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sadnesslaughs · 10 months ago

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Every time you die, you receive points based on your actions while living that you can spend on your next life or save. Your past lives have been saving points for a very long time.

(A response to a writing prompt)

God didn’t expect a knock at his door this evening, especially since a meeting with God costed a mortal one hundred thousand life points. He stroked his wiry beard hairs, grooming the white beard before letting the stranger in. Even if he was God, those omnipotent powers of his didn’t fully extend into the realm of heaven. Sure, he could see and control everything on Earth, but Heaven had its own rules, allowing the angels and citizens a sense of privacy. After all, nothing bad can ever happen in heaven, so God doesn’t need to have eyes everywhere.

He expected to be greeted by an angel. Perhaps a new angel that hadn’t fully learned how to book a meeting with God through their calendar system. Instead, he was greeted by a human, one with greasy black hair and a slack posture. The man looking perpetually tired, still carrying the weight of his Earthly struggles on his shoulders. A weight that would soon be lifted by the comforts of heaven.

“Ah, my child. How nice of you to visit! You must be a devoted believer to use that many life points on me. It’s rare to find anyone that’s saved up that many points. Most use them as soon as they become available.”

“Guess I’m smarter than most.” Alex scanned the room, surprised to find that God’s office looked like a mix of a typical business conference room and a dentist’s office. The pristine wooden table surrounded by a sterile white wall, with only a single window that let in the blinding white angelic light of the clouds outside. “I’m not even really a believer. Well, I believe you exist, would be weird if I didn’t. I mean, in the sense that I don’t believe in the rules you set for humanity.”

God watched Alex groan as he settled into the office chair, body cracking as it pushed against the stiff back of the office chair. After letting the man get comfortable, God spoke. “I’m sorry you don’t agree with my rules. If you wish to propose any changes, you can always ask an angel. They will happily put forward any proposed changes to me. Or, you can tell me about them now. I’m not a tyrant. I will listen to constructive criticism.”

The man smirked. “Yes, because we’ve seen so many changes over the last thousand years.” Alex teased, hanging an arm over the chair’s back. “Don’t be sorry about it. I’ll do a much better job when I’m a God.”

“When you’re a God? How do you intend to do that?”

“With my points. If a person cashes in ten million points, you will make them a god. That’s what it says on the rewards system you implemented. I wish to cash in my ten million points.” Alex saw God freeze, thinking over what the human before him was saying. Quickly, he pulled out a book from a drawer in his desk. The book fluttered open as soon as it hit the desk, landing on Alex’s name.

“Over eleven million points… How did you save that many? It’s not possible to do such a thing. Humans are greedy by nature. How did you resist the other temptations? You could have been a king, politician, or a celebrity. Why do you want to be a god? Surely one of your other lives would have given into temptation.” He slammed the book shut, scowling at him.

“You would think so, but no. I can’t speak for my past lives, but I assume they all shared the same thought process that I did. When they died and saw that massive number, they realized how meaningless the other prizes were. Why settle for the obvious prizes, when you can become a god? What’s another hundred lives in the grand scheme of things? So, ready to make me a god?” Alex rocked back on his chair, only growing in confidence as the God looked more bewildered.

“It’s not an actual prize that people are meant to take. It’s a novelty, something that’s so outlandish that people think it’s unachievable. No one else has ever done this. No mortal can consistently resist the temptations. One of your past lives was meant to give in and waste the points.”

“Guess I’m built different. Which is why I’ll make an excellent god.” The man stood up, walking beside God, leaning over the back of his chair. “We both know you can’t go back on your word, especially since these rewards were written in stone,” the man said, emphasizing the advantage he had in this situation.

“I hope you understand how hard it is to be a god. Directing mortal lives isn’t for the feint of heart. You will see horrors that you can’t imagine. You will have knowledge that will make you wish you couldn’t think. That is the curse of the divine.” God stated, tilting his head up to look at Alex, giving him a look of pity.

Alex pretended to mull over the words before rubbing the bald spot on God’s head. “Can’t be any worse than the curse of mortality. Before you make me a god, there is one last thing I want to cash in.”

“And what’s that?”

“One million points, cut god’s beard.” Alex slid a pair of scissors from his pocket, pulling God’s face forward with a harsh tug. “I’ll be quick.” Dragging the scissors through the beard, he left droplets of white hair all over the table, coating it in the fluff. “You’ve been beaten. I’ll make a world better than you ever could. You’ll become nothing.” After cutting the last hair, he sat himself on the edge of the table. “Now, my ten million points to become a god.”

God stared at the loose hairs, collecting a few of them in his palm. “You wish to become a god? Than a god you shall become.” He said, clenching his fist.

Alex felt a scorching pain through his body. His skin melting down, leaving only muscle. Even with the pain, he couldn’t scream, only falling forward onto his face. The skin quickly repairing itself, getting a red tint to its color. Finally, he could scream, holding his head as horns pushed through his skull.

“A god of the underworld suits you nicely. You can rule those who think they are above my rules and order. No god will ever be above me, for that is a sin.”

Alex pushed through the pain, staring up at the elderly man with a defiant grin. “I’ll be back for you. One day, you’ll regret not granting me my wish. I hope on that day you remember that things could have gone differently if you let me rule my own world.”

“I’m giving you a world to rule. Enjoy godhood.” With that, God cast Alex down into the underworld, giving him authority and power over the lost souls who weren’t worthy of being reborn. These people left to wander the darkness endlessly, with Alex now stumbling with them, still trying to figure out how to control his new powers.

#short stories #writing #writing prompt #story #writer

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thedo0zyslider · 2 years ago

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New fic! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45323782

Flower Husbands, takes place on Jimmy's 30 day hardcore server. 3k words

When Jimmy exited his house that morning, he saw something he wasn’t expecting to see.

This server he started was only supposed to last a month. After thirty days the server would be gone, and everyone would be moved back to their respective servers. Jimmy and his fellow Emperors would go back to Empires, Bek would go back to Origins, and Martyn would go…wherever it was he went after a particular server finished. Jimmy had never figured out where his friend disappeared too, despite sharing a fair amount of servers with him.

This little hardcore server meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. It would be almost meaningless after it ended. The rivalry with Fwhip here wasn’t anything compared to the one on Empires, it felt more playful in nature. This server was supposed to be something to pass the time, and make a few good memories they could look back on and have a laugh about.

Maybe that's why Jimmy felt a lot of somethings when he saw the newly constructed wall.

The blonde stared at it blankly for a few minutes, taking in the sight. The wall was made out of pillars of wood. It was an alternating pattern of both stripped birch and stripped dark oak logs. Trapdoors and fences lined the top, making for a sort of spiky effect. The bottom was made out of deepslate, the wood carefully embedded into the stone. Everything but the deepslate near the bottom felt sickeningly familiar.

The wall went quite far, surrounding most of the little village. A few places had just a few stumps of wood placed down. Clearly whoever was working on it hadn’t had the chance to finish yet.

Jimmy walked towards the structure slowly, a sense of deja vu falling over him. Like he'd already walked to this wall before. He placed a hand on one of the finished parts, slowly running it along the wood. It had been so careful, one could even say lovingly, stripped. Jimmy took a deep, ragged breath as it finally clicked to where he knew the wall from

It was the exact same wall from Third Life.

Now it had been well over a year since Third Life, and they’d ventured back into those games two separate times since then. The group was about to have a fourth go if what Grian said was true. Jimmy liked to think he’d moved on, and for the most part he had! The wall had taken him off guard is all…

“Tim!” Jimmy stopped staring at the wall, like he was snapping out a trance. He let his hand move away from the structure and fall back to his side. The dirty blonde looked behind him to see Martyn, who’d called his name, walking over. He must’ve just woken up for the day.

“Good morning Martyn!” He greeted, smiling his usual wide smile.

“Morning!” His friend responded, before looking between the wall and Jimmy. “Why are you standing in front of this random wall mate?”

“Ah well, I woke up and it was just..here” Jimmy trailed off, his gaze now back on the familiar structure. He felt something in him twist with longing, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a while.

Martyn noticed whatever look the other currently had on his face, puzzled for a moment. It took him a few moments to make the connection. The man had maybe seen the original wall once or twice in Third Life before it’d bene burned by Joel. His loyalty to Ren and Dogwarts during the game meant he hadn’t interacted with Tim much. Not in a friendly way anyways. He’d certainly hadn’t stopped by for many visits back then.

“...oh” Martyn said softly, looking the new structure up and down. “Who do you think built it?’

“Scott.” Jimmy’s response was immediate. Besides him and Martyn, Scott was the only other person on this server who’d been in Third Life. He was also one of the three people currently not at odds with the little starting village. Besides, he doubted Owen or Bek would somehow accidentally build the same exact wall that Scott had built.

“Ah.” Was all Martyn said in response. “You good mate?” Jimmy felt his concerned gaze on his back.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good” The blonde forced a small smile onto his face. He knew Martyn gave him a look, and knew exactly what look it was. But Jimmy paid no mind, simply bidding his long time friend goodbye and starting his chores for the day. He ignored that the wall felt right, that it felt like it belonged. He decided to go mining and forget about the wall all together! Today was going to be productive! He knew he was lying to himself, he wasn’t fine.

He really wanted to see Scott.

______________________________________________

Jimmy returned to the village a few hours later, inventory full of stones and ores from a mining expedition. He’d needed diamonds, and sadly hadn’t been the most successful. He maybe had enough to make a chestplate and some boots. The trip had also been a great distraction. It was hard to think about a certain something while trying to stay alive in a cave.

Jimmy sighed as he emerged from his mineshaft, brushing the dust off himself. He made a mental note to get a fortune pick, or ask Martyn to mine the diamonds for him again. He could also get a fortune villager, but that was something Jimmy didn’t have the patience to do today.

He tried his best not to look at the wall as he walked. It was a challenge, as it seemed to consistently be in his peripheral vision. Though trying not to see the wall seemed to bring him face to face with its builder.

Scott was working on one of the unfinished parts of the wall Jimmy had seen that morning. Jimmy stopped, not knowing if to approach his friend or not. He has to know what he’s doing right? He’d wanted to talk to his friend, but didn’t know what to do now that he could.

The blonde stood there for a moment, watching the blue haired man work. He watched the way the wood was stripped, how the trapdoors at the top were sometimes broken and replaced with fences. Scott had made a lot of progress, the wall almost covered two thirds of the village. If Jimmy had to guess Scott had resumed his work right around the time he went into the mines. Jimmy was glad for that, he didn’t think he would’ve been able to talk to Scott that morning.

The scottish man seemed to have felt someone watching, turning his head to glance behind him. A small smile spread across his face when he saw Jimmy, going to jump down from the small pillar he’d been standing on. The building tools and materials were placed softly down onto the grass, and Jimmy finally started paying attention when his blue haired friend was in front of him.

“Jimmy!” Scott greeted him with a wider smile.

“Hello Scott!” The blonde smiled wide, it was a genuine smile. Despite the confusing mess of emotions twirling in Jimmy’s gut. He pushed them down, ignoring them. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that damn wall.

“Why are you watching me?” The blue haired man asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Am i that pretty or something?”

“N-no! It’s not that!” Jimmy ignored the heat rising to his cheeks. “I just got back from mining and got…lost in thought.” That was the weakest explanation he’d ever given. It was worse than their lie in Third Life of him killing a cow on a cactus.

“Lost in thought about me?” The other teased

“Scott!” Jimmy exclaimed lightly, aware of how red he probably was. Scott just giggled. “C’mon, you know I’m only teasing~” He leaned on the blonde’s shoulder, winking

Jimmy let out a soft laugh. “I know..” You weren’t teasing back then..

Scott moved out of his personal space, standing now a few inches away from him. Neither seemed to know what to say after that, an awkward silence beginning to stretch between them. It was as if the whole world went silent. Jimmy stared at Scott, and the other stared back at him. They both were thinking the same thing. The wall.

“So..” Jimmy started to say something, but trailed off. He was at a loss for words

“So..” Scott, thankfully, was not lost for words, picking up where Jimmy left off like he used to. “What were you really thinking about?”

“..About…about..the wall” Jimmy fumbled trying to get the sentence out, feeling himself go almost stiff with nerves.

“Ah, the..wall” Scott turned his head to the side, looking at his creation.

Jimmy’s gaze bore into the cyan haired man. Scott turned to look back, meeting his eyes. A silent exchange seemed to pass between them.

You know what it-?

Yeah, I know.

Jimmy broke the silence. “Why’d you build it again?”

“I don’t know,” Scott’s voice was barely a whisper. “This just feels right.”

“Oh. okay” Was Jimmy’s lame response. They lapsed into another awkward silence. And during that silence Jimmy thought. He thought about Third Life. He thought about the flower field, the hobbit houses they’d had. How back then he couldn’t build for shit, so Scott had made his own poor attempt at a hobbit hole a million times better. How their own houses didn’t matter as Jimmy had just ended up sharing a bed with Scott. He thought about Scott’s house made of a stripped birch. The wall made of stripped birch. Scott liked building with stripped wood. That was a fact Jimmy knew deep in his bones. If Scott was going to build, there would be some sort of stripped wood in the design. He could tell this new wall was made by Scott before he even knew it was their old wall. Jimmy knew the others' building style better than his own.

He thought about how he wasn’t sure if the original wall had stripped spruce or dark oak. It surely had to have been dark oak. They surely wouldn't have taken down Scar's whole monopoly on it just to not build with the wood. Yeah, it had to have been dark oak. His memory was just fuzzy. The only difference was that the bottom was now deep slate instead of cobblestone. Deepslate hadn’t been discovered when Third Life happened. They hadn’t had that luxury till the next season.

He finally thought about how the wall did fill right. Another wall built to protect their home, on a hardcore server. Another server where no would make it out alive. Probably.

Jimmy was momentarily broken out of his thoughts by Scott shifting closer to him. He glanced at the other, forgetting they were almost eye level. He always seemed to think the scottish man was shorter somehow. Scott was still looking at the wall, he wouldn’t turn to meet the blonde’s gaze. His last thought was about how he wanted to hold Scott’s hand.

“Where’s Owen?” Jimmy asked softly, shaking the impulse away. It was somewhat unusual to not see Owen and Scott together, the two had become best friends fast. Jimmy shoved down the tiny prick of jealousy that poked at his heart. We were like that once.

“Oh..” Scott said awkwardly. He moved out of Jimmy’s space again, moving a few feet away. The blonde ignored how agonizing it felt. Scott was standing in front of the wall now. “Me and Owen were actually gonna join the Fwheeping isles..”

“Oh,” Jimmy said, feeling his stomach drop. “When?” He asked, ignoring the stinging sensation he felt. It was as if something had physically shocked him.

“Tomorrow,” Scott responded. “I was gonna finish this little part of the wall, and leave you some materials before we left.”

“Okay, cool, thanks!” Jimmy forced yet another smile. Internally, the dam he’d been building up all day burst into pieces. He choked down the waves of emotion best he could, but he knew Scott could probably see it in his eyes. He’d always been told he was an open book, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He was a loud person in general. Jimmy felt his emotions loudly. He loved loudly too.

The blonde stared at Scott, in front of his new-their old wall. His past lover standing out against the woods and deepslate. He remembered how he’d claimed to declare his love for flowers, not Scott, on the first day of Third Life. He remembered how Scott had worn the poppy he’d given him in his hair, how they lived in the field of flowers. He remembered how Scott had called them husbands, proudly declaring it to the whole server. He remembered dying first, to Tango’s game, and then later the same day to a Grian redstone trap gone wrong. He remembered how Scott had told him what not to do, yet he accidentally set off the TNT regardless. How Scott helped him recover his lost items. He remembered his failed Chick Chance shack, a way to earn much needed diamonds on a server with limited diamonds, with limited resources. He’d never quite understood how BigB had gotten so many back then. That's the only way this new place seemed to differ from Third Life, they weren't bound by a world border here.

He remembered the pufferish of peace, how it had been their peace offering with Grian and Scar, how Grian had warned them to not trust his red-life ally. He remembered how that alliance had ultimately got them killed, how maybe they should've kept to themselves just a bit more. He remembered burning the Dogwarts Banner in front of Ren and Martyn, knowing joining the alliance would lead to Scott being put on an altar. He remembered dying a third time in Grian’s bunker, hearing his husbands scream as Skizz shot him down. He remembered his grave built atop the hill. He remembered spectating from beyond as Scott avenged him. He remembered the cyan haired man dying alone in the same desert he had. In the same way he had, in the heat of battle and at the hands of the Red Army.

He remembered when Joel lied about burning the same wall they stood before now, lying about it and leading to a day-long search for the culprit. The only difference between then and now was that there was no death game, there was no Joel to burn their wall down. It was just them. And Scott was leaving

For Scott to build the wall again, then to leave as if it meant nothing, hurt Jimmy more than it should have. It felt like the last two games. In Last Life they’d barely spoken, they’d gone from husbands to friends. Jimmy had died first again, but Scott wasn’t there to avenge him. No one had been, how he’d done that to himself. How he betrayed even Martyn. He remembered how a few months ago on Double Life they’d been like feuding exes. How he was happy with Tango as a soulmate, but still wondered if they could’ve been paired up again. Why Grian and Scar were forced together again, and if Scott could’ve been linked with him instead of Pearl. He remembered how he and Tango argued with Scott and Cleo, saying they weren't “real soulmates,” whatever that meant. He remembered how Scott had paid for Joel and Etho to kill him. And how they had killed him. And how Scott and Martyn and the rest of the quartet laughed when he died first again and taken Tango down with him.

And he remembered Empires, and how they were still something there. He thought about Scott had left a poppy and a note in Rivendell’s embassy in the Codlands, “This feels right.” He remembered how after Third Life they’d gone on a date, an alliance making meeting as Jimmy had called it. Scott had made him cake, and given him poppies. The blue haired man had made a whole tunnel of love, he’d gotten another pufferfish.

He remembered how the world ended before they could go anywhere. Jimmy remembered how he ended the world.

And now they were doing Empires again, and Scott was a colorful trickster instead of an elf, and how he was a sheriff instead of a cod. He remembered Scott’s flirting and handcuff jokes that ultimately meant nothing.

Scott had built their wall again, and he was leaving. He’d remade what was once theirs just to leave. It hurt more than Jimmy could put into words. He shoved it down again.

“Well, see you around. You can take the materials for the wall from my old house” Scott said, jostling Jimmy from the memories. The way he looked at the blonde held some kind of emotion. Jimmy couldn't tell what though. He could recognize the man’s building style, but not what he was feeling. It’d been far too long since he’d been able to do that. Scott could still guess his though..

“Right, thanks. See you around.” Jimmy let out a small wave as Scott turned his back. The blue haired man walked away, not looking back at Jimmy or the wall. He was presumably going to find Owen.

