#mundane intervention

[kyofsonder]

We don't often make up-front posts about our system or the people in it, but we have a sudden desire to say this into the Tumblr void and no good arguments against doing so.

Having your speaking and/or thinking accent suddenly shift at a random moment for no apparent reason is a hell of a specific experience, isn't it? Suddenly, your mouth just wants to take a different shape and your words comes out in a different way and it's not even necessarily an accent you're regularly exposed to or have a reason to mirror or want to practice. It's just there, all of the sudden, and you ride it out until you either feel it fade or have to mask it around others. It's. A hell of a thing, is all we can think to say.

We're always co-con to some degree, too, so we'll feel the ebb and flow of it as the accent-holder is closer to and further from our shared consciousness. It'll warp our accent into something between our usual/default one and whatever the accent-holder has.

Maybe we've posted about this before and forgotten, but it's weird and fascinating to us every time. Speaking patterns changing is already both those things, but whole accent shifts are... another level.

Being plural is wild, truly. We'll probably never stop being surprised, even by aspects/experiences of it we've known a thousand times over.

#sonders speak #sonder speaks #plurality #the mundane wonder of mundane things #well #mostly mundane #contextually mundane #less so to certain categories of singlets probably #this post has been brought to you by Riley's pseudo-Scottish accent #and was joined near the end by Adam's stoic speech style #as we got progressively more nervous about publicly posting plural things and required his emotionally regulatory intervention #that last tag was also him #dissociative identity disorder #or maybe osdd #endo safe #this is about the experience of plurality itself after all #this is about solidarity among plurals who have this experience #and the “wow that does sound wild you've got irl bonus features” from singlets #... we're gonna think of them as irl bonus features next time we're frustrated with JB #he annoys us by playing songs too loudly in our head #which is rough when we already have a song in our head #and his is also playing over it #maybe thinking of it as irl bonus feature background music could help #and the annoyance with having to mask accent shifts too #which was the actual point of the post that got away from us #in our defense we're tired and it hasn't been that long since we took our night meds #sorry for the personal post all the same

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when they fall in love with someone similar to their personality. 

Mark Lee ; passionate

When Mark realized that you're also passionate about your craft, he can't help but to fall in love with you. He admires you at how you would yap about your performance because just like him, you let him yap about his passion for music. He thinks that he found someone who's on the same level as him and would want to date you honestly. 

Huang Renjun ; artistic

Renjun believes that it's meant to be when you gave him a crafted necklace, it has an artistic touch that he knows is a brand of yours. You two would talk about crafts and art in general that he thinks that you're on the same page as him. He genuinely thinks that you're the girl version of him and probably had a crush on you at first and then, falls in love eventually. 

Lee Jeno ; introverted

When you first met Jeno, you were quiet and would only smile at him. But he noticed at how you're talkative whenever you're with your friends. When he find the opportunity to talk to you, you shared to him that you're an introvert and while Jeno took the initiative to get to know you, in those process did he find peace whenever he's with you. You two found tranquility with each other and that Jeno think that you're meant for each other. 

Lee Donghyuck ; prankster

It's a battle of bickering and teasing. Haechan found himself a girl who doesn't back down with  his teases and pranks. At first it is to annoy you, and you were annoyed! But as soon as you fought back and it became a tension between the two of you, Haechan wasn't able to comprehend it until the Dreamies pointed it out, "What do you mean I like her, like she's annoying and would tease me and --- oh." he realized that he fucked up with his feelings for you. 

Na Jaemin ; realistic

I think that for Jaemin, he needs someone who's realistic about the future. While he does show a childlish side of himself to you, whenever you two talk about the future and just adult things in general, he couldn't help but fall slowly to you. You seem to understand where his rambles are about, and you share the same sentiments with him. That's why he thinks that you're the one for him. 

Zhong Chenle ; spontaneous

I think Chenle is the type who wanted to enjoy the mundane and spontaneous things in life. So when you came into his life and join all his spontaneous trips about life, he couldn't help but have a small crush on you. I mean, you're willing to agree to a late-night run for donuts, not even Dreamies would do that! Aside from that, you're very close with Daegal, that's a plus points for him. 

Park Jisung ; shy

Oh. This is a painful slow-burn that is hard to watch. When you first met Jisung, both of you are very very shy that you two awkwardly shake hands. (The Dreamies are in distressed) and while it's hard to admit, Jisung did had a crush on you because you're demure despite being shy. So it took a lot of interventions from Dream for him to muster the courage to ask you out. It's a good thing that you agreed or else he'll dig a hole and just bury himself. jk.

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream reactions #nct drabbles #nct mark #nct jeno #nct renjun #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung

[kuamiru]

The Golden Child Part IV

SAGAU & Impostor AU where the reader is the child of the actual creator.

Warnings: Blood, crying blood, mention of abduction and terrorism.

If you haven't read part 3 yet, you can find it here.

Please understand that I won't add new people to the taglist as it has become way too large now. I'm sorry if this causes any inconvenience.

The acting Grand Sage was having a very, very busy week.

With his resignation coming soon, he wanted to finish every document that needed his immediate attention; somehow, his shift was never enough to finish everything on time.

Piles of documents that never seemed to end. Countless people needed his help that went from the most mundane things to twisted crimes that needed the immediate intervention from the Matra. In any case, once he started his working hours, there was no time to waste.

So, that was why the presence of the man in front of him managed to irk him greatly. There was enough time to be a nuisance at home, why did Kaveh feel the need to come bother him at work?

"But I'm telling you!" The blonde exclaimed. "There's definitely something weird about it!"

He sighed. "Well then, did it look like that child was being held against their will?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then there's nothing I can do. The most I can offer is to send a Matra to investigate and/or interrogate that Lord. For all you know, they could simply be an Eremite's child."

Kaveh wanted to tell him that no, that wasn't the case, but in reality he didn't know that. There was just a feeling, a strange sensation that made him think that there must be something more about them. Kidnapped, an Eremite's child, the illegitimate Lord's child... No option sat well with him.

If Alhaitham saw that child, would he share Kaveh's thoughts?

Fuck it. If Alhaitham didn't want to help him, then he would investigate this matter himself.

Just as he was about to curse his roommate and storm away, the grand doors opened with a loud bang. Before seeing who intruded like that, they first heard the loud gasps and whispers of the scholars outside his office.

"Alhaitham!" The voice of a particular forest watcher resonated around the room. Both him and Kaveh were taken aback at the sight of the newcomers. They were bloody, beaten up, with bandages loosely covering certain areas of their bodies as if they only did it to stop the bleeding and not for properly treating the wounds. Collei was supporting both her weight and Tighnari's, as she was helping him stand and walk. "We need your help!"

The fact that Tighnari didn't refer to him as 'acting Grand Sage' denoted alarming urgency. He quickly rose from his seat and called for immediate medical help. Kaveh ran to his friend's side, gently removing him from Collei and letting him use his own body as support, earning a thankful glance from the girl. The wounds in his body started to bleed again, soaking the bandages and some of Kaveh's clothes in the process.

"What happened to you?!" The blonde asked in a panic.

Collei was still taking deep breaths, exhausted for having to carry her mentor all the way to Sumeru City. "The Ville! We were attacked!"

Alhaitham opened his eyes all the way thanks to his surprise. How come the Gandharva Ville had been attacked and he was only finding out now? By the look of the injuries, he guessed it must've happened yesterday.

"Wow, calm down! Breathe first." Kaveh said. "Explain what happened."

As the medic of the Akademiya arrived and started to treat Tighnari, Collei composed herself and started to explain everything from the beginning.

She told them about the child in the forest that was attacked by Eremites, with their family presumably dead by the Eremite's hands. How Tighnari heard them and immediately appeared to help the kid, safely escorting them to the Gandharva Ville so they could decide what to do next. She also explained how those mercenaries came back for revenge, attacking their Ville and abducting the child once every fighter was down.

Her words shocked the blonde. He looked at his roommate, half in disbelief that his own suspicions turned out to be true.

"You say they took them? Grabbed them and disappeared into the forest?"

"Yes, yes... I was knocked out and they managed to get to them...!" Collei cried. "You have to do something! Those Eremites killed their family and now have kidnapped them!"

The grand doors opened once again, and Tighnari and Kaveh both breathed a sigh of relief at the figure standing in the doorway.

The general Mahamatra had arrived.

"I heard there was a commotion here." Cyno spoke. Tighnari greeted him by saying his name, which made the newcomer turn his attention to him. When he laid his eyes upon the wounded fox hybrid and saw how beaten up he was, his blood boiled with deep rage. "What happened?"

Sensing danger from the short man, Alhaitham quickly composed himself and started to explain the situation. This didn't seem to help Cyno calm down. In fact, every word he spoke only served to fuel his anger.

"We must do something then. That child must be in danger." The general said. "We must rescue them. I'll also arrange for the other matras to track down and hunt those Eremites that raided the Ville."

Tighnari nodded. "Let's go."

"YOU won't go. The 'we' I was talking about is composed of Alhaitham, the Matra and I."

"What?!" Kaveh, Tighnari and Collei cried in unison.

"Regarding the seriousness of the situation, it's only natural that this matter is solved within members of the Matra and Akademiya." Alhaitham explained. "It could be extended to inhabitants of the Gandharva Ville, but the only thing they need now is a good doctor and a lot of rest."

"No way!" Tighnari shouted. "I have to get them back! I have to, I have to..."

His voice faded into intelligible mumbles, repeating again and again the same words. This was the first time Cyno had seen his best friend like this. What could have happened to make him act this way? Those damned Eremites... He would make sure they paid for what they've done.

Alhaitham and the grand general were quick to exit the office and start gathering people to accompany them to Alcazarzaray.

This matter had to be settled right now.

One of the people present also made his way to the exit, only that she did in the complete opposite way.

.

You were feeling very, very warm.

It was as if a giant marshmallow was enveloping you, gently offering a comfortable space to rest while you dozed off with a sense of security.

Suddenly, hand rested on your head, carefully caressing your hair in a loving manner. You opened your eyes, only to find a silhouette cradling you and watching you with hearts on their eyes.

"Keep sleeping, stardust." A soothing voice came out of their lips. "Once you wake, I won't get to hold you like this again."

The sadness in their tone made your heart ache. You gently raised your hand and rested it on their cheek, smiling when they wore a surprised expression.

"Tata..." You whispered. "Papa said they took you..."

You tried to keep smiling, you were seeing your parent again! But the thought of everything that happened only fueled the pain in your chest, making you let a sob out before starting to fully crying.

Your parent stopped the caressing to instead hug you tightly. Whispered sweet words in your ear. "You're too young for everything's that happening. How I wish I could still be hugging you in reality, and not just in this dream."

So this was a dream. Well, it didn't matter. This was the place your parent was, where you could touch them once again.

"Why did they do it...?" You could only ask between sobs.

