#there are too many characters for me to want to tag them tbh

[darcymariaphoster]

Hetalia/Hunger Games Crossover

I'd originally started this for a friend some years ago, but I lost that friendship and the motivation to write this. It was a behemoth of a concept to start with, which is why I'd decided to rush the beginning and focus mostly on the games. According to the notes I made for this, I didn't actually create most of this cast -- I'd sent my friend vague character notes and asked them to assign a Hetalia character to each one and then built the cast off of that. Which is kind of a cool concept for a gift for a friend, tbh. This was when I was still into Hetalia the first time, so it's actually not Nordic-centric for once. 😅

Below are notes and the beginnings of the idea.

This was written in 2014. (Someone tell me they can tell a difference in my writing from 10 years ago to now. 😭😂)

Happy readings!

CHEAT SHEET

District 1 *career*: [luxury items] Francis Bonnefoy & Matthew Williams

District 2 *career*: [masonry, weapons, trains] Arthur Kirkland & Elizabeta Héderváry

District 3: [electronics, mechanical] Kiku Honda & Heracles Karpusi

District 4 *career*: [fishing] Lovino Basile & Antonio Carriedo

District 5: [power] Lars Janssen & Amelie Lemmens

District 6: [transportation] Peter Dalton & Basch Zwingli

District 7: [lumber] Berwald Oxenstierna & Tino Väinamöinen

District 8: [textiles (clothes)] Roderich Edelstein & Gilbert Beilschmidt

District 9: [grain] Belle Vogel & Chloe Walker

District 10: [livestock] Wynn Taylor & Demarco Hughes

District 11: [agriculture] Sadiq Adnan & Gupta Hassan

District 12: [coal] Ludwig Glockner & Alfred Jones

→District 13: [nuclear weapons]←

Ludwig’s little brother: Alarick Glockner

Person at home who is in love with Ludwig: Feliciano Vargas

Previous Victor: Markus Marino

“Effie Trinket”: Jakob Sigurdsson

Personal Designer: Feliks Łukasiewicz

Game-Maker: Yao Wang

President: Ivan Braginski

Host: Mathias Densen

~

[Cheat for names:

Chloe: Wy

Amelie: Belgium

Belle: Liechtenstein

Mathias: Denmark

Alarick: HRE

Markus: Grandpa Rome

Jakob: Iceland

Wynn: Australia

Demarco: New Zealand

Lars: Netherlands]

~~

The Reaping

I stare around town, standing on my front porch. Light is barely breaching the horizon, dyeing the wispy clouds orange and pink while it casts an eerie glow across the land. A few people are already up -- mainly the miners, along with the butcher and baker -- but I know the rest of the town is trying to avoid the inevitable. The Reaping is today and everyone dreads it. Every year it happens; the same person -- Jakob Sigurdsson -- comes in, all dressed up in his Capitol clothes; two people are picked to represent the District. He always makes it sound like a good thing, something to be proud of, when you’re picked. And for a select few Districts, it is. But we aren’t one of those few and we see the Hunger Games for what they are -- a slaughter.

My District -- District 12 -- is one of the poorest in Panem. Nicknamed the Seam, we produce coal for our country. The entire town always seems to be covered in a thick layer of coal dust, making it look dull and grey. I watch the miners make their daily trek from home to the mines, most carrying lunch-pails but not everyone. All look tired, worn, done. I don’t know what it takes to be a miner, not really. Thought my father was one, I barely remember his schedule and his exhausted face is fading from my memory. Instead of spending all my days in the mine, I get up early to do a different task but one no less important.

I hunt.

Hunting is technically illegal because it’s past our borders that all the animals dwell. But even Peacekeepers want fresh meat and are normally fairly willing to turn a blind eye if they get a cut. So I hunt and trade for other things my family needs.

Slowly, I wander through town, heading for the border. This “border” is just a ten-foot high wire fence with “Caution: Electric” signs posted here and there. And that’s an absolute joke, since our District is lucky to get more than two hours of electricity in the evenings. Still, as I approach the fence, I pause to listen for the hum that means the wire is live. When I’m sure it isn’t, I go to the bushes that hide the weak spot in the fence -- one of many; this one just happens to be closest to home. I crouch down and step through the hole.

Once beyond the fence, I jog to the first line of trees. Coming to the woods is a reprieve. While the town seems to lack color, the woods are full of it. Greens and browns of every shade surround me and I feel okay again. I retrieve my bow and arrows from a hollow log and head deeper into the security of the trees.

“Ludwig!” I turn my head toward the voice and spot my best friend, Feliciano, waving from a small break in the trees to my left. I smile slightly, something I only seem able to do around him now, and wander over to him. “I got something for us!”

“Funny, do did I,” I say, reaching into my pocket for the goat cheese my little brother had left on the table for me early this morning. My little brother, Alarick, owns a goat that I’m grateful for because it means cheese and milk we can either use or trade. Plus, it keeps Alarick busy now and again.

Feliciano beams at me as he produces a loaf of bread from behind his back. “Ta-da! Fresh from the bakery! I traded a squirrel for it!” he explains happily.

I momentarily forget about the cheese, too surprised by this amazing treat, as I take it from him. Most of the bread we make at home is different from the bakery's, being that the Capitol takes most of the wheat for their own bread, leaving oh so little for us. This is real bread; less dense and slightly sweeter. “He must be in a giving mood…” I mutter, my mouth watering. It’s still warm. I reluctantly hand it back.

He rips it in half and gives me a section. I pull out the cheese and we sit down. “Well, I think everyone wants to feel close again,” he muses, nibbling on the bread and cheese. I rip my section in half and pocket a portion, intending to share it with Alarick later. “Considering the day and all…”

“It’s a funny time to desire that,” I mutter, looking around. I spot a bush with some blackberries and stand, going over to collect a handful for us. I offer them to him as I sit again. “I mean, shouldn’t we want to feel that all the time, not just right before a death sentence?”

Feliciano sets a berry on top of a bite of cheese and pops it into his mouth. “Maybe we’re too scared to,” he says finally. “Maybe the idea is normally just too much but, on this day, we forget to be scared of the whole thing because we’re all too scared for ourselves and our families.” He looks at me. “It’s stupid, huh?”

“It’s probably true,” I sigh, picking at the bread. “How many times did you put your name in?”

He looks uncharacteristically upset for a moment, torn between a triumph and a sickening dread, as he admits, “Eighteen.” I gape at him, horrified. “I have my siblings to think about, just like you have Alarick. So how many times did you put yours in?”

I’m reluctant to reply. I feel a bit selfish, now. See, every time you enter your name into the Reaping, your rations temporarily go up. With six other siblings, Feliciano has reason to. But I only have my mother and brother. “Eleven,” I mumble and shove some cheese and a few berries into my mouth.

He laughs, my favorite sound in the world. “We’re horrible. Our chances are so high and we do this every year!” His smile is sad when I look at him. “Let’s just go. Let’s just run and run…”

“And go where?” I ask, wishing more than anything that I could be as optimistic as he is about the idea. But I know there’s nowhere to run.

“Anywhere,” he answers easily. “There’s got to be something else besides here.” He leans back, watching the trees quiver with the slight breeze. “Anything must be better than here…”

I nod thoughtfully. “Probably. But… What about Alarick? And your family? We can’t just leave them…”

He pulls his knees up to his chest and sighs deeply. “I know. We could take them with… Maybe in a few years, when the littlest can run.” He glances at me.

“But, for now, it’s the Reaping day,” I remind him. “And the odds are not in our favor.” The words are a twist on what Jakob always says before he draws names. We look at each other and smile. I almost laugh but the sound doesn’t quite make it to my lips.

x~x

Everyone is gathered in front of City Hall. Even the miners came home early for this. We’re all dressed in our best clothes. THe youngest group of only twelve years stands in the front of the crowd and it goes back until eighteen. Parents and children too young hover behind everyone else nervously. A giant screen has been erected off to the right of the City Hall building. We’re all waiting anxiously for Jakob to step onto the stage. The waiting part of this drives me crazy. They put on a big show just to draw names. Maybe that’s important to other Districts -- like the career Districts -- but for us, it seems like a waste of time. I shift restlessly from one foot to the other, until I bump into the girl next to me and receive a dirty look. But, finally, Jakob waltzes onto the stage and taps the microphone, smiling his tiny smile when we all cringe at the backfeed it gives off. The cameras all start rolling, some on the crowd, others on Jakob.

This year, Jakob is wearing a turquoise-blue suit with gold trim. He’s done up his eyes in a similar fashion, making the dull grey of his irises that much more noticeable. His ever-changing tattoos are gold swirls up his neck and on the sides of his face. He looks ridiculous to me but I know he must be in style in the Capitol because he’d never wear anything less. “Happy Hunger Games,” he purrs into the microphone. “And what a special time. This marks the 75th annual. Exciting, isn’t it?” No one so much as coughs in response. He’s kind of used to this now, though, and his expression doesn’t change. “Let’s go straight to the clip then, shall we? We’ve changed it a bit this year so I suggest you keep your eyes open.” The way his Capitol accent highlights the last part and how his eyes seem to sparkle a bit makes me shiver. I’ve imagined that Jakob had not originally wanted the job he’s got -- doing the Reaping for District 12 and showing the tributes how to live a short Capitol lifestyle. I’ve always thought he probably wanted to be a Game-Maker and the idea that he’d be good at it makes me glad he’s stuck with us.

The clip, a short history of Panam and why the Hunger Games are held, does not seem any different to me. Jakob’s expression changes ever so slightly, causing him to look completely blissed out. When the video ends, he stares back out at the crowd. “I love that. It’s so powerful,” he murmurs, and I’m not entirely convinced that he hasn’t momentarily forgotten the microphone in front of his mouth. “Now,” he says, seeming a bit more alive. “Let us get to what we’ve all been waiting for! Let’s draw some names. And, of course, may the odds be ever in your favor.” Everyone stands a bit taller, more rigid, as he walks to the bubble holding all the names. He spins it twice and the sound echoes. Then he reaches in and pulls out a slip of paper. He moves back in front of the microphone and unfolds it. No one is breathing. “Alarick Glockner,” he announces gleefully and everyone except me lets out a collective sigh of relief.

I stare at the twelve-year olds, picking out the shimmering blond of my brother’s hair easily as he steps forward with a prompt of, “Come on, don’t be shy,” from Jakob. He looks like he’s trembling.

Everything in me shuts down and so I feel nothing as I frantically push through the crowd shouting, “Alarick, no! I volunteer! No! I volunteer!” Peacekeepers try to stop me and I see Alarick look back at me, horror on his face. “I volunteer!” I scream, pushing against the Peacekeepers in an attempt to get to my brother.

Jakob stares at me consideringly. “Let him through,” he says at last and I’m released. I immediately run to Alarick and hug him briefly before passing him to Feliciano, who has appeared just as Alarick is getting hysterical. Still feeling rather numb, I hear Jakob call me forward; I walk on leaden legs onto the stage. As Jakob takes my arm and chirps, “What’s your name?” I remember the cameras broadcasting this to the entire nation live and feel sick.