Jimmy stood there, blinking. He remembered his inventory was still full of stone and ores from his mining trip. Right, he had to empty his pockets. But before he did that he walked towards the materials Scott had left in the grass. The start of the interaction felt like a lifetime ago.

The wood and deepslate was buried in a chest in his small house. He thought about building the wall more, but never touched it unless Martyn was working on it with him. It made it feel more like the villages, not theirs. It wouldn’t be finished before the thirty days were up. He thought someone lit it on fire at one point, but things got hazy past the fifteen day mark. Maybe he’d died before it went up in flames.

But before that Jimmy woke up everyday. He looked at the wall, and then he looked at the cute village house, still with a touch of the signature build style, where his old flame used to live. He felt his gut twist every morning and he pushed it down.

He had work to do.

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delicrieux · 7 months ago

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…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. life...imitates manga? is that how the saying goes...?

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader ft. suguru warnings for this chapter. being a somewhat bad friend, gojo is annoying, swear wc. 4.2k author’s note. if this was shoujo manga YALL WOULD BE EATING IT UP!!! instead of leaving comments begging to clock gojo in the jaw (based)

ੈ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back | next >

CHAPTER 4: crush business, but not really

"kaaaami-chaaaan~ dropped my glasses, i'm so clumsy. bend over and pick them up for me?"

you kick them into the pond.

"pleeeaaaaase kami-chan, we both hate doing homework and it's just faster if we do it together. i’m smarter anyway; ain’t that awesome?"

you hurl his into the nearest trashcan.

"hey, what's your cup size again?"

"excuse me?!"

"ah, your reaction, that's right... it's B."

you leap at his neck but he dodges like a wimp.

gojo's particular brand of psychological terror wasn't always this, exactly. no, the handling and the pet names and the weird stares you know he's throwing behind his glasses are all novel changes. he might've realized his old methods weren't working all that well, or he grew bored with simple mockery and general disapproval of your existence. it didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things, because this is all just a game to him, and the high stakes (being your well-being) would never reach a point of concern.

not even implying concern for a friend, a colleague, or just a person. not even a pet. like a stray scrambling for food, or a spider trapped in a circle one drew on paper. no, 'aw, poor lil' guy' with an ounce of empathy.

for most of your time knowing him, it was something like this: him giving you false directions for a mission, leaving you stranded on the other side of the country with barely enough money for a train ticket, him giving you the wrong schedule so you'd be abysmally late, him purposely messing up your reports (how he even did that is beyond you), him audibly laughing at your clothes, your hair, the makeup you took pains to do that day, the way you spoke, and the many things about you he found 'a total fucking bore,' which was everything, apparently.

once, on a mission gone awry when the lot of you were 17 and carefree, he urged you and shoko to jump off a high building, which the both of you did, because he wasn't that bad at the time. would never endanger a fellow sorcerer just for giggles, would he? wrong, he caught shoko easy, and he promised to catch you, too, but you just kept tumbling till getou's arms cradled you close to his chest. the two of them laughed. that day, one left with a bloody nose.

gojo satoru, age 17, laughed so much at your terrified expression he nearly pissed himself. kept mimicking you shrieking for weeks on end, and that was about the time you really started to hate him.

the sun is blistering on the back of your neck. you huff, draw back, inhale a cloud of dust that coats the back of your throat, "the hell?" you speak, a hard edge you normally save for your least favorite person in the world, "what's gotten into you?"

you extend a hand, clammy from sweat, but it doesn't shake.

getou lays on the ground for a moment. midafternoon sunshine purges the sharp lines on his face and the dark bags that've been growing larger as days slipped into months. he breathes, staring up at the luminous sky for a moment, before turning his head. a lock of ink black curls tumble from his forehead. you yank his arm, and he doesn't resist the pull, climbing to his feet.

"sorry," he mumbles, lips puffy and torn on one side, "guess i'm distracted today."

a pickle of regret rises as you note blood dewing, "your lip."

"mm, yeah. doesn't hurt," he dismisses, almost sheepish, and he let's go with a small step back, like he's about to get into his stance, but his shoulders are too hunched and he already seems vaguely overwhelmed.

in all the time you've known getou suguru, you've never seen him this... diminished. he carries an air with him, has a tall stature and narrow eyes, but there's an openness to his smile and his soft voice, a compassion in his gestures and words. people are drawn to him because he's been carved to understand and comfort —his intentions are pure, the concern he shows is authentic. he's strong, strong in a different sense that someone like gojo could never be, and he commands the attention and adoration of others by simply existing. getou is special. in a way that you fully don't understand.

you wonder what is troubling him now, if the words stuck in his chest will never take a single breath outside him. because something must be weighing him if he can't meet your eye, or simply don't want to do it. something you've seen glimpses of all of last year and this spring, slowly boiling under the surface that made him more withdrawn.

he wipes the blood with his thumb, stares at it for a moment, like marveling at the medical miracle of getting hurt, "you've got a mean punch,"

"i guess,"

"maybe we're both distracted," he surmises. you're not usually this rough, but you had been thinking of gojo rolling on the floor laughing at you nearly splattering on the sidewalk. then again, getou isn't usually this sloppy either.

an arrogant part of you chimes that he simply didn't see it coming, that you're just that good. maybe. but the likely scenario is that he did, and he just didn't bother to dodge. his heart wasn't really in this sparring session to begin with. it's weird. getou always gives his best, even in front of someone weaker than him.

"um," you stammer, glancing away, and you fold your hands awkwardly over the fabric on your lap, "should i ask shoko to—"

he clears his throat. a clunky, dissonant sound, and not because of the hit he sustained earlier. the rift between the two of you now is thicker.

he smiles. the expression does nothing to ease the tension, the fog hanging over the grass, "just a nick; no big deal. i'll focus. sorry."

"don't go easy on me," you always say this and you always mean it. you don't mind a busted lip or a bruise. it'll patch up in seconds anyway.

getou adjusts his bun, bunches of wild black strands popping around his face. he leans forward, fists ready. and even like this, he looks exhausted, "wasn't thinking of it,"

but you both know he's lying. you feel yourself ill equipped for this situation. you don't know how to deal with getou because getou always takes care of himself.

"good," you reply. you flex, bending your knees just a tiny bit, "then i won't feel bad."

"that so," his tone isn't teasing at all, more flat and distant, but you choose to ignore it, focusing instead on the clap of flesh as you close the distance between you, "if you knock me down, you'll earn some bragging rights."

a cockiness worms its way into his tone and the tension that bunched his jaw unclenches, "you can use your cursed technique, you know," you say, trying to lighten the mood a bit with a grin, "i don't mind."

the man shrugs, dodging to the right with surprising fluidity considering how lethargic he's been today, "would be boring if you died that quickly."

"oh please," you deadpan. he smiles, and for a brief second the weariness vanishes and you feel a warm gush of wind.

but his pace is slow. his movements lack his usual ferocity, and that allows you a window to knock him down again, the heel of your boot resting on his throat. no actual pressure, just a graze, "no peeking up my skirt."

he snorts, "'m not satoru."

you tick a brow, "the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"if you have to ask," getou sighs, "might be a little brain dead."

"harsh," you step off, and extend a hand again.

getou shakes his head, doesn't accept the aid. but he rolls upright. this is the worst sparring session either of you had, you reckon, and not because you made him eat dirt for a second time. he never seems down for anything anymore.

the silence that lingers is uncomfortable in that you've never had trouble speaking to him. you shuffle a bit, "...some weather, huh?" what a terrible, useless thing to say.

"yeah, think it's the heat," he agrees, and it must be lie because this is the only tolerable day this summer thus far.

getou grabs his bottle, slicks his fringe back, "good work today. but i have to go," he seems to ponder a few moments, standing idle on his heel. for a second, you think he'll talk about whatever has been eating him, or maybe even ask your opinion, but all he gives is another wince, "see you,"

"...yeah." you nod, "ice your lip, yeah? it looks bad."

"don't worry about me," he waves, walking across the grass toward the building.

and, like the cowardly soul that you are, you do not attempt to prod.

you stare into the depths of your cafeteria food. not a terrible assortment – not really – but you didn't feel like eating it, and you couldn't, no matter how often you played with the noodles or separated the chicken from its bone.

creak.

"eating alone, how sad."

gojo's shadow looms over. an amused expression fills his stupid, pretty features, and he tips forward on his seat, legs folding over one another. not exactly invading your personal space, but teetering just over the border. your food seems bleaker, somehow. unappealing faced with his sugary grin and the four slices of cake he brought for himself, all to be devoured likely before you can blink.

"it's kinda pathetic, to be honest,"

"bite me."

"got a rude mouth, ya know that?" his tone is teasing and gleeful. his thigh presses against your own, and you can feel him lean his weight on you. you make sure not to budge. gojo notices and gives a squeeze, just barely poking your muscle. you're not sure whether or not he is trying to rile you up or is just generally obtuse, "actually, i was coming by to tell you how shitty of a job you're doing with these cursed spirits lately. figured i'd do the academy a favor."

"cut it," you breathe, almost exasperated, but too tired to play his games, "not in the mood."

the remark would usually get him going, because you just giving in means that his constant, infuriating attacks finally got through. but not this time. his grin lessens. one could even say a sliver of sympathy passes him in the moment, but that is no emotion you associate with the man. no, you can practically taste the cruel amusement of your misery waft in the space between you two.

"that's a change," he turns a bit, knee to knee. glued to you, a persistent presence like him. you're painfully aware. you find yourself thinking back on the night spent recovering and your throat feels dry again, "didn't think i'd miss those little insults and passive aggressive looks,"

"didn't think you cared."

"mh. i don't," the delight never left him, and the statement makes the warmth of his leg tingle, like a fire is licking over you, "i guess it's boring if you don't throw a fit every other minute."

the nerve on him.

"are we done here?"

"depends," he folds his arms, rests his chin in the juncture of his elbow, glasses dipping low on the bridge of his nose. a pair of piercing eyes study you, and though his features are still arranged the same old annoying manner, a kinder edge appears, "do you wanna tell me why you're moping?"

"so, what, you can drag it out of the table and laugh at me?"

"have i done that yet?"

"god, spare me. you always find a way to," you sigh, shaking your head.

he seems to think for a few moments, scratching a cheek. in another world, another universe, maybe you two could be friends. his playful personality isn't half bad when it doesn't focus on making you a walking target or picking fun at the most obvious weak spots, and there is a certain comfort in knowing his abrasive edges as well as you do. you might even like him, if it wasn't for the past three years of utter cruelty and mental abuse.

"i'm not gonna deny that," he chuckles. it's deep, reverberating from his stomach, "it's funny when you get annoyed with me. all that poutin' is too cute."

"hate you."

"right," you sense the sting from his earlier words was supposed to be a compliment. which is an incredible reach on his part. gojo just enjoys pissing you off, and his little actions have become familiar, routine by this point, even if his methods of choice switch up from week to week.

"but today," gojo raises his finger, and it swings low like a pendulum until it's hovering just in front of your nose. the motion is strange to you, the quiet way it gravitates near to your skin. maybe he’s trying to hypnotize you, "you look especially miserable. and i'm not the cause. which i take offense to."

"mind your business, then."

the statement hangs for a second. the boy looks a tad... displeased? bothered, perhaps. the hand pulls away, and he raises both, defenseless, in a half-surrender.

"tell you what," the curve of his lips widens into a sharp grin. like a slasher smile from one of those movies they're so fond of showing at the theater these days, "since i'm feeling generous and i just saved you from having dinner alone with under-seasoned chicken, how about you answer my question, i'll answer yours."

you frown.

"well, let's hear it."

"hear what?"

"whatever is getting your panties in a twist and killing your appetite. the reason," he draws a rectangle in the air with a forefinger, mimicking a title, "why you look absolutely pitiful today."

the request does not catch you by surprise. his interest in getting under your skin isn't new information. nor is it a revelation that he doesn't speak unless he wants something. if not, you wouldn't see him all day. you suppose his new tactic is getting close and somehow stockhom syndrome-ing you to open up so he could either, a) tell everyone and laugh, b) use it against you, c) call you insane, or d) probably worse things.

still, if there's one person gojo genuinely cares about, it's getou. why, you're not entirely sure, and you have decided to spare yourself the trouble of finding out. there are laws to nature, and one of those laws is this: gojo satoru cares about getou suguru and considers him a dear friend, an equal. it's been obvious since day one.

you think. mull your words over with a carefulness you'd never thought you'd reserve for gojo. he pulls his glasses on top of his head, six eyes blinking curiously. they have a faint glow to them, you realize. a slight iridescence around the irises, like sunlight reflecting from the sea.

it's unnerving being examined so closely. you know he can see everything, maybe he can even see how your mind works. all those gears turning slowly under his inspection, wary not to slip up.

they could be pretty, maybe, if they weren't so terrifying,

you look away.

"i trained with suguru," you finally say, divulging it like it's some secret. it isn't. the fact isn't even uncommon knowledge – the two of you always spar when schedules match, and since it's so rare you're actually granted an afternoon together, there's no such thing as a time conflict.

gojo hums, encouraging and mocking all at once, "and?"

"and... we spoke briefly. but he seemed... i'm not sure, just weird. or distant," you shrug, like the dismissal will keep any curiosity at bay, "never thought it would get this hard."

"the crush?" he questions, brows perking up and smirk widening.

you blink, "what?"

"come on, you've been flirting and staring and dancing around each other for like, three years," he leans forward, almost purrs, "don't be shy. spill."

it takes you a whole thirty seconds, just processing and deciphering what's been said, what implications are hidden, and then another five just to say, "ah. makes sense. you've never had a healthy friendship with anyone, so why am i surprised."

he jostles your arm playfully, not hard but insistent, "admit it. you totally have a thing for him," he urges, grinning wide. you don't particularly want to think what type of thoughts run through his mind now, "c'mon, tell me. did you two have a fight? did you confess? did he reject you? how scandalous,"

"gojo."

"if you didn't tell him, that's okay," he doesn't pay you any mind, just babbles, "he'd reject you anyway, with you being you, y'know. not even because you're lame or anything, i think you're lame, but you have the cutest crush on him, but he wouldn't like you like that, cuz—"

and this is where you lose him, or functioning of your arm, because he's rambling and has it in an iron grip, like he's trying to shake you to an epiphany. and despite his cheery smile and absolute obnoxious lilt of his voice, you get the feeling that he isn't all that pleased with the situation of his own making.

the absolute, delusional idiot.

right, well, fuck a heart to heart, you suppose. just as you suspected, gojo will dig in the tiniest bit of vulnerability and twist the screw until you explode.

you pause, and he's too caught up in his yapping and his strawberry cake to notice the evil glimmer in your eyes. for whatever reason, gojo is displeased. likely, it's because he doesn't like losing, even to getou. your attention seems to be a hot commodity, and if getou did return your non-existent affections, gojo could no longer torment you as per some best friend bro code. the selfish bastard.

with this in mind, you smile. a malicious, mean-spirited sort of smile. the perfect kind of sweet curl of the lips, not unlike those you'd wear on your first days before your innocence was drained away, leaving you with bitter, ugly cynicism, "...you know," you start, and he halts, fork in mouth and cheeks bulging, "i never really thought about suguru like that, but now that you mention it... i guess he really is handsome. and kind, too."

he blinks. once.

twice, and it registers, at last.

"plus, we've grown rather close over the time. he tells me stuff i'm sure even you've never heard about."

"that right..." his voice comes low, teeth gritted around his dessert utensil, "weird, cuz he told me he doesn't like you. like, at all. even more than me, and i didn't think that was possible."

"hmmmm, i dunno," you drawl, "last night we were texting and—"

"i know, he showed me," what a bold faced lie, said so seriously, too, "we laughed and called you stupid."

"and then there was—"

"stop. please. don't make me physically puke," he gags, "so disgusting."

you continue, "maybe i should give it a shot. should i confess?"

"he'd reject you. and film it. and send it to me. i'd make copies."

"he likes tea, right?"

"hates it. loves coffee. makes his own, so don’t bother."

"tomorrow morning, i might just show up with some and ask him out for dinner. good idea?"

gojo twirls his fork, slowly, contemplating gauging your eye out. his jaw ticks, like a pulse, "why don't you eat your food. you need to choke on those bones."

he's sulking. and it's glorious to witness. the fire crackles underneath your chest. this isn't really how you'd intended it, and maybe getou has a legitimate problem he could need your support with, but seeing gojo act like a prick, thinking his ways had worked, is just too gratifying.

after all, a little torture shouldn't hurt, right? after all gojo's put you through, this is a tiny sacrifice. maybe this will teach him. and even if it doesn't, at least you can savor his sour mood until this too blows over and you become the latest source of his jokes and sneers.

"does suguru like chocolate?"

"allergic," he stabs the cake with his fork, and this is another horrible lie, because getou himself had once confessed to loving a good cheap 7/11 chocolaty snack and being so proud of eating the whole bar in one go, despite its gross ingredients and questionable expiration date, "don't even mention it."

"mh," you nod, trying not to smile too wide, "i guess chocolate for summer isn't the best idea. how about ice cream? you know his favorite kind, right?"

"duh. bubble gum," his words are bitter, "you're such a child. your brain must be frozen if you think suguru will like an ice cream date. he doesn't date, as a general rule."

"well, maybe he'd go with me-"

"yea. not happening, buckle up, sorry. so don't waste your time. and the money, probably, with that ugly face."

"but you said—"

"i lied. moron, i was lying." he seems genuinely irked. it brings you great joy. "why are you so obsessed with him?"

"eeeeh" you whine, "too bad. he would be a wonderful boyfriend. loyal and dependable."

"does your IQ equal zero?" his voice has taken on a strange edge, strained and frantic and pouty at once, "he doesn't like anyone. especially not you."

"that's a shame," you sigh dreamily. the face he pulls is worth it. you figure you've been successfully mean for now and can afford to lay off for a bit, though you doubt gojo's capable of caring beyond the shallow depths of his pride, "maybe i'm reading too far into it, but i think he's hinting that he—"

"stop that," the demand comes firm and sudden.

it startles you, though you doubt he could pull anything to truly take you by surprise by this point. your ruse dissolves, and you consider asking for further elaboration. it's not often gojo is being genuine and serious without his trademark sarcasm, not even for getou and certainly not for you. but then, the intensity of his gaze is overwhelming. it leaves you at a bit of a loss, when it's usually the other way around.

gojo is a walking catastrophe who twists things without thought. once again, you're caught in the shrapnel.

and just maybe, you’re more alike than you originally thought, because gojo never knows when to stop, and you don’t either.

"then... can you tell me if he has a favorite color?"

"he doesn't,"

"food?"

"nothing you'd make."

"i know he likes reading—"

"he doesn't, actually. he pretends, though."

"okay, enough."