You could hear your tata let a sigh. Both them and your father had tried to explain everything to you, at least the best they could to a little child. But maybe all you needed right now was the truth.

"I'm the one who created this world." They spoke. With a wave of their hand, something akin to stardust was born from it. It made you giggle a little. "And as such, I also wanted to live here as a mortal like everyone. Like your father, like you."

You looked into their eyes and saw all the love they had for you.

"I descended in a new body, with no powers and no memory. But the mortals and gods... Over time, they became obsessed with the idea of me. Of a being of pure love, power, and divinity. Being in a mortal body, I possessed none of that, so it was only natural that they thought I was an impostor trying to deceive them."

With each word, their tone became more and more solemn. "They... killed my body, so I now return to be a deity unapproachable by any of them. Any, except for you."

They kissed your nose gently.

"You are my child, my flesh and blood, and though I had a mortal body when you were conceived, my divinity still flows in you."

Their fingers brushed the cut in your arm, the one you got when you protected your father back in the Chasm. You averted your eyes from it. It only served to remind you what you lost that day.

"I want nothing more than destroy this world and the people in it for everything they've done to their own creator. But..."

Strangely enough, those words filled with hatred did not worry you in the slightest. Was it because it was your parent who said them? "But...?" You trailed on.

"But you and him still live here. And I do not wish for you both to feel anything remotely close to what I've experienced."

The hug enveloping you became a little tighter, as if your tata was trying to heal all their pain by embracing you.

It was a silent promise. One that said that as long as you both were alive, then the world would remain untouched.

"I miss you." You whispered, hiding your face in their chest.

"I miss you too, stardust. I hope you both live your life to the fullest before finally being reunited again. I love you."

You felt a warm and gentle kiss on your forehead and raised your head to see your parent one last time only to find a pillow resting above you, right where your tata had been. You let a sad sigh at the sight of an unknown bedroom and strange bed.

So, it really was just a dream. But it felt so real... you could still feel the tenderness of their touch and the tingle their lips left on your skin. How you missed your family...

Looking at the window in front of the bed, you noticed that the sun was already starting to set. It seemed that you fell asleep crying in your aunt's arms, how embarrassing. But to sleep all day? It really showed how your situation was exhausting your little body.

There was a small table at your right side with a plate of food on it. There was a note attached to it, with your name written on the upside. You took it and tried to read it, but the handwriting was very different from your parent's. You recognized some letters, but the words were pretty confusing.

Still, even if you couldn't read it, it left a warm feeling in your chest knowing that Dori cared enough to leave you some food and a little note for the moment you woke up.

With the piece of paper in your hand, you rushed to your backpack and took the stuffed animal from the inside, putting both items on the bed. They were your treasures now.

If only you had something from your father as well...

Opting to occupy your mind to not get sad, you tried to approach the table with the snack before a loud bang resonated around the entire palace. It seemed that someone was knocking on the front door, really hard.

As you tried to peek outside the room to see what was going on, you were surprised when Dori quickly came in and pushed you inside, closing the door behind her.

"Auntie? What's happening?" You asked with a slight tremble on your voice. Had trouble come again? Could those people from Liyue have finally found you?

"Ah, that? It's nothing. Probably the Matra trying to arrest me again for 'alleged' scams." She laugh, clearly unbothered by the whole situation. "What do you have there?"

You looked where she was pointing, right at your stuffed animal. "Oh! That's my favorite plush. Tata made it for me for my last birthday."

She smiled and picked it up in her hands. "Look at this cute thing! Handmade goods tend to sell pretty well."

Dori put the plush back where it was and turned to face you.

"Well, I see that you still haven't eaten. What do you say we have dinner together? The chef prepares the best dishes in all Teyvat!"

You giggled. "Okay!"

"Sweet! Then we—"

She stopped in the middle of the sentence as the sound of the main doors opening filled the mansion. This set her right on edge, as the butler had strict orders to not open the door to anybody, not even for the Matra or Grand Sage himself. She pressed herself to the door of the room to hear what was happening in the main hall.

"Aunt Dori?" You were confused by the sudden change of demeanor. You grabbed the stuffed animal and held it to your chest, trying to get some sense of comfort.

"Shh." She motioned for you to remain silent, so you did. Voices could be heard, and even the distressed wails of the butler resonated around the halls. Whatever was happening, it was undoubtedly bad.

Dori looked at you, which made you startle a little. "Did something happen back with the Eremites?" She asked.

"Um, well..." You trailed off, nervous. "Back in the forest, a boy from a place called Gandharva Ville found me first. He brought me back with him, and those mercenaries had to attack the city because of that misunderstanding."

She pushed her head back as the voices got louder, undoubtedly investigating the mansion in the search of something. Someone.

"Fuck, those idiots didn't even bother to tell me anything. No wonder even the Grand Sage is here." The woman mumbled under her breath. She sighed and looked back at you. "Change of plans. We have to hide, or else I'll be imprisoned for terrorism and kidnapping. Those are things I don't plan to add to my record. "

Oh no, was this your fault? Was now your aunt in trouble because you didn't go with the Eremites right away? First, the nice people in the Ville were attacked, and now Dori was going to be blamed for it.

"Quick! Let's go through the secret passage!"

She locked the door behind her and rushed to the bed, pushing it to separate the furniture from the wall. You quickly gathered the plush and the letter and put them in the backpack before helping Dori move the bed. There was a different color right where the headboard rested, and the merchant wasted no time in tearing the wallpaper to reveal a small door beneath.

The Matra was getting closer, so Dori was in a hurry to get you both out of the house. She motioned for you to go first, so you crossed the small passage while she stayed behind temporarily to move back the bed to where it was.

You found yourself back at the gardens, just at the back of the manor away from the people that were surrounding the perimeter. Nobody seemed to have spotted you yet, so you waited for Dori to crawl from the secret passage before running away.

"Stay low. These guys are the real deal here." She whispered before taking your hand in hers and guiding you through the less visible parts of the lot.

You were almost at the entrance of the forest when a member of the Matra spotted you two and quickly gave the signal to his associates.

"There! They're trying to escape using the southern exit!"

It wasn't long before the rest of the Matra started to mobilize in your direction. Dori opted to stop hiding and run as fast as you could, as a last attempt to lose the officials.

You almost managed to reach the edge of the forest when the ground rose in front of you, forming a pillar made of dirt and stones that blocked the path ahead.

"Stop! Lord Sangemah Bay, you are under arrest!"

Turning around, a member of the Matra with a Geo vision was the culprit of your dead end. He was concentrating on maintaining the pillar as the General Mahamatra made his way towards you. Dori put you behind her, which didn't really help to cover you as your heights were not so far away.

"Lord Sangemah Bay." Greeted Cyno, though his voice was filled with nothing but disdain. "I knew you were a scammer, but I'd have never thought of you a terrorist. Have anything to say about this?"

She furrowed her brows but otherwise remained silent. So, he instead looked at you.

"So this is the kid that made you even attack Gandharva Ville to capture. Who is this? Why are you keeping them?"

You wanted to answer him, but the hold Dori had on your hand suddenly felt tighter as if she was silently telling you to keep quiet. Cyno sighed, knowing that he would not get anything out of the pair.

"I see how it is. You both will have to come with the Matra then."

The breeze picked up strongly.

A powerful burst of wind almost knocked Cyno off his feet; he even had to summon his polearm and nail it to the ground to remain in his place. Dirt and leaves started floating from everywhere, and you had to cover your eyes to avoid hurting them.

Only when everything calmed down you ventured to open them once again. You were now facing the back of a small man, with black and green hair and light green tattoos in the visible skin in his arms.

You had a very, very bad feeling about this guy; for the clothing he bore told everyone present that he was foreign to their nation.

"I'm afraid I can't allow to take this child with you."

The stranged summoned his own weapon; a jade colored polearm materialized in his hand as he took a more defensive stance.

"I know you." Cyno spoke. He regained his balance and also held his spear in his hands. "Liyue seems to be pretty far away from here, don't you think?"

Liyue.

This man was here to take you back. Because you were your parent's child, wasn't it? They wanted the child born from the divinity they were obsessed with.

Oh no, no, no, no...

You took one step backward but instantly froze when the boy turned his head to look at you the moment your foot touched the ground. His golden eyes bore right into yours, as if he was nothing more than a predator waiting for the best chance to strike.

However, he promptly returned his attention to the general when he saw that you were no longer moving.

"Heed my words, for this is the only warning I'll offer, mortal. Forget everything about this child, for they are now under the eternal custody of Liyue and the Geo Archon."

Cyno frowned. He still didn't understand the situation that well, but something about you was so special that even the Rex Lapis himself was sending his own acolytes to fetch them. Now, the attack on the Ville made more sense.

He didn't know who you could possibly be, but from the looks of it, you were terrified at the sight of the adeptus. Was this another kidnapping? For a god to step so low...

If anything, he only knew that you didn't want to go with him. So, you should stay here. Right where the Matra could protect you.

He took one step in the adeptus' direction, but the same strong wind from before returned and threatened to send him flying. He could only discern a green stream quickly making his way to where you were standing before vanishing, with the wind closely behind.

When he was able to get the dirt out of his eyes, only the sight of his fellow matra remained. Xiao was gone; you were too. He didn't see the Lord either, but he stopped paying them attention early on. Maybe they took this chance to escape the Matra and avoid any questioning.

His coworkers were quick to offer a hand; two of them helped him stand while the rest immediately started a search party for both Dori and the missing child.

Liyue, huh?

He had to report this to the acting Grand Sage.

There is no justice in letting a handful of people have his way with a kid. He would rescue them, even if he had to cross the whole land to get there.

.

"Isn't the weather beautiful today?"

The Fatui soldier didn't voice her answer, only nodded to maintain her silence. She had her head hanging low, for she was paying respect to the man in front of her.

You had to be always careful when in the presence of Dottore, after all.

"A little bird told me something funny today." His deep tone made chills run down her spine. His silhouette in front of the window gave an ominous feeling, the weather displaying a colorful battle of blue, purple, and yellow thanks to the storm outside. "It appears that the Creator themself descended a few years ago!"

"H-huh?!" She could not help the gasp of surprise that left her mouth but quickly returned to her position of submission when the mad man turned to see her.

Instead of getting angry, he smiled creepily. "Just as you hear. Our Divine Grace finally returned to this world, only that they did in a mortal body. That impostor that every soul on Teyvat made their goal to catch? It turned out to be the real and mighty Overlord!"

The Fatui raised her head in disbelief, watching him as he laughed like a maniac.

"But Liyue was the lucky winner; they managed to grab them and display their headless body for every habitant to see!" He took one step closer to the glass, smiling every time lightning illuminated the scenery. "It's just now that the other nations are finding this out... Inazuma might've been the first, as the only thing covering the skies are the mournful thunder and lightning from the lady that holds their power. Ah, she truly must feel like her heart is being ripped out at these news!"