Shakily, I answer, “Ludwig Glockner…”

He’s practically beaming. “I’ll bet that was your brother, eh?” I nod. “Well, very brave indeed. Ladies and gentlemen, District 12’s first volunteer!” While he claps, everyone else in the crowd touches three fingers to their lips and raise them into the air toward me. I don’t feel brave. I definitely feel like I might pass out. I know the sign they’re giving me and it scares me. It’s a sign of respect and -- more importantly -- a sign of passing within the Districts. It hasn’t been used, to my knowledge, since the mine blew up a decade ago. It’s almost rebellious.

I glance at Jakob, to gauge his reaction, and am surprised to see that he seems uncomfortable. Rather hurriedly, he declares, “Let’s draw the second name.” He goes back to the bubble and spins it twice before fishing for a slip of paper. He finally snatches one and steps back to the microphne. “Let’s see who will be joining Ludwig this year…” He unfolds it and reads the name, “Alfred Jones.”

A blond boy, around my age, slowly steps through the crowd and I try not to roll my eyes. His expression reads uncertainty and mild fear. He walks to the stage adjusting his glasses, and, when he does, his entire persona. By the time he’s standing beside me, he looks determined and taller than my first impression had suggested. “And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” Jakob announces cheerfully, his comfort level back to normal. “District 12’s tributes for the 75th annual Hunger Games!”

[hololucent]

hey… listen to burnt cook book party. and lets unravel the nature of time and space together

[cuteniaarts]

@katkastrofa, circa 40-ish hours ago: Hey, what if our newest bunch of OCs adopted a baby from one of the other brothel girls who knew she couldn’t afford to raise one? That would make for some fun shenanigans :D

Me, with a notoriously non existent sleep schedule, instinct of self preservation or concern for my poor wrist: Alright, bet. Watch how fast I can make you fall in love with this hypothetical baby >:)

Daneli as a gentle and loving caretaker-turned-adoptive-mother is something that can be So Personal, actually, and originally I was going to leave it at this quick sketch, but then I got carried away thinking about what this child will grow up to be like raised by this little gang of misfits, so…

Here she is!! A little older and so, so beautiful, I need more of her in my life immediately, she’s way too precious

And, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t also add a sapphic element to this absolute cinnamon roll, a small crack ship that I’m only half serious about for when she’s a little older still:

All in all, we may be getting impossibly far from canon, but I for one already cannot get enough of sweet darling Kumisai <3

(I fully drew three pieces from scratch in 9 hours I cannot feel my brain or my hands anymore send help)

[longagoitwastuesday]

So so indebted to u for posting those lovely illustrations from Cyrano <333 & even more so for yr tags!! I'm completely in love w yr analysis, please feel free to ramble as long as u wish! Browsing through yr Cyrano de Bergerac tag has given me glimpses of so many adaptations & translations I'd never heard of before! I'll be watching the Solès version next, which I have only discovered today through u ^_^ As for translations, have u read many/all of them? I've only encountered the Renauld & Burgess translations in the wild, & I was curious to hear yr translation thoughts that they might guide my decision on which one I buy first (not necessarily Renauld or Burgess ofc). Have a splendid day & sorry for the likespam! 💙

Sorry for the delay. Don't mind the likespam, I'm glad you enjoyed my tags about Cyrano, and that they could contribute a bit to a further appreciation of the play. I loved it a lot, I got obsessed with it for months. It's always nice to know other people deeply love too that which is loved haha I hope you enjoy the Solès version, it may well be my favourite one!

About translations, I'm touched you're asking me, but I don't really know whether mine is the best opinion to ask. I have read... four or five English translations iirc, the ones I could find online, and I do (and especially did, back when I was reading them) have a lot of opinions about them. However, nor English nor French are my first languages (they are third and fourth respectively, so not even close). I just read and compare translations because that's one of my favourite things to do.

The fact is that no translation is perfect, of course. I barely remember Renauld's, but I think it was quite literal; that's good for understanding the basics of the text, concepts and characters, but form is subject, and there's always something that escapes too literal translations. Thomas and Guillemard's if I recall correctly is similar to Hooker's in cadence. It had some beautiful fragments, some I preferred over Hooker's, but overall I think to recall I liked Hooker's more. If memory serves, Hooker's was the most traditionally poetic and beautiful in my opinion. Burgess' is a whole different thing, with its perks and drawbacks.

Something noticeable in the other translations is that they are too... "epic". They do well the poetic, sorrowful, grief stricken, crushed by regrets aspects of Cyrano and the play in general, but they fall quite short in the funny and even pathetic aspects, and that too is key in Cyrano, both character and play. Given the characteristics of both languages, following the cadence of the French too literally, with those long verses, makes an English version sound far too solemn at times when the French text isn't. Thus Burgess changes the very cadence of the text, adapting it more to the English language. This translation is the one that best sets the different moods in the play, and as I said before form is subject, and that too is key: after all, the poetic aspect of Cyrano is as much true as his angry facet and his goofy one. If Cyrano isn't funny he isn't Cyrano, just as he wouldn't be Cyrano without his devotion to Roxane or his insecurities; Cyrano is who he is precisely because he has all these facets, because one side covers the other, because one trait is born from another, because one facet is used as weapon to protect the others, like a game of mirrors and smoke. We see them at different points through the play, often converging. Burgess' enhances that. He plays with the language itself in form and musicality, with words and absences, with truths masking other truths, with things stated but untold, much like Cyrano does. And the stage directions, poetic and with literary value in their own right in a way that reminded me of Valle Inclán and Oscar Wilde, interact with the text at times in an almost metatextual dimension that enhances that bond Cyrano has with words, giving them a sort of liminal air and strengthening that constant in the play: that words both conceal and unveil Cyrano, that in words he hides and words give him away.

But not all is good, at all. Unlike Hooker, Burgess reads to me as not entirely understanding every facet of the characters, and as if he didn't even like the play all that much, as if he had a bit of a disdainful attitude towards it, and found it too mushy. Which I can understand, but then why do you translate it? In my opinion the Burgess' translation does well bending English to transmit the different moods the French text does, and does pretty well understanding the more solemn, cool, funny, angry, poetic aspects of Cyrano, but less so his devotion, vulnerability, insecurities and his pathetism. It doesn't seem to get Roxane at all, how similar she is to Cyrano, nor why she has so many admirers. It does a very poor job at understanding Christian and his value, and writes him off as stupid imo. While I enjoyed the language aspect of the Burgess translation, I remember being quite angry at certain points reading it because of what it did to the characters and some changes he introduces. I think he did something very questionable with Le Bret and Castel-Jaloux, and I remember being incensed because of Roxane at times (for instance, she doesn't go to Arras in his version, which is a key scene to show just how much fire Roxane has, and that establishes several parallels with Cyrano, in attitude and words, but even in act since she does a bit what Cyrano later does with the nuns in the last act), and being very angry at several choices about Christian too. While not explicitly stated, I think the McAvoy production and the musical both follow this translation, because they too introduce these changes, and they make Christian as a character, and to an extent the entire play, not make sense.

For instance, once such change is that Christian is afraid that Roxane will be cultured (McAvoy's version has that infamous "shit"/"fuck" that I detest), when in the original French it's literally the opposite. He is not afraid she will be cultured, he is afraid she won't, because he does love and appreciate and admires those aspects of her, as he appreciates and admires them in Cyrano. That's key! Just as Cyrano longs to have what Christian has, Christian wants the same! That words escape him doesn't mean he doesn't understand or appreciate them. The dynamics make no sense without this aspect, and Burgess (and the productions that directly or indirectly follow him) constantly erases this core trait of Christian.

Another key moment of Christian Burgess butchers is the scene in Arras in which Christian discovers the truth. Burgess writes their discussion masterfully in form, it's both funny and poignant, but it falls short in concept: when Cyrano tells him the whole discussion about who does Roxane love and what will happen, what they'll do, is academic because they're both going to die, Christian states that dying is his role now. This destroys entirely the thing with Christian wanting Roxane to have the right to know, and the freedom to choose, or to refuse them both. As much as Cyrano proclaims his love for truth and not mincing words even in the face of authority, Cyrano is constantly drunk on lies and mirages, masks and metaphors. It's Christian who wants it all to end, the one who wants real things, the one who wants to risk his own happiness for the chance of his friend's, as well as for the woman he loves to stop living in a lie. That is a very interesting aspect of Christian, and another aspect in which he is written as both paralleling and contrasting Cyrano. It's interesting from a moral perspective and how that works with the characters, but it's also interesting from a conceptual point of view, both in text and metatextually: what they hold most dear, what they most want, what most fulfills them, what they most fear, their different approaches to life, but also metatextually another instance of that tears/blood motif and its ramifications constant through the whole text. Erasing that climatic decision and making him just simply suicidal erases those aspects of Christian and his place in the Christian/Cyrano/Roxane dynamic, all for plain superficial angst, that perhaps hits more in the moment, but holds less meaning.

Being more literal, and more solemn, Hooker's translation (or any of the others, but Hooker's seems to love the characters and understand them) doesn't make these conceptual mistakes. Now, would I not recommend reading Burgess' translation? I can't also say that. I had a lot of fun reading it, despite the occasional anger and indignation haha Would I recommend buying it? I recommend you give an eye to it first, if you're tempted and can initially only buy one.

You can read Burgess' translation entirely in archive.com. You can also find online the complete translations of Renauld, Hooker and Thomas and Guillemard. I also found a fifth one, iirc, but I can't recall it right now (I could give a look). You could read them before choosing, or read your favourite scenes and fragments in the different translations, and choose the one in which you like them better. That's often what I do.

Edit: I've checked to make sure and Roxane does appear in Arras in the translation. It's in the introduction in which it is stated that she doesn't appear in the production for which the translation was made. The conceptualisation of Roxane I criticise and that in my opinion is constant through the text does stay, though.

[always-just-red]

A/N: So I threatened a while back to write MC arresting Sylus since he literally won’t shut up about it. Thought this would be a silly fic but it ended up an angst-driven exploration of how his time with MC is probably finite and ill-fated?? Anyway Sylus is too soft for this, I’m sorryyyy (Sy I love you! I would never do this to you! ‘Didn’t it come from your imagination, though?’ Ssshhhh you don’t know what you’re saying!! 🥰)

To Remain Silent

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times...

Genre: Emotional rollercoaster honestly? Some angst, some comfort (and a lil spice for flavour)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, vaguely established relationship, gets a little steamy at the end (mostly kissing tbh), artistic licence applied liberally since this would be WAY too risky for MC to actually attempt 😭😭

| Word count: 2.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus knows this isn’t real.

You watch him through the glass of his cell, and the subtle tint to it lets you know that he can’t watch you back. He’s sat on the single bench inside, leaning against the far wall, his long legs stretched out before him. His hands are cuffed— tucked away behind his back— but he still looks comfortable. More than comfortable: at ease. At home. Bored.