"what?"

he stares with an almost innocently wide blue, and it's so striking and deep. a clear sky. an unyielding earnest, something that is both, rather unfortunately, alluring and maddening at the same time.

you hadn't really considered it until then, just a second ago, when he was so focused on ripping apart a potential partner of the person you do genuinely, maybe, perhaps have a crush on. his tone was pointed, and you got the distinct feeling he was acting to keep something at bay, something the two of you were standing on top of.

you don't know what that is, and now, you're a bit too timid to find out.

"just kidding," you say in english and hold up a peace sign, as if that would somehow erase the past ten minutes. gojo isn't tickled. the corner of his eye twitches and his breath seems to pause and he sits very, very still.

then, "i see, haha, good one," it comes airy and forced, "well played. you had me for a moment. got my heart racing."

he pushes the glasses back onto his face, hiding his expression before resuming the assault on the sweet desserts.

you don't look. instead, you focus on your plate and wonder if your food has gotten any colder. you sigh softly. getou may never know of this exchange, but you still feel like you should apologize for using his name to get a rise out of his best friend.

gojo slumps next to you, leaning his weight again, enough that you'd think it an accident, except it never really is with him. his arm, as if searching for balance, or in an attempt to relax, is thrown over the back of your chair, and he clears his throat before he resumes eating.

if this was a panel from shoujo manga you used to read as a teenager, you’d interpret this gesture as the main love interest showing some possessiveness over the naïve heroine. in fact, you’d wager that you had seen a scene just like this in a romance aptly titled my bully is in love with me! or something equally cringe like that.

but you know better. this isn’t shoujo manga, it’s actually a very awkward and somewhat uncomfortable moment between two classmates that don’t have a good relationship and likely never will.

you choose to let it slide. for now.

he remains quiet the whole time. you notice he avoids your eyes.

it's okay, you think. not like you'll tell anyone what's happened. the joke's on him anyway, but somehow, again, you feel like it's on you.

you: hi, suguru! sorry, we left really early for the mission, couldn't say goodbye. i'm bringing shoko, haibara-kun, and nanami-kun some souvenirs. would you also like one? (❁´◡`❁) 8:30am

you sent that message six hours ago. he must've read it by now, but he didn't respond. getou never texts back these days.

tags (couldn't tag the marked). @shokosbunny, @jotarohat, @alygator77, @fortunatelyfurrygiver, @finnydraws, @mastermasterlist1p1, @eolivy, @letsmyy

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artbyblastweave · 2 years ago

Text

Gideon The Ninth Liveread, Chapter 3

In which I post about Ortus a lot! Other things too. But I’m very interested in Ortus!

First off; I like the concept of bioluminescent dust as an omnipresent source of dim light. Feels like a form of adaptive technology for a society with limited resources and a need to light a whole bunch of cavernous spaces regardless; feels like a grounded technology, something that near-future humanity could throw together in a lab given a few months.

Here we get the image of a sea of bone in the pews, “pockmarked by people.” Hammering home the image of the remaining humans as corrupt, messy hanger-ons impeding the aesthetic purity and order of death; the vibe is similarly reinforced a little later with how the Skeletons leave in an orderly formation with no regard to the ability for the humans to get around them. (How sentient are necromantic constructs like this? Do they fill the niche of artificial intelligence within the setting?)

Ah, Ortus. I’ve many thoughts on Ortus.

So, first off, raw deal. Gideon and Harrow have their incipient Enemies-to-Lovers runaround keeping them occupied; Ortus is isolated even beyond that, and has been for his entire adult life; he doesn’t even get the dignity of being important in his status as cavalier, of being personally close with the heir to the ninth in any way, because the role of bone-porter is obviated by the fact that Harrow’s specific prodigy manifests through being able to do a lot with minimal materials.

Point two. Gideon, who has reasonable grounds to be pissed off at everyone and everything associated with the Ninth, paints Ortus as uniquely pathetic, and it’s a picture we’re collectively primed to accept unquestioningly; he’s burdened with one of the body types most acceptable to poke fun at AND easiest to end up with just through the passage of time. But crucially, Gideon is telling us the ways in which Ortus is a pathetic sad sack rather than having any of them play out in front of us. Ortus as described just sounds like.... a relatively sedentary thirty-five-year-old, reasonable given his total lack of opportunities to socialize; the main reason that Gideon and Harrow are in good shape is that they’re a pair of maniacs playing Tom-and-Jerry, but nobody on this rock is in good health besides them. That said, I don’t precisely blame Gideon for not extending the charity that I can (as I’m rather famously not an indentured servant.)

More thoughts on Ortus (and why I’m liking this what the story is doing with this Ortus guy!) after a brief digression about....

Harrow’s parents. I will not lie, this is absolutely a situation where the sheer volume of alluded-to atrocities gleefully lobbed about the tumblrsphere primed me to assume that the big secret was something significantly more atrocious. Dollars to Donuts there's a late-game reveal that what Harrow did with her parents is so negligible in the grand scheme of things that Gideon never had any meaningful leverage at all.

That said, this is absolutely a scene that, on further examination, drips with Homestuckery; my mind went immediately to the Baby-Jade-taxidermizing-her-grandfather gag, not just in the material circumstances, but also in the syntax of how the punchline is delivered- “In Fairness, she’d been 10 at the time.” Same style of comically backloading details like that in a deadpan fashion. Actually, the entire quasi-parentless set-up of the book thus far sort of reminds me of Homestuck’s overall vibe. Fantastic. I love it.

And Jesus. Poor Harrow. Gideon is completely incapable of extending a sympathetic thought here, quite reasonably, but good god. Poor Harrow.

Back to Ortusposting. A recurring pattern is that Muir does something funny and then immediately undercuts it in a way that makes it not actually funny if you read between the lines even a little bit. Gideon’s royally-pissed-off narration primes you to parse Ortus and his Mom as a Buster/Lucille situation, a tried-and-true one-note comedic trope, but then 500 words later that pat, clean-cut view of the dynamic collapses. You immediately realize from her reaction that Ortus’s mother knows something. She knows the things that befall Cavaliers. The histrionics that Gideon finds so entertaining are not the reaction of a woman who’s only afraid of post-partem separation. To the extent that Gideon is even right in her assessment that she “swaddles” Ortus (and Gideon’s is an outside perspective in many ways; she hasn’t been to one of these services in years, she doesn’t necessarily have the level of insight she thinks she does) she does so because she knows full well he's in line for something terrible as the only Cavalier around, probably something that got his dad killed too, and while the swaddling might not be helpful it's all she can do in the face of a shitty shitty situation. More and more it looks like any undue closeness that Ortus and his mother have is actually just a reasonable defensive measure for two people caught in a den of religiously zealous vipers. And this culminates in...

Poor, guileless Ortus and his doting mother getting the fuck-out-of-dodge on Gideon’s meticulously-stolen shuttle. Immediately after hearing the summons, with limited deliberation. They aren’t useless, aren’t indecisive, aren’t unagentic; they aren’t patsies- and these are all things Gideon’s narration primed me to believe that they would be, so the twist hit like a truck.

Ending line- “Because I completely fucking hate you, No Offense-” is a perfect closer. Vastly ups the comedic tension of the earlier sequence, too, because thus far I perceive no reason for Harrow to hate Gideon the way Gideon hates Harrow, but she’s putting exactly as much juice into her fuckery as Gideon does. Deranged! Completely Deranged.

Anyway, tune in for future chapters, where I continuously wonder to myself when the rest of the cast are going to begin assigning any weight to the fact that being a cavalier is apparently such a fraught prospect that Ortus and his mother immediately upended their status-quo of 35 years to escape him having to do it.

#We Stan Ortus #And His Mother #Gideon the ninth #gideon liveblog #the locked tomb #tlt #ortus nigenad #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon the ninth liveread #blastweave livereads #thoughts #meta #effortpost

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serpenteve · 4 years ago

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I'm having the horrible realization that Aleksander never actually did any serious wooing of Alina in the books. It's all just Alina her self being horny attracted to him. But this is supposedly???? His grand scheme???? Of manipulation???? Implications! It seems like the girls in these books wasn't the only one slut shamed. I'm- ☠

Leigh wrote a man sexy and captivating and said "it's his fault, actually, that Alina got a crush on him. He shouldn't of.... uh.." Flips through papers. "Ah, had such pretty eyes."

Okay! 👀Yes, we are finally doing this!

I'm flipping through my copy of Shadow & Bone and noting down all the interactions between the Darkling and Alina which I've put in chronological order beneath the cut.

First of all, the Darkling and Alina are only alone together in about a handful of scenes. Most of the time, the are surrounded by other Grisha or Baghra or are in a public place. A lot of the Darkling's actions and words are clouded by Alina's own insecurities. She constantly voices how she feels like she's not good enough, not pretty enough, not strong enough and he takes it in stride and gently encourages and placates her. There are a few lies he does tell her (that the Black Heretic was his ancestor, that he wants to destroy the Fold, and he doesn't know what Baghra's power is, etc) but if we extrapolate the trajectory of her ill-fated romance arc, I think even book!Darkling would have told Alina about his real plans if she seemed like she'd accept them.

A lot of speculation has been made about the Darkling's seduction of Alina and honestly???? Aleksander literally just exists and Alina is thirsting for him because she's desperately looking for validation and re-assurance. I initially head-canoned his first kiss by the lake as being pure calculation and the kiss at the Winter Fete being 100% accidental (because Dark Lord Sasha played himself lmao) but on this re-read, I don't even know anymore. He already came close to almost kissing her after they have a tender moment, catches himself and then immediately leaves before he can catch feelings. Then when they share another tender moment at the lake, he kisses her and then is surprised by it and before he can really process it, Ivan comes by to cockblock.

Like, even Leigh (as much as she has shit on this ship) said at one point that the Darkling has strong feelings for Alina, even if he may not necessarily quantify them as love. So looking back, I don't read anything the Darkling did as manipulative seduction. He obviously lied about some stuff and wasn't transparent about his real plans for the Fold, but as a military commander who sees Alina as an opportunity for a coup, it makes sense that he'd play that a little close to the chest---especially when Alina has proved to be wary of his powers and has a very black-and-white sense of morality. If anything, this is less "the Darkling seduced Alina to manipulate her into being used!!11" and more "local dark lord tried to encourage his protege and accidentally caught feelings and it was a mASSIVE FUCKING INCONVENIENCE TO HIS EVIL PLANS"

But you know who does slut-shame Alina a lot? Baghra. Seriously, Baghra makes Alina feel like shit for her crush on the Darkling numerous times. She has all these lines:

"You want to be [his pet]...Don’t bother lying to me. You’re like all the rest. I saw the way you looked at him."

"Dreaming of dancing with your dark prince?"

"Foolish girl." (After Alina shamefully admits the Darkling might come to her that night)

At one point Baghra creeps on Alina and the Darkling's interactions and even though literally nothing happens between them and when the Darkling leaves, Alina catches Baghra giving her a snooty look. ("For no reason at all, I blushed")

She is determined to shame Alina for her feelings and make her feel like a lovesick idiot for daring to crush on him and this is in addition to all the slut-shaming Mal does. The narrative revealing the Darkling is the bad guy all along while leaving Alina no compelling arc to discover this on her own feels very much like Leigh hitting us all with Baghra's stick, like "Foolish girls! You thought he cared about Alina just because he has a sexy jawline??? HAHA HE LIED YOU SLUTS"

Scenes with Alina and the Darkling in Book 1

Their first scene together is in the Grisha tent. Based on Alina's description of him, she already thinks he's hot as barely any other character in this godforsaken series gets so many descriptions of their grey/smoke/slate/quartz eyes as Aleksander does 😏

The next time they're together he saves her life. Alina is traumatized from seeing a man sliced in half and the Darkling instructs her to keep her eyes on him instead. She is disturbed that he killed the person about to murder her and this aversion seems incredibly contrived and arbitrary on behalf of the author. It's almost like she wants Alina to be vindicated and shamed for not trusting her initial bigotry against him or something 🤔The Darkling admits even he can make mistakes and then he touches the back of Alina's neck (with some secret Heartrender/Healer abilities?) and she falls asleep riding on his horse.

They spend the next few days traveling. Alina notes that the Darkling hasn't spoken to her (probably because he's focused on getting her to the Little Palace without any more assassination attempts) but Alina is a paranoid she's offended him somehow. Again, this is just Alina's insecurity painting a narrative that simply doesn't exist based on what actually happened so far.

They exchange a few words by the stream and Alina fishes for pity points by saying she's ugly and can't possibly be Grisha. Aleksander appears 100% done with her stupidity and says she doesn't understand but he's not in the mood to explain at the moment and walks off ☠️

Alina joins the Darkling and his men for a meal. She notes that the grouse they've killed is meager shared meal but that the Darkling doesn't want to put his men in danger by sending them out to hunt in the forest at night 😌He also sits on the floor to eat like they do and he doesn't take more than the regular portion than they do 😌. Sorry, how is this man the most ~evil~ wizard on the planet? He is obviously a good and fair commander and beloved by the Grisha.

Alina has been checking Aleksander out the entire time so when he catches her, he walks over to talk. He fishes around for information on what Alina has heard about him. He seems sad when Alina mentions she has heard that Darklings are born without souls, though not surprised. He then spins the story about the Black Heretic being his ancestor and how the Fold was a mistake and how every Darkling since then has tried to undo it and how Alina is "the first glimmer of hope" he's had in a long time.

Because Alina is still on that "Grisha are unnatural monsters" agenda, she asks him about the Cut and he explains it but she's still distrubed. He asks her if it would have been better if he used a sword and she replies: "I don't know". The Darkling gets offended and leaves. Alina tries to convince herself she can't have possibly hurt his feelings (because Darklings don't have souls or feelings?) and then feels paranoid that she's failed some secret test. Yeah, the test you failed is called "empathy", Alina 🙄

Two days later, they arrive at Os Alta. Aleksander roasts the Grand Palace as the ugliest effing building he's ever seen. He leaves immediately after dumping Alina at the Little Palace and Alina actually seethes that he isn't paying more attention to her? I understand that it's overwhelming to go to a brand new place, but Alina expecting him to constantly hold her hand and explain everything to her after she basically insulted him is a bit strange.

The next time Alina sees the Darkling, they are scheduled to appear before the King and Queen. The demonstration is a surprise for Alina and Aleksander's lack of transparency of what's expected of her means she's forced to rely on him and trust his instincts. This might be his underhanded way of getting Alina to see that she can trust him; that he will not make her look like a failure or humiliate her; that they are in this together and it will only work if she trusts him.

After the demonstration, Genya and the Darkling trash the monarchy for a bit (Alina is horrified) and then the Darkling orders Genya to get a black kefta for Alina, to which Alina infamously wants a blue one. The Darkling doesn't really put up much of a fight, merely wanting to know why. Alina decides he doesn't approve of her choosing blue and wonders to Genya if he's angry.

After Alina's first day, the Darkling calls her to his quarters to ask her how her day was. Alina is surprised that this is all he wanted to know because she was paranoid he was going to torture her??? She says: "Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?...You can cut people in half. I think it's fair to be a little intimidated." If the Darkling is offended or angry about this, he doesn't show it and merely indulges her. He notes that she has a habit of running her hand across a scar on her palm and asks her about it, tracing the scar himself. Alina gets distracted by his touch but manages to answer his questions: she got the scar at Keramzin, Mal is also an orphan, he is good at tracking. He shows her a secret passage back to her rooms to avoid the main hall.

Alina starts her training and at one point laments that the Darkling is rarely at the Little Palace and when he is, he never speaks to her or barely looks her way and she is convinced it's because she's a failure and can't summon light on her own. It could also be because, you know, he's the commander of the Second Army and is usually seen in talks with other military advisors and the fact that Alina kinda lowkey insulted him with her wariness about his powers???

The next time they are together, Alina interrupts him and Baghra arguing. He politely asks her how she is. Baghra antagonizes her. The Darkling defends her. They talk about amplifiers and because Baghra is being a snarky little shit about it, they take their conversation outside.

Aleksander complains about how annoying his mom is and then asks Alina what stories she's heard about Morozova's herd. At one point he laughs for the first time and Alina practically creams her pants at the sound. Alina expresses her concerns that she can't summon any light and the Darkling says he's not worried and it will happen when it happens and worse case scenario, it will happen once she has the stag. They have a quiet intimate moment, gazing softly into each other's eyes and then suddenly Aleksander realizes he's catching feelings and steps back suddenly like "GoodLuckWithYourLessonsOKayBYE". Baghra watches this interaction from her hut and gives Alina a slut-shaming look.

Alina eventually does learn to summon light on her own. Baghra gives her grief about how it's not enough. The Darkling shows up during one of these lessons and says as much. Alina says she's useless. The Darkling corrects her (“I don't think you're useless, Alina....No Grisha is powerful enough to face the Fold. Not even me”) and then he apologizes for letting her down ("I've asked you to trust me and I haven't delivered"). He wonders if his mother is right and he's crazy to hunt the stag. They have a nice bonding moment, Aleksander lies about Baghra's power, and then he asks if Alina would think him crazy for still wanting to find the stag. She asks why he cares what she thinks, he seems genuinely surprised himself that he cares. Then he kisses her. He seems not to have meant to kiss her because then Ivan shows up for his 5 o'clock shift of cockblocking and the Darkling immediately pretends like nothing happened and walks away with him. Like dude is acting like a fucking dork who's allergic to feelings at this point. I should note here that Alina practically has an orgasm from how giddy she is about this moment. She can barely think of anything else.

The next time they're together, it's at the Winter Fete. They do their demonstration and Alina accidentally reveals her insecurities about how he had kissed her and then disappeared. He responds, "Did you really think I was done with you?" and then they enjoy some steamy kisses and thigh grabbing in an empty room before a random round of Grisha show up for their 6 o'clock shift of cockblocking. Aleksander is annoyed at his own attraction to Alina. He asks if he can come to her that night but Alina doesn't get a chance to respond.

and then the Darklina romance arc falls off a giant cliff and dies a terrible death 😭😭😭

#viv answers #god this ended up being so long WOW #i had a lot of feelings i guess #cw: purity culture #sab meta #grisha discourse #darklina #viv metas

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minhoinator · 3 years ago

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Since there are a lot more new fans since DCM/Atlantis era, I thought I might compile a list of the links and names of Minho's dramas and films he's been in! I'll put it all under the cut and I'll try to keep it update since he seems intent on being booked and busy lol

The Pianist (2010) [youtube] - "Oh Je Ro is a musical genius who had always dream of learning the piano, but had to work in a piano factory as tuner instead of going to school in order to support his sick father. He had despaired of ever being given a chance to learn and thought the name his father gave him sounded like "Oh, Zero", signifying his lack of hope in the future. This changes when he meets an elementary school teacher, Yoon In Sa, and begins a delicate love story with her." (personal note: While you can tell it's his first time acting outside of SHINee's mvs, he's still super cute (granted, I'm very biased, so that anything I say with a grain of salt lol)

Salamander Guru and the Gang (2012) [dramacool] - "A pair of common thieves and a young computer hacker run a fortunetelling scam, while helping people with their personal problems in their spare time." (note: Kibum and Taemin do cameo in this, as well)

To The Beautiful You (2012) [viki] [dramacool] - "A high school girl who's inspired by a gold-medal High Jumper devises a scheme to motivate him by attending his school."

Medical Top Team (2013) [viki] [dramacool] [Minho-only cut] - "A team of elite doctors treats patients while dealing with power struggles within the hospital."

Because It's the First Time (2015) [dramacool] - "A group of young people gather on a rooftop and tell their stories." (note: Taeoh's friends absolutely did not deserve him 😤)

Canola (2016) [dramacool] - "Twelve years after having lost her grand daughter at a market, grand mother and grand daughter become reunited. But things are not as good and perfect as they were twelve years earlier. (note: his first movie! 🥺)

Drinking Solo (2016) [dramacool] - "The story depicts people drinking alcohol alone for different reasons and the romance between Jin Jeong Seok and Park Ha Na. They both work at a private institute for people preparing for their civil service examinations in Noryangjin, Seoul. He is an arrogant, but popular instructor and she is a rookie instructor who struggles to survive in the private institute world." (note: full disclosure, I could not stand the main leads, but I was watching this for Kibum anyways, and he was phenomenal lol Minho just has a cameo appearance in this, and that's episode 5, I believe)

Derailed (2016) [dramacool] - "Four runaways trying to survive and make ends meet struggle day by day. Enter Ma Dong-Seok. He tried to help but they took advantage of the wrong guy. So it's the classic mistake of wrong guy at the wrong time." (note: one of my favorite roles he's done. he didn't have to go as hard as he did but he did and i'm grateful)

Hwarang: The Poet Warrior Youth (2016-2017) [viki] [dramacool] - "Revolves around an elite group of male warrior youth called Hwarang who grow through passion and love in Seorabeol, the capital of the ancient kingdom of Silla." (note: i have watched this....many times. I love it unapologetically. Kim Sooho has done nothing wrong ever in his life)

Somehow 18 (2017) [dramacool] - "A handsome orthopedic surgeon loses his first love who committed suicide when he was in his high school days. To save her he gets the chance to go back in time."

The Most Beautiful Goodbye in the World (2017) [dramacool] - "The story revolves around a family with their highs and lows when their beloved mother only has one month left to live." (note: I bought this one on dvd so i could watch it when I'm ready but it sounds so sad 🥺 i have to psych myself up for it)

The Princess and the Matchmaker (2018) [dramacool] - "Princess Songhwa refuses her fate of marrying someone who matches her marital harmony. There are four men on her future husband list with different fate signs. Refusing her fate, she decides to leave the palace and find her husband by herself. Seo Do Yoon is a person who interprets marital harmony signs. He is very skilled at his craft and, consequently, selected as the one to read the marital harmony signs between Princess Songhwa and the four men on her husband list."

Illang: The Wolf Brigade (2018) [dramacool] - "Set in the distant future where both North and South Koreas agree to establish a joint government, which has been in preparation for a duration of seven years, the plot focuses on political uprisings on opposing sides which grow fierce when a special police unit is formed to stop the chaos." (note: 🥺😭)

The Battle of Jangsari (2019) [viki] [dramacool] - "A unit of student soldiers on a diversionary mission for the Battle of Incheon during the Korean War in 1950." (note: yeah so i was a complete mess for like the last twenty minutes so just prepare yourself (it's well worth it, though, he was absolutely amazing in this))

Lovestruck in the City (2020-2021) [dramacool] - "Park Chae Won, an honest and overly passionate architect who loves the city streets. After a woman that he calls the “camera thief” steals his heart one summer night and then disappears, he is unable to get over her. Lee Eun Oh, a freelance marketer who spontaneously decides to adopt a false identity in an unfamiliar place. She accidentally ends up falling in love with Park Chae Won while posing as the free-spirited Yoon Sun Ah."

Yumi's Cells (2021) [viki] [dramacool] - "The story of an ordinary office worker named Yumi-from the point of view of the many brain cells in her head controlling her every thought, feeling, and action." (note: just, so adorable so far. Minho plays a side character who shows up occasionally (heavily in the first two episodes), but the story is based off of a web comic that I read when I found out he got cast as Wook and honestly it's worth the watch even if he wasn't in it)

#SHINee #Minho #Choi Minho #Minho's filmography #Choi Minho's filmography #mine #look at me; promoting him more than SM ever will #lmao #anyways i'll keep this updated!#descriptions are by imdb lol #it's just so cool to see how much he's grown as an actor over the years #i'm really proud of him #I can't wait to see what happens with Goosebumps uwu

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alfredosauce50 · 4 years ago

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From a past life [Yandere vampire! Romania x reader]

Synopsis: For centuries, he waited for your return--your rebirth. So when he finally learns of your whereabouts just outside of Wallachia, he rushes to meet you in hopes of becoming what you both used to be. But he runs into a predicament when he learns you're in a relationship with a man, a pesky human mortal by the name of Daniel. He'll do anything to get rid of him, even if he has to play dirty. He made a promise to you that he would find you for the rest of your lifetimes, so God forbid that he breaks it. Wordcount: 3, 813 The reader is referred to as she/her.

A trip to Romania had always been on your bucket list. Your boyfriend was just as excited to go, but he wouldn’t have been if it turned out to be the last trip you'd ever go on with him.

Today was when you would visit the highlight of your itinerary. On the Transylvania side of the border with Wallachia, and nestled in miles of rolling hills, was Bran castle. The awe-inspiring fortress told one of the most famous tales of old as Count Dracula's abode. Or at least, it was rumored to be as it fit the description of it.

Needless to say, you were dragging him around the estate to admire anything and everything that piqued your interest or served as a potential photo spot. “Oh, hurry up, Daniel! This is where he slept!” Scrambling closer to the grand bed, which was certainly framed with more wood than needed, you leaned in behind the red rope that fenced off the artifact. Then, you flashed him a wide grin.

He returned the gesture with a tender smile of his own. “I'm as old as this castle, kicsim. Let me take things in slowly.”

“You're only three years older than me. I don't think you have the right to call me little or yourself old.” Flattening your lips at that, your frown melted away as quickly as it appeared.

“But look! Dracula's sheets and mattress. Though it would make more sense to say it was Vlad's... The guy he was based on. Hmm, but that wouldn't make sense either.”

The man rubbed the nape of his neck with a soft laugh. It was no doubt he shared your enthusiasm, but your unapologetic passion always made him fall harder than he already had. “Yep. I believe he was imprisoned here. I don't think he'd be getting the master bedroom.” He appeared from behind and rested himself on your head as you placed a pistol grip on your chin.

“Even then, I can't imagine him sleeping so soundly after sticking so many sticks up people's--” Two strong arms squeezed around your waist to make you gasp.

“Ah-!”

“Okay! What do you say we go down to the gardens for a walk, hm?”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Skipping out in front of him, you held onto his hands and swung his arms. “I'm gonna go down to the pond, okay? You can enjoy this place nice and slowly like the old person you are.”

This was the greenest garden you ever had the pleasure to stroll through, even the tea house blended in with its moss-covered roof. It only emphasized how ancient this castle really was, and something about it delighted you in ways you couldn't articulate.

“Alright, kicsim. I'll see what nice flowers I'll add to my hair.” Daniel scooped the pink blossom from his hazel brown bangs and placed it behind your ear. “When I do, I'll come get you. Don't let any vampires find you before I do.” Shooting you a wink at that, you pecked him on the nose before running off.

Who would have thought those words would ring truer than he intended? Several miles away, slept a man who was as old as Bran castle. His name too was Vlad, though he never earned such a fearsome reputation by impaling his enemies. Instead, he kept a low profile and dedicated his long, neverending life to finding someone.

Every restless night, she was what he dreamed of since her passing.

When I go, promise me you'll find me again.

Promise me.

Fluttering his eyes awake, they glowed a blood-red in the darkness of his bedroom. They drooped with a tiredness that never seemed to go away no matter how much he rested.

Sliding off the mattress, he folded the flaps of his robes tightly around his body before making his way into the halls. Every corner of this humble countryside cottage he called his home was enshrouded with shadows, and not to mention the thick coating of dust caking the top of every shelf, couch, and tabletop.

He hadn't cleaned this house for centuries. His will to try withered away through the years in his lonesome, but he was patient. Peeking through the gap between the curtains of his overgrown hair, his irises shrunk as the blinding daylight poured into them through the drapes of his living room window. He could feel it in his dead still heart.

Something had changed.

Out there in the world scorched by the sun, was something even warmer. And it was so familiar, so tender, he could not mistake it for anything else, or anybody else for that matter.

She was nearby, and the thought filled him to the brim with a joy so potent, tears of relief welled in his wide eyes. He had waited hundreds of years for this moment. For her return. Her rebirth that would usher in his own.

The prospect was so invigorating, he felt as if his heart began to beat again. He never felt so alive. Scurrying back to his bedroom, he sat in front of his vanity to access his appearance. He had to look presentable before meeting her, hadn't he? A bedhead like this and nightwear would simply not do.

Especially when he hadn't cut his hair for at least twenty years.

Giving his long locks of strawberry-blonde a thorough comb, he let it fall straight down to his lower back. With a few quick snips, he shortened his bangs by a few inches to give the impression he had some sort of control over an otherwise uncontrollable mane of hair.

As he shed himself of his robes in exchange for day clothes, a white dress shirt paired with dark plaid pants, one singular thought repeated in his head like a broken record. As morbid as it sounded, it was more of a Godsend than anything.

Death was never the end. Not for her, and not for him. Or rather, a new beginning.

But it didn't start the way he imagined. Following her sweet scent to the gardens of the famed Bran castle, he found the smell growing more and more pungent, albeit confused. It was mixed with another's, tainted by the stench of a human male. His irises thinned to slits, and he tensed up all over. How could this be?

Hiding behind a tree, he peered over the side to confirm his suspicion.

There she was, her beauty as pristine and untouched as the last time he loved her. For just one second, he was over the moon. But his euphoria was short-lived when he saw that she was with a man. Kissing him, even. Even though it was just on the nose, any further down her face would have caused him to start an apocalypse.

That insignificant, trifling, and scheming little creature. He was about to reap what he sowed. How dare he take his place? It was him she was meant to with, not that pesky mortal!

Whipping his head to the front, his eyes went round with disbelief and his breathing grew ragged. An unfathomable ache spread in his chest as he dug his nails into the bark. How could he have let this happen? It took every shred of his willpower to keep the waterworks at bay.

His throbbing heart was also weighed down with a pang of heavy guilt. To allow another soul to be this close to her was a grave disservice to the promise he made. But that didn't mean he couldn't undo this.

In just a few seconds, he formulated an intricate plan to carry out well-deserved revenge. To have her in his arms again, and him, out of the picture where he belonged. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. When he spun around, he grabbed him by the neck and caught him in a trance with his hypnotizing, inhuman gaze.

“You will give these flowers to the nearest young woman you see. Put them in her hair and kiss her on the lips.” Opening his own palm, he materialized three peonies before placing them in the other's.

Unable to escape the powerful snare cast by a vampire such as himself, Daniel did so as told. “I will give these flowers to the nearest young woman I see. I will put them in her hair and kiss her on the lips.” He reiterated monotonously with his eyes glazed over.

Watching the helpless man saunter off, he smirked devilishly as he exchanged glances with his long-lost lover. This would hurt her a great deal, but she would only be devastated if he never did it.

You had been watching the pond, completely ignorant to the scene that was about to unfold. Little did you know, it was purposely orchestrated. Using a stick to prod at your reflection, you lingered on the ripples distorting it before glancing up. In the distance was none other than your boyfriend, and judging from the pink in his hands, he found his flowers.

So you stood up. You would have snuck up on him as a surprise, but your feet remained firmly planted on the ground when you witnessed him give it away, then flirt with another woman. It couldn't be mistaken for anything else. He was kissing her!

Frankly, you couldn't believe it. One year was all it took for him to lose interest? Blood flushed your face as bile rose in your throat. How could he? And during a vacation at that, too! Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes, but you blinked them away when you heard the light treading of feet nearby.

This had to be a misunderstanding. Right?

Spinning to the source, you found yourself staring at the most peculiar man you had ever seen. He carried a delicate parasol to shade him from the sunlight. Combined with his pasty white skin, it was almost as if he was one of the very mythological creatures the country was renowned for.

He smiled gently, almost understandingly.

“Are you alright, domnișoară? I have a spare handkerchief if you'd like.” His alluring voice was as bewitching as a siren, but his mere presence brought you unspeakable comfort. And yet, he was nothing but a stranger, an odd one at that, so you were at a loss to realize that all it took for you to gravitate towards him was for your eyes to meet.

“I'm okay, thank you. But I couldn't possibly accept something like that. I mean, I don't know you...” Waving your hands at the man apologetically, you took the opportunity to scan him up and down.

As if he walked right out of a fairytale, he oozed prince-like charm. His clothes were traditional and refined, but that long, silky hair of his was certainly a rare sight--rare but breathtakingly beautiful. It gave his character untold notions of grandeur, mystery, and an inexplicable impression he was ancient.

But that couldn't be, not when he didn't look a day over twenty.

“What do you mean, you won't take it? It's yours.” He pulled out a small piece of fabric from his sleeve. Placing the finely embroidered cloth into your palm, he never gave you the chance to object. “It would be rude to regift something, so you'll have to keep it forever.” Mischief curled at his lips, and you couldn't help but laugh a little.

“Alright, alright, you got me there.”

You dabbed away the moisture before breathing out a sigh.

“I'm sure you're a very nice person, but I can't bother you more than I already have. Thank you, again, Mr. Vampire.” If it weren't for how heartbroken you were, you would have been mortified. Being pitied by a Romanian local was never part of your plan.

Just when you were betrayed by Daniel, he appeared like a knight in shining armor. If only you could forget what happened between you and your boyfriend. Otherwise, you would be bragging about meeting a vampire in Romania for as long as you could talk.

“Mr. Vampire?” He lifted his head before revealing a pair of sharp fangs in a grin. Now that caught you off guard. “You don't see me calling you miss human--and I have a name, thank you very much.” As he placed his gloved hand on his chest to playfully feign offense, he bit back another smile at the sound of your amused giggling.

Despite what happened a few minutes ago, talking to this actor was making you feel better already.

“And let me guess, is it Alucard?” You shook your head. “Or is it Vlad? You can't possibly call yourself Dracula looking like that.”

He blinked incredulously, then curved an arm over his face as if to cover himself with his non-existent cloak. “How did you know?”

“That your name is Alucard?”

“No, Vlad.”

“Okay, close enough. It was nice meeting you, Vlad, but I have a stupid boyfriend to scream at.” At the mention of that, you looked like you were on the verge of tears again. “All I'm hoping is that he's still my boyfriend after this. If only he were as much of a gentleman as you.”

He reflected your distress in a frown, and you would have been surprised by how much this apparently bothered him. But you already walked off. So he offered one last niceity before you strayed too far. “Good luck with your boyfriend.”

“No promises.”

He let those two words affect him more than he intended. Needless to say, he moved on quickly to watch you run to the unsuspecting brunette. Soon, his anguish was staved off by the sight of you shoving him back a few steps.

What looked like a one-sided argument broke out, and all the poor, confused man could do was just that--be confused. Shortly after, you stormed off, and he jogged behind, desperately calling your name.

A sinister smile cracked at Vlad's lips, and his irises glowed red. That little thing had no idea what was yet to happen to him.

That night, Daniel took you to the Brașov city hall for dinner. The beautiful buildings surrounding a fountain were as traditional as they were clean. Too bad your zeal was burned away by your anger. In the few hours in the hotel before, he barely managed to soothe it by explaining himself. A given, considering his explanation made no sense whatsoever.

He couldn't remember flirting with a woman.

“I think we could share a pizza. Are you okay with that?” Lifting his gaze to meet yours, you only turned away to stare out the window into the endless night. Your spaciness was deserved on his part, but little did he know, it only had so much to do with his wrongdoings.

The eccentric local never left your mind. After all, he gave you something to smile about with his whimsical kindness.

Vlad must have been an entertainer, a virtuoso at that, but his actions never came off as ingenuine. To be frank, you were drawn to his sincerity, and even looking for him subconsciously, wishing that he could magically appear because you willed it.

If only Daniel could be just as sincere.

“I must be okay with a lot of things.” His face fell. The same sorrow from when he was at the hotel room returned, but you couldn't care to give it any attention. “Like you pretending you didn't kiss someone right in front of me because you don't remember. I'm not stupid. Who else would have long hair tied back and flowers in their fringe?”

Daniel knitted his brows so tightly together, creases formed between them. “... I know it sounds like I'm lying, but I swear to you I didn't do it. You know me, (F/N).” At this point, he hadn't the foggiest what to say to appease you because he simply didn't do it. “I promise. All I'm asking is for you to trust me.”

“You promise?” You fumed.

There was only one thing you hated more than a liar.

“I trusted you, Daniel, I really did. But how could you ask me to trust you after I talked to that girl? She remembered it, so why can't you? Did you think I was that crazily into you I could let anything slide?” The biting truth silenced him, but it was the sound of you choking back tears that broke his heart.

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom to think this over.”

He had no way to argue with you, let alone the heart to when it was just broken and crushed to a thin slab of flesh. What if he really did kiss someone, and miraculously forgot?

“When I come back, I better not see you kissing anybody again.”

Standing up at that, he watched you leave with a defeated expression. Then, he folded his arms across the table and buried his face into it. There was no way he could fail that, could he?

What were the odds of kissing someone again when he had absolutely no intention to? The chances were dwindling at zero as he kept his head down. Unless supernatural forces were at work, nothing could get him to budge from sitting at this table.

But even he couldn't count on the world of the mundane to save him.

Sitting a few tables away was the exact opposite of mundane. When the front door slammed shut, he stood up and walked to the customer with their head down. While all the men in the establishment wore their hair short, his was long and flowing like time itself. There was something other-worldly about him. Something ghostly in the way he walked.

With every step he took, his feet never seemed to touch the ground as if he was floating. And his pale complexion was just as macabre as how he carried himself.

Not a minute passed, and Daniel found himself standing outside by the fountain. With absolutely no recollection, he somehow left the restaurant and wound up here in the festive courtyard. As shock paralyzed him from head to toe, the only thought that occurred to him was this. What in the hell was going on?

Rather than sitting head down in the warm restaurant, he was out here, chilled by the biting European cold. Couldn't he have at least remembered the transition?