As if agreeing with him, the sky roared a few times.

"She can grieve all she wants. Morax could've been the executioner, but the rest of them also raised their weapons and didn't hesitate to hurt the Divine One even when they claimed innocence asked for mercy."

She didn't know what to say. Was this true? Their almighty god, their benevolent and loving one... Had already descended and was killed because people simply didn't believe it?

"This is going to be fun." Dottore hummed. "I almost can't wait for when the other archons discover what transpired. Will they unleash their fury and sorrow upon Liyue? Hehe, I sure hope this storm marks the beginning of the end."

He turned around and started to exit the room, but not before giving the soldier under him his last command.

"Wait for the next ship to Snezhnaya to deliver a letter. Inform the Tsaritsa that even though her efforts to reach our Divine One to aid them were hindered by the other archons, this time we can all protect the most precious gift they've left for us."

She looked at him quizzically but made no comment to refuse him.

"That's right." He laughed. "We'll take care of them while the rest of the world crumbles and destroys itself..."

——————————

Hello! This is a taglist. Should you wish for me to remove you, you can ask for it.

I can only tag up to 50 people in each post, so the rest will be tagged in the reblog!

Due to the overwhelming support you've given me, I fear I might have forgotten some people who kindly asked to be tagged. If you do not find yourself here, please do tell me. I've saved every username but there's a possibility that I've missed yours when I made the list.

However, I don't know why I can't tag some blogs. I hope this reaches you well.

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#genshin impact #genshin impact au #sagau #impostor au #genshin impact x reader #child reader #cult au #genshin self aware #platonic yandere #yandere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere x reader #dori #xiao #cyno #alhaitham #tighnari #collei #dottore

[phramboise]

— collector:: simon“ghost”rileyxfemale!reader

Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you? Find nourishment in the very sight of you? You think so. But would you see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?

tags and warnings: 18+, therapist!reader, patient!riley, mentions of names of psychiatric drugs, disorders, self-destructive behaviours and many other labels that are in the nature of therapy, talk of trauma, persuasion, sexual fantasies, kissing; drugging, kidnapping, nudism, Stockholm syndrome, self-pleasuring (f), vaginal fingering, female receiving oral, semi-public sex, vague ending. More like your obsessive situationship kidnapping you. italics are therapy entries, scribbled notes of the therapist written in her POV; the rest is in third POV. In no way this is praising or normalising any behaviour written -read at your own risk, drugging and kidnapping are not consensual.

wordcount: 3k

;;

When Mr. Riley first crossed your gaze, it wasn't amid your session. Across the road, he stood, and there was no mistaking the man. Here near the thicket, scarcely a few people wear long sleeves on summer fierce, and even fewer have masks on. Until you stop making a mental prognosis even for a person who is not your client and come back from your tea break -or until the end of your shift if you don’t notice- he lingers around, waits at the bus stop, though not seeming to wait for a bus for countless have come and gone, in the hours long.

Another man is what you see, he might be any passerby on the street, and perhaps he is. Mr. Riley embodies one of those afflictions, less unique than he imagines, of those pathologies you've encountered before. When you extend your hand to greet him in your office, he offers no response, nor does he ask of you to address him more sincere. Mr. Riley he remains. He's one who knows himself, aware of his inner discord, though its depths remain veiled. From afar, his black eyes turn warm summer, amber in the sunlit pane, his presence yields little beyond the his file's mundane strain. He avoids talking of his past, and names elude the characters as he tells little pieces of his life. No period of self-destructive history, no suicide attempts. No addiction on gambling, alcohol. No signs of wrist cutting, nor drug injections -seems you misinterpreted his clothing choices. Many hospitalisations, all classified military field papers, one particular on teenage period, one he speaks not about.

Mr. Riley's visits to the office seem to transcend the usual reasons of any other patient, not for seeking counsel or solace; they harbour an enigma you can't quite decode. He adamantly requests your final session on Friday evenings, as if bound by some unseen rhythm of his own. There's no poignant trauma he didn't untangle of himself, no platitude of life's hardships to impart upon him. He has already navigated life's currents, seemingly with ease. There's no sign that he needs a therapist to grasp the stark realities, to know life's not to see through rose-tinted veil.

He is a patient who possesses a profound understanding of himself, sparing you the tire of the week's closing session. There's no need for medical interventions, no requirements for Risperidone, Prozac, or Paxil, nor any hint of sedatives to dull his senses. At times, his answers are so astute that the roles between therapist and client seem to blur. In the dynamic of your therapeutic alliance, there is no predetermined mould, because Mr. Riley doesn't adopt them.

Not a traditional pathology, Mr. Riley is one where not the patient being ready for the therapy, but the therapy being not ready for the patient, one who needs of you to be creative and bold to unravel himself. Of no technique, no book nor rule. So, you suggest roleplay -no voice recorders, not a notepad to write down occasionally. Less practical and even less theoretical. You even offer to do it on the skirt of the small lake behind the office as not to create social desirability. -Not that he bothers of it.

He accepts.

Now, neither of you are what your roles are defined to be, you are no therapist, nor he is a client. He’s not a diagnosis, a test to report, a scale. Not an alienation, not a compulsive or antisocial disorder. Only Mr. Riley.

When you ask him about his first memory he recalls, you realise you must play the maternal figure in this intricate play. When you settle on the bench overlooking the pond, he approaches from behind, enfolding your shoulders before walking to your front, resting his head to your lap. He does not know much about gods; but he thinks that the water is a way of semblance, his soul’s double winks off the reflection, whispers in your voice as you offer solace. “Sometimes” you begin, stroking gently the blond locks that nestle on your lap, “one must mourn to heal.”

He rises on his knees, clinging to your body as you caress his neck, crying to your chest as your cloth is now pulled down with the weight of him resting on you. …Like a baby, his resistance just melts away.

Mr. Riley requests that from now on the therapies take place in the backyard of the building, and since this change of nature contributes to the therapeutic alliance more than the office setting did, and now that he is sure of you enough to remove his mask, and since now when he looks at you he sees you, you acquiesce.

Mr. Riley is touch deprived, he has not yet spoke about his father, but he revealed in our role play therapies that his mother passed when he was only a child - his deprivation leads to a relentless need for contact, that is, after he started to trust me. He shook my hand today, and came with only a mask that covers half his face, which he later took off also. I feel for much further developments with Mr. Riley, which is heartening.

He's by your step as you step around the garden, his presence a silent echo of your every move. His arm wraps around your shoulder as you sit next to one another on the bench. With each sensual step, he surrenders morsels of his shadow, weaving them into your shared space. And when he bids the invitation to walk hand in hand along the water's edge, you accept. Not a drug-treatable depression, rather, it's a serenity born from the tumult of excess violence and the rusty imprints of roads taken, reflected in his eyes. A familiarity in his demeanour, a wash of embrace as if he unravels yourself to you.

Mr. Riley abandons the sessions for a while, it takes a lot of strength to pretend to other clients that you are interested in their problems. When you start to wait in your office on Fridays, even though your last session is available, an empty slot, and when you do this for weeks on end, you realise that this bond is a two-way street, nothing professional. For him, you are a person who will listen, for you-

Someone to listen.

;;

When he does return, the birds are flying south. You find yourself consumed by a gnawing unease of thinking that his routine apathy is back again. Once more, -you prayed so- he seats you into the sanctuary of the bench amidst the garden, yet his eyes no longer linger upon yours with their former intensity. When he pushes you into the water with the strength of one arm, you freeze for a moment, and when he pulls you back in before you soak in the reedy river, he catches you unaware and kisses you harder than you dreamt possible.

One thing you cannot deny, is how his demanding yet sensual kiss is turning you on, leaving not one bit of your responsibility, your authority as the therapist as his hand moves over your legs, circling beneath the curve of your hips. Dipping his hand between your warm thighs, you let his firm touch venture between, supple skin heating cold fingers. His other hand gropes a fistful of your slinking skirt, and you wrap his scent around your loins as he falls to his knees again before the bench. Before you.

Never in all your career you thought you’d be getting into this, to abuse someone who is to solace in the first place, even the thought of it appalled you. Now the thought tightens his fingers on your hips, his tongue rubs idly against your clit in unrushed fashion, he slowly feasts you out.

Mr. Riley will no longer attend our therapy sessions – I said to him that our sessions are not helping him, gave him another therapist’s card, hopefully his condition will move for the better. My efforts were useless I’m afraid.

It’s what you wrote down the day after, but you don’t recall him agreeing.

;;

Three Fridays it takes when he suddenly reappears, he intercepts you locking the door of your office. Adorned with the very mask he tells you he came back to get the other one from you, he’s clad beneath a hoodie, zipper drawn all the way to conceal more than just his torso, hood over his head. You’re not sure what to answer, in a vague indecision, with the haunting realisation that his condition remains as unchanged as ever. Perhaps you should have heeded the warning signs, reconsidered the nature of your occupation, and resisted the temptation to immerse yourself so deeply in his plight— perhaps you shouldn’t have given of yourself to something that won’t heal for the better.

He's your shadow down the corridor, a silent loom trailing behind you as you make your way back to your office. You let out the breath you've been holding as you pick up the pace and create a few steps of distance until you reach your door. Yet, even within the confines of your own space, his presence looms large, casting a pall of uncertainty over your every thought.

In your room, he follows, his silence heavy in the air. As you retrieve his mask from the drawer, he catches your wrist as you turn.

One word leaves your mouth, he’s on you again. Pressing your back against your desk, one hand winding tight around your arm as the other tips your chin up for you to meet his height as he looms over you. The caress of his lips draw tingling heat to your cheek, your lips, your neck. You feel his body against yours deeply as he clines closer, hand on your jaw tight as he tries his way in with his tongue, both hands cupping your head to his, leaving nowhere to lean but him.

His mouth feeds something inside yours, a smooth little dragée that leaves a ragged earthy taste each second you refuse to swallow down, his mouth is on yours to keep it on your tongue, raw liquorice and a sickly sweet taste in your pharynx, your nose tightens in its taste as you try to pry away with a doleful cry — he only pulls away as he feels it down your throat with his thumb, the other wipes the tear on your cheek as he pushes his forehead against yours, cooing it’s okay as you shudder in trepidation.

You leave the room, try to cough it out your mouth.

A hit behind your neck is enough to knock you out.

;;

The sound of spinning tires piercing a howling like a restless banshee against the asphalt wakes you, worn leather feels eerie against your back as you sink into its contours, laid sprawled on the backseat in a short slip gown you don’t own yourself that pools around your hip as the car you’re in hurtles towards the undying disquiet. Cool leather surrounds you, as if offering a hug from the owner on the driver’s seat. The sight outside is a blurred panorama of shifting shadows of a transient night and neon lights racing by in dragging lines before your surly hand moves to feel the ache nestled behind your nape. His gaze grazes your body through the rearview mirror. Deliberately slow is his hand resting over the open window as he drops the stub of his cigarette down, he pulls his mask down before dividing the cold night air mixing with the smoke through the misty window. You don’t know where this road leads, where he’s taking you. Of what he forced into your mouth or when he wore this negligee on you.

