#i had to go way back to find another art that fit the theme

[frailstateofhealy]

babe, you look so cool - matty x reader

a/n: hi, this is my first fic!! i've never really written something and put it out into the world so i hope you guys enjoy! so sorry if this is hard to follow but hopefully my writing improves! i'm going to label this as 18+ just because it's angsty and has mature themes! also let me know if you want a part 2! xx

warnings: angst, cursing, depiction of anger issues, toxic love and brief mention of blood

summary: you're in a toxic relationship with the lead singer of an up-and-coming band in your small town. he's damaged and so are you but two negatives make a positive right?

word count: 2.4k !!

wilmslow. a small town in england where your family had decided to relocate to a few weeks ago from london to get away from the chaos of the city.

you were eighteen years old and this would be your final year of school. you were nervous about moving to a town where you wouldn't know anyone until you met a guy called adam who was nice enough to invite you into his friend group and introduce you to them.

you would never fit in with the popular girls because you weren't a cute preppy blonde that everyone liked. you had brown curly hair and your favourite colour wasn't pink like the other girls. it was black and that was the colour you wore every day.

one day during lunch adam invited you to the table where he sat with his friends every single day. as you approached the table you saw a tall guy with blonde hair and another with short brown hair who seemed a bit shy. then finally, you saw the one who was laughing obnoxiously at something the taller blonde one had said to him. the obnoxious guy's smile faded from when he saw you standing there in front of him like he was almost in a trance at the sight of you.

adam stood up from his seat and walked over to you. "hey boys, this is y/n. she's new here and i wanted to welcome her into our group." you smiled and looked at each one of the three boys sitting in front of you but your eyes traveled back to the loud one. he was so visually appealing to you and there was something enticing about him.

adam started "this is george, he's massive. this is ro-" adam was abruptly cut off when the obnoxious one stood up in front of you. "fuck off ross! i'm matty." he said with a smile while letting his eyes linger on you for a few moments before he forced himself to look away.

you looked at matty, he was beautiful. people would often argue that men couldn't be beautiful which you always believed to be true until you met matty.

george's deep raspy voice knocked you out of your trance "shit, matty just fell in love at first sight." george joked that day but he was right and he usually was right when it came to things like that. george and matty seemed to be the closest of the four, they told each other everything. they hardly ever had secrets between them and george knew exactly when his best friend fancied someone, especially from the way matty looked at you. he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful piece of art hanging in a museum, one that he couldn't take his eyes off of.

you began to ask adam some questions about his friend matty during the class you two had together. you knew you had to get to know him and you wouldn't rest until you did. something about him really intrigued you.

matthew healy. nineteen years old. he had spent one extra year in school because he got held back from not paying attention in class or skipping. when he was asked why he didn't show up to class he told the teachers that school "got in the way of his visionary genius" he had long curly brown hair that just barely touched his neck. he sometimes wore his hair up in a bun which matty preferred you called a "man bun." his normal attire was black, ripped skinny jeans, and any shirt he could find in his closet. adam really didn't go into much detail but apparently matty had a rough home life. his parents were always working and had to babysit his little brother often. matty had beautiful brown eyes, the kind you could easily get lost in without even trying. he was shorter than adam, ross, and george and they often teased him about this which he got quite defensive over. all four of them were in a band they called themselves 'big sleep' because matty chose the name after something he enjoyed doing.

they invited you to their band practices in matty's basement every time they had one because they could use constructive criticism which is what adam said. but, you knew it was just because matty wanted to look at you. george played the drums, and ross and adam both played guitar. matty was the lead singer which wasn't surprising for his flamboyant and loud personality. you knew they would be famous one day especially matty. he was the perfect frontman for a rock band, you could just tell.

you and matty had a thing. you wouldn't know what to call it although labels weren't always important. you two would catch each other staring a little more than it should be between two friends. the other guys always knew there was something more between you and matty but they didn't seem to mind. they just seemed to be happy that matty was excited about and that you motivated him to keep showing up to school. ross told you he hadn't seen matty this happy in awhile.

_

you sat there with your legs crossed and watched the guys in front of you tuning their instruments and getting ready for today's band rehearsal. they were in the initial stages of their band so up to this point they only really sang covers of their favourite alternative songs, most of which matty chose.

"so, we wrote this song the other night when you had that thing come up with your dad." matty spoke into the microphone and he seemed quite nervous by way his voice was shaky. the mere mention of your father felt like a punch in the stomach.

matty looked over nervously to his left where adam stood with the guitar pick in his hand. adam gave him a slight nod to calm matty's nerves a bit as if saying it was okay. matty put his head down for a moment "let's do this boys." your eyes traveled to adam as he played the first few chords of their first original song. it was a slower song, it started with just four simple chords and it remained pretty consistent throughout the song. matty started to sing effortlessly while staring at you.

"she had a face straight out of a magazine"

you looked at adam, ross, and george who all seemed to get lost in the music surrounding them. you nodded your head to the beat of the music while also paying close attention to the lyrics that matty sang. you were impressed, you knew they were good but not to this degree. you could tell by the covers that they would sing that they had something special but this just further proved it to be true. the music started to build as the guys started playing faster and with more passion. you loved seeing all four of them get lost in the music that they played. you noticed that adam gave matty another nod as if telling him to do something.

"but if you just take off your mask, you'd find out everything's gone wrong"

matty sang out as he started walking towards you. he grabbed your hand and pulled you hard off the piece of furniture you were sitting on.

"what are you doing?" you asked but you didn't get an answer, well at least not the one you thought you'd get. matty took a break from singing with the pause of the instruments behind him.

"i fucking love you." he muttered as he grabbed you roughly by the back of the neck and pulled you closer to him before you even had a chance to respond. before you knew it, matty crashed his lips against yours in what was a passionate kiss. you felt chills run through your body as he let his lips linger on yours for a few moments before pulling away. when he pulled away from the kiss he reached his hand out for yours as if he didn't want to pull away but he knew he had to. you glanced up at saw george and ross smirking at each other.

they finished the rest of the song and you just stood there dumbfounded. you had no idea what just happened, you weren't upset but you were just surprised. matty nervously looked at the guys and george gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder when all the guys stepped away from their instruments and went into the other room to give you two privacy.

matty finally approached you once again and you immediately spoke "the song was absolutely amazing but why did you kiss me?" matty stared into your eyes as he started to softly twirl the hair that was hanging in his face. you knew him enough to know that he only twisted his curls when he was nervous about something.

"fucking hell!" he finally said as he started pacing in front of you. "matty, what's wrong?" you asked in a concerned voice. you could tell by his body language that something was bothering him.

"i can't stop looking at you. i can't stop thinking about you and it's bloody frustrating. i'm not supposed to be in love with you but i can't help it." he walks back and forth in front of you at a faster pace as his voice grows louder.

"i can't even fucking go to sleep without thinking about how i feel about you. even when i do sleep, you show up in my dreams. it's just-" he pauses for a moment while you just stand there staring at him.

"it's fucking impossible. i need to be your boyfriend. i'll fucking do anything." he trails off while noticing that you're just standing there looking at him. he probably thought you were judging him but you just didn't want to interrupt him.

"shit! are you even listening to me right now?"

you could tell that he was starting to get pissed off. you knew it wasn't with you but it seemed he was very frustrated with himself. he got closer to you, so much so that you could feel his warm breath on your face.

"i need you to be mine. i need you to be my girlfriend and i need you to fucking fall in love with me or something. fuck!" at this point he was raising his voice in frustration. he bit his lip and walked over to the wall and punched his fist right through it. he fell to his knees on the ground, not from the pain of punching the wall but from the pain he was feeling in his chest. at this point, his breathing was fast and he had his head in his hands while he kneeled there on the ground.

without hesitation, you rushed over to him and got onto your knees. you instantly took his now bloody hand into your hands.

"look at me matty, breathe, okay?" you said in a calm tone while staring into his brown eyes which seemed to be darker than usual at this moment.

"i just, i can't..." he paused to gasp for air.

"i can't get you off my mind is all." he said with tears forming in his eyes. he wasn't upset from sadness though. you knew it was from the overwhelming feeling of passion he was experiencing at this moment. when matty had his mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to change his mind or get him to think of something else.

"matty, what makes you think i don't want the same thing? what makes you think i'm not in love with you because i am." you saw his face turn from a pained expression into an almost bright one. his breathing instantly slowed down now that you spoke. "really?" he asked. you looked down as you noticed a bruise starting to form as well as blood trickling it's way down his hand.

you started to cry, you couldn't bear the sight of him in pain. he cupped your face with his hurt hand, letting out a hitched breath while wincing in pain. he extended his fingers to wipe the mascara filled tears that fell down your cheeks.

"i love you so fucking much, darling." he said almost as he felt relief despite all the pain he must have been in. he wasn't in much pain though, at least not right now when he was looking into the eyes of the girl he loved.

he pressed his lips against yours. only this time it was a gentle kiss that sent shivers through your body. you had dreamt of this moment since you first laid your eyes on him when adam introduced you to him.

you felt helpless right now, you knew he wouldn't have punched the wall if you just spoke up when he was talking. what if him being in pain right now was your fault?

"george!!" you yelled out which was the first name that came to your mind besides Matty's. he was only in the other room so he came rushing in based solely on of the distress in your voice.

"what hap-" he stopped when he saw his friend on the floor next to you. george immediately crouched down onto the floor next to the both of you.

"shit, not again mate." george said he helped his best friend by grabbing a nearby towel and wrapping it around his injured hand.

"he told me he was in love with me but he got frustrated and then that happened." you gestured towards the hole in the wall.

"he does this a lot. he'll be okay." george reassured while grabbing the ice from ross that he had brought in as if each of them already knew what to do.

"what did you say?" george asked as if matty wasn't sitting there right in front of him.

matty looked up at george with a genuine smile. matty didn't smile much unless he was telling a lame joke and even then it faded pretty fast. this one though was already lasting longer than any joke that he thought was hilarious.

"she said you she feels the same mate! she actually feels the same. can you fucking believe that?" matty spoke with a smile.

"i fucking told you you she would. hurt your hand for nothing you wanker!" george teased as he playfully ran his hand through matty's messy brunette curls.

"i got the girl." the curly-haired rocker said with a growing smile.

george smirked and kneeled off of the ground. "yeah, let's see if you can keep this one."

you looked at them both with a raised eyebrow and repeated what george said in your head.

this one? what the fuck does that mean?

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty x you #matty healy angst #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy #matty

[pettypuppy-jonghyun]

Family | Lee Felix

Summary: you have a daughter that Felix adopted and you both are expecting a baby boy soon

Warnings: pregnancy

Notes: this is something that's been on my mind for a little because I have a daughter and I feel like her and Felix would get along so well🥹

."What are you up to?" Felix questions, coming around the sofa to peer at the project in your hand. "It's very tiny."

You smiled, raising up the little hat you were crocheting. "It's supposed to fit a newborn's head, love. Of course it's tiny."

His eyes softened immediately at the mention of your baby who was still on his way. Felix maneuvered the pillows so he could take a seat beside you, careful of the yarn you were using and your tools. He leaned in to take a better look at the small hat that was nearly done.

"It kinda looks like..." He trails off in thought.

"Cookie monster?" You finish with a laugh.

Although he was correct, it only semi looked like the blue character. It was missing the second eye and you had yet to attach the cookie fabric bites you made previously. Still, it was quite obvious what you were attempting to create and you were proud of it. The hat was supposed to go along with the nursery theme you and your husband chose.

Suddenly, both of your attention was changed over to a high pitched giggle echoing down the hallway. Your daughter emerged shortly after the sound, running into the living room with paper in her hand. Her little feet tapped quickly against the wooden floor as she rushed to Felix.

"Look! Cookie monster!" She exclaims, practically shoving the paper into his face.

Felix pulls at the paper, holding it at an angle so he could see properly. "Would you look at that?" He glances at you with a soft smile. "This is the absolute best drawing of Cookie Monster I have ever seen."

Your daughter grins, hands folded behind her back as she swung side to side, her cheeks turning pink. You couldn't help but laugh, finding it absolutely adorable how shy she suddenly became when complimented. It only lasted a minute before she ripped the papers from his hand, passing it along to you.

"Mommy!"

You take the photo, eyeing the details of perfectly scribbled circles or blue and black. "Wow, this is art! Darling, have you ever seen such a talented artist before?" Your eyes met your husband.

Felix's eyes gave away his emotions as he continue to interact with your daughter. The amount of love and affection he had for her always made your heart swell. When he officially adopted her and became her father, you felt your puzzle all come together and be complete. You entire world was right here and you wanted to soak in every moment.

"Mommy, show the baby," your daughter suddenly demands, her hand falling onto your stomach.

You nod. "We can show him. Come here." You helped her onto the sofa, scotching her right up to your side so you both sat comfortably.

Felix watched for a moment before cuddling closer, gently moving your crochet project to the side. His arm wrapped around the back of your head, right hand coming to cup yours. He silently watched as your daughter turned her drawing to face your stomach, speaking to her unborn brother.

"You think he'll like cookie monster?" She asks, peering up at the two of you. "Or Elmo?"

Felix snorts. "I sure hope he likes cookie monster. Everything he owns is that theme."

His eyes drift over to the large bins full of baby gifts you still hadn't unpacked into the nursery yet.

You shrug. "Even if he doesn't, he'll grow out of his things before he has enough conscious to tell us."

You leant your head down onto Felix's shoulder, watching as your two most dear people in the world interacted happily with one another. They even were planning for the third addition to your life, which you couldn't help but feel so excited for. You close your eyes with a smile and began to drift off to sleep.

"Mommy is sleeping, shh."

"Daddy sleep too?"

You attempted to hold back your tears as you heard her call him her father with so much love. You felt Felix tense at the name, sighing softly before responding.

"Daddy too. We can all sleep with mommy."

#felix #lee felix #felix drabble #felix fic #lee felix imagine #skz fluff #skz imagine #skz drabbles #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #felix fluff #felix imagine #lee felix drabble #may i please have this #skz as parents #felix as a dad #stray kids as fathers #baby #pregnancy #fiction #ranga loves aly

[i-like-eyes]

So.. what's the deal with the cartoon network crossover? 👀

I'm glad you sent an ask I was originally going to make a separate post lol

The AU spawned from wanting to do my own take on FusionFall, which then became a fighting game, then the gameplay was reworked into an original idea and the designs of the CN characters were reworked into a comic. Since it started as a fighter that meant I had planned out separate stages for each franchise, as opposed to one uniform setting such as CN City or the popular shared school au. The fighter didn't really have a plot I just came up with the explanation that the kids are all KND (or TeenND) members and were just having a sparing match and the adult characters were somehow targets or smth. Now the current iteration is most the characters are just on the same planet and become involved in some way or another (probably the KND still). The reoccurring theme is just trying to find people like you.

The most clear idea I've had is between PPG and Ben 10; the girls are known around the world and Ben (and Gwen) feeling lonely want to meet other super hero kids their age. Grandpa Max reminds them they are still strangers and that Ben and Gwen have to keep their identities secret, but does some research into the girls and Professor Utonium and recognizes how he still value's their privacy. Max then tries to get in contact with Utonium to see if getting the kids together would even be a good idea. Utonium himself also recognizes the girls have tried to find other super hero kids to hang out with, but both he and Max spend like a year over email trying to see if they can even trust each other lmao. Eventually after the two meet up (and Max knows he can trust them with the alien thing) they agree to set up a playdate and the focus then moves to the kids as they interact.

Ben and Gwen are like uhhhh aged between the original and Alien Force. Kevin is also there but I want to write a different intro for him that involves Gwen more.

The girls I've pictured as this; Blossom handles the fame best of the 3 and also is the best when it comes to the press while Buttercup and Blossom prefer to stand back. While she is good at being the ideal Powerpuff Girl, she has ambitions in the same science as her father and struggles to balance the two. Buttercup still enjoys the art of fighting the most, and goes on the most solo missions, but gets treated unfairly for her more masculine behavior and has to deal with fitting in with neither girls nor boys. Bubbles also has to deal with unfair treatment by being undermined for being the most girlish (there is no winning) but lacks a hobby like the other two (though she has some artistic merit). She may be the loneliest of the three as a result. Although they all still share a good friend in Robin. Bubbles and Buttercup get along better than they did as kids, though Blossom doesn't want them to feel like she's ignoring the two.

For the sake of simplicity the ending of KND and the G:KND storyline with Nigel being shot into space is ignored. The KND as an organization is trying to expand the TND upon seeing the teen's potential for rebellion. They lack a way to regain old KND members back, so they go out trying to recruit teens while they wait for current KND members to just age up. Sector V was selected for TND and go out and try and recruit new members. The ideas I have for them involve the awkward wait between the V members going 12 -> 13 years and transitioning between jobs. My personal hc was that in the show at one point it's Kuki and Wally at 10, Nigel at 11, then Hoagie and Abby at 12, with Kuki being the youngest and Abby the oldest. During and after this transition phase they are sent out on recruitment missions which is where the crossover stuff comes in.

Hoagie is sent to see if either Dexter or Mandark is available. Mandark is a dick but Dexter get points knocked down for getting funding from the adult-run NASA. It turns into another ego battle between Dexter and Mandark while Hoagie has to deal with the two rich kids. Dee Dee is there to fuck with all 3 of them and is the one that gets recruited. Hoagie probably also treats this like a sports movie or smth.

The Time Squad sometime in the future are homeschooling Otto, they try to get him socializing with kids his age during missions but think that he should be spending time with kids from his century. Otto has been researching not just history but what happens after his time as well. He wants to meet heroes when they were his age.

I have A LOT of ideas for the Eds but most of it isn't crossover material. But I like the idea of them just accidentally walking into other shows, Courage or Foster's in particular.

The world in this AU is basically only limited by shows with hugely conflicting lore. That's vague but that mostly means like, the Land of Ooo conflicts with most shows. So to justify AT it's like. An alternate Earth and somehow Finn finds his way to this one and loses his shit over other humans. While he's glad to find kids like him Jake worries that Finn may prefer this world to Ooo and that he may leave. Jake is all ready to come to terms with this and Finn is like dude what we have only been here for 5 hours.

Billy and Mandy are mostly antags like in the KND crossover. I have a super vague idea for Billy somehow giving up Grim to other kids and they keep trading him for like a corn chip, and while other toon guys go on adventures with the reaper, Mandy drags Billy with her to get Grim back. At some point Numbuh 1 meets the Regular Show crew I forgot to draw and his world view is shattered. Gumball and Darwin are there. Etc.