In front of him was the same woman he supposedly flirted with in the gardens. And judging from the blush on her cheeks, he just threw away all his chances at making up with you.

“Listen, I... I don't know you. Forget me. Forget this ever happened.” Daniel trembled, feeling a chill run down his spine as he staggered back a few steps. It was like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. There was just no sound explanation for this when this situation wasn't sound at all. Whatever it was, this was clearly a case of sabotage.

And like hell he was giving in to whoever that masterminded it.

He ran back inside with a fearful kind of urgency. Rushing back to the table he unwillingly abandoned, he froze when he saw you marching towards him down the aisle with murder on your mind. But death was too lenient a punishment. It would grant him a clean slate, a new beginning from a past life of unfaithfulness.

So he was splashed with a glass of red wine instead.

As the crimson liquid soaked his hair, it spread over his shirt like blood. After you saw what he did, the last shred of hope you didn't know you had died, squelched out there on his clothes for the world to see. A chorus of gasps was heard from every corner of the restaurant. Unbeknownst to the patrons who murmured amongst themselves, it wasn't just any lover's quarrel they were watching.

Daniel's breath hitched as he struggled to process his mortification. Behind you stood the very gentleman that tapped him awake, but he never made the connection between him and his misfortunes.

And perhaps, it was better that way.

After leaving your boyfriend for good, Vlad offered to walk with you around the city. Once again, he had swooped in to save you, only this time around, he was staying.

“So... What are you gonna do now?” He asked, casting a tender gaze your way. Before you could wrap your arms around yourself, he beat you to it and flung his cloak around your body. When you gawked at him, he only grinned toothily with his fangs.

Your cheeks reddened and you turned away. Why he was still in his vampire getup was beyond you. But seeing his enthusiasm only reminded you that you lost yours. “... Book another hotel room. Spend the rest of this holiday crying. Maybe never think of this country ever again.”

“And I'm not letting you do any of those things.” He hummed, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Why do you think I'm walking with you right now, hm? I'm gonna take you around to the best spots in Transylvania. The most haunted ones, I mean. So you can forget about going back to the hotel.”

You sighed but managed a small smile. “That's great and all, but I'm not made of money. And my stuff is all there.”

He squinted. “... Oh yeah. But after we get your stuff, we can go elsewhere, can't we?”

A few laughs fell from your lips. His generosity really knew no bounds. “Your house, then? You do realize I only met you today, right?”

Vlad closed his eyes. He could beg to differ.

“But you're still walking with me alone. In the dark.”

“Only because you saw me cry twice today. I wouldn't be mad if you killed me so I don't have to be so embarrassed.” He frowned at the sound of that, so you added this. “I was just kidding. Something about you just makes me feel... Strangely comfortable. Like I've met you before. Isn't that weird?”

“... Not really.” Reaching the top of a hill, he stared at an old castle in the distance, sitting high up in the mountains. “There's a legend about this city. Hundreds of years ago, a vampire and a human woman fell in love. She died, of course. But people say he's still around, waiting for her to reincarnate so they can be together again.”

The way he spoke was so sad, it was almost as if he was that very vampire himself. But what did that have to do with you?

“... Okay. Then do you think he'll ever find her?”

Vlad turned to you with an unreadable expression, but there was an untold fondness in how he looked at you.

“He already has.”

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 years ago

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Garou and the futility of heroism

.With much thanks to @the-nysh for the conversation. I thought of making this longer and more detailed, but I know myself: it’ll turn into one of those drafts that hangs around for years.

I've recently been reading the Epic of Gilgamesh as a part of reducing my terrible ignorance of the foundations of Western literature. Cracking good yarn, highly recommended, but I’m not here to talk literature. The latter half of the story is dominated by Gilgamesh’s struggle against the idea that he was inevitably going to die.

Where this relates to Garou is not that he’s railing against the inevitability of death and the reality that everything built up over a life will crumble to dust. What Garou is struggling against is the seeming futility of heroism.

His specific approach is all sorts of bad, but the reality he's struggling against is something brought up repeatedly in One-Punch Man. One of the *big* themes in One-Punch Man is critically examining what a hero is actually good *for*. No matter how diligent a hero is, no matter how strong they are, the world's evils do not disappear.

It's very outrageous and painful to acknowledge how small and fleeting one's efforts are in the grand scheme of things.

The moment we get a look into Saitama’s thoughts, it’s the very first thing he leads with. Literally the very first sentence of his thinking.

Saitama might be the strongest hero ever, able to defeat anything in one punch. Not only has the world not become a better place as a result of his actions, but the very neighbourhood he lives in has become depopulated as it’s become too dangerous to live there. In its own way, having birdsong be the loudest sound in the morning is its own rebuke to Saitama’s ambitions of helping people.

Watchdogman is the most diligent hero ever, with a perfect monster elimination record. And yet, City Q is as monster-infested as ever. Should anything happen to him, it will be as if he never existed for all the good his previous efforts will have done its inhabitants.

however diligently he sits, the pedestal he’s on will crumble the moment he cannot do his job any longer.

And that’s just talking about monsters. There are a lot of very bad people in OPM world and not just of the cackling mad scientist variety, although it’s got plenty of those too.

The world of One-Punch Man also has evils driven by factors that are far too big for any hero by their action to stop. Problems best addressed at the political or economic level aren’t going to be solved with a punch.

Even when the evil appears to be tied up with a single person, like the Ninja Village was established by That Man, getting rid of them doesn’t necessarily change affairs. The Village stole the freedoms and lives of boys for a good fifteen years after Blast defeated That Man. It was still too profitable to *not* do.

when you think about it, crime must really pay in One-Punch Man!

Even when you say you’re going to do something simple and heroic, like save a single child from the clutches of a monster... what do you mean by ‘saved’, exactly? How brutally difficult it is to save even a single person, how easily it is that your best efforts to be turned to naught by an adverse event, like springing a rabbit from a trap only to have it swooped up by a hawk, is fully on display this arc.

so many heroes’ efforts and yet Waganma went almost nowhere...truly like fetching water out of a river with a basket!

Other than Saitama, we see so many other heroes struggle with the reality of how little they can change things in the long term. Very notable is the conversation that Snek has with Suiryu, where Suiryu challenges Snek to justify why he bothers being a hero at all? “No matter how hard you try, it’s just drops of water on burning rocks,” Suiryu says, something done for self-satisfaction rather than because it actually creates meaningful change. Snek’s thoughts mirror Suiryu’s as he considers whether heroes are actually necessary at all.

Let’s bring it back to Garou. Garou’s Very Bad No Good Plan to Avoid Heroic Heartbreak he laid out in chapter 41. Quite simply, heroes always have to wait for bad things to happen and then react to punish the evildoers and/or save people.

I love how long this guy is...um, sorry I was supposed to be typing something insightful here

But what if it was possible to take the initiative instead, like a monster does? What if people could stop wanting to be bad and monsters could stop wanting to attack people? That’s where the Human Monster was born, the quest to create a persona so strong that no one could oppose it, and so senselessly evil that no one dared to do anything that attracted its attention.

punishing the good and evil alike, don’t make him come your way if you know what’s good for you.

I see a lot of readers read superficially, misunderstand and think Garou is punishing heroes in some way. That heroes are bad in some way. Nothing like that: he attacks heroes because they’re good and devote their lives to protecting people. After all, only a total monster would do that. Also, if even the strongest heroes aren’t safe, what hope have the regular people of this world?

All throughout the arc, that Garou doesn’t actually want to be a monster at heart is clear to every actual monster. It’s clear to us as we see his interactions with Tareo. It’s clear to him himself as he tries to steel himself to take a life just to prove to himself that he can (thankfully it’s Saitama he tries to kill).

It’s what makes Saitama’s bullshit-cutting words as cutting as they are. Ultimately, his trying to scare the world into being good is his way of running away from the tough, heart-breaking work of being a hero.

there is a crazy confidence a hero needs to embody in order to step up, as if by doing so they can do something

The pathos that we can empathise with is that it’s hard to look on a world as messed up as theirs is and not feel that surely, surely there’s something more that one can do. Garou’s struggle is absolutely legitimate. However... I’m going to let the however hang a moment...

It’s childish thinking to frame heroism in terms of strength and it’s not much better to frame it in terms of being of exceptional virtuousness. What a hero is, according to ONE, is someone who can look honestly at the cruelty and randomness of the world, who can acknowledge frankly the fleeting nature of any good they can do, feel the pain of this reality fully. And then choose to reach a hand out to help anyway.

In a world where feeling helpless in the face of impossibly large and complex problems feels inevitable, cynicism is too ready a refuge, and just looking out for yourself is common sense, the mere act of reaching that hand out is an act of courage.

not with illusions of good triumphing over evil, but the dogged determination to do the right thing even if the world burns down. That’s what being a hero is about.

However...

...the way Garou worked out his inner conflict was not legitimate. He picked the worst possible way at the worst possible time to wrestle with it. Which I think goes to a second theme: that your feelings may be valid. But that does not mean that every action that follows from those feelings is valid. Garou hurt a lot of good people and impeded their vital work at a time the world could ill-afford it.

One of the joys of fiction is that not only do characters act for reasons that make sense, but we get to hear and understand *why*. And at the same time, the external actions they take on the world persist. I’m very happy too that ONE isn’t glossing over the consequences of Garou’s actions. Too many readers pick one or the other and lose half the joy.

Thankfully, ONE isn’t a half-ass.

It doesn’t become okay for the heroes that Garou attacked that they were assaulted. It doesn’t become okay for the world that so many people were needlessly deprived of heroes when they needed them most. And it isn’t okay for Garou that he’s made an outlaw of himself as a result of his actions. The ramifications on both personal and societal are going to be explored for the individuals involved. I bless ONE for his conscientiousness and for creating so many excellent characters that make the enterprise worth the candle.

What kind of hero Garou will decide to be and how he’ll make it work in practice, ah that we’re waiting to see.

Coda:

Of course, that’s not the whole story. There’s one other part. Occasionally, by being the right person willing and able to step up in the right way at the right time, a hero can change *everything*.

#OPM #meta #Garou #heroes #for a story that is a parody the thoroughness with which it unpicks heroism is very serious #long #yes I said I wasn't going to run long but I have so much more I want to say #which I guess will put people who came for the luls off but there you go #making peace with what one can do as an individual is a very real problem that's both topical and timeless #making peace that nothing lasts forever not even one's achievements is another #finding meaning and a way forward in this impermanent life is a little triumph

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cruelfeline · 4 years ago

Note

Wait how is Adora similar to Hordak

Ah, I'm so pleased you asked, anon!

Adora and Hordak share a multitude of similarities, ranging from personality to origin to the overarching themes of their character arcs. Observe:

Both Adora and Hordak, unlike everyone else on Etheria, are two people stranded on a strange world. Both brought here through no agency of their own. Both trapped here, away from their true homes. It's a small thing, to be sure, especially in the grand scheme of things, but it's certainly a connection they share: a lost clone and a lost infant, both trying to survive and succeed and do the best they can on an alien planet.

They share a similar personality type in terms of responsibility and blame. Adora has a tendency to push herself too hard, to take on too much, and to find fault with herself if things go poorly. She has a difficult time seeing her worth outside what she can provide for other people.

Hordak exhibits similar tendencies, looking upon Prime's rejection of him as a sort of personal failure, rather than as the abusive vulgarity that it is. Like Adora, he berates and grows angry with himself when things do not work out as intended. In addition, he views himself as a servant of Prime, useful only if he can perform to his god's specifications.

Both Hordak and Adora share the unfortunate experience of being used by their authority figures, or a "higher power," as tools to facilitate another's plots and desires. Adora is manipulated by Light Hope, acting as an avatar for the First Ones, to essentially be a gun trigger. She works hard to do what she believes to be correct - balance the planet - only to realize that she's been tricked and has actually been working to destroy everything for another's benefit.

Hordak spends his entire life as little more than willing livestock for Horde Prime, following his gospel and doing incalculable damage by fighting and conquering in his name. He believes that this is the right thing to do (because Prime is god, after all), but in reality, Prime has simply bred and programmed and abused him into unquestioning obedience so that he may use him as a worshipful slave.

One of the chief overarching themes of SPoP - the concept of choosing one's own destiny and breaking free of one's painful beginnings - is deeply present in both their stories. Both have that similar origin: lost aliens trying to make their way in a strange, unfamiliar world. And both interact with this world through a lens of a manipulated understanding of what "the right thing" is. Both struggle with where they come from, what they are "supposed" to do, and what they actually want. Adora struggles with her role in saving the world while wanting to be happy, to have friends, and to be with Catra. Hordak struggles with his faith in Prime, his place in the Horde, while wanting to be himself, to accept himself, and to be with Entrapta.

In the end, both break free of what destiny supposedly has in store for them and make their own choices. Adora shatters the sword and becomes She-Ra under her own terms, without the First Ones controlling her anymore. Hordak turns against Prime and chooses his life as a free man, with Entrapta, over the toxic home and faith he's always known.

They really do match up so wonderfully, anon. Like, I know we all talk about Catra and Hordak being parallel characters. And in many ways, they are. But in terms of personality, behavior, and overall themes?

Adora and Hordak are just fascinatingly similar.

#I wanted to add pictures to this but I'm already in bed #I shall edit it tomorrow #But for now you at least get my thoughts!#Adora #Hordak

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genshin-impacted · 4 years ago

Text

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (3)

Word Count: ~3.5k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female!reader (she/her), Zhongli/Reader, Zhongli POV, mutual pining!!!!, slight Amber/Reader but if you squint your eyes it can be platonic, crams my favorite tropes into one fic so yes... subtle touches and wearing his coat

[Previous] [Next]

Chapter 3 Synopsis: Names hold a lot of meaning, for they carry also with them the weight of the emotions behind them.

The names and nicknames from the soon-to-be-Empress are powerful indeed, Zhongli thinks. Not a month has passed and the palace has already begun to address him by Zhongli xiansheng to demonstrate both his status as first-born and his role as the Princess’ teacher. There is no need, to be honest, for the entire palace to refer to him as that title, but half for propriety’s sake and half because it is the Princess calling him by that name, it is what it is. The nobles may call him this in your presence in accordance to proper decorum, but it seems everyone else has followed in your example-- beloved as you are.

Disregarding the nobles, you are generally well-liked within the palace walls for your kind aristocracy that is so unlike many of the entitled nobles that reside here. The guards are evidently fond of you and the maids that are allowed in your chambers are especially doting on you (Noelle comes to mind almost immediately). It is a shame though, that in the grand scheme of politics, it is not their favor that truly matters-- though he thinks you have not placed much weight into buying favors with nobles that have never viewed you as anything more than a glorified puppet.

Zhongli takes pride in his title as your xiansheng, for what he could not be involved with academia, he is able to live a life how he would have imagined when he is teaching you. He thinks you have come to call upon him fondly as xiansheng as well, which makes the title all the more appealing. Very few people, he realizes, are able to gain a title or another name of some sort from you. He only knows this when he is escorted by Amber to the outdoor pagoda where you have invited him to tea.

“Princess, I have brought Zhongli xiansheng,” Amber says, and Zhongli is amused to hear the eagerness in her voice as well as consoled by the idea that he is not the only one greatly fond of her royal highness.

“Thank you, Amber,” you say warmly, and, behind her, Zhongli can see the way Amber’s ears redden, “quick as always.”

“Of course, my lady,” Amber says, bowing respectfully. She continues as Zhongli quietly takes the seat that you have presented to him. “Is there anything that the Princess requires of me?”

You hum. “Not at the moment, no. Except, would you like to join us for tea?”

Zhongli watches in alarming clarity as Amber’s face turns as red as the decorations in her hair. “For tea?” Amber stammers, glancing over at Zhongli, “I-I couldn’t--”

“It’s only the xiansheng, Amber,” he hears you say with gentle humor, and he thinks you don’t understand the power of your words when his heart beats rapidly at the thought that the level of comfort you have with him matches your lady-in-waiting. Though, he feels sympathy towards Amber, because he can only imagine the mix of embarrassment and elation at being invited for tea, and the intimacy that is insinuated with an invitation in front of another person.

Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find amusement in teasing the poor girl with you.

“If it matters,” he says smoothly, “I do not mind. Tea is enjoyable with a certain number of people; three is indeed a fortuitous number.”

“True,” you reply immediately after, a smile in your voice. “Any more people and we would have been in trouble.”

“I-I have, um,” Amber starts, red-faced. “I have something I have to finish. But thank you for the invitation, my Princess.” She bows, her red hairband's ribbon drooping down from her head. And Zhongli takes notice of this because he begins to understand the nickname you have bestowed upon your favorite lady-in-waiting.

“Thank you for humoring me, bunny.” Zhongli doesn’t know how you instilled that much fondness into your words, but you do, your voice as warm and gentle as the morning rays of sunlight. “Let’s drink tea together later when you’re finished with your work then,” you say.

He watches as Amber looks at you with unbridled adoration and reverence before bowing deeply. If only your charisma would melt the greedy hearts of nobles, the world would know peace, he thinks as Amber walks away with her head held high, knowing she is favored by you.

“I’ll apologize to Amber for teasing her so relentlessly today,” you say, uprighting the teacups from its tray. “But to be fair, I did not expect you to join in with me so seamlessly.” You laugh. “What a pair we make.”

“Allow me,” Zhongli says, reaching out to retrieve the teapot, still warm to the touch, and pouring its contents out. “Ah, have these leaves been steeped by the maids?”

“Yes.” You say, blowing the steam from your cup. “Are they not to your liking, xiansheng?”

He takes a moment to be properly abashed at being seen like that by the Princess. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative.” At the flippant wave of your hand, he continues, “It is just that I tend to steep the leaves myself according to the type of leaves to their proper temperature. I find it soothing-- almost meditative-- to perform the proper techniques, so I would not have minded brewing the tea myself.”

You take a sip of the tea and he follows after you, the liquid flowing down his throat easily and warming him from the inside. “Then perhaps I will see your technique the next time we have tea,” you say. “I’ll tell the maid to prepare it for you.”

“The next time?” He echoes before he can think of his words.

The amused look you give him is enough to make his ears feel warm. “Teatime can be a daily occurrence, can it not?” You ask teasingly, “Surely you can fit me into your busy schedule.”

(Always the playful one, he thinks fondly.)

Zhongli hides his smile behind his cup. “I suppose if it is for the Princess,” he says, “then I shall find my best to accommodate my schedule to her wishes.”

With lessons going well, Zhongli finds that the breaks in-between have grown to be one of his more favorite moments. His favorite moment so far was when he was able to delve into the history of Liyue Harbor and its trade and business. He thinks your eyes may have glazed over for a moment, but to be fair, he had expanded on the architecture, history, and influence of each type of building and boat.