Gentle engine lulls you, to some elusive and ephemeral warmth, starts below your stomach, sprouts where you fear it. You were right when you thought, neither of you are what your roles are defined to be. Now he’s to lead, and you’re to follow this fleeting respite of surreal blend. Something in your blood that gets you warm, or it’s the adrenaline of this unknown place. Only Mr. Riley and you. You’re scared, you’re intoxicated. You enjoy it.

You turn your head to his side, wind blows your hair, trails over, snakes through your legs as your hands move to pull the skirt down to cover your hips, holding the satin tight between your thighs. Your own skirt is gone. So are your sheer tights, so is your underwear – he must’ve taken them off before he carried you in his car.

The sultry heat pulsates between your thighs, a yawning chasm that stirs an ache inside. Though, there’s no trace of wetness that already paints your groin, only the searing fire deep within. Your insides burn but you don't feel any strain anywhere except the pain in your neck. You still smell like your own perfume, untouched, without an intrusion of cigarette smoke on his fingertips or the weight of his hands grabbing your skin. Not a single mark marrs your flesh, not even the faintest imprint that dry, rough fingertips as they graze on supple skin. He seems to only changed you in silk, a whisper-soft fabric that clung to you, only piece that’s shielding you from the cool grace of the air. As your fingers brush over the tender swell of your breasts, a shiver dances down your spine. The satin wrapped fabric weaves you into a life that is not meant to hurt, and with each breath, a soft moan threatens its way out your parted lips, a melody of surrender to the lethargy that he trapped you in. You now have a few ideas about the pill he gave you.

Leather smells varnish, aroma intertwining with the haze of his cigarette smoke that hangs in the air. His masculine presence stands as a silent challenge to your frailty. With a delicate touch, you place your hands on your kneecaps, the tip of your tongue running over your teeth as your knuckles leave the skirt of your dress, not holding it over yourself anymore. He must’ve done the same, you imagine his fingers tracing a similar path, grazing against your inner thighs as he lowers your panties, taking them off. Grounded by a thick, scorched, labdanum base, a dark and brooding charred wood and burnt sap, floods through you as the air carries his cologne to you, your nose picks up whatever it is that gets your body wanting more, you caress yourself. 

Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you? Find nourishment in the very sight of you? You think so. But would you see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?

You wish you fingers were to be rougher, thicker and that your fingertips would smell of tobacco. Of something grainy and rugged instead of this slipping silk between your legs for you to rub against. Did he made you sit on his leg as he clad you in this dress that leaves none to imagination, had he rubbed you against his trousers as he put you down? 

Your breathing gets heavier, he changes the hand that steers the wheel, now the car decelerates to keep it in control, now slow enough, a person on a sidewalk would have a flash of image if they were to be as the car glides by- you know you’d do this even if there were no tinted films on the windows- you search for his gaze over the rear mirror, laden with unspoken want. You clench around nothing, mutter words of no meaning, but he knows. You whine deeper breaths, and they soon turn to lilting whimpers. 

You think about him feeding you the pill with his tongue - does he feel as you do right now? You wriggle your hips, let a moan to get yourself going, his eyelids flutter close before yours do slowly. He’s watching you; did he watch you when he stripped you naked? How long was he watching you? Your heart races with the writhing pulse between your legs as you rub your arm along your nipple, your hand moves to your core, brushing against your clit as you move your fingers against your lips, the breeze of the interior now seeping on the slick you play with your fingertips. The car sways a little out the road as you cry out a louder whimper, pebbles rolling under the tires, vibrating the seats, adding you on. 

Some part of you wants him to pull the car to the side, come to join you, grab you by the ankle and yank you out the car, do whatever he wants to you against the asphalt. Some part likes this piercing gaze through the reflection, of him biting the insides of his cheek as he groans lowly and shifts himself on his seat. From the little frame of the mirror, his free hand is out your sight, but you hear it.  Hear his belt loosening as the metal hits the strap. You hum as you increase the pressure, circling your much thinner finger around your hole before sliding in, clenching around them as you slide the latter finger. 

If he were to tell you to call him by his name before, you’d moan it. Now, all that leaves your mouth is loud and lewd sounds as the saliva clicks against your tongue, synching slow with the in-and-out of your motion, trying to reach your g-spot with the tips of your fingers. 

This won’t last long, are you sure if this is what you want?

Open your eyes, where are you going? Did you even ask? Pill wears off slow in time, fear stings beneath arousal’s guise, your slick skin sticks to your hair, to the now warm and wet cushion under you. Everyone seems to be asleep but you two, as he takes you into the unknowns of the lovers. Your fingers demand release, rubbing and rubbing hastened than your breath, ill imagery fills goosebumps on its way down to your spine, in texture of his icy fingers. Your teeth sentinels at your lips, hard against skin, against the impulse to speak his name— a bare boundary to still not cross on your book. Maybe you could’ve stopped it if you wanted, but you’re not the one driving. Truest valour lies not in defiance, but in surrender. So you do, let it all out.

It's a hushed stillness of something trembling under, the radio scratches before it turns a sepia-tone song spilling cadence, a gentle sway as you massage and pull your soaked legs to your chest, laying on your side as the road keeps hurling forward to an endless terrain.

#cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod ghost #cod mwii #call of duty #cod x reader #summary off Hannibal #now that I have this out it’s time for another looooooooooongv time again

[essektheylyss]

To no one's surprise, I have more thoughts on Ashton's feelings about faith and begging for divine intervention and never receiving it, because... well, look at what's in their head.

I tend to take the view that the Luxon as a divine entity does not necessarily have conscious intent in granting divine favor; it is closer to a foundational force of reality, with the rather nebulous thought that might accompany a living entity associated with that kind of force. So not inert matter, but not exhibiting the will and motivated action that the Pantheon or even the Primordials do. The Primordials are closer, in that they are active, but I think they are less willful. This isn't particularly relevant to this discussion except as evidential comparison, though, so I digress.

What this view of the Luxon results in, in practice, is the bestowing of power by seemingly random chance. The beacons are where they are, and any movement of their worship or use is in the hands of mortals who convey that—whether that's the expansion of dunamantic arcana in Aeor and possibly the larger world in the Age of Arcanum, or the missionary efforts of the Kryn Dynasty, or simply one person passing it to someone with ill intent who exploits another worker to expand its use and turn it into a weapon instead.

And what happens is that these smaller exchanges create ripple effects, and the path of this force being conveyed continues, which is how it has come to Ashton—by a series of circumstances that, when looked at individually, look like mundane random chance, but taken as a whole, are so unlikely that they seem meaningful in the end.

I think this gets to the heart of what the Luxon seems to rule—the world may be governed by chance and circumstances, but when those circumstances are accumulated—into an event, or a nation, or a life—they create not destiny but meaning.

Ashton's circumstances are a series of misfortunes that feel almost fated in how perpetual they are—when he spells out the course of his life, and says that he can count on his fingers how many genuinely good days he's experienced, the weight of that misery feels like an oppressive fate.

But within the amalgamation of that misery, they've also happened upon—one might say were bestowed with—power. This is the power that lets him decide to be a hero and decide to save his friends. And, by some accounts in Exandria, it would've been granted to them by a god, without even asking anything in return. It's not verbal, so it's not a concession or meant to be placating, which wouldn't do much in the long run—it's the means by which Ashton has been able to wield control over his own destiny.

So if there's any meaning to circumstance, maybe it means that when Ashton prayed, something already answered.

#this just in: marble tomes office of export controls actually just the missionary arm of the kryn dynasty. #luxon blogging #critical role #cr meta #cr spoilers #ashton greymoore #me: meta doesn't have to be super polished or formal stop worrying so much about it #also me: if I don't explain my methodology for this analysis I'll fucking die.

[oneshotnewbie]

Emily PrentissxJennifer JareauxReader:

The reader is working for the BAU and has a really bad migraine (She has chronic migraines but didn't tell anyone). She is really mad and distant toward her friends (you can include the boys too but make me girls main please) and they notice it and have a little intervention with her. After that a lot of fluff where Emily and JJ care for her

Authors note: Unfortunately I don´t have an Emily Prentiss x Daughter reader story, but I have added a new one to write. Until then, there is only one Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau x Reader story from me today

ᕚ---ᕘ

You could say that you were a person with enormous stamina and a high tolerance level. Something that was a must for anyone who worked as a Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit and under Aaron Hotch. Many people admired you for not jumping off the next cliff under the unbearable circumstances of this job.

And you yourself sometimes admired your own achievements. But everyone had their limits and it was a recurring thing that happened during your work hours. You ignored the first triggers. You exceeded your physical limits and your migraine appeared.

You could have guessed it when you got back on the plane from Oxford. The terrible serial killer and the panic it caused in the city, the fact that he had abused and murdered seven women. This case had taken more of a toll on you than you would have liked and you tried to deal with your problems in your own way. Which meant you threw yourself into the work, no matter how mundane every clue was and no matter what wall you hit.

“Y/n, maybe you should take a break?” begged Emily, noticing that you were doing everything you could to get Oxford out of your bones as quickly as possible. You, however, waved her off without saying a word and continued to stare at the white board on which every clue was hanging. "Do not need a break, I am fine." The black-haired went along with it, stayed by your side and tolerated your moods even when they drove her crazy.

Non-stop, without a break and with lack of sleep and malnutrition, you battled the nagging headaches and mild nausea. You became more and more tired, yawned and became increasingly sensitive to the loud noises of the office. Something you could tolerate skillfully. But Emily and your colleagues not.

You clearly knew you were on the verge of a migraine when you started seeing visual symptoms of a migraine aura. Your vision became distorted, sometimes weaker, sometimes sharper. For a few minutes you only saw white in your left eye, but you kept going, not giving yourself a break. You knew that no other woman could die because of you.

Hour after hour you were exhausted and just trudged from the office to the coffee machine. With a nasty headache and feeling like you might throw up, you swallowed it all and sat down on a chair while Penelope talked loudly to Derek. You felt like your head was going to explode at any moment from their voices. "Could you PLEASE shut up or at least go to another room to flirt with each other?" you huffed and massaged your temples, their sighs ringing like a hurricane in your ears. "Some people want to work here."

"Babygirl, are you okay?" he asked, surprised at your momentary outburst. He had never been allowed to see you like this, you had never snapped at him. A sharp pain shot through your temples and you hastily stood up. "Hey, cutie pie? What is going on?" the technical analyst also chimed in and waited for any kind of answer.

