behind his facade was a man deeply attached, even if he showed it in his own way.

[darkwing-ramblings]

What makes a happy silmaril?

For context we must consider that the silmarils are written as living is not intelligent beings in a way and that they were derived of trees and so are a probable never-before-seen-gem-plant-hybrid-creature-with-opinions-just-no-mobility. Also I am @darkwinganimus by another name, to be clear, and this moves a previous discussion @eri-pl and I were having in the replies of one of their posts over to a format with no restrictively frustrating word limitation.

As @eri-pl puts in their Silmarillion reread part 6: "They loked like diamonds, so canonically white-ish. their fire is made of mixed Treelight, so I would assume warm white is canon.

They shone like stars of Varda but had real life inside — I really need this in English! OK, I googled it.

OH. Something else but: "he pondered how the light of the Trees, the glory of the Blessed Realm, might be preserved imperishable" — It may be me jumping on things + Tolkien's poetical wording, but this seems like a strong suggestion of "Fefe wanted to jump higher than his head" (he was not the first one) and sheds a light (pun intended) on his sttitude towards the Silmarils later.

Anyway back to that part about life: "and yet, as were they indeed living things, they rejoiced in light" So they are living things, not just "like" living things. Silmarills = baby Trees is canon! (OK, somewhat canon? but they *are* alive, and by logic they must be bred not made-in-the-strict-sense by Feanor)

So they glow by themselves with warm white, but also they are iridescent like diamonds. Beautiful indeed."

(Opinions such as disliking Morgoth then Carcaroth enough to burn him when the former wore them in his underground torture fortress Angband and the latter rudely ate them).

Anyway, the discussion points I actually want to raise are below, now that the nature of the silmarils are established as probably-living- beyond the possibility of poetic and figurative language along those veins merely sounding cool- is explained:

@eri-pl Hmm, okay, so per your reply attached to this post "Melkor (to be precise this was his name at that point :D ) wanted to kill Feanor anyway. He thought Feanor would be home too, iirc from the book. And still, Fefe could have worn them to a well-guarded situations, at least. But he was too paranoid." let's imagine Feanor takes the measure of no vault and just wears the silmarils everywhere, because he's pretty sure no one else distrusts Melkor enough to be sufficiently on guard. Melkor now has no reason to attack Formenos during the party so I don't know waits to ambush Feanor travelling on the road back from it, directing Ungoliant at the trees for a distraction etc and stealing the silmarils+killing Feanor as planned. Good for Melkor he achieves all his goals.

I humbly ask how this then might end up in your opinion better for the silmarils in question, aside from more time outside out and about Aman in sun years per your "Feanor wearing them might have ended up better for them anyway. At least he could have worn them to well-defended occasions (like That One Party), but he didn't because he was paranoid about the normal Valar too.". Because without Feanor and with Finwe alive there a question of if the flight of the noldor even happens afterwards- which they were agitating let's assume so and skip the how-that-happens/goes for now- and about the oath.

Now the oath is terrible for most beings involved, yes, but is it terrible for the silmarils themselves? It's a force of dedicated warriors specifically trying to retrieve them from Melkor their evil abductor- a force of dedicated warriors who make their retrieval from Morgoth so fraught a topic Thingol invokes it in an arguably rash and spur of the moment to Beren arguably meaning "I-would-see-you-dead-before-I-give-permission-for-you-to-marry-my-beloved-daughter-go-die-to-Morgoth-and/or-the-feanorians-over-a-silmaril".

It sees one of them get out of Angband in the hands of Beren and Luthien and enjoy free-range-ish years in the open then ultimately make it to Earendil upon Vingilot's prow. Earendil and Elwing's arrival with said stolen silmaril also helps petition aid from the valar in the war of wrath successfully leading to one ending up in the ocean (not terrible for pseudo-plant-gem-creatures as an environment) and a random volcano that maybe also got swallowed by the sea (at least there's no Melkor and it has possible gem-friends in its volcano). If there is no oath all of the latter is in question and whilst things could end better for the silmarils probably (and definitely those who died because of the oath on both sides, but that's not the focus here) they could also end up worse.