But even better than the short reprises are the days you are able to extend an invitation to him for afternoon tea. For the first few sessions, you indulge him as he explains the differences between each tea leaves and the temperature in which they must be steeped in order to bring out the aroma to its full extent. He resteeps the leaves multiple times, observing how you take to each flavor, and is heartened by the fact that you seem just as eager as he was to experiment in the richness of each cup.

To reward your diligence, Zhongli requests the maids to provide him the proper equipment for a tea ceremony, including a fresh batch of tea leaves. The next time you ask him to drink tea with you, he offers to teach you how to perform yourself.

"Must everything we do be a lesson?" You tell him with a hint of fond exasperation, to which he chuckles.

“I believe you will enjoy the relaxing motions that a tea ceremony provides,” Zhongli says. “Also, no knowledge will ever go to waste, Princess; this will serve you well when you must greet guests in the future.”

“Alright then,” you concede with a small smile on your face. “What do I do?”

Zhongli stands behind you and directs your actions clearly: warm the pot, discard of the water, place the tea leaves within the teapot. "Now," he says, leaning down as you lift the newly filled teapot, "we will perform the first steeping of tea leaves. Like so…" He trails off, gently placing his hand lightly on your wrist to maneuver it into swirling the pot smoothly.

He's surprised to watch as your hands stiltedly move the pot, untrained and clumsy, which are so unlike your movements before this. Is it difficult for you, he wonders, removing his hand to offer extra instruction only for your hand to slip from its grip from the pot.

"I-I apologize," you stammer, nimble enough to catch the pot from falling. You quickly turn the pot easily in the motion Zhongli has taught you and ask him, without looking up, "What's the next step?"

Your behavior is odd but not alarming-- and the feeling is brief. As requested, Zhongli explains that you are to pour the swirled water out and begin the infusion step, filling the pot with water until it is overfilling.

"Performing a tea ceremony has been known to have a soothing effect," Zhongli says as you wait to steep the tea for a brief moment. Just as you look at him, he continues with a small, teasing smile, "Though it seems like this activity has been quite the excitement for you, from what I have witnessed."

And there is that wide-eyed look of embarrassment again.

"No, it's nothing like that," you say, watching the still water gather. "This has been very relaxing; I can see myself doing this on my own just to compose myself." You glance back up with narrow eyes that hold no real heat to them. "Though, I'm not sure if I should be pleased or not that my xiansheng has gotten familiar with me to tease me like that."

To his better judgment, Zhongli feels his ears warm at the admission of such fact, pleased as he is with it. "Ah, yes, well, I must say it is only thanks to your highness' benevolence and welcoming nature that I have the audacity to address you in such a manner."

You laugh, and Zhongli thinks he is glad that it has become a more familiar sound. "What a silver tongue!" You say, allowing him to take the pot and pour its contents into cups, "You have such a way with words, Zhongli xiansheng. I can only hope to charm others with that level of skill."

"A true charismatic ruler is a natural wordsmith-- a poet in their own right," Zhongli replies, watching you take in the scent of the tea before drinking it. "Perhaps that shall be our next lesson."

"As long as I do not have to memorize poetry--" You gape when Zhongli only looks away and sips at his tea. "No-- no, we're going to--"

"As part of the aristocratic court, you must be well-versed with prose and poetry." Zhongli says simply, amused, "I am quite fond of poetic verses, so it will be remiss to not teach you."

(You think about hearing Zhongli recite the longest love ballads to you in your small, private classroom and feel your cheeks grow warm.)

You hold your cup into your hands and absently turn it, watching the tea ripple. "My education," you tell him, sighing, "is in your hands."

The two of you enjoy the tea until the water is cold, drinking your third infused cup with as much savor as the last. With the waning moon, there will soon not be any light once the sun sets, and Zhongli can feel the cool autumn breeze dip down into colder temperatures. You have just stopped regaling the story of when you had fallen into the koi pond in your childhood when you shiver, and Zhongli thinks that no matter how much he enjoys your company in the palace garden, surrounded by glaze lilies and silk flowers, there can always be another time.

"Shall we head to the library?" He asks kindly, "Or perhaps the study?" He hears you lightly sniffle, and he smiles at the attempt to hide your affliction. "I'm sure we might both enjoy better conversation in warmer climates."

"Yes," you say, breathing hot air onto your hands, "that does sound like a good idea."

The two of you go to stand, and Zhongli shrugs off his outer coat to drape it over you, much to your surprise. And for a moment, he thinks he must have overstepped or violated a rule of etiquette (despite how unlikely that may be), but you mumble a thanks and tug the coat closer to you.

"My pleasure," he replies, walking to stand next to you. "It would not do for you to catch a cold, Princess."

"Hm…" You hum, and Zhongli has taught you long enough to know that you are distracted. He sees you raise your hand to your face, his umber sleeves following it. "You smell like oak," you remark, and he feels his face warm despite the breeze, "like freshly bound books and letters, and--"

You take a glance in his direction when he has grown quiet and your eyes widen in alarm. "-err, and, um, incense, probably. Very familiar-- from the shrine maybe?" You stammer, inching away from the pagoda, "Sorry, I just-- your coat--"

What kind of expression is he making, Zhongli wonders, for you to look as panicked as you are, as flustered as he has ever seen you. He is almost startled by the fact that this has been one of the first times he has ever seen you uncomposed. With the amount of time he has spent with you, he has been able to see the way you interact with others, and he has concluded that you are a person who takes things in stride.

With your messenger Bennett, unlucky as a person can be, you offer only kind gestures and a breezy conversation to take his mind off his tumultuous route. With your maids, you never react badly to any mistake that would have cost them their heads had they been serving anywhere else. But a dropped silverware, broken porcelain, you are nonplussed and difficult to anger when there is no reason to be. Even with nobles, you show grace by speaking to them without a hint of disdain or resentment, so they never have any chance to vilify you. If Zhongli did not know better, he would never have expected you could ever harbor ill will towards another, but he knows now that you are calm-- and if anything, your anger is icy and self-righteous in the face of prejudice.

Zhongli tries not to feel pleased about being able to see another part of who you are and fails. Still, as endearing as your embarrassment is, you are a Princess and it would be remiss of him to allow you to flounder about.

"Princess," he says, hoping to ease you from your thoughts. If anything, addressing you directly makes you retreat further, and Zhongli sees you take a step back-- a misstep-- toward the pond.

"Ah-!"

Zhongli reaches out to you almost instinctively before you even begin to fall.

If Zhongli had thought he had seen you at your most flustered, he can feel it clearly for himself. With his hand on your waist, holding you tenderly with your hands braced on his chest, you are hot to the touch, your face heating up to the point even he can feel it through his clothes. He feels your hands curl into the lapels of his shirt and the press of your body against his.

His first thought is not to apologize for the proximity or not ask for your well-being, but the fact that you were right. His clothes do smell like oak, of a forest and of pressed wood, and now, he thinks, you will smell like him.

(He does not have time at the moment to process how this makes him feel.)

It is a brief moment of infatuation-- you possess a soft scent, befitting of your gentle attitude and tenderness-- but he remembers how his heart had beat fast because he was afraid of your fall and pulls you away from him (even if your presence in his arms was a comfortable one). "Are you hurt, Princess?" He asks, scanning your arms and legs. Like clockwork, he says, "I apologize for my actions, but I had thought you were going to fall in."

You shake your head furiously, and your hands copy that motion. "No, no, I understand. I would have fallen without your help. I was just--" You stammer, covering your face with your hand. “I was just surprised, is all.”

“Are you not feeling well?” He asks, the thought coming to mind as suddenly as you turn your head to him again. He thinks it makes sense though-- your unsteady hands, your lingering warmth...

“Huh?” You squawk, pressing your hands to your cheeks, “What makes you say that?”

I should check her temperature, Zhongli thinks with concern gnawing on his conscience. He remembers cool palms on his forehead when he was feverish and reaches out to provide the same to you.

“Ah, allow me to--”

"Princess, xiansheng," one of the guards addresses the two of you, bowing deeply, providing you a moment to recompose and him a moment to retract his hand. "The further villages have informed us that there will be a storm headed our way soon; please allow me to escort you back to your chambers."

"Thank you," you say calmly. "I would like to have a word with Zhongli xiansheng for a moment, if you would not mind."

"Of course, my lady."

Zhongli watches the guard walk away as you turn toward him with your regal composure still about you, and he wonders how many times he has almost forgotten who he's talking to at times. Just as when he gently scolds you for being distracted or when he's muffling his laughter when you say something particularly witty, or when you allow him to touch you-- casually like before and intimately like the two of you were just now, he thinks that he has let his guard down around you tremendously to forget exactly why he's here and who he is serving. "Princess," he begins, bowing his head deeply in respect. When he lifts his head, he thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment on your face, but it is gone a moment later. "I apologize if I have upset you in any way with the manner in which I have conducted myself.”

The wind blows past them much more harshly than before, but it picks up your laughter, light as it has always been. “I'm not upset," you tell him. "If I minded your actions, I would simply not allow you to do them.”

He thinks back to his outstretched hand, reaching to place his hand tenderly upon your face in a show of affection not befitting of a tutor like himself and shifts uncomfortably. "Still," he says, "in retrospect, I see that it's been inappropriate how casually I act around you, which is ill-befitting of someone of your status. Perhaps I--"

"Do not let my status as royalty put a wedge in our friendship," you say sharply enough to make him clamp his mouth shut. "I enjoy your company, as I hope you find the same with mine, and I find that simplicity much too rare to throw away because of who-- or rather, what I am." You soften your eyes and continue, "I mean it, Zhongli. I want you to treat me as you normally do. I promise you I will let you know if I deem something unfavorable."

"You always have been quite straightforward," he settles, almost in resignation. When you grin, he thinks your countenance could be a weapon if you chose to wield it as such.

"Then we are in agreement with something at least," you reply. You shiver in the cold wind and Zhongli takes this chance to press his hand against your forehead when you freeze.

"You don't seem sick," Zhongli says, gently taking his hand away, "but please be sure to drink ginger tea prior to sleeping to warm your body."

"...You were checking my temperature?"

He nods. "Yes, I apologize for not clarifying. I will make sure to inform you of my intentions next time, but the thought slipped from my mind." He says, "I was concerned for your health the entire night, Princess. Do let me know if you do not feel well for any lessons in the future."

And there's that embarrassment again, Zhongli notes briefly before you clear your throat and turn away. "Yes, well, I'm fine, I assure you," you say. "I-- well, I'll let you know if I ever feel under the weather." You pause and he must stop in his tracks to wait for you before he steps onto the trails of your dress. "Thank you," you say softly, "for worrying about me."

Zhongli looks at you with the wind billowing past and the lanterns lit behind you and feels his heart tremble.

"Let us leave," you say again before he can reply. "The storm is coming."

"Yes," Zhongli says finally. You look at him again and he folds his hands behind his back to stabilize his shaking hands. "It is getting cold, isn't it?"

You shoot a grateful smile at him, tugging his jacket over yourself even more, and Zhongli follows after you, his eyes never leaving your visage.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin impact #genshin impact zhongli #genshin imagines #genshin au #imperial drama au #wow its been half a month LMAO

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emilemily · 2 years ago

Text

My experience doing OF: a novel

In 2020, I needed some extra cash. At the time, OF was becoming a major trend.

Backstory: I’ve never been super outwardly sexual or even provocative. Even whenever I used to go to the strip club, 9 times out of 10 I was in my dress and blazer from work.

Growing up, I suffered from an almost debilitating lack of self esteem. Given the bullying I experienced as a child and teen, it wasn’t entirely hard to believe. I was a super weird kid and in return, was treated like I was a monster by my peers. My home was just within a mile of the school district for a wealthy school, which means I, being very poor and very weird, was the odd one out in the majority of my classes.

When I was in my later school years, I moved and transitioned into a school that taught all walks of life, but primarily underprivileged kids. I thrived there and made many friends. I was accepted in a way I’d never experienced prior. It was wonderful. But it was too late, as my low self esteem was sort of a scar on my heart and I would do anything to make and keep friends. I even got arrested at that school for doing things I shouldn’t have been, just because I was a doormat who wanted friends.

Either way, the point is that my self esteem had always been extremely low and as such, I was never one to partake in things that required an abundance of it, or required being bold with my body. I have a low amount of sexual partners because I was so hesitant and when any opportunity presented itself to be intimate with someone, I’d bolt. I’m infamous for bolting.

“Oh Woops gotta work tomorrow and just realized”

“Oh hey I’m sorry my mom needs me”

“Ah man I’m just so tired can you take me home”

I wanted to be this super bold person who took what she wanted, who wasn’t afraid to show off or enjoy my thin, beautiful body. I knew I had a good body, but I just had this weird flaw. I couldn’t follow through with anything. I always ran away.

So back to 2020. As OF started to rise in popularity, I began to imagine a world where I could make a ton of money and stay home with my dogs. Having more time to do the things I loved. Escaping the corporate hell that the majority of us live in, where our lives aren’t truly our own and we belong to our corporation without the contract signed in blood.

I contemplated it for a few days, and then I made one on a whim. I figured I’d simply post provocative photos, but I would not show anything that would shame my family. I just wanted to see how far I could take it without showing more than I was comfortable with.

I purchased ring lights, tripods, lingerie and began taking photosets. I’d shower, shave, blow dry and straighten my hair, put on makeup, and pep talk myself in the mirror. I’d tell myself that I AM that bitch, that this doesn’t mean my value has lowered, that I’m taking back power over my body that has been violated multiple times over the years by men who should be castrated. This was my decision and I was the one making it.

I took beautiful photosets, in fact I was in awe at how beautiful I looked in my photos. Though my self esteem has come very far in recent years, it has yet to fully repair itself. I won’t lie, the power of taking these beautiful photographs and having men lined up at the door to pay for them was fucking with my head.

The subscribers began pouring in. I was so incredibly blown away by my reception. I was $4,000 in my first two months. This may seem like a small amount in the grand scheme of things, but consider the following: I am an uneducated woman. I dropped out of high school and got my GED, and I had primarily worked front desk positions in offices, or in restaurants.

$4k is a lot to someone like me. I began to get hungry for it. I’d take my photos while blasting Lana Del Rey in my living room. I bought a lighting kit. I really enjoyed my photo sessions, solo and just having a good time.

All went well for a few months, and then I began to see that my subscribers weren’t renewing. I had made almost 10k at this point and was money hungry, starting to panic as I saw that money train leaving the station. I decided to go online to Reddit and see what other girls were doing.

What I found sank my stomach. Videos. Boy/girl (another word for porn videos with a man and woman) were everywhere. These women were beautiful and they were experts at making the right eye contact as they did these sexual acts on camera. Their subscription rates were low to get as many subscribers as they could.

How could I compete with that? Did I really want to do that? Wasn’t that something I’d always told myself I wouldn’t do? These were the questions that raced through my mind as I weighed the pros and cons of the decisions I was contemplating making.

Ultimately, I set my price high and decided to do it. The very first time I made a video with my boyfriend at the time, I was filled with nervous energy. It wasn’t exactly something that felt good to do. Having to play up and perform something that is usually done privately and intimately with someone I cared about did not come naturally to me. In fact, it was hard to watch the footage back to edit it.

I filmed, edited, and posted my first video. The reception was out of this world. I’ll never forget the feeling of waking up the next morning and checking my OF to see new subscriber after new subscriber. My balance climbed by over $300 that night. I felt bad about myself a little because it was something I’d always said I wouldn’t do, but I was staring financial security in the face and lost sight of who I was in the process.

I continued to make videos for months. My subscriber count got so high at one point that I was making thousands a month. I quit my job to focus on my content with the goal of getting out of debt and enjoying my life more. This is where everything took sort of a turn for the worst.

Being alone in your apartment all day analyzing the metrics is not a great place for someone who is naturally inclined to suffer from poor mental health. I would obsess over what I could do better, what the men who subscribed to me told me I needed to improve, how I could improve the overall situation and cash in even more. Once the money came flowing in, I always wanted more. I was no longer content with just being comfortable

As my subscriber list grew, so did the comments. I would work hard on a 15 minute video and post it, feel accomplished only to wake up to messages and comments that made me sad. There wasn’t enough tits, there wasn’t enough ass, why did I not think to bring in a third?, why did I not take my bra off?

The pressure of meeting expectations began to weigh heavily on me. I retreated into myself, neglecting my friends. I began to eat a lot to comfort myself which in turn led to weight gain. I was on a birth control implant at the time that exacerbated the weight gain. I quickly reached the highest weight I had ever been and my self esteem plummeted further.

I would look in the mirror and hate what I saw, I’d inspect each soft roll, each new stretch mark, and agonize over it. As someone who had been a size 00 for most of my life and previously struggled with anorexia, this hit hard. It affected my mindset regarding making content. I’d take photosets and upon reviewing the photos I took, feel sick to my stomach seeing what I had become.

When I would film videos at this weight, I would make sure the angle was just so in an effort to hide my weight gain. Nobody commented negatively on the weight, and those who weren’t into it just quietly stopped resubbing. This continued for a few months.

Eventually, I was so depressed that I was laying in the same spot on my couch every single day, fighting myself mentally to get up and make something for my OF. The stress of waiting too long and losing subscribers ate me alive, but I was paralyzed by my own depression. I failed to manage expectations because it was impossible. Everyone wanted all of their desires catered to in every video and it simply wasn’t possible.

I began to hate sex, or sexual acts. I didn’t want to even touch my boyfriend sexually. Portraying this sexual figure on the internet makes you so numb to genuine sexual desires because you’re so exhausted from putting on the show that you don’t want to even be touched afterwards. This was the turning point.

I moved out of my apartment and into a new one and decided I wanted to go back to work. I thrive on routine due to my ADHD, and when I don’t have a strict routine I become a neurotic mess. The only option to save myself and lose the weight I was still piling on was to get back a sense of normalcy.

I secured a wonderful job with a great company. I was prescribed Adderall XR for my ADHD and I thrived. I killed it! It was the best I had ever performed at any position prior. I informed my subscribers that I would only be making content on the weekends as I had decided to go back to work. I lost quite a few of them because of this, but I wanted so badly for my life to return to normal that the monetary influence this had over me began to fade.

I took a couple of really long breaks from content, and when I returned my subscribers were always ready to jump back in and support me. One thing I can say is that I have some of the best fans in the world. They would send me money for no reason, they always understood when I needed to step away, and they cared about me as a person and showed it. My core fans are people I’ll always appreciate and think fondly of.

After my last big break, I resumed content and realized my heart was no longer in it. On the weekends I would anxiously sit around knowing I’d promised a video. I couldn’t enjoy my time because I would procrastinate making a video until it was Sunday and I had the Sunday Scaries on top of feeling the pressure of making a great video for my subscribers.

The final few videos I made lacked heart and soul. I had dead eyes, I’m sure. I did the bare minimum just to say I’d filmed and posted something. This is when the comments from newer subscribers (not my core group) really began to get to me. One man told me that he didn’t feel it was worth paying for given I only posted on the weekends.

1. My description was very transparent about the schedule I had for posting. 2. He was getting access to thousands of posts for a monthly fee that is very low, one that I set with the mindset that not posting often means I should lower my price. I reminded him of both of these things and kindly thanked him for trying out my content and wished him well. I was always kind when people were rude, because I don’t know who these people are on the other side of the computer screen, nor do I know what they’re capable of.

After that, I wrote up a very long post that was not kind. I’d had enough. I allowed them access to my body, my sex life, the extremely intimate part of my life, and all for a low monthly fee. I was never a professional and all of my content was homemade. I could not meet everyone’s expectations and I was tired of trying to do so when I received nasty messages. As I said, my heart was no longer in it so what’s the point?

I officially quit OF in July after barely hanging in there for months. I was focused on my career and I wanted to thrive professionally. My self esteem had skyrocketed with my hard work and gradual success at work. I was no longer in the same place mentally that I had been when I decided to start doing OF. I loved what I saw in the mirror, and I loved what I was capable of.

OF was extremely helpful to me monetarily for a time. It helped me pay my bills, buy food, buy myself nice things I’d never been able to afford, and also help my friends financially if they needed it. I don’t fault OF for the way it all went down.

My main takeaway from this entire experience is that OF should, ideally, NEVER be something anyone turns to out of desperation. When I started, I was behind on all my bills with accounts in collections. I wasn’t making enough at my job to do anything but live day to day, just barely. I saw this opportunity to make money and traded my soul for it. I say that because I was not mentally well enough to do it, and I did a lot of things I was not particularly okay with to compete.

If you look on Reddit in the same subs I used to advertise in, you’ll see beautiful young women advertising their entire collection for $3. Girls who are freshly 18 starting the day of their birthday. Women who are pregnant and desperate posting content to cater to pregnancy fetishes. Girls similar to the way I was, making blowj videos in their dumpy rooms, just trying to compete and make money.

But you will also see women who are confident in their content, women who thrive doing sex work, women who provide for their families and have no qualms with doing so. More power to them, because I crumbled in the face of pressure. They have strength I’ll never have.

OF changed my life in multiple ways and I’m incredibly grateful for the experience, but I am also regretful about how far I allowed myself to go. The fact that there are videos of me out there posted on the internet is humiliating. One thing about OF is that you can never fully delete it. People steal your videos, people save them and keep them, and there are archives of everything out there.

I cannot control the fact that there is sexual content of me all over the internet, and that eats away at me. I always wonder when someone I know is going to see it. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve had multiple people find me online and start viewing me sexually only, messaging me on FB for free nudes. I’ve had former managers subscribe to my OF. You will be seen by people you know and you have to accept that.

And this all goes back to desperation. The thing is that I should’ve known the repercussions of what I was doing before I did it. I should have weighed the pros and cons of it, and I should have probably not advertised as widely as I did on Reddit. But I was desperate and I had a giant golden carrot dangling in front of me. I chased it. Got a few bites out of it, but as I lost my inspiration for making content the carrot disappeared.

In my final months, I made about 3k a month. Enough to pay my bills and use my income from my job for savings. That was cool, but it wasn’t really enough for me to continue. I made the decision to stop and with that decision, lost thousands of dollars a month.

I’ve never been happier with a decision in my life. I began to enjoy weekends again. The weight of everyone’s expectations is no longer breaking my back. I’ve lost all the weight I had gained and I’m secure with who I am, even after everything I’ve done. I have learned very valuable lessons and escaped with my self esteem intact.

However, I cannot change the way people who know of my content view me as a person. I cannot take back making or posting those videos for the world to see. I made those moves at a time in my life when I needed money more than anything, and the consequences of that very rash decision are just something I have to live with.

I have a great heart, I’m incredibly intelligent, I have a will that is made out of fucking platinum, I’m the friend who will drop everything to help you if I can, I take incredibly great care of my dogs, I’m goofy with a sense of humor, and I happened to make and post homemade dirty content for a few years.

I have made peace with my decision in a way, but I do believe that the only thing capable of washing away the regret I feel is time.

Das my OF story. The end.

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hatterstan-shameblog · 4 years ago

Note

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #writings and such #spicy boy #alice in borderland netflix #takeru danma #we did it fellas. we finally wrote the first chapter.#I’ve been working on this for WEEKS #now to write the actual spicy stuff lol oh geez

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squiggledrop · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Sorry - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reid gets shot on a case and is in the hospital. But him and Reader have so much left they want to do. So, living on borrowed time, Reader does all they can do.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Allusions to death, hospitals, references to major injuries, mentions of a god

Note: Could be read as a part 2 to Your Other Half, but doesn’t have to be. But you should go read that if you haven’t👀👀. Also, the italics are “Spencer”, but are kind of up for interpretation. Also, I’m like ✨struggling✨ so I just kind of wrote this and figured I’d share, but I promise I’ll have some actual fics soon. Also, just saying this so it’s said, but, this is literally just me ranting and believe whatever you want to believe because it is 100% valid and should always be respected. Last thing, title should be read in John Mulaney’s voice because every time I read it that’s all I can hear in my head, so I think you should too. “I’m SoOOoRy”

“Hey Spence.” Your hushed voice broke through the unbearable silence in the room, only mediated by the monotonous beeping of the countless machines hooked up to Spencer.

“We’re in the hospital right now. You had surgery and they were able to fix the bullet wound. But, the doctor said that your injury caused swelling in your brain, and if it doesn’t stop soon, there won’t be much they can do.” Your breathing stuttered as you blinked back tears. “So, I’m going to need you to try and stop it okay?”

You gripped his hand in yours, resting it against your forehead as tears poured down your cheek.

“We always knew you had a big, genius brain. I guess we just never thought about what would happen when it got a little too big.” You let out a slight laugh through your nose, blinking away the tears in your eyes. “I always knew you were too amazing to be bound by something so nominal as a human body. Normally, every room you occupy is consumed by your warmth and filled with your laughter.” You forced a weak smile as his comforting laugh replayed in your mind. With a sigh, you looked around the sterile room. The fluorescent lights were too bright. They would give Spencer a headache.

“But not this one,” you choked out, turning back towards his unconscious form. “I miss your beautiful smile and gentle eyes because, right now, you feel so small. Your hand is in mine, but it just doesn’t feel right.” You cautiously stroked the back of his hand, examining the foreign feeling. “It’s too bony and fragile. Your hands are normally soft and warm, but right now they’re just so cold.” You placed a kiss on the middle of his palm before resting your cheek in it. The chilling of his hand burned your inflamed cheeks.

“I asked the nurse to get you another blanket because I know how much you hate the cold. She gave me that look we give victims' families when we have to tell them their loved one is dead,” you scoffed. “Sometimes it really sucks to always know what people are thinking.” You tried to calm yourself down, rolling your lips between your teeth, but it was no use.

“I really need you to hang on okay, baby? I hope you aren't in any pain, but I need you to hang on.” Despite your best efforts, desperation bled through every word you spoke. “I-I know it’s selfish, but I can't do this without you Spence.” With every second that past your throat constricted even more. “I know it’s selfish, but I need you. God, Spence, please come back to me,” you cried.

I always found that to be such an interesting term: “praying to a god you don’t believe in”. You closed your eyes, relishing in the sound of his voice. You knew it wasn’t real, but for now, it was good enough. It is used in literature and in modern music so often, and rightly so, but is never given the weight it truly possesses. Despite everything you know, all of the scientific explanations you have that can explain the world around you, when you are that desperate, you throw it all out the window in a split second. You don’t believe in a god. Yet, when faced with a difficult situation, and you have nothing else to hold onto, you immediately pray to something that you know holds no validity.

“Because it’s all I can do.”

You are so desperate and helpless to the extent that you are praying to something that you know logically is not real, yet with every fiber of your being you are praying for its help.

“Isn’t it just human nature?”

Well, some may say it’s humanizing. I would disagree. I think it is the least human thing you can do. It’s human nature to be curious and want explanations for the phenomena around you. That’s why, out of all species on earth, humans are the most advanced. They are the only species to change their environment to fit their needs. They have no natural predators, despite having absolutely no defense mechanisms. They have survived and evolved based on their thirst for knowledge and answers. But, when faced with some of the toughest situations in life, yet some of the most natural, they disregard everything they know to be true, and blindly beg for the help of some mythological deity.

Death is a natural progression of life. We know how and why it happens, and we have formulas and data to predict when it will come.

“But when it’s someone you know, someone you love, despite knowing everyone’s time will one day come, you can’t help but to beg for it not to be the case,” you pointed out.

You ask something you don’t believe in, something you know to not be true, to change the inevitable. You ask something you don’t believe in to change precedent. You ask for some miracle, that you already know the minuscule probability of.

“Is it avoidance?”, you genuinely asked out loud, missing the way Spencer was always there with an answer for everything.

Well, you know the science and statistics behind it. You know the odds are not in your favor. So, rather than acknowledge that and live with the truth, you abandon everything you hold to be true, and instead conjure some faith in a god you know isn’t there. I mean, is it better to have blind hope or just accept the facts?

“Isn’t there something to be said for being optimistic?” you countered.

Of course. One of the amazing laws of our natural world is that nothing is impossible. Sure, if you keep shoving your hand at the wall enough times, statistically speaking, eventually your hand will have the exact orientation to go between all the atoms perfectly, and your hand will go through the wall. But, if I were to ask you to believe that I could do it, would you?

“No,” you replied.

Of course not. Because it’s illogical. So then, why is your immediate reaction to devastating information to refuse it and do something illogical?

“Is it to feel useful?”

You know the statistics. Realistically, you know there is nothing you can do to change the outcome. But, it is human nature to try and come up with solutions to our problems. After having exhausted all other possibilities and coming up empty, you persist. You don’t give up. Even if you know it’s nonsensical, you still need to feel as though you are trying. But that’s the operative part: feel as though. Is it human inclination to want to try and solve the problem and contribute positively to the situation? Or is it a selfish need to not feel powerless?

“There is nothing worse than feeling as though you have no control. When everything you love has been taken from you, and you are desperate for any solution to your problem, it makes sense that one would try all their options, no matter how unlikely, because you still have to at least try.”

But, it’s important to remember that no matter how many times you shove your hand at the wall, you will always end up hurt before it goes through. You let out a small smile, pondering his words.

“Is it a reminder, that despite how much we claim to know and understand about the universe, that we know practically nothing?”

Ah, therein lies the beauty of science. Every time a question is answered, it introduces a plethora of others to be figured out. Despite knowing the facts, you are reminded about how much you do not know. There is so much uncertainty in everyday life, and no matter how much you may try, life does not take place in a laboratory. You cannot control for all the confounding variables life has to offer. You don’t get to test your hypothesis over and over, tweaking your experiment as you go. You are granted one life. You must use it to its fullest extent.

“Did you?” you abruptly asked.

I wouldn’t have changed anything, because it brought me to you. And you are my greatest accomplishment. You nodded your head, wiping away the tears that pooled in your eyes.

“Look, I may not believe in this supposed god I’m praying to. But, if she actually is out there, what’s the harm in praying she lets my hand make it through the wall? The worst that could happen is she doesn’t listen and I end up with a few bruises and a broken bone. Because, in the grand scheme, what’s a broken bone compared to your life?” There was silence, and you didn’t feel like waiting for a response.

“You are the kindest, gentlest, most generous person I know. Everyone has been through so much. I-it’s too soon. That's how I know there isn’t a god, because she wouldn’t be this cruel. She wouldn’t take you from us too.” In your mind, all of the losses you two had suffered over the years replayed. All of the lost lives, lost friends. “I always tried so hard to be strong for you. I tried to be there, and for the most part I was. I held you in my arms. I kissed the top of your head. I let you know you are so loved, that I was there and I would never let go, because that’s what you do for the ones you love-

I know

“-but for every ounce of strength I gave, I lost a part of me. I still remember the day it happened. I remember the day we said goodbye, and I remember the endless months of hurt. But, what are you supposed to do when someone loses someone like that?”

Well, you hold them in your arms and let them know they are loved.

“But I can’t do it again,” you practically shouted. “I can’t,” you gasped.

I know

“I can’t go through that again-”

I know

“-my arms are too tired and weak-”

I know

“-my eyes have lost enough tears-”

I know

“I-I can’t be strong for anyone anymore.”

I know baby, I’m sorry

You let your head collapse in front of you, hugging Spencer’s limp arm into your chest.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur between broken sobs. “I need someone to hold me-”

I know

“-and I need someone to tell me it’s okay, because I know it’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

I know

“God, would you just shut up? Just for once Spencer!” Your breathing heaved as you lifted your head, looking down at the lifeless body in front of you. “I know you know, okay? I know you know everything.” Your own voice bounced around the room, ringing in your ears. “You can claim that you have a formula for any problem, and sure, you can rattle off any statistic. But, for the love of god Spencer, don’t forget, mathematics was invented,” you spat. “It is a made up world that people use to quantify the incomprehensible. It’s a tool that was made to try and make sense of the chaotic world that surrounds us.” The volume of your voice shattered, and you broke down again, cursing yourself for screaming at your unconscious husband.

But, you heard his soft, knowing voice that you missed so much, try as we might, the law of entropy prevails, and with every negative delta g we descended further and further into disorder. One variable that does not have a differential equation to solve is emotions. That’s what makes us different. We care for one another. That is human nature. We try to help those in need and even if we can never fully understand the working of the universe, at least we can make a slightly more positive place. Yes, you can calculate the probability of every known outcome, but you are not a robot. We have survived because of our inclination to help others. We work together for a common goal. We love. We hate. We get scared. We get excited. We are shy and outgoing. We are happy and we are sad. But, no matter what we are, we do it with passion. We love so intensely that it physically hurts. We can feel such joy that it feels as though it is bursting out of us. We are empathetic. We can feel others’ emotions as if they were our own.

“But, we can also hurt,” you chided. “We can hurt so bad that it feels debilitating. We can hurt so bad that it's easier to just shut off and not think.” You looked over his stoic face, desperately trying to picture his golden eyes through his ashen eyelids. “Yes, that means losing your humanity, but when it’s at the cost of feeling your world crumble before you, suffocating you with it, being a robot begins to have its appeals.”

I guess. You could hear the slight smirk in his voice. It depends on your point of view. You can have a reductionist mind set, and see the world for what it is: a bunch of chemicals interacting. Or, you can take a more philosophical approach and contemplate the meaning of life. But one cannot exist without the other. There is a nuanced duality that must be maintained, or there is no point to either.

You cupped his jaw in your hand, running your thumb over cheek.

“Every time I see your face I smile. When you tell me you love me my heart feels so full.” You swallowed thickly, picturing all of the morning you woke up next to Spencer, never really knowing which one would be your last. “When I hug you, I feel safe. Yeah, we may just be a sack of chemicals, but I was lucky enough that our atoms came together in this specific combination at the same point in time.” Your voice squeezed as you tried to continue speaking, “And I know the probability of that happening is minuscule, so why can’t this be too?” you pleaded. “I know it’s unlikely, but if I was so lucky to have you in my life, why can’t I be just as lucky and get my hand through the wall on the first try?”

Because you are human, whatever that means. He spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world. No matter how hard we may try, we are controlled by our emotions. I love you, and you love me, and it’s as simple and complicated as that.

“I know that every moment you are alive is a second of gifted time, but it’s still never enough. I don’t want to say goodbye. We have so much more to do. We have plans, and promises that still need to be fulfilled”

I don’t want to say goodbye either

“This isn’t fair, we are supposed to have more time.”

I know, but I need you to be strong, for me.

“But I don’t know what to do.”

I need you to try.

“No, Spence, I-I’m letting you know now that I won’t be able to do it. I can't be strong again. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.” You cried into his chest, savoring the sound of his faint heartbeat.

“I’m sorry.”

You waited for a response, desperate to hear his voice for as long as you could. But, it never came.

“Hey, you doing okay?” You gasped, lifting your head and looking around the room. Your eyes fell on Derek in the doorway. “I thought I heard you talking, are you okay?” Concern laced his brow as he looked at you.

“Y-yeah, I’m as fine as I can be,” you reassured, wiping your eyes. He nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile. You watched as he turned to leave, going back to the others in the waiting room. You let out a helpless breath, your eyes falling back onto the man that lay beside you.

Yes, you are human. And as tears roll down your face, and helplessness courses through your veins, you will continue to pray to a god you don’t believe in, because what else are you supposed to do?

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #reid x reader #spencer x reader #Criminal Minds #spencer reid angst #mgg #derek morgan #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer

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woeisme-iamwoe · 4 years ago

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an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it.

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy.

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale.

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on.

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch

two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes.

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them.

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.”

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love.

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on.

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with.

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married.

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic.

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites.

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience.

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride.

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together.

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while.

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!!

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

Routine, by snoqualmie (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly.

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso.

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read.

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit.

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it.

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful.

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong.

my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.

Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth.

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love.

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried.

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together.

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot.

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa.

Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it.

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet.

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay.

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings.

we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it.

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

��Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother.

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru.

how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse.

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa tooru

72 notes · View notes

ruewrites · 3 years ago

Text

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 8: Change of Heart

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 4550

Warnings: None

A/N: As always comments and feedback are appreciated! I hope you all are still enjoying the fic so far!

Diavolo’s face was a welcoming sight to Solomon that morning as he left his room. He beamed the moment their eyes met and crossed the room in order to meet him. “Good morning! I trust you slept well last night?” his booming voice was almost too loud for Solomon, but it still brought a smile to his face.

“As well as a scholar can, yes.”

Well, books hadn’t been the only thing keeping him up last night. His dreams hadn't been too terribly helpful. If only he could have a little peace of mind while he slept. Maybe he’d crash tonight after his little outing. Asmo was rather high energy and Solomon had no doubt that he’d most likely be worn upon their return. Maybe he’d even sleep for a day. That would be rather nice the more he thought about it.

Diavolo nodded, “I will admit, it took me a while to get used to things here as well. It’s easy to become homesick, but Lucifer and I take visits back home every now and again. I promise it will get easier.”

“Were they all as welcoming to you as they are to me.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t here with the late king,” Diavolo shook his head, “Or maybe he would have liked you a little better than me. You aren’t the one who wanted to marry Lucifer.” That’s right, neither Azazel nor his brother had wanted Diavolo to marry the crown prince. From what he could gather, it sounded like Azazel still wasn’t fond of the union. “The point is, it takes them a while to warm up to people, but they will soon enough.”

Hopefully. Solomon seemed to be making way with the family, so he could only assume they’d start to like him soon even if just a little bit.

“In any case, how have things been with Asmodeus?”

Ah.

Oh.

“I know he was excited by the fact that you took the whole ‘Lilith’ thing well, a little melodramatic, but still happy,” Diavolo continued, “He’s been talking about how his eventual wedding would be the ball of the century ever since Lucifer and I got married.”

Solomon hadn’t even talked to him about the wedding. He’d been so caught up in learning about Arcadia that the wedding seemed more like a concept to him than an actual event that would occur soon. When was the coronation? How much time did he have left? Why had it not been more focused on his radar? Now that he thought about it more, he didn’t have a single clue about what any of his wedding plans were going to be. What food were they preparing? What times was everything occurring at? What was he supposed to wear? Were people going to witness their union? They were only a few of a long list of questions that Solomon should have known the answers to, and yet he didn’t.

It seemed like whenever Solomon solved one problem, another one arose. For whatever reason, it never occurred to him that their union would be a big event. Lucifer's would have been since he was the crown prince, but his? A small ceremony to seal them together would have sufficed. Did it really need to be big?

"He certainly has been dreaming for a while now hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," Diavolo nodded, “He has rather vivid dreams, they’re not always big in the grand scheme of things, but they’re very specific.”

So that probably meant that Asmo was hellbent on what he’d said to him last night. No matter how he tried to change the direction of his thoughts they always came back to the outing he was supposed to have today. Solomon knew love couldn’t be forced and that love was a rare thing to occur within an arranged marriage, but would Asmodeus accept that? Surely he had to know this small fact. Perhaps he was just in denial.

But why?

Why not just accept what life had given to them and be excited for the opportunities that it could provide?

“Has he talked to you about it?” Diavolo’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“About what?”

“His ideas. Surely you’ve heard some of them.

Solomon's blank expression must have said all that Diavolo needed to know. His face fell slightly. Solomon couldn't read the expression well. At first he thought that perhaps it was confusion. Disappointment? He couldn't place his finger on it. What he did know was that it made him feel uncomfortably guilty.

"Oh. I see," the pause between them was only a second too long, "You should spend more time with him. He's a kind person. Just a little-”

“High energy?” Solomon finished. Kind? Well if him ensuring Solomon that he’d fall head over heels for him was considered kind, Solomon would agree. This was the first positive thing he’d heard about his fiance the moment he’d stepped onto the grounds. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really hadn’t heard too many good things about Asmo, only the things that he couldn’t do quite right. What could be the truth?

“Well yes, but I may have a soft spot for him,” Diavolo continued, “He was one of the few who made me feel welcomed here. ‘Anything for my big brother’s husband’ he’d say. We spent a lot of time chatting and sometimes he’d offer to take me to various places in Arcadia. All when Lucifer was busy of course.”

Maybe he had been a bit more well behaved because Diavolo was more than willing to spend time with him. Solomon was a busy man, he had research to do among other things. He couldn’t just drop his research at any time. Nonetheless, he could still contribute to the conversation. “Forgive me for saying so, but I find that a little hard to believe. Only because you seem to have a soft spot for most people you come into contact with.”

There was that booming laugh.

“Am I truly that easy to read?”

“Only a little.”

Diavolo was a genuine man. Solomon had to wonder if he had some sort of magic of his own to cause people to loosen up around him, or was he just that charismatic? Either way it made his marriage to Lucifer feel even stranger to him. How could there possibly be anything there deeper than the arrangement? Then again, according to Azazel, Diavolo seemed to have more of an influence of the crown prince.

What allowed someone to become that close?

Well, Simeon had some influence over his own decisions, but their relationship was different. Solomon would have had to been naive to think the two were equivalent. Diavolo and Lucifer had something beyond a close friendship and Solomon could see it even if he was rather confused by it.

“I think Lucifer might be your favorite person though,” he wanted to see what he said. He wanted to see how Diavolo talked about Lucifer. In a way, it was a roundabout way of him wanting to know more about the elusive eldest.

Diavolo seemed to melt right before him, his eyes turned gooey and warm and his body relaxed. “Perhaps, he’s a wonderful man and stunningly beautiful. The most ethereal being I’ve ever seen, sometimes I doubt that he’s human,” he sighed, “He’s intelligent too and an absolutely capable ruler.”

“You admire him.”

“I love him,” Diavolo corrected, “I’d do anything for him, I’d give my own life for him.”

Solomon didn’t know why those words threw him off. Giving up your life. Would Solomon do that for anyone? He wasn’t sure. He had people that he wanted to protect, yes. But giving up his own life? Thinking about that wasn’t something he wanted to do at the moment or later. It was a morbid concept.

“Asmo is quite smitten with you,” Solomon was vaguely aware that Diavolo was still talking, “He was completely fine when he left, but when he came back he was spellbound. I think it was good for him to have a little joy.”

It was easy to forget that the family was dealing with two deaths: the King and their sister. There had also been supposed assasination attempts. How much tragedy followed the family around?

It didn’t mean that he was going to give in to Asmodeus’ every demand, but he would try to keep those things in mind.

“It feels good to see him lively again, he was so anxious when it came to pretending, I know I was relieved that you took it all well.”

“I’m happy he’s not anxious anymore as well, I was worried I was doing something wrong. I’m glad to know that that wasn’t the case.”

Diavolo’s hand grabbed the handle to the door to the caverns as he turned back to Solomon, “We should talk more, I heard you’re going to have an outing today and I’d love to hear more.”

***

“Will you ever be on time for any meal?” Asmo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe one day,” Solomon hummed, taking a seat, “But I did show up.”

“If you showed up early we could spend a little time together before everyone else got here.”

Solomon noticed that Asmodeus wasn’t looking at him. Following his gaze, Solomon saw that he was staring at Lucifer and Diavolo. Diavolo had his hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. He leaned down close to his ear and said something that made Lucifer smile ever so slightly and chuckle. He mouthed the word sit, and Diavolo took his place next to him. It was incredibly tender. No one else seemed to pay it any mind, but Asmo’s fingers gripped at the table.

“I might be able to come sooner if someone wouldn’t mind teaching me how to navigate the castle.”

He noticed Asmodeus nod slowly, but he didn’t look towards him. What had gotten into him? What about Lucifer and Diavolo had him so fixated? Unfortunately his little novice charm didn’t give him all of those answers. Did he dare reach up to see what he was feeling? It could give him an idea of how to steer the conversations.

His hand wandered towards his chest. But before his fingertips could brush against the pendant, Diavolo’s butler entered the room. “Breakfast will be out shortly, but I do have tea ready.”

Barbatos started at the head of the table, pouring tea for each member and setting out small biscuits. When had been the last time he came to breakfast? He came to other meals sure, but most of the time Simeon brought it back to him as he often slept through it.

“Welcome your majesty,” Barbatos said, pouring the steaming liquid into his cup, “It’s lovely to have you join us this morning.”

“Oh thank you.”

“Your scribe seemed to be getting tired of you missing meals.” Wasn’t he the bold one? “Anything in your tea?”

“No thank you.”

Barbatos nodded and moved on to Asmodeus.

“No cream or anything? Really?” Asmodeus leaned over to look at his cup.

“Really. I stay up rather late, and sugar makes you crash.”

“Then what about sugar rushes?”

“It’s a temporary rush. It won’t last in the long run.”

Lucifer had taken his tea black as well, so why was it so intriguing to Asmo that he might drink his own in a similar fashion? It was almost like it was some sort of secret or big surprise to his fiance.

“You really are a serious guy aren’t you.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean you no longer want to go out?”

“No!” Asmo jumped in quickly, eyes going wide, “No we’re still going out. You can’t get away from me that easily.”

“I didn’t suspect that I would, You seemed rather determined.”

“Well good! You shouldn’t think that you could get away.”

Solomon snorted. He looked around the table to each of the members. Levi wasn’t fighting with Mammon like they’d been on the first day he got here. While the two of them weren’t talking, they seemed to be getting along better. Satan was focused on a book from his library, one that he’d have to remember to ask him about later. The twins sat silently. Well, Beel sat silently, Belphegor was asleep. Solomon also noticed that unlike the rest of his siblings, he was dressed in black. Had he been dressed in mourning attire when he arrived?

“Husband!” Asmo sang waving his hand in front of his face, “You should be paying attention to meee.”

“He ain’t your husband yet Asmo,” Mammon chuckled, before Solomon could even get a word in, “And he won’t be if you scare him away.”

“I won’t scare him away!”

A few of the other brothers snickered from around the table as Belphie opened one of his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, “When you met him you weren’t you.”

Solomon heard a bit of an edge to his voice. It wasn’t playful like Mammon’s had been.

“Enough,” Lucifer held up his hand, “It’s too early for this. We’re going to have a nice breakfast as a family or else I’ll banish you from Arcadia.”

“Aw come on Luci, you wouldn’t banish your baby brother would ya?” Mammon asked, leaning a little closer and batting his lashes.

Lucifer only narrowed his eyes, “Don’t test me.”

***

“Mammon runs the treasury, Levi is the head of the navy, Satan holds the records, and the twins split agriculture. Belphie takes care of the animals when it comes to stuff like milk and eggs and Beel takes care of crops and beef,” Asmo had been talking the entire ride down to his sector. He counted off each one of his siblings on his fingers as he named them off. He’d chosen to sit shoulder to shoulder with Solomon instead of across from him. Not that he was surprised. Asmodeus was rather clingy. “Lucifer as the head stays in the center and oversees all of Arcadia. He wasn’t always the welcome committee, but he had to take over. Luckily he has Diavolo for that now.”

Solomon shifted trying to give himself more room only for Asmo to follow him, “And what do you do?”

Asmo grinned, “Oh showing interest? Well, if you must know, my district takes care of little self care items. Lotions, perfumes, flowers, pretty things. Honestly mine is the best. Sure the other things are important I suppose, but what is life without beauty? My district is the most beautiful and therefore it's the best.”

Well, that seemed a bit shallow. Was looks the only thing he really cared about? All of the other things he had listed were equally important. How could he undermine them for the sake of his own? Every element came together to make a community. No one aspect held everything together alone.

“You’re going to love it. I can’t believe I haven’t taken you here sooner! Well I kind of can, after all I wouldn’t have been able to if- Well, you know.”

The carriage stopped and Asmodeus immediately seemed to perk up. The carriage bounced with him as he waited for the chauffeur. As soon as the door opened, he took Solomon’s hand and walked the two of them out. The first thing he noticed was a few timid townsfolk peeking out from behind their doors or windows or even stared from their stands.They seemed fixed on Asmo. Of course Solomon remembered that many of them most likely stayed hidden or on a low profile because of the death of the king along with the threats. It was nice to see some other life around. A royal being around probably put them at a higher risk.

“Hello my adoring darlings!” Asmo sang, “I’ve decided to treat you all with a visit today, and I’ve brought my soon to be husband to see all of you! Make sure you show him just how wonderful you all are!”

Solomon caught the sweet scent he usually associated with Asmo wafting from one of the shops. So, they did come from here. How frequently did Asmo visit? Slowly people emerged from their houses and stands and continued to go about their days. Asmo grinned at him and took his hand.

“Come on, I want to show you around.”

Asmo spent most of the time talking about himself. Asking if Solomon thought he looked pretty, if his town was the best one he'd ever seen. That was the last thing he really remembered as he started to tune Asmo out at that point. There was so much he could take of this man just talking about himself. He figured that he might learn something about his fiance, but it turns out he was wrong. Did Asmo seriously think that this would get Solomon to like him? He knew what Diavolo had said, but still.

Was he really that nice?

Or was he more like what he'd heard Azazel describe?

Whatever the case, he was trying too hard to impress him.

Asmo led him towards the center of the square and turned to face Solomon, “If I can get some musicians together, would you like to dance with me?”

“Oh, well, I’m not the best dancer,” he could at social events if he had to, but it wasn’t something that he would do in his free time. The idea of there being a possible audience also made him nervous. He stepped back and looked around, "Perhaps another time."

Asmo's face fell slightly, but he let Solomon step back. It almost seemed as if he was trying to think about what to say to convince Solomon to change his mind.

"I think I'd like to meet some of your people and to look at the products they create," Solomon continued, taking note of the plant life around him. Each of them seemed to have some sort of pink tint to them. At least the color themes seemed consistent.

"Of course."

The people were seemed rather intimidated by him. Not that he blamed him. He was an outsider king and a rather prominent figure at that. He was going to marry their prince. He took notes as they wandered. After all, he was going to have a say when it came to this place, he should know more about it.

Asmo’s chattering eventually dulled with each increasingly listless response Solomon gave and he scribbled away in his notes. Perhaps he finally understood that Solomon needed to focus, that he needed quiet if he was going to make any progress in his studies. He paused in his strides when he came to a patch of flowers surrounded by tiny metal arches.

They smelled impossibly sweet, almost as sweet as Asmo's perfumes. What were they? They weren't anything that Solomon was familiar with. He was certain they didn’t have them back at home. This was something he could ask his fiance about. It was only when he turned to ask him did he realize that Asmo wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen actually.

His eyes glanced around the area. Surely he couldn’t have gone that far? Was he really that upset by the fact that Solomon wouldn’t dance with him?

He plucked one of the flowers and started to try to retrace his steps to find his fiance. This was supposed to be a date between the two of them. Of course he would lose his fiance here. Of course his fiance would run out without telling him. Of course. Of course it had to be this way. Of course his fiance couldn’t have been reasonable. Of course-

There were children laughing.

Children?

“You’re doing so well!” his fiance was standing among them, engaging in their little games. This was a different side of him. They were all in a little circle with their hands linked. Sometimes the children would break the chain and run around before finding new spots.

He wasn't striving to impress them, perhaps because they were children (and easy to impress).

He's a kind person.

Diavolo had said he was kind. Solomon had been skeptical. The more he watched, the more he realized that perhaps he’d been wrong. He’d judged him too harshly. Perhaps he hadn’t been as level headed as he thought.

Watching him laugh and play with the little ones was certainly an experience all on it’s own. He seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Solomon also had another realization.

Asmo had a different type of worry plaguing his mind. He’d been nervous that Solomon would reject him because he wasn’t Lilith sure, but after he’d been worried that Solomon wouldn’t be impressed with him. His worries transformed and were presenting themselves through a different outlet. Solomon hadn’t been paying attention because Asmo was smitten with him, which was the minimum that he needed.

He could be good to him.

He could be kind to him.

It seemed like Solomon hadn’t been doing the best job at doing those things the more he dwelled on it. To put it frankly, he’d been ignorant. Solomon couldn’t even say that he wasn’t completely unaware of how he’d been acting. He hadn’t been terrible to Asmodeus, but he certainly hadn’t been good or kind either. He could have been better.

One of the kids must have tripped or something, because the next thing Solomon knew he heard sobbing.

“Oh darling, it’s alright, hush now. It’s only a scrape,” Asmo’s voice carried to Solomon’s ears. It was soothing, it felt safe. It lit something inside of him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Whatever it was, Solomon knew he enjoyed it. His voice alone could convince the tension to leave his body and place his mind at ease. It felt like if Asmo said it was alright then everything had to be alright. Slowly the sobs settled and the child buried their head into Asmo’s shoulder. Slender fingers ran through their hair in an attempt to sooth them.

Solomon realized that this was a third face he had never seen from his fiance before. How many more could he possibly have? What more did Solomon have left to discover?

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. No thought ran through him, only an action that he chastised himself for.

Asmo jumped ever so slightly and turned to face him. He seemed surprised to see Solomon there, more surprised than Solomon thought he should be. “What brought you to that conclusion?” he asked.

“Your reaction to the rabbits.”

“Ah well,” Asmo laughed slightly, “You still thought I was someone else then, and I’m not exactly capable of giving you children in that sense. I do love the little ones though, they’re the cutest little things.” Asmo poked the child’s nose earning a soft little giggle, “Aren’t you all?”

He stopped for a moment, scrunching up his brow before turning to Solomon, “What brought you here? You seemed… busy in your own little world.”

Oh, so he’d been ignoring him, and unfortunately Solomon knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been aware of this. He was just more aware of it than he’d like to be at the moment.

He cleared his throat before holding up the flower, “I had been curious about some of your plants and wanted to ask you a few questions, but I see that you’re busy right now.”

Solomon glanced at the rest of the children standing behind him and thought. He was curious about the game, and he hadn’t been giving his fiance much mind as of late. “Would you mind if I watched your game?”he asked.

It was fun to watch them play. The way the children interacted with the fifth prince was adorable to say the least. At some point, they’d managed to talk Solomon into playing. There was no better way to learn than to participate. He wasn’t great at it, but the children seemed to enjoy him fumbling about squealing with absolute delight. Asmo had even joined in, and oh Solomon had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed his laugh.

When it came time for the children to return to their families for lunch, Asmo led him into town to meet more of the locals. They showed him their wears and how they went about making their soothing lotions and sweet perfumes. To his surprise a few of them had also been magic users. They didn’t have strong magic, but it did help with relaxation, recreation, and with what plants the little town did have. In other words, it seemed like it could also be utilized for healing in the form of muscle relaxants or even helping in the production of certain medicines.

They all also seemed to enjoy Asmo.

This hadn’t been what he thought it would be at all. In fact, Solomon was enjoying their little date. Watching Asmo interact with the people of his sector was certainly more enjoyable than him trying too hard to impress him. Solomon liked this side of Asmo. He was relaxed and his eyes were soft and tender. There was a beauty about him that was being reflected outward.

For the first time, Solomon truly felt like he was getting a glance at his soul.

“Your majesty?” a young woman approached Asmo, violin in her hand, “Would you like music?”

Solomon wasn’t sure what possessed him to look up in that moment, but he realized how many eyes were on them. No. How many eyes were on him. Then he remembered. Asmo would be giving up his position in marrying him. That meant that Solomon would now have say over anything that happened. For the first time what that really meant hit Solomon. Asmo would no longer have control over his sector, and his people were worried. They didn’t know anything about Solomon, and neither did Asmo.

He wanted him to love him.

He wanted him to respect him.

Asmo was just as scared, and Solomon had been stupid enough to miss it all.

“On any other day that would be lovely my dear, but I’m afraid my-”

“You mentioned wanting to dance earlier,” Solomon cut in, bowing ever so slightly, “Consider this my apology for being so rude and ignoring you.”

Joy radiated from the prince. Solomon could feel his warmth buzzing all around them as they headed back to the center of town.

This didn’t mean Solomon was in love.

But this did mean that he was going to try harder.

He was going to give the prince what he deserved and show him that he didn’t need to worry.

Solomon would take care of things.

The music started up, the woman with the violin leading in a few other instruments as they joined hands. Solomon wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but it didn’t seem to matter to Asmodeus. It was such a simple want.

Ah. Yet how quickly a fairytale-esque picture can shatter.

Solomon didn’t even register hearing the whistle of the arrow as he pulled Asmodeus in close and it scraped his sleeve, barely missing his fiance.

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