"I am fine, just leave me alone." your words came out of your mouth hastily and probably slurred, but you did not care. You had to go to the toilet immediately. Without turning around again, you quickly walked out of the office and stumbled in the direction you were heading. Every time you made contact with the ground, the headache got worse and you begged not to throw up on the way. You saw distorted vision in your right eye while small white flashes danced in front of it.

Rushing into the bathroom, you stood in front of the sink, panting and swallowing convulsively. Having migraines was terrible and right now you could not use one. You sighed in relief when you did not throw up, as long as you did not, it was not all that bad.

Loud footsteps sounded outside the door and a knock made your head explode. “Oh, y/n.” A rough voice spoke and you looked in the mirror. Emily and JJ had pushed through the door one after the other and were now standing with their backs to you, their arms crossed over their chests. Furthermore, you paid attention to your reflection in the mirror, which said that any idiot could see that a corpse in pathology looked healthier than you. So did the trained agents on your team. "What is wrong?"

You did not even hear half of the sentence, the second word was the end of it. You ran into one of the stables, fell to your knees and managed to bend over the toilet just in time. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears streamed down your cheeks and you threw up violently. “y/n?” the blondes voice had an worried undertone and you did not notice her standing strictly behind you. The next thing you felt were cool hands on your neck and shoulders.

Jerking away from the touch, leaning your head back against the wall as you pulled your knees into your body. You tried to block so many sounds and other sensations from your body, while only this crushing and throbbing pain existed in your head.

Once again you felt cold hands on your skin and everything in you protested as they helped him to his feet, an arm was placed around your shoulder and led you out of the bathroom and through the hallway. Soon your face made contact with a pillow and a relieved sigh rolled past your lips. You did not know where you were, just that it was quiet. Still, your currently oversensitive ears heard Hotch appearing to be talking to Emily, JJ, and the rest of the group. "No, we have no idea what is going on."

“Did you ask her?”

"We tried, but we got no response." at some point there was an angry snort at the blonde's answer and there were more footsteps in front of the door. The squeaking sound echoed through your head, pounding inside before the space on the couch shrank and a shadow appeared in front of you. "Sweetie, cards on the table. Tell us what is going on?"

The voice of the of the blonde was painful, yet it was strangely comforting to hear a familiar and loving voice. Still, you flinched violently as something cool was brushed onto your forehead. The nausea slowly subsided. "Chronic migraines since adolescence. But not so severe for a while."

Long fingers tugged at the disheveled and stray strands of hair on your face before she stood up again and walked to the windows. The room darkened, blinds closed and you moaned pleasantly. After making a trip to the door, she told the expected teammates what you had told her. You only heard a quiet "I will stay with her, but someone has to get me the medication out of my bag," before the door closed quietly and she sat down on the office chair, looking over you thoughtfully.

JJ waited for Emily to come back with some things and watched you laying there in pain, exhausted and completely distracted by the thunder in your head, trying to be as silent as she could. A few minutes later, the door opened again. You saw Emily through squinted eyes and spotted a bucket in her hand, a bowl of water, wipes under her arms and a large disposable syringe.

"What do you want to inject into me?" you asked surprised and a little frightened by the size of the abnormally large syringe. The blonde knelt down in front of you, pulling up your sweater and waiting for the black-haired one to hand it over. "Metoclopramide,"

"How do you know what to inject into me and where did you get it from?"

"You are not the only one who gets migraines. I used to get them often enough and since then I have always had an injection with me to protect myself from them in case they happen again." she frowned and laughed quietly. You nodded in acceptance and there was a moment of silence before a hot, stabbing pain shot through your lower torso and you cried out. "That hurts!"

Emily sat on the armrest and slipped her fingers between your own. You squeezed it tightly and she hoped to take the temporary pain away from you. "Why did not you tell us?" the black-haired asked sadly you huffed through gritted teeth. "I did not want to be a burden to you. I did not want to seem weak," you replied, shrugging.

"It was stupid of you not to say anything. At least to JJ or me." She paused briefly and you raised your head in confusion before nodding in understanding and looking over at the blonde. With a half-smile, she placed a band-aid on the wound and placed a thin blanket over your legs. "Okay. Next time I will let you know, I promise."

They both nodded and stood up. While JJ was putting away the trash, Emily leaned over and gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head before she disappeared out of the door. "I will make you some tea,"

"You never make tea."

"I will do it today for a very special and stubborn person." She spoke in a whisper, winking at you. You laughed quietly and already felt a million times better than you did a few minutes ago. With a yawn, you sank deeper into the pillow and watched as the blonde turned on a small lamp at the desk in the dark room so she could continue working. "Thanks,"

#criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminalminds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss female reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss imagines #emily prentiss oneshot #emily prentiss one shot #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x female reader #jj x you #jj x reader #jennifer jj jareau #jj jareau #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x you

[voidcat]

— a gallery

characters: Dazai Osamu, you, mentions of various bsd characters but mostly dazai focused

song: always forever by cults

notes: idek, another niche analysis type of dazai drabble. If u know u know… it’s 2am and I’m tired

The realization dawns upon Dazai Osamu on a mundane tuesday, as any other revelation regarding himself does.

Not a lightning struck down his back, no hairs jolting up from the shock, no tiny caricature icons popping up in his head with a loud ‘eureka!’.

No, it happens so ungracefully, so mundane and ordinary- like any other human would realize in a moment that they’re hungry.

A growl coming from the stomach, loud enough to ring in their ears: “huh, I must be hungry.” And they don’t even bother to recall when was the last time they ate anything of note.

Picture the most ordinary tuesday possible, at a metro station crowded as ever, nothing sticking out, just people in their daily rush and silence, ever following the unspoken ethics and moral codes, not even a strand of hair dangles out of order.

In a day like any, sitting on the benches, one foot swinging ever so slightly, Dazai Osamu thinks to himself: “I like collecting people, huh.”

And the punchline that should await at the end never arrives, followed by no moment of surprise.

Perhaps it’s because he has been aware of the notion for a long while now, deciding to word it out in his mind, into existence, finally accepting the existence of another child of secret.

All those interesting and challenging, those few that can be useful, those that provide a good run for his money- or for his mind—

His little galleria, natural museum of freaks and eccentrics, his little archive of situations-to-come and points-to-reach.

Maybe the truth is so far from startling because he has known for a while- back when he first noticed the signs; how his interest piques at times, toward certain people— thus he searches to chase that high, sink in his claws slowly but steadily, provide a feeling of vulnerability and trust, a picture perfect painting of an open book he becomes to the outer eye; known only by few who can connect the dots and see the bigger scenery that he is farthest away from that; an open book, people think, when its been locked tight, key smashed into pieces and throwing into the running stream.

Give him that rush of adrenaline once and he will chase and chase, make you feel the most important in the world for a while- or just overwhelmed, depending on his current status in your eyes; keep it up, toy and play until he grows bored and pulls away abruptly one day.

Another train passes by swiftly as his coat shivers by the current.

Leave as quick as he came into your life, your daily routine, the effect leaving a space difficult to fill in its absence.

Collect and keep each and every in his pocket, or in a locket if he fancies the situation. Create the illusion of something twisted and beautiful, spontaneous and so beautiful, only for the ugly truth to surface when it’s already too late and you’ve served the purpose he has intended for you since the very first meeting of the eyes.

To fill a void that’s been in with him since he can remember, a joker card, or just a meeting of the minds, an instant click— all kinds of purposes he collects, one by one he picks with the overcrowding fear and realization that it can be as quick that he loses, drives people away or himself. Close enough to touch but keep at an arms length- resort when he deems necessary, when the loneliness becomes unbearable, when the situation requires a third intervention from the sidelines.

Another train passes in a hurry as heels of someone echoes in the station, one last attempt to catch it, that next 10 minutes too precious for a wait.

Always a collector, back when in the mafia, even now still in the agency.

The wild card of red saved for delicate situations that require the brute, the sharp card of black with red lining tucked in the back but an eye always kept, beige card comes out more often than not.

Like a collector, he takes out the file and examines the cards one by one, simply because he can; watch how the tiger squirms and shies away, still doing as he asks; the waitresses huff and swing their notebooks his way, not accounting for his speed of dodge; some don’t respond, those cards remain without a sound and without a shine in their eyes; some give him that delicious attention he seeks, the devotion and focus he enjoys, how you look at him with big eyes, laugh, joke back or just sigh and roll your eyes away.

His ever growing personal collection, worse than the dragon’s perhaps; his purposes leaning more on the selfish, primal desires. All the while ignoring their one common purpose, how each and every is a back up, a just-in-case; why should he admit? When he always surrounds himself with just the right amount of people with the proper amount of interactions.

The air begins to chill as the sky changes its shades, trains never once stopping, stream of people never ending. Someone near him stands with ear phones plugged in, doing a poor job of filtering the sound of whatever it is they’re listening. The sound of drum rolls increase with each beat, each breath, his eyes remain cast on the moving shades.

And so Dazai Osamu continues to collect people, always ignoring the rapidly growing solitude within himself, the storm of melancholy that rages in himself, that void deep and dark— destructive enough like a black hole, always taking and taking, never taking a second for a pause, for a breath.

#dazai osamu #Bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #Bungou stray dogs drabble #dazai drabble #gender neutral reader #gn reader #dazai fanfic #bsd fanfic #bsd oneshot #dazai osamu oneshot #dazai osamu drabble

[rouzuchan]

(Your) Nuisance

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈(𝐬): Yuken Odajima x Reader (ʏᴏᴜ/ʏᴏᴜʀ; ꜱʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ) 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: drabble; fluff 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: female reader; blurbs reused from this piece of work I made

“Speak your peace, Odajima-san. You can’t stay here forever” You said, not tearing your eyes off your book. 

Yuken had his arms crossed, leaning against the clinic’s door frame with a relaxed smirk on his face. He chortled, strutting towards you. “C’mon [Name]-chan! What excuse should I have to visit my favorite medic of Housen?”

His breath tickled your neck, catching his bleach-blonde hair in the corner of your eye. “Correction: Your only medic of Housen.” You forcefully pushed his nose back into his nasal bone, his tuts of pain falling onto deaf ears when you walked towards the windows. 

You had a strict rule as Housen’s most esteemed medic: unless you were Sachio, only visit when injured or in an emergency. The clinic stood at the corners of the campus, away from all the rough housing and fights. It was your safe haven to protect you while you were still paying off a debt Sachio held above your head when needed.

But, his annoying and, the admittingly, handsome nuisance of an adviser didn’t heed your rule at all. 

After his intervention, you resumed your productive reading session, flipping two pages before a chin rested above your shoulder, two slithering hands resting themselves on your belly. 

You bit the inside of your lip, trying to ignore his presence and warmth. He hummed and ‘awed’ reading through the chapter. You highly doubt he was absorbing 80% of it. “Even in her free time, [Name]-chan is still prolific as always.”