Now, Feanor's son's swear the oath of their own initiative when he begins to but on their own with him dead it's not exactly assured say Kanafinwe is going to see to it a very similar one is made.

I understand entirely that it is a lot of words however so won't be offended if you'd rather call it a day/don't actually read this all. Either way putting it together in one place has pleased me greatly whether any response, staggered yay or nay, results.

[catboygirljoker]

fun writing tip: you can justify making your blorbos as good at sex as you want if you also make it depressing

i will try not to be too graphic or horny and keep it mostly to character study analysis themes core motivations plot conflicts etc type discussion. still, id really prefer that folks under 18 do not interact with me on this post or about this topic in general, thanks!

for obvious reasons this post is gonna have a cut

UNLIKE HIS DIIIIICK [EXTREMELY LOUD AIRHORNS]

. sorry i just feel like hed appreciate that joke. uh anyway

Brief discussions of: BDSM, including sadomasochism; edgeplay; derealization/dysphoria; self-destructive recklessness in a sexual context.

ok. so there's this fictional guy. and i kiiiiiiind of have a crush on him. and i'm a basic bitch, so, like, obviously, when i think about him hornystyle, i want to imagine him being good at sex.

the thing is, "good at sex" is not always a particularly interesting trait to give a character! it can often be an eyerolling power fantasy trait. like "this is my oc Chuck Dongburger he has a ten pound cock and can make a babe cum just by lookin at her" yknow. it's a trait that, handled incorrectly, is more likely to flatten conflict than create it—more likely to make stories more boring than to make them more interesting.

also, "being good at sex" isnt a magical blessing that descends upon someone by chance. it is a quality that stems from a set of experiences and traits. it is a skill that one develops, or fails to develop.

so the question is, how do i justify him being good at sex? how do i make it feel believable and interesting?

the answer is simple! make it depressing! (that is, relate it directly to the character's central themes and conflicts, and therefore make it a natural part of/inclusion in their story)

in canon, xigbar has had multiple bodies, lost his heart multiple times, allowed himself to be a vessel for darkness on multiple occasions. he has endured all of this to carry out the will of his masters. every social role we've ever seen him take has been subservient to someone else, even if it has usually also involved social power over others, too.

here are the sex/relationship headcanons i have that expand on this:

related to: gender/sexuality

bisexual. for starters. obviously. his transness i have Deep Headcanons about, but his bisexuality is just "idk im bi so hes bi hee hee"

luxu is a binary trans man who experienced severe dysphoria in his original body and never felt like that body really belonged to him in the first place. to the best of his ability he has only chosen cis male vessels, including braig. in those cases he feels extreme disconnect from his body but not [very noticeable] gender dysphoria. the only thing connecting him to his cis male bodies is his sexual characteristics. theres this great art piece that has never left my brain that conveys the idea im going for. his face his hair his bones none of those are his, none of thise feel real, none of those feel right. but what does feel right is his dick.

related to: him being Good at Sex™

he is Very Experienced. he's tried a lot of shit and had a lot of bodies and largely had nothing better to do than be a horndog and kill time suckin and fuckin. he is down for just about anything with just about anybody. he knows how bodies work and knows how to deal with the exceptions and roll with awkwardness and uncomfortableness.

he is pretty good at reading people—it's a skill he has had to develop over his lifetime. he is sometimes wrong, but usually right, and reading people, understanding them, lets him feel like he has some kind of control or power over them. this is relevant because this is part of what makes him Good at Sex. he is shockingly responsive and attentive; not completely unselfish as a lover, but he won't blindly exert his will onto the other person and expect them to respond just because he has a big dick or is going faster or harder or whatever.

related to: his backstory as luxu

sex for him is a means of exerting control over the world, proving his own competence and worth to himself and another person, gaining some simulacrum of human connection, distracting himself from his derealization, grounding himself in his body, expressing and claiming his masculinity. all things, i headcanon, he also achieves (or seeks/has sought to achieve) from keyblade mastery.

he views his bodies as disposable, and knowing that he can just jump ship if he totals a body means that he processes pain differently than most people. not in a "all pain makes him horny" way*—it's more that pain doesn't make his self-preservation kick in the same way it does for other people. in bdsm/kink settings he is a masochist [as well as a sadist] and more reckless with edgeplay (when it comes to himself) than he really ought to be.

obviously i have specific personal motivation for wanting to headcanon this (he and his body are both Significantly Older Than Me) but i don't think he's too bothered by an age gap. some people it makes sense to me to imagine that they'd really want to date within their age and maturity range, but i think xigbar's chill as long as the person he's dating is a self-posessed adult. considering how long he's been alive, he's gonna have a significant gap in experience with ANYBODY; there isn't that much of a difference between him dating a 25 year old vs a 45 or 85 year old.

he has told close romantic partners about his Whole Deal before. it has never gone well. ("what do you mean youve been moving into random people's bodies in order to stay alive long enough to bring back a guy who intentionally manipulated his students into killing all of their students via senseless war??") they never understand and he doesn't know why they don't understand (i also headcanon him having severe cognitive dissonance vis a vis the MoM but that's a different post). his instinct is to put up a wall and go "well theyre just naive and stupid and haven't seen what i've seen, theyre too sentimental to understand this". he still keeps trying (if with less frequency) because he is desperate for someone to understand.

*i want to make this crystal clear: i do not headcanon xigbar as being automatically turned on by receiving or causing pain in every context, because he is a boss in a video game franchise where he fights teenagers. i am not comfortable sexualizing those fights!

(i do however think there are contexts where he might indulge in some "battle sadomasochism" when fighting another adult—maybe he makes it weird for them on purpose to fuck with them, maybe they're both into it and it's all foreplay, etc)

related to: him being subservient

youd think that when i talked about him being subservient to others, i was building up to a headcanon about him being a sub. however it feels most correct [and fun] to me to imagine him being a dom-leaning switch vers (doesnt get dysphoria from bottoming because. prostate). social role and personal dynamics dont necessarily correspond to sexual dynamics!

the headcanon i was actually building up to was that he craves affirmation in specific ways from specific people. he is desperate for someone else to give him worth. he wants to do a good job serving an authority he deems worthy of respect. he wants to be useful, he wants to serve a purpose and have a role. he hates feeling like he needs something from someone else, and feels much more comfortable if they need something from him.

he doesn't have a praise kink in a traditional sense, but he does really get his rocks off from being Good At Sex and from his lovers clearly and obviously enjoying themselves. he doesn't wanna be told hes done a good job, he wants to know, to tell from experience that he's blown someone's mind.

furthermore, in romance, he becomes a massive simp. if he likes someone enough to fall for them then they hang the fucking moon for him. he is outside in the rain crying throwing up begging for a sniff. absolutely pathetic. its not a total transformation of personality, i think he'd really hide it and really want to hide it. but i think in most situations it'd be subtle but observable. every joke he makes is directed to them and checked against their reaction; he stands at a middle distance outside of conversation kinda watching them, observing every move, memorizing their gestures and tics and quirks. he feels i love you before the first date but won't say it until five years into the relationship.

related to: i couldnt put it in the other sections and i really only made these section headers so it wasnt just big walls of text oops

he's a low empathy emotionally constipated bitch at the best of times, so he substitutes emotional intimacy with physical intimacy. picking up people at bars or dances or what have you for one night stands, satisfying them thoroughly, and then immediately dropping out of their lives.

he actively avoids romance (and any emotional closeness, including the completely platonic kind). but he hasn't always been this way. i think Dark Road was the most recent in a long long string of experiences where he lost people he was close to. he's tired of hurting people and getting hurt.

. im not gonna get into it because im trying not to be like too too horny in this post but hes So fucking brat tamer coded to me. i think you will understand at least the surface level reasons for this. i guess if i wanted to relate it to Themes i'd say something like "there is a specific romantic and sexual fantasy in being an asshole and even hurting someone and them still wanting you and trusting you and loving you and even enjoying it" but. well we dont need to go there do we

these are just the Depressing / Character-Related / Themes-y headcanons. some of my headcanons are just like "i think this would be funny and/or in character and/or hot" but you see how long this list is anyway. if i started in on all of that then we'd be here forever.

also, these are just headcanons! they're informed by analysis but shaped heavily by what appeals to me personally, what i find hot, what i find compelling about his character. if your headcanons for him differ from mine in any way, i don't think you're Wrong, because we're talking about the sexuality of a guy who comes from a video game franchise where characters are barely allowed to hold hands. this is all just toys and playing

anyway thank you for reading this post lmao its so long

JUST LIKE HIS DIIIIIIIIIIII—

[dehvils]

@rcckstars 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 : ❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜ ——— （ AN ASSORTMENT OF DIALOGUE ⟋ ACCEPTING ）

˘　　　　DARK EYES SCAN THE OTHERS FACE FOR A MOMENT 　﹐ rafael &. books were fairly simple , they existed &. if life managed to slow down &. offer a rare moment of peace , he picked one up . that's where it started &. finished , there wasn't an ounce of passion within him regarding them , no excitement , no investment - for him , he read because he could - his mother wasn't literate , nor was his father - the only reason rafael had the ability was because his local church offered lessons for kids in the area - learning was hard , it was complicated , frustrating , but he came out the other side with a skill that was a luxury to most , meaning there was a sense of obligation to not become complacent .

❛ never understood books . ❜ he admitted , though despite his own neutral stance on the topic , he understood where jack was coming from ; books were simple , predictable - there was a beginning , middle &. an end . . . it's a sense of structure while getting away from the life around you ; those points were exactly why rafael couldn't call himself a real fan of the things ; it felt empty , nothing but words prattling on for several pages until it's end , it was a bore . perhaps it was because of the life lived , nothing can compare to experience - that included other people , rafael wasn't fond of them ; couldn't claim to care about thm , however there was still a charm to be had in their existence ❛ you've gotta have met some fucked up people to give more of a shit about books , though . ❜

[enden-k]

At some point I will def start writing love letters to him, so I hope you're mentally prepared

-anon that proposed to Kaveh

please dont send them to me, i dont wanna come off as mean but i genuinely dont know how to respond anymore to smth like this and i dont wanna keep continuing feeling stressed and uncomfy on this blog anymore

[bisxualbucky]

x

[13eyond13]

.

[dutybcrne]

Kaveh definitely wants at least one child of his own. Partially to continue his family line, partially bc he himself loves the idea of having a family of his own. He would however like to move out of Alhaitham’s place before he even dares consider getting a partner to begin with. And the longer he stays there, the more stress he feels thinking about it. He even has sketched out nursery ideas and plans on how to raise them all set to go, if only he'd get out of debt fast enough-

Furina also really wants to have a child of her own. She adores seeing the families around Fontaine, and has dreamed a great deal what parenthood would be like. Nothing brings her joy than when children about Fontaine invite her to join in on the little games they are playing, leaving her giddy and smiling bright as sunshine on her way home. Of course she knows that to be a parent, she really has to get her shit together. One can't just rear a child on macaroni and residual payments, after all.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[aropride]

MAYBE IT WOULD STRENGTHEN THE STORY IF THEY GOT TOGETHER ACTUALLY 🖕

[stonerzelda]

every time i get into skyrim again i always get to like level 10 and then get a new idea and restart with aNother character but NOW im yearning for my very first skyrim file who was the base inspiration for what layer became Mystria, only i never named her bc i fucked up on the character creation and didnt wanna lose the way i made her look (13 yr old me tried so hard to make her look like myself LOL and ig i succeeded bc she looked like how i imagine ill look at like. 35 lol she ended up looking very stoic and jaded) however the question is do i wanna visit my parents only to use the ps3 just so i can revisit that file

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room