“You think I can’t feel those pretty little eyes of yours on me?” he mutters, head back, eyes closed. “I’m at your mercy, kitten. Are you really only going to look?”

You tap a button on the glass. “You should start taking this seriously.”

He smiles at the sound of your voice, but his eyes don’t open; there’s still nothing to see. “I’m taking it very seriously, sweetie.”

“I don’t think you are.”

The smile turns even more smug: a confession, all by itself. He sits up and leans forward, like someone who’s found a change of conversation to be interesting. His eyes open— managing to find you, somehow, and— can he see you? No. It’s an educated guess, he’s just selling it with confidence.

Leisurely, he rises from his seat and saunters over to the glass. “Let me see you,” he orders, then bargains: “Please? This is so very—” he toes the division— “one-sided.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, can you? This is hard enough without the windows to your soul baring your heart and your mind to him, like they always do. You should have worn those sunglasses he bought you for that undercover assignment. This is what they’re for, right? Hiding.

With a circular swipe of your finger, the glass before you clears and Sylus meets your gaze.

“Hi,” he teases.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Hey.”

“This is quite some effort you’ve gone to, kitten. And all for me, no less.”

“What effort?” you dismiss plainly. “You practically slapped those handcuffs on yourself.”

It’s not an exaggeration: from the cuffs to the ride here, not a single stage of his arrest has been resisted. The closest he’s gotten to a lack of cooperation was when you’d first restrained and dragged him from his study, where he’d been inclined to point out that the bedroom was the other way.

“Well, I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” he smirks. One of his hands is brought forward, and his handcuffs now hang uselessly from a finger. “Tell me,” he says, letting them swing as he holds your gaze, “what am I to expect now I’ve been so masterfully captured?”

You glance at the restraints, unmoved. “That isn’t for me to decide.”

A door behind you slides open, and— right on time— an altogether more impressive presence joins you before the cell. Sylus glances her up and down as the click of her heeled boots come to a stop; he has never met your captain, but he knows her face.

“You really cashed in all your favours, didn’t you, sweetie?” he observes. He turns to address the woman beside you: “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jenna interrupts, her tone as incorruptible as yours.

Sylus’s arm lifts, resting on the glass above you so he can tower over you, despite the partition. “Is that right?” he purrs absent-mindedly, dropping his head so he can speak into your ear. “Sweetie… I thought you could keep a secret.”

He’s goading you into your usual game, but the stakes don’t interest you. “You were wrong.”

You’re at your own table, dealing your own cards. Does he want to play? You think he might. His lips are curving at the delicious prospect of a challenge. You’ve given him a taste of it. He wants more.

Jenna is studying her clipboard, acting oblivious. She senses the impasse. Asks Sylus: “Do you know why you’re here?”

He huffs impatiently. “Enlighten me.”

“Sylus,” you scold.

Red eyes widen a fraction.

You see it.

Good.

…

Sylus thinks this might be real.

You said his name. His real name: the one with sharp, bloody strings attached. The one on all the posters. The one in your precious Association’s archives, linked to stacks of files and crime scene photos, most of which he isn’t even responsible for.

Sylus. You said: Sylus. 

It was worthy of a grand reveal— the sort of plot twist that delivered the suspense of so many thrillers— but here you are, speaking it like it’s nothing. Not a slip of the tongue; not a mistake. And it’s different here. He’s not your Sylus. He’s theirs.

Their murderer. Their monster. Their convenient little scapegoat for everything dark and unholy.

The captain is reading him a list, reeling off every crime— each alleged sin. As if he needs a reminder. As if all the time in the world could ever let him forget. “Needless to say, Mr Sylus,” she summarises, “due to the nature of these crimes, you may prove exempt from our standard procedures. A case like this is… unprecedented. Onychinus has much to answer for. You have much to answer for.”

Sylus hasn’t really been listening; it’s all senseless bureaucracy. “You have the wrong man,” he says, because whatever you’re doing— whatever stunt this is— a confession is sure to derail it. You know that, don’t you? You must be counting on it: holding that guilty breath of yours and hoping he’s smart enough to not be Sylus.

You don’t look worried in the slightest. You must have an awful lot of faith in him.

He studies you, waiting for a small, deliberate smile or a moment of weakness. Give him a sign, don’t give him a sign— it doesn’t matter; he’ll find one. His intentions must be clearer than yours, because you step up to the glass to face him.

Do it, your silence says, even though the rest of you is illegible. You want to look? Look.

His eye could light like a crimson fire— could burn the truth out of you— but it won’t. It’s a promise he made what feels like a lifetime ago, not long after you’d met: Your thoughts and desires are yours to give, not his to take.

Even here. Even now. He’s a man of his word, after all.

Impressed? You smile faintly, but there’s no warmth to it. “Captain,” you speak, your eyes not leaving his, “can you give us a minute? Please?”

“Of course,” the woman answers with a nod.

Sylus does not see her go. He hears it: the retreating rhythm of her shoes. He feels it: it’s just the two of you, alone again. Well, the two of you and that ‘hidden’ camera in the far corner of the room. “Whatever game this is,” he grins good-naturedly, his teeth gritted, “it stops. Now.”

“It’s not a game, Sylus. I told you to take this seriously.”

“What are you doing?” he snaps, and that good-natured grin didn’t last very long. 

Your hands land on your hips. “My job.” When he scoffs, you continue: “Did you really think this would end any other way? After everything you’ve done?”

He laughs and it’s deeply sardonic. He’s no saint— to try to convince you he was would be a crime worthy of punishments far worse than this. But you know him. You know the line and what stands on each side of it: everything he’s done, yes, and everything he’s been made to take the fall for.

You wouldn’t do this to him. Would you? “You want to play pretend? Fine,” he hisses. He wants to wrap his Evol around that godforsaken camera and annihilate it. “You caught the big, bad boss of Onychinus— congratulations, sweetie. Sure. Let’s say that’s who I am. A man like that has power, right? So what’s to keep him— me— from escaping? Right now?”

“You’re not going to leave, Sylus. Wanna know why?”

He’s sure you’re going to tell him, and you do:

“Because you’re all talk. All smoke and mirrors. You want to go? Go. But there’s not a single person in this building who wouldn’t give their life to bring you back. Someone will catch up to you eventually, and what then?”

“I’ll have a lot of fun, I imagine.”

“You’ll do nothing,” you correct. “Because those people out there? They’re my friends. My family. You hurt them? You hurt me. Make all the threats you want, Sylus— we both know the truth.”

He towers over you, still, but it’s hard not to shrink at your next words:

“You don’t have it in you.”

Your eyes are sharp: whetted with resentment. Sylus is your reflection— your worthy opponent, always— but he just can’t look at you like that.

There’s a quiet hiss as you slide a finger over the cell’s control panel. White, neon light carves through the glass partition: two vertical lines that bleed upwards, either side of him, before bending to meet each-other. The glass between them shimmers, then fades.

Sylus stands on the precipice of the doorway, cool air crawling past him. He stares up at the camera, then down at you. Your arms have folded again as you watch him— a narrative of apathy.

“How about it, Sylus?” you ask bitterly. “Still think you can outrun fate?”

“No.” Not since it started wearing your face. Fate is you, putting a bullet in his heart, and him, waking up so you can do it over and over again. Maybe this is real. Maybe it isn’t. “What do you want from me?” he entreats softly, because you’ll get it— either way.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer, and your hand shoots out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. You use it to drag him out of the cell, closer, lower, so that his face is mere inches from yours.

“No,” he repeats. “Say it.”

Your eyes burn like pyres: so dangerous, so beautiful, so suited to being the death of him. “I want you—” you begin, as they flit briefly to his lips— “to tell me…”

“What?”

“How you cheat at kitty cards.”

Oh. Oh.

You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?

Sure enough, you drop his shirt and burst into laughter— irrepressibly you again. The fire in your eyes has simmered down into something warm, safe, and comfortable, and— gods— you’re even crying. You’re doubled over, holding your stomach as though it hurts. You lift a hand to wipe your wet cheek. “Your face,” you get out between gasps, “oh, your face!”

Yours is not the only laughter, but it’s the only laughter Sylus hears.

“We so got you, Skye!” Tara’s vaguely familiar voice resounds from an intercom.

There’s some confusing static with it— more tittering voices— and Sylus suspects he’s found himself the star of your colleagues’ after-work entertainment. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks up at the camera. “Is the whole office—”

“Yeah,” you manage, wiping away another tear. “Figured it would be good for morale. Good practice, too.”

“Practice?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a hum. You’ve apparently gotten a handle on the hilarity of the situation, because you approach him with something close to composure. Meditatively, you smooth down the fabric of his shirt. Straighten his collar. “For when we catch the real Sylus one day.”

He captures your wrists; that’s a lot of tenderness for someone who just tried to give him a heart attack. Maybe he’s a little too rough, because you pout at him in a way that makes him instantly soften his grip.

“You ok, Skye?” you enquire with an ironic smile and an adorable tilt of your head.

His thumbs are feathering over your pulse points, and slowly, he leans in to deliver a message, just for you: “If I say no, will you make it up to me?”

…

Sylus knows this is real.

His mouth is on yours and it’s relentless, desperate; you made him wait for it. How long has he been wanting to trap you against the nearest wall, just like this, so he can kiss you until he forgets just how cold you can be? 

He’s been very patient. He didn’t roll his eyes or utter a word of complaint when you’d dragged him to join your colleagues for dinner. It was your victory party, your ‘I made you look like an idiot’ party, but he was his usual, charming self, and your friends all adored him for it. They’d spun him the tale of his ‘arrest’— the planning, the preparation, and your lightbulb moment: 

“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about how Skye kinda looks like Sylus?”

Only he could understand how wickedly clever it was. His eyes had sought yours as he listened, lazy, content, and so obviously biding his time. You’d smiled at him. He’d smiled back. 

And he’d stayed smiling, even after the party was over and you’d had to walk a slightly-tipsy Tara home. She’d refused a taxi, insisted Sylus escort her— oh, and you could come, too! He’d lent her his arm: humoured every squeeze and chuckled at each remark about the size of it. You’d had to swat her away, in the end.

“I’m just teasing, y’know?” she’d giggled as the three of you arrived at her front door. “Skye knows I’m just teasing. You’re such a sweetheart, Skye. Imagine! You— the leader of Onychinus!”

She’d laughed, much too loud for such a quiet street, and with a less-than-subtle wink, left the two of you alone. Which is how you’d ended up here, in an alley around the back of her building, because it was Sylus’s turn to drag you somewhere. 

His attentions have moved lower; there’s a subtle clink as his fingers find the clasp of your shirt collar and he peels it back, exposing your neck. His lips leave yours, trailing down, down— past the line of your jaw and over the soft, vulnerable column of your throat. You gasp as he brushes over a sensitive spot, and you could swear you feel him smile.

He’s always been passionate, but this is a different fire, fuelled by something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to:

Relief. 

“Sy,” you murmur breathlessly, your hand in his hair, tugging gently. “Sy, stop.” 

“Mmm?” he acquiesces, voice sinfully low as the cold evening air takes his place kissing your neck. His eyes shine like blood spilt in the dead of night— lingering on you. He looks drunk.

You lift a hand to cup his face and run your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Sylus. You know that, right?”

Those dark eyes find clarity with your words, full of apprehension for just how naive you can be. The future will turn on you just as quickly as a wild animal someone boasts about having tamed, and aren’t you foolish, thinking you can control something like that? 

Besides, that’s his job.

“I know,” he says like he’s supposed to— ever the martyr, following the script. He goes to nuzzle into you again, but your hand is still tight in his hair and he groans as you use it to pull him back. 

“I mean it,” you reassert, forcing him to look at you. You don’t care that it’s ridiculous. You don’t care that fate is so hot on your heels that you have to keep running. You’re tired. He’s even more tired.

Isn’t it nice to stop and catch your breath?

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant. 

The world can wait; he wants to punish you first. 

“Do you really want to know—” he distracts as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck again— “how I cheat at kitty cards?”

The pad of his finger is chasing the path of his mouth; it tickles. You whine: “Tell me later, Sy.”

“Ok,” he breathes against you.

Later. There’ll be a later.

Won’t there?

[shuaflix]

the hidden one (preview)

PAIRING ▸ pirate!choi seungcheol x assassin!fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, some action, historical au, assassin's creed: black flag au, pirate au, royal au, strangers to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, i used the word arse 3 times #british, slow burn, mild depictions of violence, character death, forced proximity, meet-ugly, so much banter, political tension, religious conflict, family issues, booseoksoon as the pirate underlings, teasing, and there was one bed, sexual tension!!!, unprotected sex (i don't fw with 1700s contraceptives sorry), fingering, oral (f. receiving)

SUMMARY ▸ choi seungcheol is supposed to be dead. following a tropical storm, the notorious pirate loses both his ship, the golden corsair, and a majority of his crew to the cruel tides. now stranded in sevilla, spain, seungcheol and his three remaining sailors must find a way back to england; however, an unexpected altercation ends up tying their fate to you, an assassin who wants nothing to do with the four of them. despite your reluctance, he must work alongside you in exchange for a way back home. of course, complications arise once his heart decides to have a say in the matter, and, somewhere along the way, seungcheol realizes this mission is bigger than himself.

EXPECTED WORD COUNT ▸ 31k

TAG LIST ▸ @wonudazed @jenoentry @aaniag (send an ask or comment to be added!)

RELEASE DATE ▸ out now! read here

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this one is plot heavyy but does not require any prior assassin's creed knowledge tbh! most importantly this was a (very late.... sry) bday fic for fia :p

“NOW IS OUR CHANCE."

“You cannot possibly be thinking about making our move now,” you returned in a low voice. “We must wait until the time is right. For now, we are spectators.”

Seungcheol couldn't help the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips.

It was a slip of the tongue, but he really couldn’t be bothered to sit through an entire show. On his ship, his men entertained the crew with jigs that any sailor could bellow at the top of their lungs. Not that Seungcheol had witnessed many opera performances in his life, but he wasn't too keen on sitting through hours of the grating sound in his ears. It must have been an acquired taste, one for the upper class, and Seungcheol simply hadn't developed an ear for such music. 

He imagined his reaction would earn a glare from you, or maybe even a stab wound in the gut. You would surely rattle on about the importance of your mission until Seungcheol’s ears bled (and all before the opera performance even started!), so he braced himself for your wrath. 

But then you giggled.

He couldn't believe his ears. Seungcheol thought he would be less intimidated if you pointed your blade at his throat instead.

“Your impatience is truly remarkable,” you said in a hushed voice. “You mean to tell me they made you captain?”

“Oh, you must hear of my adventures, mi corazón. There was no question that I would become captain.”

“I see your abysmal lack of subtlety was not a deciding factor. We are pretending to be part of this world, remember?”

His gaze dropped to where he could see a glint of steel at your wrist. It was something that would've been altered to match your measurements had you put in the request yourself, but since your dress was really adjusted for some other noblewoman (who was most likely very distressed about her missing gown right now), the sleeves were a size too big on you. 

“My lack of subtlety? Sweetheart”—Seungcheol moved closer so that he could push the sharp tip of your blade further up your arm—“you could do a better job yourself.”

This seemed to properly fluster you, and you huffed before fixing your sleeve and turning your attention back to the stage. 

“That was intentional,” you made sure to note under your breath.

“Oh, yes—certainly.”

“It was hardly visible.”

“If you insist.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a piece of work you are?”

“No,” the captain said. “I have received no such complaints. Rather, the number of women I have unknowingly charmed is quite troublesome. That must be my only shortcoming.” Noting the unimpressed look on your face, he smiled and lowered his voice to quote, “But, ‘what a piece of work is a man,’ no?”

You raised a brow. “Hamlet?”

“Oh? Have you seen it? I was lucky enough to watch it at the Theatre Royal in London a few years back. Had a business partner who—”

But you were no longer paying attention to him. Right as Seungcheol was about to explain how he got the tickets, you pressed a finger to his lips and hushed him. Normally, he would be baffled by such a bold move, but instead he followed your gaze to where King Philip was whispering orders to the palace guards stationed around him. The lights dimmed and the opera singer walked to the front of the stage, rousing applause and cheers from the audience, but Seungcheol had a strange feeling that the auditorium wasn’t safe. 

One by one, he noticed, the king’s palace guards stalked off to examine the rows of seats. 

“They cannot possibly be suspicious of us already,” Seungcheol whispered—more as a joke, initially—but his amusement dropped from his face when he added, “can they?”

“I’d rather not test our luck,” you replied, peering over your shoulder to scan the perimeter for any discreet exits. He felt your lips ghost the shell of his ear. “Stand up and hold your arm out for me. If anyone asks, I felt faint and you were simply accompanying me outside for fresh air.”

“That will draw attention.”

“Naturally. You must have noticed how flattering this gown is on me.”

Seungcheol paused. “I have, but—”

“Good, so we are in agreement, then?” you hissed through your teeth. “Stand up.”

[growling]

*average self-proclaimed safe space tumblr blog voice* I soooooo support people with schizophrenia that must be so hard to you anyway I just saw some weird looking woman talking to herself right outside my house im fearing for my life should I call the cops. Yeah dude I support all the adhd havers in the chat just try to pay attention when I talk to you it's not that hard it's like the least you could do to show some regard for the other human being in front of you. Like it's fine to have memory problems but why did you forget this one thing in particular that was important to me do you like not care or anything you should try harder. I am one of the only real mental health advocates to still exist in this world I hear your struggles that being said I hope I never get to meet one of those irl sociopaths or people with aspd whatever they call them now they're so freaky and they can blend into society so well you might never know if you're actually face to face with an actual socio i mean person with aspd in the store absolutely one of my biggest fears what if they torture me in their basement. I absolutely empathize with all the people in here suffering from delusions as long as they like, don't actually show it or have one concerning me that'd be highkey uncomfy leave me out of this dude im not talking to you until you get help, anyway my fav character from my anime just presumably died but i still think they actually survived im sooo delulu lol. We should push for more wheelchair accessibility in our cities I agree but like it's so difficult to tell how many people are actually disabled and who are actually faking it, like, ummm why did that "wheelchair" "user" guy stand up just now cover blown lmaoo…. Yeah I support people with facial differences but I still have a right to be disgusted you can't control my emotions anyway can you tag your selfies as #body horror this deeply triggering to me. Speaking of triggering can you also pleaseee hide your scars or at least warn us beforehand jesus do you know how many people genuinely do not want to see it. Here is my extremely fast strobing lights and flashing gifset #epilepsy. Yeah I loveee girls with bpd beautiful princess disorder am i right they're so interesting the stigma sucksssss i'd love to get to be one's favourite person as long as they don't actually have any of those weird or violent symptoms or don't go into any of their "episodes" near me like that's a bit dramatic….. I deeply feel for those who had underwent narcissistic abuse from the hands of an npd I think my shitty ex boyfriend was a narcissist too tbh #surviving narcissism here are 10 signs you are dealing with a narcissist and here's a tutorial on how to trigger a narc crash to epically own them anyway does anyone else think we should start enforcing mandatory castration of all the newly diagnosed narcs like you know what happens when they reproduce right. But I am willing to support them as long as they go to therapy to get that fixed it's just you know. Anyway sometimes hospitalisation is fine if they're genuinely a danger to themselves like what do you want them to go live on the streets or actually get help?? I support all the people dealing with being a professionally diagnosed disordered system and I think it's sooooo terrible how literally 99% of the youth population nowadays is purposefully faking it for attention I did my research (1 minute google search, 2 minute r/fakedisordercringe scrolling session and consulting a single system that agrees with me). It's just not believable to me that there's really that many people with it isn't it supposed to be rare… Also are we really sure all those alleged people in their heads are really real or just their imagination maybe all of them are actually faking it huh food for thought. I am very uncomfortable with nonverbal high support needs ppl actually having sex like consent is supposed to be explicitly verbal only and, are we really sure they can even consent arent they like basically children. You can't call me ableist I'm literally autistic

[mozzzz05]

I hate to bitch but… I’m going to:

There was just? So much wrong this season and not even because I wasn’t a fan of the ending - in fact, I quite liked that they were 8 little marigolds together - but the rest of it!?

There’s at least three plot lines that added fuck all to the story - and I’m all for fluffing out the stories/characters, love me a filler episode - but not only did we not have time for a filler episode with 4 less episodes than usual those plot lines added nothing to the characters or the story or anything really.

Klaus getting kidnapped (again), no one noticing (again) - getting possessed & having sex, getting buried alive (again, if ykyk) apart from Alison going to save him - what did it add? - I love Klaus he’s literally my favourite character, I always want more Klaus but it kind of feels like they didn’t know what to do with him? - “let’s make him relapse and do some crazy stuff, for shits and giggles!”

Diego & Luther going to the CIA - this is the one I see the most sense in of course, but apart from making Diego realise that he shouldn’t take Lila and his kids for granted and announcing that the CIA guy was part of the whole Jean & Gene cult thing (and getting to see David Castañeda’s abs (despite supposedly having a Dad Bod now?)) it kind of went on too long? It felt like it was slightly misplaced? Idk

And of course, how could it go unmentioned - the Five/Lila romance? whAT THE FUCK!??? Like it’s creepy both ways bcos Ritu Arya is 15 years older than Aidan Gallagher - freshly legal - and because Five is nearly 70 at that point? And that’s without even mentioning the fact that, oh yeah - Lila’s married to his BROTHER? But if you took it out - what would change? Genuinely? That Lila will always choose her family? Choose Diego? Tbh she could easily come to that conclusion without any romance, she clearly longed to go back more than Five did (who btw, abandoned his family after spending his entire life trying to save them - WHAT?)

The only one making any progress was Viktor

And so many things left unexplained- why did Ray leave Alison? What happened to Dave? (Guessing he’s long dead now but we still don’t know if Klaus’ s2 plan had any effect & the only hint of him we got this season was the dog tags (more than last season at least)) Why is Reggie a fucking alien? How did he get to earth??

I just feel so unpleasantly underwhelmed for a show that has meant so much to me the past few years, for an ending that was mildly disappointing but not as much as the 4 episodes that came before it.

[apollo-just-ice]

10 people I’d like to get to know better

Tagged by @strix-x thank youuu :)

Last song: Calisto Yew’s theme from Ace Attorney Investigations 1. Listening to it as I type this, lol. From my Spotify Wrapped 2024 playlist :)

Favourite colour: don’t do this to me… many colours are beautiful… green, blue, pink, purple… thank you…

Last book: Still something I’ve gotta work on is reading more books. Last one I read was the Doctor Who Rogue novelization! That was enjoyable, I liked the extra scenes and backstory it added :)

Last movie: Uhhh hmm I don’t see movies all that often… I’m unsure, but by tomorrow the answer will be Wicked?

Last show: Dandadan season 1 finale… which, tbh, I hadn’t realized was the season finale until after I watched the episode lol! Very looking forward to season 2 tho :D

Sweet/spicy/savoury: Hmm probably savoury? Sweet is also good, tho I think there is definitely a thing as too sweet… and as for spicy? I like some spicy stuff even tho it may burn my mouth after loll

Relationship status: single as can be 😽✌️ alas

Last thing I googled: movie theatre tickets lol

Current obsession(s): Dandadan beloved omg… I haven’t watched a lot of anime, but I’m starting to! Grateful netflix recommended this to me lol, it’s so. It’s got everything you could ask for. Wacky, funny, has a lot of heart with the characters… great music… and maybe I’m a little bit of a sucker for high school students getting pulled into crazy adventures. Momo and Okarun are so cute too… sillies <3

Fire Emblem Heroes isn’t going anywhere for me… with Book 9 having a law theme, it excellently combines with my love for Ace Attorney, and I love Rune already!!

Then ofc Ace Attorney… had a blast playing the Investigations Collection, and I’m continuing to catch up (the timing is almost never right for me to watch live) on Mark Ota’s streams of TGAAC, which are always a ton of fun :D

Then I am also trying to now and then write stuff for my own ocs too… I don’t talk about them enough… but I love them very much, please do know <3 Maybe I show a bit of favouritism for Willow and Pyg, but hey, they are the main characters :3

People to tag: ack my least favourite part, I always fear I’ll forget someone!

@rosymaraschino (I want to return the favour, I appreciate it whenever you tag me in one of these kinds of things! :) )

@ actually anyone else, my mind is blank </3

[sharffffff]

Pili 2 didn't deserve this - but also did, an analysis

Preface before I get too deep into this: I haven't rewatched any of the Pangi vods (except pangkey moments for research but it isn't relevant) in a bit, so some of the facts can be not exactly accurate and feel free to call me out in the tags, however I try to keep everything laid out plainly. If this isn't obvious, this is from a pov of a Pangi viewer - if Pili has specified something different in his streams, I won't know it, and feel free to tell me about it and I'll try to correct it.

Now to the topic of the post: there is an insane amount of mischaracterization surrounding Pili 2, which leads to the character hate he doesn't deserve. If you want to hate the character, do it for the actions he has actually done, or for the fact that you don't like split personality trope, or anything else - but don't attribute actions done by another character to him.

If you look into the history of the relationship between Pangi and Pili 2 (and 1.5, but we will get into it later), Pangi certainly instigated it at the start. The accusations of Pili 2 being a person he had no recollections of, the stalking to try and catch him in on the lie, the obsession Pangi had with him for around a week - from Pili 2's pov, they were completely unjustifiable, and so he decided to be cold and distant to Pangi as well, until eventually Pangi left him alone - and everything could've been solved here, if it wasn't for the Pili 1 book.

Here's the first and one of the only two (two and a half? three?) cases where Pili 2 has done something especially bad towards Pangi - ripping out the last two pages of the book, but in his own eyes, it was protecting his own skin, and he expected to die for this - and he did, first by Pangi, who was justifiably angry, and then resetting himself to start on 3 lives again. This was the one death to Pangi that in the eyes of Pili 2 was justified - he expected it, it came, everything was fine.

After that, Pangi tried distancing himself from Pili 2 as much as possible, and while Pili 2 himself still sometimes came along to be annoying to Pangi, it was minimal. Until the first appearance of Pili 1.5 - in the shape of the signs filling up Pangi's entire house. We know it's Pili 1.5 because Pili 2 didn't remember it - and also because the signs were clearly referencing Mocha. But they drove Pangi angry, and made him think that Pili 2 was lying, was stalking him, was being obsessive - and from Pangi's eyes he was, because Pangi didn't know (and tbh still doesn't know, somehow, my streamer is stupid forgive him) that Pili 1.5, or Mocha possessing Pili 2, is a thing.

Pili 2 still kept being annoying to Pangi, yes, but it was only fueled by Pangi accusing him of things he has never done, and it culminated in Pili 2 stealing armor set Pangi got for Jonnay (it took so long to find that alt vod to confirm that reverb was on so it was actually Pili 2 and not Mocha), which resulted in Pangi blowing up Pili's base, and Pili stealing Pedro.

Pangi was justifiably murderous after that, but then Pili gave Pedro back, and they talked, and then they decided to leave bygones be bygones, start from a clean slate and just keep their distance so nothing more happens between them.

And that's when the cracks start to show, where the perspectives of Pili 2 and Pangi differ significantly. Very significantly, one might say.

Because from Pangi's perspective, instead of leaving him alone, Pili starts hounding him, hounding his friends, first trying to kill them and then asking them out, starts consistently psychologically torturing him and just won't die no matter how many times he is killed. He does everything in his power to make Pangi's life as miserable as possible, and even tells so to his face - and tells him that yeah, he did place the signs, yeah, he is still here, yeah, he will torture him, will kill Lukey just to hurt him, will make his experience on this server living hell - and it drives Pangi insane, drives him to kill him over and over to make sure he leaves him alone - and he never, never does. So from Pangi's point of view, all those kills on Pili are justified - in an environment he came from, kills are a valid reply to psychological torture.

But then we have Pili 2's perspective, where he does nothing of what was listed. Yes, he asks Lukey out and forms a relationship with him, inviting him to the ball just to have fun - and then retracting that invite when Lukey rejects him and Pangi confronts him. He never did it to make Pangi jealous, he just wanted to have fun with Lukey. And then he also asks Zam out - not caring that he's Pangi's friend, just wanting, again, to spend great time with his friend. And he is killed for doing nothing, killed by this obsessive, murderous person who seems to just hate him for things he did ages ago, saying he did things he never actually did. Yes, there is suspicion about those things actually happening, as multiple people have told him he did them, but he doesn't remember them - and while he suspects what might be the cause, in his eyes he is innocent, in his eyes he doesn't deserve any of those deaths except the very first one. In his eyes, first Pangi promised to let him be, and then ruined his entire life.

And that's where Pili 1.5 comes in. He was the one doing every terrible thing that Pangi described, he was the one hunting down Lukey and trying to kill him over and over again. He was the one harassing and manipulating Pangi - Pili 2 never did that. Well, maybe he did a little bit of manipulation, but who hasn't. Pili 1.5 has done so, so much more. And in most cases it's easy to miss - the only change is that his voice changer is gone, his reverb is off, and, of course, the personality shift. Pili 1.5 does the things, but Pili 2 suffers the consequences - and doesn't know why. Pili 1.5 is the one who keeps prolonging the cycle of violence, and Pangi takes the bait every time. It was Pili 1.5 who made Pangi thing that Pili 2 was taking Zam to the ball just to make Pangi feel awful - because Pili 1.5 specifically mocked him, said that he would make the ball extremely miserable for Pangi - but Pili 2 never intended it this way.

And this is the exact reason why from Pangi's point of view, every death, every bit of violence, everything he ever done to Pili 2 was justified - but also why Pili 2 didn't lie when he said Pangi did it for no reason. Because he did do it for no reason - it wasn't Pili 2 who was torturing him, it was Mocha possessing his body.

And if this trend continues, if Pili 3 really is Pili 1 with memories of both of his installments, Pangi will suffer even more. Because it will be even more of Pili 1.5, with none of Pili 2 to counteract it. And god knows I will suffer from it. But while I can't defend Pili 1.5, I will be Pili 2 defender. My boy did barely anything wrong and suffered so much for it. Too bad he had to suffer the consequences for action committed by a different person. But also I despise split personality trope with all my being so I'm glad Pili 2 is dead.

[bigsoggyboots]

Saccharine

Mel x Assistant!Reader

pt. 2 of Tantalizing

(pt. 1 here)

Saccharine: Overly or sickishly sweet.

summ: For the first time in your life, you're questioning if you're good enough.

wc: 1.1k

an: I wasn't originally going to make a pt. 2 to this but someone asked and I delivered. (I have them tagged!) You can sorta see when I locked in and proceeded to put my whole foot into the writing. I really enjoyed this tbh because it helped me write Mel's character. anyways, enjoy! have a good rest of your week.

(posted on my AO3)

“You and Councilor Medarda, what are you?”

Viktor snapped you out of your work. Literally and figuratively, he snapped a piece of chalk at your ear.

You look towards him and he's already set his tools away to look at you. “What?”

Viktor repeats, “You and.. Mel,” He has to familiarize himself with the name, “Are you lovers?”

You processed the question, feeling a sudden dryness in your throat. Just thinking of her makes your heart frolick and it makes you forget how big of a deal this is to everyone but you.

After all, what you've come to notice over the years is Piltover's obsession with having a status, and a name. It's never something you could quite wrap your head around, even as a kid. You see the quality of a person more than what society deems their quality to be; and you forget how this isn't universal thinking.

The one thing you seem to worry about is if Mel thinks the same. You have to dull down that little voice in your head every time the pursuit of a relationship with her comes to mind. You have to remind yourself that if she's reciprocated a lot of her feelings so far, what is there to worry about? Even if it hurts your heart to think otherwise.

“I guess so. I haven't had time to really talk to her about it.” You sensed Viktor heard the hopefulness in your tone as his eyes glimmered knowingly. That made him more happy than you would've wanted, but you're not truly mad. You just pretend to be. “That obvious?”

“Obvious enough to your boss.” You laughed at that. Viktor's not one to push power roles but does it affectionately, and as a reminder. Times like this are when it's felt best, when reassurance is needed most.

The hand on you is sudden; it shocks you away from your laughter. “You should go to her..” Viktor trails off as your face scrunches in confusion. “..and ask.”

“Viktor, you never give advice like this..” Whatever else you were going to say is stopped as his face scrunches in seriousness. He looks disappointed in a way.

“Your love for her is.. saccharine.”

“Saccharine?”

“Saccharine.” Viktor got up from his seat and stood over you in a way that felt like he towered you, crooked stance and all.

“The love you and Mel share is innocent- a innocent love un-misunderstood. It blinds me and I can't deny how much you two radiate off of one another, so please, go to her.” Viktor shooed his hand to the door. Then he did it again. And again. ..He did it a fourth time.

“Oh you mean now-”

“Yes I mean now.”

“Mel?”

“_________.” You look like you actually caught her off-guard. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Not pleasant really; she was expecting you. She gave you the keys to her home not too long ago, and for you to stop at her door to see her was nice.

“Can we talk?” You under the evening sunlight was captivating. Mel almost didn't want to look away.

“Why of course.” She took your hand in hers. “Come inside.”

The inside of Mel's house was how you envisioned it. Simple yet put together and in many ways pristine. It screamed her with all the decorative gold and red around. Perhaps you'd have more time to look if it wasn't Mel taking away all your attention.

You both sat on her couch facing each other, her fingers curled and traced around all the lines on your fingers. The only thing you two kept was eye contact.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Her gaze on you was sweet, sickeningly so, perhaps like Viktor mentioned. It made you smile. Her at peace felt like sunshine. It almost felt like something you shouldn't have, or would take up her time.

Your gaze hits the floor and, for a moment, you think back on your last words.

‘Take up her time.’

The underlying dread in your bones. The feel of your throat sinking. You can't shake that. That you somehow now care about status. Not for you, but for her.

Did she love you enough to risk the downfall of her career for it? Did she care about the risk it may put you in because of your association with Jayce and Viktor? And what about the public? Did she care for their opinions?

Your breathing picked up as these storms of questions took wind. Your face felt hot, there were tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

How was this happening?

Why was this happening?

Then, it hit you.

For the first time in your life, you were questioning if you were good enough.

You questioned yourself so much so that you didn't register Mel's touch; her soft, pliant hands cupping your face. She looked as scared and as scatter-brained as you.

“_________, are you alright?” You unbeknowingly lean into her hands. “You.. looked off somewhere into the distance. Where did you go?”

If you had the words, you'd answer and if your heart wasn't still hammering in your chest, you'd make the effort to.

Mel's thumb comes to wipe away at the tear rolling down your cheek.

“Do you want us to be a couple?”

She almost couldn't believe you'd asked. Was this a decision that weighed so heavily on your heart?

“Is that what this is all about?” A faux exasperated chuckle left her as she leaned into you for a hug.

Mel's warmth and softness of her skin grounded you, tore you from the place you called your mind. You wrapped your arms around her without a second thought. You clinged on to her tighter than you would admit.

You breathed into her neck, inhaling as much of it as you could. “Yes because,” You know what you want. “I don't want to be a shadow of you. I want to be your equal. I want us to be equals.”

Equals?

That wasn't something her brain wasn't ready to hear. She wasn't prepared for that or the words that tumbled out for her next.

“I like the sound of us.”

All Mel was ever prepared for was war and business. She was used to be expected something, being somewhere, having her hands on the new biggest thing and all sorts of other things. She was a Medarda above anything else, it was something she came so deeply to care for.

But, for the first time in forever, she wasn't worried about that. She didn't care for devising strategies nor pulling out a facade made to please; she was Mel Medarda.

Mel Medarda, daughter of Ambessa Medarda.

Mel Medarda, the richest person in Piltover.

Mel Medarda, one of 8 seats In Piltover's Council.

Mel Medarda, top investor of Hextech.

Mel Medarda, a person.

Strip her of everything and she only becomes a person. Something with no worries. Something she's been wanting to be all her life.

Now, she can be that with you.

taglist: @jiungmcvv @sevikaaaalover @gl1ttor1is @maybelateriwilldecide @zombieeepup @hardunknownkitty @russoishot123 @abbyanderswife @mxrwell @puppiesandrain @supermaunaro @awesomealadin @kaylschipss @sum0y @local-enby @cority @autumnaticallyy @sevikaiswife @bunbunpudding @spleeniexox @martachm @joon1uvr @arcaneflorist @charliepoopyfart @igothoes @craz1er4you

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

An Honest Opinion on Cillian Murphy and his role as Jonathan Crane

This is gonna be long, so buckle up hroo hraas

Cillian Muprhy was the actor who played Jonathan Crane in the Nolanverse Trilogy. For many fans, if it wasn't btas, it was Nolanverse that introduced them to Scarecrow. Unfortunately, it's a pretty poor introduction.

Don't get me wrong, he's a good actor, but is is NO Jonathan Crane. He actually wanted to be Batman but those in charge saw his pretty blue eyes, became obsessed and basically threw away any previous idea of who their Scarecrow should be so Cillian could act in the movie.

The director goes on to host multiple interviews in which he fawns over Cillian's eyes. This is literally the only thing he has to say about Scarecrow. This is also one of the reasons you see them focused o so much in certain clips, Cillian was actually instructed to take off his glasses as much as possible.

Now, whats the problem? Well, Cillian is first and foremost way too traditionally handsome to be playing such a character, a character that was literally bullied for his looks in ever comic released prior. (and I do realize that handsome men can be bullied for their looks, but the comics only ever describe Crane as gangly and nerdy. Unlikable. Queer Fellow. Etc. And I honestly don't expect that kind of nuance when he was hired for his PRETTY EYES ) I don't even think the movie comments on his looks. Anyhow.

His roles in the movies, for me, are largely forgettable. The only iconic comment is "Would you like to see my mask" That's literally all anyone remembers. Oh and maybe the flaming horse, but that's never talked about by fans. So, it wasn't impactful

I doubt Cillian has even touched a comic book tbh. If he did, he's at least TRY to be scary. His costume---which largely isn't his choice--was uninspired and uncreative. A suit and a burlap mask with some maggots for some reason??? Boring. (Note: even the gotham actor read the comics. It's not hard to do some research into who you'll be acting as)

Compare that to comics out at the time, Year One, Batman Adventures, Batman Annual 19, even Long Halloween predated this movie! They had PLENTY to reference.

And what's worse? the fandom. Oh god the fandom. While I'm grateful many current fans got their start with the Nolan trilogy, they all largely have moved on to bigger and better canons. They're not who I have beef with. It's the Cillian Murphy fangirls. Not Jonathan Crane. Cillian. The tag is largely infested with them, and they often tag any and every photo of the man as Jonathan Crane. This does nothing for me, except annoy. I've blocked dozens of blogs for this. It's petty, sure, but I can guarantee you that tagging your Cillian pictures as every character he's acted as ever, does not mean you'll get more interaction. You'll get the opposite actually.

Do note, fanart and illustrated portrayals of Cillian are the one exception. Artists have taken his very boring interpretation and turned it into something awesome. Y'all keep doing you. You rock.

Cillian is not a bad actor, but he's a bad Crane.

-mic drop-

[n0tamused]

Came across House of Dragons and kinda got invested then I saw you accept Jiyan requests so now I’m kinda thinking what a mixture of the two would be like….Jiyan with his own dragon riding in Westeros…Jiyan courting you despite protests from his court…Jiyan protecting his queen from anyone that tries to hurt her or his heirs…idk I am just a causal watcher I have no clue what’s actually going on in GoT and HoD tbh

A/n: I'm uploading this from my phone because I just can't wait to post this, so if there's formatting or grammar errors - rest assured, I'll do my best to get to it once I get on my laptop. Where do I begin though? 😭 My goodness, you couldn't have sent me a better idea than this one oml. I'm smooching you on the head istg, thank you so much for this request! And I hope you enjoy this jumbled ramble <3 I'd love to do more of this little au and I most definitely will, and for some other characters as well.

Contents: Jiyan x Reader, headcanons, you/yours, written with a F! Reader in mind, dragonrider reader and Jiyan, Game of Thrones/House of The Dragon universe, pregnancy, angst, happy ending, somewhat arranged marriage lol, tell me if there's anything else to tag.

-War had taken many noble houses to an early grave, leaving behind nothing but ghosts and ruin over the vast lands. The ones that remained standing were either the rich or the cruel. All except one.

-Jiyan, originally hailing from Jinzhou, and belonging to no noble or rich lineage. His mother was a notorious healer, and his father had long been lost to travels and war himself.

-He had joined the battles as a young green boy alongside his mother, moving beside the long columns of soldiers in their tattered armor and ringmail. All he could do was stare at them in wonder and question - Why do they spill so much blood? For what?

-There was no looming threat of the Others coming to claim their lives, it was just them - the people and the common folk, yet they fought each other like animals for a few extra inches of land or a few extra coppers in their liege lord's pocket.

-As much as Jiyan didn't wish to engage in the art of war and bloodshed and only wanted to heal and save, it became apparent, all too soon, that the way to survival and peace was through battle. Healing will get him nowhere, and if a good commander was not put at the front, it wouldn't matter how well he healed if two in three soldiers died, even after receiving his aid.

-The war changed him, hardened his heart and fortified his mind, until the healer he once was became only a distant memory. Spear replaced herbs, and instead of the tattered medic tunic he now donned armor and ringmail. A companion also joined his side after he ran into a deep cavern for safety during one particular battle. A large unclaimed dragon, which nearly took his head off now stood at his side like a mountain, guardian him day and night and heralding the doom of his enemies with a thunderous roar and loud snap of it's wings. The dragon was a beautiful pale green, with bronze horns and amber eyes with darker lines of green running over its back. It was a beauty as much as it was a beast. Men quickly took to respect him, and it became evident Jiyan’s person hid many talents besides that for medical aid and spear holding.

-The previous commander perished, another life taken by the savage ways of war, and Jiyan was appointed as the new commander by the soldiers after he rose to the occasion - having led them to success in war, as well as safety when the odds did not favor them.

-It was during his reign as the lead commander that the lands saw the end of the war. Blood was shed, yes, but not for naught.

-Upon his return to the central city, the throne was found vacant, the king slain along with his entire council. The word of it was that they were taken unawares from the seaside, and had no ways of defense, as all the manpower was at the front lines

-Jiyan came into his rule as king at a young age, far too soon, and yet despite all the doubt he had flourished quickly. Proving himself as an able and just ruler, unlike the ones that came before, his foundation as a commander giving him good wind in the back

-The city wasn't in good condition after the war, but in the years following Jiyan had sent many commands that would aid in its rebuilding

-Slowly, but surely, the common folk started to feel the dawn of a new age - summer has finally come.

-The one thing Jiyan has gladly forgotten about was marriage. As a king, it was expected of him to take a bride to be his queen, to have heirs and to start a new lineage that would, hopefully, carry better blood instead of the hot blood that sought destruction. It wasn't something he often thought about as other duties preoccupied him day in and day out. But it was neither something he was against.. Deep in his heart he would admit a thought of his own family did make him feel…alive. But how would that family fare in these conditions? With his status? This was nothing like his small village he grew up in, so the image he once had in his mind was no longer so clear.

-His mother was a person he'd eventually seek advice from regarding such tender subjects, earning himself a laugh occasionally, as his cluelessness was rather amusing. Where other Kings misused their power and gave commands as they saw fit, Jiyan exercised caution, and even sympathy for the bride he didn't even have yet.

-Eventually, a match was arranged, between him and a lady of a higher birth. His mother had met you before he did and vouched for your good character - but Jiyan remained nervous, vowing to keep his judgment and thoughts to himself until he met you himself.

-Your journey to the city was a long one, yet you entered the long and towering palace halls like a breath of fresh air. Keeping your lady wits about yourself and keeping your courtesies with you, you had quickly rubbed off on Jiyan. The wedding was still a matter of question, as Jiyan had insisted on giving you and your family the due time to explore the city and to see whether this was truly something they wanted to go through with. His compassion was answered in kind by many gifts sent from the city they hailed from, consisting of foreign fruits and vegetables to cattle and coins and silks.

-It was endearing. And the courtship between Jiyan and (Y/n) soon began, as the former began to make moves. He preferred to do so in some amounts of privacy, as the many eyes that followed him as King were uncomfortable and he swore he could never get used to them.

-This seemed to please and comfort his bride-to-be as well, and both of them would show their true colors. It was a rare thing for a royal match to be founded in love rather than simple responsibilities to make heirs, but it wasn't unheard of either.

-What they both had in common was that they were dragon riders. (Y/n)’s dragon was a stark comparison to his own with red scales and two pairs of black horns and dark amber eyes, the underside of the dragon’s wings being a shade of yellow that looked like gold under the sunlight. It was a terrifying dragon, arguably even more scary than his own mount.

-When no one was looking, the two would go down to the Dragon Pit and take their dragons to the skies, racing over the cities with one another or going over the seas to breathe the salty air. It was an escape from duty as well. The moment their dragons took to air, all status and responsibilities remained on the ground, and only the sky was the limit to their freedom.

-Jiyan relished in this freedom like a luxurious drink he could never tire of, and your laughter was a sound like no other.

-The dragons took to liking one another as well, and would dance in the air while the pair were seated on their backs, spinning and falling, and right before the ground came too close they'd pull away and take to the skies once more.

-The commonfolk took this as a good omen. The dragons ruled the skies again, and a good King was on the throne, with a good queen soon to join him.

-Jiyan would find himself inviting (Y/n) to his chambers in early mornings to break their fast together or late dinners to share their day with one another. It was as if the two were already married. And even that wasn't too far from coming true.

-The wedding was a big event. Tables and tents were set all the way out and around the keep as well as in the big ballroom inside. Although Jiyan would've preferred to keep the celebrations a modest one, the council insisted that this occasion warranted the eyes of everyone, the joy had to be shared. This once he gave in to their requests.

-Flower petals were thrown on them as they passed by the rows of commonfolk standing at the sides of the rode, him and his Queen riding at the back of an open carriage dragged by four horses, white and elegant with plumes in their manes. Everything was near perfect and out of a fairy tale.

-King and Queen would share their dance in the ballroom once they returned from the High Sept where they got married before the priest, sharing their first kiss - something Jiyan made sure to cover and hide to the best of his abilities by pulling your veil over both of your faces.

-The celebration lasted all the way into the eerie hours of the night. And both Jiyan and you were exhausted, and upon retiring to your shared bed chamber you simply collapsed onto the plush mattress.

-That night, Jiyan fell asleep with his lover in his arms, watching your soft breaths make your chest rise and fall in slow successions, his fingertips tracing the lines of your face and the skin of your back, until he couldn't resist the urge to sleep.

-This wasn't a life Jiyan asked for…but it was one he was glad for.

-Children came later. A lovely little daughter being the first to be born of the love from the King and Queen, bearing the signature feature of you. Jiyan was beyond happy.

-During the birth of his daughter he was in the city, conducting business over a new architecture project when news arrived that his Queen had gone into labor. It is believed he had never dropped a matter as quickly as he did that day, racing back to the keep and searching for his wife.

-Despite the protests of the midwives, he responded only to you, racing to your side and giving you comfort and encouragement if nothing else, welcoming the fruit of your shared love together. It was the first time Jiyan ever cried in front of anyone else. He had delegated some more of his duties to the others in favor of having the time to spend with his newborn and you, helping you recover from the birth.

-It wasn't rare to see Jiyan roaming the dark halls in the middle of the night to visit the kitchens for food for you, bringing back foods and snacks, whatever you wished, even the weird food cravings. Hell, sometimes he'd indulge in them alongside you. Once, during your first pregnancy you requested a big honeycomb, and it just happened Jiyan felt like a sweettooth that evening as well. That ended with you sharing quite a candid moment, lips sticky with honey with a waxy feel between your teeth as you tried not to laugh at one another.

-The second pregnancy was a boy, following two years after the daughter was born, and he came with a little more trouble. The new prince was quite a big baby, and the birth left you even more exhausted. A fever soon settled within you, greatly worrying Jiyan and the entire council. You could barely hold the boy to feed him without shaking, and the fever lasted for days.

-It was the scariest time of Jiyan’s life. Any moment spent away from you plunged a dagger into his heart that twisted itself further in. It pained him. And he nearly got sick himself from worry.

-There were maids around you constantly, when he couldn't assist you it was them that took care of you. His mother was close by as well, bringing you great herbal teas and green tea cakes and broths. The time for you was a blur, filled with uncomfortable heat of your body and sticky feelings of sweat.. does it ever end?

-It was as if the whe world was plunged into depression once you fell ill. Dark clouds corresponded with Jiyan’s bitter and grieving mood, and the dragons themselves were restless. In this time, the others, outside of his kingdom, saw it fit to attack and plunder the neighboring villages and cities.

-You had recovered enough to talk, but your days were still mostly spent by sleeping and eating.

-You could vaguely remember seeing Jiyan entering your chamber, holding your son for a short while before putting him back in his crib. A concerned look pinched his brows together, you could remember, as his gaze went to you.

- “My love?... Are you alright?” He'd ask as he kneeled by the side of your bed, taking your hand in both of his and kissing the knuckles that felt like they were ablaze underneath his lips. He was dressed in all armor, a sword at his hip. Why was he leaving?.. Where?

-It all seemed like a dream, an illusion borne from your illness, but it was real. He had a duty over the kingdom, and over you. Yet it pained him no less to leave the place he was closest to you. He had entrusted your care to his mother and the maids, and he had already bid farewell to your daughter. She had clung to him like a moss clings to a tree, asking him when he'd return.

-You couldn't give a reply, staring somewhere through him.

-Has the reign of peace perished so quickly?

-His dragon waited at the Dragonpits, and the troops were already marching out of the city gates when he took to fly over them, leading them to the front lines once more.

-You recovered in the following days, finding yourself alone - not literally, as there were maids and servants all flocking to you, but Jiyan wasn't there. His Hand sat the throne instead of him. And your children had grown significantly, as if years had passed instead of several days.

-Responsibilities choked you until you began to move, throwing yourself back into work and and duty. Your son was always at your hip or breast, making up for the time lost. And your daughter was always pulling at your skirts unless she was at her lessons.

-It was a restless period, and a terrifying one. The first letter you sent to Jiyan was met with an ecstatic response, him being overjoyed you were healthy again, yet he encouraged you to rest more.

-His other letters brought bitter news of losses and bloodshed and treason, but he reassured they were holding strong. You could only believe him.

-Months passed. Months. And a letter from Jiyan was yet to come in. It worried you. This everlasting silence, it was of more concern than the sorrowful letters.

-During one evening as you sat on one of the tall balconies of the palace, overlooking the city as your son cooed in your arms, you heard a shriek. One coming from your dragon in the Dragonpits. The dragon was as restless as you, her calls weren't foreign to hear, but this time her shriek was returned by a call of another.

-Your husband's dragon flew down from the murky clouds. The green dragon roared, splitting the sound mid air, earning another roar from your own dragon.

-Jiyan has returned.

-You’re unsure how you raced so quickly down to meet him, with a babe in your arms and not properly dressed either. Appearances didn't matter. Your husband's return did. He mattered.

-And once you saw one another, nothing else could hold you back from running into eachother’s arms, the baby carefully tucked between the two of you in a protective embrace as Jiyan kissed both of your heads, pressing his forehead against yours soon after, laughter shaking his shoulders and chest.

-He was sure he could cry right now, and seeing you shed tears of joy almost encouraged him.

-Jiyan knew he'd split the world in half if it meant keeping you whole and with him.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[i23kazu]

GENSHIN MEN & THEM BEING YOUR ROOMMATES .

characters. xiao kaeya diluc childe itto alhaitham kaveh x reader genre. romantic fluff, can be seen as platonic too, suggestiveness in itto's part an. ueueue... ueueue... ueueue | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

disappears during the day, comes back at night. your first text to your friend (when you arrived at the apartment) was "this guys like a midday batman kinnie lol" but he also somehow leaves everything spotless?? xiao barely spends time at home but in the five minutes that he actually does, all the dishes are washed and everything packed up... you're starting to think that he's a mary poppins kinnie instead

kaeya

he's a mess.. also kind of a slut at home in the sense that he unbuttons his pants the minute he steps through the door but his shirt is always long so. so. yeah. tbh he's not a very messy roommate, he just ends up leaving too many glass bottles behind that you have to clean up #notaslay #pickupyourowntrash #savetheearth

diluc

very nice roommate, adelinde comes over to clean the apartment once a week and when she does you literally go puppy eyed because she brings her cooking for the both of you. the fridge is always stocked with mama adelinde's food and the floors are always shining with her hard work. diluc does some of the dishes though i guess that counts

childe

good roommate. with his numerous siblings, he knows how to get stains and stuff off surfaces so hes the handy manny and bob the builder in the apartment. need something fixed up? he's got you. lightbulb has to be changed? he's reaching for the toolbox. your clock broke? can he fix it? yes he can

itto

worst. roommate. ever. every day you come home to find out that either he's a) passed out on the couch b) broken something at home c) had a secret arataki gang meeting and now the place is trashed d) didn't do his work etc etc the list goes on. you're considering kicking him out at this point but his badonkahonkas are so nice to look at ykwim

alhaitham

uhhhhh takes care of finances and taxes and all that boring adult stuff you have to do but alhaitham graciously does for you. makes you a cute little keyring that matches his and kaveh's and he doesn't hide yours!! or take yours!! 10/10 roommate, laugh at kaveh's misery together #youwillwalkalone jk you love kaveh to bits

kaveh

being roommates with him and alhaitham is genuinely so entertaining bc its a free reality tv show. "kaveh what is this behaviour" "im sorry i kicked it by mistake" <- he did not. but you and kaveh also play pranks on alhaitham to i guess that makes up for it?? idk kaveh does the dishes makes the food hashtag malewife i think

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiy @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @lemonswriting @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @niiheng @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @softcosmixs @ineshapanda @babypetuniaa (send ask to be added to taglist)

[lustkillers]

okok hear me out: rough sex in a loud party where any character you want is pounding into reader, forcing them to be quiet until he cums all over her and forces her back into the party, putting her on display for everyone. just a thought, love you're writing !!

LOOSEN UP THEIR FROWN, MAKE 'EM FEEL ALIVE!

⊹₊ ⋆ summary. - you're only his.

┃ tags/warnings. ࿐ ❪ nsfw freak shit here! hard dom!euro, sub!reader unprotected sex, rough sex, impact play, public sex/exhibitionism?? , voyeurism?, slight asphyxiation, degradation, spit, jealous!euro, toxic (?) couple tbh, FACIALLLL!!! ❫

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing - euronymous x fem!reader ❪ not the actual euronymous, only rory’s portrayal. ❫

⊹₊ ⋆ note - IM BACKKK from my dreadful writers block!! i'm also bombarded with school work, i'm so sorry for being inactive on terms of writing!! thank u for the request & hopefully i did this request justice... i'm literally sick as shit and seeing stars!! as always, not proofread! requests are open!!

HOW did you end up here? Standing in the middle of a house party, your face covered in his cum. Others knew, some didn't. But you knew... You knew it all too well.

Øystein had been pissing you off recently, so you decided to take a night out on the town with your friends to blow off some steam. Plus, you knew Øystein would be busy and wouldn't bother you tonight, as he had other plans.

He'd always be deep into his music, making him insufferable sometimes. You wanted a night without his judgment, so you went to the house party, not telling him that you were leaving. 'It's not like he cares...' You thought.

The party was raging with people inside, strobe lights scattered along the house and the intense thumping of bass. You felt your body come alive with every beat, and soon you were dancing among everyone else.

Your friends had left you to talk to other guys, get drinks, and possibly fuck. That alone made you want to leave, but something about this party didn't allow you to. Everything around you was a blur, and other men had hands on your waist... But they weren't him.

Suddenly, you felt a new pair of hands around your waist. You looked back and saw Øystein standing there, his eyes smoldering with desire… But also anger and passion. He looked at you with an intensity that made your body tremble.

Your stomach bubbled with many emotions, and your head was like a wheel; spinning with what you should say to him at this moment.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from parties like this, but now here you are!” Øystein said incredulously.

You wanted to say something along the lines of how it wasn't his decision to make, but you couldn't take your eyes off him; he was still holding you close. Something in your head felt unscrewed, not responding well to his response. You should've been defending yourself... Not standing there with your eyes searching his.

“I-I…” You stuttered, unable to put together any sort of coherent response.

He only grabbed you, leading you away from the suffocating crowd you didn't even know was bothering you until this point. He kept a tight grip on you as he dragged you upstairs.

As soon as you reached the top, there was a hallway with 3 doors; 2 adjacent to each other, and one parallel to the 2 doors. He opened the door parallel to the 2, loud moans ringing through both of your ears, the sight of your friend riding some random guy she just met.

A yelp emits from your mouth, your hand instantly closing the door. A deep sigh leaves Øystein's mouth, a chuckle soon to follow.

"This is why I told you to stay away from parties like this," he said shaking his head as he released you from his ironclad grip. You were about to speak up again, but the words caught in your throat when he grabbed your face and inched closer, a smirk slowly making its way across his face.

The couple hastily moved away from each other, a stern look suddenly present in Øystein's face. He motioned you to come inside the room while they quickly ran out of it, leaving you two alone.

The atmosphere was tense as Øystein pointed his finger at you, the silence filling the room. He finally opened his mouth to speak. "You were about to do something stupid," He said accusingly, his intense gaze never leaving your face.

You gulped, suddenly intimidated by him. "I-I was just curious," you stuttered. You instantly regretted your words.

He clenched his jaw, looking at you with disdain before letting out a deep breath and relaxing his stance a bit.

"Curiosity is not always your friend," he tilted his head, his gaze still boring into yours as he grabbed your hands in his own. "I think… You’re just acting like a slut to get my attention."

You felt your heart racing as you stared back at him, unable to find words. Øystein smiled devilishly before swooping in for a kiss without warning, spinning you around and pushing you against the wall. He then kissed every inch of your body until his lips were back on yours. You could feel electricity coursing through both of your bodies and it felt amazing. You knew then that you were in way too deep.

His grip on you was tight, almost bruising your waist. As you both kissed, his body collided with yours, and soon you found yourself laid on the bed with him on top of you.

Your pussy pooled with wetness, his veiny, pale hands traveling to your core. He started to move his fingers inside you, pushing and pulling in a deep rhythm. His subtle and gentle movements were filling your body up with pleasure like nothing else before. With each thrust of his hand, you felt yourself coming closer and closer to the brink of orgasm.

Before you even came, his hands retracted from your core and his lips trailed down your neck. He worked his way to your nipples, pulling up your top, and teasing them with his tongue as he moved further down past the small of your back, kissing each inch of skin as if it were precious.

However the passion ended there. Øystein suddenly flipped you over on all fours, his hand colliding with your ass; a stinging sensation traveling through you.

A moan escaped your lips, as you felt empty without him inside. In order to fill that void, your fingers found its way to your clit, rubbing it as strained whimpers escaped your mouth.

He smacked your hand away, placing his hand in front of your mouth. "Spit." He demanded.

A pool of your saliva bubbled on his hand, as he retracted it and rubbed it on his aching cock.

And before you knew it, he was spearing into you. His thrusts hurried and intense, as if it were his last time, each increasing in pressure until he was shaking with the feeling of pure pleasure.

"S-Slow down, Øystein... Fuck!" You cried out, sobs bubbling out of your mouth, and as soon as you know it, tears spilled out from pleasure.

Your moans rung in his ears as he noticed the music downstairs died down a bit, but he didn't care. He was too focused on the blissful pleasure that your body gave him, as your muscles clenched onto his cock with each thrust, sending spasms of ecstasy through his body.

His hand grabbed a handful of your hair, roughly stuffing your face into the pillows, suppressing your moans.

"Be fucking quiet, whore." He seethed, as his thrusts quickened and the air filled with your muffled moans.

It was hard to breathe with your face in the pillows, and the fact that he kept smacking your ass didn't help much. You felt your insides warming up as he hit just the right spot, and it wasn't long before a wave of heat spread over your body.

Just before you knew it, you came on his hard cock, moaning into the pillow as your wet pussy clenched tightly onto his cock. Your fluids seeped down your thighs, as your body shook in recovering pleasure.

Øystein was about to fall apart, his thrusts going erratic. His hands grabbed your shoulders and he started pounding into you wildly. It wasn't long before he let out a deep guttural grunt, "Let me paint that pretty face of yours." He pulled your head out the pillows, whispering in your ear.

The searing pain of the grip on his hair flowed through you, but you were still at a high.

He made you drop to your knees, pumping his cock right in front of your face. You opened your mouth, closing your eyes and letting Øystein shoot his cum over your tongue and face.

It was then that you felt the last contractions of his orgasm, and Øystein finally released his grip from your hair. You stayed on your knees for a moment, taking in everything that just happened.

As you looked up to him with glazed eyes, his smile devilishly looking down upon you. "Let's go," His voice raspy.

You stood up, nodding, and your knees slightly went weak. "Let me just wipe my face–"

"No." Øystein's voice was stern. "Leave it." He said with a smirk.

As you both descended down the stairs, the party still going on as a few eyes stared at you. Silence was shared between them, while others raised an eyebrow.

Shit, some of them even had a hard-on.

Øystein didn't care though,

he wanted everyone to know you were his.

[agoldenblackbird]

i'm gonna be a ranty bitch for a minute.

tbh i'm turned off even reading new buddie fic despite being a multishipper and have unfollowed a bunch of buddie accounts because i'm sick of the smug attitudes. one ask that i am otherwise not going to publish or respond to ended with 'sorry you don't understand media literacy bestie :)' fuck off. listen INFANT, i have been writing fanfic and original fic AND watching, reading and analyzing queer media since before you were born, i understand how character and story development works, and i know the difference between 'storyline i personally disliked' and 'bad writing.' this was BOTH, and it also was marketed to us as 'carefully crafted bi rep' and 'queer love story that is not about a bunch of pain and conflict FOR ONCE' so we have every right to be upset at the bait-and-switch.

the fact that i'm seeing the same exact posts - 'bt bones buddie CANON' that i saw three seasons ago after the bucktaylor breakup, or every time they thought buck and taylor MIGHT break up - says something. the fact that so many fans seem genuinely convinced (STILL!) that buddie is inevitable because there have been so many 'signs,' and then they rattle off a convoluted theory that would make the most hardcore taylor swift stan say 'wow, that's a bit of a reach,' honestly weirded me out a little when i first joined the 911 fandom. i have never been in a fandom where so many fans are insistent that their ship will be - not might be or could be, but WILL be - canon. i am skeptical both from past experience with other shows mishandling queer storylines or ship-baiting, and tim minnear's proven track record with this one of not really knowing what to do with buck's LI's. but i didn't want to yuck anybody's yum, so i let them have their theories and squee in peace, and unfollowed or blocked certain tags if i was seeing too much of it and getting annoyed. it's too out there for me, but i'm glad they're having fun!

yet they can't give us the same courtesy. they deride us as delusional for thinking that a canon pairing that was presented to us both in promo and the show itself as different and important (eg the bobby approval convo and 'buck getting off the hamster wheel') might last, and we're stupid to have ever liked tommy or lou or be disappointed at how the breakup was written, and if we point out the biphobia it's just sour grapes.

the bucktommy breakup is not the first time 911 has started out strong with an interesting storyline and fumbled it in the 4th quarter either because the writers got bored or in the name of needless drama/a 'gotcha' sudden twist. amir & bobby, eddie's fight club arc, the sperm donor SL, hen vs councilwoman ortiz, whatever the hell is going on with harry, the whole mess with shannon/kim, just to name a few. and especially the past couple of seasons, for me since 6b, the pacing has been off. they seem to have too much happening at once and many of the storylines don't have enough room to breathe to be narratively satisfying, or they get resolved in ways that feel lackluster.

if the toxic buddie stans who have been attacking lou on sm and sending death threats (wtf!) actually get what they want, which i admit is possible, but it's certainly not guaranteed….i don't know why they think the writers won't fumble that just as badly. it's not going to happen precisely the way they want it to because it is impossible to please everybody, that's what fanfic is for. but at this point i have zero faith that it would even be well done at all, and zero trust in the writers not to just sabotage or regress a character for funsies, and that's an excellent reason to stop watching the show. in most of my other fandoms i regard canon as a jumping-off point or a blurry outline at best, and i can have just as much fun in the 911 sandbox without any further input from canon at all, once i'm less angry.