You sighed, “You’re hiding from Jinkawa again, are you?”

“Yup” He admitted, snuggling closer. 

Routine as always.

Even when you give off the demeanor, liking and falling for Yuken Odajima wasn’t a hard assignment. No matter how much you admit you enjoyed solitary, his personality brightens your mundane days, even more than the company of that favorite scene from a book. 

In the serene silence, a loud, growling shout of Yuken’s name that vibrated through the halls. 

“That’s my cue.” With one last squeeze, let go of your waist and scrammed outside. Your eyes lingered where he stood before.

And even more so hard to admit, knowing you were always on his mind gave you… assurance. Even amid conflict, he’ll always opt to call you and rant about Housen’s victory, while Sawamura in the background tells him to tone down his sugary words.

Yuken Odajima was that utterly entangled in your life, sneaking in while keeping your heart captive from anyone who dared. 

Your eyebrows creased when Yuken returned, panting as he gently crashed his chapped lips into yours, his head angled slightly for his glasses not poke you. ‘What the…’ Your brain shuts down for that one second. 

He pulled away, a cheeky yet giddy smile painting his face. He saluted you and started to run off, not missing a zooming Jinkawa from your doorway.

A nuisance indeed. 

Dedicated to the biggest Yuken girly on HiGH&LOW Tumblr @star2fishmeg 😘 I said I'll be trying to post fics per month... but that just went down the drain LMAO! If you must know, I'm working on a fanfiction book that I put a due date on. So I'm dedicating my time there. But enjoy this Yuken word vomit I whipped up ;> HiGH&LOW babes: @airbendertendou, @straysugzhpe, @simpforchuchu, @strxwberrychocolate, @prodbyblush, and others plz mention yourselves 😫🥹🫶

#rouzu fics #high&low #high&low x reader #high&low the worst #high&low the worst x reader #high&low the worst cross #housen academy #housen #yuken odajima #odajima yuken #yuken odajima x reader #stream 'top down' by EXILE THE SECOND

[stevesjockstrap]

I Always Come When You Call

@stcreators event 02: family

“Steve. Come in Steve. We have a code red! Repeat. Code red. Over.”

Panicking, he ran across his apartment to the walkie. He always kept it on, years after any interdimensional crap, in case the kids needed something. He winced. They’d be on his case if they knew he still called them kids, even to himself. They were well past the age of needing babysat but they’d always be his.

“I’m here. Max? What’s wrong? Over.”

A million things were running through his head, shoving his feet into shoes and not waiting for an answer. If there was a code red, he needed to head-

He pressed the button down again, “Where are you? I’m on my way. Over.”

There was a crackle of static and he breathed a little sigh of relief. At least she was answering, “The Byers. Hurry! Over.”

“What’s going on?” He debated grabbing his nail bat from the closet. He shook his head and ran out the door. A code red had meant a varying degree of actual red as of late, but usually they let him know quickly that someone wasn’t hurt.

When he got to the Byers’ most recent fixer upper, he walked in the front door without knocking.

“Hello? Where’s the code red?” He called into the suspiciously quiet house.

Turning a corner, he stopped in his tracks. El and Max were sitting on the far side of the dining room table, silently staring at him. His eyebrows shot up and he looked around through the doorway to see if anyone else was here.

“You guys okay? This is weird, even for me,” he tried to joke, but his voice was thin. His heart was still beating out of his chest and he was trying to battle against the fight or flight adrenaline surge.

“Sit, Steve,” El said in her concise way.

“Um- alright. Shouldn’t we have everyone else here for my intervention?” He raised an eyebrow as he sunk into the lone chair across from them. “Interrogation? This is the code red?”

Over the years he’d been called to their houses (and on rare occasion the school) to handle mundane things, all usually under the guise of a ‘code red.’ Bike chains popped, jammed lockers, missing skateboards, centipedes in bathtubs. But this was new.

When Max finally spoke it was with an air of humility that he’d never heard from her before, “This is very important, Steve. Maybe the most important code red of all.”

“Alright,” he huffed. “Let me have it. What happened?” Every possibility started spiraling around in his brain and he tried to shut them down and calm himself. He didn’t want to freak Max out without even knowing the problem.

Max looked at El and they held a long silent conversation on their own. Steve was about to ask again when they both turned back to him at the same time. A chill went down his spine.

“Max would like to ask you a very important question,” El intoned, but there was a hint of a smile now.

Steve’s shoulders dropped and he let himself breathe. “If this is some big con to get me to-“

“I want you to walk me down the aisle, Steve,” Max interrupted. “At my wedding.”

He was glad he was sitting. The breath he had taken rushed out of him. His vision swam then tunneled so all he could see was the hopeful look on Max’s face. Covering his face with his hands, he quickly pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Don’t-“ he cleared his throat quickly. “Uh, wouldn’t you want someone in your family to do that?”

“You’ve done more for me than anyone else I know, Steve. You are my family. And Lucas’ too.”

Yeah whoops that’s a Supernatural quote for the title

#steve & max #lumax #mine #stranger things #stranger things fic #max mayfield #eleven #el hopper #Steve Harrington #event fic

[defectivegembrain]

Okay but probably so many times apartment 303 have been collectively faced with mundane decisions like, say, they need a new vacuum, and Abed and Annie start making a complicated chart of all their options and pros and cons and then Troy just picks something out and he's casually like how about this, and it turns out to be perfect. And then when he's gone they just can't make any decisions they get lost in endless organised chaos until Britta moves in and stages an intervention

#community #nbc community #apartment 303 #troy barnes #abed nadir #annie edison #britta perry

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if some beautiful day post BD Belka lost her gift? Honestly I would love to know what would happen at any point of the story should she do, but I won't burden you with a mile-long answer, so just the most interesting to me. Feel free to drop some other ideas if you feel like it!

Depends how early on.

Very Early in Twilight? Edward eats her. He assumes her silent thoughts were a fluke/he must have missed it that few times and finds himself face to face with a girl he'd label as vapid and far too interested in Edward's appearance in the manner Jessica Stanley is. The mystery of Bella is lessened, he can't project what he wishes onto her, which leaves him with only one door.

Later? He finds himself unwilling to admit that he's frustrated and disenchanted with Bella's thoughts now that he can hear them. Edward hates this about himself, as Bella's perfectly fine, and he can tell himself everything he believes is true, it's just--God, sometimes she thinks such petty things, or it turns out when she's staring out at the room nothing interesting is going on in her head, and she like everyone else thinks mundane unordinary thoughts. Bella, for her own part, becomes hyperaware and terrified that Edward now hears her every thought (even in moments like sleep when she can't control it) and is desperately trying to hide what she's thinking even from herself (which backfires as it only makes Edward more aware how uncomfortable she is with this). They end up doubling down, though, both believing they can only find happiness in one another, and ignoring the red signs.

Post Breaking Dawn? There's some concern that Bella won't be able to shield them from the Volturi if that ever comes up again but Edward isn't worried because it was never about Bella anyway. (Jasper is terrified as is Alice, but they can't get through to Bella and Edward that this is bad and may be the Volturi taking action against them/preparing to kill them all by shutting off Bella's gift). Indeed, I imagine Bella with her gift shut off is uh killed by a hit squad with Demetri in the very near future. However, before that point, Bella and Edward slowly realize that Bella having her shield down all the time, permanently, is actually a problem and neither like it. Bella doesn't like Edward hearing what she thinks all the time and Edward's not liking Bella's mounting frustration or the various thougths he doesn't like from her.

I imagine they start arguing without admitting what the problem is (as it can't actually be that Edward just doesn't like what Bella's thinking/Bella doesn't want her husband in her head all the time) and the family watches with wide eyes as Bella and Edward completely implode. An intervention is held which does not go well.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #bella swan #meta #headcanon #opinion

[charmedreincarnation]

Wu Wei: The Taoist Principle of Action in Non-Action

This concept has been around for thousands of years, and is a major component in the philosophy of Taoism. It is a call to practice non-intervention and non-resistance in everyday life, encouraging an effortless flow in one's actions and interactions.

Rather than striving for a desired outcome or forcing change, Wu Wei invites us to accept what is and remain open to the unfolding of our lives. We can observe without judgement and seek understanding without manipulation. It can be easy to become overwhelmed with life's problems and challenges when we focus on our desires for things to be different. But in Wu Wei, we learn to simply "be" in the moment and savor the beauty of it.

In Wu Wei, every action is connected and has an effect, even when it appears that we are not doing anything. We can practice being mindful and present in our daily lives, with a calm trust that all will unfold as it must. We can acknowledge what we need to do but not become attached to a particular result, understanding that the outcome may be very different from our expectations.

In summary, Wu Wei is much more than simply inaction. It is an active practice requiring deliberate intention and presence. To truly embody Wu Wei requires us to be aware of our actions and reactions in every moment and to make decisions based on our innermost truth rather than external forces. This way of living allows us to be more connected with ourselves and find harmony within our environment.

So how do we apply Wu Wei to manifesting?

To put it into perspective, have you ever noticed how when you’re not paying attention to something you do it better. Wether it w dancing, singing, or mundane work, if I’m not actively paying attention to said activity, it gets done the best way possible.

To use this principle into spiritual practices First, it’s important to get clear on what you want. So take some time to get really specific about what you want to attract into your life. Visualizing your desired outcome can be a great way to keep that focus.

Once you’ve done this, the next step is to be open to the infinite possibilities that exist within the universe. Surrender to the idea that you don’t know all the possibilities that are available for you – and it’s because of this openness that the universe will start moving in the direction of what you desire.

At this point, start doing things that will bring your desired outcome closer. This could be doing research on the topic, or making connections with people who can help you out. Take action with intention and from a place of power. Additionally, take note of any signs or opportunities that suddenly come up- these are your affirmations that the universe is leading you in the right direction.

Finally, let go of expectations and trust in the process. Don’t try to control or manipulate anything- instead let the flow of life take its course, and if it doesn’t happen right away, trust that something better is coming your way.

Applying Wu Wei to manifesting is all about believing that the universe is on your side and will provide what you need when the time is right. With just a bit of conscious thought and effort, you can trust that what you desire will come into fruition. Using this I’ve practically been able to attain whatever I want. It’s easier said than done but with practice I believe it’s not only good for your mind and stress for achieving your goals, but is pretty efficient and liberating :)

#law of assumption #void state #manifesation #manifesting #reality shifting #law of attraction #shiftblr #self concept #shifting

[red-jaebyrd]

Just Two Dads Having a Chat

This fic was inspired by all of the awesome Battinson posts by @broosepayne and the hilarious soccer practice art by @applesojus 

Summary: “I’m not giving you an interview, Kent.”

“You always say that, and I always tell you that I’m not here for an interview, Bruce,” Kent laughed, not at all bothered by Bruce’s aloofness. “We’re just two dads at soccer practice having a chat.”