I'd probably prioritize the first PPG and Ben 10 story as the clearest I got rn. But otherwise I'd love to see other people's crossover stuff and just old CN or cartoons in general.

#cartoon network #i may need to come up with a name for this sort of project #powerpuff girls #ppg #ben 10 #knd #dexter's laboratory #time squad #fhfif #eene #eh i wont tag the stuff not with a drawing #myart #asks #i will 100% end up going back and editing this

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Obey Me Boys as Tarot/Oracle Decks I Own

Is this stupid? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Absolutely.

To make a long story short, I have a problem and I compulsively buy tarot and oracle cards, so I have...quite a few. So, I was looking at them and thought, "which ones would fit the characters?" And now look where we are! :) I do have exactly fifteen decks and had planned originally to assign decks to the new side characters as well, but I, A. got tired and B. couldn't find one that fit Mephisto, so I just scrapped that idea altogether. Anyways, here's what literally nobody asked for!

Disclaimer! I did pick out cards that I thought matched the characters as well, based on both meaning and look. I'm not going into detail on all of the cards either...because I will ramble forever. I'm did my best to keep these as brief as possible!

Lucifer - Archangel Animal Oracle Deck

Okay, so this could've been a great deck for Simeon or Raphael, but out of what I had, this fit Lucifer the best! It ties back to his origins of being a seraphim. I did pick a card or two that have Archangel Micheal and Raphael in them, and they do fit Lucifer in needing to let others in and to not let pride get in the way of being dependent on others.

Mammon - The Illustrated Crystallary Oracle Deck

Mostly picked this one due to the fact that crystals can be expensive and high-dollar, which Mammon would be into and exploit (and he has). If not him, this one might've gone to Solomon, but I had a better one for him >:) I picked Mammon's cards based off his greed and his love for the MC...and which crystals would cost a pretty penny.

Leviathan - Mystical Manga Tarot Deck

My tried and true deck. It was either this one or my Skyrim tarot deck, so I went with this one. It felt more him to me. I picked the Seven of Cups, the Hanged Man, the Hermit, and the Nine of Swords for Levi. In some cases, the Seven of Cups gives me feelings of envy for choices that may seem out of reach or wanting it all when you have to pick and choose, so I went with it.

Satan - The Language of Flowers Oracle Deck

This is the best I had for Satan, but I feel like he'd be quite knowledgable on flower language. I had several other cards that I had in mind for him as well, namely Action - the Venus Fly Trap, but I wanted to keep the number of cards to four, so... Also, when I first started using this deck, it took a lot of warming up to, (it was shy...if you can believe that or not), which is how Satan is in both games, not shy just...needs to get used to people before opening up.

Asmodeus - Romantic Tarot Deck

This is the pairing that kicked off this idea. This deck is new, my mom gifted it to me for Easter! She's a sweetie. And I kept think about how Asmo would adore the art and vintage depictions in the cards. Since the cards aren't labeled, I picked the Lovers, the Two of Cups, the Empress, and the Three of Swords. Most of these are "romantic" in nature, or with the Empress, embodies confidence and embracing femininity. Three of Swords because of how dramatic and tragic love and can be, and I'm sure Asmo has had his fair share :(

Beelzebub - Moonology Manifestations Oracle Deck

This is my second Moonology deck, my other-half, if you will. (Another gift from my mom:)) I really don't have much to say about this deck for Beel, but I figured it would be fun to assign the twins with these decks. The cards were picked based on his feelings of guilt of his past from the Celestial War.

Belphegor - Moonology Oracle Deck

My first Moonology deck! I think this was the first oracle deck I ever got, so it has a special place in my heart. I obviously had to give this one to Belphie since his theme revolves around the moon and space. Notice in both Beel's and Belphie's I picked one Gemini card each, hehe...

Diavolo - Dragon Wisdom Oracle Deck

Considering Dia's demon form is draconic (dra-ICONIC! Heh, anyone?), this seemed right. I'm less familiar with this deck since it's not one of the primary ones I use, but it was fun to go through it again like it was new, lol. There was another card I almost picked for him, Initiation. But I thought these ones fit best.

Barbatos - Celtic Healing Oracle Deck

Once again, this is one of those scenarios where this was the best I had for Barb. There's a strange energy to these cards, mysterious and timeless almost, a little spooky. Kinda reminds me of him in some way. I'm the least familiar with this deck as it's relatively new and I haven't really used it yet, so apologies for lack of substance with this one.

Simeon - The Field Tarot

This was a gift from a friend of mine. It was theirs originally, but they so thoughtfully handed it down to me, and I use it quite a lot! This deck felt very mellow and light compared to my other ones. Very minimalist, so I thought it fit Simeon's vibe. To note: the Perspective card is this deck's Hanged Man. The Three of Cups reminded me of the og Purgatory Hall gang.

Solomon - Oceanic Tarot Deck

Based on his love for marine life and his...past with the ocean, how could I resist! Also, didn't mean for two of the cards I picked to be king and queen of the same suit, but I thought they fit his personality and way of living. The suit cards are pretty basic, featuring some marine life behind the pictures and whatnot without having too much imagery.

Luke - Tiny Tarot Deck

Come on...I had to. I put it in my hand so you could really get the perspective of how small it is. It's cute! I didn't pull any of the cards out since the box struggles to hold them in and I'm afraid of getting them everywhere, but they are your standard Rider-Waite-Smith deck! I probably would've picked the Sun or the Six of Cups for him, something along the lines of youth and vibrancy. (MY GOD, MY VEINS LOOK LIKE A STAR WTH?? I just noticed that, omg) Well...that's new...

#this is so pointless and random but i love it 😌 #mediocre explanations? you got it! #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #jo's thoughts

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic september 9 — carry — 1.6k words — mentions of sex at the end of the chapter! kinda nsfw

or; in which Regulus has a tense neck and James is so, so helpful <3

Regulus has, frankly, had enough of carrying children around for the next three of his lifetimes.

Ron has busted his knee open on the gravel outside while playing catch and is now crying? Regulus is cradling him close as he whisks back inside and playing doctor as he gets the gentle disinfectant and band-aids. Neville had a little pee accident? Regulus is carrying him to the bathrooms with outstretched arms for a change of clothes. Harry is getting into a fight with another kid over a toy situation involving being mean to Hermoine? Regulus has to swoop down and take him to the quiet room to calm him down and then talk about voicing one’s feelings or getting the help of an adult.

The frown gradually eases off his little forehead behind his round glasses as he listens to Regulus, sniffling occasionally. He has a spiderman themed patch over his left eye that Regulus finds mortifyingly adorable.

Honestly, Regulus would have quit long ago if it wasn’t for how easily these little stinkers have weaseled their ways into his heart.

Regulus is 23 and his back is a tragedy.

His joints bop and creak and the muscles in his neck are stiffer than cement at his point.

Being bent over the low desks in the tiny chairs to help the kids arts and craft the decoration for this Friday’s Halloween party is not doing him any favors either.

“Stan Lee called, he wants his wall-crawling, web-shooting superhero back!” a warm voice comes from the door to their group’s room.

Well, Regulus supposes there might be one or two more reasons besides the kids he likes his job for.

Harry groans next to him without looking up, vaguely wagging his arm in James’ direction, “Noo, daddy, I can’t go yet. I need to finish my snow owl!”

Regulus finally lets himself look up from his seat to catch James crossing his arms and leaning into the doorframe. He’s in a crimson cable knit sweater over a crisp white button down and dark gray slacks that fit inappropriately snug in all the right places.

James nods solemnly, “Right, right, because the other five snow owls taped to your bedroom window need one more for company or they’ll be lonely, huh?”

Harry sighs exasperatedly, “This one’s not coming home with us.”

James raises an eyebrow at Regulus in question, badly concealing his grin.

“These are for the party on Friday,” Regulus supplies helpfully, quickly swiping the glue from Ron before he sticks it in his mouth the fourth time today. Lily was the one to sign herself up for bringing Harry as well as brownies and lemonade so Regulus isn’t too surprised it wasn’t at the front of James’ mind.

This one shoots up then, “Oh, fu—n,” gawking at his own slip-up.

Regulus levels him with an unimpressed stare, lips twitching.

James drives his fingers through his chaotic curls, “Yeah, funny thing, I actually meant to talk to you about it, Regulus.”

A gentle shiver tingles it’s way up Regulus’ spine, “It’s Mr. Black.”

James makes a face that says obviously, “I know, love,” licks his lips to conceal the cheeky smile threatening to spill. Regulus wants to hit him. “Lily actually had something come up, and I was able to postpone a meeting so now I’m the one bringing Harry and staying for the buffet.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Regulus’ jaw might drop a bit.

James hums happily and then steals a pen out of the little basket on the table next the door, “Unfortunately I’m no good with brownies, I do however make the best fruit sticks covered in chocolate— so,” points the pen at Regulus with a grin, “Where do i sign?”

Regulus ducks his head against the flush crawling up his cheeks as he stands up, “Um— I’ll get the list.”

“Oh, no worries, Regulus,” his colleague Dorcas leers from across the table, “I’ve got the gremlins managed. I think James would be happy to head upstairs with you and while you’re at it,” Regulus already knows what’s coming as Dorcas’ smile turns overly sweet, “I’m sure he could give you a hand with my new desk chair with those big muscles of his.”

Regulus looks over at James, “You don’t have t—”

“Lead the way,” James says with a wink.

James carries the oversized carton up the stairs without breaking a fucking sweat while Regulus had taken one look at it, nudged it with a knee to see how heavy it was and then told Dorcas not a chance in hell.

Because, as established, his back is a tragedy and all that.

It’s twinging now too as he takes the thick binder out of the cabinet and drops it on top with a thunk.

Regulus tilts his neck and lets his upper spine crack with a grunt, does the same on the other side while he flicks through the papers.

James looks at him with an unnaturally blank expression when he asks, “You okay?”

Regulus rolls his shoulders to ease the tension, making a non-comical noise.

“Well, it’s no surprise you have some back pain working with children.”

Regulus chuckles humorlessly, flicking a glance James’ way, “What are you, a physio-therapist?”

“Oh,” a smug chuckle that has Regulus turning warily, “Close enough.”

Regulus crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for him to elaborate.

James cocks his head, mimics his stance and waits him out patiently.

Regulus has half the mind to kick him.

Asks, with an eyeroll that’s nearly painful, “Well, what’s your occupation?”

“I’m a chiropractor.”

“Oh, you’re kidding.”

“Am not, today might just be your lucky day.”

Regulus considers that for a moment.

He could easily shrug it off as a joke. Roll his eyes once more, hand James the damn list to jot down his name and stupid, sexy chocolate covered grapes and strawberries and god knows what else and then kick him the fuck out and back down to collect Harry and have him on his merry way.

He could do that.

Should, probably.

It’s just that his neck really fucking aches and it’s even gotton to the point of disturbing his sleep the past few days.

Regulus sighs, “I don’t have any cash on me right now.”

James snorts, “I didn’t expect you to pay me, love.”

Regulus worries his bottom lip between his teeth for another moment.

“C’mon you look stiff as a board,” James nods his chin at him and Regulus turns dutifully but not without another eyeroll.

James steps closer and immediately draws his left palm up over his back, thumb tracking his spine. “I’m warning you though, these babies have it in them,” digs the pads of his strong fingers into Regulus’ shoulders for enunciation.

Regulus blames what comes out of his mouth next on the mind boggling spice of James’ cologne, “I’m good with hard.”

The hands twitch against Regulus for a moment and he hears a noise that sounds like James is running his tongue along his teeth behind his lips.

Voice husky and breath tickling Regulus’ dark curls, “Alright,” a hand running down Regulus’ spine as a thumb digs into a pressure point in his neck, “Good to know.”

James seems to mostly palpate the hotspots of Regulus cramped muscles and the places of where joints would have to be realigned.

Body heat warm from behind and palms thorough as he kneads Regulus’ hard muscles and puts pressure along where he scans for more issues.

When he circles back to his neck and uses both his hands on one side Regulus can’t help but groan, shivering involuntary.

James makes a small cooing noise, “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, I'm sorry.”

Regulus pants a breath, shakes his head feebly, “Mm, you’re good.”

“This doesn’t look too good, love,” James voice rumbles, closer to Regulus’ ear now.

Regulus hisses at the sting when James releases the muscle and goes over to the other side. His mouth drops open and he whines too loudly when James picks back up with his administrations.

“Regulus,” if he was less caught up the unforgiving press of his fingers Regulus maybe would have noticed how strangled James sounded.

He works him dutifully through the other side and then slides his palms past Regulus’ shoulder blades and rests them at the dip of his back for a lingering second before gently squeezing at his waist.

Prompts Regulus into turning around and coming to face the other man again.

His lips look a bit redder than Regulus remembers.

“Well, that’s all I can do for now without my office massage table,” James rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly.

Regulus rolls his shoulders out and notes with satisfaction how much looser he feels already, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, love,” James replies with a smile so warm Regulus melts a bit around the edges.

He feels embarrassingly gooey.

James ends up filling out the sheet and then leaving with Harry five minutes later.

When he shows up Friday noon he’s clad in ridiculously tight pants again and a ridiculously orange pumpkin jumper. Also cat ears for some reason.

Lily is able to join for a few minutes at the end, watching Harry perform the trick or treating song they had the kids learn and then taking him home.

James ends up staying to help clean up.

He feeds Regulus one of the last chocolate covered fruit sticks—grape, strawberry and blueberries, honey melon and peaches.

Regulus ends up blowing James for it, turning him into a groaning, whimpering mess as he sucks his heavy cock into the back of his throat and James retaliates by realigning his spine in a very non-chiropractor way.

They crush the rest of Molly’s blueberry muffins while they’re at it.

#god im so tired #wrote the last bit barely conscious #suddenly they were fucking? #lol #gnight guys<3 #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter x regulus black #regulus black x james potter #lune’s tiny fic

[popculturebuffet]

Batmarch: The Secret Origin of Batman's Trophys (Comission for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Batmarch, or celebrations of all things that go bump in the dark knight

Today we've got a special treat... and i'm not just talking the nice art Kev had comissioned! Looks really good and I really appcirated it. Thank you KEv and thank you Alan Patreon. It was a nice suprise gift.

As for what this is about, this was a fantastic idea Kev cooked up: the batcave is one of the coolest hero bases in all of fiction. The layout is never 100% consitant across media but your usually guaranteed a batmobile, a big ass computer at the center, water falls, and over time a display for various costumes from past sidekicks, alternate outfits etc.

What really spruces the place up are three distinct decorations that we almost always see in the comics and ocasionally in other media, if not live action since these bitches would be expensive to make: A giant dinosaur, a big ole penny, and a giant playing card of a joker. These three are staples of the bat cave, to the point when the original was caved in during the earthquakes that ravaged gotham in the build up to no man's land, Bruce made a point of fishing them out for the new cave he built after that traumatic year.

Yet most of us.... have no idea where he got these wonderful toys. Even I didn't. The Joker Card comes from an obvious grinning source, but what CASE did it come from? Where did he get that dinosaur? What was someone using that giant Penny for? It's a question i've asked once or twice but never looked into. Kevin did though, and while the through and lovely DC wiki helped him find each one, he went the extra mile, asking for a review. And I was entirely on board with this comission as I just.. never had those answers and I doubt i'm the only one whose wondered what the context for these things were. So today we're looking at three disntinct golden age batman stories, at a time when goofy nonsense reigned supreme, logic was optional, and weird shit like this was just another day in the batcave. IN other words, this is going to be a LOT of fun so join me under the cut as we look at gambling themed death traps, penny obessed gangsters and batman being hunted by the most dangerous game: mechanical dinosaurs.

The Giant Joker Playing Card:

(from Batman #44)

I love these old titles, such flair and cheese. It's incredible.

Anyways this one starts because Joker decides to hit an off the books casnio after his win. Luckily for them, he just wants to play which feels entirely like a joker move: instead of robbing an easy target that can't call the cops and that the mafia presumibly running it would be stupid to retaliate on, he decides "fuck it let's try this whole gambling thing men, sounds like a hoot and a half".

And sure enough.. it goes really well. He spends what's implied to be the whole night just winning and winning until he cleans house. This being the joker this gambling bug can only end one way

I just.. love everything about this. Joker just had fun at a casnio and turned it into a death trap. It's such a brilliant setup.. and one that while nicely goofy, is also well done: it fits the joker's unpredictablity to just go a gamblin and it fits him just as much to turn a new hobby into a death trap. I also love Lewis' reaction calling it SUPERGAMBLING., like he's some gambling expert and most dangerous game shit is a type of gambling.. which given we're in the dc universe, you probably DO need a name for this kind of thing in the crime world.

So he set shte perfect trap: he has a random balding middle aged man tell the two he has info on a recent raidum theft, raidum a hospital badly needs. To save the presumed orphans about to die without eating their radium, Batman and Robin go to a sketchy island with one house perched on a hill

The World's Greatest Detective.. sees NOTHING wrong with this and goes ahead and gets caught in the most devious trap imaginable.

Several head injuries later, our heroes wake and joker reveals the radium theives, who he captured for this scheme but have kept the radium's location to themselves. This is by deisgn: the joker wants the two and their "radium screts" as the ante here, along with Robin to make sure Batman does this. Batman repedately states "I don't gamble' as if logic suddenly works on the clown man who set up a gambling death trap, so Joker reveals if Batman won't play his three supergambling games, he'll just kill the hostages. Batman reluctantly agrees,

Game 1 is super pinball.

But when Batman proves to be an expert at the snes Joker goes with plan b.. his giant pinball table of death. Sorry his giant SUPER pinball table of death.

As you can see the same joker face from the card is here and you see it all over his lable. it seemed to be Joker's logo back the. I love this whole setup and mostly show it not only because it' sdope but because those pins must've been what bumpers were. I also had no idea PInball used to be a gambling thing. Makes sense, it's just fun to find out.

The game goes well mostly though one of the guys nearly slams into a pin. Thankfully Robin is an expert gymnist and batman smartly saved laucnhing robin till the last minute and Dick's able to save the goon.

