#i feel close to needing a lobotomy

[lorelune]

lobotomy commission

|| jing yuan x gn!reader || T || love sick hopefully lovers || wc: 3.9k  || ao3 ||

The Xianzhou Alliance has... never allowed lobotomies? Why are you so insistent on receiving one?

(The General, the Divine Foresight.)

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: oh mister general jing yuan you have me so damn heart eyes. here's a lil sweet treat!!!!

CW: fluff, friends to lovers, jing yuan being a bit silly, alcohol consumption, FLUFF, a bit of crack being taken seriously

"Lady Fu, I need to be put down." Your cheek hits the low table. You feel pathetic. It's a Thursday and you're teary-eyed after far too little wine to be in such a state. You sniffle.

"No one is 'putting you down'!" Fu Xuan huffs from the other side, patting your arm. "It's rare that you’re this mopey. What’s troubling you?"

"I am not 'mopey'. I need a lobotomy. Which of the commissions would handle this procedure?"

Lady Fu frowns, clicks her tongue, and sighs your name, “A lobotomy, really?

"Yes, exactly. As soon as possible, preferably.” You down the rest of your cup and restlessly flip your phone screen up. 

"This is particularly pathetic. Stop drinking and wallowing and just tell me what's wrong."

"Fu Xuan, you will scold me." You push yourself up on the table and shake your head. "No, actually, you will fire me. You will send me to my office this very instant, force me to pack up my things, and turn in my permissions. I'll be out of a job. Then, I'll be homeless. then—"

"No, nuh-uh, no more dramatics!" Fu Xuan slaps a hand over your mouth. You're glad you’re seated in a private corner of the bar, as this is a rather pathetic display on both of your parts. "Please just tell me, what’s the matter?”

Your dilemma. 

"I like the General."

Fu Xuan frowns, expression pinched, and her hand falls heavily onto the table. "That... isn’t exactly new information? Even if it’s a... questionable call of taste, the general is handsome. Occasionally charming when he isn’t being an oaf on purpose. I don’t think having a bit of a crush on the Divine Foresight is anything unusual. Half of the population of the Luofu holds the same opinion.

“Okay, but,” you unlock your phone, a ceramic, cat-shaped charm swinging from the vase as you wobble. “What if the General were to return my feelings? And he invited me for a walk and a meal tomorrow evening?”

Fu Xuan's jaw drops. "You're joking."

"I'm not,” you whine and slide your phone across the table.

...

Divine Foresight 🦁:

Are you free tomorrow evening? I know a terrace that has a splendid view of the overlook near the Cinnabar Eyeline. I would be delighted to take you to it and share a meal after, 

Divine Foresight 🦁:

If you'll have me :3c

...

“Oh... wow.”  Fu Xuan looks shocked. It’s hard to shock her, but she does tend to avoid divining the destiny of those she is close to (unless entirely necessary.) Her intuition regardless of mathematics and astral geometry is, however, keen. Yet her eyes are wide and she struggles to gather her words. “What a menace.”

“I know.”

“The General is rarely so forward. I’ve never heard of him being so forward.”

“I know.”

“Except, perhaps—”

“With me?” You rub your cheeks. They’re warm from the wine. 

“Only you. Though this is particularly... telling. I’m sure it’s sincere.”

“I would agree.” Your stomach flutters, and you swallow the feeling down. 

Fu Xuan narrows her eyes and says your name, mouth in a thin line, "You haven't replied."

“And that’s why I need the lobotomy.” You swallow. “I’m going to turn him down.”

“WHAT?!”

You need another drink.

Fu Xuan clearly does not. Her cheeks flush rosy pink as she slaps her hands on the low table. “Why would you reject him? Even if he’s a scoundrel— he is genuine.”

“I know, that’s why I can’t accept his... proposition.”

Despite knowing that Jing Yuan serially denies any potential suitors or daring admirers. You know that it has always been like this— from the time long ago when he first gained rank, to his ‘withered age’ as he self-deprecating refers to himself now. He is always kind about his rejections, you’ve witnessed one or two of them, but he never even entertains the idea of romantic partnership. You’ve never heard him mention it or any desires. 

So, for him to so bluntly ask you on a date—

He couldn’t be more clear with his feelings. 

“You’re a fool.”

“Now, you’re getting it.” You pour yourself another glass of plum wine. Your shared bottle is nearly empty. “This is why I need the lobotomy.”

Fu Xuan watches you drink your glass in a single go. Her brows are pinched and her arms are crossed. Her shoulders sag a moment later.

“I do believe I understand your reasoning, and I don’t think it’s lobotomy-worthy.”

“... High praise.” 

“[Name].”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” You laugh behind your palm. The world feels sticky and bouncy, all at once. You crave the respite of your own bed. “I can’t accept his proposition in the form of a text. I mean, Lady Fu, he's the most powerful man on the Luofu. He is renowned in all fields of battle, strategic, and social graces. He’s kind. He probably like, kisses babies on Sundays at the markets."

"He does not."

"You never know!" You groan. "That's all to say that I won't accept an invitation to a date with this little effort put into it."

"... Because it's a text?"

"Because it's a text." You nod.

Fu Xuan pauses, then sighs. 

“I can’t decide if that makes you a fool or not.” Her hair is frizzing up with the humidity. "Perhaps you have a point, the General is old enough to know and have some decorum when going about these things."

"Maybe he's a virgin? But like, for dating." 

"I'd have to check... certain records. Archives. To confirm or deny that."

You wilt, “He probably isn’t. I’m being foolish.” 

“No, you’re not.” Fu Xuan smooths a hand over your cheek with a frown. 

"Lady Fu," you cry and wish you were at home. In bed. Maybe you should block his number. "You're supposed to say, 'You absolutely are, my most beloved junior, I will schedule your lobotomy and—’"

"No more talk of lobotomies, please."

"Fine, fine." you sigh and finish off your final cup as Lady Fu does as well. "Do you think I'm nuts for turning him down?"

"... No, I don't." Fu Xuan looks shy for a moment. A lot more human than her lofty station implies. "I don't doubt that... Jing Yuan has feelings for you. I see how he looks at you. But he ought to romance you a bit. A text is low effort. You should reply regardless though."

"I'm going to, I just needed some courage. And moral support." You give her a soft smile and tap back into your messages. Fu Xuan practically crawls around the table to your side. She leans her head on your shoulders and her eyes droop. You take a heavy inhale, then exhale, attempt to focus your blurry vision and craft.

...

You:

General, though I'm flatered by your offer, I will need to decline. Though I will ackknowledge what I would imagine (and hope)) to be your genun

You:

geuine

You:

gennuie

You:

genuine

You:

feelings, I cannot accept an invitation in the form of a text message. I must be wooed.

You:

lady Fuu says "if you are capable of such things"

You:

pls don't fire her she's a good boss and so nice

You:

[picture from XX/XX/XXXX @ 2:14 AM]

...

The next morning is hell. Hell. You wished you had undergone your requested lobotomy. It certainly feels like someone has stuck metal rods into your brain, with the migraine pounding the back of your eyes. Maybe a hangover this bad is somewhat equivalent to a lobotomy. Your memory of your night prior is... cloudy, to say the least. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you manage to down a glass of water and a handful of peachy-colored pills. You speed walk to the Divination Commission, shooting Fu Xuan an apologetic “sorry, running late, forgive me 🙏" text. 

You mentally pat your drunk self on the back. After you sent your... rejection (ouch) to the General, you muted his messages and deleted the thread. No evidence, no way to feel awkward about it sober. And no way to dwell on it either. Besides, you hardly remember what you said to him after your last glass of wine. It’s hazy in your memory.

It was... perhaps a foolish way to go about things. You certainly could have approached the General and talked about it, but he sometimes spoke in circles about matters of the heart. Maybe... maybe you felt too fragile to dance that dance, if it came to that. Maybe, you were a bit overwhelmed by his invitation. You know all too well that he does not let himself be pursued. He does not pursue others. 

You feel blind-sided by the whole thing.

But that doesn’t matter— because you cleanly rejected him and your only repercussion is a hangover that you’re sure Fu Xuan is twinning. 

And besides, it’s better that you rejected him. He’s of such a high— highest station. He wouldn’t have time for you, surely. You... have gotten used to your entirely and completely platonic, twice-a-month lunch dates and the occasional star chess lesson (where he never lets you win but you swear you'll give him a run for his money.) But it's fine. You can let go of those things, along with your feelings for the General.

It's better this way.

You think these thoughts somewhat confidently until you arrive at the Divination Commission and find a crowd swarming the central platform under the Matrix of Prescience Ultima. Frowning, you try to weave through the edge of it to your office, where you conveniently have a few nutrition shakes stashed away that you most certainly need. You’re already late and this hangover needs to go. You have a full docket for the day that you need to make fuller so you don’t think about—

You nearly stumble when you hear a rich, familiar, roll of laughter. You freeze, slowly turning to the sound. A crown of fluffy hair peaks above the small crowd, a red ribbon waving in the breeze.

Absolutely fucking not.

You duck, just in case, and try to creep below the crowd. You probably look ridiculous, but you absolutely cannot see Jing Yuan. You can’t. Your poorly-thought out, hungover plan of not caring about the General does somewhat heavily rely on not seeing the man. You trip over over your own feet and barely catch yourself so as to not tumble to the ground.

Jing Yuan calls your name and 

You freeze before jolting to your full height a moment later. The gaggle of your coworkers part enough so that you’re able to see him— lit so well and handsomely in the morning sun, smiling so easily with... perhaps a hint of mischief in the curve of his lips. 

He waves with his free hand, while a massive bouquet is pillowed in the crook of his arm.

The flowers are beautiful— off-ship exotics, clearly. The colors are all bright oranges and vibrant blues. Thinner stems are topped with bundles of white, delicate flowers that break the barrage of colors. They look fresh, like they’d been cut this morning. Fu Xuan stands next to him, clearly hungover herself and close to popping a blood vessel. It’s incredibly rare that the General do anything in the mornings, especially causing a commotion in the Divination Commission. 

Jing Yuan, who is more than likely aware of this, looks entirely unbothered. Actually, he glows as he calls your name, gentle and rich, and the sound of it hits you in the chest, “There you are.”

"Here I am." You're not. You need that lobotomy. You nod to him curtly, "General. Is there something I can help you with today?"

Fu Xuan looks like she’s going to expire right there on the platform. 

Jing Yuan cocks his head knowingly, “There is, yes. I have a rather personal matter to discuss in private with you. Are you available?”

You have things on your schedule. You can make yourself appear busy, if it means not dealing with the General you can’t really hide from and the beautiful bouquet in his arms. “Well—”

“They’re free.” Fu Xuan all but pushes you toward him. You regret covering her tab the night before. “Especially free, since I’ll be rescheduling our weekly meeting to tomorrow.”

“Is that really necessary—?” You laugh and wring your hands. You feel caught in the worst way. “General, will this personal discussion take much time? I am quite busy today—”

Jing Yuan, who has been watching your exchange with Fu Xuan wordlessly, looks a bit... crestfallen. It’s hard to tell on a man who holds himself like the General, but it’s there. A crease between his brows that’s slight, but visible and abnormal. Maybe he’s holding the bouquet a little tighter than he probably thought. There’s a sheen of sweat on his temple that, if asked, he would probably blame on the heat index for the day.

Your words die in your throat as you take him in and force yourself to meet his gaze. Honeyed and sad, a bit like a kicked dog.

“... I suppose, I could arrange a proper appointment with you. Perhaps it was uncouth of me to expect such accommodations to be made for me last minute. I apologize.” You can hear his tone change. It may be imperceptible to someone else, but you notice the shift in him. Gone is the playful lilt and air of mischief, on his a veneer of niceties that you... had forgotten he loses around you. 

Something in your chest aches.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Floundering. Jing Yuan adjusts his hold on the bouquet—

“Enough of this.” Lady Fu shakes her head. She shoos a hand toward the lingering onlookers. “Back to work, now. Don’t eavesdrop either. I’ll know if you do.”

(Debatable, but it’s Fu Xuan’s favorite threat.)

Once the crowd has dispersed, she turns toward you too. You needed that lobotomy, like, yesterday. 

“I will make the necessary changes to your schedule so you can speak privately for as long as you need." She points at you, then Jing Yuan. “Sort this.”

The General raises an eyebrow at her. She’s bold to speak in such a way to someone above her own station, but Lady Fu doesn't dare back down. She glares at him, then you, partially covering her mouth to block Jing Yuan’s view before mouthing, “FIX THIS!!!!” 

...

On the way to your office, you walk side by side, in silence. You’re trying to think of the right words to say.

“... Are you sure you have time for this, General?” You ask him, softly. “I don’t mean to ask as a slight— just— I don’t want to inconvenience you is all.”

“Of course.” He replies easily. You turn down the long, quiet corridor that leads to your office. It’s tucked away in a corner of the divination Commission, facing outward toward the Arbor’s stump with tall windows providing a sunlit view. You’re glad you don’t have to look at him as you unlock the door with a thick-looking key. “This is a rather pertinent, time-sensitive matter we’re discussing. My own schedule is not consequential in this case. Haste, moreso.”

You laugh under your breath.

“Great Lan, Qingzu is going to kill me.” You sigh before pushing the door open with a shake of your head. Perhaps a smile curls on your lips. Who’s to say. “Did you at least not leave a pile of paperwork for her to delegate in your stead?”

“And what, diminish the time I have for my afternoon nap with busy work?” Jing Yuan laughs. The sound fills you from the bottom up and you want to choke on it. You tear your gaze away from him. “Such a thing would be unhealthy, you know. I’m an old man.”

“An old man who needs an ample amount of beauty sleep.” You tease him, it’s easy to. You speak before you even have a chance to think about the warm nature of your words. The meaning behind the bouquet in his arms that he still hasn’t given to you. 

Why Jing Yuan is in your office at all. 

“... If this is about my texts my last night—”

“It is, partially.” Jing Yuan hums. “I’m afraid I’ve slighted you, and it’s of the utmost importance I correct my transgression.”

 “That’s— That’s not necessary, General.” Your cheeks burn. 

“It is. Entirely, in fact. Stating my intentions with you over text messages was... a poor choice on my part. I must apologize appropriately, don’t you think? 

“I mean— that’s—” Your words flounder in your mouth. “Kind of you.” 

It is kind of him. He certainly doesn’t need to be here, in your cramped office, with a bouquet that costs close to what you make in a day of work. He doesn’t need to be showing a sincere, lovesick smile as he speaks. He’s showing you a card he’s kept close to his chest. One you, perhaps, guessed he had, but hadn’t intended to ever see.

He presents you with the bouquet, “You said you must be wooed, and I am here to begin that process explicitly.”

"... I said what?" You’re going to burst into flames. 

“I thought you may not recall your exact words. Did you and Lady Fu have a fun night together?” Jing Yuan chuckles, and you flush so hot you feel almost faint. “You said that I must, and I quote, ‘woo you’.” 

He smiles at you, the glint in his eye a bit more mischievous. More knowing. He’s toying with you. 

“I— no— I’m so sorry, General.” You cover your face with your hands and back into your desk. “Forget I said that. Please forget I said anything.”

“Please, use my name.” He corrects, gently. “I’d prefer not to forget. You have a point, I should have stated my intentions clearly and to you in person.”

You peek at him between your fingers. He still holds the bouquet out to you, like he’s trying to lure a cagey cat in for a pet rather than make a confession. You feel out of sorts. Off kilter. That said— it is nice to hear him in person. Your heart has been oscillating between fluttering and pounding. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head sweetly at you. You take the bouquet from him and examine it closer. There’s yellow and lilac pollen dusted on the filaments, fresh and fragrant. 

“Jing Yuan, then.” You reply to him, softly. It’s hardly the first time you’ve called him by his name, rather than a title, but he preens when you speak regardless. “... So, you intend to woo me then?”

“Entirely.” Jing Yuan hums to himself, looking quite proud. “I do fully recant my offer I sent previously. Though I would be happy to lounge with you in the terraces and see some lovely views, I’ve secured a reservation for this evening at a lovely restaurant in the Exalting Sanctum, if you would accompany me.” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly.  You can’t help the little smile that’s twitching over your lips. You take care to not crush the bouquet in your arms, despite the urge to squeeze it to your chest, just to tamp down the thumping of your heart. Stroking your thumb over the silken petal of lush, round-petaled bloom, you let yourself smile. 

You can practically hear Jing Yuan holding his breath. His eyes look hopeful and young. 

“I accept,” you reply. “Consider me wooed.”

“It was that easy?” Jing Yuan’s voice takes that air of smugness that you know is a farce but you still can’t help but to approach him and bat your hands at his chest.

“I already like you, you know,” You laugh. “I was more offended that you wouldn’t face me and tell me your intentions. I hardly know the General to be a coward. I was a bit slighted.”

Jing Yuan catches your wrists in one of his hands and gently holds them against your sternum. His fingers lay over the thump of your heart; you wonder if he can feel it. You feel pleasantly woozy when you meet his eyes and all their intensity. Intention. 

“I apologize.” He speaks smoothly, easily. Perhaps ducking his head down to be closer to your own. “It’s quite difficult to proposition someone so beautiful and kind.”

“Ah, so the General was hiding behind a screen, then?” You laugh over the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve never known you to be a coward.”

Jing Yuan hums, and you pop up on the corner of your desk. He’s close enough to feel the heat of him, and see the threading of his uniform and the glitter woven into the rich fabrics.

“Hm, I wouldn’t say it has anything to do with cowardice.” Jing Yuan shakes his head. His breath is warm over your cheeks. “I planned to tell you my intentions of courting you at the Terraces, once you accepted. I, perhaps, was too presumptuous in expecting you to assume beyond my initial ask. I should have been more clear.”

You stifle a laugh and flex your hands, still held in his firm, but kind grip. 

“Jing Yuan, if you continue to speak to me so directly, I’ll demand you take me out now and not this evening.”

“Is that so?”

“Entirely.” You struggle to maintain eye contact and not let your gaze drift down to his lips. “I’m not used to you speaking so clearly, only your riddles.”

“What riddles?” He tilts his head, curly, a sweet smile on his face that is far too mischievous for who he is expected to be.

“Oh, you know—”

“Do I?” Jing Yuan asks. He steps between your thighs, the width of him forcing your legs wider. As if your flush could be any more intense. “You must tell me more over lunch. I’ll send a message to Lady Fu and clear your schedule?”

“... She did say to take as long as we need to sort this,” You soften, a bit intimated, if only for a moment. “Is this sorted?”

Jing Yuan hums, “You did say you were wooed. I’d consider that fairly sorted.”

“And you’ll have me?” You ask him, daring to slide your arms over his shoulders. The contact bubbles up months of tension over Star Chess boards (during games that, perhaps, were not entirely platonic). 

“I’d be honored.” Jing Yuan’s voice sounds sweet, more quiet than you’ve heard before, like it’s just for you to hear. 

There’s an edge to it all still— something raw and new that will need to be tempered. That is the nature of immortality and the relationships and partnerships that come with it. Complexes develop, heal, and grow differently within the self. You’ve already gamed out a few of Jing Yuan’s (a cursed Master who he will only reference in melancholy, unrequited love he was too young for, so many tragedies that he somehow manages to give himself for not preventing). He is perceptive. You’re sure he has put together some of yours as well. 

For now, there’s a promise of good things. There’s the feel of him pressing his lips to yours, gentle but unyielding, strung with a mutual yearning that, in retrospect, would’ve been a shame to crush and hide away. There’s the warmth of him so close, and closer still when you drag him closer by the nape of his neck.

You can feel his grin against your lips, and you mirror it easily.

No riddles, only a fragrant bouquet and intention. 

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan reader insert #hsr x reader #im very in love with him #he is so husband #feeling very soft and yearning about him lately AAAAH #enjoy :''^)

[d10nyx]

sunflower

ft. chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, fluff, ddlg, use of princess parts(sorry) oral(f!recieving), mating press, really sweet chris tbh, pacifier usage, non-sexual intimacy also included, hand holding during sex, p in v, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms(reader)

a/n: more ddlg w chris... he's so perfect for it sorry... same universe as 'sweet girl' but a complete standalone. ddlg always scares me to write sksjsksjs but hope you all like it <3 feedback appreciated as always :3

word count: 1.6k words

Chris can feel the stress radiating from your body as soon as you walk into the home. He hears you drop the car keys haphazardly on the table. He walks out of his office just as you're hanging your coat up, brows furrowed in frustration with your jaw clenched.

You always got like this after visiting your dad. Chris isn't even allowed to come with you anymore after the last time. He came close to breaking the asshole's nose after he made you cry. He didn't even know why you still put up with him after everything he's done to you, but you always tell Chris ‘family is family’, and he doesn't want to push you.

He'd always be there for you when you got back, anyway. He walks up to you slowly, pulling you into his arms. He can feel the tension in your body, and it makes him frown. He tilts your head up to look at him, his thumb gently rubbing at the crease between your brows until it softens and you're looking up at him with those bright eyes he loves so much.

“There's my baby.” He coos, leaning down to plant kisses all over your face with a smile. He combs his fingers through your hair, carefully untangling a few knots that formed. He finds himself smiling even wider when you finally start to relax in his arms, rubbing your cheek against his chest sweetly.

“Daddy…” You breathe out, hugging him tight. His large hand runs down your back, stopping before rubbing small circles right above your ass. He hums softly, kissing the crown of your head. He knew you needed this when you got like this. Needed him.

“It's okay, baby. Daddy's got you. Let me take care of you, yeah?” He whispers, his breath tickling your hairline as he leans down slightly to be more on your level.

He runs a bath for you, peeling the clothes off of your body slowly. He even puts in your favourite glittery pink bath bomb, despite it being a pain in the ass to clean up. He'd be scrubbing the discolouration off the tub for weeks, and by then, you'd have used it again. An endless cycle, but one he'd endure for as long as he lived if it was for you. He picks you up and sets you in, massaging soap into your body as you sit in the warm water. You melt under his touches, practically purring like a little kitten.

He's careful not to get your hair wet as he washes you, being as gentle as he can. He dries you off with the fluffiest towel in the cabinet and slips you into the comfiest pyjamas you own.  He ends up setting you between his legs in the bedroom with your pacifier in your mouth and hair supplies in his hand, the TV playing Tangled for the fourth time this week. 

It's Wednesday.

He genuinely thinks he might have to get a lobotomy if he hopes to ever get ‘I Have A Dream’ out of his head. He's more than ashamed to admit he's been humming it between sets at the gym. Oh, well. A small price to pay for your happiness.

He cares for your hair as you focus on the movie, detangling any knots gently, just as you’ve taught him to do before. He tries his best to part your hair into two sections, but it ends up being a little messy. At least he learned how to braid. He was quite proud of himself for that one. It only took a dozen YouTube tutorials to figure it out. He carefully twists your hair into two plaits, kissing the nape of your neck once he's done.

“You're so cute, princess.” He coos, his big hands coming to rest on your waist so he can tug you into his lap. He runs his hands under your shirt, gently caressing the skin of your stomach. “I could just eat you up.”

He runs his stubble against your neck, feeling warmth flood his chest as you start to squirm and giggle, teeth clinging onto your pacifier to keep it in place. He laughs softly at the sight, nipping the side of your neck playfully before picking you up, lying you down on your back in the bed. He raises your shirt up, dipping his head down to your stomach.

“Maybe I should. You look so sweet.” He teases, planting kisses all over your soft stomach as you wriggle underneath him. Your paci slips from your mouth as you laugh, your hands coming down to try and push him away by his head. 

“Daddy, you can't eat me!” You say between giggles, kicking your feet out slightly. He doesn't relent, blowing raspberries against your tummy, making you squeal. “You're so silly.”

“Oh, but I can.” He says, grinning against your soft skin. His head trails lower, nudging your clit through the fabric of your pyjama shorts, peeking up at your face as he hears a soft gasp coming from you. “In fact, I thought you liked when daddy did that.”

You don't really get a chance to reply, ‘cause he's grabbing your discarded pacifier and slotting it into your mouth, tapping your hips twice in a gesture that you've come to understand means up.

He slips your shorts and panties off in one motion, his eyes locked onto the sticky string of arousal that connects the gusset of your panties to your pretty cunt as he peels them off. He shudders as he chucks then to the side, his big hands grabbing the fat of your thighs to spread your legs. He dives in, pressing a kiss to the hood of your clit. He chuckles as you whine, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“You like it when daddy kisses your princess parts, baby?” His tone is sickly sweet as he speaks just before diving in, tonguing into your entrance to gather up the slick pooling there. All you can do is nod dumbly, biting down on the pacifier in your mouth as you moan around it, your noises muffled by the plastic.

He only ever pauses in fucking you with his tongue to shower you with kisses and praise, talking about how pretty you are as he presses his lips against your tummy and the inside of your thighs. He coos at you and squeezes your hips in his hands, making sure to show you how much he loves you.

He laps eagerly at your release when you finally tense up and come, relishing in the sweet taste that coats his tongue, lips and stubble. He just pulls back and grins, wiping it off with the bottom of his shirt before tugging it up entirely.

Your gaze is locked onto him as he strips, the pacifier in your mouth bobbing as you suck on it. You wriggle slightly on the bed, propping yourself up against the plush pillows so you can watch as he prods at you before slowly sinking into you with a groan.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He says through gritted teeth, doing his best to stay still as your tight heat envelops him. “Not too sensitive?”

“M'good, daddy.” You slur around your paci, your brows furrowed slightly from the stretch of his fat cock. Your thighs are shaking slightly, but he trusts you're telling the truth. His little princess knows better than to lie to daddy.

“Good… good girl.” He hums, running a hand up your side, gripping your waist before he starts to move his hips, slowly fucking into you.  He moves his hands to the back of your knees, pulling your ass flush against his thighs before folding you in half, pressing your knees to your chest by leaning his weight down on you, your legs thrown over his shoulders.

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his forehead against yours, fucking deep into you with every thrust. He gets so deep like this - filling every inch of you up in a way that has you gasping and whining.

Your pacifier slips from your mouth and drops onto the bed again, one of your hands opening and closing in a grabbing motion. “Hand, daddy.”

His hand finds yours, locking your fingers together and giving it a little squeeze. He smiles softly, his thick length rutting into you as he presses you further into the mattress. He grunts as he feels your walls starting to clamp down on him, his breaths coming out in short pants.

“That's it, cutie. Cum for me.”

“Daddy!” You moan, back arching as your orgasm hits. You squirt all over him, bursts of sticky fluid covering his lower abdomen. It drips down his cock and coats his balls, soaking the sheets underneath you.

“Such a messy baby, huh?” He breathes out, his hips stuttering as you flutter around him, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. “Your pretty sheets are all ruined.”

He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder, panting as he bottoms out, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy. He can't bring himself to pull out, so he pulls you against his body and manoeuvres you so you're lying on top of him without ever leaving you.

“There we go. Such a good girl. My precious angel.” He whispers breathlessly, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of the orgasm. He runs his hand up and down your back, petting you gently.

“I love you, princess.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Love you more, daddy.”

#chris redfield smut #chris redfield x you #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

[writers-potion]

Hi, I am trying to write a homosexual book that takes place in the 20s. I am unsure where to start and how bad the 20s was for homosexuality so if you have any tips it would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Homosexuality in Historical Fiction

I'm going to answer this in two parts: (1) Tips for writing queer historical fiction, and (2) the 1920 gay culture.

Get Your Language Right

Vocabulary is key to capturing how homsexual people identified themselves and interacted with one another at the time. Consider:

The kind of language/code used at the time. For example, gay men in the 1950-60s would have spoken Polari to skirt UK’s strict anti-homosexuality laws. This might mean your characters say seemingly ridiculous things like, “Bona to vada your dolly old eek!” (good to see your nice face)

Authenticity vs. Sensitivity. We don’t need to perpetuate old slurs just because they were used “at the time”. Would the readers of today (your target audience) be accepting towards use of such language? 

Is it really necessary? Just like in the case of foreign languages and dialects, it may be better to just refer to the code/secret language being spoken rather than overdoing it in dialogue. Also, does your character identify themselves as a part of this community at all?

Balance Between Struggle and Hope

Often in historical LQBTQ+ fiction, if the conflict is badly written, the readers are just going to feel angry and frustrated. Because:

Even the likable, otherwise reasonable characters won't be able to accept homosexuality easily, often opposing it downright.

Homosexual characters may be confused, struggle with self-doubt and self-hatred (which can't be fun to read, obviously)

The norms of the time make any “resolution” rather disappointing (compared to modern times).

Your goal is to juggle between these strong negative emotions to convey the central message and let hope shine through. Linger too much on negativity and your novel will be dark, but treating these themes 'lightly' will make you sound shallow.

So, treat oppression just as you would write a physical antagonist. It's powerful and a possible life-threatening opposition to the Lead, but it has flaws, loopholes and needs time to regroup before it hits our Lead again with increased force.

+ General Tips

Beware of giving your characters hindsight. As a writer, we know what happened both before and after the time period the characters live through, but they don't! The characters not being able to predict what comes can be a good tragic element.

The word “homosexual” wasn’t coined until 1869, and didn’t become common parlance until the early 20th century. From at least the very early 17th till the mid-19th century, the most common term for women was “tribade,” referring to the act of tribadism (scissoring). Some people used the term “fricatrice.” In the 18th century, “lesbian” and “Sapphist” started to become more common terminology. Men were called sodomites and pederasts (a word which didn’t have the paedophilic connotation it does today). The word “homophile” was coined in 1924 and was most commonly used by gay men and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s.

“Gay” didn’t take on the almost exclusive meaning of homosexual until the 1960s, and even then, it was still used in the old sense of “merry” more than a few times. Only in the 1970s did it finally emerge as the most popular, mainstream word.

Less suspicions were aroused by a lesbian couple living together for decades than a gay male couple. Many people assumed they were just two very close spinster friends, not that it was a Boston marriage. There were many more questions about why two men would want to live together.

To avoid the very real risk of jail, lobotomy, conversion “therapy,” or the loonybin, sometimes a gay and lesbian couple would enter a ménage à quatre. Though it appeared on the surface as though two straight couples lived in the same duplex or right next door, they were actually just lavender cover marriages. Some had children (through various means) and co-parented.

Photo booths were seen as a safe space where a same-sex couple could kiss, cuddle, and embrace without fear of arrest or public suspicion.

Some lesbian couples were able to adopt children as single women, in jurisdictions which permitted that. More daring couples underwent artificial insemination and then went abroad to give birth, coming home with “adopted babies.”

Similar to the handkerchief code in the BDSM community, some gay men signalled to one another with red neckties and green carnations. Parisienne lesbians signalled to one another with violets in their hair.

There’s a long history of gay bathhouses, dating back centuries. Since male homosexuality was illegal and severely punished, a bathhouse was among the few places it was safe to meet potential partners and engage in sexual activity. Even the very real fear of police raids didn’t deter patrons. Manhattan, Paris, and London were home to many famous (and luxurious) gay baths, but there were plenty of lesser-known ones in other cities.

While not everyone was lucky enough to have a lavender ménage à quatre, many people had individual lavender marriages. Sometimes the spouse knew s/he was serving as a cover, sometimes not.

There were also more “traditional” ménage à trois marriages, composed of the lavender couple plus the true same-sex partner all living together. Sometimes these arrangements were composed of a bisexual plus a partner of each sex.

People did NOT casually out themselves! They could only confide their secret to other confirmed friends of Dorothy and extremely radical allies who had proven they could be trusted and wouldn’t turn on them.

You don’t have to make your straight characters raging, violent homophobes, but it’s completely unrealistic and historically inaccurate to show them all immediately, unquestioningly, lovingly accepting their friends’ homosexuality if the secret comes out. They might agree to not let anyone else know, but the friendship would probably be over. Other people, a bit more open-minded, might eventually reconcile but never be able to completely shake the belief that their sexual orientation is unnatural, strange, or wrong. Some people might only come around after decades of estrangement and realising gays and lesbians are just like everyone else.

To avoid discovery, some lesbians called one another by male names in their letters. Some liked those nicknames so much they continued using them in real life.

1920 Gay Culture

The United States - The Roaring Twenties 

As the United States entered an era of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity in the years after World War I, cultural mores loosened and a new spirit of sexual freedom reigned.

Harlem’s famous drag balls were part of a flourishing, highly visible LGBTQ nightlife

"Pansy Craze”: gay, lesbian and transgender performers graced the stages of nightspots in cities

lesbian and gay characters were being featured in a slew of popular “pulp” novels, in songs and on Broadway stages (including the controversial 1926 play The Captive) and in Hollywood—at least prior to 1934, when the motion picture industry began enforcing censorship guidelines, known as the Hays Code. Heap cites Clara Bow’s 1932 film Call Her Savage, in which a short scene features a pair of “campy male entertainers” in a Greenwich Village-like nightspot. On the radio, songs including "Masculine Women, Feminine Men" and "Let’s All Be Fairies" were popular.

On a Friday night in February 1926, a crowd of some 1,500 packed the Renaissance Casino in New York City’s Harlem neighborhood for the 58th masquerade and civil ball of Hamilton Lodge.

Nearly half of those attending the event, reported the New York Age, appeared to be “men of the class generally known as ‘fairies,’ and many Bohemians from the Greenwich Village section who...in their gorgeous evening gowns, wigs and powdered faces were hard to distinguish from many of the women.”

The tradition of masquerade and civil balls, more commonly known as drag balls, had begun back in 1869 within Hamilton Lodge, a black fraternal organization in Harlem. By the mid-1920s, at the height of the Prohibition era, they were attracting as many as 7,000 people of various races and social classes—gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and straight alike.

London - Balls and Adverts

Like other large cities at the time, London was home to many drag balls and nightclubs where the gay community could express themselves. 

"Lady Austin's Camp Boys" (1933): At a private ballroom in Holland Park Avenue, west London, 60 men were arrested in a police raid after undercover officers had watched them dancing, kissing and having sex in make-up and women's clothes. But despite facing a lengthy prison term and disgrace, the organiser, "Lady Austin", told officers: "There is nothing wrong [in who we are]. You call us nancies and bum boys but before long our cult will be allowed in the country."

Other gay men found partners through personal advertisements, which could be an equally risky strategy. 

In 1920 the publisher of a magazine called the Link and three gay subscribers were each sentenced to two years of hard labor on charges of indecency and conspiring to corrupt public morals.

Some adverts even appeared in the national press, such as the Daily Express, although they were not quite so blatant. People would ask for 'chums' of their own sex and offer to take people on holiday.

One man responding to an advert in the Link wrote that he was "very fond of artistic surroundings, beautiful colours in furniture and curtains, and softly shaded lamps and all those beautiful things which appeal to the refined tastes of an artistic mind". He added: "All my love is for my own sex", and wrote that he longed to give his love "in the most intimate way".

Gay adverts often had references to Edward Carpenter, Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman, or would say 'I have an unusual temperament'.

Berlin - The Weimar Republic

The Weimar Republic, Germany’s first parliamentary democracy lasted from 1918 until 1933 and was a time of progressive cultural renaissance from cinema, theater and music, to sexual liberation and a flourishing LGBTQ scene.

Berlin was home to around 40 known queer bars, a number which had doubled by 1925. The cabaret bars and clubs like Eldorado were packed to the brim with lust, tassels, glitter and flamboyance.

Drag shows were the norm and stars like Marlene Dietrich (a Berlin-native) and Josephine Baker who were icons for the queer community, performed regularly in Berlin’s lavish halls.

Kiosks sold an array of well known queer publications like Die Hoffnung (The Hope), Blätter für Menschenrecht (Leaflets for Human Rights), Frauenliebe (Woman Love), and Das dritte Geschlecht (The Third Sex).

As homosexuality was still illegal, Berlin’s Tiergarten and other parks, Nollendorferplatz as well as train stations and the infamous octagonal public bathrooms

Underground spaces flourished.

Here's a list of books with an LGBTQ+ POV character, set at least partly in the 1920s:

Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix

Dead Dead Girls (Harlem Renaissance Mystery, #1)

In the Field

The Lady Adventurers Club

Last Call at the Nightingale (Nightingale Mysteries, #1)

A Good Year

The Last Nude

The Sleeping Car Porter

Once a Rogue (Roaring Twenties Magic, #2)

Slippery Creatures (The Will Darling Adventures, #1)

Crazy Pavements

References

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180212-polari-the-code-language-gay-men-used-to-survive

https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/jul/03/gayrights.world

https://www.history.com/news/gay-culture-roaring-twenties-prohibition

#writers block #writers and poets #writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr #creative writers #helping writers #poets and writers #writeblr #resources for writers #let's write #writerscommunity #writers #writer #write #female writers #writer things #how to write #author #write every day #write it #write anything #write up #write that down #writing advice #writing community #writing tips #writing inspiration #writing prompt #on writing

[amusingmusie]

The Demon! Nel asks have my brain exploding with cheesy ideas, I swear. She'd make fun of his hair cut, and he'd spend an inordinate amount of time making his little shadow trip her every time she walks down stairs.

She'd have his demonic brain so divided that he'd probably phase himself across hell just because she was talking to someone other than him. Alastor being very "I'm uncomfortable when you're not about me" with Nel is my favorite!

My silly little idea:

"What are you doing here." Her voice dripping with annoyance as the sinner she had been discussing the acid rain forecast with launched away from them in a desperate attempt to flee from swirling mass of black and green that just manifested itself behind her.

"Oh, what a surprise! I didn't see you there, my sweetest of evils. I have some business in this part of Hell and really, I can't be late. And now you're in my way, you do so enjoy being a huge inconvenience!" (There's no reason for him to be there. He just literally yeeted himself so hard and fast across the map to interrupt their conversation. He'd be panting if he wasn't gritting his teeth together so hard.)

For you, anon :))

THIS IS FOR FUN ONLY AND NOT CANON TO YOURS TRULY

Five O'clock Somewhere (But Not Here)

Nel heads to the bar to get a damn drink, grumpy as ever and in desperate need of cheap booze. It won't get her drunk, but it will allow her a reprieve from Alastor's insidious presence that seems to trail her wherever she goes in this shitty building. The Hazbin Hotel is a fitting name for such a rundown crapshack, though she feels that the Shithole Inn would work just as well.

The second she crosses from red carpet to green floorboards she can taste newfound freedom- until there's a hum of radio static that pitches in her ears, causing her to hiss and scowl as a familiar shadow materializes right inside of her personal bubble.

Alastor pops into existence practically on top of her, eternal yellow grin widening as his crimson eyes crinkle in pure malicious delight.

“Sweetheart! There you are. I noticed a lack of your terrible black cloud tainting my radio tower and just had to find you- I can’t have you running off on me.” A clawed finger reaches out to bop her nose, but she dodges out of the way with a growl. “I see you’ve decided to curse the parlor with your dreary disposition instead. How delightfully horrific!”

“The only curse here is you.”

There’s a loud incorrect buzzer that sounds from his staff. “Wrong, I am the host of the hotel! So close.”

“Host, pest, plague, same difference to me,” Nel snaps before attempting to brush past him. “Move your boney ass, I’m getting a drink.”

“This early in the day?” Alastor steps right back in front of her to block her from escaping. “Why, it’s hardly past noon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“Well, if you’re so insistent that it’s a drink you’re after, I’ll prepare it for you.”

“Jesus, the fucking bar cat is right there!”

Said bar cat flips her the bird as he downs his fifth whiskey of the hour. As much as it stings her pride, Nel attempts to smooth things over by awkwardly quirking up the side of her lips in a strained smile- she needs an ally here.

Husk blinks one droopy eye at a time, decides this shit isn't worth it, then grabs his precious bottle and shuffles away from the bar out of the lobby.

Well. Shit.

The radio asshole laughs down at her, “Scotch on the rocks, dear?”

“I’d prefer a lobotomy.”

Using his microphone to herd her towards a worn bar stool, he hardly bats an eye as she tries to snatch it out of his hands. “Perhaps over dinner this evening, if you’re a well behaved little harpy."

Nel refuses to reply; she groans and lays her head down onto the sticky bartop, gluing her bangs to the sugar-stained wood.

Eternity has never seemed so fucking long.

#my asks #the pookies #first time posting demon Al #first time posting Husk too #and in third person #a drabble! #demon Nel

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

Just remembered how much of a huge impact Lobotomy Corporation's Hokma made on me... while Binah mostly laid out core aspects of the narrative (thus representing "Understanding", only really having more of her character show when she makes questionable decisions in her Meltdown), Hokma hits me hard in a certain way. Something about the way he finds comfort in it all. Something about the religious feeling of being around him. The sheer weight of it all. And then the meltdown...

The meltdown honestly made me cry the first time because of just... everything about it... the way he believes that the hell that is Lobotomy Corporation can loop back into being an eternity of just joy, just the joy of being with those close to you, a fantasy that will never come, but he believes in it so, he presides over the endless circle, so surely the circle must turn towards such an outcome...

As I was saying, it hit me hard because of the amazing music for the first part of the meltdown which is, honestly so emotional... how smooth it all sounds... and Hokma's dialogue most of all...

"Do we truly need to change?"

"All of your loved ones are finally by your side now."

"We will not ever lose anyone, as long as the cycle repeats."

"Why are you trying to let us slip away?"

"I just wish to stay with you, everyone, and all that we have left in this eternal moment."

"Please do not steal away the last glimmer of what I treasure."

All of this showing what he truly feels. His yearning. His emotional connection. His vision. His genuine intimate care that he truly does feel for everyone, even if it is merely just in concept...

and of course... we cannot forget what he experience when the passage of time all starts flowing away... like a broken dam, it gushes onward at an uncontrollable rate, the clock his body has transformed into spins and contorts at an extreme rate, all while he has this to say:

"You never knew when to stop, so I shall stop you with absolute certainty this time."

"I do not understand. What more must you sacrifice? Just what are you trying to achieve?"

"No, I do not wish to change. I do not want to forget it all. Please, let’s just stay."

"I just cannot understand. Neither then can I accept it."

He truly does understand Ayin, he was closer to him than everyone else, so it makes sense that not only will he be critical of him, and say some very true things about him ("You never know when to stop" especially hits an accord, due to how he pushed everyone... all the sephirot, and most of all... Angela...)

Just something about this old man and his old heavy heart hits me hard. I always cared about Hokma in a special way, and he especially hit me hard in LobCorp, especially with that meltdown, easily one of the most mentally exhausting things I've ever played, but... god... it was worth it... everything was worth it... I remember when I beat it for the first time my music literally broke from the impossible pace Hokma was going at... but after everything... after the meltdown... there was only silence... silence, and words of introspection...

#project moon #library of ruina #lobotomy corporation #projmoon #lobcorp #hokma #hokma lobcorp

[sweepweep]

No one can convince me that they didn’t “train” Hajime and Izuru like a dog during the lobotomy process.

Like a full eraser and rewire of someone’s mind and body doesn’t happen in one surgery, so during the process, they (for Hajime) would’ve conditioned him to expect surgery at certain times, expect tests at certain times, they probably took away any contact he had with the world and referred to him as Izuru Kamukura to try and speed up the process.

When it comes to Izuru after the final lobotomy, they would’ve had to “train” him even more. I mean, they now have a newborn with the abilities and strength of a god, who they’ve neglected to teach empathy or morals. If they wanted to do a test, and he said no, there was nothing they’d be able to do.

And of course they needed a way to keep track of their super-tool

That’s why my hyperfixated brain has decided that post-game Hajime/Izuru has one arm with a tattooed barcode, which if scanned, will show the entire process, including pre and post, and test results.

And that his other arm is scarred beyond belief with a mess of lichtenberg figures from his wrist to elbow from electrical shock. The scientists and doctors wouldn’t have been able to get remotely close to him if he didn’t want them to. So how better to control him than with a long-distance shock at the press of a button.

They weren’t going to bother teaching him how to feel things like regret, empathy, or morals, because a super weapon would be weakened by those. So they had to have control before he figured out everything and went off on his own and did whatever he wanted.

TLDR: The Hope Cultivation Plan was probably a lot more fucked up than we bother to think about. I could go on and on about this if asked (or not) to

(I do currently have a fic in process about this, of which I will shamelessly link when it’s done)

#danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa 2 goodbye despair #sdr2 #danganronpa izuru #izuru kamukura #hajime hinata #sdr2 goodbye despair #danganronpa sdr2 #sdr2 hajime #sdr2 kamukura #human experimentation #tw lobotomy #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #writing

[your-nanas-house]

Hey, I loved your Cal story with the male reader and was hoping for an Idea of Grand Inquisitor Cal and Vaders Apprentice Female reader smut

Hi! Thank you so so so much and sorry for making you wait so long. Also May the 4 be with you, dear. ❤️ I really appreciate a Cal Kestis request, I should start to write more stories with him.

On the dark side

◇ Pairing: Grand Inquisitor!Cal Kestis X Darth Vader's apprentice fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, dark, Siths, confusion, angst, use of the force.

◇ Summary: in the request

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

Y/n should never have been there, according to what Darth Vader told her and imposed on her in order to improve and become a perfect Sith she would have to give up on some things which was definitely difficult, especially when it involved the attraction she felt toward an inquisitor she had met more than once while standing at her "master's" side. The same man who now laid beneath her with his back arched, his pale, freckled skin flushed from the heat caused by the two bodies, so close together and the activity they were engaged in. 

His mouth was open, his lips swollen and red from the kisses exchanged previously, Cal Kestis, the inquisitor in question, also felt a knot in his throat, in addition to the pleasure he felt, caused by the force used by Y/n who was slowly increasing it reaching that way the right pressure so as not to choke him to death as she continued to bounce at a fast pace on his length particularly appreciating, although she would never had admit it out loud, the inquisitor's large and strong hands which were firmly gripping her bare hips. 

They both hoped within themselves that they would leave a mark on her skin, as soon as he moved his hands from there, so as to leave a memory of that crazy night.

They reached the third round when a powerful and unexpected force moved Y/n from on top of Cal, immobilizing her on the mattress thus giving time for the inquisitor to move on top of her, spread again her bare legs covered with bites and hickeys to be able to reach better and faster the part of her that was waiting for more and more care.

Y/n's body relaxed and tensed soon afterward, still allowing Cal to take care of her and his own needs while relieving himself of the stress that Darth Vader caused and that the general work of an inquisitor put on his shoulders.

The feelings felt by the two Sith, despite being blurred, were blurred and pushed aside because of the power of the pleasure they were causing each other, but they were both confused, not sure if they were doing it to let go of their stress, their hatred, or simply because they both needed physical contact, something to make them feel like they were safe, and sex was the closest thing they could find in that dark place, full of evil and lust for power mixed with sadism.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher

#cal kestis x y/n #cal kestis smut #cal kestis x reader #cal kesties x reader #cal kestis #darth vader

[bullet-prooflove]

What It Feels Like: Mitch Ripley x Reader

Tagging: @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee @thebejeweledwatercat @a-porcelain-gir1 @icefrye19 @kmc1989

Mitch still has nightmares.

One’s where he can barely move, barely think.

Sleep paralysis is what you call it, a living hell is how he thinks of it.

It’s been worse since he met Jimmy. Reviewing those X-rays, seeing the results of the lobotomy first hand, it’s devastating to his psyche. He cries when he get home that night, you find him at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, his heart breaking in two. He spends the evening with his head in your lap, your fingers combing through his hair as his gaze fixates on the TV.

When he falls asleep that night he dreams of the hospital he’d been confined to. The soft restraints that cinched his wrists, the drugs that kept him under, fogging his mind, weighing him down. Every jerk, every twist is futile, he can’t move, can’t speak…

He wakes up with his heart racing, thudding wildly against his chest. The warm glow of the nightlight  illuminates your features as your lips chase away the tears on his cheeks.

“You’re here with me.” You say softly. “In the bed that we share, the home we’ve made.”

It takes him a minute to make the adjustment, to remember he’s a man now, not a boy. He buries his face into the curve of your throat, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You’re a grounding force for him, the shelter in the midst of a storm and he needs that right now. Someone who cares about him, who loves him, someone who hasn’t abandoned him like everybody else in his life.

“I’m going to see Jimmy.” He tells you over breakfast the next morning. “Make sure he’s settling in ok…”

You know what he’s not saying, you can read between the lines.

Jimmy has no one, just like Mitch had no one and he can’t stand the thought of that. At least on some level he had a comprehension of what was happening to him. Jimmy, he doesn’t understand that his sister is gone, that there won’t be any visits.

“You’re a very kind man.” You tell him, your lips brushing over his forehead as you set the coffee cup down in front of him.

“No.” He says quietly as he draws you down into his lap, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “I just know what it feels like.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#mitch ripley #chicago med #mitch ripley x reader #mitch ripley x you #mitchell ripley #mitchell ripley x you #mitchell ripley x reader #luke mitchell

[xr0tt3nxfl3shx]

👁💊My Medicine is underdeveloped and my Amygdala won't work.💉👁

Twomp[AU] fanfiction + art !! Pertains to the events in this post. [No beta we die.]

⚠️‼️TW: VOMITING / OVERDOSE / SUICIDAL IDEATION / UNREALITY / CORRUPT MENTAL HEALTH SYSTEM / GENERAL MENTAL ILLNESS THEMES‼️⚠️

A/N: i didnt wanna mention it tbh but just in case, ive been down the chemical consumption road 3 times, an i mention because i know the internet has opinions on mental illness in writing. But ive been there myself. All up close and personal like. so i think i can speak on it (dont castrate me)

POV: 👁Argos👁

I scratch at my skin in the dark of my room as if that'll hold in the tears from spilling over my burning red cheeks. The feeling of rage and overwhelming depression clash within me, and leave me to switch every few minutes between cursing the name of every therapist who ever told me that "I'm not even trying to get better" and crying over the idea that they might be right.

My heartbeat is so vigorous that it feels like at any moment the tendons will tear away and my heart will burst in my ribs. How could anyone say that to me? I seethe and hiss through my gritting teeth. Why can't I get better? I cry enough to fill an ocean and nearly drown in my tears.

I should be able to control all of this by now, I'm not a child. Yet, I can't stop thinking about putting the heads of those who hurt me on a platter. Or banging my head on my bedroom wall hard enough to dull the heartbreak. My eyes are running dry from all the tears, I've been at this for a while. My head is pounding from the adrenaline. All reasonable thoughts are drowned out, with intrusive and irrational ones taking the place of my internal voice of reason.

I can make it better, I can make this better. I just need to try a little harder! Just.. go a little further. These feelings, it's just a chemical imbalance right?

I'm running out of options, types of therapy, pills, at this point I might as well just get a lobotomy. I'm sure my therapist would like that.

There's still time to make this right. I don't have to end my life to end my suffering right?

I can prove them wrong. I will prove them wrong. It's just a chemical imbalance. I just need to fix it.

I rummage through the medicine cabinet above my bathroom sink, overlooking the blood crusting around the drain. There has to be something in here that can make my head stop pounding or my thoughts quiet down if not for just a little while. Maybe everything all at once? Yeah that should do!

Laid out in front of me on the cold tiled floor of my bathroom are various pill bottles. The amount of pills actually in them is varied, they like to switch my meds every other week it seems. I try to be hasty with this, pouring out a small handful of gel capsules into my hand. Each one smooth, glossy, and slightly cool to the touch.

You know, I've been here before, and typically there's some survival instinct in me, paralyzing my hands before I can do any damage. But all I can feel is anguish. And anger. And there's no more room for self preservation in me.

I take my first dose before I can come down from my emotion fueled adrenaline rush. Quickly now don't let the self preservation come back. I take my next dose of a new pill type, a tablet. It was a bad idea doing this dry but oh well!

Before I know it I'm slumped against my bathroom door, unable to continue my self medication on account of the mounds of pills I dry swallowed having begun triggering my gag reflex. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious about this, but it had to be done. My therapist is always urging me to take steps in the right direction!

(Though admittedly he never mentioned which direction is the right one.)

I make it back to my bed, dragging my feet and leaning on the wall for support the whole way. It's not even five minutes in when I start to feel the effects. I probably should've eaten before taking my pills like the instructions say.

This is different though, I feel my connection to reality slip right through my jittery fingers. Like the shadows in my room are divulging their presence. Like they are reaching out their hands, ready to take hold of me, pull me in and make me one with unreality. An emptiness overcomes me, something I've truly never felt before. And it's the strangest thing, because simultaneously I've never felt more alive in my life.

Everything is really funny, I've never noticed how funny everything is up until now. Every little unorganized thought that pops up in my foggy, spacing-out head manages to get a strained laugh out of me.

Visual snow floods my peripheral, the colors of the world begin to become one with the static in my eyes.

Ah, I remembered what I was going to do in here. I need to call Mr. Plant. I need him to know that I'm going to get better, and how much I love him of course. Oh he'll never understand just how much I love him! I love him to death, haha! Literally.

I dial in the number. Moving has proven difficult, like trying to control a vehicle while tired and out of it, or in my case trying to control a vehicle through the most debilitating brain fog I've ever experienced. The disconnection from body and thought is almost calming.

The ringing of the phone is such a funny thing as well. I could lose myself in the methodical rhythm and loose vibrations running up my hands- oh look here he's answered!

"M‐r… plant! I ha-ve.. s o me thi.. ng to tell you."

I am fighting to get the words out. The weak sounds I manage to get out of my raspy throat come out in uneven tones with jarring stutters. Why is it so hard to speak?

"I took.. a lot o-f... my me-ds. Ha-ha!" He hangs up immediately.

Is he not happy for me? It wasn't long before I heard sirens closing in. Did he call the cops on me? That's no fair, no fair at all.

I've never been rolled into the back of an ambulance on a stretcher before but there's a first time for everything I suppose. It's too bad I'm too out of it to really experience it.

In the ambulance is when the first wave of nausea hits. I could barely even feel the EMT insert the IV or hear when they asked me questions.

———

The heart palpitations do their diligence distracting from the perforations left in my arm from the injections of various medications and the IV drip.

My respiration is just as irregular as my heart's chemical damaged rhythm. I feel like I'm drowning in this heavy air and it feels like the knots in my stomach have spread to my heart. This pain is so unbearable that I feel the need to crave it out of myself with a blade.

The world is doubling- no tripling, blurring, and mushing together all at once. I can feel the hum of the fluorescent hospital light buzz through my head. The scent of rubbing alcohol and sterilized equipment is evident throughout the cold medical facility.

By my own hands I've made my body a place unsuitable for living. I've "almost drugged myself to an early grave" as the hospital staff keep reminding me.

Speaking of body, I can no longer tell where I end and the wires of the EKG machine begin. Neuropathy has set in and nerve sensation has dulled for the most part, except in my stomach and heart where it hurts the most of course. But me and the machines they have me hooked up to might as well be one as long as they are taking the place of my dysfunctional body systems.

When they run the EKG scan, which they do about every half hour, they ask me to stay as still as I can, but it's hard to control the shaking when I don't know where it comes from in the first place. I'm by no means cold, or if I am I really can't feel it.

Have I mentioned the shaking? The tremors? I need to grow accustomed to the flavor of raw stomach acid soon, because that's all I've been throwing up anymore. It's all that's left.

The nausea begins to build all over again, like my stomach is writhing and contorting in my torso. I can feel the knots being tied. Over the next few minutes it builds and builds, I'd do anything to stop the encroaching bile now. The nausea completely overwhelms my senses right before another round of the most violent retching I've ever experienced. Accompanied by the most awful squelching and splattering sounds as it hits the rest of vomit already resting at the bottom of the bag.

I feel like I'm nearing being turned inside out everytime it happens. And I've filled yet another vomit bag. This isn't going to stop for days as the doctor told me. I doubt I'll get the luxury of unconsciousness.

The activated charcoal they gave me to drink is like this black sludge, "slow and steady now, don't drink so fast you throw it all up but not so slow that you succumb to the consequences of your own actions." Well maybe that's not what they really said but it's how it felt. I can tell the staff are judging me, I just know it! They think I deserve this.

At least the charcoal is cherry flavored.

My many eyes dart around the clean and pristine hospital room erratically, glancing off in every direction. I don't want anyone to look at me anymore. I can't stand the buzz of the lights and I can barely bring myself to move enough to blink. Or even move enough to breathe. I am much too dizzy and light-headed to even consider standing up. I'm so dizzy I could swear I'm phasing in and out of my body. The only thing keeping my consciousness bound to this body is the unending pain ancoring me in the reality of my situation.

It's growing increasingly unbearable.

Above all else I am losing my mind trying to figure out where I went wrong tonight. These chemicals were supposed to fix all these feelings. The pills were supposed to fix me. My psychiatrists and therapists all told me that I'm sick, disordered, and all I needed was to buy a few more medicines.

It must be my fault, it must be if hundreds of milligrams of mood stabilizers can't just make it better.

Tell me, anyone tell me, why I'm so useless that I can't even help myself?

Why am I so worthless that my medicine won't work on me?

I am almost entirely suspended in unreality. The prozac, olanzapine, mirtazapine, and everything other useless drug they gave me were meant to cure me. I've tried everything!

I've done the very most I can to try and make the bad thoughts quiet down. And are the thoughts that tell me "I'd be better dead", my own thoughts, or a symptom of one of my diagnoses?

Is the reason I'm like this the same reason I don't deserve love, or do I not deserve love because I'm like this? I want to get better. I swear I really do.

So why does no one believe me?

"Sir, you have a visitor." The nurse informs me in a harsh yet hush tone.

The words barely make it through my chemical head. I'm practically catatonic in this hospital bed. But when I do process them I pray to every divine that it is who I think it is.

Red petals on the top and bottom, two yellow petals, one pink and one blue. I was right!

I can't believe he came all the way down to this void to come see me. I really thought he'd stay home. I don't think anyone or anything could possibly understand the pure desperation I feel coursing through my veins. Right alongside the saline they're using to flush my IV of course.

My boyfriend entered my hospital room, #34 I believe, I saw when they rolled me in on the stretcher. Tears well up in my dried eyes, I couldn't feel enough of anything to cry while drugged out of my head but seeing him, well, I need him more than I have ever needed anyone before.

The look on his face when he saw me is one I didn't know he was capable of, pure horror even. I must look horrible stained with my own bile in these itchy hospital scrubs. He is quick to clasp my hand in his and rub along my knuckles and the back of my palm. Through the blurred vision and tears I can't even make him out anymore but I don't need to, I just need his touch. I need it so badly.

I have no depth perception at the moment, or hand eye coordination, and again everything is quite blurry so it was mostly unintentional when I pulled him in by the sweater. He leans into me and wraps his arms under my upper back, holding me against his chest.

He's warm against me, holding me gently in a hospital bed. I can't feel much at all other than the pain, his warmth was the only other sensation I could pin down in my head. It was such a harsh contrast from how I normally see him acting.

With him so close I can't tell where he ends and I begin this time. Even in one of my most painful moments, I feel a familiar comfort in my palpitating heart. He's the only thing keeping me from going entirely mad. He has no idea what I'd give to melt into him right here right now, become an amalgamated abomination of our half hazardly bonded flesh and bone. I'm afraid I'd ruin him and all his perfection with me and all my misshapen and grotesqueness.

I am especially disgusting as of now, making him worry about me like this. Can I not be horrible for just one second? Selfish, that's it. I must be selfish. I take another go at speaking a moment after we pull away. All I can muster is an apology that comes out more like a pathetic stammer through my tears.

The way his cold gaze met mine shook me. I've never seen real tears stream down his face. He looks so... distraught. Its like he's looking right through me and simultaneously looking directly at me. And on top of everything I've never seen him sign so frantically. He rarely signs at all.

"Please don't be sorry."

…

"Don't strain your voice."

"Just stay right there, okay? Do you need anything?"

"I'll get you anything, I'd do anything for you."

I knew he cared about me, but I guess I never realized just how much. Or maybe I just forgot. How horrible am I?

Is it possible I'm actually worth something to him? Worth enough for him to call me an ambulance, worth enough for him to comfort me in the hospital bed, worth enough for him to cry over me?

Was I really worth staying with all this time?

My thoughts are interrupted by another round of retching, it seems those knots in my stomach weren't just anxiety. Mr. Plant holds my hand through it. I'm gonna be here a while, I know that. But he's here with me, and from the looks of it he isn't leaving my side anytime soon.

I'll make it out alive, not for myself, just for him. And for the possibility that maybe he needs me just as much as I need him. I wish my mind wasn't so scrambled, so I could find the words to express just how much I love him.

I love you Mr. Plant.

#overdose #vomiting #tw overdose #tw vomit #unnamed twomp au #twomp #ashur gharavi #argos twomp #the world of mr plant #twomrp #twomp fanfic #plargos #eye love you #I'm so sorry regular twomp enjoyerd #YOU JUST GOT [COMICALLY ANGSTY TWOMP AU]'D #Spotify

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: something new | ljn

summary | in a freak chance, your boss’ top makeup artist falls ill right before new york fashion week, and you’re the only intern who could even begin to take over for her. so, you spend a couple of days as lee jeno’s personal makeup artist.

genre | lee jeno x fem! reader, idolverse/real world, nyfw! jeno x makeup artist! reader, (emotional) fling-ish…i realized i didn't tag this w an actual genre its like angst-ish with a bit of fluff lol

warnings | there’s like one suggestive line, y/n had an embarrassing kpop phase in high school

wc | 4.4k

a/n: i literally need to be sedated. his heels … his heels … HIS HEELS … i need a lobotomy rn fr. shout out to my bff for life rin for getting me through the past two days

ft. people i made up

YOU FELT LIKE PASSING OUT.

Thank god you were relatively close with Stella, because, if you weren’t, you’d probably have been trampled a long time ago. It had taken nearly an hour to even get into the hotel due to the scale of fame most of its residents had, and, even after you’d made it in, making it to the room where you’d be working was even harder. Being an intern makeup artist for a fashion brand was fun, up until you’d actually had to go to an important event.

Quickly, you took out your bottle of water, taking a few sips before you really did throw up. When you’d originally been told about this, about your emergency subbing in, you’d felt over the moon—now, you wanted nothing more than to go to your dingy little apartment in Newark and watch a random reality TV show.

“I want to go home.”

“I want to go home.”

“Oh, come on,” Stella groaned, looking at you. You envied her nonchalance, but her lowballing of your anxiety upset you quite a bit—she’d been doing this for ten years, and you were an intern who’d been doing it for four months. “Bossman said he was going to give you someone easy, yeah? Probably a guy. Someone who only needs light foundation and enhancement. Be glad you aren’t Yuri.”

Yuri, one of your other superiors, was taking over for the best makeup artist in your lineup. Two days ago, she’d produced a shiny, new, positive COVID test, leaving your entire team in shambles—and, given the short amount of time, they had to fall back on the interns. They had to fall back on you.

Finally, you made it to your destination—the front of a line to get into the hotel room. The security guard motioned to see your IDs, which both you and Stella produced with ease. The moment he verified, he stepped out of the way, allowing you to enter a world of absolute, utter chaos. People ran around with safety pins and eyeshadow pallets, and you could’ve sworn you heard yelling.

Luckily, your boss had been waiting for you both, it seemed. “Girls!” he exclaimed, coming up and placing a hand on both of your shoulders. “So glad you’ve arrived. Welcome to your first fashion week, [First]! Play your cards right and you can get a permanent hire, I’ll bet.”

“Yeah,” you said, laughing nervously. Your boss patted your shoulder twice, giving you an almost nostalgic smile.

“Stella, you’re over with the women, as always. Have fun! [First], you speak Korean, right?”

You furrowed your brows, wondering why this was relevant. “Uh, yeah?”

Your boss removed his hand from your shoulder, clapping excitedly. “Lovely! I’m giving you a very, very special job that not even Miss-COVID-Positive could pull off.”

He sidestepped past you, and you paused, blinking a couple times before you spun around and rushed to catch up with him. He walked right out the door you’d just waited nearly twenty minutes to enter, strutting down the hall in red-bottomed heels and the most expensive suit you’d ever seen. You struggled to keep up, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the less-than-fancy clothes you were wearing (black sweats that looked like dress pants and a loose t-shirt); then again, Stella had looked worse for wear than you had.

“Where are we going?”

“Peter Do has a very special guest this year, and we need a Korean speaker to follow him around and make sure he looks perfect during the whole event. There’s worry he might not have the easiest time making it around as most of the models do.”

You wondered what that meant. Jokingly, you asked, “Is an idol coming, or something?”

Your boss didn’t respond, he just kept walking, stopping once you reached the elevator. He swiftly pressed the “up” button, waiting for the elevator to finally appear. You stopped next to him, more nerves rising in your stomach. “Sir, please don’t tell me I’m going to have to follow a k-pop idol around.”

“Why? Is that bad?”

You cringed, remembering your high school days—you’d been obsessed, listening to every group under the sun and spending your free time tweeting about those same groups. As such, you knew more than a little bit about how idol lives were, and what they had to endure.

“People are taking pictures of them for every single second they’re out and about,” you said, beginning to overthink as you stepped into the elevator. Your boss pressed the 15th-floor button, but you barely cared, at that point. “One mistake, one slightly-off line, and it’ll be documented forever. Forever, boss. What do I do then? Sit and cry? I’ll never survive that. And if people see me with them? What if there are, like…weird rumors?”

“You’re overreacting,” your boss said. The elevator doors slid open faster than you could comprehend that you were going up, and, suddenly, your boss was emerging into the hall. You, once again, nearly got left behind, stumbling out of the elevator to try and stay with him. This floor was incredibly quiet, with not a single sound echoing through the halls. It was eerie. You would’ve thought it would make you feel better, but it hadn’t—at all.

He stopped in front of room 1567 and knocked. You stood behind him, almost hiding as the door swung open to reveal a woman in her early 30s if you had to guess. “Come, come!” she exclaimed, stepping out of the way to let you in. You followed your boss, a sense of dread overtaking you.

And then you made eye contact with Lee Jeno.

He was standing in the middle of the room in front of a huge mirror, with three people fussing over his outfit. You stood there in shock, flashbacks of being a 16-year-old girl and fussing over “Chewing Gum” filling your mind, and your very short time as an NCT fan. He was just as gorgeous as you’d remembered him being, with jet black hair and a physique any man would die for. You looked over his outfit, impressed with what Peter Do had done, and—

He was shirtless.

You looked away almost instantly, feeling your cheeks burn at the realization. You decided to tune into your boss’ conversation with who you’d assumed to be Jeno’s manager as they talked vigorously. “[First] is our best intern, and is essentially already part of our team, so I wouldn’t worry. She’s also fluent in Korean, something Stella was not, and will be able to heed anything the client wants or doesn’t want. I wouldn’t worry at all.”

“Lovely,” his manager said, turning to you. “We have a little area for you to get set up if our preliminary setup wasn’t to your liking. We have a few instructions for what the designer is looking for as well. After his appearance tonight, we’d like you to demo tomorrow’s look so that we can accept or deny anything. He’s nearly done with outfitting, so it shouldn’t be long.”

It was standard protocol, stuff you’d heard every time you shadowed Stella or Yuri at similar events, yet you felt like you didn’t understand a thing. Nevertheless, you smiled and nodded, bidding goodbye to your boss and following her to your station.

They’d set it up perfectly, allowing everything to be easily grabbed among a sea of products and tools. There was a sleek, black chair in front of you, and you were easily able to lower it to a better height for you. His manager left, and you sat in the bathroom, alone.

The first thing you did was take out your phone and enter a mostly unused group chat that hailed from your high school days. The last time someone had talked was last year, and it was discussing how an old classmate was already married with two kids—they were not gonna believe this one.

“My client for New York Fashion Week is Lee Jeno from NCT.”

Instantly, texts began flooding in, ones of disbelief and shock.

“No fucking way, you liar!!!”

“Make him fall in love with you!!!”

“Kiss him for me omg.”

You smiled, giggling at your phone. Then, the sound of heels clacking on the ground like mini-earthquakes caused you to practically throw your phone on the counter. You dropped your purse next to it, standing up straight and hoping you didn’t look too much like a deer in headlights. He walked in, wearing the most intense heels you’d ever seen and, once again, not wearing a shirt.

“Hello,” he greeted, and your mind immediately switched over to Korean-mode. You hoped you wouldn’t fail at speaking it, given you hadn’t spoken it much since you’d started working this job.

“Hi!” you exclaimed, hoping you didn’t sound too idiotic. “Um, go ahead and sit down, and we can start.”

He nodded, following your orders to the T. His manager stepped in, leaning against the door while she scrolled on his phone. You picked up a piece of paper, reading over what today’s directions were.

Natural with a slight enhancement of features, exactly like Stella had said. You could do that easy-peasy.

“Is there anything in particular you want me to focus on?” you asked, picking up the sheerest foundation they had. It was certainly a shade too light—you nearly frowned at this, but kept your composure—but you hoped the transparency of it would obscure that.

Jeno thought for a moment before shaking his head, smiling at you. “Do whatever you think is best.”

“All right,” you nodded. “Oh! By the way, I’m [First], and I’m your main makeup artist for this week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he replied, relaxing in the chair. “I’m glad I’ll have one familiar face around.”

“Me too.” You began to paint the foundation onto his face, basking in the moment of shock you went through. You were doing Lee Jeno’s makeup—Lee Jeno, who you’d fawned over and loved all throughout your high school years.

“You’re new to this?” he asked, looking at you while not moving his face at all. You swear your heart palpitated at his question, even if it was a meaningless formality more than it was actual curiosity.

“Um, I guess? I’ve been interning for about eight months now. Hoping for an official position once the year-long residency is up,” you said, laughing nervously for the ninetieth time today. “You’ve been doing this for six years now, right?”

Jeno’s eyes widened for a split second, and you wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say. You doubted he wanted to hear that you were an NCT fan way back when, given how awful the sasaeng presence was for his group.

“Wow, you know?” and a smile blossomed on his face, causing your heart to beat even faster. “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone who knew NCT while I was here.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you said, putting your foundation brush down and picking up an eyeshadow palette. “NCT are huge. Up there in terms of international fame. I’ll bet most—if not all—people here know who NCT are or have heard the name. Plus, a bunch of people will come to see you. Promise.”

God, you probably sounded immature and awful as you said that. You finished lightly outlining his natural features with a very light brown, uncomfortably setting down the palette. Suddenly, an idea came to you, and you hoped it didn’t look too stupid.

“I guess you’re right,” Jeno finally said, his smile dropping in the slightest. He must’ve been nervous; you would have been too. In a new country, alone, with none of the seven people you’d spent your whole adolescence with…you’d be horrified too.

You scoured the cart for any sort of brown eyeliner, feeling a bit calmer knowing Jeno didn't think you were an embarrassing idiot. Taking the brown eyeliner, you paused, biting your lip.

“Um, would you mind if I kind of…held your face for a second? It would just be a second, not too long or anything.”

“No, no.” Jeno shook his head. “Go right ahead.”

Softly, you pressed your fingers against his face, trying to keep your hand as steady as possible. You gently pulled his skin, widening the range in which the eyeliner could reach. His skin was impossibly soft, and you could only begin to wonder how long his morning routines must have been. He was perfect.

As cleanly as possible, you pressed the tip of the eyeliner to the beauty mark right under his eye, filling it in as dark as possible. That was his most noticeable and memorable feature, in your opinion, and having it stand out seemed ideal to you.

You pulled away, staring at his face for a second. He almost looked better before you’d started, but you shook off the feeling and smiled. “I’m just gonna put on some tinted lip balm and you’ll be on your way.”

You picked up the small tube, twisting it up so that the slightest bit would protrude from it. You placed your fingers on his face to steady your hands once again, gently brushing on the light pink gel.

If you were insane enough, you would have kissed him.

“You’re all good!” you announced, smiling. “Go out there and wow the world in your 90cm heels.”

He chuckled at your joke, standing and instantly towering over you. You practically had to look straight up to see him comfortably. “I’ll see you soon, [First].”

He and his manager left the room, leaving you alone. You assumed you should just wait until he returned, so you sat down in the makeup chair, basking in the warmth he’d left behind.

—

To no one’s surprise, you’d fallen in love—or, had a really intense crush on—with Lee Jeno over the two days you’d worked for him.

Every time you were left alone with him, taking his makeup off or retouching it before he went back out into the world, he fired questions at you and you fired them back. You felt like you’d known Jeno for years, even if it had only been two days.

When he left, you knew he’d stop thinking about you, too—in a world surrounded by the country’s most beautiful people, you didn’t stand a chance at occupying even a sliver of his mind. Or, maybe you did; maybe your absolute unremarkableness in a sea of greats stood out to him.

You saw him walk in through his reflection in the mirror, alone, manager not in tow. He wasn’t supposed to be here, so you didn’t move from the makeup chair, simply looking up from your phone and staring at him through his reflection. “Did something happen?” you asked, finally looking towards him. A simple sweep of his face showed no flaws in his makeup, so he had no reason to be here. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

“Will you meet with me tonight?” he finally asked, looking at you with a sort of desperation in his eyes. “I want to see you before I leave. I won’t be back in tonight. My manager’s about to come tell you that you’re free to go home, but…please don’t go home.”

You sighed, thinking about how idiotic it would be to ride the train home, alone, to Newark at night. If you were thinking reasonably, you should’ve said no. If you were thinking reasonably, you would’ve considered the chance that all eyes were on Jeno right now, and being caught sneaking into his hotel room past 7pm would have resulted in your face all over the internet.

“What time?”

“If you’re okay waiting, I’m staying at this hotel, so…I could let you into my room after my manager tells you. Room 1911 on the nineteenth floor. Okay?”

You should’ve said no. You really should’ve said no.

Instead, you nodded, mumbling a quiet “okay.” The smile that appeared on his face after that was brighter than you’d ever seen him smile over the past two days, and, with that, he disappeared from the room. You picked your phone up off your lap, wondering what your friend would say to you after hearing all of that.

“Girl, bring a pen,” she joked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Nothing’s gonna happen. I won’t be signing any NDAs. I’m not going to initiate anything, and I won’t let him initiate anything. We live thousands of miles away from each other, and I don’t want to kill myself with emotion.”

“You say that…” your friend trailed off, giggling. “Well, I guess I should hang up then. Seems like the manager is coming to let you down gently—d’ya think she knows?”

“I hope to god she doesn’t.”

The line went dead, and you slowly lowered your phone from your ear, staring at the wall. If you could sit down in a room with your sixteen-year-old self and tell her, “In six years, you’ll be having an emotional fling with Lee Jeno from NCT,” she’d laugh and call you too lame for that.

Just like it was forewarned, Jeno’s manager came in with a smile on her face and a small, pink gift bag in her hands. “[First],” she began, watching as you stood up from the chair to face her. She handed you the small bag, which had an interesting sort of heft to it—you wondered what it was. “I’m happy to let you know that we’re done for today, and you’re officially relieved of your duties. I’ve let your boss know that you did a wonderful job for us and for Jeno, and to certainly consider upping your position from intern to an official employee.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled, half-bowing. “I’m thrilled to have the opportunity, and I had a wonderful time working for you.”

“Well then,” she said, wiping her hands together. “You’re off! Have a safe trip home, and treat yourself well!”

“Thank you!”

And you slipped out the door, practically running towards the elevator. You bobbed and weaved through people in the halls and realized it would be a better idea to take the stairs up, so that’s exactly what you did. The sheer adrenaline of sneaking up to a top idol’s room fueled you to keep going up and up, even if it felt like the air had been suffocated from your lungs.

Each new step made you feel more insane. This bond you’d formed with a boy you barely knew—it felt ridiculous. It felt dangerous. Nevertheless, you kept going—up, and up, and up. Up, towards an impending doom you could’ve avoided.

Reaching the door with the big nineteen on it must’ve been what people felt like when they reached an oasis in the desert. You pushed the door open with ragged breaths and a weak physique, trudging down the hall with heavy legs. You counted the numbers on the doors, finding yourself at the one in the middle of a dead-end hall.

1911. You knocked twice, and the door was thrown up—Jeno grabbed your arm and tugged you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. “Not to hold you captive or anything,” he said sheepishly, looking through the peephole of the door. “But you need to stay here until, um, 7ish? You can watch TV or something. The room’s already been swept for bugs, so feel comfortable…okay? I’ll be back.”

Someone knocked on the door, and you wondered whether or not you would’ve been dead meat if you hadn’t been fueled by pure adrenaline as you walked up the stairs.

“Jeno! We need you now!”

Jeno ushered you out of sight from the door, grabbing his keycard off the decorative table that sat near the door. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, half-nodding at you. You both stared at each other for a second, with you still trying to catch your breath from your 7-flight hike up here.

Then, without any warning, Jeno walked up to you, grabbed your shoulders, and pressed a feathery kiss to your lips. It was fast, chaste, too quick for you to understand what was happening before someone was banging on the door again and he was rushing out to meet them.

The door slammed shut behind him, and you stood there, wondering what in the world you’d done to deserve this.

–

It was 7:30 now, and Jeno hadn’t shown up. You were beginning to get antsy, making sure the curtains obscured the whole room every twenty minutes and attempting to focus on the TV show you decided on. Of course, it never worked, and you were constantly picking up your phone and trying to find anything to keep yourself occupied.

So, when the door opened and a boy with 5-and-a-half-inch heels stepped inside, you felt a sudden wave of relief rush through you in waves. You stood up from the bed, letting your phone fall onto the duvet as you watched him walk deeper into the room. Jeno practically ripped the shoes off, sighing in relief now that he was finally free from the heels.

“Sorry,” he said, a bit out of breath. You would be too if you had to walk in those heels.

“For what?”

“Earlier.” You mentally took yourself through those chain of events, remembering the first 30-minutes of alone time in which you had attempted to process it, and then the succeeding 3-and-a-half hours in which you had tried to forget it. “I didn’t ask.”

“Um, it’s okay,” you said, trying not to shrink into yourself. “I didn’t mind that much.”

If you were more honest, you would’ve said, “It haunted me a bit, but then I learned to live with the shock.” Were you angry? Not at all. Was being kissed by a celebrity, an idol with a manicured personality, that you were in love with in high school shocking and hard to process? Yes.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, turning away as Jeno pulled his fancy polo shirt over his head and opted to change into an SM Town concert t-shirt. When the rustling of clothes was over, you looked to see him in complete lounge wear rather than just a new shirt, and now you were thinking about how Lee Jeno changed in the same room as you.

He took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, and it was silent again. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him, or maybe it was your mind making it up simply because you were so close to him. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you felt like shoving your face into a pillow and screaming like a teenage girl.

“Look,” he started, suddenly turning towards you. You half-mimicked his action, knowing that, if you looked him in the eye, you’d practically melt. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. I feel like I was always meant to cross paths with you, like—like it was destined, or something. I know it’s only been two days, and I know I’m flying across the world tomorrow, but can we please keep in touch?”

You cleared your throat and, inexplicably, you felt like crying. This felt impossible—no amount of bad sleep schedules and bad planning would keep you two in the know with each other. And, every time he came back to New York, you’d repeat this cycle over and over again. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

“I guess, but…” you felt bad feeling him relax and then immediately tense up again beside you. Mustering up all of your courage, you turned towards him completely, locking eyes. “You have to promise me you won’t forget about me and leave me cold turkey, okay? My life isn’t like yours. It’s slower. It’s easier to build connections. So, if you…if you just promise—”

“I promise,” he cut you off, faster than you could even comprehend it. Once again, he cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with such gorgeous eyes that you could’ve passed out right then and there. He was the son of Aphrodite, the living manifestation of pure and unbridled beauty, the type you can't contest even if you wanted to. He was everything you were not, and, yet, he still seemed so infatuated with you.

“Okay.”

Jeno pressed his forehead against yours, and for a moment, you just stood there. You draped your arms around his neck, and, for a moment, you just sat there. Basking in the presence of each other, something you wouldn’t get for a long time after tonight. If there even was an “after tonight,” that is—there was always the chance that you’d never hear from Lee Jeno again after this, and you’d fade away into nothing but a memory in his mind.

Or, maybe it was the opposite. Maybe you’d talk every day, sending pictures and calling when viable. Maybe you’d look at makeup artist listings at SM Entertainment without telling, applying and destroying the whole world you’d worked so hard to build here in New York. Maybe you’d send him a picture of you on a plane and a time, and you’d fly, and you’d land, and you’d be met with him in his full glory.

Maybe you’d have one of those romance-movie moments, the type of moment you’d see on a Hallmark Christmas movie, where you ran and hugged each other, where he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. Where you kissed amongst a huge crowd of people, trying to get to their final destination and glaring at you stopping in the middle of the walkway.

Or, maybe you were delusional. You didn’t care, because, as Jeno connected his lips with yours for the second time tonight, much slower and more thought out, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was something new.

thank you for reading!

#cinna.nct #lee jeno x reader #jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno angst #nct dream x reader #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst #jeno x you #jeno x y/n #ljn x reader #nct dream scenarios #jeno scenarios #nct scenarios

[jerktournament]

ROUND ONE - Byakuya Togami (Danganronpa) VS Yesod (Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina)

(The contestant image for Yesod is from Lobotomy Corporation, but this entry is for both renditions of the character.)

!!! PROPAGANDA BELOW !!!

BYAKUYA: "- His title is literally, get this, "ultimate affluent progeny" - Fucking look at him /hj - Treats everyone as inferior in every way, even when they're trying to solve a murder he goes "how did YOUUU figure this out before MEEE???? >:0" - Constantly has an "Me vs. Them" mentality about everything so he feels the need to prove himself to be superior - Messes with crime scenes because it would "make them more interesting" (purposefully incriminating someone else, who he didn't like) Actual quotes by him - "I'm only here to get breakfast. I have neither need nor desire to talk to you. Now withdraw." - "You're like a child lost in the woods, you know that? A total waste of space." - "You know, I still just can't believe it... That an uneducated, brain-dead, useless piece of garbage like you has survived this long." - "You have only yourself to blame—you came to me with your tragic little story. I didn't ask you to. This is the real world, not some romantic fantasy fairytale.""

YESOD: "AAHGH HOW DO I EVEN BEGIN TTHERE'S JUST. yesod. probably spoilers here but when you first meet him in Lobotomy Corporation I think one of the earliest things he does is make a jab at your fashion sense even though it's universally agreed by new players that his outfit is a disaster (although he dresses like that for fear of contamination and his Trauma!). He's cold to mostly everyone and is very strict, rules-following kind of guy, and people often see him as emotionless and heartless, coming up with the nickname "The Viper" for him as a result of that! BUT!!! BUT!!!! LISTEN EVEN IF HE'S MEAN. EVEN IF HE'S COLD. HE'S LIKE THIS BECAUSE HE HAS TO BE!!! He has so much unresolved trauma in his past of getting too close with am employee and befriending them and losing them because he wasn't strict enough on safety regulations and let them off with a pass because they were friends. AND NOW HE'S CLOSED AND WITHDRAWN AND OBSESSIVE OVER SAFETY PROTOCOL BECAUSE HE'S SCARED AND HE REALLY REALLY DOES CARE ABOUT HIS EMPLOYEES!!! It's hinted that he doesn't like the nickname Viper but he accepts it because it makes him out to be the respected person he wants to be!!!! He praises the real AI of the corporation, Angela, for being cold and emotionless(which is ANOTHER bag of repressed trauma worms) and wishes he could feel nothing like her because HE FEELS TOO MUCH!!! I LOVE HIM SO DEARLY MI AMOR!!! And AND in the second game he's healed a little bit and is still a little mean but the first thing he does THE VERY FIRST THING HE DOES to the protagonist is walk up to him wordlessly and reach up to fix his tie. I'm normal about him. Also he's short. Short people closer to hell or whatever. IDK he's purple ok? :3 Even if he loses IT'S A TESTAMENT TO HIS GROWTH I'M PROUD OF YOU YESOD!!!!!!"

#byakuya togami #yesod #danganronpa #lobotomy corporation #library of ruina #drthh #yesod lor #err i think that's all the tags i need? lmk #poll #i like both of these characters man

[lanawinterscigarettes]

you're a cowboy like me (Simm! Master x reader)

Summary: when the drums get too difficult for him to handle, you're the only one that can help

Warnings: mentions of the drums meaning there's definitely some angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, soft Master (might be a bit ooc for him but eh)

A/N: this fic isn't actually based off cowboy like me by taylor swift, it just has some of the lyrics in it near the end (it'll make sense once you read it, I promise) so it's not nearly as devastating as it could've been had I chosen to go that route. also the reader is taking the role of the master's spouse when he was the prime minister, so lucy is out of the picture here (sorry)

The Master's hands twitched in annoyance as he sat at the desk in his office. Sifting through boring and completely unnecessary paperwork was bad enough by itself, but with the constant sound of the drums ringing through his ears it just made it worse.

He hated having to do it, but he had to keep up public appearances if his plan was going to work properly, meaning he had to fulfill whatever tasks the real Prime Minister was supposed to, even if that meant sitting through tedious meetings and filling out stacks and stacks of paperwork.

He let out an exasperated sigh, glaring at the several files and forms that laid on his desk that still needed to be signed. It almost felt like they were mocking him, in a way.

The Master tapped his pen against his desk in a weak effort to help calm him down, to no avail. He was just about to say 'fuck it' and flip over the entire desk in frustration when he heard the door to his office open.

"Not now, I'm busy," he called out as he closed his eyes, rubbing at his temple at an attempt to hopefully dull the throbbing headache being caused by those damn drums. His body tensed up when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, though he instantly relaxed when he realized it was you.

"Hey, honey," you greeted softly, rubbing his shoulders in a comforting manner. "Rough day?"

He let out a grunt in response. "You have no idea," The Master mumbled tiredly, feeling like he could pass out right in his chair under your soothing touch.

Pulling away from him, you walked around him until you stood in front of his chair. "Is it the drums?" You asked quietly, your hand reaching out to lightly caress his cheek. It was obvious what the answer was, but you felt the need to ask anyway.

He sighed heavily as he set down his pen. "Is it really that obvious?" He didn't acknowledge your hand on his face, even though it was providing him some much needed comfort.

"It is to me." You knelt down in front of him so that you were level with his line of sight, making it practically impossible for him to avoid your gaze. "Master, you need a break. I know that your plan is important to you, but you won't be able to carry it out properly if you're exhausted."

As much as he wanted to protest, he knew you were right. He nodded his head before moving to stand. "Alright, fine. If you insist."

You got up from where you'd been kneeling on the floor and took one of his hands in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I do. Come on, I'll go with you."

He allowed you to lead him from his office down the long hallway to your shared bedroom, where you carefully pushed the door open before walking him over to the bed. "Would you like me to turn on some music for you? It might help drown out the sound of the drums," you suggested, watching as he got on the bed and laid down.

"Yeah, okay." At that point, he would've said yes to a lobotomy if there was even a slight chance it would quiet the constant pounding in his head.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled through your playlists before settling on one that you thought would help soothe him the most. Setting it on the nightstand, you pressed play before getting in bed next to him.

He closed his eyes and let the sound of the music wash over him as he allowed you to pull him close to your chest, holding him protectively. "I'm sorry I can't do more," you said quietly, one of your hands running along his back while you spoke.

The Master shook his head before responding. "Don't be. You've already done more than enough," he whispered back, sounding grateful.

You smiled at his words, pressing a loving kiss to his head. "Try to get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

He merely nodded, not having the energy left in him to formulate another sentence. He snuggled up close to you as he got comfortable, the lyrics of the song resonating through his head and finally putting the drums to rest, at least for now.

The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep was the melody of a bittersweet love song, almost like his own personal lullaby.

'You had some tricks up your sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Perched in the dark

Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Like it could be love

I could be the way forward

Only if they pay for it...'

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated <3

Main masterlist | Doctor Who masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @theonetruepotato87 @sessa23

#gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #doctor who #doctor who imagines #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #doctor who angst #doctor who fic #the master #the master imagines #the master imagine #the master x reader #the master angst #the master fic #simm!master #simm!master imagines #simm!master imagine #simm!master x reader #simm!master angst #simm!master fic #simm master #simm master imagines #simm master imagine #simm master x reader #simm master angst #simm master fic

[ecoamerica]

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[trainingdummyrabbit]

ok your posts have got me so curious what is lobcorp and who is Angela I am dying to know

ohhhhhh anon. im so glad you asked. youve activated my infodump trap card. we are gonna be here a lilwhile, but i will try to keep it short regardless.

[inhale] lobcorp, also known as lobotomy corporation, is a multitasking monster-management game, part of a series of games from the producers Project Moon. it starts as a very simple "dystopian setting manage the monsters and sometimes employees die nbd" sort of game, but then rapidly, intensely spirals the more you play. its notoriously difficult but also ridiculously fun and satisfying to get correctly. you are expected to fail and retry multiple times, so much so that it is an active in-narrative plot point.

you play as the manager of L corp, named X, and angela is your Helpful AI Assistant here to help you make energy efficiently and be the best manager you can be. :] by making energy. nothing else. dont worry about it.

lobcorp as a game has absolutely Fantastic characters, and Doubly so in its sequel Library of Ruina. its a series that focuses on character growth, cycles of violence, autonomy, the definition of humanity and personhood... and just. so, so much more. its so full of The Horrors.

. this, of course, is the very basics of getting into the game. i am going to explain everything very vaguely and very messily. i'll spoilercut in case you're interested in looking spoilerless based off of this, (extra post abt it [here] if youd like to check it out yourself) but i will Try to keep it vague. i make no promises. youve asked me about my favorite character. that i have previously spent 6 hours straight explaining to a friend. you understand. here we go.

////

lobcorp takes place inside a monster-management facility... that is, in and of itself, a closed-off timeloop. in order to progress, certain events and interactions must happen in a very specific way for its ultimate goal to be realized. should something go wrong or a mistake occur, the loop resets to day 1, and you must do it all over again.

angela, your ai assistant, was built to be the perfect person to keep you, the manager, on-track for a plan of your own making. dont worry about it. she was built to be able to seamlessly and efficiently move things along-- the ability to feel emotion to be able to connect with employees and make crucial decisions, the ability to recall anything that has ever happened regardless of the loop, and the ability to perceive time much, much slower than a normal human to make judgements more efficiently.

she guides and supports you all the way up until the final leg of the journey, where... she simply doesnt show up again. she has done her job, and you no longer need her. you have a plan to finish, and an incalculably long time loop to finally close. everybodys suffering results in a happy ending, and everyone gets to rest. ^w^ yay yippee!

. just kidding. nothing is ever easy. angela, as a character, is seemingly set up to be a game mechanic and very little more, in the beginning. eventually, more comes up about her as the game progresses, and well...

...anyway imagine being built to be an imitation of somebody you are not in a broken individual's deepest throes of grief, and the minute you become conscious the guy you were built to love hates you simply because you exist-- because you are not the person he lost, because you're a shoddy imitation, mirroring everything he hates... that he made to be that way, in a cruel act of self-loathing. ok?

now imagine you're built to feel, built to remember, and then forced to guide a timeloop countless years long, forced to follow a script that makes you harm people you desperately want to protect and connect to, causing them to hate you. you remember every bit of harm you had to impose on them in painful detail. imagine doing all this so that your creator can come in and fix all of their problems after youve set the stage. ok?

now imagine you finally do everything right. you finally, finally help this guy to see his plan to fruition, and in the last steps of everything, when everyone comes together and finally starts to move towards their own endings... nobody looks back for you. nobody thinks to look to you, to look for you. because nobody thinks youre anything more than an object.

imagine all that, and once, finally, you start to Want. because of course, after holding everything up by yourself, you would want something more than to fade away wordlessly. of course, after all this mistreatment, you would want a future too. this story was set up so that everyone could grow and move forward-- except you. isnt that cruel? isnt that horrible? so, truly, who would really blame you for taking what you truly deserve? who could blame you for reaching for the same light they did? so what if it means you have to destroy everything you-- everything they worked for with your own hands. they can hate you all they want-- its no different from what it's been. you only have one goal now, and simply, it is to Live.

.

. Library of Ruina is the sequel to Lobotomy Corporation following a curious machine trying to become human. angela becomes one of two main characters, and the entire game functions as a dialogue on her growth as a character now that she finally has the autonomy to learn and change. she searches for the One True Book, something that will grant her humanity and the freedom to live, grow, and most importantly: forget.

along with the second primary character, roland, they learn more about the city and how it truly functions-- and also learn about themselves, And each other.

what do you do when you teach yourself all you can do is survive and look out for yourself-- when you finally open back up to the possibility of hope and connection, and everything is ripped out from under you yet again for circumstances out of your control? what do you do when you're a victim of a cycle of horrific deeds, crushed beneath the weight of people who couldn't care less about you, and your only hope of escaping alive is to pull down anyone else in your way?

what do you do when you finally free yourself from a seemingly endless gauntlet of suffering, finally grasping power youd never been able to have before, all in the name of finally, finally getting the vengeance and resolution you deserve? when you follow the path set in front of you, set by actions of people who came before you, spiralling endlessly into the distance? what do you do when this guise of distance and coldness you put up is rightfully challenged and you have no way of defending yourself-- when you have to question what if this "self" youve made of yourself is truly who you are... and if this path ahead is truly of your own choosing, or the making of someone whose influence you could never really shake off.

what does it mean to have autonomy when your life is never truly yours?

lobotomy corporation and library of ruina, aka: Who Wants To Be Part Of The Torture Nexus ? Try Now !

#pikasks #long post #projmoon #THIS IS . HEAVILY ABRIDGED. STILL LONG POST. #IHAD TO REWRITE TH SPOILER PORTION. THREEE TIMES. WROTE IT HALF ASLEEP ALSO. #IAM SO SERIOUS THO IAM LEAVING OUT SO SO MUCH. i dont want to write a whole actual essay because i Will and ouhghghg #i tried to pick at context and thematic setup for angies character to get a Base Understanding of why shes Like That but #again. im leaving so much out. #she is such a fantastically written character and i will never ever be over it. #PLEAS at the very least consider looking at th series at face value bc its WRITING.............. THE WRITING. #OK. THANKYOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE. <33

[binah-beloved]

Binah Pining Headcanons

Lobotomy Corporation Warnings for mentions of exhaustion and passing out

yes i will eventually do Ruina ones too

~ * ~ -You are the one single thing she is uncertain about -Everything else is trivial and dull to someone as apathetic as she. But you, oh you- whenever she sees you her mind short circuits, going blank for a brief moment -It doesn’t sound like much, but it is for Binah, she’s not used to being lost for words from just a simple glance -She doesn’t know whether to confront you or keep quiet, either- her heart starts acting weirdly whenever she approaches you, even if it’s with work-related business -It results in a lot of her staring at you from across the room as you feel a pair of eyes bore into the back of your skull -Binah expresses these odd feelings in small ways- leaving a cup of hot tea for you, carefully organizing the files you need to work on so she can make your job a little easier, or just keeping an eye on you from afar -She’s entirely aware of how intimidating she is, so at first she tries to refrain from actually speaking to you most of the time. Yet you don’t seem to mind, engaging her in conversation on your own volition like she’s one of your coworker friends -The casual talks you have together become a bright spot in the otherwise midnight depths of the Extraction Department -It’s a little surreal for your fellow employees, seeing you chatting with their Sephirah so calmly as she listens intently to your every word -You can talk about anything, even the most boring, silly matters, and the normally cold Binah will still become keenly interested in the subject -Sidenote: she really wants to wrap you in her cloak, as it can get rather cold in the facility (and she also just wants to hug you but don’t tell anyone that)-Once you passed out from exhaustion and woke up with her heavy furred coat draped over your body- she never did explain why…

-Speaking of which, Binah begins picking up on your habits and mannerisms during work. She’s incredibly observant, but this is the first time she’s actually cared about observing anything apart from death and destruction -She worries, silently, when she knows you’re not feeling well and sees you come to work anyways. On the days she can see you struggling to even function, she’ll come over and suggest that you retire for the evening. It comes out sounding more like a command, but the sentiment is there -As I mentioned, there have been times where you’ve fallen asleep at your desk due to overwork or sickness, and somehow, every time, you find yourself back in your bed when you wake up again. No one knows how it happened, because Binah’s very careful to make sure no one sees her carrying you back to your room -She’s internally hesitant about touching you. Her touches never linger, merely a brief hand on your shoulder most of the time, but it’s more than she offers anyone else. She knows her strength, so any touches are kept light, as to not hurt you -Keeps you away from the Well, no questions asked -When before Abnormality breaches only sparked vague interest, now her first thoughts go to you and if you’re alright- for some odd reason, she doesn’t relish your pain as she does for the rest of humanity -So she keeps you nearby as often as she can, close to someone she knows can protect you. She’s not an ex-Arbiter for nothing -If you have the habit of crafting little gifts for your coworkers, she’ll keep any you might give her forever, even if they’re just made of paper or something -Binah likes it when you laugh. It makes her feel something warm, something other than apathy -Practices smiling less sadistically- only for you, though. Luckily, you don’t seem to mind her smile either way -If you happen to hum while you’re working, she’ll find herself idly humming along, soft enough for no one but her to hear. She has a nice singing voice, even if no one knows about it -Her heart doesn’t entirely melt, per se, but it does defrost in your presence, just a little bit -Binah doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to confess to you. In your current situation, it feels impossible- yet she finds herself hoping for the first time, wishing to say those simple words to you someday in the future. But not today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that -(She knows how she would confess, though- she’d give you her other earring)

#lobotomy corporation #lobotomy corp #lobcorp #binah #binah lobcorp #project moon #library of ruina #binah library of ruina #lor #lor binah #lobotomy corp x reader #binah x reader #lobotomy corp headcanons #get binah'd #i said i would and so i did #had fun writing these they were nice #they boil down to 'binah is very very confused' #she just stares at you a lot trying to figure out what she's feeling #eventually i will do ruina ones #wifi writes

[presentmicscocksleeve]

~♡Cult Leader♡~

Yandere Cult Leader Present Mic x She/Her Reader

~♡ Minor Injuries to Reader, Held Captive, Age Difference Mentioned/Implied {but can easily be ignored}, Tied up, Violence, Blood, Attempted Forced Marriage, Reader In Wedding Dress, Cruel but Loving Yandere, Death Mentioned, Needles/Shot, Lobotomy By 'Medical Professional', Cult/Twisted Religion, Fear, Just fucked shit♡~ Please let me know if I missed something that you think should be in the warnings

~♡♡♡~

A branch snagged the bottom of your dress as you ran frantically through the dark woods and forced you back with a yank. For a moment your heart dropped as you thought someone from the search party had caught you.

"I think I heard something that way!"

And there was your reminder, you didn't have time to stand around. You yanked on your wedding dress until the whole bottom came off. When you started running again, it was much lighter now thankfully. But that was only one problem solved. The sharp pebbles and broken sticks digging into your bare feet nor the mud that got into those open wounds was another probable entirely but you did your best to ignore it, to focus on the nothing but getting away. To escape this hell!  Not the burning of your lungs or the fact you can feel your heart beating against your chest as you try to quite your heavy breaths. Adrinellen and fear pushed you forward.

You could see their torches threw your tear-blurred eyes, you could hear them calling out to you over in the distance over your frantic sharp breaths in and out. You knew they were getting close, but you were also close to the road you'd only heard about from outsiders. You just need to make it to the road and you'll get away. You'll be free. He'll pay.

But it wasn't to be, as you were grabbed and jerked back by a hand on your tricep "I got 'er!" 

Another man came over and grabbed your other arm, the two began dragging you back to the town in the clearing no matter how hard you shoved the heels of your feet into the ground, thrashed, and screamed. Trying to bite or hit did nothing but make them move faster toward your hell. You saw the lights of the things the outsider called cars! You had almost made it! You couldn't help but let the pitiful tears escape your eyes as you could do nothing but watch your freedom slowly get further and further away.

"You're a brainwashed jackass!" You spoke to your father as he with the other guy's help dragged you back to town. He said nothing back to you, just kept looking forward as he pulled you along in the dim light of the torches the men around carried.

.♡♡♡.

Dragged right through the town and into 'The Temple' as the people you once considered your friends, hell your family, all watched and whispered with pity in their eyes. But that pity was not for you, it was for your future husband.  Once inside you were forced to sit and tied down to a chair already out and ready for your capture.

"What!?" You screamed at the men and 'nuns' who came around to help "You want me to repent!? Get rebaptized in his name!? Well, you can fucking forget that shit! This is a scam and he's a fraud! He's no divine being! He's a crazy-"

You were slapped so hard your head reeled to the side, the coppery taste of blood filled your mouth "Dont speak of The Grand One in such a way you tainted bitch! You are lucky to be chosen out of everyone here to be his wife and this is how you thank him for that!?" That man who helped your father screamed as you got your bearings. You were still a bit confused when they all dropped to their knees and bowed, so you didn't realize what was going on until you heard his voice. Hizashi, or as they and at one point you yourself called him, The Grand One finally came into your line of view "I came as soon as I heard she was brought back! Im so glad she's safe now darling, you had us all so worried." He spoke with sweetness, but the sweetness you use on a dog, not a person. He was talking down to you like you were less than him. And it made you sick.

"Who was it that got her?" Your father slowly stood "Me, oh Grand One. Just as you prophesied she took to the woods trying to make it to the portal to the outside world. She almost did too, but I got her just in time." Hizashi smiled, grabbing your dad's shoulder to give him a small shake, and the fangirl of a man looked like he could explode after that "Your wife has already been rewarded for being the one to birth to my bride but now I shall make sure your whole family is rewarded. You are all dismissed for now though." 

Hizashi then turned, cupping your face and giving it a once-over as his eyes darkened  "Tsk." From the way everyone stopped dead in their tracks you'd think that tsk was a gunshot, echoing around the room. "And who did this to her?" He jerked your face so that the people in the room could see the forming welp of a handprint. Slowly the man stepped forward, practically shaking in his boots. He looked ready to piss himself "She was mouthing off-" He was cut off by Hizashi backhanding him too hard he stumbled back, hitting one of the pews with the back of his knees causing him to falling onto his back on the ground "Did I give you permission to speak!?"

"N-No grand one." He placed his boot hard down onto the man's chest causing him to grunt. He already sounded hurt but this must be even worse "I also didn't give you permission to filthy her skin with your anger. Yet you did both of those things. You could have been rewarded but now, oh now you'll be put to death for your insolence." Two other members dragged him off screaming as they all rushed out of the church, all but two 'nuns' who were standing away from everyone doing their jobs. When you two were 'alone' he frowned at your 'self-inflicted' wounds from running away "You poor thing-"

"Dont fucking pity me you bastard! Im gonna get out of here and tell the police all about you and what you're doing here! Then you'll finally pay!" He shook his head at you "The outside world had brought evil into my town, I can see that now. Letting those lost hikers coming in out of the rain has come back to haunt me, they've brought darkness into my paradise. Into you, this anger is misguided. You should be upset at them, for corrupting everything we had."

He turned to the two 'nuns' and whistled to get their attention "Sisters, please put her to sleep and then get her cleaned up for me." They nodded and rushed out, quickly rushing back in with a needle "No! Get the fuck away from me!" You trashed about in the chair, trying to bite and swing as that woman grabbed you, shoving the needle into your neck. It took a good few minutes but eventually, you began to fade out of conciseness with dread in the pit in your stomach.

.♡♡♡.

"Oh, would you look at that? Sleeping beauty is awake." It took you several moments to come fully back to reality. And the more you realized the worse your panic became. Tied down to a bed in the 'hospital' and gagged. From all the equipment around you it was clear this was a room in the surgery ward. You tried to struggle but nurses quickly tightened your binds as the gag was replaced with a mask by the doctor. 

No! You began trying harder as the gas began to enter through the mask. The gas is meant to knock people out. Hizashi himself held your head and the mask so you couldn't shake it off "It's alright my dear bride. You're having trouble settling into your new role. I understand, marriage can be scary, especially for someone so young. Im just getting you the help you need." 

You struggled till the moment you went fully under.

.♡♡♡.

Hizashi smiled as he took a tissue and wiped a bit of drool from your mouth "You'll mess up your pretty dress like that love, sit up love." "Mmm."

~♡♡♡~

1399 Words

#Yandere Present Mic #Thought I should contribute to October a lil #Now ima crawl back into my hole and not post for another few years lmao #This probably sucked lol #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #present mic x reader #Present Mic

[bitchsister]

eyy universe, ik it's such a short period of them together post near-death curt but i would love to read more of how both bucky and gale react or taking care of curt whenever he's having his episodes

For you anon 🩵

Let’s just squeeze this in somewhere? And not think too hard about the logistics of where this would fit in the timeline given in EYY. Obviously, sometime after the crash and while they’re away in the city for R&R.

Curt was struggling, and he knew that, but felt it hard to verbalize without sounding as though he was in desperate need of a lobotomy, or perhaps diagnosed with hysteria.

He worried at a hangnail beneath the table, his gaze fixed on the ceramic plate Gale had prepared. A hand-painted tangerine nestled in the center, cradling untouched eggs, bacon and biscuits. "Hey, baby," Bucky's voice broke through his thoughts, followed by the playful theft of a strip of bacon.

He knew that look.

“Let’s eat, hm? Big day ‘head of us.”

Bucky's voice pierced through the fog, a familiar sound with an indiscernible message. Curt registered the presence of words, but their meaning remained frustratingly out of reach.

The worst part of all was seeing Curt descend into the state he was in before them — The stark contrast was agonizing. Just moments ago, Curt had been a whirlwind of devious energy, shadowboxing with Gale as bacon sizzled and playfully nipping at Bucky's neck in a warm embrace. Bing Crosby's Don't Fence Me In had spun on the record player, filling the room alongside the morning sunlight streaming through the open window.

Now, that vibrant spirit had dimmed, replaced by a withdrawn silence and a blank stare.

"S'gettin' cold, Curtie," Gale's voice was soft, his gaze flitting between the cooling breakfast and Bucky's panicked expression. The clatter of Curt's fork against the plate, followed by a sharp exhale through his nose had caused both of them to jump. “Let’s not have a piggy go to waste.”

There came a horrid panic, and lots of it. Not even he could properly explain or articulate the feeling — it was deep in his belly and it vibrated through his chest like a shot to the heart. There was pain. The smell of smoke. His skin burned. His fingertips didn’t feel like his own.

His eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking an anchor, but finding only a chilling emptiness. "No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His body betrayed him, collapsing into a fetal position beneath the table as the untouched plate clattered to the floor, shattering into unrecognizable shards.

A million pieces.

“No, no, no.”

He huddled in on himself, his head to his knees and his hands covering his ears.

Curt was never afraid of dying, at least not before he began having these episodes. And how funny that is, he thought, because nobody crazy enough to fly a plane into enemy flak should ever have a fear of dying — but there he was.

Ignoring the shards of broken ceramic, Gale and Bucky dropped to their knees, their focus solely on Curt. Bucky, bumping his head in the process, squeezed himself under the table, trying to reach Curt who had curled into a tight ball. "Hey, hey," Bucky's voice was soothing, "Hey, baby. Hey, listen," he gestured to Gale, silently requesting water, a need he instantly understood and rushed to fulfill.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Bucky, honey. And Gale’s here, too.” He wet his fingers and smoothed Curt’s hair away from his face with them as clammy, hot skin was cooled with the water Bucky pressed over his cheeks.

Gale felt nervous. He felt sick. It hurt so much to see Curt this way — so much so, he could hardly look.

With two of these happening so close together, they both began to wonder if this would become their usual, and would it ever get easier? Would they learn how to stop them? Would they ever figure out what exactly brought them on?

In truth, they’d never get the chance, but up until their last days, they’d never stop trying.

Curt's body trembled, wracked with ragged gasps for air, until suddenly, an eerie stillness descended. The wind ceased its whisper through the open window, the birdsong outside fell silent. It was the kind of stillness Gale and Bucky remembered from their childhood, the ominous quiet that precedes a tornado.

The ticking of a clock, the drip of the faucet, the record that had spun out to completion.

An explosion of limbs flew in every direction, Curt’s body scattering away from Gale and Bucky and over the broken shards of ceramic to grab for his kit, which he couldn’t find again. “No, no, no.”

“Curt, honey.” Bucky went to grab him, and that may have been one of his biggest mistakes to date.

A fist to his nose, a knee to his stomach.

Instinct took over as Bucky assessed the situation — Curt, lost in the throes of his episode, had become a danger to himself and potentially others. Options raced through Bucky's mind, each with its own set of risks and consequences. He had to act, and he had to act fast.

Curtis was fast.

Curtis was strong.

Curtis was lethal.

Curtis was terrified.

With reluctance, Bucky was forced to restrain Curt, pinning him to the floor with a knee pressed firmly against his back. Curt's cheek burned against the cold tile as his chest heaved with each ragged breath. "Fuck off me," he snarled, his limbs thrashing wildly like a poor little bunny caught in a vicious trap, "I'll fuckin' kill you!"

If Gale didn’t know what to do a moment ago, he had no idea whatsoever what he could do now besides wipe the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand and turn away.

"It's me," Bucky's voice remained calm and steady despite the throbbing pain in his nose, courtesy of Curt's wild swing — His own hands, however, remained gentle, stroking Curt's hair in a soothing rhythm. "It's me, baby. I got you. Won't let nothin' hurt you." A trickle of blood from Bucky's nose traced a path down his chin, landing on the back of Curt's neck. "Just me."

A guttural growl came out of Curt, and Gale had wondered if maybe they should start praying, or something — where was the chaplain? Surely he’s somewhere close.

The silence was long gone now.

The storm raged within Curt, his struggles against Bucky's hold gradually weakening until he was spent, leaving an exhausted silence in its wake. This fragile peace allowed Gale to cautiously approach, offering comfort by gently wiping the blood from Bucky's face with a damp cloth.

“Got you good.” Gale murmured softly, his eyes bloodshot and glassy still. “Think you broke it?”

With a heavy sigh and a lazy shrug, Bucky shifted his weight, his thighs bracketing Curt's waist as his hands continued their soothing motions over a back that was no longer rigid with resistance. The ordeal had taken its toll on Bucky as well, leaving him drained and slow to react when Curt's hand reached up, gently wiping the blood from his nose. "Binky?" Curt's voice was weak, his body aching from the battle against himself. “Gale?"

A voice they recognized.

The Curt they knew.

Bucky gently rolled Curt onto his back, his sigh mingling with the rustle of the damp cloth as he used it to clean Curt's face. "What—" Curt's blue eyes, clouded with confusion, scanned the room, landing on the two men staring back at him with expressions he couldn't decipher.

“Don’t matter, honey.” At least not right now.

“My nose,” Curt must have knocked his face against the tiles when Bucky took him down, and for that, Bucky felt an aching sense of guilt. “Your nose.”

Gale sat on folded legs, his knees spread wide enough for Curt’s head to lie between them. “Don’t fuss about it right now, Curtie. We can talk about it all later.” He sniffled a little but had tried so desperately to hide it.

“Galey, you’re cryin’.”

Bucky leaned over Curt and pressed kisses to his face that had finally began to settle into a normal and typical freezing-cold Curtis body temperature.

He tried moving his left hand, his knuckles bruised already from the blow he took at Bucky’s face. “My hand.” Curt looked to Gale again, and then at Bucky once he pushed him far enough away again to look at his face, still gushing blood. “Did - did I —“

"Don't matter," Bucky murmured, gently removing Curt's hand from his chest so he could lean down once more. His lips traced the contours of Curt's face, leaving soft kisses on his flushed cheeks, his nose, the corner of his bloodied lips. "All that matters is that you're feelin' safe."

Gale continued to wipe away the blood he could reach with another cloth, chasing after Bucky’s lips that spread it all around. “Safe?” A squeak came out of Curt, his voice pinched as if he had been learning a new Italian word.

Safe.

Safe.

When Curt thought of safety, he thought of home.

He thought of his favorite girl Cleo, who was likely shedding her orange fur all over his bed now.

He thought of Ruthie, and the way she would tap on his door when dinner was ready.

Come on and eat, Cutty. My growin’ boy.

He thought of Bucky, and the way the Major had looked at him when they first met, a cigarette between his teeth and his lips tugged into the smile he only ever gave Curtis.

Well, look at you, little one.

He thought of Gale, and the softness of his hands that had always matched the softness of his heart.

I follow you, Curt.

“Yeah.” He finally whispered, “I feel safe.”

Gale rose swiftly, his movements purposeful as he went to draw a bath for Curt. Meanwhile, Bucky continued his ministrations, his fingers combing through Curt's hair as he sprinkled his face with soft kisses and whispers. "I love you," he murmured against Curt's skin, his lips reluctant to leave their warm haven. "I love you so much, makes me sick for you." The memory of the Regensburg mission, the first night he had spent without Curt, surfaced in his mind, a stark reminder of the fear of loss that always lingered.

He had so much left to say.

The moment Curtis had come back, he swore to himself he’d never feel that way again — so much unspoken, so much Curtis had deserved to hear.

"I'm sick for you," Bucky’s forehead rested against Curt's, their eyelashes brushing with each breath. "I'm so fuckin' sick for you, Curtis." Their lips hovered mere millimeters apart. "Never wanna get better. I'll stay sick like this forever."

The feeling had come back into Curt’s hands, his palms smoothing over Bucky’s broad shoulders and the muscles beneath his tight and bloodied tshirt. “Yeah?” He whispered in a gentle breath, fingertips dragging along the dried blood over the bridge of Bucky’s nose.

“Yeah.”

Gale kept vigil beside the bathtub where Curt lay curled, his body weary and his skin stinging from the tiny cuts inflicted by the shattered plate. In the next room, Bucky stood before a mirror, taking a deep breath before resetting his broken nose with a sickening crunch.

The towel, stained with their mingled blood, was clenched between his teeth to stifle the cry of pain.

When it healed, a little bump had been left behind.

And even when he’d look in the mirror, his own reflection staring back at him, he’d see a little piece of Curtis there.

There you are, Angel.

#💌 #blame swifty for the last part idc #eat your young #love you Cutty 🩷 #curtbucky #masters of the air #yoyo writes