Bruce had been avoiding talking to the other parents on the soccer pitch since the season began a few weeks ago. So far his resting jerk face had saved him from enduring mundane conversations and gossip going around the sidelines amongst the other parents. Only one dad kept trying to make small talk with him and Bruce wasn’t having it. One, it’s small talk something Bruce had successfully avoided all his life. Two, it was Clark Kent, a reporter from the Daily Planet. He was not telling that guy anything. But the big lug won’t take the hint no matter how rude or standoffish Bruce had been to him.

“Hiya, Bruce,” Kent greeted, closing the distance between them.

“Hrn,” Bruce grunted, moving away from Kent and keeping his eyes on the pitch watching Dick do dribbling drills.  “I’m not giving you an interview, Kent.”

“You always say that, and I always tell you that I’m not here for an interview,” Kent laughed, not at all bothered by Bruce’s aloofness. “We’re just two dads at soccer practice having a chat.”

“Hrn,” Bruce glared, shoving his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket.

Kent just smiled at him, but Bruce didn’t trust him. Kent could just as likely turn this small interaction into an interview if he wanted. It happened to Bruce only once, years ago with a reporter from the Gotham Gazette, and he wasn’t falling it for a second time. Kent was not getting the hint.

“It looks like you and Dick are adjusting quite well. He looks happy.”

Of course, Dick was happy now. He’s currently outside in the sun and fresh air running around with kids his own age. He wasn’t happy two months ago, but Bruce never pressured Dick to talk. He did make himself available to Dick in case he needed to talk (with Alfred’s intervention of course). That was really all Dick had needed; to know that someone who shared his grief and loss was there to help him. It turned out Dick was the exact opposite of Bruce. The kid loved to talk and be around people – at the same time.  

“We’re fine.”

“I remember when Conner came to live with me two years ago,” Kent stated, also keeping his eyes on the pitch. “He was six. It was quite an adjustment for the both of us. Figuring out likes and dislikes. We had a hard couple of weeks, but soon everything came along seamlessly.

Bruce was intrigued by this new information. Perhaps he should make an effort to contribute to the conversation. His grunts and two-word answers obviously weren’t doing their job to discourage the ongoing small talk. He should say something, but what? ‘Likes’ Kent mentioned likes.  

“Dick likes Cheerios and chicken nuggets but hates mac n cheese,” Bruce uttered. The information sounded much better in his head than out loud.

“Hmm, it’s likely the texture,” Kent offered, not fazed by the awkwardness of Bruce’s response. “Conner hates ground turkey and shredded chicken. But he likes the Dino nuggets.”

“What?” Bruce froze at the words ‘Dino’ and ‘nuggets’.

“Chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. Conner loves them.”

Bruce’s eyes widened at the new information. He must tell Alfred to add Dino nuggets to the shopping list.

Bruce kept his focus on the pitch and on Dick as the discussion went extinct with ‘Dino nuggets’. There was nothing left to contribute to the encounter with Kent. He was likely going to leave anyway just like everyone else did once they got what they wanted from Bruce; realizing that Bruce was not going to carry on chatting with them. However, the dumb reporter wasn’t leaving. Was Kent trying to make ‘friends’ with Bruce? Bruce didn’t need more friends. He already had two, Jim and Selina and that was enough.

Correction, Batman had two friends, Bruce didn’t. Maybe Bruce could use a friend? Nah, he was alright. He had Dick now.

Just then Dick bumped into another kid not paying attention and got knocked to the ground. Bruce was ready to bolt to Dick’s side but both kids stayed on the ground for a while laughing. Bruce watched with fascination the easy exchange between the two boys. He could read their lips. Dick was introducing himself and Bruce caught the last sentence, ‘do you want to be friends?’. The kid quickly responded with a nod and a smile. Dick looked out to the sidelines and locked eyes with Bruce and waved.

“Hi Bruce, I made a new friend!” Dick yelled, his arm around the other boy. “His name is Conner.”

Great. This didn’t surprise Bruce at all. Dick could make friends anywhere and he made friends everywhere. Just the other day Alfred told him that Dick had made friends with a little girl in the checkout line at the store. Did this mean that Bruce had to be friends with Kent? Do they have to do playdates and get coffee now? No, no, not going to happen. The idea of having to endure more small talk with anyone made Bruce want to run far away.

But Dick needed friends and Bruce would do anything for Dick. Even endure chatting with his new friend’s parent.

“That was Conner,” Kent explained, interrupting Bruce’s thoughts. “Sorry about that. He tends to get too excited and easily distracted at times and bumps into people. We’re working on it.”

“It’s fine.”

Although having a friend who was also a parent didn’t seem like such a terrible concept in the grand scheme of things. The thought of leaving himself open to social engagements such as playdates and such made Bruce’s head hurt, but he would do it for Dick.

However, interacting with people was exhausting by itself. Interacting with people he didn’t know was far worse – it took preparation and energy Bruce had already reserved for Dick. Did he really have it in him to extend himself to someone he hardly even knew? Not to mention that someone was also a reporter!

Bruce sighed. He was getting too much in his head and overthinking an issue that wasn’t an issue…yet.

The whistle blew to indicate that practice was over. Dick came running to Bruce all sweaty and smiling. Conner immediately beelined to Kent with his arms up. Kent effortlessly scooped him up in his arms.

“Did you see me kick the ball in the goal?” Dick asked reaching for the juice box Bruce had out for him.

“Yes, I did. You were great out there, Chum.”

“Bruce, can Conner come over and play video games, please?” Dick pleaded, bouncing on his toes.

Here it was, the very thing Bruce had been dreading since Dick had made a new friend on the pitch.

“Uh, um. I don’t know if we have –,” Bruce started and cleared his throat. He couldn’t think of a good excuse to give Dick. “I need to check with –,”

“I’m sorry, Buddy, not tonight,” Kent chimed in squatting down to Dick’s level. Conner was still attached to Kent like an overgrown koala. Kent glanced up at Bruce and smiled. It was as if he caught onto Bruce’s reluctance to new people. “How about this Saturday?” Kent looked up directing the question to Bruce. “My parents have a farm with lots of space to run around. You’re both welcome.”

It was still up to Bruce to decide to go. Of course, he was going to say yes to Dick, he didn’t want to disappoint the boy. Bruce had a feeling Alfred was going to give him a strong talking to about saying no to things. But he couldn’t say no to this. Alfred even said Dick needed friends. Still the concept of going to someone else’s house wasn’t ideal, but Kent took the day, place, and time of the playdate out of Bruce’s hands. Thank goodness.

“Bruce, can we go, please? Dick begged, doing that puppy dog thing with his eyes that always made Bruce cave.

“I’m sure we can, but we’ll still have to check with Alfred,” Bruce explained already caving to Dick’s request.

“Here is the address and I put the time on there too,” Kent said, handing Bruce a business card. Bruce flipped it over and sure enough it read, ‘Clark Kent – Daily Planet’. Not the most subtle thing, but it made sense to give Bruce his business card.

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, stuffing the business card in his back jeans pocket.

The boys said their goodbyes and Bruce and Dick headed toward the parking lot. They weren’t even at the car yet and Bruce was already praying Kent would cancel; or Gotham would swallow him up in another flood before Saturday.

“Thanks for saying yes, Bruce,” Dick mumbled, playing with the straw of his empty juice box. “I know – I know doing ‘people things’ isn’t your favorite.”

“I don’t mind doing it for you,” Bruce revealed, putting his arm around Dick’s shoulder. It was true, because at least doing the ‘people things’ with Dick, Bruce was no longer alone.

#Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Clark Kent #the batman 2022 #battinson #fic inspired by art #semi-crack fic #young dick grayon #fluff #batman #batfic #batman fanfiction #dc #my fics #soccer practice au #pretend gotham metropolis and smallville are kind of close to each other

[lauriegraham01]

rare is this love, keep it covered

pairing: crowley x angel!reader, gn!reader

summary: sneaking behind heaven and hells back, you and crowley reach the end of the road and he has to make a choice whether or not to let you in

tw: angst, fighting, religious themes, hurt/comfort, lotta hurt at first tho

wc: 1,615

a/n: inspiration stems from run by hozier

In the eons of Crowley's existence there had been very few times where they've felt true pain. Living through devastating natural and manmade disasters, the rise and fall of empires, famine, and death - none of those had left an impact on them quite like the your absence has made in their life.

You and Crowley's relationship could be described as corrupt in the eyes of Heaven and Hell if they knew the true nature of it. The truth was that the two of you had spent centuries pining over each other, but neither of you had acted on it in fear of punishment and bearing the wrath and hatred of some other mans belief. Despite this, you two managed. You knew where your relationship stood, and with this you came to love each other in secret, laws of Heaven and Hell neglected whenever you were in each other's embrace.

Life with the fallen angel was exhilarating, Crowley brought out a side of you that you never thought possible. Danger and mischief seemed to always lurk around the corner but you didn't mind because you knew you were safe as long as you were by Crowley's side. You rubbed off the demon as well, you amplified the gentle side that you knew was always there but they just kept hidden, locked away. You showed them what it felt like to be loved unconditionally and you brought a light into Crowley's life that they'd been searching for since the fall.

While embarking on adventures and loving each other through the monumental and the mundane- the highs were high, but the lows were abysmal. Crowley had their flaws, and you weren't perfect by any means. So whenever you would clash, it felt like the dread of an oncoming war. Pain and destruction would remain whenever you and Crowley were at your worst, and this time you felt that things were too broken, too devastated, too damned to mend.

It had been four months since you left Crowley's apartment in the middle of the night without so much as a note telling of your whereabouts. Crowley, still blinded by their anger brushed it off and assumed that you would return once you've cooled down. But days, turned into weeks, and months and after four months away without so much as a letter or a phone call from you, Crowley knew that the situation was graver than previously imagined. Their self-loathing was immensable, knowing that it was their actions and self-sabotaging that drove you away. It took another angelic intervention to be able to find their way back to you. Aziraphale was the only one who knew of your whereabouts and swore to not say a word of it to anyone - but when his demon friend came into his bookshop, bloodshot eyed and begging to know where you were, well he couldn't help himself.

That's where Crowley found themself now, on coastal roads in the south of France. Growing more impatient and anxious the closer they got to your address. You heard that precious Bentley from miles away before you even heard the knock on your door.

"Piss off!" You shouted bitterly from the other side of the door.

"How'd you bloody even know it was me?" Crowley said surprised that you immediately knew it was them.

"The only one who comes to visit is the mailman and he doesn't blast Queen!"

"Sounds like you need a better mailman," Crowley muttered to themself underneath their breath.

"Look would you just open the fucking d-" Crowley then heard the creaking of a gate opening and closing not too far off in the distance. Groaning in frustration, they march off behind the cottage you were staying at until they find the gate and is met with the sight of you trekking your way through the sands on the rather solitary beach.