Game two is super rolling some dice, which apparently used to land on numbers. This yugioh style death game involves our bait being tied to polls on three of the numbers. If Batman guesses wrong, someone dies. Or maybe not since the board is pretty damn big. Not every death trap can be super murder pinball. Batman spots some mud on the dice though and correctly guesses they'll pivot. This is the weakest of the death traps here, a bit convolunted, not really guranteed to be as deadly. I know the chance of nothing happening is part of it.. but with pinball there's really almost no chance you won't hit the bumpers. Here it feels like pure luck or simple cheating that both dice flew at the joker.

Next game and the one that introduces our prop, though the dice apparently are also in the cave sometimes which I love. The game is a game of cards.. batman has to correctly guess which face matches the door Robin and the hostage goons are in or they'll choke to death on the deadly gas released inside.. and naturally he figures out it's the Joker card. It's too joker not to work.

Turns out though, naturally the joker isn't playing fair both having a final one on one game ofr him and Batman and having his goon go to get robin behind the joker card door... and Robin dispatches him hilaroiusly and awesomely

With that the hostages are free and the final death game begins. A giant super roulette wheel with both batman and joker getting in a slot. looser gets crushed alive. It's an awesome finale, and it fits joker to put himself at risk: after all he risks his life all the time why wouldn't he for such a fun gag?

Batman's able to get the wheel to turn fairly and then escape it, leading to a chase. THe Radium Theives agree to give themselves and the radium up but there's still the matter of the joker and we get a short but neat final chase as Joker uses the dice against the heroes then jumps off a cliff, gambling his life one last time.. and rightfully batman isn't betting on the joker having died.

Gamble With Doom is an excellent story. While the trophy we get out of it is only in it briefly the story itself is pure fun. It has some fun dated elements like Bruce's opinon gambling is EVILLLL and the old fashioned designs on the traps, but it's pure fun. The traps are clever, the tension palpable and the climax great. The gambling motif's really fit the joker and it adds up to an all time great joker story with a suprise impact. The Trophy Itslef. is barely in it but Robin DID break a guy's face with it so i'll say it was still cave worthy.

(From World's Finest #30)

The Penny Plunderer is a name I had heard but had no real context for. I assumed he was some goofy silver age villian with pennies for eyes who drove around chucking pennies at everyone.

I am an artiste.

Instead it's just a guy in a suit. He has the backstory of any good golden or silver age villian to justify his gimmick

I love.. everything about this backstory. It reads like if a writer was given the thought exercise "Make the pettiest batman villian origin you can find.". I mean other villians gimmicks make sense: Poison Ivy was a botonist, Mr Freeze had a horrible accident, the penguin was born looking like a penguin with a lot of money, the Joker fell into a vat of chemicals and came out a clwon, the riddler liked puzzles.

Here Joe just... got screwed over by pennies a lot. Even funnier is that the last one has nothing to do with pennies. Like.. even if it'd had nickels he'd still be arrested.

So Joe vows since pennies runied his life, he'l lbecome the penny! Sadly this does not mean him dressing up like a giant penny with a cane and top hat.. nad now I can't show you it that last drawing put me too far behind and... oh fuck it.

Instead he just wears a suit but makes his gimmick pennies. Commit to the bit man. I do get it as some golden age villians were just guy in a suit, even Joker and Penguin technically counts but one is a clown and the other is a rich penguin man. They have mor ethan just "suit and a vendetta against pennies that somehowturns into stockholm syndrome.

So the penny plunderer begins his reign of terror, setting up a penny arcade as a front, and cashing in a roll of pennies in the most diabolical scheme ever devised by man.

A true criminal mastermind.

Batman picks up on this pattern because it's what he does and finds his next case, a coin and stamp exibiton with a rare one cent stamp. It's here we meet the reason we're here: the giant penny!

Yeah to my shock the penny had NOTHING to do with the penny plunderer other than being at the site of one of his robberies. He prefered just.. chucking pennies at people.. which is awesome and a truly great tactic only topped by Batman's use of said giant penny

I adore the fact that this iconic artifact is there not because it was seized from the villians or a police options.. but because, presumibly, Bruce thought this penny he found was kick ass and bought it off it's actual owner.

Most of the theives escape but they find one willing to squeal. Unfortunatley he dies for his hubris

Yup bet you weren't expecting the penny guy to kill someone and to see his corpse weren't you but here you are. Also batman is apparently a cop now. George Lopez tried to warn us...

But we didn't listen! We didn't listen!

A fight breaks out at the gambling parlour and we get two of the best moments in batman history that much like the blue beetle film, ar ehighly underated.

I just.. I get the sense that is how batman ALWAYS plays pinball. Just judo kicks it every time even as bruce wayne. Both bruce wayne and batman have been banned from so many arcades.. often the same ones. Perks of having a secret identity. We then get coyne once again THROWING pennies at someone and it working. I don't know why he hasn't been brought back with the telkeentic ability to contorl pennies. Give him a copper helmet and a proper costume and oh dammit..

Then Joe knocks batman out iwth his one weakness: a roll of pennies. He's trapped them in the parlor for your standard batman death trap, having removed their belts and ripped out the phone lines as usual. He then throws them a few pennies when then prove to be a mistake as it's time for SCIENCE WITH DR. BATMAN, who uses one old penny, copper, and one new penny, zinc to make a battery. Good thing jimmy didn't wish it away THIS week.

The cops arrive to free one of hteir own and batman finds a clue once the parlor is cleared of gas. Turns out Coyne was catering a penny slot party for a rich billinoare's houseboat, and naturally their filled with gas. I swear it's always gas with these golden age villians. Get another knockout device fellas.

With that our final chase enses as Batman and robin chase Coyne and while he nearly bests them with a good game of 1940's donkey kong

He's foiled by his own gimmick: he has only pennies but the pay telephone.. dosen't.. take 5 seperate pennies for some reason? the hell? I get payphones not taking pennies once they went up to a quarter but come the fuck on 1940's payed telephones. he's foiled.. and sentenced to death.

Yes folks that's the cannoical till some lucky fellow brings him back fate of the penny plunderer: PUT TO DEATH.

This story is as you can tell nonsense that's only gotten more hilarious with the passage of time and I loved every page on it and on getting the panels for this review, I only found MORE hilaroius nonsense to laugh at. We have a story where a guy with a penny gimmick smacks batman with a roll of pennies, trips robin with more, kills a man without pennies, is foiled by pennies yet somehow dosen't actually use the giant penny that's the only reason people know he exists. It's beautiful bollocks and worth your time.

(From Batman #35)

As I hope you are, this issue had me hooked from the first panel: Batman vs dinosaurs being forced to fashion a bow and arrow for some reason. Yes... fuck. Yes. Also nice of bruce to eat Ollie's lunch.

Okay so this story starts, as many real life stories do, with a billionare having a zany idea; Mr. Hart is a man who puts on shows: ice follies, aqua carnival, 40's razzle dazzle type stuff. For his latest idea though he's going above and beyond: a DINOSAUR ISLAND. With mechancail dinosaurs and cavemen who throw giant sponges at you. Thankfully spongebob wasn't born yet but his great great grandpappys quarepants did the honors. Honorable old fool.

To ramp up the insanity, Mr Hart is inviting a club of big game hunters to eat mammoth steak with batman.

If that weren't enough, and in any other golden age story it might be... our heroes get CHALLENGED at dinner by one of the rich assholes. Yeah turns out rich assholes who hunt innocent animals for sport and eat reheated mammoth aren't the most stable indviduals and Mr. Breech scoofs at the fact Mr. Hart says Man is the most dangerous game. He's hunted man, they went down like cowards. COWARDS. He feels Batman couldn't hut a dinosaur without his gadgets, and certainly not his bare hands... even though as this issue with prove and has already shown early man had tools.

To prove his point he challenges batman to a fucking challenge: survive on Dinosaur Island: no utility belt, no vehicles. If the dinosaurs touch him he looses. Mr Breech will man the controls. Honestly i'm convinced Breech knew hart well enough to know he'd both agree to this for the publiclity and why he'd invite batman and robin and just wants to play iwth giant mechanical dinosaurs and also batman. Which granted if I were invited to this sort of thing i'd also want to chase batman with mechanical dinosaurs for fun, who wouldn't, so I totally get it and respect the game.

Hart is on board, offering 5000 to the winner's charity and Batman is like "Why the bat-fuck not. Let's go".

Now you might suspect Breech's real motive is trying to kill batman. I mean you have a setup where batman will be without his weapons, the plausable deniablity of a machine malfunction and a secluded island with 24 hours to kill the batman. And you'd shockingly be wrong. Breech really just wants to prove dinosaurs are the most dangerous game so when that Jurassic Park he's working on opens no one will object to him hunting them for sport.

But his plans are foiled by Chase, anothe rich knob who wants to kill batman and robin to, as he says later form a "crime combine". So he wants a bunch of middle aged guys drinking beers to yell at him for not training the joker on tackling well enough. I see.. well played.

So the game is afoot and our heroes take a bit to catch up, first brushing off a real rock among the sponge rocks as a mistake. Theis ends when a Triceratops to trismash them into a tree. Batman calls for a war council on a nearbye island but naturally THAT'S NO ISLAND

Batman fought a mechanical fucking seamonster. That.. that's cannon. To almost every batman timeline. God bless you Golden Age, god, bless, youuuu. Also i'd be stupid if I didn't say that Tally Ho, Batman! is one of the greatest phrases in batman history up there with "I Am the night" , "I'm batman" and "Something something joker's boner".

So now the games for their lives, Batman and Robin don't have to play fair and start fashioning bows, arrows and knives out of mechanical dinosaur bones. You know.. sometimes this job can be draining: 2-3 reviews a week, many a plan having to be delayed due to a review taking longer than expected.. but then you get a review where Batman and robin have to outrun a manical billinoare who hyjacked dinosaurs from a diffrnet billionare who was having a charity dinosaur hunt with batman and robin using a third billionare's dinosaur, while fashoining weapons from mechanical dinosaur corpses and fashion a kite from a mechanical ptreadon and remember why you love reviewing stuff so mucH: sharinng a good story with the world and finding a good one or two yourself while your at it. And thanks to Kev i've found three truly wonderful, truly bonkers batman stories, with this one being the easy winner. It's both a decent enough concept for the time and hilariously insane.

And I ddin't make up the kite thing: when, after a night of survivial, Robin brings up the batplane, Batman has an idea: since the flying dinosaurs are on a programmed pattren rather than directly controled, they can use them to make themselves a kite yor style.

So to win the day Batman has a plan: he uses himself as bait since Robin's the more agile of the two, and has robin CATAPULT HIMSELF into the air after chase, who is riding on t-rex back with an army of dinosaurs.. and how does he defeat chase' smighty dino army?

It's both genuinely clever and wonderfully bonkers: Robin defeats an evil billionare RIDING a mechanical t-rex.. with water balloons.

Also props to this story: in the previous two the trophy was impressive.. but it was taken from what felt like a minor point in the story: the card flip game was fun as was batman slammin ga door on a guy, but it's sandwitched between far more elaborate death traps, while the penny, again awesome, wasn't even something the penny plunderer used. Batman just bought it off some offscreen character to relive fond memoreies of crushign some crimianls alive with it. Here the main villian ROAD IN on the thing. Granted he still had to likely buy it off his actual owner, but this time at least a criminal actually used it as a murder weapon. I can see Batman wanting this thing for his cave.

Batman chases chase over the now still dinosaurs and punches the guy out. With this Batman's saved the day AND won the bet. 5000 for batmobiles for kids, donate your batmobile today!

As for chase...

With that our story and this trilogy comes to an end.. and as I said, it's great. check out all three of these issues their a lot of fun. Next time dc puts some up for sale I may have to get some 40's batman, this stuff is golden.

Thanks for reading

To conclude batman month: Wait'll you get a load of this

#batman #robin #bruce wayne #dick grayson #the joker #golden age #1940s #penny plunderer #dinosaur #dinosaurs #comics #dc comics

[thedarkone121]

How I would try to Adapt “Dracula”

Hello, resident Film student that is about to graduate here and I have been through the deep-dive of the Dracula by Bram Stoker waters. Suffice to say, I feel in love and was very disappointed that the cultural osmosis of adaptations that I grew up around to understand Dracula does not even come close to the masterpiece that I found within the original story. It’s Jonathan and Mina, by the way. Their relationship is the masterpiece of this story. Go away very problematic themes, stereotypes, and ideas, I will not let you take this relationship away from me.

Seriously, how was it possible for me to ship a Victorian couple so hard? Why do we not have this in more adaptations?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU HOLLYWOOD?!

…AHEM! Once again, I am sorry to my followers for another fixation has caught my attention. At least this is something I could probably put in a portfolio…

Moving back to my idea, I should make a point that I am a storyboard artist so my idea generally falls to making it into an Adult Cartoon Series. Something along the lines of the Legend of Vox Machina — because I really like that art style and it feels like it fits best with my plot.

Speaking of which, let me get into the plot! Strap in newcomers because I am a bit of a storyteller when it comes to explaining my whacky ideas, if you didn’t already figured that.

DARKY’S DRACULA ADAPTATION, GO!

The setting of my adaptation takes place relatively the same time period. In fact, things are largely the same as the beginning of the novel; Jonathan travels to the Count’s castle, he notices the strong ongoing, he has that horrible encounter with the Vampire Ladies, Dracula does who know what to him, he even has his refined taste for paprika!

You might ask yourself: “Well, how is your adaptation any different from the book?” Well, that’s easy, my good friends. Because Jonathan manages to kill Dracula that day on June 30th, where he successfully decapitates the monster that’s been tormenting him.

It all sounds well and good, right? That means no one to torment Lucy and she can have her big day with Arthur. Mina will be safe, no children get bitten. It sounds wonderful…

…But Jonathan can’t get out of the castle. He remains there, trapped, with the Vampire Ladies and a presence that won’t go away.

Months go by and Mina receives a letter, one from her missing fiancé. He is still in Romania working with the Count, but he would like for Mina to come by and look at the land. Thinking how it would be a wonderful place for a honeymoon.

Mina is confused by the contents of the letter, but it is her proof that her fiancé is alive. And now she has a location of his whereabouts.

With a sadden goodbye to Lucy due to the fact that she will miss her wedding, Mina heads to Transylvania in order to find Jonathan.

But when she arrives at the Castle, welcomed by the Three Women, Mina realizes what horrors had plagued Jonathan and now it will soon come to her.

And that’s the outline of the Pilot I had in my head. Do I think it’s possible for Jonathan to decapitate Dracula with the shovel? Probably not, but it needs to in order for this adaptation to work. And before anyone says, yes, this Adaptation is pretty much Mina Murray going all Resident Evil 7 on Dracula’s castle.

She deserves to have her rage moments. Also, she really wants to get married. If it means she has to storm a castle, then she will do that!

Some other facts that I wanted to include:

Lucy gets more of an active role in the story. She’s been poorly adapted for so long, I wanted to give her something more. She’s the Galinda to Mina’s Elphaba. You bet she’s going to lead a search party that involves her husband, their two best friends, and the silly Professor that was interested in the location in order to find her two childhood friends.

Also, yeah. Lucy and Arthur got married. I’m going to give these two a chance to be happy before things go wrong when they arrive at the castle.

The Vampire Sisters get a chance to be main villains for the first half of the show. Yes, I called them Sisters instead of Brides cause I read that two of the three look like Dracula and I’m just going to leave it at that. Also, I think the Blonde one is their mom? I’m not a hundred percent sure. It’s an adaptation. They’re getting more screen time and depth, is what I’m trying to say!

Mina has a gun, watch out.

Dracula still has a role in this story. That I can include.

I know I likened the plot to Resident Evil 7 so I ‘m just gonna go ahead and say this; Mina will not loose any of her hands.

Expect a lot of Jonmina moments, flashbacks and when they reunite included.

#darky talks #dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula #jonathan harker #mina murray #mina harker #lucy westenra #the brides of dracula #adaptation #A graduating film student talks about her attempt to adapt Dracula #Probably going to start doing test storyboards #I will like to point out that I have no idea what I am doing #All I know is that I want this to take life in some way #If it’s only ever going to be storyboards to be put in portfolio so be it #At least it managed to claw a hand out of the ground #Also hello Dracula fandom I’m new #concept idea #animated series idea #Dracula: Storm the Castle

[astudyincontrasts]

The Baron’s Daughter Ch2

Regency!Silco x Fem!Reader NSFW

Second part of @thesaltybuns birthday gift 🖤 Just a little three part regency AU fic to celebrate her sweetness and all her beautiful art. Dropping a chapter a day, final chapter tomorrow! Cameo appearance by Sevika this time around and Singed next, as well as some familiar henchmen too.

Tags: No Y/N, regency themes, arranged marriage, canon typical violence, blood, illness, hurt/comfort, virgin reader, longing, slight angst, smutty funtimes on the way soooon

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Addendum 1

“Play billiards with me tonight.”

Mr. Silco had surprised you the next evening after dinner, a further form of contrition you supposed, after an uncomfortably silent meal, your sullenness at the previous evening’s mistreatment still fresh. You had excused yourself from a dessert you did not want, and he’d caught your hand as you rose from the table, grip a gentle bracelet that you did not wish to admit had once more stopped your heart for a beat or two.

It froze you to the spot, staring down at him as he kept his own eyes upon the grasp of fingers round your hand, thumb again picking up an absent little stroke against the delicate skin just under your knuckles. You thought for a moment he might find something new to scold you over, or have something else cruel to say, but instead he turned those mismatched eyes upward and asked - if you could call something a question, that sounded so close to a demand - if you would join him in a game again tonight.

It had you rooted to the spot in as much surprise as his touch alone had done, gaze ticking back and forth between ocean eye and the hot ember of its brother. He had not worn the eyepatch since you’d caught him without it last night, and you’d found yourself wondering over the soup of the first course if perhaps it was because he felt more at ease now that you’d shown no fear of his malady, or if instead it was because he’d simply stopped pretending to care what did or did not make you comfortable.

Play with him again tonight? Memories of his sneering pleasure at throwing your situation in your face flooded back afresh and you fought down a little wave of bitterness as you pulled your hand from his grasp.

“No thank you.” Pausing, you mustered whatever shreds of politeness you had left to try to clothe your contempt, and failed miserably, tongue sharper than you’d let it be in a long time, “I’m afraid I can’t afford the wager.”

You took your leave without offering him a moment to reply, and it only struck you much later as you lay alone in the dark silence of your room that not only had you rejected his touch, you’d also slapped away the first and only time he’d begged the pleasure of your company.

Rising from your bed and lighting a few more candles, you sank down at your writing desk and pulled a sheet of paper to you. Sat writing and writing, composing him a letter, an apology, an explanation for your bad behavior, pleading with him to offer you another chance or opportunity to return the meager affection and more. Like you had to get it out, pour it out of your heart or else you’d go mad with it all welling up inside fit to drown you, lungs swimming in the ache and regret.

At the end of it all you sat staring at the pages of the letter. It was too much, too frivolous and honest and unguarded. Sure to embarrass Mr. Silco as much as yourself if you were to give it to him. Instead you rose and crossed to the fireplace and fed the little flames the papers one by one before blowing out all the candles and crawling back into bed. Resolved to do better, be better to him. Actions, not words.

The following day you met Sevika.

You’d caught glimpses of her previously, coming or going, enough to know she was one of the manor house’s most frequent visitors. This time you caught her on the stairs, her ascending to Silco’s office no doubt, whilst you were on your way down to the drawing room with your embroidery. The pair of you met on the landing, and as you came toe to toe you were stunned at the way she loomed over you; as uncommonly tall as she was broodingly beautiful with her rich, dark skin and pitiless grey eyes. She seemed to have no use for her own beauty though, held it in as much contempt as she did all things that surrounded her, mouth set in a hard, tight shape or else a curling sneer, no softness to her in the least and proud of it. This close, you could see the lightning streak of a scar that coursed up one side of her face, from jaw to cheek, a subtle marring of that deep complexion that spoke of past violence visited upon her.

You both paused before each other, her gazing down at you like some little terrier in her path rather than the lady of the house, and you up at her with an awestruck silence you hoped hadn’t left you staring rudely. You dropped a little curtsey first as the silence strained, though by rights she ought to have given you the honor, and she deigned to dip her head a touch.

When you lifted your gaze again you found those cool grey eyes of hers ticking you over as if she were taking calculations, only to fall upon the embroidery hoop in your hand. For some reason she seemed to find that quite amusing, if the way her smirk stretched lopsided were any indication. You had no idea why so commonplace a thing should spark such distainful joy.

You’d scarce had an opportunity to open your mouth before she’d side stepped you, that ever present shawl she wore so oddly tied and draped long over one shoulder brushing you as she went by. It felt a rudeness hardly to be borne, but it also felt far wiser to hold your tongue on the matter and head downstairs on your way, though you couldn’t stop yourself glancing back up the stairs after her departure as you descended.

Since she hadn’t deigned to offer you her name, let alone one word, you had to yet again corner the footman who brought your tea later and press him for information.

Sevika. You turned her name over and over again in your mouth as you sat whiling away the afternoon with needlework. Why should she be here, day after day? So at ease in the house as if she owned it, and saw herself straight up to the office all but scheduled business associates were forbade from. Why he should entertain her, and so often, nagged at you, gnawed away at you, and eventually began to whisper the most hideous things.

Your patience wore out by the third course of dinner the following night.

“I met Miss Sevika yesterday.”

Your declaration was met with little more than a disinterested hum from Silco as he pushed at a spear of asparagus on his plate. No wonder the man was lean and corded as a whip, he ate like a finicky bird. You watched him, offering him time in which to formulate a response or excuse, and when none was forthcoming, felt your irritation begin to rise.

No matter. You’d not let temper get the better of you this time. Spearing a bite of pheasant and excising it from the bone with one sure stroke of your knife, you kept attention fixed indifferently upon your plate and decided to go straight for the kill. Kept your tone as coolly disaffected as you were capable of to deliver the question.

“Is she your lover?”

The tines of his fork scratched against the porcelain of the plate, followed by a grim little laugh that had you lifting eyes from your food to chance a peek in his direction, only to find him smirking at you in undisguised amusement. Silco let his fork clatter to the plate as he scooped up his wine glass and sat back, swinging one leg across the other as he switched focus from you to the claret in his glass, swirling it in little back and forth waves before indulging in a deep, slow sip, gaze trained back upon you over the rim of his cup.

“Certainly not… though I’ll have to let her know that’s what you think of her. That she’s what? My hired company, perhaps?”

“No, I -”

“No? Then what? A lover jilted by our arrangement but still true? How tragically romantic of you.”

“That’s not -”

“Tell me, dove. Do you think so little of me that I’d break my marriage vows over and over again and under the same roof I share with you? That I’d not only do such a thing but be so callous as to flaunt it before your very face?”

“Silco, I -”

He drained his glass and set it down, leaning forward once more with sharp elbows upon the table, lacing long fingers like conniving spider’s legs as he refused to release you from the web of your own galled embarrassment.

“What have I done to deserve such poor standing in your eyes?” His tone was so darkly amused, dripping tender condescension, no different than one might speak to a simpleton child.

It had color rising in your cheeks, burning across your chest and up your throat.

“I simply could not fathom why a man might entertain such a lady so regularly and privately.” You finally managed to get a full sentence out in defense of yourself, very aware that it was only because he had allowed it, that he was madly enjoying toying with you, and wanted to see you dig yourself deeper into the hole you’d already so foolishly created.

“You’re terribly uncharitable to your own sex.” He observed, one hand unlacing itself to rest upon the silver knife set beside his plate, plucking and smoothing at its handle absently. “To think that they could serve such purpose and nothing more. Sevika is a business associate of mine, and an invaluable one at that.”

When no servant was forthcoming to clear the plates or serve the next course in a timely manner, likely because none dared enter the room while the master of the house was in the throes of dark delight at dressing down his obstinate wife, Silco rose himself and fetched the decanter of claret from the sideboard. You felt the weight of his hand rest upon the back of your chair as he stood over you to fill your glass first, unhurried in his pour, obviously savoring the discomfort radiating off you at his looming, the air between the pair of you a soft, dangerous crackle of static and tension.

“She saved my life once, I’ll have you know.” That rich velvet voice of his with its rough torn edges so terribly close to your ear as he filled your glass that it raised goosebumps across the bared span of shoulders the wide neckline of your dress revealed.

“At great personal cost to herself.” He mercifully stepped away, refilled his own glass and resumed his seat, leaving the decanter on the table at his elbow.

You sat there, mulling that little tidbit over, the first small, private aspect of his life he deigned to volunteer, and felt very foolish indeed. Still, the lingering jealousy over this other woman’s monopolization of his time and attention carved deep wounds, still seeping bitterness through your remorse.

You lifted the glass he’d filled for you and took a long sip in place of speaking too soon, ready to own your wrongs by the time you’d set it down again, and placed your napkin upon the table as you rose. No appetite left for the remainder of the meal to come.

“If I offended you, I am sorry.”

He made you feel so small, over and over again. And all you could do was bear up under it. Another little failure in the ledger between you both.

“Were you jealous?” He asked quietly as you made to push your seat back in and take your leave.

It had you lifting eyes again to find him once more regarding the wine in his hand, as if he were addressing it instead of you. You could not find the words to answer him, did not trust the ones that rushed from your chest to lodge in your throat, and instead left him in a hurried silence.

Another evening of filling page after page of a new letter to him, another missive fed into the fire instead of pushed under his door.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ⚜ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Perhaps it was the lingering frustration with him and yourself that caused you to quarrel with the servant the next evening.

You had caught the maid in the hallway and instructed her that you wished to have a bath ready after supper, and she’d looked exhausted and irritated at the prospect of the work of it, before trying to convince you to put the ablutions off until tomorrow.

Your insistence on that evening and her truculence had escalated into rebuke and then outright argument, voices raised enough they must have carried down the hall to Silco’s office.

Stood there, glaring down the unhappy woman, waiting her next insubordinate reply, you were surprised to watch a change come suddenly over her face; cold disrespect thawing to a dawning fear and quickly covered by her downcast gaze and clumsy little bobble of a curtsey - a nicety never paid to you by any of the household.

“If your mistress wants a bath tonight you will indulge her.”

Silco’s voice from directly behind your shoulder had you nearly leap straight out of your skin. He moved so quietly when he wished to that you’d dearly like to tie a bell on the man as if he were a cat to stop him sneaking up.

“Yessir.” The maid rushed to reassure him, dipped another little curtsey and fled, leaving you to turn and face him alone.

He looked boredly amused as the soft ocean and hot coal of eyes flicked from the maid’s departing back to your expression. A scant inch behind you, he stood with hands laced behind his back, chin lifting as you turned round to him.

“Kindly don’t bully the staff, darling. It is hard enough keeping any of them around for very long.”

Heat flooded your face as you struggled for words, unreasonably embarrassed to be rebuked, albeit gently, for exerting your own place in the house.

“I need a ladies maid!” It came out sounding like a childish demand, like you might stamp your foot a pitch a wobbly little fit if you were not coddled. Damn it, damn him for always making you so off-center.

Silco arched his unruined brow, the slice of his smile tugging a touch at one corner.

“As I said, it's difficult enough keeping a regular staff…”

“Your regular staff seem like ruffians rounded off the streets. I wonder that the lot of them haven’t just emptied your silver cabinet and made off already.” It could not be helped, your retreat into mouthy insolence, ire already raised by the previous argument with the maid. Not that you didn’t regret each word immediately, just that your regret, as with your embarrassment, kept feeding that monster within that you could not shove back in its box.

Silco’s smile altered, stiffened, and spread darkly. It deepened all those furrowed scars cutting jagged across the sharp and hollow of his left side.

“Do you really?” He asked, dangerously low.

No. No, you did not have to wonder that not even the lowliest dogsbody in the house would think twice before crossing him. You caught yourself shaking your head mutely, refuting your earlier aspersions as to the loyalty of his staff as quickly as you possibly could.

One hand unfolded from behind him to graze the back of a curled forefinger under your chin. The soft electricity of the slight contact stole your breath and sent a surreptitious little thrill coursing down your spine.

“Work around these parts is hard to come by. I wonder if you’ve any idea what some of our household have had to do for a meal or dry bed. This is not the glittering upper echelons of the city you were brought to season in. This is where I was raised, and I am determined to improve it by my own hand. Why do you need a ladies maid so badly? You aren’t uncomfortable here, are you? Or neglected?” He asked quietly.

Truth be told you were many levels of uncomfortable and felt deeply neglected indeed, but none of those things were problems a ladies maid could possibly solve for you. His rebuke of your entitled treatment of the staff had you even more discomfited than his treatment of you did, however. Eyes dropped to the carpet at his boots as you shook your head silently once more.

“No, it's just… I want someone to care for my own needs. This staff is yours.” You muttered, that film of petulance still clinging on in spite of your quiet misery.

Again the crook of his finger caressed beneath your chin, this time catching, lifting until you were forced to drag eyes upward along with the rise of it.

“I thought I was your servant.”

The words, and the wicked little slice of his smile that accompanied them had you exhale so hard you felt your head would spin. His effect seemed to please him greatly, though he managed to mask it well behind the facade of that scarred, handsome face. You found yourself wondering if you’d cut the apple of your cheek on that sharp nose of his if you were to suddenly pitch forward and rob him of a kiss. Boldness failed you though, kept in its place by that irreproachable stern air he wrapped himself in like armor.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He murmured, returning to your demands of a personal maid, “But no promises.”

That finger of his turned and the touch of its knuckle whispered along the shape of your jaw. Your eyes refused to obey the direction to stay locked on him, lashes too heavy with want to stay lifted, fighting your attempts to remain unmoved with a fluttered lowering you swore you heard him hum at.

“In the meantime, if you would kindly confine your louder arguments to the rooms downstairs or your own bedroom? I’m afraid things are a bit delicate at the moment, and I’d like the only yelling I hear in the near future to be from the men who’ve crossed me in their shipping negotiations.”

Again, the only response you were capable of offering was a motion of your head, a feeble little nod this time that he hardly took note of as he folded his hand back behind him and turned to stalk back to his office to complete his business day in peace.

It was a very long letter indeed that you burnt that evening, after your bath.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ⚜ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Early the following week he caught you enjoying the last of the late afternoon sun on a chaise in the drawing room, wrapped up in the book he’d given you. It was very good reading indeed, and you were eager to finish it in order to finally be able to enjoy discussions on it over dinner.

His shadow was instantly recognizable as it slid over you and the open book, had you glancing up over one shoulder to find him leaning upon the back of the chaise. You offered him the sweetness of a fleeting smile before closing the book to lay it in your lap.

“Enjoying the novel?” He asked, pleasure at catching you reading his recommendation overcoming his natural aversion to small talk.

“Very much, thank you.” Pulling knees toward yourself a bit in your comfortable recline, you adjusted skirts to clear a space for him to sit with you should he wish. “I’ll read aloud if you’d like to join me?”

“Mmn, thank you but no. I just wished to let you know I would not be joining you for dinner for a night or two, I have some business to attend to that will keep me away for a few days.”

It was difficult to hide your disappointment at being left in the large house alone, and so you simply turned your face back to the book in your lap with a little nod of acknowledgement. He lingered in silence, and left you wondering what else he had that he wished to say, but would not.

“I won’t be away longer than necessary.”

It was a rough grit, quiet reassurance, but kind of him to offer; he so rarely stood on needless politeness or bothered himself with your feelings that the simple phrase nearly felt as nice as receiving the gift of a posey of flowers.

Before you could stop yourself you’d reached up, across yourself, to take hold of the wrist of his hand braced upon the chaise behind your opposite shoulder. You could feel him tense under the touch, yet he still allowed you to pull his hand down across yourself, to hold his fingers in the gentle grasp of your own before you. Elegant, long fingers were cool in your sun-warmed ones, and emboldened, you turned your face to nestle your cheek lightly against his clothed forearm and wrist in gentle, tentative affection.

His silence was fraught, heavy. Yet he did not jerk his hand from you or rebuke your boldness. Instead his thumb brushed the outside edge of the hand that held his own, and you released the grip of him slowly, sure he’d withdraw wordlessly and leave the small tenderness you offered one sided.

Instead, as your fingers released, his came to lay upon the bare skin the deeply scooped neckline of your gown revealed. You’d stopped over-lacing your corsets, but the softly rounded display of cleavage still lay inviting over the empire waisted gown you wore, with its generously scooped low neckline and close fitted little bodice.

The cool of his fingertips lay for a moment against the soft of your skin before he stirred from stillness, and blood froze in your brain as his touch stroked low, traced a gently ticklish line along the shape of the edge of your gown, featherlight stroke leaving skin singing in its wake.

As he drew touch up over the swell of one breast and then down and over the other to pause, you thought for a heady, spinning moment that perhaps his fingers might slide beneath the thin, sheer ribbon scalloped at your neckline, might dip deeper. It had your head rocking back against the softly turned cushion of the backrest, eyes drifting closed as breath shallowed; all silent and still invitation to the sweet softness of his touch. Skin under your dress burned, the peak of nipples stiffening under boned corset in aching anticipation.

When his hand moved again, however, it was not to slide beneath the confines of your gown, but rather upward, across the open expanse of gently flushing skin to caress the dip of your collarbone and slide up the column of your throat along one side. Want lay heavy in your mouth as a plum stone, sweet and thick as honey at the back of your tongue.

No sooner had that tender caress drifted up behind the hook of your jaw then it was gone, and when you opened eyes, he too had vanished, the quiet sound of footsteps already headed out of the drawing room and down the hall in a sharp stride.

When at last you managed to gather yourself enough to reopen the book, you read the same line thirty times and still had no idea what it said when you finally shut the pages again. Left to stare out the window at the ruddy light of the setting sun as it set the town outside ablaze in soft fire. Tips of your own fingers pressed to the shape of your mouth as you relived that soft touch over and over again until an exasperated footman came to fetch you to a supper you barely touched.

There was no letter for the fire that night, unable to wade through thoughts well enough to put a single word to paper, his cool fingertips haunting each sensation and creeping into every dream long after you’d crawled into bed.

It was deep into the night, well past midnight when the commotion woke you.

#silcoxreader #silco #arcane #regency silco #regency au #silco x f!reader #arcane silco x reader #silco fic #arcane fic #arcane au #silco x reader

[look-at-the-soul]

Someone like you

Tommy Shelby one shot

Master list

I wrote this for @zablife 1K followers celebration congratulations dear Lee, for this accomplishment, each one of the beautiful pieces of art you write are incredible, there’s always a surprise you add that makes each story take an unexpected turn 🥰 so this is a bit darker than my usual writing in honor of the amazing twists you usually have in your stories💖

Also there was a post Lily made a while ago that I thought fit so well about Tommy and his relationship with his mother, but I couldn’t find it anymore… @springsteens

⚠️ Grief, reincarnation theme. Minors DNI.

I’ve always loved the idea of Tommy and his mum, there were a lot of things unsaid between them, he missed her a lot and called her during difficult times during the series.

Prompt: 14.) “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

Another sleepless night outside wasn’t something new for him. He had been going on like this for 157 nights since his wife passed away. But this time instead of staying by the fire, he started wandering further. With his mind full of the things that usually kept him busy, he didn’t even notice how far he had been riding until he reached the river. The sun was about to go up, so he decided to give his horse a break and let him rest for a while. Midnight was probably the only one who could understand his loneliness, horses aren’t so different to humans, their feelings are right there, you can see it in their eyes, so transparent.

As he was about to lit a cigarette, his eyes focused on something moving by the river, a figure he couldn’t place from the distance and the lack of light. Pulling out his gun, Tommy moved back the lock, ready to fire at any second, moving without making a sound like he learned the hard way back in France, all of his senses on alert.

Now that he was closer, he was able to see the delicate female figure before him, naked. His eyes roamed all over her body as she was cleaning her legs, gold bracelets moving up and down her left wrist as she moved her hands. Her ass sticking out in her bending position, he couldn't really see much, but his mouth went dry as he removed his peak cap from his head.

The woman then walked to the horse resting next to a tree, closer to him, he totally forgot to try to hide behind the bushes, he was completely drown to her, as if she had put a spell on him.

The horse covering her now, as the stranger flicked her dark locks back and it happened in a slow motion for him, as her curls bounced back away from her features, and he was able to see her face, he felt his blood running down from his body, dizziness swept over him.

It was as if he was watching his mother all over again; green wild eyes flashing at him, thick lashes, full lips, sharp cheekbones and a smile that had the power to have you on your fucking knees in a matter of seconds.

She wasn’t bothered at all by the fact that he had been watching her taking a bath in the river.

But the view didn’t last long, as she climbed on her white horse, still naked and started riding bareback away, in the distance, Tommy saw her covering her naked form as the horse slowed down, he was lost in thoughts but he could swear he also saw the woman looking over her shoulder back at him.

That morning he returned home with more than just his wife’s ghost in mind.

***

He knew most of the gypsies around, but he had never seen that woman.

The rest of the day, he couldn’t get her off his mind, her eyes were hunting him, every time he closed his eyes, he could see her again washing her body, her hands running up and down her legs.

“Johnny! Get the wagon ready.”

“Where are we up to, Tom?” Johnny asked, hands in hips and an insufferable smile on his face. “Eh?”

“Doesn’t matter Johnny.”

Maybe it was the opium, or the loneliness, he didn’t know anymore.

“Tommy you can’t keep going on like this.” Polly walked in as she heard the instructions her nephew just gave Johnny Dogs.

Hands lessening against his desk, head hanging down. If he was this quiet, then something must be wrong, she thought.

“I saw her... Pol.”

As Tommy looked at his aunt, she wasn’t able to name what she found in his eyes. Was it hurt? Pain? Regret?

“You need to let Grace rest in pea-”

“No, not Grace.” Tommy interrupter her, trying to put it into words. “I saw my Mum, but it wasn’t her.” It didn’t make sense now that he said it out loud.

A shiver ran down her spine, there was no reason for Tommy to lie about something like that. A gasp escaped her lips, and her right hand flew to the black Madonna around her neck.

Martha was back because she left a lot of things unfinished, she wouldn’t be able to rest until she was done, her spirit needed to come back in order to complete her purpose, she needed to pay for taking her own life at the canal all those years ago.

“She found you.” Was all she could come up with.

Tommy swallowed hard, he had a lot of things going on, things he couldn't put into words. Emotions right at the surface. Feelings he didn’t know how to deal with.

Then he remembered the old saying his mum used to say with the new season.

“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” He murmured, closing his eyes.

Polly knew how Tommy’s mind worked, sometimes it was almost as if they were one mind divided in two bodies, sometimes they didn’t even need to say the words to know what the other one was thinking. This, was one of those moments.

“The caravan is ready, Tom.” Johnny informed him.

Without another word, he followed Johnny outside, still feeling uneasy of the physical resemblance between that woman and his mother.

Johnny asked a million questions, questions to which Tommy had no answers, luckily after a while, he decided to keep riding the caravan in silence.

What if his mother found a way back to him?

During the night, it was Tommy in charge of the riding, from the spot they were in the mountain, he could already see the gypsy camp.

But it was empty, only a couple of dogs and horses around the wagons.

“What happened?” Tommy’s eyes scanning the place, looking for a sign of where she might be.

“They’re at the fair.”

Tommy almost broke his neck from the hard snap he did to look at Johnny, his eyes close of popping out.

“Why did you wait until now to fucking tell me that?”

“Because you never asked me, Tom... how was supposed to know?”

Rolling his eyes and mentally counting to ten, he tried not to lose his temper; “just take me to the fucking fair.”

The daylight would be gone soon, in the distance, he could hear the noise coming from the fair, the coloured tents held the tradition carried by generation of gypsies, it had been years since he went to one.

Flags and ribbons with eye catching colors hang from one place to another, some gypsies offered food, live music, magic tricks, jewelry, handmade carpets, telling fortunes, reading hands, among other things.

“What are you looking for Tom?” Johnny asked, always impatient, always curious.

“Something, you wouldn’t understand.” He could feel his stomach in a tight knot.

“Yeah, of course... that’s nice, if you could share a bit more of this someth-”

Taking some money from his pocket, he handed it to Johnny. “Get a whore and stop bothering me.” Finally, he was quiet, allowing Tommy to move around.

He found some familiar faces, but not the only one he was looking for.

“Can I read your hand?” Offered a gypsy he was passing by.

“Another time.” He winked at her, his guard on alert as he saw her eyes moving close to his arm.

Turning his head around, he moved his arm quickly, just in time to catch the thief.

“Give my watch back, or you don’t get to see the stars tonight.”

But as the thief tried to break free from his hand, he found the face he was looking for.

Eyes locked in hers, finding a bit of himself in those deep emeralds green enough to make anyone jealous.

His mind went blank, unable to form any coherent thought.

“Leave the girl alone.” A firm voice called behind him, then a crooked hand put a tight grip on his arm.

Turning around, Tommy found Madame Boswell.

“She stole my watch.”

The gypsy took a deep breath, but kept her eyes on him. She only said things once.

“Please forgive me Madame.” The girl looked down, embarrassed.

Tommy helped her up, his hand on hers in a very gently touch.

“A gypsy never steals from a gypsy.” Madame Boswell shook her head.

The girl looked surprised at the man who was still holding her arm.

“I grew up in a caravan too.” Tommy explained in a kind voice.

Her eyes were fixed on his gold tooth.

“Can we have a word, please?”

Madame Boswell nodded and motioned Tommy to follow her.

A small hand offered his pocket watch back.

“Keep it love, if you ever get in trouble, just say the name on the back.”

Thick eyelashes hid her beautiful eyes as she turned the gold watch around. Tommy was fighting back the urge to hug her.

“Is she under your protection?”

“Why do you ask?” Madame Boswell studied him.

Tommy answered with another question. “Who is she?”

“Y/N appeared walking down the rainfall, where the river starts, she couldn’t remember her name or where she came from. She’s one of us now.”

Tommy’s breath got caught up in his throat, his chest with a strange tightening.

“Allow me to take care of her, I can give her things she will never have here.”

“No.” Madame Boswell’s lips were sealed in a tight line.

He knew what moved the woman.

“Let me protect her.” He pleaded again, placing in front of the gypsy a velvet sack filled with gold coins this time.

Her eyes finally sparkled, the hint of a smile showing up.

“She’s a wild thing you wouldn’t understand.”

“I will manage.” Tommy nodded his head and stepped out of the caravan.

Madame Boswell explained to Y/N that the Shelby family would take care of her from now, but she could still visit the vardo any time she wanted. She was wearing a beautiful dress in earth tones with embroidered flowers and beads.

Tommy waited a couple of steps away with his hands in his pockets, questioning himself if this was the right thing to do or not. But as he saw the girl running towards him, he couldn’t manage the way his heart started beating like a galloping horse.

When she wrapped her arms around him, he couldn’t even begin to understand the familiarity in her embrace, the way her body could fit his so well, the warmth he had been missing for so long.

“Mi-e dor de tine.” He couldn’t help himself or stop the words before they left his mouth. He truly missed her, every day of his life.

With a smile, she caressed his face just like his mother did when he was just a kid and then walked towards the white horse.

“Angel.” She added caressing the animal’s neck in a sweet voice while Tommy froze.

“What did you say?”

“His name is Angel.” The horse started to neigh. But before Tommy could say anything, Johnny Dogs started to curse behind him.

“How-?”

“Take the horse and be quiet.” Tommy warned him raising his eyebrows, Johnny was pale and speechless, which coming from him, was a lot.

Looking at the woman sleeping in his caravan, Tommy couldn't help but remember the way his mother used to make him clothes out of his father old clothes; worn out shirts and pants, yet she managed to make it look as if it was new. He used to wear the shoes that Arthur outgrew and he would pass his own to John as well.

Y/N’s features reminded him of the time when he found his mother sewing in the couch.

As he came from his room, Tommy found his mum was sound asleep, she just had Ada a couple of weeks ago and she didn’t own any clothes for a girl, so out of an old blouse, she was making a small dress for his sister, who was wriggling in the basket next to his mother, with her big blue eyes, he knew Ada would be a copy of his mother and himself.

Taking off his coat, he covered his mum’s body and moved back the curls from her face, then he took the baby in his arms and started to rock her little body whispering a romani song.

But his little bubble of peace ended when his drunk, lousy father smashed the door against the wall and Ada’s cries woke up his mother.

Blinking away the memories, he repeated the scene with the woman in front of him, covering with his coat; Y/N’s lips were parted, her features almost angelic, her rhythmic breathing making himself question a million things.

If his mother had this opportunity to reincarnate, he would do absolutely anything in his power to help her soul find the peace that she needed.

After several hours riding, they made it to Arrow house, trying to be gentle with her, Tommy caressed gently her shoulder. “Y/N, wake up, we arrived.”

Johnny looked over his shoulder, still in a shocked state to even say or ask anything.

“Mhhmm?”

“Home.” Tommy explained with a smile.

Smoothing her skirt, Y/N then adjusted the scarf over her head.

“Nais” She smiled at him. What was about him that it made her feel safe?

“Nais tuke.” He answered to thank her back.

But he wasn’t expecting all his family would be waiting for them, Polly must’ve spread the word.

Curious looks welcomed him as he came down from the caravan, handling Angel to Curly.

As he offered a hand to Y/N to help her step down from the caravan, gasps were heard and surprise was evident in their faces, only a few photographs of Martha were available, but they all knew what she looked like. Polly clasped a hand over her mouth, while Arthur stared to move his arms over his head, John blinked a couple of times as Ada couldn’t hold back the tears. Finn couldn't think of anything because he really didn't remember his mother.  

“Please step away, Y/N needs to rest.” Tommy tried to protect her, adjusting the coat over her shoulders.

“My God it’s her.” Someone whispered.

“I'll make some tea.” Polly offered too shocked to process anything.

“Frances, please make sure one of the rooms is available.” Tommy asked the maid, trying to walk between the human hall by the door.

“It’s a beautiful horse.” He heard his uncle talking behind his back.

As Y/N turned her head around, uncle Charlie went pale as a sheet and John had to hold him.

He wasn’t expecting a younger version of Martha showing up like that.

“You can meet everyone later, let me show you your room, hey.” Tommy wanted to say mum, but he cut himself up.

As Charlie crawled from the drawing room, he looked up and extending his arms to the stranger, he called; “Granny!”

***

A/N: I got carried away and when I looked at the word count I doubled your limit Lee, sorry!

🔮 Reincarnation is something gypsies believe in, I just learned that, and well, they say we all have a double somewhere… remember your comments make my day, my week, my year… 🥰♥️

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @gretelshelby @cloudofdisney @onlydeadcells @cillmequick @gypsy-girl-08 @heidimoreton @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @strayrockette @stevie75 @the-forest-witchh @forgottenpeakywriter @lespendy @moral-terpitude @esposadomd @shelbydelrey

If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know 🥰

Edit: according to google, the translations are:

Mi-e dor de tine- The equivalent to I miss you

Nais- Thank you

#That’s what Cill said #zablife1k #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fan fiction #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #cillian Murphy imagine

[skyepixels]

So, What Do We Do Now Guys?

I'll admit, I'm a bit lost at the moment. I'm seeing people decide what they want to do that they feel is best for the fandom and its creator, and I am inclined to agree with all sides here. Some are deciding to put the topic down and not post for a while until things cool off. Some are deciding to continue with their creations to help move forward past this and create a sense of normalcy back into the fandom. Others are angry and are validly expressing their anger about the situation. Some people are still discovering it all as we speak!

As I said in my previous post, it is also personal to me. Welcome Home has become a starting point for my ability to engage with a fandom, something I have personally denied myself for years on this platform out of the awareness and understanding of how fandoms (and the internet as a whole!) work. Yes, I missed out on the Onceler fandom, the Undertale fandom, the Supernatural fandom, the FNAF fandom, all of it. I know and speak of the old ways! Mwahaha!

In all seriousness though, I don't often engage with fandoms because, in my mind, I develop deep relationships with the concepts and ideas of my chosen media, and sharing my love for something with the world is terrifying. This fandom I have chosen to engage with has become one of the most intense and complex fanbases I've seen thus far, so I cannot even imagine what @partycoffin is going through.

But guys... Home is on Fire. And the fire is spreading. It's passion, its love, it's intimacy, it's anger, it's betrayal, it's every emotion you can ever imagine in a rainbow-fueled escapade, and it's burning fast.

I do not want to see this beautiful creation die, and as long as Clown wishes to keep going, I want to work to make things better, under their wishes and guidance.

Because to me, Welcome Home represents a chance to create something inclusive and beautiful for both new and old generations of internet users. I see it as the first concept to genuinely depict authentic LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent characters in an animated, horror-themed space, allowing people to find safe spaces with these characters to express their identities and creativity with the world. What I hope for from this fandom is that we can help create safe spaces for @partycoffin and everyone who wants to protect and enjoy their work. Give them and us a Home that is filled with a positive, loving community that supports one another. Give them the anonymity and safety they need to feel at home within themselves to do as they see fit. Most of all, it's important to remember that Welcome Home means something to them, to its creator, and the power to move and change this fandom is in their puppet-shaped hands.

Everything in my previous post still stands, and there is no one right answer to this. That will come in time. But my suggestion right now? Choose what you think is best for yourself because that is what you can control.

And for me? I want to create and love people's art expressing my relationship with it because fandoms, to me, are about finding meaning in people's work that helps shape and influence who you are. My small, unpolished art is my expression of wanting home when I never felt like I had one, to find a place to belong and feel safe to express my neurodivergent, queer self, and to not feel alone. While I may not post much from here on after, I want to continue moving forward and see this through.

(I will gladly take this post down if any of this is out of line. I just wish to help people in any way I can. ^_^)

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home fandom #welcome home theory #welcome home wally #partycoffin #skyepixels #I'm so nervous about sharing my thoughts; it's terrifying! But it's even more terrifying to do nothing. #welcome home puppet show

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey Raven! 👋🏻 I just went through your #my art, and i wanted to tell you that i really really really like your artworks of Miss Raven and Co. You truly put a lot of effort into your artwork, and it shows! With each new drawing, you seem to be getting better! ✏️💕

As i mentioned earlier, i really liked your Miss Raven drawings! they're so cute! especially when you drew Miss Raven in alternative clothing. I also like how much detail you put in your designs for Miss Raven, like the ones for the Fairy Gala or Masquerade Ball are so beautiful 🥺 and still fit her character!

The one you did with her wearing different dorm uniforms from each dorm was such a cool idea! it was interesting to see how she may have appeared if Miss Raven was transferred to said dorms! call me biased, but i liked the octavinelle design the most 😂 but poor Miss Raven. If she had to work part-time in Mostro lounge, she'll have to avoid two predatory Eels 😭 One wants to tease her while the other either wants to squeeze her or dump all his work on her cuz he isn't feeling it today, then there's Azul who takes advantaged of the fact that Miss Raven is close to headmaster Crowley and makes profit 📈 Run Miss Raven Run!!!

Anyway, I think i'm going to steal her away and fight off a certain dangerous and manipulate Eel, a Skilful Hunter, a Lazy Lion, and a dude with the power of christ (idk is Rollo x Raven even a thing?!).

I always look forward to seeing a new artwork of yours truly~

[Referencing this tag!]

Wehhh 😭 I’m glad you find enjoyment in my silly little doodles! Art is definitely an area I’m less comfortable with, but I do like dabbling in it when the mood strikes.

There’s something therapeutic in designing a new look for your OC! You take the time to consider their individual style, the overall theme, and how you can marry the two to create a cute outfit~ I’m really happy with how Raven’s Fairy Gala Couture came out; it’s definitely one of my favorite looks for her. The Masquerade outfit was also fun for me to assemble, but it seems a lot less cohesive in hindsight (probably because I didn’t line + color it, so it’s harder to distinguish individual elements??).

The NRC dorm uniforms (+ the sequel with RSA and NBC uniforms) was another cool project! I think my favorites from those are the Heartslabyul look (just because I’m a sucker for the Alice in Wonderland aesthetic + Raven is twisted from the raven in its infamous riddle), the Diasomnia look (it gives “fairy tale princess turned knight” energy), and the Noble Bell look (because the extra fabric is nice and flowy). You can see how the environment and the personality of each school/dorm influences her, right? ^^ It’s also interesting to think about how differently Raven might have turned out if each of these places had more of an influence on her life.

Bruh 💀 I think she’d die if she worked at the Mostro Lounge, dealing with customers and shady coworkers and employer… though that’s not to say that any of the other dorms would necessarily be better! Miss Raven would have gripes with or rivals in each of them somehow. It’s the Night Raven College way, I guess??

One of these things is not like the other… Looking back on it, 3 out of 4 of those are basically predatory-prey dynamics there there’s a type developing and I don’t know if I like it/j 😂 I’d say Jade’s the “main” love interest, while Rook’s the “oh, he’s cute” one… L*ona kind of started as a crack ship but now I think it’s more of a one-sided thing?? Like, Miss Raven still sees L*ona as sort of a rival, whereas he’s grown a little fond of her but knows he can’t do much to sway her… It’s the eternally “second place” syndrome… 😔

Rollo has the most complex relationship with her (sure, call it a ship if you want 😂), built primarily on a strange savior complex. He did some heinous stuff and dislikes her because she’s very pro-magic—but I think there’s a part of him that feels like she’s a lost lamb that’s been led astray by Draconia and therefore he needs to “save” and “correct” her. Problem is, he’s bad at Emotions so his anger gets redirected at Miss Raven herself. Meanwhile, Miss Raven realizes the similarities between herself and Rollo, so she wants to be a friend to him. She sort of forces him to be her pen pal (thinking that writing down how he feels will help him cope with what happened). So weirdly enough, Raven wants to “save” Rollo and Rollo wants to “save” Raven (but both suck at communicating well).

Who knows, we’ll see how things play out from here Nd when the whim to draw strikes next 📝

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #feedback for the writing raven #notes from the writing raven #Jade Leech #Raven Crowley #Rollo Flamme #Rook Hunt #Leona Kingscholar #Rollo Flamm #question #Floyd Leech #Tweels #Octavinelle #Azul Ashengrotto

[magicaldogtoto]

Learning that much of the Witch imagery and folkloric/fairy tale references of Madoka were added in by Inu Curry and others at Shaft after Gen Urobuchi finished the scripts certainly explains why there's something of a disconnect between the visuals and how the characters act/react to their surroundings.

According to a quote on Wikipedia, Urobuchi originally envisioned the Witches as looking like conventional monsters a la kaiju like Godzilla. (Which I find amusing, since I've had the image of a magical girl fighting kaiju in my head for a few years now...) Things like Sayaka's Witch being an allusion to the Little Mermaid to parallel her unrequited love for Kyosuke being later additions explain why, when stripping the show of its visuals, Madoka really doesn't have much in the way of fairy tale themes/imagery (at least compared to anime like Princess Tutu, which is something I recall pointing out to someone on Twitter not too long ago). Yeah, the Faust stuff fits, but that's also arguably just the result of Inu Curry noticing the archetypal similarities between the contracts and Faust. And really, stories of deals with the devil are nearly universal, and can't be attributed to only Faust. Fairy tales are full of similar stories, for example (like "The Little Mermaid," since the Sea Witch in the original story was a neutral party akin to Kyubey, but she at least was upfront of the struggles the Mermaid would face).

This also applies to other, non-Witch details like Homura's weird apartment, which no one comments on. As pointed out by Anime Slushie, it's obvious Urobuchi didn't intend for Homura's apartment to be so surreal.

This isn't anything new, nor is it "bad" that Madoka had this kind of development. Lots of visual media have similar developments. George Lucas didn't originally picture Darth Vader as having his iconic helmet, but Ralph McQuarrie added that in in his concept art (McQuarrie noted that Vader traveled from one ship to another in the draft he had, and figured he'd need some breathing apparatus).

This gets interesting when we think of Rebellion and the Magia Record anime, since by then the aesthetic of the franchise would have been locked in, and in the case of MagiReco, Inu Curry was in charge and could do whatever they want (this is why I think the imagery gets confusing there; Urobuchi may not have had much in the way of designing elements for the setting, but I'd argue his script at least held Inu Curry back from going completely confusing with their visuals).

#puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #gen urobuchi #faust #magical girl #my posts #text

[teaandsconeswrites]

Old Instincts Die Hard

Birthday fic for Childe! Based on the Trust / Fear / Tool prompt from the Childe’s B-Day Bash event on Twitter.

Read below the cut or on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48733816

Rating: T

Length: 8.7k

Theme: Touch-Starved / Touch-Avoidant

Summary: Zhongli removes his right glove, revealing a deep brown hand, lines of golden Geo tracing the lines where human veins would run. “May I?”

Childe takes a second to process the work of art that is Zhongli, and he swallows deeply before nodding. “Sure, go ahead.”

Zhongli extends his hand toward Childe’s forearm and Childe watches every detail of the movement, the hairs on his arm rising even before Zhongli can make contact.

This is fine. It’s just Zhongli.

So why does he feel the need to draw his blade and raise it to Zhongli’s throat?

After spending the greater part of his life all too used to the threat of a blade being drawn against him, Childe has learned not to trust a hand raised toward him, lest it seek to strike while his defenses are lowered. But now in a fresh relationship with Zhongli, he finds his old instincts standing in the way of enjoying something more with the man he's come to adore.

Aka Childe is simultaneously touch-starved and touch-avoidant, and Zhongli helps him through it.

Full Tags: Canon Universe, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship ( They're very very early in dating), Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Trust Issues, Touch-Avoidant, Touch-Starved, Childe-Typical thoughts of fighting and death, Touch-related anxiety, Hugs, Soft Zhongli, Caring Zhongli, Childe Has Trust Issues, Affection, Learning to Accept Affection, Self deprecating thoughts, Character Study, Touch-Starved Childe, Non-Sexual Intimacy

Full Fic Below!! 🔽🔽

As Childe and Zhongli leave Liuli Pavillion, the final groups of evening goers and couples trickle homeward down Liyue’s streets. The taste of Jueyun Chili lingers on Childe’s tongue, his lips tingling in the aftermath, but he can’t care less as he listens enraptured to Zhongli tell him an ancient tale of Rex Lapis—a battle story, as he requested.

It’s a grand evening, and to think that after everything that happened, they can be here, spending time together just as they used to, is nothing short of a miracle.

People like him aren’t supposed to experience miracles.

When Childe, in the wake of his discovery that Zhongli was in fact the Archon he’d been seeking all along, had organised an intelligence review of all his interactions with Zhongli leading up to the Rite of Descension, the surprise of the era had landed on his desk. It came in the form of a single document with the photo of a familiar pair of dragon and phoenix chopsticks on the front, the text below detailing an alternative meaning to the gift he received all those months ago.

A gift between business partners was Childe’s assumption when he’d received them. They’d been on the ‘acceptable gifts in Liyue’ list he’d prepared before arriving in Liyue and had taken their meaning as such.

However, in light of that little discovery, along with the evenings they’d spent together, the lingering gazes, the conversations dragged just a little too long, all of which he threw away in a fit of anger and frustration, he felt something that the almighty Harbingers of Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa aren’t supposed to feel—regret. So he’d marched straight to Zhongli’s home, nearly knocking the door off the hinges with how hard he banged his fist against it.

‘Courtship,’ Zhongli had called it, when Childe confronted him.

‘A fool,’ Childe had called Zhongli, which is saying a lot, because Childe spends his quarterly work meetings around a near-dozen of them.

And now they’re here, heading back after another evening of opera and dinner, walking, walking, walking, yet neither of them make a move to return to their own homes.

‘Dating,’ Tonia had called it in her latest letter.

Childe didn’t date before Zhongli—there was no time for that nonsense-sounding sappy stuff when there was a weapon in his hand begging to be wielded. Truthfully he’s still not sure what a date is exactly. All he and Zhongli did tonight was spend time together the same as they’ve always done.

Is this ‘dating’? Have they always been ‘dating’?

If so, maybe dating isn’t so bad.

“And that is how the citizens of the fledgling Liyue were saved through Skybracer’s virtuous sacrifice,” concludes Zhongli, coming to the end of his tale.

“But what about the god who slashed the mountain? I bet they were powerful, right? How did you take down a god that can cut a mountain in half?”

Zhongli chuckles, and Childe finds himself wanting to say more things that will bring that smile to Zhongli’s face.

“Well,” says Zhongli, “that is a long tale, and perhaps more appropriate for the next time we meet.”

“And when can we do that? No, don’t answer that—I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning. We’ll do the whole day again, xiansheng, and you can tell me the rest of this tale!”

Zhongli laughs this time, although Childe isn’t sure why. But he is sure that he wants to reach out and touch that smile, to feel the creases beside Zhongli’s eyes, the stretched skin of Zhongli’s cheek under his fingers, to know that he was the one who put that happiness there.

What the heck is wrong with him?

“Unfortunately Director Hu requires my attention at the funeral parlour in the morning, so I shall be unavailable. However, I do happen to have an interesting artifact at home related to the tale we just spoke of that may be of interest to you. Should you wish to view it, you are welcome to return home with me to do so.”

“An artifact?” Childe replies, keeping his hands securely to himself and not on Zhongli’s face. “Now you’ve piqued my interest! What is it?”

“It is the hilt of a blade used within that fateful battle. While it has weathered with time, the ornamentation is still in good condition, and serves as a reminder to the sacrifices of those who have long parted us.”

A weapon? Now this is interesting. Were Liyue’s blades forged in the same manner as today? How might it compare to those forged in Snezhnaya, both past and present? Despite the late hour there’s no way he’s missing out on the chance to hold a weapon of such historical significance, and Childe nods eagerly.

“Sounds grand, I’d enjoy that, if it’s no trouble for you.”

“It is never any trouble.” Zhongli smiles and continues down the road, reaching toward Childe’s back, his hand dipping out of Childe’s field of vision. Childe steps to the side, bringing it back into view.

Zhongli frowns briefly, withdrawing his arm to his side.

That expression means something not good, but it’s difficult to read what Zhongli is thinking. Did he do something wrong, or break some Liyuen cultural norm he isn’t aware of?

Zhongli continues walking, so it couldn’t have been that offensive, and Childe walks along beside him, waiting for Zhongli to launch into another tale. But Zhongli walks silently with that same frowny face, tying strange knots in Childe’s stomach that he doesn’t know what to do with.

They walk through a part of Liyue Childe hasn’t been to before (officially, anyway—he might or might not have tracked Zhongli during his early weeks in Liyue, in an attempt to figure out the true identity of his mysterious new contact) and Zhongli comes to a stop in front of a perfectly ordinary front door, (quite unbefitting a man who was once the Lord of Geo) twisting his key in the lock and letting them in.

Childe pauses inside the doorway to slide his boots off, taking a moment to absorb the fact that this is his first time inside the place Zhongli considers home. Display cabinets line the hall, little knick-knacks arranged in an incomprehensible manner. A plate painted with floral patterns sits beside a jade dragon, and an armoured warrior wielding a spear points his weapon toward a horse that may or may not be his own. 

Hopefully it is the steed of his mortal enemy, for to point a weapon at one’s own mount would be quite foolish.

“Ah, you are admiring the soldier on the top right,” says Zhongli, not turning back to confirm. “His uniform is modelled after that which would have been worn by the Millelith during a time of intense Abyssal activity within the Chasm. He represents all those who fought and gave their lives during those dark days, and these models were created in limited numbers to honour their sacrifice.”

“Huh.”

“Now please, make yourself at home. The item we are here to see is through here.”

They continue down the hall and Childe can’t take his eyes off of the warrior as he passes, the beady, lifeless eyes staring back at him.

Would Her Majesty have a model made of him, should he fall in the line of duty? In five hundred years, will a model Tartaglia be standing in Zhongli’s cabinet, spending his days in endless battle alongside this nameless soldier? It seems like a grand way to spend eternity—maybe he should bring it up at their next meeting.

“Here we are.” Zhongli opens the door at the end of the hall, leading them into a fresh, airy room. The bed centreing it is piled high with plush pillows, and the sheets appear to be woven from silk flower.

Zhongli is one for the small luxuries, as ever.

They arrive at the bedside table and, sure as Zhongli said, there sits the sword hilt, carefully set on a stand. It’s more ordinary than Childe expected. For a sword used in such a prominent battle, the picture in his mind had been of shimmering gold, the head of a beast carved upon the pommel and intricate patterns forged into the grip, set with the kinds of glittering stones that Zhongli likes.

However, this hilt is forged of simple, dark iron, with a small trimming of gold at the pommel, where the geo symbol is carved into the metal. That figures—all the extra adornments would add far too much weight to be practical, but it ruins the image a bit.

“You may hold it, if you wish,” says Zhongli. “It is not an item I would advise be frequently handled, but on this occasion, an exception feels appropriate.”

“A chance to hold a weapon from a legendary battle? You should know me better than to have to ask!”

Zhongli gives another of those soft smiles of his and reaches forward to retrieve it, brushing the back of Childe’s arm with his shoulder. The contact sends a tight, prickling sensation through Childe and he takes a step back, relieving himself of the lingering itch.

Zhongli pauses, and Childe feels as though he’s a child again, being caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Uh, did I do something wrong?”

“You?” Zhongli turns back to Childe, his eyes widened. “Not at all. In fact, I was concerned that it was I who made the error.”

“You? Not at all! I thought we were looking at swords here, what problem would I have with that?”

Zhongli shakes his head. “Then you do not consider this activity as a part of our courtship… Then perhaps it was I who coerced you into this arrangement without considering whether you truly held reciprocation for my own feelings.”

What is the old man on about? They’re still on their date, aren’t they? A date looking at swords has to be one of the best date ideas ever.

“Huh? I’ve been having a great time today. I even asked you if you wanted to do the same tomorrow, didn’t I?”

“This is true, yet you appear rather repulsed by my physical presence. Please, there is no need to be polite for my sake, and I shall not be offended if you do not wish to continue.”

“Ah.”

Of course it would come to this. Relationships mean intimacy and intimacy means physical proximity, which means hands roaming places he can’t see, lingering long enough to entice him to let his guard down. He learned long ago to sidestep the hearty back slaps his comrades like to share, an instinct entrenched further by that incident in his recruit days where a fellow trainee, presumably jealous of Childe’s advanced prowess for his age, attempted the same manoeuvre, only to plunge his razor between Childe’s shoulder blades. Childe ended up with seven stitches for that error (and the other recruit had needed several more, after Childe was done with him, but that’s beside the point).

Not that Zhongli is going to stab him (probably), but the theoretical possibility of the matter sets Childe’s hairs on end and turns his skin itchy and hot.

“Then there is an issue?” Zhongli asks, probing but not demanding.

“It’s more just…” Childe runs his hand through his hair, searching for the most straightforward way to phrase his answer. “I’m not used to being that close to people outside my family, I guess. Hazards of the job and all.”

“I see. Then it is something you wish for and simply are not accustomed to, or are you opposed to the idea in its entirety?”

“I’m not sure, never really gave it much thought.” Childe shrugs, and wow, that sword hilt is suddenly far more interesting than he originally gave it credit for. “Hey, do you think when they forged that sword—”

Zhongli steps between him and the artifact. “Childe, I am asking you to consider it. This is an important aspect of our relationship going forward.”

Ugh, Zhongli and his questions. Does it really matter? “I don’t know, Zhongli. If you want, then I can give it a go, how does that sound?”

“It sounds as though you are avoiding the question.”

Childe sighs. He’s not getting out of this.

Stubborn old dragon-qilin-thing.

Does he want to? He pictures Zhongli’s hand over his as they watch the opera together, he pictures the casual touches he’s seen come so easily to others, he pictures Zhongli tapping him on the shoulder to draw his attention to some fancy antique he’s spotted before giving Childe the eyes to tell him that he’s forgotten his mora again.

He wants those things. Or he thinks he does. It’s all too alien to know for sure.

Childe nods.“Yeah, I would. Or I think so, anyway. But there’s no harm in giving it a go, so here, try now. There’s no time like the present to get started.”

Zhongli’s shoulders soften and he smiles. “As you wish. Admittedly, it pleases me to hear you give that answer; to imagine a world in which I might never be permitted physical contact with the one so dear to me…ah, it matters not.” Zhongli removes his right glove, revealing a deep brown hand, lines of golden Geo tracing the lines where human veins would run. “May I?”

Childe takes a second to process the work of art that is Zhongli, and he swallows deeply before nodding.  “Sure, go ahead.”

Zhongli extends his hand toward Childe’s forearm and Childe watches every detail of the movement, the hairs on his arm rising even before Zhongli can make contact.

This is fine. It’s just Zhongli.

So why does he feel the need to draw his blade and raise it to Zhongli’s throat?

Zhongli brushes his fingertips against Childe’s skin and instinct takes over. He snatches his arm away, backing up a couple of paces and clenching his fists, attempting to dispel the hydro swelling in his palms.

Zhongli withdraws, watching Childe with pained eyes.

Damnit. Now he’s upset Zhongli.

“Sorry,” says Childe. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

“No apology is needed; the fault is not your own.” Zhongli sighs, eyeing Childe up and down. “However, I do have a proposal—a progression of sorts—which might make the process easier.”

A progression? That’s something Childe can get on board with. Progressions were how Skirk took him from a scrawny countryside kid who could barely hold a sword to a competent warrior, able to slay dragons on behalf of Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.

“Sure, what do you have in mind?”

Zhongli looks at him, eyes so gentle Childe could melt. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and Childe has to pause to process the answer to that question.

Does he trust Zhongli?

He’s not sure.

Should he trust Zhongli?

Probably not, after Zhongli has already demonstrated that he can play Childe like the strings of the guzheng he’s so fond of.

Does he want to trust Zhongli?

What is trust anyway?

There’s the kind of trust he shares with his comrades, the security in knowing that they’ll carry out the mission he assigns them and that he’s not going to be deceived or double crossed. His agents like him—he’s quite proud of the fact that he’s not quite as detestable as the likes of Signora—and he can count on that to serve his interests well. 

Then there’s the trust he holds for his family, for his treasured siblings who he allows to climb freely over him to their hearts’ desires. Children are innocent and beautiful, not yet tainted by the broken dreams that adulthood brings, and none of them would ever cause him harm. (That’s excluding that one time when Teucer, pretending to be a knight, smacked him with a toy sword in the one spot where Childe really, really wished he hadn’t. He’d spent a few miserable minutes curled in a ball on the floor as consequence for that lapse in judgement.)

And finally intimate trust, romantic trust…

After all that’s happened, he shouldn’t even be alone with Zhongli in this room.

But he is.

So maybe he does trust Zhongli.

Yeah, this must be trust.

“Yeah, I do.” Childe nods and takes a single step toward him. “What do you propose?”

“I propose taking things a little slower, and both of us finding a more comfortable position to continue this activity.” Zhongli gestures to the bed. “Unless you find this arrangement unfavourable…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Childe flashes Zhongli a grin. “My my, Zhongli, I didn’t know you’d try propositioning me this early on. Should I be flattered?”

Zhongli’s cheeks pinken and he fumbles over his words. “No…no, that was not my intent. My apologies if you read it to imply—”

Spluttering out a laugh, Childe shakes his head. “Hey hey, I’m just joking. Your face was great, though. Ah, you’re funny, xiansheng. Alright, let’s try this your way.”

After taking off his jacket and draping it over the end of the bed, Childe sits, testing the mattress. It’s as soft as it looks and he lays back, sinking into pillows that attempt to absorb him into them. Zhongli joins him, keeping a cautious half-metre between them as they lie next to each other. With a long exhale, he rests his hands on his chest, and rolls his head to the side to face Childe, wearing a quiet, contented smile.

Smiling at Childe.

It’s a bit weird, lying in bed with Zhongli, and Zhongli looking so damn pleased about it. ‘There’s a Harbinger in your bed!’ Childe wants to tell him. ‘We aren’t good guys, you know!” But Zhongli already knows all that and still insists on looking at him in that way anyway. 

Weird.

“So, what now?” asks Childe, eager to move on before he has to think about it any more deeply.

“Nothing, unless you wish it to.” Zhongli removes his other glove and slides his left arm out so it sits equidistant between them. “We can converse, or not, however you prefer, and the next step shall be yours to make. If you desire physical contact between us, you can act upon such desire, and if not, I shall take no offence.”

Childe stares at the hand sitting innocently above the sheets.

His choice.

He looks to Zhongli, then back to his hand.

His choice.

Well, in that case, a little closer wouldn’t hurt.

Childe slips his gloves off and slides his hand next to Zhongli’s, leaving a few centimetres separating them.

“Say, Zhongli, how about you tell a story, or a bit of history you like, or anything, really.”

“Anything I would like?” Zhongli hums and stares up at the ceiling for a few seconds before answering. “In that case, perhaps you would like to hear of the new teas Wanmin has brought in stock?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Zhongli glances down at their hands, then turns his attention back to Childe. “Excellent. In that case, this information should be prefaced by the fact that, for reasons of competition, what I am about to tell you should remain confidential between you and I.”

Childe nods absentmindedly, edging his hand a little closer. “Sure, I’m good at secrets. So, what’s the tea?” He chuckles, satisfied with his own joke.

Zhongli’s eyes crease and a subtle smile plays on his lips. “The tea is a Sumeran blend, and Xiangling is hoping that it will add some variety to their summer menu.”

“Oh really?” Childe pays only vague attention to the words, instead focusing on inching his hand closer bit by bit. Zhongli’s hand looks softer than the hand of a man of stone and earth should—would it feel that soft to touch?

“Yes. Her current concern is whether the shipment will arrive in time. There were some issues involving some rogue fungi on the trade route from Sumeru City, and there’s the possibility of the shipment not reaching the restaurant in time for the first week of the season.”

Making a grunt of acknowledgement, Childe continues to focus on their hands, now a centimetre apart.

His choice.

In one, small movement, he links his pinkie with Zhongli’s and squeezes.

Huh. It’s soft, kinda squishy between each joint, and warm.

Zhongli has stopped talking too and watches Childe’s movements, remaining completely still.

“You’re warm,” comments Childe, unlinking their pinkies to explore the back of Zhongli’s hand with his fingertips, circling the slightly rougher skin of his knuckles. He traces a line of geo, and the beat of the earth hums under his touch. This is the hand of a god, and he’s being permitted to touch, despite his own nature being of heresy and corruption.

Well, he hasn’t been smited yet. Maybe the line between human and god is smaller than he thought.

Retracting his hand and placing it back on the bed, Childe digs his fingers into the blankets, comparing the feel to Zhongli’s hand. It’s still soft, but cold, and he finds himself wanting to put his hand right back where it was.

But he is a warrior, a Harbinger, and he must always strive to push his limits.

“Hey, Zhongli?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do the same, like I just did to you? I think I’ll like that.”

“As you wish,” says Zhongli, eyes shimmering like crystals, sliding his hand across to cover Childe’s, creating a warm pocket of air between them, a steady pressure pressing Childe’s hand into the bed.

Pressing.

Pinning.

Trapping.

“You’re tense.” Zhongli watches him carefully. “I will not do any more than you ask.”

“I know. It’s just…I’m not used to this. Give me a moment.”

His heart pounds against his chest and Childe fights to keep his breathing level. How stupid. All this from not quite even holding hands with the guy he’s supposed to like!  Has he really become such a honed instrument of war that even the touch of another human is foreign to him now?

“Childe…” Zhongli murmurs, the low vibrations curling in Childe’s ear and tethering him to the present.

“I’m fine, just getting used to it,” Childe says, attempting to sound more certain of that statement than he feels.

“What does it feel like?” “Huh?”

“This.” Zhongli dips his head toward their hands. “What does it feel like to you? Describe it to me.”

Childe licks his lips, realising how dry they’ve become. At least Zhongli isn’t asking him about the messy thoughts running through his head. He’s not sure he wants Zhongli to know all that anyway—Zhongli would probably look at him like a madman if he knew. But a physical description? He can do that.

“It’s…heavy. And it’s like there’s an insect—you know that feeling where you know there’s something there and you need to flick your hand to get it off? That’s how it feels, except the thing on me is bigger. Not that I’m calling you an insect, xiansheng!”

“I’m certain I have been called worse in my time. Insects are a beautiful part of our ecosystem, feeding the creatures of the sky and pollinating the flora for as long as Teyvat has existed. To be an insect might be considered an honour in this world of ours.”

The thick timbre of Zhongli’s voice rolls through Childe and without thinking about it, he finds himself spreading his fingers, slotting Zhongli’s between his own, and he squeezes their interlocked hands together.

Did he just do that?

Apparently he did.

It’s so clammy, and the pressure of Zhongli squeezing back isn’t too dissimilar to the weight of a blade in his hand. But this is no blade, this is a person, and people have minds of their own.

Not just any person. This is Zhongli. Zhongli isn’t dangerous. Well, perhaps in a fight, but the man has stubbornly refused all of Childe’s requests to spar, and it’s doubtful he’ll suddenly change his mind now.

It’s weird, but it’s not bad. Contrary to the back of his hand, Zhongli’s palm has a more leathery quality, a robustness built only from years upon years of wielding a weapon.

“Rough, but smooth,” he says.

“Pardon?”

“Your hands. You told me to describe them.”

“Ah, if the texture is displeasing, I can morph them into something more appropriate for—”

“No!” Childe props himself on his elbow without letting go of Zhongli. “I like them like this. They’re very…you!”

Zhongli laughs softly and looks at their linked hands. “Thank you. And it must be said—you have done well today. This is truly a precious gift.”

He’s done well. Childe’s heart beats a little faster, a tiny whirlpool forming in his midsection. He’s made Zhongli happy, made Zhongli pleased with him, and it’s the nudge he needs to take it a step further.

“We shouldn’t stop here—this is far from enough. We should be able to do more than this if we’re a couple, right? So it’s time to practise!”

Zhongli sobers, studying Childe’s face as though searching for the answer to an unspoken question.

“What?” says Childe. “I mean it! Practice makes perfect, xiansheng.”

“You are certain of this?”

“When am I not certain? Doubt is the enemy of progress, and I refuse to hesitate when the opportunity to surpass my limits is before me.”

“Then perhaps I should rephrase the question: do you wish to?”

Oh, he wants to. He wants to be able to sink into Zhongli and enjoy lingering touches and passionate kisses and, for one sweet moment, be free of the thought of a knife slipping between his shoulder blades. Zhongli doesn’t deserve a partner who can’t pay him the attention he deserves, and if there’s one thing Childe doesn’t do, it’s doing something poorly.

If he must temporarily set down his blade in order to be proficient in this, he will learn.

“Please, Zhongli. Just touch me.”

Zhongli’s expression is beautiful. His eyes widen just a little, his lips drawing tighter together, and he unlinks their hands, brushing his fingertips over the back of Childe’s hand and toward his wrist.

“It is said that physical contact has many benefits,” murmurs Zhongli, tracing the tender skin of Childe’s inner forearm, the touch of his fingers as light as feather, raising gooseflesh along their path.

“You should tell me about it.” Childe struggles to keep his voice steady, locked in a strange state between needing to bolt from the room and wanting to stay here forever, hypnotised by something so simple, but so addictive.

“Certain studies from the Akademiya have noted that touch between partners facilitates the release of hormones associated with bonding and increased affection. How curious that, as we engage in this exercise, such effects become more apparent and efficacious than I could have predicted.” Zhongli stops as he reaches the spot where Childe’s shirt sleeve is rolled to and massages the skin there, pupils widening to an oval from their usual slits.

Childe swallows, attempting to quell the bubbling in his midsection. Sure, he’s well aware that dating implies some level of enjoyment for each other’s company, but the way Zhongli voices it so directly pieces through him, deep and dangerous, and he needs to fight, fight—

No.

“Tickles,” he says, focusing on the slow circling of Zhongli’s fingers, “but warm. Weird… but good.”

With a quiet hum, Zhongli shifts closer, the sweet scent of whatever he washes his hair with wafting into Childe’s space. His touch still gentle—too gentle for what Childe deserves—he respects the boundary the fabric sets between them, not dipping under the roll of Childe’s sleeve, but over it, running his hand across Childe’s upper arm, feeling along the tricep and slipping inward to place a light pressure on his bicep.

“Those receiving frequent touch from those close to them also report lower levels of stress, in addition to other effects such as a lower resting heartbeat and lowered anxiety,” continues Zhongli, teasing at the lower part of Childe’s shoulder. 

Childe’s heartbeat is far from lowered. It hammers in his chest and his palms sweat at each movement Zhongli makes, his breath catching in his throat. He’s not anxious—he doesn’t feel useless things like fear—but this is so out of his normal that he can’t put his finger on what he does feel.

Warm. Gentle. Soft. Focus on the physical.

Zhongli edges a little further up, making contact with the top of Childe’s shoulder and Childe suppresses a shudder. The vulnerable flesh of his neck is inches from  Zhongli’s fingers, fingers that were once the almighty claws of the exuvia, able to rip through him in one easy slash.

Itching, crawling, scratching.

He shifts away.

Zhongli’s face falls and he pulls his hand back to his chest.

“Sorry.” Childe inches back into position. “I didn’t mean to… I’m not sure why I did that.”

“There is no need to apologise; we are far further along than we were just a short time ago, so let us consider this a victory.”

Zhongli’s words are kind, reassuring, but his disappointment is clear in the way his gaze dips away and his shoulders fall, and Childe feels seeping shame twist in his gut. How ridiculous he struggles with a simple activity that comes so easily to every other human in Teyvat.

Perhaps they were right.

Perhaps he really did lose his humanity eight years ago.

But for Zhongli, perhaps he can grasp at those faint threads tying him to the guise of ‘human’, and put up a good show of it.

Childe shifts into a sitting position learning against the headboard and pats the spot beside him. “Come sit here, I have an idea.”

Zhongli hesitates, then nods. “Very well.” He moves into position, not touching, but close enough that his body heat radiates into Childe’s space. “What would you have me do?”

“I’ll show you. Just… go with this, alright?” 

Childe shifts closer and leg brushes against leg, hip against hip. A tingle runs under Childe’s skin as they make contact, but having another body pressed so closely to his brings with it a sense of rightness. He and Zhongli are supposed to be this close, and the small part of him holding the remainder of his humanity slowly wakes in the intimacy of the moment.

Taking Zhongli’s hand in his own (why does it feel so good to touch him again?), Childe guides it around his shoulders until Zhongli’s arm is draped around him with Childe holding him firmly in position. 

“How is it?” asks Zhongli.

“It’s fine.” The response is woefully inadequate, but how can he describe this? The pressure across his upper back, the warmth seeping into him, the scent of Zhongli growing ever stronger the longer they remain this close. Is it better than the arm touches? Maybe. This is more invasive, placing Zhongli in a space he would usually only allow a person to be after breathing their last breath or just before. 

But Zhongli is alive. A real, alive person sitting in the bed next to him with his arm around his shoulders.

Tilting his head to the side, Childe rubs his cheek against the fabric of Zhongli’s coat. Smooth, with a slight bumpy texture, Zhongli’s upper arm muscles firm below the surface. It turns him weak and he shuffles closer, resting his head on Zhongli’s shoulder.

Zhongli is so patient and so still, and his soft, measured breaths tickle Childe’s forehead and hairline.

“This is nice,” says Childe absentmindedly, stroking his thumb across the back of Zhongli’s hand.

“It is a moment that I shall treasure in my memories forever.” Zhongli sighs and rests his head on Childe’s, loose threads of hair playing against Childe’s cheek. “And in the future, no matter what you choose to offer, know I shall appreciate every gesture, no matter how great or small.”

Childe releases his grip on Zhongli’s wrist and rests his hand in his lap, and Zhongli rests his hand on Childe’s shoulder, moving his thumb in soothing circles that seem to connect directly to Childe’s brain, slowing his thoughts and turning his eyes heavy.

Cosy. Intimate. Snug.

This is okay.

This is good.

Zhongli is far too good, far too patient.

Childe is the weapon of a foreign Archon, his actions tied to however she deems to use him. If she commanded him to never speak to Zhongli again, he would comply, for a blade can only follow the path of the hand that wields it.

And knowing his predestined duty, Zhongli would let him go, no matter how it might shatter him to do so.

“Why?” he mutters half to himself, half to Zhongli.

“In regards to what matter are you asking such a thing?”

“Why…why us?” Childe runs his tongue around his mouth, forcing out his next words. “Why me?”

“Why not you, is the question that I would return to you.”

“Because I’m…you know what I am. I don’t need to explain the obvious.”

“Childe.” 

Zhongli sounds gravely serious and Childe looks up at him, hoping he hasn’t committed some grand social faux pas of Liyuen conversation. But Zhongli doesn’t look angry, or offended. He’s frowning, but his brows tilt upward, and he looks at Childe with such tenderness that Childe could melt under that gaze forever.

“That’s my name.” Childe attempts a cheeky grin, attempting to hide how his heart simultaneously shrivels and shudders at the expression aimed directly at him.

“Have you considered that I may not care for what you are, but who you are?”

Childe’s heart snaps in two and crumples inward under the weight of those stupidly simple words. His jaw is tight but his throat is trembling and Zhongli keeps on looking at him like that.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What the heck is this?

Zhongli is leaning toward him, gaze lingering on Childe’s lips, and Childe feels his own lips part in response. He could lean forward too, close that gap and press his lips to Zhongli’s and…

Shoot, is this what it’s like to want to kiss someone? It always sounded like a messy and fruitless affair, but with Zhongli…oh, Tsaritsa forgive him, he wants to.

So he does.

Their lips meet tenderly, almost hesitant, and Childe sinks forward, balancing himself against Zhongli’s chest. Beneath his palm, Zhongli’s heart beats in time with his own, an unwavering beacon of life in a world so full of death and sin, where the strong will trample the weak and dominate those lacking the strength to dominate in turn.

As much as it pains Childe to admit his own weakness, if he wanted Zhongli could pin him to the ground under a geo seal, or crush him under a meteor, or use any of the numerous martial arts he’s mastered over the years to pummel Childe into the ground.

But here, everything is different. 

Zhongli is strong, but his touch is kind, nurturing. Zhongli could pin him down and do whatever he wanted with him, but he waits for Childe to deepen their kiss, only moving his lips when Childe does the same, following every movement Childe leads.

Maybe this is Zhongli’s strength, knowing that he could seize control of the situation at any moment, but chooses not to.

Gripping Zhongli’s shirt in his fist, Childe tries dipping his tongue forward to tease between Zhongli’s lips. Fontainian kissing, he’s heard it called, but he’s not going that far today, just enough to feel the dampness of Zhongli’s lips, explore this strange, wonderful man who is a pillar of strength yet a handhold of security.

If Zhongli is all of this at once, then he is stronger than Childe could have ever imagined.

Childe pulls back, drunk off the strange fuzzy high running through his entire body, and Zhongli looks the same as how he feels—wet lipped, wide eyes, nostrils flared with elevated breathing. Throughout the kiss, Zhongli continued to hold him close, and now they are done Childe doesn’t want him to stop.

“That was quite good.” Childe grins. “We should do that again sometime.”

“‘Quite’ is insufficient to summarise the degree of pleasure your proximity brought me, but yes, with the sentiment I would agree.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Is it truly dramaticism to accurately define the—'' Zhongli makes a surprised muffled sound as Childe clamps his hand over Zhongli’s mouth.

“Cut it out!” Childe laughs, removing his hand to rest it against Zhongli’s cheek. “You say such silly things, xiansheng.”

Zhongli laughs, leaning into Childe’s palm. “Very well, I shall hold my peace for now. But if you ever wish to hear all that I intended to express, there is plenty to be said, and I would be eager to share it.”

If Zhongli were to say those things, Childe would surely explode. Or implode. Or something equally violent. It’s too much, and he’s a parched man being dunked head first into a lake, drowning in the affection Zhongli pours over him.

But with time, as he reforms himself to overcome any obstacle, he will adapt to this too, and someday Zhongli will be able to speak his mind. He’ll make sure of it.

“Then I’ll ask you, one day, that’s a promise,” says Childe, lifting his pinky to tap it against Zhongli’s cheek.

“Then I shall look forward to that day.” Zhongli lifts his hand, reaching toward Childe’s face, but he retracts it before making contact, his smile fading slightly.

The joy fades, replaced with a nauseating ball of guilt in the back of Childe’s throat. Zhongli deserves a normal relationship with a normal person, not a weapon ready to strike him down at one wrong move. He deserves more, better.

“Zhongli?”

“Yes, Childe?”

“Can I trust you?”

He’s not sure why he asked it. The answer itself holds no merit—any logical person would answer yes, regardless of their intent—but somehow the whole world hinges on that single response, permission for himself to…he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know any of this.

But he wants to.

Zhongli sighs, squeezing his arm around Childe’s shoulders. “My dearest Childe, if I were to construct a road of Geo and set its path to Celestia itself, if you were upon it, I would bow not even to the Heavenly Principles themselves. Let there be no more half-truths, no more deception, and no more schemes between us. If you can trust my word, then I shall uphold that trust until the earth retakes me.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“It is.”

Trust. He can trust Zhongli. In this, anyway.

Zhongli isn’t going to stab him in the back, or slice a blade across his throat. Zhongli wants him. Zhongli likes him, and Zhongli wants to show him that. It would be so easy to let go, to accept all these strange and unfamiliar and wonderful things, but when he imagines Zhongli’s gentle touch roaming across scar lines and tissue taut from repeated electro burns, his heartbeat accelerates and his palms flash cold.

If only he could persuade his body of this, stow away those instincts that have kept him alive for nearly a decade, yet now hold him back from truly living.

“Then I’m going to try something. Don’t move.” Childe folds his hand over the back of Zhongli’s, intertwining their fingers as he lifts it toward his face. “You can’t hide what you want from me, so it’s up to me to give it to you.”

Zhongli frowns. “I would not wish to force myself upon you; I desire only that which you do also.”

“I want this. I want you, Zhongli, it’s just…complicated.”

“And that is perfectly acceptable—we have many days ahead of us yet; there is no need to rush yourself.”

Patient. Kind. Gentle.

Zhongli is safe, right?

What is he thinking? Doubt is unbefitting of a warrior such as Tartaglia. If he’s choosing a path, he must march upon it with full conviction, and embrace the consequence of that decision.

Zhongli is safe.

He pushes Zhongli’s palm against his cheek, his face burning and his pulse pounding in his ears.

Safe. This is safe. There is no danger here.

Warm. It’s warm, and geo energy pulses softly through the lines running through Zhongli’s skin, mildly tingly but not unpleasant.

Childe slides Zhongli’s hand down, brushing his lower cheek and jawbone, holding it against his neck.

A blade to his throat, the flick of a wrist. Red, red, red gushing over silken bedsheets. Limbs heavy, refusing all commands to move, to run. His body flung to the floor, a puddle of iron scented liquid pooling around his head.

Get up. Fight. Fight. Fight.

“Childe, I am here.” Zhongli’s voice drags him back to reality.

Childe swallows, trying to focus on Zhongli’s face. He’s too light, floating above the bed (which is thankfully not covered in his blood), but Zhongli’s hand is still on his neck, floating with him, steady and unwavering.

It’s just Zhongli, and just Childe. No blades or claws or teeth baying for his blood.

Fight.

No, not today.

Childe tethers himself to Zhongli, locking onto those kind eyes of his, shimmering like fine cut gemstone but soft like honey, and slowly he descends back to where he lies, bedsheets solid beneath his body and Zhongli’s arm still holding onto him by the shoulders. He swallows, taking stock of the pressure against his neck, of the faint hum of geo vibrating with the rhythm of his own pulse. 

“So am I,” he says, giving Zhongli the kind of smile he likes to see. “I’m here, Zhongli.”

“That you are. And while you instructed me to remain still, I would like to ask your forgiveness in advance for my next actions.” Zhongli shifts forward and before Childe has a chance to register what’s happening, Zhongli presses his lips to Childe’s forehead, lingering there a moment before drawing back, leaving a moist patch in his wake. “You have much to be proud of today.”

Proud? Of being a normal human being doing normal human things? If anything, the fact that today proved such a struggle is further evidence of how much better suited he is to being a weapon than a human.

Zhongli talks such nonsense.

Childe averts his eyes. “I don’t think so. This is what I should be able to offer you; I’m not taking pride in something so ordinary. A warrior must seek his pride in pushing the horizons of possibility, not walking the path others have already forged.”

There’s a pause, then Zhongli sighs. “Childe, will you look at me?”

He can’t. If he looks at Zhongli, those damn eyes of his will bore straight through him, opening up parts of him he swore he’d locked up for good, never to be released again to a world that would dig its claws into any vulnerability he dare show.

But letting a simple pair of eyes break him would be weak, and Tartaglia is not weak.

Slowly he looks back to Zhongli and nearly melts. Despite all the trouble Childe’s put him through, Zhongli smiles at him, subtle and tender and all too kind, only for him.

“If you refuse to be proud of your own achievements, then I am left obligated take that mantle in your stead.” Sliding his hand up to cup Childe’s cheek, Zhongli strokes his thumb against the corner of Childe’s lip. “For how far you have pushed through your limits today, I am proud of you.”

Cheeks hot. Palms too cold. Mind racing. 

Pride? What pride is there to be had in this?

Heartbeat in his throat. Skin tingling. Stomach churning. Oh, Archons, he’s going to be sick.

What foul magic is in these words to make him feel this way? He likes compliments as much as any man, but he never felt this way upon receiving the medals of service pinned in his quarters of Zapolyarny Palace.

No, it is these devious words Zhongli utters, turning him weak and cold and too hot all at once.

“Childe, did you hear? I wished to tell you that I am proud of you.”

“Cut it out!” A surge of adrenaline flashes through him and Childe flips out of Zhongli’s hold and shoves him flat to the bed, pinning him by his wrists. “Cut it out,” he growls, tightening his grip.

“Cut it out? I’m afraid I do not follow.” Zhongli doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight back, he just lies there, watching Childe’s face with quiet concern.

Childe wishes he would fight. He could raise a blade to a blade, but there is nothing he can do to defend himself against Zhongli’s treacherous mouth.

“Stop saying… that.”

“Ah, that I am—”

“Yes, that.”

“Why?”

“What?” “For what reason should I cease telling my beloved how I feel about him?”

“Because you…” Childe trails off, steadying his breath and taking in the situation—Zhongli pinned underneath him, his own mouth twisted in a snarl.  Archons, he truly is the weapon he seeks to become, a blade unable to comprehend anything other than how to strike out at friend and foe alike. He releases Zhongli’s wrists and braces himself on his hands above Zhongli, knees tucked at each side of Zhongli’s waist. “I don’t know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have… are you hurt?”

“It’s alright; given the circumstances, it is not unexpected for you to be on edge. But there is no need to be concerned, for I am unharmed—fortunately, pillows are not a terribly solid surface to land on.” Zhongli chuckles and turns his head to place a kiss at the base of Childe’s wrist. “And if my words were too much for you to bear in your current state of mind, I would also like to extend my apologies.”

No, he doesn’t deserve this. He was the bad guy here. He pinned Zhongli, and now Zhongli is apologising to him?

Zhongli didn’t even say anything wrong. He was being nice. He told Childe that he was proud of him. Proud. For something he did that didn’t involve sticking a blade through a creature’s skull. When was the last time anyone told him that?

And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to hear it again.

“No, it’s not you, you didn’t do anything wrong, you just caught me off guard and I… Anyway, it’s my fault, and if you want to say it again, I won’t stop you this time.”

Zhongli pauses, then a beautiful smile draws across his face. “Childe,” he says, reaching up to brush the back of his hand against Childe’s cheek, “I am proud of you, and may you ever hold those words close in your memories, lest you be at risk of forgetting them.”

Childe’s throat is tight, and his chest compresses in on itself, squeezing the air from his lungs. His eyes sting and he clamps his teeth on the inside of his cheek, sucking until his mouth is dry and barren.

What the fuck is wrong with him? All because of some stupid, sappy words.

Pathetic.

And Zhongli keeps looking up at him, keeps smiling, keeps stroking his cheek. Zhongli, who lies all the way down there on the bed, so far away.

Too far.

Before he can change his mind, Childe slumps onto Zhongli, wrapping his arms around him and burying his head in Zhongli’s neck. They’re pressed chest to chest and he holds tighter, tighter, tighter. He’s drowning, drowning, drowning in Zhongli, but surfacing for air would be far worse.

He needs this. 

He needs this so much and he can’t let go.

Zhongli slips his arms around him, pulling them closer, and Childe does not flinch.

For a few minutes, the blade is sheathed, and the human who he’d thought lost a decade ago is allowed to rise, to feast on this banquet of affection and care Zhongli lays before him.

Zhongli slides a hand up Childe’s back, pausing with his palm pressed between his shoulder blades. “May I?”

“Please,” Childe sighs into Zhongli’s ear, “please, Zhongli.”

“You are remarkable,” murmurs Zhongli, his hand coming to rest on the back of Childe’s head, teasing his fingers through Childe’s hair to massage his scalp. “Adaptable, brave, tenacious… it would be a tragedy indeed if the poets do not one day set their pen to recording your deeds.”

“I think there’s already a song someone wrote back in Snezhnaya, but that was after the winter feast and might have had something to do with fire water.” Childe chuckles. “I’ll have to get you to try some one day.”

“Then I shall look forward to it.”

They lie quiet for a few minutes, Zhongli working a kind of magic through Childe’s hair, and Childe relaxes with each stroke, a dead weight atop Zhongli as he allows his eyes to close. Such things are not meant for Tartaglia, but here he is, an arm around his waist and the breaths of his lover curling in his ear. Body against body, embrace met with embrace, a leg slipping between Zhongli’s, limbs entangled, chests rising and falling in synchronisation.

While he’s not ready for other things couples like to do—the thought of wandering hands, grabbing and pulling and tugging sending a cold sweat to his palms—this is a start, and if this pleases Zhongli enough that he wishes to stay with him for now, the rest can be worked upon in time.

In time… he and Zhongli really are in this for the long haul, aren’t they?

“Hey, Zhongli?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this good for you?”

“This is perfect.”

“Even if we can’t… you know? Not yet, anyway.”

“As I said before, I shall treasure any action we can share together. I do not require that to be satisfied with your presence, nor is it a condition for my continued affection.”

“I’ll make it worth you waiting, mark my words. I’ll be the best you ever had.”

“Childe, hush.”

There’s a gentle pressure running from the top of Childe’s head to the base of his neck, and it takes Childe a moment to realise it’s Zhongli. He should feel insulted, a Harbinger of the Fatui having his head stroked like he’s some common dog, but the rhythmic movements sap his ability to give a single care.

Zhongli presses his mouth to Childe’s ear. “No matter what nature of activities you may choose to engage in come the future, there is no need to push yourself for my sake. For me, you are more than enough as you already are.”

Enough.

It’s a strange word, one Childe often likes to scoff at. Enough suggests complacency, a willingness to settle, a dead end to progress and improvement. Nothing is ever ‘enough’—his skills, his rank, his mastery of electro, hydro, the heretical powers of the deep. His life is a push toward more, more, more, for those who fail to improve are inevitably left behind, crushed in the dirt to rot with the remains of the sinners below.

But for Zhongli, he is apparently ‘enough’ and it sits differently, a little egg of contentment incubating behind his heart. He is enough, not too weak and naive, as Skirk had told him he was before striking his sword from his hands with a flick of her wrist, nor too wild, as his parents said before asking—no, begging—him to go along with the ‘generous’ Fatui recruiter.

He is Childe, Tartaglia, (maybe Ajax), and he can be here with Zhongli, and anything he gives is enough, and Zhongli will never expect more.

Zhongli tightens their embrace and Childe returns it, nuzzling into the warm corner between Zhongli’s neck and shoulder.

“Is this enough for you?” asks Zhongli.

Childe pushes himself up onto his forearms, looking down at the adoration written across Zhongli’s face, taking in the warmth of having another body slot so tightly against him, and smiles.

“Oh it’s more than enough for me. But there is one thing that I’ve not quite had enough of today.”

“Ah. And what might that be?”

Childe pecks a kiss to Zhongli’s forehead, then flops onto his chest, tugging Zhongli closer to him. “I’d like it if you touched me more. So please, can you do that?”

With a chuckle, Zhongli noses into Childe’s hair, and he starts working his fingers in circles over a tension point in Childe’s back, sending the long neglected muscles into ecstasy under the sudden attention and care. “My dearest Childe, there is nothing I would rather do more right now.”

#zhongchili #zhongchi #tartali #tartaglia #childe #zhongli #genshin impact fanfics

[thekoopalingsandstuffs]

Question to op (idk if I'm allowed to ask you something so apologies in advance):

Which one of your aus is your favorite? Is there some traits that one has that you enjoy in particular?

Ooh, good question! Hmm......

The Koopa Kids AU is my least favorite... That AU doesn't have much going for it. There aren't a lot of good characters from the actual show to add in, and I can't just make up characters, so it will always be just the main seven kiddos. Without other characters, there won't ever be much interesting lore or storylines. But the simplicity of that blog can still be nice sometimes! With fewer characters and the fact that "mature subjects" aren't allowed, that blog is more laid back, simplistic, and silly. It doesn't require much effort to maintain.

OG AU (AKA, where we are right now) is my #1 favorite. Of course, since I've been with these specific characters the longest, I feel most connected with them. I personally enjoy how this art style looks compared to the other two. (All the characters are tiny and cute!) And really, the general "theme" of this place. While SKB is more of a "fantasy AU" that takes place without technology and is kind of medieval in a way(?) KAS takes place in the present with characters who live incredibly normal, more realistic lives. [The Dieter's Death miniseries wouldn't be as interesting on SKB 'cuz literally everybody over there kills people all the time like it's no big deal-]

New AU/Spontaneous Koopaling Blog is my second favorite! I find it very fun to work with! As already mentioned, SKB has a completely different setting from KAS, so that gives me the opportunity to do types of storylines that simply wouldn't work over here. Anything that I can't fit into one blog, I recycle for the other. SKB, in general, has a more serious vibe than the other two blogs. Another difference about it is that while all of KAS's lore happened during the blog and had nothing when it first started, SKB has a lot of stuff that happened before the series began. It also has more world-building, I think. And also more complex character designs--That blog is easily the highest maintenance, but I still enjoy it!

(All three blogs could definitely use a few extra asks in their inboxes!!)

[coralcatsea]

HetaOni Fanmade Ending Thoughts

I have both compliments and criticisms and just want to give my honest thoughts after playing.

I enjoyed the scenes with the nations themselves, such as Italy being trapped in his mind in a perfect simulation and Holy Rome, Prussia, Romano, and the two ancients working together to get him out. I liked the basic idea that Russia's seemingly disturbing phone calls were actually him trying to help, but not saying anything because he could never find the right time. I think the way England got his sight back made enough sense, although I think it'd be even better if he was shown having to deal with the consequences of the sacrifice a bit more, plus maybe America having more moments to react, get upset, and help him out.

What I didn't get into, however, was the explanation for why the events of the game happened. In short, everything with the 2ps. For me, their existence in the game felt very random and not at all organic. I think the plot with them could work in another game, but not HetaOni, because the original game had no build up that would ever make me expect a universe domination scheme with 2ps, plus the themes and styles don't match. It'd be like if you took Coraline and threw in an evil organisation that employed witches to rid the world of children, haha.

I think a backstory/myth just surrounding the lore of that one cursed house would've worked better, something focused more on Ryuuzu and the creatures as mysterious supernatural entities on their own rather than elements of a super ambitious plot. Maybe they can't even be fully explained. I do have ideas, but I feel it'd be better to make a separate post for that.

Moving on to the ending itself, I have mixed feelings. While the nations worked very hard together, I feel like the 2ps just deciding on their own to hand over an escape portal felt a bit...anticlimactic? It sort of removed their agency. I think it would've been better if they acquired an escape route on their own. Either by finding it, defeating a final boss and taking it, or even having to convince the one keeping them trapped to let them go.

Then, when they do leave the mansion, I'm okay with them expecting to lose their memories since that brought about a very sweet scene I felt fit all their growth so far, but then there should be a scene that triggers the memories to come back. That sort of happened with the candy, but it felt unsatisfying how little they remembered, because then it's hard to tell how much their arcs meant in the end. If their memories have to stay gone then I feel like they should at least have a moment expressing how strangely, they all feel a great deal closer to each other and less alone than ever before, maybe in an epilogue scene at the sleepover thing they decide to have.

These are just my opinions. Maybe they'll be taken into consideration for the remake, maybe they won't, but either way, it was interesting to see a continuation of the game. The art was great and made it a lot easier to take serious moments, well, seriously. Also, I don't know if/how much the original dialogue got tweaked, but it felt better than I remember. I'm sure it took a lot of hard work to recreate the game, so congratulations to Cookie for starting the project and seeing it through.

#HetaOni #Cookie's HetaOni #heta games #hws italy #hws romano #hws russia #hws England #hws america #hws prussia #hws rome #hws holy roman empire #hws germania #HetaOni ryuuzu

[canyouheatmeuponafrozennight]

Watched: Kamen Rider Kiva

A love story? A story of loves?

I was finding it interesting how both protagonists had such a clear love interest and declared it openly, the first Rider to be like this for me and that's when I finally realized Kiva's theme. Love is the central theme of the show, Wataru and Otoya needed to have someone they love for that reason. After I realized that, the way I watched the show really changed.

The love triangle between Jiro, Yuri and Otoya is the least interesting love in the series, but perhaps that plot was the trigger that caused the rest of the show to go in that direction. What I find lacking in that relationship is how Otoya's love has no goal. Jiro is a forceful macho type who wants to impregnate Yuri. One could say he fits in an alpha male fantasy, some people are into that kind of guy, but while Otoya antagonizes him, as a womanizer who hits on anything that moves, there's a lack of substance to his charm and on his relationship with Jiro. On a macro-scale, Jiro was a liar, using Yuri for his goal, while Otoya was true to himself in that he liked Yuri, but also still can't resist the smell of random pussy.

The second love triangle in the past has a much more interesting theme, but still a little lacking because of the shallowness of Yuri and Otoya's relationship. Maya can love Otoya as an artist, she can help him with his music and understand it, understand him. Yuri can't offer that love, but if there was a clear something she had to oppose Maya's understanding of art, the triangle would be much better established. (funny to think that Otoya lacked depth before, now Yuri does). Maya, a Fangire, the devil tempting a human musician (a paganini kind of situation?) vs Yuri, the musician's lover trying to keep him from selling his soul. To me, that would be a more intense battle between the two. Ultimately, Yuri steps back and lets Maya win, but I wish her reasoning and thoughts were better worked out. In my heart (call it a headcanon), Yuri feels that she can find another man one day, her bond with Otoya isn't that deep, but Maya probably can only have Otoya in her life, as she is a fallen fangire, who can't mingle with her people nor with humans. She steps back because she sympathizes with Maya, and maybe even pities her, what was meant to be her experimenting with humans, a superior being playing with animals she doesn't understand, ended with her having lost everything and truly in love with the beasts she researched.

The last triangle happens in the present, with Wataru-Mio-Taiga, and it is the best written one (mostly because of Taiga). Mio is a failgirl, Wataru is a failboy, need I say more? She fell for him, but her identity as fangire and fate as queen brought her down, only then to be brought back up by Wataru also being a fangire. She can be with the man she loves, all she has to do is get rid of Taiga. Gotta appreciate people who become ruthless for the sake of love, she tried talking Wataru into killing Taiga to be with her, that failing, she did it herself.

The show doesn't spell it out, but it's evident why Taiga is obsessed with Mio. Well, in a way, it isn't her he loves, it's the meaning of her, the potential of her being. His father was killed by Otoya, his mother exiled upon Falling, the father that raised him could not connect with him (and in fact, perhaps nobody will ever be able to connect with him, as he doesn't eat. Eating together is the simplest form of love, the most basic form of connecting with others, him not eating represents his solitude), other fangire are his servants. Taiga is the loneliest creature in the world (the king is indeed alone at the top), his only hope is the Queen. The king and queen must marry, therefore, after two decades of solitude, there is finally someone who'll be there for him, someone who's supposed to love him. For him, that "fate" is the last straw, once it is taken from him, the camel's back will break (only for him to then find out he can go lower than rockbottom, as even the title of King will suffer an attempt at being taken from him).

The first triangle is solved when Jiro attacks Yuri and Otoya guards her. The second is solved when Yuri decides to walk away. The third isn't solved when Mio dies, but when Wataru directs his love at Taiga. Taiga from the start wanted to win both of them, marry Mio and have his brother at his side, things just went haywire because of the feelings that couldn't be transmited to one another properly (in other words misunderstandings). Thus Kiva's message is transmitted, having shown love which is won by fighting, love which is lost by giving up, love which is won by loving.

Extras

Other than romance, there are many displays in the show, such as Akane-Yuri-Megumi's mother-daughter love, culminating with the IXA battle against Rook, with a final sprinkle at Yuri's ghost/mirage on Megumi's wedding.

Otoya-Wataru, Shiba-Taiga, (im sure Nago had something cut) had displays of father-son love, Shiba and Taiga being an adopted father who can't connect with his child, and Otoya being absent physically but always by Wataru's side, be it via the Bloody Rose or via a single lost glove of IXA.

Kengo was a friend's love, but also the hedgehogs dillemma. Kengo's story was one of constant betrayal, his bandmates, the producer, Wataru, Nago, every person that he got close to hurt his feelings, resulting in his edgelord arc, in which he closed down all doors and lashed out on everyone. Sad that as soon as he understood his behavior and faced himself he disappeared from the show, but I want him to know I got his character and appreciate what was done there. It is easy to let pain take over and curse others, but it's healthier to continue trying to connect, to try to believe again.

P.S

Show starts and ends with a wedding, they couldn't make it any more clearer that it was a love story/story of love

#kamen rider