Rushing to the shore to meet you, Crowley's met with the raging sea foaming with your loneliness.

"Save it Crowley, I don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say," you shout at them without sparing a look behind as you stomp your way to shoreline where the seafoam of the moving waves soaked your bare feet.

"Well that's not very nice of you, angel," Crowley quips back mockingly.

"You've used up all my niceties, Crowley. I have no more grace to offer you."

"Look love, i'm terribly sorry, okay? I'm sorry for the way we left things when you left. Now can we go home and get off of this fucking beach, you know how much I hate sand."

"No, Crowley." Finally facing them, your cold stare and unwavering tone catches Crowley off guard.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said no," you responded bitterly.

"Look y/n, I know how I am. I'm all ill tempered and hateful and push everyone away until they bugger off for good but for my sake y/n will you just please get in the car?"

"No, Crowley. You hurt me, okay? You don't get to come here and think an apology is going to fix what's shattered here. It doesn't work like that...not this time." As your voice trailed off at the end you stand up taller as you look Crowley in the eye.

Beats of silence pass between the two of you as Crowley tries to find the words to say. They knew it would be hard to be able to clean up the mess they've made, but your cold stare in your eyes made them uneasy in ways they've never felt. Here, you looked almost unrecognizable from the way Crowley's always know you since the dawn of creation. Eyes of wonder that looked into your ancient soul had always been a stark contrast to their hungry eyes carried by sneering menagerie. But now that light of wonder was windowed by pain, and at their hand. Crowley took note of the darkened sky above them and the distant thunder that rolled over the sea. Crowley could feel your anger and pain as you shifted the weather, winds growing stronger as you stood unmoving in front of them. Crowley felt crisp trepidation washing over them, a dread weighing down on them as it settled deep within their stomach.

"You knew what you were signing up for the day that we," flinging their hand between the two of you, "...became us. I told you from the very beginning that I'm too much, I'm scarred and torn beyond repair and I've built walls to protect myself and you from that pain, from that ugly shame."

"That never scared me and you know it, Crowley. I know who you were, who you've always been but you know that you don't have to suffer alone. It hurts me to see you carrying it all alone when I can help."

"S'not fair to you. You deserve better."

"I don't want better Crowley, I want you!" Lighting striking down as you exasperatedly shout back at them.

"I am somewhere outside your life, Crowley. I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in!"

Beneath your sky and punishing cold, Crowley knew that they couldn't live without you. That would be true Hell to them. With their serpent eyes never leaving yours, Crowley does something they haven't done since before the fall. Body slowing sinking down, they kneel before you. As the wind howls through their ginger locks, your breath hitches at the scene in front of you. Marveled at the sight of Crowley baring their onliness.

"My life is in your hands. It always has been."

Their hands creep up, knuckles turning white from clutching onto your side tightly as if with just a thought- in an instant you too would be washed away by the waves.

"In all of my eternity living-aimlessly walking through this earth, for once I see the truth in you. No one sees me but you. Forget Heaven and Hell, they're just words to me. I surrender my life to you, y/n."

The storm raging of ancient misery you've conjured slowly grows weaker as their words fully sink into your soul. You knew Crowley was good at heart, that they weren't inherently evil, but with them kneeling at your feet, their soul exposed and in your hands.

Sinking slowly into the ground you kneel in front of them, as you remain eye-leveled with Crowley you lift your hands to slowly caress their face and upon contact their eyes shut as a shudder escapes their lips. Feeling the dried tears that had fallen down their cheeks.

"Our sides may think that there is something wretched about this but I don't give a damn-I know there's something precious about this. Rare is this love Crowley, I need you to vow to keep it covered."

"With my wretched soul."

A small shudder of a chuckle leaves your lips and for the first time in a very long time, hope embeds itself into your heart with the promise of blossoming fully.

"Your wretched is my precious, my dear."

Crowley's lips curve into a small smile as their chest sinks, exhaling airs of tension they had bottled up.

With arms snaking their way around you even tighter, Crowley pulls you in as they crashes their lips onto yours. Desperate and all consuming, devouring each other other in attempts to make up for all the love lost and this new beginning you've found. With burning lungs you pull away and press your foreheads against theirs. Catching your breath you open your eyes to find Crowley's loving gaze already staring at you.

"Know that I love you, y/n," Crowley confesses hoarsely.

"I know," you say breathlessly. "I love you, Crowley."

#good omens #neil gaiman #crowley x reader #crowley x you #crowley x y/n #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #gomens #good omens!crowley #david tennant #martin sheen

[oneshotnewbie]

 Hi, can you do a meredith grey x reader where meredith can’t decide who to pick between reader and Derek. Then she makes her decision once she sees her come into the hospital after she get injured? Please?

...

Decisions are made every day.

Important and unimportant, big or small. Everyone makes countless decisions every day. Choices affect our daily lives, but most do not have the strength or power to fundamentally change our lives.

Most of the decisions are too mundane to draw much attention to themselves, but some feel like a rockfall, tearing up at every hill and forming a spider´s web across the entire windshield. So also the important decision about love, in which Meredith Grey stood between two of her co-workers and did not know what to do.

She knew that love is an extremely sensitive construct and playing with it can lead to catastrophic consequences, the balance between colleagues at a workplace could be disturbed and any conscious intervention or change should therefore be carefully considered.

But how should she think about the consequences of this important step if she could not even decide between Derek and you in the first place?

"Grey!" the chief of surgery seemed in high spirits as she snuck up on the blonde. Meredith tried to mimic the sympathetic smile of her as best she could, but it did not look very convincing. "Why are you making that face? Do you not have work to do?"

"Bailey," she grunted out between clenched teeth, giving her a slanted but fixed look, which met up with a skeptical one. Sighing, the black-haired rolled her eyes in frustration and sat down on the couch next to the younger surgeon. "What is bothering you?"

The addressee shrugged and concentrated herself on a single floor tile. The corners of her mouth painfully clenched, automatically drooped as she leaned back on the sofa and took a deep breath.

There had to be a way of finding out who she loved more.

What Meredith could decide, though, was whether to let Miranda Bailey in on it. She could be some help to her. Or a tripwire that ultimately put her on the wrong track. The blonde pondered about it for a moment before beginning her cryptic narrative. "Two people. You have to choose one and hurt the other, risking that nothing will be the same ever again. Who do you choose?"

"When you get up in the morning, who do you think of first? Who do you want to write or see first?" the young blonde heard her boss ask, hearing seriousness and conviction in her soft voice. "Who makes you happy? Who makes your heart beat faster?"

Instantly, she felt every fiber of her body automatically screaming for you, forming your name in every synapse of her brain. Tiny memories of your time together surfaced like pictures in front of her inner eye and melted with feelings of pure love.

"Y/n," she spoke deliberately calmly and Bailey gave her a questionable look before her lips curled into a smile. Meredith´s eyes reflected happiness and she had to admit that only the briefest of advice from Miranda Bailey got her on.

She was really good. Better than good, indescribable.

The young surgeon quickly jumped up from her seat, looked confused for her cell phone that had fallen between the cracks of the sofa and halfway ran out of the door. "Grab her before it is too late," she heard Bailey emphasize again. Her voice was so familiar and yet she was absolutely right. Meredith loved you. Worse, she longed for you.

Only after you.

Meredith Grey could not help but grin all the way down to the emergency room at the thought of you while she tried to reach you on your cell phone. But she was thrown strictly to the mailbox.

It surprised her, after all you were always available. Especially when you were at work. Then why was your phone turned off? The blonde would have understood if you wanted to have your rest after a night shift, but you only had a lunch break.

She looked through the opening elevator doors and immediately chaos broke out in front of her. Nurses ran around like they were bitten by a tarantula, including three of her friends who almost knocked her over while stepping out of the elevator. "What the.."

It is L/n!" Merediths hands kept shaking and she could not really understand the next words. Something about you and that she should be there. She dropped her cell phone as she ran and rushed to the trauma room. In the time she hastily walked through the corridor, the world stood still.

She could not breathe while hoping that the scenarios that suddenly appeared in her mind would never come true.

"What the hell happened?" Meredith yelled between chaotic conversations and the tension, that Keppner, Pierce and Hunt were building around your bloodied body as she walked through the doorway.

Everything was going wild in the shock room. Nurses ran back and forth, delivering the supplied and an ultrasound to the attending physicians that they so desperately needed to determine the nature and severity of your injuries.

"Y/n was hit by a motorist who missed a red light. Suspected traumatic brain injury. Strong, rapidly forming hematomas all over their body, fractured right arm and suspected pelvic fracture," explained April through staging breaths before continuing. "They collapsed shortly before arrival, Pierce is doing resuscitation"

In unison, the four doctors looked at the monitor to which you were connected by cables and waited for a sinus rhythm that should exchange the flat line. Hunt, meanwhile, had your head tilted back and was trying to insert the tube through your larynx into your trachea to take over the ventilation. "Tubus is inside. We move them on three. One, two.. three,"

They set you down on the hospital bed provided for you, Pierce immediately began to resume chest compressions. Meredith had only now fully realized whose life was at stake and who her friends were fighting for.

But she could not contribute. Her body was paralyzed and her life-saving skills completely thrown overboard. She looked at your face like a heap of misery and was startled. Big tears rolled down her cheeks. Completely silent but totally desperate.

A rush of adrenaline hit her all of a sudden and she blinked back the tears that were appearing. She quickly jumped to the end of the bed and held your ankles tightly in her hands. The blonde had to touch you, but your otherwise warm skin was chilled under her fingertips.

"Stabilization and then straight to the CT with her, Shepherd is already waiting" Owen gave running instructions and pumped another dose of medication through your veins to hopefully get your circulation going. This quickly had its effect; electrical impulses showed up as current fluctuations in the curves of the line and relief flowed through the room.

"Weak sinus frequency but we can work with that," April stated and breathed a sigh of relief while wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead.

Meredith walked up to your naked torso, her hands gently falling on your messy and blood smeared hair, stroking it softly. She leaned forward, close to your face before whispering something into your ear. "I beg you, Y/n. Do not leave me alone," she begs your unconscious body while frantically stroking your wet hair.

She froze and lifted her eyes to meet the gazes of the people standing next to her. They urged her to go faster with prompting looks, but at the same time gave her the time she needed. A shudder ran over her body before continuing.

"I choose you, Y/n. Fight for us," she said calmly, watching as Owen carried you away on the stretcher.

#meredithgrey x you #meredith grey x you #meredith grey x reader #meredithgrey #greys anatomy #meredith grey fanfic #meredith grey fanfiction #meredith grey oneshot #meredith grey imagine #meredith grey imagines #greys anatomy imagine #greys abc #greys anatomy imagines #greys anatomy oneshot #greys anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #one-shot #imagine #imagines #fanifc #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic