#I have so many notes about my little weirdo but this is perhaps my favorite detail about them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

owlespresso · 9 months ago

Text

the red fruit which ripens

alpha!blade/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is getting too close. tags: blackmail, mind games, nonconsensual touching, blade and luocha are just weirdos idk pt 2 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. the first part can be read here.

You have never known peace. You doubt any emanator ever has. The Mother of Harmony, of peace, bestowed upon you a fraction of her immortal grace. She cored herself, tore out a seed—jewel like and glistening, and beckoned you to feast. The taste went down so smooth and sweet.

That was the first and last time you held your blessing in awe. Xipe sentenced you, that day, to never know the peace she covets. You could catch glimpses of it, inhale the scent of it deep, but it would fade like morning mist, chased away by the winds of chaos and whatever awful business you were to tend to next.

When you strayed from The Family, tore yourself free of their clutches and hid where their millions of bulging eyes could not find you; you believed it possible to know peace. Perhaps not immediately. There was so much to take care of during your first days on the Luofu, paperwork and apartment hunting. It was all jarringly normal. You were mystified by the mundanity, delighted by it even. The world suddenly closed in for the better. There were no enemy factions to worry about corralling, no petty politics, no attempts to usurp you or take your life.

The world became the Luofu. It became your apartment. It became your favorite food stalls and your neighbors and the little birds fluttering about in the trees.

But it was not peace. Soon, you came to realize that even the average Luofu citizen did not know the concept as intimate as you hoped. They live in fear of Mara, of the Abundance, which they are so intimately intertwined with. Every pain is a life threatening risk, a potential trigger to a deadly malady. Outside of the Abundance, so many run themselves ragged, weighted by long work hours and petty squabbles with loved ones. The kindly folk by the docks find themselves cornered by the IPC.

No mortal knows peace, you have come to realize. Perfect tranquility is a ripe and red lie, birthed gold and glistening from the Goddess’s many lips, spread carelessly and listlessly across the universe. Unattainable by the emanator’s closest to her.

You believed once, and it hurt you. Not again. You will heed no honeyed words. You can only believe in what is cold, concrete, and solid.

—

“I feel like—” you begin, pushing through the rusted metal paneling of the dilapidated fence. “—you could have gotten here by yourself.” You usually don’t talk this much, but Blade’s habitual silence combined with your burgeoning irritation leaves you uncharacteristically eager to complain aloud.

The abandoned warehouse looms an eerie, empty monument of crumbling sheet metal and shattered glass. Long columns of broken machinery are gutted in pieces across the concrete yard. You make note to return later, just to make sure you’re not leaving valuable goods out to waste.

“I have never been here before. Kafka thought it wise to come with a guide.”

“And what do you think?” you pause, shoulder buried in the outside paneling of the building itself.

“What I think… does not matter.” Blade says cooly. “A blade is meant to be wielded. It does not choose who it cuts down or where it goes.”

“Hm,” you don’t have much to say to that. You shouldn’t have opened your yap in the first place. The less you know about the bizarre relations of the Stellaron Hunters, the better. You squeeze into the building through the gap. Blade hardly two paces behind. The metal groans and squeaks as he forces his way in. It feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever fucking heard, an offensive and high pitched screech that probably rings through the yard and neighboring alleyways.

“At least try to be a little quieter,” you grumble, squinting into the dark. The main room is made a maze by haphazardly laid out storage containers, many cracked open and already emptied. Wires hang from the ceiling, which has become an amalgamation of mechanical matter and rotting parts. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Black grunts his assent.

“Well. You’re here, safe and sound.” you waste no time, doubling back towards the Blade-shaped hole in the wall. Did he just walk straight through!? What are they feeding this guy? “So I—”

The sound of thundering footsteps and approaching shouts freezes you mid-step. Momentary panic jars you still. The Cloud Knights? Here? Now?

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you turn tail, ready to haul ass in the opposite direction, only to collide face-first with Blade’s firm chest. He jostles you to the side with his shoulder, ignoring your grunt of complaint. His hand rests on the hilt of his blade. Your stomach jumps into your throat.

“Where are you going!?” you hiss.

“To take care of the vermin,” Blade replies drolly, looking down his nose at you. His lips twitch into the beginnings of a puzzled frown.

“Absolutely not!” you say, and his frown pulls deeper. “Where there’s ten, there’s bound to be twenty waiting to back them up.”

It is unlike you to be so bold, but you seize him by the wrist, pulling him further into the jagged steel labyrinth. He allows himself to be led, surprisingly docile as you round corners and scuttle down corridors. Pale moonlight covers the room in a silvery sheen, providing just enough light for you to make out a door embedded into the outermost wall. Footsteps echo around you, calling voices made cacophonous by the echo. Blade’s grip on your hand tightens, likely annoyed and sorely tempted to begin the slaughter, but you yank open the door and jam yourself inside what seems to be a cramped server room.

A few circuit towers stand side-by-side, dark and dusty with disuse. Blade shuts the door behind you, opening his mouth to speak, but you’re already wedging yourself into the lone aisle between the wall and the towers, pulling him behind you.

A few moments later sees you crammed in the narrow space. The back wall and server towers rise on either side of you, caging you up against your troublesome accomplice. One of Blade’s thighs presses tight to your own. Warm and firm. The proximity betrays what you’ve expected since your first meeting. Blade is an alpha. Only now, brought so obscenely close, are you fully able to realize that. It’s a footnote in comparison to your agitation, which swims and simmers just beneath the surface of your skin.

“How long were they following us for?” you grumble aloud. “Tell Kafka she owes an extra 20% when you see her, and that I’m not doing this ever again.”

Blade sighs out of his nose. You can’t see his face well enough to make out his expression.

“You’re wearing a mask. Your identity is safe.” he says.

“The threat of being arrested still remains,” you grumble, listening to the clamorous noise outside. Trained troops rush back and forth, kicking up dust and old grease. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, beyond a few paltry words, but no one has yet knocked on the door. Surely a good sign.

Blade squeezes your hand, and subsequently reminds you that you are holding it.

“That won’t happen. Destiny’s Slave would not risk your safety over something so simple. No harm will come to you, tonight.”

Well, isn’t that comforting. You wrest your hand away with a scowl, and clamp down on the pressing urge to let him know what you really think about his boss. He stares down at the place where your hands were once joined.

The next half-hour passes in relative silence. His eyes are all that is visible in the empty dark of the room, candlewick embers extinguished when he shuts them and leans back against the wall.

Eventually, the outside noise quiets. No more thudding boots or searching shouts, the warehouse silent as it had been when you arrived. Shimmying out from the pitch dark crevice is much more awkward without the frantic adrenaline, but you manage it, emerging in a new layer of dust.

“Alright. I’m heading out. Be careful.”

“They won’t return anytime soon,” Blade remains inside, arms crossed and impassive. Your frown deepens. You clamber through a hole in the wall. No Knights have remained behind. You feared a few would have stayed just in case, but none leap out from behind the rubble. Which means that the horrible feeling prickling up the back of your neck is just Blade’s cold, empty gaze trained on your retreating form.

Strange beast, you think to yourself, scuttling into the nearest alleyway.

—

One of your favorite things about Luocha’s home is that he is hardly ever in it. The first time you met him after helping him with his pre-heat, he pressed a silver house key into your palms, before turning and leaving. Not even allowing you to splutter a single, indignant protest. Back then, you mentally swore that you wouldn’t use it.

Now, you use it almost everyday. His neighborhood, smack dab in the middle of the Luofu, intersects with several of your regular routes. It’s just too easy so slide in between deliveries for a quick rest. It helps that he’s hardly ever home, leaving you to pilfer snacks from his fridge and take brief naps on the couch. You haven’t been bold enough to stay overnight. You’ve become far, far too intimate with the man.

No more, you decide, and stay firm to that decision even when he beseeches your company not a week later. It’s rude, but you can’t risk getting anymore attached than you already are. He’s become a bothersome burr stuck to your side, a looming presence in your thoughts even when he’s far across the stars, doing Xipe knows what.

There’s a knock at the door. You startle, because this has never happened before. You remain stock still on the couch. If you remain still, surely whoever is out there will get the message and bugger off. Another knock. You should have known that any solicitor determined to walk through the forest of a front yard would be too stubborn to give up after only seven knocks.

At the eleventh, you get up and stomp to the door. It’s mostly to preserve your own sanity.

You throw open the door, prepared to give the nosy bastard on the other side an earful.

It’s Blade. Blade is stood there. He blots out the afternoon sun, leaving you in the shadow he casts. It’s like seeing your clothes in the fridge. You blink several times.

“Ah. It’s you.”

“It is,” He’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his left hand.

“What… why are you here?”

“Kafka’s orders. She wanted you to have these,” he hands you the bouquet. You receive it. Fresh petunias and sprigs of rosemary curl next to daisies and tulips. It’s a nonsensical thing. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Nothing particularly artful about the presentation besides the pretty colors.

“I see… Is this your home?” He looks like he already knows the answer.

You decide not to humor him. You tuck the bouquet underneath your arm and lean up against the doorframe. “What’s it to you?”

He blinks, looks confused, and then responds after a moment of silent thought. “I… there is someone else who lives here. I remember it clearly, now.”

“You two know each other, huh? What a coincidence. But… how did you know where I was?”

“I asked the woman next door. She directed me here. I’ve been searching for you since the early morning.”

“All morning?” you tut, somewhat sympathetic. “That’s a lot of walking.”

“It is nothing compared to other pains I have endured.” Blade says, solemnly. “And I have traveled far greater distances on foot. You shouldn’t worry.”

“...Well,” you stare down at the bouquet for a moment. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t give you anything for the effort. You know that big, red maple by the pond? Go sit there. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Two minutes later sees you outside, cradling two crystalline glasses filled with lemonade. You didn’t get him the fancy stuff—the strawberry-kiwi-whatever fruit stuff that you hand mixed. But it’s something.

He’s hunched beneath the red canopy. There’s a dark, inky type of handsomeness he possesses. Dark hair tumbles down his back, shaggy bangs frame that wolfish face. He looks dour almost all the time. Like the frown lines and cold apathy have permanently creased it. He’s hunched beneath the shade. Like it sits on his shoulders as a physical weight. He looks up at you as you settle next to him, accepts his glass without fuss or thanks. Which is just fine, with you. You probably shouldn’t be doing this, anyways. He’s an intergalactic criminal. The less time you spend together, the better.

But at the same time… you can’t help but be curious. Curious about the mara which buzzes underneath his skin, yet somehow never breaches it. Curious about what manner of creature he must be to withstand the final stages of Yaoshi’s curse. Curious if there’s any real, lingering emotion beyond the stoicism he treats… well, everything with.

The two of you sit in silence and sip. You don’t feel any need for artificial conversation. It’s easy to sit down and simply exist next to him. No impulsive need for niceties.

“This house isn’t yours,” he says.

“No. The owner is a client of mine. He lets me stop by here, in between deliveries. It’s convenient.”

A few beats of silence. “How well do you know the man that lives here?”

“As well as I know any other client,” he looks at you expectantly, as though waiting for you to finish that statement. “Which isn’t very well. He’s not here most of the time.”

“You should remain cautious while in his presence,” he says, and you nearly raise a brow at the unsolicited advice. He levels you with his dull, candlewick gaze, as impassive as ever. A leaf flutters from the lowest branches onto his head. “That man draws his power from the source of the mara. He wields it under the guise of a blessing, and yet…” Blade frowns, almost a grimace, and doesn’t say anything else.

“I know.”

“Yet you take shelter under his roof and exist willingly in his space.” Blade stares at you. There’s a faint bristling in the air. A shuddering of the atmosphere that emerges from him. Thorny tendrils of bitter gold crackle beneath his pale skin. You don’t know exactly what aggrieves him so, but you get the feeling that you should say something to appease him, quickly.

“Well. I don’t know any other rich diplomats willing to offer me a free, mostly empty house to take a break in for… around twenty minutes a day,” you shrug. “It’s convenient.”

That seems to settle him.

“Do you… not like him? The merchant?” Does he even know Luocha’s name? What kind of relationship do these two weirdos have?

“In the strange purgatory of my existence, he acts as both poison and cure.” Blade informs you, as if it tells you really anything. As if sensing your befuddlement, he deflates a little, nose scrunching. He looks like a dour cat, stuck out in the rain. “He wants something from me. I can’t tell what it is. His unseemly fascination means it can be nothing good.” His attempt at elaboration gives you somewhat of a clearer picture, but it’s still some insanity that you’ll have to unpack later.

“I see. I’ll make sure to remember that,” you’re not sure if it’s possible to forget a conversation with Blade. Especially one that lasts more than a few moments. What prompted this? Genuine concern for your well-being? You have a hard time believing that. There are many things that are better off left unsaid, in your experience, so you don’t ask.

The rest of the visit passes in relative quiet. Blade finishes his lemonade.

You reach over. His gaze snaps to you immediately, a beaten dog evaluating a potential threat.

“You have something in your hair,” you inform him helpfully, plucking the leaf from his sable locks. You curl the stem around your fingers.

He doesn’t say anything after that. The two of you stand. He murmurs a brief farewell, and is off through the yard, slipping through the ferns to become one with the cast shadows. You’re not sure how long you remain after he leaves. The pond water ripples with each gentle breeze. Glimmering koi bob to the surface, in search of mid-afternoon snacks. When they find none, they dive beneath, water droplets flickering off their lashing tail fins.

Well, you think after another moment, at least you learned something.

Now, it is high time that you tend to the bouquet so generously sent your way. You dump the glasses in the sink, halfheartedly vowing to deal with them later, before taking a closer look at the arrangement of flowers. As you expected, it’s more than a paltry, sentimental gift. Tucked into the plastic wrapping is a small card.

Bladie said you got in quite the mess, the other day. You have my deepest gratitude for handling it so cleanly. He’s not that good at talking things out. He seems to like you, though! I wonder what makes you so special?

P.S. Next Tuesday, please escort Bladie to the address written on the back of this note. Please? Do it for me. :)

—

You hate working with criminals. Criminals other than yourself.

Though, you don’t fancy yourself much a criminal. Deliveries are an entirely different beast, simple points of contact which last at most for five minutes. Escorting a known, intergalactic criminal through multiple layers of the Luofu is completely different—something you would never do if anyone besides Kafka asked. You’ll dance to her tune, run her errands if it keeps you off her shitlist. But is there even a point if keeping off of hers just puts you onto someone else’s?

You’ll have some fierce thinking to do after you shake off the six Cloud Knights currently on your tail. You dive between market stalls. You leap over a counter, sending an array of fruits and vegetables tumbling onto the pavement. You ignore the enraged shout of the peddler behind you, pulse thundering in your ears as you weave between the passerby, narrowly avoiding a stack of crates.

The air stings at the corners of your eyes. The marketplace blends together to the point of featurelessness. You don’t know who you pass or what else you know over, too focused on what’s ahead to care about the wreckage left behind. At the very least, it may hamper the Knights as they shout and stomp and rush after you—and Blade, whose fault all this is.

You slide around a corner and into a red-bricked alleyway, lanterns strung between the two rooftops, gold and glittering against that fake, blue sky.

“Dead end.” Blade grunts. You hear the telltale click of his sword being unsheathed.

“No! Just follow me!” you snap, seizing his wrist and pulling him forward, all the way to the end. As you trudge forward, you tap a sequence into the walls on either side. The worn clay surfaces are coarse under your fingertips. None move after you touch them, but you feel a subtle shift in the energy as it rushes down to the focal point. The pattern ends at the back of the alley. You tap a chipped, ragged brick embedded into the dead-end wall. The slabs unfold, layer-by-layer, to form an opening.

You pull him through.

It folds shut behind you, the quiet sound of grinding stone following you through the passage. The hollering and thudding of the pursuit have been silenced. Their chaos of the market sealed away behind the otherwise impenetrable seal. You doubt the low-ranking footmen who chased you will know the way.

Yellow-green vines crawl up the pulsing walls. Luminous particles bob and float in the air like fireflies. The place is silent, leaving you with only the sound of your own panting and Blade—Blade’s rasping, spluttering wheezes.

You stop, right where you are, because you have never heard him make such a sound before. Even after a chase, or a fight.

The passage opens to a wider tunnel up ahead. You drop Blade’s hand, and turn to look at him. The adrenaline is fading, now leaving room for fresh, common sense.

Blades hunches up against the wall. The air enters and leaves his lungs in winded, rushed wheezes. His eyes are wide and unseeing. Those candlewick irises dart from the floor, to the place where your hands had been joined, and finally, then, to you.

A scent, like firewood charred too long, blistering into crumbled charcoal, blooms in and clouds the thin space. It’s like nothing you’ve ever smelled before, the vicious pheromones of an alpha at the very end of their tether. Something more, too, something earthen and ancient and charged. A flavor which has graced your palate only once or twice before.

Encroaching mara. You don’t know what he’s like, when his symptoms flare. You’re not eager to find out. The capricious nature of his mara has not once posed a threat to you. But his composure is slipping, his hands curling like claws and flexing. Like he’s getting a feel for his own body. Like the joints are sore and need stretching.

“Blade,” you stumble forward, pressing your palm to the cold, pale pane of his cheek. “Blade, look at me.”

His shaky irises hover awkwardly over your shoulder, before at last meeting your gaze.

“It approaches,” he rasps, looking as haunted as you have ever seen him.

“Blade, do not let the mara take you.” you take in a deep, steadying breath. The violent pulsing in your ears returns in full force, the unhinged mass of his disease gnawing at your physical form.

Bracing yourself, you reach within. You touch the very bottom of your long neglected wellspring. Harmonic Essence leaps to the surface, warm and loving and so eager to be put to use. It feels like an old coat slipped around your shoulders, a familiarity you wouldn’t dare indulge in under ordinary circumstances. It is a power long wasted on you, but useful this very once. It pulses from underneath your fingertips, washes underneath his pallid skin.

The acrid taste of his mara brashes against the tip of your tongue for a single, fleeting moment. It then skitters backwards. Retreats into the dark, churning void of what you assume to be his subconsciousness. It’s a temporary balancing of the scales, but his wild pulse settles.

You sigh, shoulder slumping in relief. The tension winds out of your body, hand dropping back to your side.

He still looms above you, jet black hair curtaining you in. When did he get so close? Or had it been you in your haste to soothe him? He runs hot as a hearth, the warmth which radiates from him thick enough to feel. This close, you can see his every breath, soft mounds of his chest straining the fastenings which hold his shirt together. Slender stripes of pale skin peek through his chest wrappings. You swallow and look away, up at the strong column of his neck.

“Are you with me?” you murmur. You don’t dare move, lest your retreat trigger the chase instinct which some alphas are known to possess. You don’t like making assumptions. You feel like Blade would be among that number anyways.

“Yes,” Blade’s voice is sandpaper rough. He moves before you do, shouldering past you into the wider tunnel. “You make use of these often, I take it.”

As though nothing had ever happened. Something bitter churns in your gut, but you don’t bring it up. There’s no reason to. He probably wants to distance himself from this episode as quickly as possible. You don’t blame him. The mara must be a humiliating affliction to live and cope with.

“It’s the fastest way to get around,” you break into a brisk walk, overtaking him. You’re the one who knows your way around, here.

“The mara would rend asunder the minds of anyone not wearing the correct protective gear,” Blade observes. There’s nothing pointed in his voice, but the weight of his gaze makes your skin crawl. Its keen focus is that of an apex predator’s, a beast somehow sated enough to keep his teeth from your throat. How long will that last? Fifteen minutes? An hour? The air here swelters with abundance. His mara must sup on it like a starved prisoner, far stronger and fuller than it could ever be on the surface.

He could easily match your pace, but he chooses to walk behind you.

“I could say the same for you.”

“I am an abomination of Yaoshi. The abundance has already taken hold of me.” Blade says, grimacing. You toy with the fraying edge of your sleeve between your forefinger and thumb. “All the saturation here does is spur on the symptoms.”

You make a face. He must sense your unease.

“I should be able to resist the pull until we surface. Provided we do not linger overlong.” Blade replies. It does remarkably little to reassure you.

A predator stalks at your back, one whose sanity may pop like an overfilled balloon at really any moment. Against your better sense, you feel anxiety lash at the bottom of your stomach, guts churning with that primal fear.

“Reassuring.” you bite out thoughtlessly.

“It would be in your best interest to focus on finding a way out, rather than back-talking me.” Blade says, and you swallow.

“Back-talking? I think my frustration is quite justified. You’re the reason we’re in this mess, after all.” you pointedly remind him. The words roll bitter off your tongue. Prickling discomfort coalesces with the saturation of abundance in the air, becoming a consistent buzz against the back of your skull.

Blade makes a ragged little noise, wedged between a wheeze and a laugh.

“Another do I make pay the price. I was not always like this. deathless beast borne of blind ambition and hubris…” he trails off. “I was once a man. Death walked with me as it walked with every other. It was never meant to—to become—”

A distorted warble slowly creeps into his voice. Shit, you just shouldn’t have said anything. The hovering energy coalesces, thin whispers congealing into thick, mist-like mass around him. It’s drawn to him.

“What’s your favorite food?” you turn on your heel and ask, crossing your arms. He looks down at you, brows furrowing as he roots around for an answer. “You haven’t thought about it, have you?” Do the mara-struck even have to eat? Blade is a particularly unique case among them, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he even remembers to eat. He is a blade, according to his own words. And a blade doesn’t need to eat. How desolate an existence he must have lived. Must still be living if his own preferences evade him.

“Well. Try to find an answer while I get us out of here.” you command. He’s quiet for the remainder of the trek. You emerge topside and immediately feel several pounds lighter. The air is fresh and sweet, the skies blue and open. You’re two blocks from your apartment in a dark, neglected alleyway.

“You can find your way back from here,” you sigh, chancing a glance at your companion as you stretch your arms above your head. “Right?”

He’s still quiet. You don’t sense the acrid tang of the illness. He looks thoughtful. You wish he would just give you an answer already. You’re not eager to be chanced upon again by a patrol, or by any other witnesses for that matter.

“Your question. I don’t have an answer.” Blade says. He sounds almost regretful.

Over your few interactions, you’ve come to realize that not much bothers him. Very little manages to budge that glacial mien. His demeanor, as you have come to understand, either sits as stoney neutrality or maniacal, giddy rage. The shades between are so very visited.

“It’s no big deal. You can just tell me next time, if you want.” If he even remembers. The idea of turning your back to him still riddles you with unease, but you do it anyway. Your steps are slow and measured. He stares you down until you disappear around the corner, meld into the crowds like just another thread in a blanket.

—

The sky above hangs a pale grey. It’s the threat of a light drizzle rather than a raging storm. You slip through the abundant foliage of Luocha’s front yard, unable but to notice that the shrubs and vibrant blooms have somehow grown in size since your last visit. The greens are hearty, fresh dewdrops glimmering off grass and unfurled leaves.

It’s not difficult to spot him. He’s lounged beneath the sole scarlet maple of the yard. He’s a spot of red himself, swathed in a richly-colored, likely richly-made, robe of it. The fabric pools on the lawn chair he lounges atop of. His eyes are shut, blonde lashes fanning against his perfect cheeks. Those eyes open as you skirt along the jagged stone edge of the pond, manilla envelope clutched in your left hand. He smiles, but does not lift his head. Sumptuous locks of golden blonde fan out behind his head like a halo. The very picture of serenity.

“Well, well. To what do I owe this visit?” he tilts his head, smiling like a contented cat. You huff, and avoid looking below his neck, where the plush robe parts to reveal the pale soft of his chest. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but any sliver of intimacy you may have granted him has long passed. The moment you look down, he’ll notice and impose upon you another outlandish favor.

“Don’t get excited.” You hand him the package, and begin to pull back, but he’s faster. He darts for you like a viper. Long fingers curl around your wrist to hold you in place. The look in his eyes is beseeching. He gently deposits the envelope on the side table next to his seat. He doesn’t look away from you for even a moment.

“Always so busy… doesn’t it exhaust you?” he murmurs, a sympathetic coo. He’s putting just enough strain on your arm to make standing uncomfortable, in hopes that you’ll sit down beside him.

“No. I’m used to it. I like being busy,” you bear the ache in your arm with unyielding ease. It is so small and insignificant in comparison to every other you have endured.

“Do you… like being busy, or is it that you’ve never known anything else?” Luocha tilts his head to the side, smiling. Your skin prickles. You resist the urge to swallow.

“You know what they say about assumptions.”

“Which is why I’m glad I’m not making one. You go to awfully desperate lengths to not be known, Courier.”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, and his eyes gleam. “Don’t be coy with me. Did you talk to them?” You ask. The question has lingered on your mind for weeks, leaving you restless and more unkind than usual. The persistent threat of him is always at the back of your mind, represented in the throbbing between your temples, in the harshness of your voice as you snap at someone who might not deserve it. There’s no sense in beating around the bush, anymore. Not if you want to preserve your sanity.

“How very vague, for someone who just accused me of being coy. Be at ease, I haven’t had any contact with The Family. Merely some… particularly useful informants who have heard a thing or two. Hunches based on speculation that you’ve proven by being cagey.” Luocha assures you.

“...So, what do you want from me?”

“Merely conversation. I do find our interactions so compelling, however short they may be.”

“Being blackmailed doesn’t put me in the mood for conversation. There’s not much for us to talk about.”

“I beg to differ. I know so very little about you, despite all we’ve shared. I’m curious—what set you on the path of Harmony?”

“...” You look away, internally evaluating the pros and cons of going along with his little game. “Peace. She promised us peace. Because that’s what Harmony was supposed to be.” His eyes soften. The indignation sizzling inside of you sparks into a raw flame (he has no right to look at you like that), but you smother it.

“Did it live up to your expectations?” he asks. His thumb rubs circles against the hollow of your wrist. His gaze sweeps from your face, down your arm, to where he’s still got you. He’s waiting for you to be vulnerable, you just know it. A shark that smells blood in the water, circling and searching for tender flesh to lay its rows of teeth into. How does he imagine it will taste? Soft and meaty, melting underneath teeth and tongue? Layers of skin peeled back and pried open, made thin by older slices?

“It didn’t work out.” you reply. sagacious enough to play along only minimally. When you elaborate no further, he releases you with a smile.

“How interesting,” he hums. He reclines further, eyes fluttering shut. You could pounce on him so easily, like this. You could fix your teeth into his jugular and make it so he never threatens you again. The blood would be so warm in your mouth. His skin would be so sweet.

Don’t be gross. You grimace.

He drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

The fluttering of wings erupts in the canopy above you, a flock of songbirds taking an afternoon flight. He cracks open his eyes, then. He tracks some sort of movement (you aren’t looking up), idle, like you aren’t even there. He tilts his head to the side, the slender column of his neck completely exposed. The robe slips off of his shoulders, curvature of his collarbones and soft expanse of his chest open for your viewing pleasure. You’re annoyed.

“I’ve held you long enough,” he sighs. “Thank you for sharing. Though, I do hope we can manage a longer conversation next time.”

“We’ll see,” you just barely keep a sigh out of your voice as you turn to leave, speed-walking up the grassy slope.

—

“That old man’s damn cat has been coming into the yard and bothering all the birds,” you grumble, squinting into the aforementioned patch of forest.

Blade makes a noncommittal noise, indicating that he’s heard you.

“It pisses me off.”

“You care about the birds in someone else’s yard.” Blade observes. You frown deeper.

“It’s annoying. Cats are an invasive species, here. They slaughter all of the native wildlife—and sometimes they don’t even eat what they kill,” you sigh, tampering down your rising agitation. If you’ve learned one thing in your short and storied life, it’s that being impassioned isn’t good for you.

“So, how would you suggest the problem be solved? If the owner insists on letting it out…”

“I don’t really live here, so it’s not like I have any right to get involved,” you shrug, “It’s just… if you’re gonna be that irresponsible with an animal, you don’t deserve to have it. You know?”

Blade makes another noise. Closer to a hum, this time. You don’t know if he knows or not. But you do know that he’s listening. You stare into the yard, and in your periphery you can see him staring at you.

—

You see Blade more in the coming days. Despite your best attempts, a routine slips into being, like weeds through cracks in the cement. Silver Wolf doesn’t show up to accept her own packages nearly as much, anymore. It’s almost always Blade. You see him so often that you question if he even has a job anymore.

He glowers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, low voice almost lost amongst the bustle of the crowd. The markets are especially full today. Nestled in the crook of your elbow is a plastic shopping basket, loaded with some bread, some spices, and some vegetables. The stall you’re at rests beneath a red tarp, casts warm shadows onto his pale, bone-weary skin. “There are currently no tasks which command my presence at the moment.”

“Well. It’s good to have time off, but you don’t need to follow me around.”

“...” he doesn’t reply, but he does follow you all the way up to the counter. You can’t tell if he doesn’t understand the nuance, or if he’s just being bizarre and stubborn. Regardless, tailing you like a lost puppy seems to alleviate his boredom. To each their own.

“If you’re just going to walk behind me, can you—” you shift the basket from the crook of your arm, preparing to offer it. He snatches it from you before you can even finish speaking.

“...Thanks.”

He takes his newfound job as the basket carrier very seriously. His dour face doesn't budge an inch as you peruse the rest of the wares, plucking a few items from open crates and wooden shelves to add to the bundle.

“So, see anything that piques your interest?” you’re not sure what prompts you to speak up. You should get through this as silently and as quickly as possible. The less time you spend in public with this man, the better. The presence of the Cloud Knights isn’t nearly as felt on this level, making it as safe a haven for criminals as can be. You suspect, sometimes, that it’s purposeful. In your many travels, you have come to realize that the criminal class is a valuable part of any economy, no matter how much those at the top may protest it. Those who disavow it the most fervently are usually the most involved, under the table.

Blade doesn’t respond, at first. His crimson gaze glances over the nearby shelves. He grabs a bottle of cloves and presents it to you, completely straight-faced.

You get the overwhelming sense he’s appeasing you more than anything.

“...Yeah,” you pluck it from his hand and halfheartedly eye the label. It’s hard to muster the energy to argue with him, especially when he looks so resolute. The fact that he’s continuing to tail you through the market is cause enough to ignore him. You drop the bottle into your basket and move on.

Thankfully, the rest of the trip passes in peaceful silence. You can feel Blade’s gaze, unreadable, lingering on your form as you pull your wallet out of one of your many pockets. The shopkeep, a sprightly young man with a head of bouncy, brown hair beams at the sight of you. You don’t remember his name, but you’re familiar with him. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts his mouth tight before he can get a word out.

He glances over your shoulder. You swivel just barely to look at your stubborn shadow. Blade looms closer than you remember him being, leaving you with an up close and personal view of his chest. You tsk and look up at his face.

“Can you get a bottle of white cardamom for me? It should be with the rest of the spices.”

Blade looks at you, and looks at the shopkeep. He is silent. The lines of his face are harsher than usual, burdened with deeper shadow. For a few, agonizing moments, you fear he may object, but he turns almost robotically and walks off. You’re not sure what’s upset him this time. You don’t particularly care. If you troubled yourself with the qualms of every pouting client, you’d be just as miserable as you were with The Family.

“Thanks. I could hardly get a word out while he was giving me those evil eyes,” the shopkeep says, shuddering.

“I guess his manners still need work,” Not that men in his line of work really needed any.

“Alphas that smell that strong and don’t even try to put a lid on it are the worst,” he gripes, bagging your produce with nimble hands, before pausing and looking back up at you. He wrings his hands, contrite and sheepish. “—er, no offense.”

“He smells strong?” you tilt your head to the side.

“Well, yeah. He’s all over you,” the man blinks. Some of his bangs fall over his big, brown eyes. He swipes them behind his ear thoughtlessly. “You guys just get together? He’s probably trying to flaunt it. Stake his ‘claim’, y’know?” he says with a sympathetic roll of the eyes.

You don’t particularly care what he says about Blade. A man able to lift a three-thousand pound sword doesn’t need defending. It’s his misconceptions about your relationship that irks you, for some reason. You don’t care about the opinions of others (you try not to care about the opinions of others) but you can’t resist the sudden urge to correct him.

“We’re not together.”

“Oh,” he blinks at you. “Does he know that?”

“Ugh. Enough. It’s none of your business.” your lips twist, a sliver of teeth exposed in your displeasure.

The shopkeep nods and beams at you, all previous curiosity wiped clean off his face. “Heard loud and clear!”

He finishes ringing you up and sees you off with a “have a nice day~!”. Blade follows you to your next stop, a stall that sells fresh fruits.

The frustration builds within you slowly. It’s a candlewick of a thing, at first. Blade is following you around. Irritating, but you can cope with it. He would leave if he was asked. Maybe Kafka told him to stick around for a while. She’s gotten into a bad habit of pawning him off on you, like he’s a child that needs watching rather than one of the universe’s most efficient killing machines. That’s fine. You’re not keen to get on her bad side.

Blade is scenting you. He’s sticking to you tight as a cobweb and giving dirty looks to people you talk to. That, you cannot abide by. It takes you at least five minutes to simmer, from the crate of apples to the lefternmost all of the stall to the bundle of leeks close to its middle. You’re not really looking at anything. Lost in thought.

“I am not an omega for you to covet. I don’t need your protection,” you tell him, letting your gaze idly roam over the prices. They’re written on fancy little labels with red accents, each one neatly stickered just below the lip of each crate.

“I never said you did,” Blade replies after a moment of deliberating. You look over a crate of cantaloupe. Selecting a ripe one is a practiced art.

“You didn’t have to,” you pause, melon held in your hands as you give him a scathing look. “Control your pheromones. You’re not an animal.”

“No. Worse, I am a blade.” he sighs, suddenly sounding unusually surly. Your lips twitch in the barest beginnings of a frown.

“Not an excuse,” you helpfully remind him. A shadow is cast over his face, then, dark and brooding. The space between his brows wrinkles, an uncertainty you haven’t quite seen from him before. There’s so little need to deliberate in a life like his own, so what troubles him now? It nettles something in you, makes you feel in a way that you don’t care to name and don’t want to look into. You deliberate asking, but he makes the choice for you.

“I will leave you, now.” When you turn to look at him, he’s already walked away from your side, strides longer than usual. He dissolves into the crowd like a sunset shadow, naught left in his wake but the scent you know still clings to your clothes.

—

“My, my. You rarely ever visit at this hour,” Luocha says, giving you one of those mirthful smiles where his eyes scrunch, unabashedly delighted (and undeniably smug) to see you. He lounges on the ottoman, slender fingers parting the pages of a furniture catalogue. “To what do I owe the honor?”’ He’s already deduced that you want something from him. You take no excessive pride in your poker face but it still pains you to be so easily read. Luocha stands apart from the crowd with his soft hands and feigned delicacy, but he smells blood in the water just as easily as any other follower of the Hunt.

“I just wanted to talk,” you see no reason to dance around it.

“You came all this way for a conversation?” He rests his chin on the palm of his hand in a haughty way that pisses you off.

“Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time?” you grouse, and he laughs.

“I’m flattered, regardless. Come, sit and tell me all that is on your mind.” he beckons to a seat at his side, which you stiffly sink into, unable to relax beneath his hunter’s gaze.

“You’re an omega—”

“Yes, quite,” his smile is now coquettish. You feel your face wrinkle in annoyance, line of your brows dipping low.

“I wasn’t done. You know more about secondary genders than I do—and I don’t have anyone else to talk about it with, so…”

“I appreciate you confiding in me like this,” Luocha says, sweet as honey, timbre smooth as silk. There’s an ease about him here, in his own domain, that soothes and disarms you despite your best efforts. “It couldn’t have been easy for you to ask, so unused to relying on anyone else. I’m no professional, but I will answer your questions as best as I am able.”

He steeples his fingers with a smile, way too delighted for you to feel good about his generosity. He just likes knowing something you don’t, doesn’t he?

“Well. I’ve been spending time with an alpha, lately. It’s a work thing, but he keeps hovering around. Even after I tell him he can leave.”

“Ah.” Luocha says. The corners of his smile grow taut with something you don’t quite recognize.

And it’s a question you suddenly have to wonder for yourself. Is Blade bothering you? You can count on one hand the amount of times you have been genuinely upset with him. He’s quiet, most of the time. He answers your questions and attempts to appease you whenever possible. He carries your bags whenever you happen to be at the markets, together. Even if you really wish he wouldn’t, you can tell he’s trying to be kind.

“He hardly speaks. And when I does, I don’t really mind. But he hovers and keeps grabbing my shopping bags whenever we’re at the markets. I don’t get it. Is it some sort of courting gesture?”

“He certainly sounds like a character,” Luocha muses, sounding far off for a moment. “You have the right idea. He’s carrying your things to both lessen your burden and to prove himself capable, even if he himself does not realize it.”

You grimace, face twisting up, The truth has an acerbic tang to it. Luocha laughs unabashedly at your dismay, the sound melodic and trilling. The longer you spend in his presence, the more convinced you become that the Aeons crafted him specifically to vex you. You give him a scathing look.

“Come, now,” Luocha wheedles. “My humblest apologies, Courier—it’s simply so rare for you to be so expressive. I was caught off guard. Shall I get you something to drink? Come, please, sit back down. Surely you have more to ask of me?”

Reluctantly, you drop into the armchair closest to the door, leaning back as far as you have the space for, You fold your fingers together, elbows perched on an arm rest each.

“I don’t envy you. It must be difficult to bear the attentions of such a peculiar alpha,” Luocha says.

“You know him, then.” You can’t keep the accusation from your voice, something frenetic and ugly kicking up your pulse, making your stomach go sour. How deeply do they know each other? Enough for Luocha to consider spilling your secrets? Enough for them to conspire against your purposes unknown?

No, don't be ridiculous. You're not important enough a figure to be the center of any such elaborate scheme. Weak, as far as emanators go. Painfully average, even as far as betas go. Unremarkable in status and career. All that threatens you is what you have long left behind.

“I do know him. Quite well, in fact.” Luocha muses, undisputed fondness in his voice. How close are they? The question lingers bitter on the tip of your tongue. It vibrates underneath your skin, wild and desperate and gods, you want to know so badly. “Though he may deny it, he can be shy. You’re alike, in that way.”

“I am not shy,” you bristle. It’s your curiosity alone that keeps you in his company.

“An argument best saved for another day. Let’s not get off track—Blade is an alpha, but he bears few of the typical mannerisms associated with his secondary gender, which makes this newfound attachment to you all the more significant.”

Progressively, throughout your conversation, you’ve been able to feel the wrinkles on your face multiplying and darkening.

“It makes sense, if you ask me. You’re quite the extraordinary individual,” Luocha says, drumming his fingers idly against the armrest.

“So how do I get him to stop?” you brush past his superfluous flattery with practiced indifference. He wants to fluster you, to see you squirm. It’s one of the ugly truths behind the chivalrous front he wears in polite company.

“Are you sure you want him to stop?” he inquires.

“What are you getting at?”

“If you truly wanted to no longer be the object of these behaviors, you would have no problem telling him yourself.”

You laugh, and it’s a cold and bitter thing. “Not all men take rejection well.”

“As I well know,” Luocha reminds you. He’s so haughty, so utterly confident that sometimes you forget he’s an omega, a demographic as subject to unwanted advances as any you are a part of. He stands up, empty glass cradled in hand. The sheer material of his robe billows around him like fine mist, treating you to the outline of his smooth, toned legs. Blade is more built, the thought comes to you unbidden. You squish it like the raspberries you juiced only a week ago on Luocha's kitchen counter. You wonder if the stains ever came out.

“Objectively speaking, you have more of a reason to hold your tongue around me than you do him. Yet, you hardly hesitate to make your displeasure known in my company,” he points out. “It’s not because of my secondary sex. You hardly ever remember that I’m an omega, unless my heat is soon.”

“And your point is?”

He seizes your chin, then tilts your head up until you’re forced to look into those grass green eyes. Cradled between his forefinger and thumb, you are left with nowhere else to go. You wonder briefly if it thrills him to do this because he is an omega. If he finds some kind of perverse pleasure in subverting the roles society espouses about his kind.

“You could have told him off on your own. Instead, you went out of your way to consult someone you deeply dislike, looking for another, less direct way of handling it. All of that implies some degree of care, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He’s right, and you hate nothing more than when he’s right.

“Thank you for your time,” you dip back into your customer service with a placid and empty drone, because you know how much he hates it. You say it to his chest, refusing to give him the eye contact. Unwilling to expend the effort. For plausible deniability, because you don’t know what you’ll find on his face. The air has grown balmy and cloying and fragrant. You stand up, and he steps backwards. “But I must be going, now.”

“How unfortunate,” Luocha coos as you awkwardly find your way around him, having been sandwiched between his body and the coffee table. “I was going to put the kettle on…”

—

The shroud of night has settled over the Luofu. A crescent moon winks down at you from the artificial sky, peering between the treetops. You’re laid on your back, on the concrete patio near the shed.

Footsteps head in your direction. You already know who it is. There’s no one else that has that blistering, writhing aura. Blade comes to stand over you. His brows wrinkle in displeasure. You don’t know why. It’s not his patio that you’ve gotten your blood all over.

“You’re injured,” he says, frowning. He crouches over you. A pale thumb smears the drying crimson on your upper lip. Your entire face scrunches up, gnarled like a gargoyle, recoiling from the unexpected touch.

“Nosebleed,” you mutter. The space behind your eyes throbs in protest, accompanied by a fierce pressure at the bridge of your nose. All typical symptoms. The gifts bestowed upon you as Emanator unfortunately do not shield you from your allergies. To think, an Emanator could still be laid low by something as mundane as allergies.

“Who gave it to you?” Blade looms a little closer, gaze steely.

“No one. Sometimes my allergies act up. That’s all.” you assure him, squinting irritably. You hope your judgmental flower will shame him out of your personal space, but he lingers.

“You should remain indoors, then.” he draws. He lifts his bloodied hand and looks at it, too contemplative for your liking.

“I take medication for it. Just forgot today,” it feels wrong to justify yourself. He isn't owed an answer, but this is a rare moment. Blade showing such outright concern over something so novel is interesting (a more sentimental person might call it touching). Has his immortality rendered him incapable of distinguishing a few pesky allergies from a deadly ammonia? You can’t imagine someone so riddled with regeneration to register the difference between a gaping gash and a papercut.

“Then remember to take them.” he advises coolly.

“I will.”

You lay there, then, in silence unperturbed for a few moments. The hard ground is cool against your back. It’ll fix your aching spine, you’re sure.

“Are you not going to get up?” Blade asks.

“No. It feels nice to be on the floor, sometimes.” you assure him quickly, lest he assume your nosebleed has robbed you of all mobility. He stares at you, blank-faced, but you somehow can tell he is skeptical. You pat the space next to you, a silent offering.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it. This rare creature, crackling with the energy of his divine “gift”. You don’t indulge in typical sentiments, and you spurn love and limerence for your own sanity, due to the madness you have seen both inspire. To adore is to give of yourself, to exhaust what limited energy you have left. Yet, there is no arguing the fact of his beauty. His hair pools like fresh slick pitch. Faint moonlight catches on the sable strands. His jaw cuts a sharp and handsome shape, eyelashes long and thick. He stares up at the sky, unreadable.

“Kafka has no need of me in the coming days.” “It is… strange. The Stellaron Hunters are few in number, so our hands are always full. To be bereft of any responsibility… is rare.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

“No. It will leave me restless. And the silence will only give the mara room to spread. It’s better—more manageable when there is a task at hand.” Blade admits, a shiver in his voice.

“I do. I believe you are familiar with the place,” he says. That catches your attention. And makes you just a little nervous.

“Do you even have anywhere to stay?” The Stellaron Hunters surely have a vessel of their own where he can lodge. You’re ultimately not too concerned. You shut your eyes and listen to the midnight breeze, feel the black of the night against your skin.

You turn to look at him, almost afraid to ask. “Familiar?”

“The merchant has opened his home to me. I will remain there for the duration of my… off time.”

Again, you are sorely tempted to question the exact nature and origin of their relationship, but it’s truly none of your business. You’ve long espoused a policy of isolation, but there’s no denying how thoroughly entangled you have become in them. Elbows deep. You’re not quite sure how it happened. They’re infiltrated your monotonous life, moved in so slowly that you didn’t even notice until this very moment.

“Well. He’s not there most of the time, so it’ll be like having your own place,” You can’t imagine Blade as a homeowner, for some reason. It just invokes the image of him mowing a lawn in khaki shorts with that same, placid face he always wears. He’s too ethereal and strange to trim the hedges or fix a leaky faucet. Sometimes, you think he’d look more in-place if he levitated instead of just walking everywhere.

“I had lemonade the other day,” he says, and this fascinates you, because it is so very rare for him to initiate conversation about something so little.

“...And? Did you like it?” Perhaps it’s petty, but you already have a feeling that he didn’t. You hate to presume, but you think you have similar palettes.

“...It was too sweet, and burdened by a lingering, chemical taste,” he confirms your vague conjecture and you very nearly laugh. Or make some sort of short, wry noise like a horse’s snort.

“Yeah. Ones that aren’t made from scratch tend to be like that.”

“And that is why you make your own.”

“Exactly,” you lift your gaze from him and return it to the sky. “When you make something from scratch, you can make however you like. Ones you buy pre-bottled have too much sugar.” He hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing else.

The twinkling stars are no more authentic than the clouds which hover during the day. But you wonder how many far off stars he has visited across the span of his long un-life. How many civilizations he has seen toppled, how many lives have ended at his hands. What a terrifying beast Yaoshi has created. Yet, here he lay beneath a sky he has likely long tired of, humoring your purposeless requests for reasons unknown.

—

You’re tucked on the steps off the side door, head leaned back and eyes shut, drinking in the warmth of the artificial midday sun. Blade leans up against the wall next to you, arms crossed. You don’t blame him for staying in the shade, not when he’s always dressed so darkly.

You shouldn’t show your stomach to a known apex predator. Your instincts are tampered down, but you still curl your spine and lift your knees to your chest when you usually it on the stoop. You haven’t done it, today. Anxiety thrums in the space right behind your eyes. The scared animal inside of you writhes in his presence. You look at him, gaze by happenstance falling on the profile of his chest.

Breasts, you think stupidly, and laugh aloud. The noise is so sudden that you almost don’t realize it came from you. Blade looks down at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you're still too caught up in your own disbelief. Spending so much time with him has softened your skill, started to fry your remaining brain cells. He’s always been handsome. But you’ve started to too keenly note the bow curve of his lips, the narrowness of his waist.

And you hate, hate, hate proving Luocha right.

“What is it that you find so amusing?” Blade speaks slowly, like he’s talking to a scared dog or a lost child.

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes and tilt your head back, letting it thump against the top step. Blade inhales sharply. “Just remembered a stupid joke I heard a few days ago.” When you open your eyes, Blade has turned away, inspecting a row of gladiolus planted next to the nearby shed. The line of his shoulders has gone tense.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” you muse.

“Did you plant them?”

“No. I delivered the seeds. Only a week ago, I think. They wouldn’t have been able to sprout this fast.”

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps,” Blade skates a finger over a bright orange petal. “That merchant utilizes his gift so shamelessly. Even while at the heart of his natural born enemy.”

“And it’ll all be for nothing if that damn cat comes and eats them,” you grunt. You’ev stumbled upon torn up patches of grass and bitten through flower patches, stems snapped and petals crushed. You briefly, in one of your pettiest and cruelest moments, nearly suggested Luocha plant lilies next. The callousness of your own thought had startled you into silence, so gladiolus it was.

“Ah. About the cat,” Blade begins. You blink, wide-eyed. A cold pit forms in your stomach, because—

“You didn’t,” you gape.

“I did not kill it,” Blade says sourly, clearly affronted by the assumption. “I brought it to Kafka. They seem to get along.”

The tension melts out of you at once. Your petty grudge isn’t worth the blood of an innocent animal. You let yourself fall back against the stoop. The edges of the stairs dig into your spine.

“That makes sense,” you say, a touch wry.

Blade grimaces. “They send me images of the little beast every day I am not there. If Silver Wolf is to be believed, it ‘eats better’ than she does.”

Does Silver Wolf eat well to begin with? “That was kind of you,” you say instead.

“Was it? Or was it cruel to the man who will wonder where his pet has gone?” Blade inquires. He doesn’t sound particularly bothered by the possibility.

You scoff. “I doubt he’ll even notice.”

—

You are natant in the dull haze of half-sleep. The soft scent of camelias and fabric softener and linens. A cloying warmth cocoons you, keeps you mired in a state of partial sleep. Burrowed beneath the comfort exists a nagging feeling of wrongness, like a pebble in your boot. You cling to the sensation, let it pull you from the inky, peaceful depths. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to breach the surface. It feels like ages by the time you pry your weary eyes open.

There’s a body crushed into you. An unyielding, solid mass of muscle. The scent of something charred wreathes around you. Your cheek is pressed up against a heartbeat, steady and strong. It would be comforting if you knew where you were, or who you were with.

Alarm, molten hot, jots down your spine. Shaken from your stupor, you begin to writhe. Your palms slap against the chest of the man beneath you. You brace yourself against him in an effort to pry yourself free.

An arm around your midriff tightens, and the panic grows. You lash out, snarl, a hand reaching behind you to grab onto the assailant’s wrist.

The room blurs, then. The breath is knocked from your lungs as you’re reoriented and pinned with minimal effort. Your eyes blow wide, gaze caught by those candlewick eyes. Blade’s hair is mussed from both sleep and the struggle. His lips are pulled into a snarl. Your gut squirms at the flash of those deadly canines—sharper than you’d imagined (he’s never bared his teeth at you).

“Stop,” he commands, low and throaty. You shudder, foolish hindbrain moved to obey the order. This, you realize, is what an alpha’s command must sound like.

As you lay beneath him, chest to heaving chest, the pieces of the previous night return to you in fragments and shades.

Blade came to your door at dusk’s end. The shuttles had shut down for the night. You let him in, quickly, before anyone could witness a known fucking criminal at your door. You fed him dinner, anyways. Spoke late into the night—about what you cannot truly recall. Somewhere around three in the morning, you must have nodded off.

“Have you calmed down?” Blade asks.

“Yes,” you grumble, feeling thoroughly chastised despite his flat and empty tone. You attempt to dislodge yourself a second time, but Blade stops you fast. “Blade—” The beginning of a feeling you cannot quite name crawls up your spine, up the back of your skull. It’s a creeping, white hot sensation. A sudden deprivation of air. His eyes have closed. You feel your pulse spike. “Blade.” You try again. “Let me up.”

He draws a shaky breath.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there for me to understand?” you ask, voice a tepid little thing. He laughs. The sound is manic and bitter. When he opens his eyes, they’re hot enough to burn a hole in you.

“I… remember you,” he begins slowly. There’s a creeping breathiness there, you feel it under your palms, writhing inside of his ribcage. “When you are not there. I remember how warm your hands are, the smell of your sweat—the taste of when we are… together. And I crave it every moment we are apart. It’s—maddening.”

“What.” you’re taken back, all the sudden, to the sixth time Sunday called you to his office. A servant of the Harmony, you were, still protected by your naivete, still convinced by the smiling faces and open arms which surrounded you. A child. A seed, among the older and wiser trees in Xipe’s forests.

You remember the exact shape of his lips when he said it—you remember how it felt. You feel the same way now, pinned like a little butterfly. Lost in the reeds.

“I remember you,” Blade continues, slower and calmer, now. Burning wood to dead charcoal. “When we are apart, you are all I remember, and the emptiness that exists in your shape is too much to bear. I need—” he licks his lips, his empty pupils blown so very wide.

“The mara becomes quiet, when we are together,” he whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. His eyes close. His forehead is a wide rash of heat, pressed against yours. He takes a single, shuddering inhale, breathing your air.

And you—you’re still frozen there, caught up in the vice of his body and the couch. You stare emptily beyond him. His face settles into the crook of your neck.

The lamplight flickers on and off.

#oz write #hungering for hsr #blade/reader #hsr/reader

187 notes · View notes

fluffyfantasticducky · 3 months ago

Text

The Pride of a God

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader ☆ Synopsis: You had a had a hard day. And Loki who has a deep understanding of the love of his life... And he worries dearly, but he knows exactly how to cheer you up. has always been able to gloat on his perceptiveness, but can he really figure out that a certain mortal corresponds his feelings when he thinks nobody could feel that way about him? ☆ Word Count: 2,908 ☆ Notes: This is my little birthday gift to this blog. I haven't posted often in a while given my schedule being packed and a rough deppresive episode (which is what started the idea for this fic), so I think a little drabble is a good way to try writing again. ☆ Warnings: Short, a nerd's (me) self-indulgence so it's probably cheesy and more meant to appeal to my personal taste like my spots and stuff.

Loki was a proud god. Perhaps too proud. It often was his downfall. It was partially the reason why he wanted the throne of Asgard. It was what made him butt heads with his brother. It was what so many times got him trouble.

But now on Earth he learned to take pride in different things.

He took pride in becoming and Avenger. He took pride on earning back Thor’s trust. He took huge pride whenever he rescued a civilian and got a token of gratitude, like a hug or a smile or a little Midgardian item, he may have kept a little damaged ragged doll named “Anne” a little girl gave him after he rescued her dad from a terrorist group that had her father kept as a hostage. He took pride in learning how to make flowers grow, it had started as a therapy, but nowadays it was something he did with his own hands and effort.

But most of it all, Loki felt proud of being yours. Oh, you were an exquisite and rare jewel, despite being so seemingly ordinary. But, poor souls who were foolish to not look beneath your gorgeous surface.

No one in all his over millennia of existence had anyone made him so nervous and yet so at ease. You were funny, kind, patient with him, a bit of what mortals called “a weirdo” but most of it all, you were crazy about him. And he took an immense pride of seeing how well he knew you.

He knew your birthday, and had memorized half of your family tree and could already write a biography of you. He knew your favorite color and the best tones of it, as well as your favorite fashion style. Loki had made a list of your favorite artists, movies and shows. He was so aware of your love languages that they came as naturally as breathing to him. He knew what kind of jokes made you laugh and which ones made you groan and roll your eyes. And he was learning about what you do for a living, not only about the people of your work-place and schedule, but also about how you did what you did.

Not everything was nice though, he also knew exactly what was going on through your head whenever you were upset, the signs and possible reasons. And today was one of your bad days.

He could tell the second you walked in. Usually, you arrived at your little apartment and jumped to his arms with joy. Or even call for him with a tired yet loving tone. But today was one of those days were you didn’t make a single sound but the door creaking, you went straight to the bedroom.

The first time you were like this Loki panicked, SURELY he had done something rude to upset you. He picked up a bouquet, chocolates, a stuffed animal and gave you a long-winded speech of how he was a fool, but he never intended to hurt you.

Not once had he been so relieved to see you confused. You just had a rough day and didn’t want to risk taking it out on him.

Since then, you had a ritual together. When Loki heard the door locking and did not hear your lovely voice calling out his name he knew. He set the tea kettle, picked your favorite flavor and made you some of those instant noodles you liked—despite his attempts to convince you that they were better things to eat, not that he actually knew how to cook them on his own—he picked up a little extra snack as dessert. He poured the tea on two mugs with extra honey, and he set everything on a tray of food and made his way to your shared bedroom.

He knocked gently on the door, and opened it, placing the try of food on the night table and getting into bed, scooping you in his arms, rubbing circles across your back. Loki a shocking as it may seem, was warm. Cozy, even. He smiled as he felt the tension and stiffness on your body slowly fade away as he comforted you.

“Tea, my love?” he asked, you shook your head. “Are you sure? I made the mix you like.”

“With honey?”

“Yes, with extra honey, it’d be a shame if you didn’t drink it while it’s hot…”

“Okay” you mumbled, reaching for your mug, and he grinned triumphantly as he saw the knot between your eyebrows come undone to the taste. “It’s sweet…”

“I know you like sweets…” he smiled softly and kissed the top of your head.

“Yeah, that’s why I like you so much…” you mumbled, nuzzling your face into his chest.

He stifled a soft laugh, squirming a bit under you.

“D-Dahaharling!” he laughed softly and covered his mouth. “S-Stohohop it!”

You let out a little laugh and stayed still. Loki felt a mix of pride and relief as he heard you as you finally laughed. He loved knowing you felt better, and he loved it even more when it was because of him.

“Oh love,” he cupped your cheek. “How lovely is that little grin of yours.”

“Thanks… sorry for being difficult” you apologized with a kiss on his jaw and smiled at him.

“You don’t take it out on me, do you?” he asked with a smile. “I have no reason to complain, we’re a couple, love. I remember a pretty little someone that very smartly once said that part of our job is taking care of each other when we’re low.”

“Yeah…” you smiled. “Still… I really appreciate all of this… It means a lot to me.”

Loki’s heart swelled with pride. You always said the right thing to stroke his ego, he wasn’t completely sure if you were doing it on purpose. It was something too perfectly on point to feel as natural as it did. But here he was.

You made his heart do summersaults inside his chest, cheesy as it sounded. You just made him happy like that.

“I’m glad to be of service” he responded lovingly as he kissed your lips. “But… you know, darling… I know something else that always cheers you up.”

“Hm?” you asked, spacing out for a moment. But the look on Loki’s face made his intentions extremely clear. “Oh— Oh, um…”

Contrary to popular belief, Loki was a very kind lover. Even on his most needy, bratty, moody and irrational moments Loki always put your comfort first. And he worked really hard to learn to communicate his needs. But he was still the God of Mischief. He loved wreaking havoc, it was like an itch he just needed to scratch. But he hated seeing you upset, and he knew you didn’t approve certain pranks of his.

But there was tickling. You didn’t mind that, and he loved making you laugh. If anything, tickling was a secret love language between the two of you. You were both overly touchy-feely with each other, especially when the two of you were alone. Long story short, tickling between the two of you came as natural as breathing. To the point where Loki was comfortable to be the one on the receiving end.

“What do you say, love?” he smiled.

“Um, y-yeah…” I muttered timidly. “B-But… maybe w-we could do g-gentle tickling.”

Loki smiled brightly.

“Gentle tickling sounds wonderful. C’mere, gorgeous” he smiled sweetly, opening his arms for you to cuddle.

Oh, how his heart soared when you’d dive in for a bear hug. Your strength wasn’t compared to an Asgardian, but he adored it when you squeezed him tight in your arms.

“Ready?” he asked, softly.

“Ehehehe y-yehehehes” you giggled and snuffled him.

Loki gently grabbed your hands, guiding your arms upwards.

“L-Loki…” you looked at him sheepishly.

“It’s alright, love” he whispered, a smooth undertone of flirtatiousness in his voice. “I’ll make it better, you can just relax… let me take care of everything…”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and his hand landed on your sides, making you shiver and causing your hands to shot down to wrap around yourself and you rolled over, exposing your side now covered by your side.

“You always react so beautifully.” He smiled and gently wiggled his fingers against your skin. “Laugh for me… let all your worries melt away under my fingers.”

He went for a spot not many knew of, his finger pressed against the small of your back making you squeak and arch away from his fingertips.

“Ahahaha! H-Hey!” you giggled.

“Oh, sorry, did that do something?” he asked in feigned innocence.

“Y-You know whahat that does!” you scolded him, your nose scrunched up involuntarily like it did every time he messed with you, in a way, assuring him you weren’t really angry and it was all part of the game.

“I suppose I do” he admitted. “Doesn’t mean that’ll make it any easier for you.”

His fingers danced across your back, up and down your spine, tracing the shape of your shoulder blades, the dancing of his fingers could almost be compared to that of an ice skater. That is until he reached that deadly ticklish spot on the back of your ribs. He had you in stiches right away.

“Nahahahaha! D-Don’t d-do that!” you whined as you rolled back to laying on your back.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, stopping for just a second, looking at you like a lovestruck fool.

He was just getting started and your cheeks already had that lovely color on them.

“I… Ihihi am not falling for the oldest trick in the book” you huffed.

“Mm, it’s a shame” Loki sighed dramatically. “No matter, I wasn’t planning on stopping soon anyway.”

And with that he went back to focus on the task at hand.

Shivers went down your spine. Loki had a talent to make you feel better, his touch was always was what you needed, from silly and playful to gentle and soothing… not that the latter tickled any less. He was an expert at making you laugh, it was just a matter of knowing how much each time.

“Ehehehe…!” you giggled. “Heeheehee! L-Loki, hehehehahahaha!”

Lok’s fingers traveled up your ribs, poking between the crevices, gently kneading to make you hiccup, using his thumbs to tickle the front of your ribs, massaging with his thumbs in little devious fingers.

“Nahahahaha! T-That tickles! Hahahahaha!” you laughed.

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t have guessed me tickling you would, in fact, tickle you” he hummed, grabbing your hands, pulling them above your head.

“N-No! L-Loki!” you whined, knowing exactly where it was going.

Loki raised a finger and placed it by your hip, drawing his finger upwards against your side and towards your armpit.

“Nohohohoho! Lohohohoki!” you begged between laughs.

And just when he was going to your worst spot, his fingers traveled down back to your hips. But instead of giving you mercy, his finger gently caressed across your belly, spiraling, drawing circles and circles down your navel.

“Hehehehehe! Hahaha! Oh gahahahaha!” you guffawed. “S-Stop, stohohohop!”

He smiled in satisfaction. He took inmense pride in knowing all your tickle spots like the back of his hand. He knew which spot to touch and how to touch it to make you squeal. From a light caress along your spine, to kneading your ribs, gently scratching against… well, he should be getting to that right away, or he’d exhaust you before he could go for that little spot.

As his fingers continued his travel towards your other side, going upwards as he had done previous… except this time, he did go for the kill… sort of.

“EEEK! Hahahahaha! No pleahahahase! Hehe! Hic! Hahahaha!” you laughed when his finger wiggling against your armpit, gently scratching the ticklish skin. Such a little spot could cause so much laughter. “Not thehehehere! Not there!”

You kicked your legs around the air. It was maddening, but for a weird reason. Loki could be devastating when it came to tickling. A “you’ll be sore from laughing, dizzy and so worn out you won’t be able to move” type of devastating. But these nights he was gentle, soft… too soft. It was embarrassing how delicately he tickled you.

But the worst spot was still the worst spot. It will always make you come undone in a laughing fit, no matter how careful and softly you tickle it.

“Loki! Hahahaha!” you laughed. “Hahahaha! Stahahahap! Hahaha! No!”

Your hands went to your wrists, giggling like a dork. But he wasn’t to be stopped by a human worn down for giggling. He leaned down, and started peppering down to kiss your cheek, before his lips traveled down your neck, which only added to the tickling sensation.

“AIIIEEE! Lohohohoki!” you cackled. “Please! Plehehehease!”

Loki laughed along with you, his lips along your neck while his fingers sent ticklish shocks through your body.

“Nahahahaha! Cut it out, you jeheheherk!” you scolded him through his fit of laughter.

“Hehehe! You’re a delight” he smiled. “I could play with you all day long.”

“No” God, pleahahase no!”

“No? Darling, I highly doubt you’re in a position to make that call” he grinned, despite feeling a bit of guilt deep down, you were growing tired.

“Hahahaha!” you laughed, before letting out a wheeze. “Ohoho my god! Lohohohoki, thahahat’s not fair!”

“Mischief isn’t fair, darling” he whispered, but his hands slowed down until his hands came to a full stop, giving you a chance to catch your breath.

You smiled tiredly, your chest heaving, mixed with a few residual laughs. You were exhausted, but your chest was lighter. Loki’s tickly attack had the effect he hoped.

“Oh, is it, my love?” he smiled, “I am simply providing you a service, what do you humans call it, therapy? Mm, yes, I think that was it. Think of it as therapeutic tickling.”

“Loki…!” you blushed, covering your face with your hands.

Loki didn’t like it when you covered your face. Loki was a deadly tease, so an overdramatic reaction was always on cue, cute, but he didn’t like not seeing his lover’s face. He could take any punishment or torture, just so you wouldn’t deprive him of looking at you.

He gently grabbed your hands, pulling them away from your face and towards his lips, giving them a kiss.

“You’re a menace, you’ll be the death of me one day.” You joked softly.

“Don’t say that my love… All I want is to give you is joy, pleasure, peace of mind and heart…” he said, almost begging you for the chance. “Tonight… You don’t have to worry about anything else… I will scare away all your woes, replacing your distress with bouts of laughter…”

He sounded desperate, needy. More needy than usual.

“What’s wrong, my prince?” you asked, reaching to cup his cheek, gently stroking your thumb along his skin. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I… it.. well… I don’t… like seeing you upset.” Loki looked down in shame. “Do not misunderstand me, I adore taking care of you like this! But… it’s so frustrating to see you arrive upset, and being powerless to prevent it. I worship you, you are perfection incarnate, and it kills me to think people don’t treat you like you deserve.”

It shouldn’t be surprising that Loki had such dramatic declarations. His theatricals were one of the main reasons to love him, after all. But it still was moving, because for the God of Lies, he was very honest with you, exaggerated, maybe, but it came from the heart.

“Baby… life can’t be always easy, sometimes I’ll have rough days.” You smiled, reaching your hand to scratch his scalp, helping him relax. “Maybe I’ll disagree with someone, and at some point there might be a time when I have to face an injustice…”

“I fail to see how that’s supposed to ease my nerves” Loki grumbled.

“That’s just a normal life” you laughed softly. “Life has highs and lows, and I’m blessed with a great high point whenever I arrive at home, no one else gets to have you. Who else gets to kiss the God of Mischief every night?”

“Mmm, I suppose that’s true…” he smiled cheekily. “Still… I worry…”

“Love, as much as I’d love to stay here with you all day, if you don’t let anything bad happen to me, nothing will happen to me ever.” You spoke, lovingly but solemnly, a deliciously intriguing mixture. “But I’m grateful to have such a kind man looking after me, just… I don’t need a hero, I just need you.”

“I always will look after you” he nodded. “Even if I can’t protect you from everything. I’ll be here for you, just like you are for me.”

“And I always be here for you too” you smiled back at him.

“I couldn’t wish for anything or anyone better to happen to me” he sighed, pulling your body against him. “You are a blessing.”

“Who would have thought the God of Mischief was such a cheesy guy?” you teased him.

“Ohoho? Is that so?” he purred. “Mmm… you know what will happen to you here in our little home?”

“W-What?” you gulped, already having a good idea of where that tone was leading to.

“A night full of laughter” he grinned, his fingers traveling to your body, making sure to draw every single laugh from you.

MASTERPOST

#marvel tickles #marvel fluff #loki laufeyson #ticklish!loki #ler!loki #ticklish!reader #lee!reader #loki x reader #loki tickle #loki fluff #ducky writes tickles

86 notes · View notes

frostycatblr-fandom-files · 2 months ago

Text

20 Fic Writer Questions

Thank you for the tag @returnofthepineapple and @eclec-tech🩷

[Where it says "Ao3" I'll be changing it to Tumblr; I have yet to put anything on my Ao3 account. I'll link my previous 20 Questions for a bit of fun comparison.]

1.) How many works do you have on [Tumblr]?

Including OC Storyline: 54

Excluding OC Storyline: 46

2.) What's your [Tumblr] word count?

Including OC Storyline: Upwards of 251,980

Excluding OC Storyline: Upwards of 209,318

Breakdown: TBB: 132,552; *TCW: 69,186; Mando: 7,580; OC Storyline: 42,662

[*There are five works that do not have word counts available at this time]

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

The greater Star Wars franchise with a focus on 'The Clone Wars', 'The Bad Batch', and 'The Mandalorian' in particular. (One of these days I do plan on doing a Fallen Order/Survivor fanfic or two.)

4.) What are your top five fics by [Notes]?

Don't currently have the executive function to check, but I would assume my earlier chapters of my Hunter x Reader series 'Sorry, Wrong Comms!'.

5.) Do you respond to comments?

I truly try my best to! I know things have slipped under the radar in the past, but with any hope that should happen a lot less now that I'm treating my ADHD [inattentive type] with medication.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Still believe that honor goes to an installment of my OC storyline. That's a very angst-heavy series in general, to be fair. But it (eventually) diverges from canon and most everyone gets to have more positive endings to their stories.

Non-OC story: The Tragedy of Level 1325 - How can it get any angstier than one of Fox's fellow commanders confronting him about killing Fives? 😭

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It seems to be whatever fic I finished last, which would be Holidays in Hyperspace in this case!

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

On rare occasion. I had a racist anon in my ask box shortly after I published "Tide Pools" because of the way I [vaguely] described the Batch's skin that was not accurate to the show. I had someone accuse me of writing "disguised Clonec*st" material in my OC storyline, as well.

Brothers are allowed to tell each other "I love you" without it being romantic or sexual, weirdos.

9.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not in my fanfic, no. (In my original work... sorta?) I can venture into "M for Mature" territory a little more comfortably than I used to, at least.

(Look: there's been good progress all things considered, but there's also still a LOT of layers of guilt and shame to unlearn from the conservative upbringing and mindset I once had.)

10.) Do you write cross-overs? What's the craziest one you've written?

Crossovers create a lot of extra work to execute and I'm a slow writer as it is (likely/largely because of the ADHD I was recently confirmed to have).

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Unsure. But very well could have happened on sites I don't use as much any more.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, unsure. Less likely to happen when compared to theft, I think.

13.) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. That's addition work and pressure, so I don't plan to any time soon. Perhaps when the time is right, however.

14.) What's your all-time favorite ship?

It remains Clones x Happy AUs. It's gotta be my favorite sandbox to play in.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish but doubt you ever will?

I found that Savage Opress x Reader fic I had been looking for previously, but with the size of my WIP list, I'm not sure when I'll get around to it.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

Figurative language, I would say? I've debated pointing it out before, but I LOVE to use alliteration in my works especially.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Not knowing how to write a short story, judging by how few of my fics are 3k or fewer in word count!

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm not fluent in any other language, but I have participated in various fandoms where it was not uncommon for there to be language-mixing before I jumped into the Star Wars pool practically full-time.

So I certainly have practice, and sprinkling in bits of conlangs like Mando'a and Huttese and what have you feels pretty familiar to me!

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

I maintain that I believe it was for The Avengers, more than likely.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

Tough call! It typically tends to be whatever I'm currently working on, so I'm afraid I have nothing to share or link at the moment! But with any hope, it won't be too long from now before it's done.

No Pressure Tags: Open season! 🩷 I've been pretty busy lately and know this has likely made the rounds through most of the usual suspects by now.

#dashboard games #20 questions for fic writers

1 note · View note

safertokiss · 4 years ago

Text

Through a Different Lens

A/N: Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here. New content wowza. I’d say I’m surprised it’s been a while, but I simply am not. Luckily another fic swap has arrived to get my creative juices flowing once again. The gods have gifted me with another perfect opportunity to write sub spence because I was given @writing-in-april as my person yet again. Hooray! Anyways I hope you enjoy and thanks all you cool cats and kittens for the support (we almost to 1000 yeet skrrt). Also, it just happens to be my birthday today so as a gift to myself I thought about subby Spencer for a while.

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: SMUT and can’t forget that fluff

Word Count: 3.2k

ENJOY:)

~~~

It all started completely by accident.

There was no possible way that she would’ve been able to predict just how much they would affect the poor kid.

She could remember, clear as day, the first time she was forced to wear her glasses to the bureau due to her ongoing frustrations with the torture devices that were also referred to as contacts. There were only so many headaches and eye-waterings that she could take before the insecurity of wearing her frames to work shriveled below the point of caring anymore.

But none of those previous insecurities held a flame to the amount of confusion she felt when she entered the bullpen and waltzed over to Spencer’s desk to say good morning with a shy smile adorning her face. Y/n hadn’t even been able to get a complete sentence out before the young doctor had turned to her and froze, his mouth hanging open like a fish, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, the harsh red blush she had seen before, just maybe not to this extent, engulfing his boyish features.

Before she could even attempt to ask him what she had done to warrant such a response, he was spouting out a meager, “H-hey Y/n” whilst simultaneously scurrying off in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

Completely and utterly perplexed over what had happened, she had shrugged it off and made her way back to her desk, silently mulling over the interaction periodically throughout the rest of the day.

It was a couple of the same type of interactions later that Y/n began to take notice of what was actually happening with the boy genius. The stiff and unnatural posture. The stuttering, granted that wasn’t something new, just much more frequent and severe. The audible heartbeat always accompanied by rosy cheeks and goosebumps.

Spencer Reid was fucking turned on by the glasses.

And he didn’t even try to hide it. Or maybe he did and was just really, really bad at doing so.

Either way, Y/n quickly discovered just how much fun it was getting these reactions to pour out of the kid...so of course she kept wearing the glasses even after she was able to wear contacts again. He didn’t need to know that.

It was so fucking easy too.

She would just be sitting at her desk, occupied by some particularly troubling pages of a case file that makes her have to readjust her frames out of stress, when she’d hear a high pitched squeak across the bullpen, followed by the pattering of frantic footsteps she had familiarized herself with in former few weeks.

While she felt some kind of guilt for putting him through this, it was nowhere near enough to overtake the genuine excitement and gratification that came with knowing she could have such an effect on the adorable doctor.

Of course she found him attractive...how could she not with his perfectly sculpted cheekbones and nerdy slicked back hair. Ultimately Y/n could understand his apparent infatuation with her wearing glasses as she had caught herself, on more than a couple occasions, openly ogling his own specs.

Maybe they were both weirdos...the whole situation was almost as strange as the Converse kink that she secretly harbored for years. Although her intuition was quick to suggest that, just maybe, both of her unique infatuations stemmed from the same noodle-shaped source.

Perhaps her favorite reaction of his, though, came about during the little office birthday party that the entire team had thrown for him.

He looked so adorable in the gigantic birthday cake hat they had bestowed upon him, Y/n could hardly contain her giggles at the giddy smile adorning his face. She watched on in amusement as Spencer tried desperately to get the candles on his cake to extinguish, to no avail, at least until someone felt bad watching his struggles and decided to give him a hand.

“They’re trick candles Spence, they’re gonna come back on every time.”, JJ chuckled, subtly smirking at Morgan who was also enjoying Spencer’s ongoing struggles.

A couple “happy birthdays” later and the rest of the team slowly began to disperse, leaving just Y/n and him alone in their own little space. He must’ve noticed this too because the blush that had already been present throughout the celebration beforehand seemed to deepen even further as he visibly swallowed down his nerves.

Slowly stalking towards the rouge kissed boy, she dragged a couple of her fingers across the surface of the desk, noting the way his eyes briefly flicked down to follow the movement before hesitantly returning his gaze to match her own.

She also noted the way his knuckles were basically turning white from the amount of pressure he was using to grab the sides of the chair.

“You have a good birthday, Spence?”, Y/n drawled with a teasing smile, now standing directly before the trembling young man.

Seeming to snap out of whatever sort of trance he had been in, he hastily cleared out his throat before responding with a bit of trepidation. “Hmm...yeah-yes uh yes it was v-very good, than-thank you.”

She couldn’t even attempt to conceal the smirk that had made its way to her lips listening to the genius stutter through his words. Such a nervous, nervous boy. So adorable. So fucking hot.

“Well that makes me happy. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself pretty boy.”, she paused her thoughts soaking in the little hitches in his breath surely from how close she was standing near him and the added nickname. Deciding to play a little bit dirty, she leaned over directly into his line of sight to reach for the cake set before him.

“Now how about I take this away and cut it up for all of us to eat? Hmmm?”

His eyes darted immediately to the cleavage that was so graciously presented to him as she bent over to pick up the dessert, a sharp little gasp escaping his pretty, pink lips as his pupils dilated carelessly.

Y/n inwardly smirked at his reaction and began walking towards the kitchenette, but only made it about three or four steps before being interrupted.

“Did you know that in some instances birthday candles are safe for wax play?”, he exclaimed before seemingly realizing what had just escaped his lips, his hands flying up to cover his traitorous mouth.

Bewildered, in the best of ways, by what had just been said, she slowly swiveled back around, facing him once again, before placing the cake on the desk beside her.

“What was that Spencer?”, she grinned at the petrified man who hadn’t made a single noise since his unexpected declaration. The poor thing looked like a caged in animal with nowhere to escape. Perfect.

“N-nothing! I m-mean obviously it was um s-something, but j-just uh just forget what I s-said.”, he quickly explained while frantically shaking his hands as if he was hoping he could simply wipe your memory of the last minute or two away permanently.

“No, no please go on.”, she teased. “Now I’m intrigued. What did you mean by ‘in some instances’ Spence?”

She wasn’t expecting the look of confusion, however brief it was, that peeked its way through the overwhelming embarrassment that had been showcased on his face, as if he truly couldn’t fathom that someone was actually asking him to go into more detail about a topic.

Still didn’t change the fact that he was completely mortified.

Clearing his throat, he hesitantly lifted his gaze back to Y/n’s, seemingly debating with himself over whether he could articulate the words to come out or not.

“Um...well..usually many p-people who choose to e-engage in such act-activities will use specific types of c-candles that are uh more designed especially for pl-play.”, he paused and she drank up the way his Adam's apple bobbed along his throat. “Uh… basically depending on the t-type of candle that one u-uses, the amount of pain or um d-discomfort differs. B-birthday candles tend to b-be on the more painful side so only the couples who are in-into that kind of thing would ever really utilize t-them.”, he finished abruptly, his leg bouncing rapidly in her line of vision.

She still couldn’t really believe she had actually gotten him to say anything at all, nevermind an in depth analysis on wax play. In a weird way she was proud of him. Really proud. Sometime amidst her thoughts, she’d found herself standing directly behind his sitting figure, her hands resting on either side of him against the table, the goosebumps visible on his skin from the implications of the position they were currently in.

“That’s really intriguing Spencer. I’d love to find out someday just why it is you know so much about the subject, but I don’t want to make you go into cardiac rest anytime soon.”, she remarked, giggling at the shy smile that made its way to his mouth.

She didn’t even register reaching out to lightly touch his lips until she heard his sharp intake of breath. Until he turned his head so they were mere centimeters apart. Until she watched his puppy eyes dart between her lips and your frame covered gaze. Until the space between them seemed to be lessening with every sec-

“Hey pretty boy! Where’s my cake?”

Y/n grudgingly pulled back at the interruption, watching in amusement as Spencer’s body instinctively leaned forward as if his lips hadn’t gotten the memo and were still searching for hers. “It’s coming right up you lazy ass!” she yelled back with a grin on her face.

She looked back to the boy sitting before her and was almost mesmerized by the dazed look present on his face, the blush slowly retreating as he came back to his surroundings. She could tell there were words that he wanted to say, but they just didn’t seem to be forming fast enough to actually come out. Deciding to put their little moment on hold before he passed out, she walked back over to the neglected dessert and started heading towards the break room again.

“I’ll make sure to save you the biggest piece, Spence.”,she threw over her shoulder, chuckling at the bewildered look still that was still present on his face.

~~~

The day was a big success in her opinion.

Spencer looked even more like a child than usual with the big shit eating grin that remained throughout the celebration and the bulky hat that he refused to take off. She could never understand how someone could have such an affinity for sugar as she watched him devour the huge slice of cake she had carved up for him.

But hours later, it was just her and Spencer left in the building.

And she was not about to let that go to waste.

Y/n could see him from where she stood at the entrance to the kitchenette. She could see the way he slouched over his desk with his legs curled underneath him, criss cross applesauce, as he scribbled down whatever case file he was working on. She admired his determined work ethic, that’s for sure.

But now was simply not the time to work.

Spencer immediately froze as soon as her body situated itself to be leaning against his desk, painfully aware of her gaze on his tense form.

“H-hey Y/n.”, he nervously murmured, the stutter once again making her giddy.

“Hey yourself doc. Wanna tell me why it is you’re still here working at such a late hour? Doesn’t the elusive Spencer Reid have better things to be entertaining himself with?”, she drawled, her piercing gaze making the poor kid squirm before her eyes.

“Oh um no...n-not really. I actually don’t mind working late. It’s k-kind of therapeutic in a way. But um...I’m happy t-that you’re here w-with me.”, he whispered the last part as if he was scared you wouldn’t appreciate his gratitude.

But she appreciated it more than he knew.

Noticing the little pencil holder situated amongst the file stacks on his desk, an idea popped into her mind that she just couldn’t shake, prompting her to pick it up and begin fiddling with it.

“Oh is that so pretty boy? Does my presence satisfy you?” Before he could even attempt an answer she “accidently” dropped the holder on the ground, the array of pens and pencils dispersing among the floor. “Oops my bad.”

Spencer immediately scrambled out of his seat and onto the floor to start collecting the colorful writing utensils, the perfect distraction needed for Y/n to situate herself on his desk with her legs spread open directly in front of his face.

“D-don’t worry abou-”, his sentence cut off as he looked up and was met with the tantalizing sight of her white lace panties already damp with her excitement. She swore he could die happy with the way his eyes widened and cheeks flushed. She couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

“See something you like baby?” Unable to even form words, the young doctor slowly nodded his head, eyes still locked on the obvious wet spot between her open legs.

“C-can I..can I um…”

“Use your words baby boy. Can you what?”, she spoke clearly, grasping his chin so he’d look her in the eyes.

“C-can I taste you?” She couldn't get over the desperate way he spoke as if he’d die of thirst if he didn’t get a drink from her.

“Of course you can sweet b-” Not even letting the words leave her mouth, his hands were eagerly pulling her panties down and off her legs, his lips instantly connecting with the heated flesh at the apex of her thighs. She swore his tongue and lips were enchanted with the way he was able to effortlessly maneuver his way around, easily picking up on what she loved.

“Oh Spencer you’re such a good boy.” she couldn’t resist threading her fingers through his silky hair and tugging slightly, an action she assumed he enjoyed based on the muffled whine she heard from between her thighs.

It hadn’t even been more than a few minutes before she found herself already on the verge of letting go. No guy had ever been able to make her feel this good and just electric until now. He was quickly ruining her for anyone else in the future. She did not mind in the slightest.

“Baby I really wanna feel you inside me. Is that something you want sweetheart?”

He reluctantly pulled back after a few more kitten licks to her clit, wide eyes finding hers and whimpering out a broken “yes”. More than happy with his response she gently pulled him up by his hair and started undoing his belt, his oversized pants easily falling down without the extra support. Just another thing about him that she had come to adore. She was very pleased by the obvious bulge that protruded through his baby blue checkered boxers.

Before she pulled those down too, though, she very gently reached up and cupped his cheeks, guiding his plump lips to her own, basking in the delighted whimpers that escaped his mouth at the soft but passionate contact. She released his lips with a slight nip and proceeded with his clothing removal, coaxing him to sit down in the swirly chair he had been previously residing in, before straddling his lap.

“You ready sweet boy?”, she asked leaning forward to kiss his rouge forehead and cheeks.

“Mhmm I’m r-ready.”

Taking that as the go ahead, she cautiously positioned herself over his throbbing erection before slowly lowering herself inch by inch until he was completely enveloped by her tight, warm walls.

“Oh-ohh my.”, he whimpered at the overwhelming feeling of being connected so intimately. Gently, she started to move a bit more, hesitantly lifting up before lowering herself back down, flush against his lap, one of her soft hands anchoring herself to his shoulder while the other caressed his flushed cheeks.

“I know baby, I know. You feel so good baby boy I don’t think I’m going to be able to last much longer.”

“M-me neither.”, he stuttered as the pace she had previously set seemed to increase in speed, the excitement and ecstasy getting to the both of them and subconsciously pushing the two of them closer to their shared release.

The fire was quickly building within her body and she knew she was truly crumbling at the seams, but with the way his body was trembling and his dick was subtly twitching inside of her she knew he was right there too.

“It’s ok baby boy, it’s ok. Cum for me sweet boy. I want you to cum inside and fill up my pussy Spence.”, she muttered feeling the beginning of her end crash unexpectedly throughout her entire being, grasping onto the boy underneath her to tie herself to the earth.

Overwhelmed by the utter euphoria of Y/n cumming around him, Spencer let himself get thrown off the edge, his hands tightening on her waist hard enough she was sure little bruises would form come tomorrow, not that she minded at all.

“Oh Y/n!” She watched on, obsessed with the way that his mouth fell open in a little o-shape as his eyes squeezed shut, the tell tale signs of pleasure coursing through his veins, the warm feeling that he left deep inside of her as she gently lifted herself from his shaking legs, reaching for her panties before the warmth was able to escape down her damp thighs.

Looking back at the trembling boy after cleaning herself and him up, she couldn’t help but melt at the lovesick, puppy dog eyes he was giving her, prompting her to lean forward and leave more little kisses on the top of his damp hair.

“That was incredible Spence. Really incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before baby.”

She melted even further at the way he shyly dropped his head to somewhat hide the wide grin that had spread like wildfire across his face. There was a comfortable silence between the two of them before his head lifted with a questioning glance.

“How’d you-I mean uh how did you know that I liked you?” There was no way she could control the giggles that left her lips at his silly question.

“You weren’t exactly subtle with the whole glasses thing Spence.”

And then the only sound heard throughout the building was her full blown laughter at the mortification that speedily adorned his cherry cheeks.

Tag List: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @watermelonstyl @goldnratio @cheyxminds @kricketc29 @cupcake525 @pinkdiamond1016 @slutforthegubes @shadyladyperfection @emilysallysmith @babblingbrookex @legendaryanimeaestheticclou @sunstspidey @ashwarren32 @pixels-impulse @eviewildflower @spencerreider @awkwardsadaa @dirty-pan-goblin @ughgoaway @cromies90-blog @mightaswell247 @calm-and-doctor @golden-hoax @1mpvls3 @lonewolf471 @centiaaa @spencerspecifics

527 notes · View notes

ladykissingfish · 4 years ago

Text

The Akatsuki at Karaoke Night

Being a group of insatiable killers is hard work, even in the best of circumstances. Like anybody else, the Akatsuki is constantly seeking out ways to unwind and de-stress during their off time. One day Konan goes out and comes back excited; a local tavern hosts a karaoke night every week. The others are reluctant at first, but this quickly becomes one of their new favorites pastimes. Drinking, eating, singing; what could be more fun than that?

Deidara

Has to be really drunk to get up on stage and sing. Like, incredibly drunk. Like how-is-he-still-standing-drunk. When in this state, there’s one song that he’ll sing and one song only: “I’m A Barbie Girl.” Nobody in the Akatsuki knows why he chooses this particular song, but everyone has to admit that it suits him. He’ll take his hair out of his ponytail and have it cascading down his back, he’ll tie up his shirt in a front knot, and, if she’s wearing them, will borrow Konan’s heels to wear. And he’ll always try and drag Sasori on stage with him to sing the parts of Ken (C’mon, Danna! You’re literally like a doll, hm!), but Sasori will only comply if he’s in a really good mood/there’s not that many people around. Despite his intoxication he’ll actually sing beautifully, so much so that he’ll receive requests for encores; which he’ll do, until the booze catches up with him and he falls head-first off the stage and into someone’s (usually Tobi’s) lap. Won’t remember a thing the next day and feverishly insist that he’s never even heard of “some weird Barbie song”.

EDIT:: After days of this being on my mind I can also believe that Deidara would sing “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood(?) and stare directly at Sasori the entire time even though they’re not really dating they‘re “in a situation” and even though if they WERE dating Sasori isn’t the cheating kind but he’s listening to the lyrics and noting how intensely Deidara is singing it and his face is just 😳

Sasori

He only goes because the others insist that he does. Honestly, this guy has a severe allergy to anything Fun. Chances are he’ll bring one of his puppets with him to work on/modify. He mostly refuses to get on stage and sing any songs of his own, BUT he’ll use his chakra strings to control his puppet and have it dance along on stage to a song of his choosing, that he has one of the other members sing for the puppet (giving them a taste of ventriloquism). The song he likes his performers to do most frequently is “Dancing With Myself” by Billy Joel; this must be his favorite song because he always silently mouths along to it as it plays. If literally nobody else is there besides the rest of the Akatsuki, he sometimes “makes” Deidara join him for a duet; he’s particularly fond of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” by Elton John, although he and Deidara always fight over who sings the part of the girl.

Tobi

It’s dangerous to let Tobi sing in front of people. Not because he’s bad at it, but because ... he’s good. Startlingly good. His voice changes completely from a goofy childish timbre, to very deep, and smooth, and mellow. There are sea legends about sailors being lured to their deaths by the songs of sirens, and the same principle seems to be at work here. Waitresses will drop their trays, people walking will run face-first into each other, and the area around the stage will be packed with men and women alike trying to get as close as possible to him. The fact that he sounds like that but won’t make his mask off makes him even more mysterious and alluring. His song of choice? “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers; which brings tears (and swooning) to the eyes and minds of anyone who hears him. After the song it’s like someone flips a switch, and he goes back to the weirdo that the Akatsuki knows and tolerates, seemingly completely oblivious to the chaos his singing caused. He also enjoys having drinks with his Senpai, as the alcohol makes the blonde much more friendly towards Tobi than he usually is; however he can’t keep up with the amount of booze Deidara can put away, and he feels sleepy after just a few beers.

Hidan

As with most group outings, he’ll complain about thinking everything is stupid. His religion prohibits the consumption of alcohol, so he’ll occupy himself with eating lots of food and “lovingly” heckling his fellow Akatsuki members when they get up on stage. Once in a blue moon he can be persuaded to get up and sing himself, although again this is a complete rarity. He has no real music preferences and will usually just flip through the available choices until he finds something he knows the lyrics to. Tries to pick songs with a lot of swearing in it, which he won’t bother to bleep out and will instead scream out at the top of his lungs (which often results in the whole group being threatened with getting kicked out). Sometimes, though, when he’s in a more mellow state of mind ((a rarity for Hidan)) he’ll get the urge to do a duet (because that takes the pressure off of everyone staring only at him) and can convince Konan to go up with him. Their rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” always brings the room to its feet, and gets them thunderous applause. After the song Konan will blush and kiss his cheek, which Hidan pretends to act embarrassed about (but is secretly thrilled by). His favorite song to do solo, however, is “Sympathy For The Devil” by The Rolling Stones, which he ... really ... gets into.

Kakuzu

Mostly comes out with the others as a sort of chaperone; making sure they get home safe after drinking, and trying to prevent them from blowing all their money on the “outrageously priced” food and drinks. Karaoke isn’t really his thing, and neither is being on stage in front of people. However if he’s in a decent mood, and there aren’t that many people around, he can be persuaded to get up and sing. He sings the most amazing rendition of “Ain’t No Grave (Can Hold My Body Down)” by Johnny Cash; his deep gravelly voice and slow speaking pitch are absolutely perfect for it, giving everyone listening goosebumps. Kakuzu is also a skilled guitar player, and sometimes he will sit on stage and play the guitar bits of certain songs for other Akatsuki members singing, “But I’m taking my fees out of your next paycheck.”

Zetsu

Surprisingly, this is one activity that the plant-man enjoys engaging in with the others. He’s not much of an alcohol drinker, and “human” food isn’t really his thing, either; but he loves to hear the others do their best at singing. It takes a lot to get Zetsu up on the stage himself, but when he does, he’s a fairly decent singer. He’s able to change the pitch of his voice quite effortlessly, so that it intend sounds as if two people are singing, instead of one. His song of choice is a long one: “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. It takes a lot f stamina to get through this, but Zetsu always finds that half the time he can’t even hear his own voice with this one, as everyone in the place sings with him (because seriously, who alive doesn’t know this song?). But it’s not all fun and games; Zetsu will always be scoping out the crowd, discerning who the most intoxicated people are. He’ll lure these poor souls into the alley out back, and gave himself a tasty little snack. He tries his hardest not to let the others catch him doing this, though, as this is supposed to be a fun and stress-free night for all involved.

Konan and Pein

This whole thing was her idea, yet, unless it’s a duet with one of the others, she’s very reluctant to try and sing on her own. Thinks her voice is “nails on a chalkboard”, although everyone vehemently disagrees with this perspective. Never has to bring any money with her to the bar, because all of the boys will take turns buying her food and drinks. She goes crazy for fries of any kind, and can eat carloads of these alone. Konan is exceptionally beautiful, and she will be mercilessly hit on from the moment she walks in until they all leave. Well, not always — the boys ALSO like to take turns acting as Konan’s bodyguard, and protecting her from anyone who tries to come within three feet of her. They hide their more vicious tendencies for when Konan’s not paying attention, because they know she wants a relaxing evening, but still: there’s been quite a number of guys escorted out of the bar by Kisame and Hidan, that mysteriously never return. When persuaded to sing, almost anything she chooses will be an Amy Winehouse song, as this is her favorite artist. Her favorite song is “Wake Up Alone”, which moves her fellow teammates (Pein included) to tears. Joins Kakuzu as helper to make sure everyone gets home safe and sound. Pein doesn’t like singing, and does not want to sing ... but Konan always manages to convince him to be a good sport at some point in the evening. But the song he picks is disappointingly predictable: “Pain” by Three Days Grace. Expected, maybe ... but he puts real heart and soul into his rendition, nearly falling off the stage with his enthusiasm. As with all group outings, Nagato loves to experience everything through the Pein-body’s eyes, and spend time with this makeshift family of his.

Kisame

One of the biggest drinkers, but something (perhaps his half-animalness) makes it near impossible for him to be totally drunk, no matter how much alcohol he consumes. Sometimes he’ll make a deal with Kakuzu: Kakuzu will scope out other drunks in the place, inform Kisame of their whereabouts, and Kisame will hustle them for money in either drinking contests or pool games. He’ll split the money with the old guy, making both happy. When it comes to the karaoke aspect, Kisame doesn’t really like singing, or being in front of a crowd; but decides to be a good sport and do a song lIke the others. He can sing almost anything (he has a wide vocal range), but he really seems to favor love ballads. His favorite is November Rain by Guns n Roses, and the rest of the Akatsuki is shocked at how damn soulful he sounds singing it. If not singing or hustling drunks, he likes to spend some quiet time with Itachi, buying him snacks and coaxing the thin ((TOO thin, in Kisame’s opinion)) young man to eat.

Itachi

Is quiet and shy by nature, so naturally things like karaoke bars aren’t really his deal. But Kisame always insists that it’s good for him to get out ((out of the hideout and out of his head)) and socialize once in a while, so he goes. It’s the same deal as Konan, almost, where women flock to him and hit on him for nearly the entire duration of his visit. However, the group doesn’t act as a collective bodyguard for him, as the majority of them feel like he’d be better off, as Hidan delicately puts it, “If the fucker just got laid.” But Itachi doesn’t seem interested in anything like this; he’s polite to those who approach him, but so closed-off that eventually they give up. When one particularly persistent woman wouldn’t leave him alone, Itachi resorted to grabbing the person nearest him (who happened to be Deidara) and telling the admirer that he was his boyfriend. He even put his arm around the guy’s waist, squeezing him. Deidara went along with it, but after the woman left he angrily informed Itachi that he’d “blow your ass up if you ever try something like that again, hm!” That’s what he SAYS, but it should be noted that he blushes quite hard for some time afterwards. Itachi was only ever convicted to go up and sing one time, and it was a duet with Kisame. The song was “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie. At the end of the song, Kisame was beaming, and Itachi had more admirers than ever clamoring for his attention. Not used to late nights so if they’re out past midnight will usually fall asleep sitting at the bar, and be carried home (and put into bed) by Kisame.

#the akatsuki #karaoke #zetsu #deidara #sasori #hidan #kakuzu #pein #kisame #itachi #tobi #konan #headcanon #naruto shippuden

75 notes · View notes

khaleesiofalicante · 3 years ago

Note

HI, IT'S ME! YOUR LOCAL CHAOTIC WEIRDO!!!!! I'M BACK AGAIN LIKE I AM TWICE EVERY WEEK

IT'S MY BOY DAVID THIS TIME! WHY AM I SO HYPER! MAYBE BECAUSE THEY KISSED! AND I HAD TO SUPPRESS MY SCREAMS BCAUSE IM IN CLASS AND THE REST OF MY FAMILY IS OUTSIDE MY DOOR (NOT LITERALLY OFC)

OK OK OK OK OK OK

MAX AND DAVID ARE AT THE LONDON INSTITUTE YESYESYESYES

He rather liked that part in a story – when the hero fell, and everything seemed bleak. It always meant that hope was just around the corner. Because darkness never lasted. It was always followed by light. There was nothing more beautiful than that kind of sunrise.

THIS

I literally live my life by this analogy

AHHH DAVID IS ON HIS TRAVEL YEAR AND MAX IS WITH HIM

SCREAM

well i can't scream because my mom is sitting right there and I have class in 4 minutes so imma smile really wide

“Are you planning to read the entire library during your travel year?” Max chuckled.

“Of course not,” David replied. “I will need longer than a year to accomplish that goal.”

Me.

Wait

does max not being able to make portals have something to do with his lineage?

demon parent

ok so my programming class started 2 minutes early but screw programming I'm gonna be studying minds not this shit

ok that's a very bad attitude for someone who needs good grades in this year

Max was always hungry.

this is so me

KIT

THEY MENTIONED TY

also if David doesn't become an institute head in the future THEN WHAT'S THE POINT

“Where is the kitchen?” Max interrupted.

max is such a mood

He had told Max that he had centuries to perfect his magic, that there was no need to rush it. Max had given him a noncommittal nod and nothing more.

HE'S GONNA MAKE THE BEST PORTALS YOU'LL SEE

“I won’t tell the Consul,” Kit winked.

At the mention of the Consul, David straightened up. He had been trying to get into Alec Lightwood’s good graces for years now. He didn’t think sharing a room with his son would do him any favors.

DAVID UDUCDFUHKDUHVUHSDH

PLEASE IF WE DON'T GET A CUTE ALEC AND DAVID SCENE SOON

KIT CALLED TESSA MOM

oh my god

Word was that Mr. Herondale had gone back to his obsession with brewing tea.

JACE

I have so many emotions right now but all I'm gonna say is that I'm so so proud of Rafael

“Do you not want to sleep with me?” Max asked.

UH-

WELL-

DAVID STOP THINKING ABOUT THE FUTURE AND ALL THE SHIT

STOP IT

OH MY GOD THE ONE BED TROPE

MAX IS IN HIS ARMS I'M ABOUT TO-

takes a deep breath don't scream. everyone outside this door thinks you're taking programming class

OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY

AWW JULIAN PAINTED PORTRAITS FOR THE INSTITUTE

The one of Will Herondale and Tessa Gray – A love that had transcended reality and lasted a lifetime.

The one of James Herondale and Cordelia Carstairs – A love that had started with a lie and then blossomed into nothing but happiness and devotion.

The one of Lucie Herondale and Jesse Blackthorn – A love that had been so powerful that it rewrote the past.

The one of Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild – A love that had walked through hell and shaken up the heavens.

And then there the final one. The one of Kit Herondale and Tiberius Blackthorn – A love that had survived distance and darkness and doom.

This omg...

He wanted a love story. The kind he read in the books. The kind he saw in these portraits.

But he wasn’t a Herondale. He wasn’t sure if he was destined for that kind of love.

HEY

DON'T THINK LIKE THAT

The first part though

same

He might have been a little too excited. It was biologically impossible to control yourself when you find a stranger reading your favorite book in the whole world.

SO TRUE

“I see you already made a new friend,” Max said.

He sounded a little…odd. As if he was not pleased that David had made a new friend.

honey...

take a guess

can I jump in and bash their heads together?

“You are thinking of conjuring chocolate syrup, aren’t you?” David chuckled.

“How do you always know what’s on my mind?” Max chuckled back.

Because I know you, David wanted to say. I just wish I knew what’s in your heart too.

OH MY GOD I CANT WITH THIS

“You get chocolate syrup! You get chocolate syrup! You get chocolate syrup!” Max was yelling, standing on the chair.

They residents laughed harder, and David shook his head fondly. He hoped one day Max would pursue a career in theatre. He was a born showman.

can I have chocolate syrup?

also, the way David is just so fond of him like DYUSDGYJCDYUJM

“By the angel, do you have to be a drama queen about everything?” the boy next to them muttered – not so quietly.

David blinked. That was uncalled for.

But Max being Max was completely unfazed. “Of course I do. My Bapa would be personally offended otherwise.”

exactly you rude little shit

Max often pretended like people’s words didn’t hurt him - just as he pretend that fire doesn’t burn or wounds don’t bleed.

wow ok stop calling me out

Is max jealous??????

is he??????

how are people so good at languages like damn

“Oh my god,” Max groaned. “Is he already telling people to check on me?”

LMAO

using mundane medicine...

that's risky

but it's also something that WILL help

can't warlocks tamper with the blood samples?

A part of him wondered if that’s why he had agreed to send Max away to London – at least for a week. Because sometimes you didn’t want other people to see you were hurting.

alec I really goddamn hope you're dealing with this well

some of whom had even decided to die than get help from a warlock.

alright then gets my knives but you chose this :D

Nobody brought a book down for breakfast if they didn't like to read.

yes but sometimes also to seem busy so people won't bother you or you won't look alone.

“I know,” the boy said as he walked past them to the gate. “I sat on the stairs and thought about life for a few good minutes.”

his family is the one who took over David's previous institute (i can't spell that. marse- marselli- wat??) methinks.

The gang always visited whenever all of them were in the city together. They would have so much fun! Of course, the 'fun' mostly entailed Rafael stopping Georgia from drinking random potions she found in the stalls, Selena stopping Lexi from opening a psychic booth to help people talk to Raziel and of course David stopping Max from running to the gambling booths.

LMAO, I CANT WITH THIS-

Rafe: I am anxiety.

me at any given moment

EW TESTICLES HE'S EATING THOSE-

ok maybe I'm the only person who's really picky when it comes to food and doesn't eat the majority of things

“Anything on Magnus Bane?” Max asked.

“No,” the woman snapped and shoved some of the letters into a bag and hide it under the table. “Leave Magnus Bane alone!”

“Appreciate your loyalty,” Max winked at her and started examining a diary.

I like her.

"Everyone should be participating in this" -my programming teacher

me, an intellectual: participating in what?? goes to the class web THE FUCK IS THAT

“Something for the shadowhunter?” the woman smiled. “Perhaps an unpublished snippet from the Beautiful Cordelia?”

“Do you have any love letters?” David asked.

“Hmmm,” the woman went through the pages. “I do have a correspondence between an Iblis demon and Christopher Lightwood? Would you be interested in that?”

if u don't mind I would love to see both of those-

you know I just remembered I have a computer assignment I need to submit by the end of this week fml

“Never fall in love with an immortal,” she giggled again. “We don’t like staying in one place.”

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

MAX WHERE ARE YOU

why are we using x and 3 in programming class what the heck is going on

“I’m not just some warlock,” Max said, his voice low. “I’m Magnus Bane’s son.”

GIVE HIM THAT NECKLACE BACK

we usually have programming once a week on our physical school days and those are fun because my and my friend are continuously passing notes and talking to each other through writing

The scene where Max fought off all the evil people who tried to steal his valuable belonging. He would fight without breaking a sweat and throw magic fireballs at everyone and then get his necklace back. And then he would kiss David in front of everyone and it would somehow rain all of a sudden.

But life wasn’t a movie or a book. Life was just life.

life's boring

fuck life

I just heard a student ask "why are we not taking out the values of b and c" BESTIE I THOUGHT WE WERE DOING PROGRAMMING AND NOT ALGEBRA?????

“I know there wasn’t anyone to protect you before,” Magnus Bane had said. “But we are here now. We will protect you. This will protect you.”

He hadn’t wanted it back then. He didn't even want it even now.

He didn’t want something to protect him. Most importantly, he didn’t want to cover his scar. He didn’t want to hide it. He wasn’t ashamed of it. It wasn’t a mark of a victim. It was the mark of a survivor.

So, David had smiled and given the bracelet back.

“I never wanted to be protected,” David had replied. “I only ever wanted to be loved.”

The warlock had smiled at that and given David a hug. It had felt different than other hugs he had experienced since he had come to New York.

It wasn’t just the magic. Magnus Bane carried so much love inside himself you could literally feel it through him.

I'm gonna cry during my programming class (where we're doing variables apparently all of a sudden??)

this is so beautiful

“I wasn’t talking about Bapa,” Max said now. “I was talking about the other one.”

David chuckled at that. “Oh, yeah. He is definitely going to kill you.”

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

so Jackson has family troubles

I've definitely got that

yeah I know what it's like to be jealous of someone else's perfect family

JACKSON WTF

Is he trying to ruin max's relationship with his family???

oh hell no

JACKSON THE AUDACITY

“One stolen necklace, One broken nose and One bruised cheek,” he said. “And you’ve been in London for less than a day.”

kit seriously? but is he wrong though?

“This is what I get for falling for a Lightwood-Bane,” David sighed and walked through the portal.

WELL AT LEAST HE'S SELF AWARE

Jackson...

in some ways, I can empathize with him. my younger self anyway. but Jackson this is not how you do things

There was a moment of silence and then Magnus Bane giggled.

“I do love it when the quiet ones go feral,” the warlock grinned.

MAGNUS

NOT.THE.TIME

(me too)

“David!” Mr Herondale gasped. “Is your hand okay?”

yup that's Jace y'all

David hated violence. He hated fighting – which he was often not allowed to say out loud considering he was a shadowhunter.

But it was the truth. He hated hurting people – or even things. It made him feel sick.

“It’s alright, Chouchou,” Mr Herondale ran a hand through David’s hair. “Next time, just-”

“Use my words?” David asked.

“Just don’t get caught,” the man winked.

and that is why I would never want to be a shadowhunter.

I know saying that doesn't do anything but when I first read tsc I wanted to be a shadowhunter really badly and damn that was some time ago but now...violence of any kind is my biggest trigger idek why. and I hate that so much because what kind of a person gets triggered by loud voices and fighting EVEN ON SCREEN??? I usually just push myself to watch stuff because it's dumb. I refuse to see trigger warnings before reading a book or watching a show because damn it, I should be able to stand those things I'm, not a child. and it may be doing me more harm than good but I shouldn't feel like this in the first place

okay...that was long

ANYWAY

“David, I appreciate you standing up for Max,” the Consul said. “But next time, please try not to punch anyone in the face.”

“Yes, sir,” David nodded. “Because it’s wrong.”

“Because it means more paperwork for me,” the Consul groaned and then straightened up. “But yes. Absolutely. Very wrong. No punching people!”

LMAO ALEC

Jackson...

I was wrong then

He was grinning. Magnus Bane must have raised hell in the shadow market.

that must have been fun

Max was doing that thing where he was not trying to pout but he was mostly definitely pouting. It made David want to kiss him. But then the Consul spoke, and David reminded himself he didn’t want to be the third person to get punched in the face this evening.

well-

“I understand that Jackson has been through a lot. But that’s not an excuse for him to hurt those around him. I learned that lesson the hard way. So, you shouldn’t excuse his behaviour.”

someone's trauma and pain is never an excuse to hurt others

but that doesn't mean we should invalidate their trauma either

“You can stay back and try to help him. I won’t stop you,” the man got up now. “But if he tries to hurt you-”

“You will unleash hell?” David chuckled.

“Worse,” the other man grinned. “I will unleash Lexi.”

that is much much worse

Books brought him comfort in so many ways. Just holding one in his hands automatically made him feel better.

oh my god

he gets it

I always have a book with me when I'm out even if I'm not gonna get the time to read it because just the weight and comfort of it in my hands or in my backpack brings me so much comfort and helps with my social anxiety so much

no one understands when I try to tell them that

you get it...

someone gets it finally

AYYY IRENE

“David, it’s very sweet that you want to protect Jackson,” Kit pointed out. “But literally no one is buying that. Not even Irene.”

The lynx purred on his lap as if she agreed with Kit.

“I could break into a liquor cabinet,” David said a little indignantly.

David is the nicest you can get

David wouldn’t. Apparently, everyone already seemed to know that - even the lynx he had met five minutes ago.

we are solving something in class and it's really quiet because we're all doing our work (I'm reading the fic so-) and this one person had their mic open and they kept on whispering their steps and it was so weird I cant-

BUT YES DAVID IS A CINNAMON ROLL. EVEN THE LYNX KNOWS

“We were talking about shitty fathers,” Jackson pointed out. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“I’m gonna need something stronger than red wine for this conversation,” Kit chuckled.

I remember that bitch

David used to do it when he was a child. He used to pretend his life was a story. He used to pretend everything that happened to him was happening to some other boy – a boy who wasn’t real. A boy who lived inside a book. Because it hurt a little less when you pretend like it wasn’t happening to you.

But the pain was still very real.

OK YOU CAN STOP CALLING ME OUT NOW

“I fucking hate ogres,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Was your father an ogre too?” Jackson asked.

“He was more like a harpy,” Kit snorted. “He was always flying and fleeing. I didn’t know how deep his talons were in my head until it was too late.”

you really like traumatizing all your characters, don't you?

I really fucking hope the ogre got what he deserved

and if the angel is dead then fuck everyone

“I mean, there was that time when Sebastian Morgenstern turned my father into the endarkened, and then he went around killing people. So, I would say he was more like a zombie,” the man was explaining now. “The zombie father tried to kill me but my brother killed him first.”

“Good lord!” Jackson said in shock.

Kit chuckled softly. “Boy do shadowhunters need therapy.”

they really do

He knew about those from New York. He knew Mr Herondale and Miss Fairchild went for one together.

YES GET THEM THERAPY

“Yikes,” Kit chuckled. “I’d prefer something classier. How about London Boys?”

“None of us are from London though,” Tiberius pointed out.

“The Beatles are not actually beetles, Ty,” Kit chuckled. “It’s just for pizazz.”

damn guys

Then the idea of a band turned into a possible YouTube channel where they would react to cute animal videos.

YS DO IT

“When people do awful things, really awful things, at one point we stop being surprised. Like what Valentine did to his children or what our fathers did to us or what those women did to Rafael. We might have been shocked or disgusted. But it wasn’t unrealistic, was it?”

“I guess not,” the boy said.

“Even when they did the most unimaginable acts of cruelty, it somehow managed to fit into our imagination. We accepted that the world can be unrealistically cruel. The kind of cruelty we will never understand. But why isn’t it the same for kindness? Why is that when someone is too kind, we automatically feel uncomfortable? We judge their intensions or think they are just pretending to be nice. We think they are being unrealistic. Why is that?”

we get so used to cruelty that kindness feels weird

“But that’s how our life works, doesn’t it? It’s a giant ball of what ifs and could have beens and if nots. What if my father had loved me instead of hurt me? Could I have been kinder if I was hugged instead of being abused? Would have I been a different person if not for my trauma? Our lives are an endless collection of theories about our real selves. The one didn’t we never had the chance to become.”

THIS

I used to spend a bunch of time on the what-ifs but those are useless. so screw the what-ifs and live in the present

“I guess we’ll never know, Jackson. None of us will never know how we would have turned out if things had been different for us. We never got the chance to be who were meant to be. Instead, we became who we had to become to survive what we went through. We will never know our true selves. We only know the version of us that made it through all the trauma.”

“Christ, that’s depressing,” Jackson said.

“It is,” David nodded. “But we made it through. We survived. I think we should focus on that.”

you survived. that's what matters

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be rescued,” David smiled.

I wish I had heard this before...

maybe I don't always have to be strong. maybe it's ok sometimes just want to be saved.

I'm so happy that both Jackson and David found each other

David had learned Gaelic. Jackson had learned how to play the piano.

They had laughed and lived and loved and learned.

And they had survived – one day at a time. The London Boys.

they survived.

I know I'm always key smashing and screaming but these words, these lines, all these chapters mean so so much to me.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” David asked, hugging Jackson closely.

“No,” Jackson replied. “I will FaceTime you like a normal person, you weirdo!”

David laughed at that. “I prefer letters. They are more emotional.”

“I’ll text you,” Jackson countered. “With emojis.”

oh to have someone write me letters.

I love writing letters

once at the end of a school year, I wrote little letters to everyone in my class anonymously. even the people who had been mean to me. that was like 1-2 years after my transfer to that school and everyone practically hated me but I wanted to do something nice because who knows what someone is going through. I ended up not putting them in people's desks...

I threw them all away :)

but writing letters is superior

I often write my feelings down and give the letter to someone rather than talk to someone

if you receive a letter from me or a custom-made gift...you have reached my ultimate friendship

oh my god. THIS IS HOW I SHOULD TALK TO ONE OF MY FRIENDS ABOUT MY FEELINGS

It's kind of been a mess between us and I want to talk to her but I didn't know how to.

this is why i shouldn't send asks-

JACKSON CATCHING UP ON MAX AND DAVID

“You know what it means,” Jackson grinned harder. “Also, if that wanker tries to break your heart, I will break his face.”

“You know he is the Consul’s son?” David giggled.

“I’ve done it once and I will do it again,” Jackson shrugged. “He better treat you right.”

"wanker"

I HAVE A BRITISH ONLINE FRIEND AND THEY CALLED OUR AMERICAN ONLINE FRIEND A WANKER

AND OUR OTHER BRITISH FRIEND JOINED IN

WHILE ALL THE NON-BRITISH PEOPLE WERE LIKE "huh"

Lexi had cut her hair even shorter. Her girlfriend apparently got something called an undercut.

“Just in case someone dared to assume we were straight,” she had winked at him.

how many years has this fake dating been going on...

CENTURION SELENA

fterA the twins went to bed, David stepped out of the institute and went looking for his heart.

"went looking for his heart"

OH FUCK I FORGOT TO JOIN MY CLASS

MAX STOP DEPLETING YOUR SELF GODDAMN

And then somewhere along the way, Max’s heartbeat had become the steadiest thing in David’s life.

Max, with all his chaos and drama and danger, had become the steadiest thing in David’s life.

oh my god that's a parallel from canon

“Tell me why.”

“Ain't nothing but a heart break!!"

Max-

Max could make fireballs that killed demons on the spot. He could summon things from anywhere. He could heal people with his eyes closed. He was one of the youngest warlocks allowed to visit the spiral labyrinth.

Max was a warlock in every sense. A good one. A great one even.

he is so talented...

Only idiots would underestimate Magnus Bane’s power.

EXACTLY

He is probably going to be Consul like next week.”

David chuckled. “Next week?”

next week????

“Yeah, his smoking habits,” Max rolled his eyes.

Rafael wasn’t the smoker in the family. He knew who it was, but David would never open his mouth. It wasn’t his secret to tell.

this keeps on getting better

“It’s my hair!” David laughed.

“And you’re my David!” Max argued. “I say you are not allowed to grow your hair.”

MY DAVID

“I don’t want to downworld-splain it to you.”

Max blinked and then laughed. “You don’t want to what?”

“Downworld-splain,” David mumbled. “It’s when shadowhunters explain downworlders how to be downworlders.”

they were SO close to kissing

I'm gonna get in there and lock them in a closet together and tell them to FUCKING GET WITH IT

Remember who you are. Remember where you stand.

remember who you are. remember where you stand...

I know this is supposed to be about portals.

OH MY GOD THEY KISSED

THEY KISSED

IM SO CLOSE TO SCREAMING CLASS AND EVERYONE OUTSIDE THIS ROOM BE DAMNED

OH MY GOD DAVID FELL

reminds me of when alec fell down the stairs-

OH MY GOD I'M GONNA SCREAM

WE'RE GONNA GET MORE MAVID CONTENT SOON I'M SCREAMING INTERNALLY UYDRVFY7VSDU7UYVFSDUYGCADUYIGJCDSHJKGDVCSUGISDVHVF

ok, I have a computer assignment to get to and tests to study for. BUT I LOVED THIS CHAPTER SO SO MUCH!! THEY FINALLY KISSED I'M SO HAPPY!!!!!

Also I know I tend to go off track and you can totally ignore that. i just go crazy. BYEE

This live blog gives me so much life you don't even know. I am go glad you enjoyed the chapter. I love hearing you rant about it. It's refreshing lol.

And I looooooove the lil anecdotes you share in between. Also wtf is a programming class like nobody wants to learn programme what kind of hetero nonsense I-

FINISH YOUR ASSIGNMENTS AND STUDY FOR YOUR TESTS I'LL SEE YOU SOON :)

#lbaf

9 notes · View notes

bangchanshehe · 4 years ago

Text

Are You Mine? pt.6

You arrived in Korea to start living your dream, or so you thought until you meet a man that woman dream of throwing themselves on. His entry into your new life takes you down a rocky path where friends will become enemies and foes will make themselves be known.

word count: 2k

The next day things had started without a hitch. You had gone to the company to get your official name badge and started to set up your office so it felt more like your own. You had organized a file on your computer for each other the boys in exo so that you could keep track of each boys schedule, progress with English lessons, and take notes.

The boys’ previous English instructor had sent you an email with references as to where each of the members were as far as studying and materials that you could use during lessons. You had smiled at your desktop and thought back to the day that Baekhyun had asked you to help him with English… if not for that day you wouldn’t be where you are now and you decided that you would thank him later.

But the more that you let yourself think about how he went through your phone and found you the more you started to feel a little uneasy. Had it had been any other person in the world you would have felt incredibly uncomfortable and maybe even unsafe. What had started off as unsolicited hitting on turned into him essentially stocking your information and then calling you to beg for help.

You immediately let out a deep breath and promised yourself that you would pocket all of those feelings and emotions. At the time sure you had some red flags but after getting to know Baekhyun you no longer had any alarms going off in your head. Plus if it weren’t for that unfortunate beginning to your friendship then you wouldn’t be where you are right now.

A knocking at the door caught your attention and you immediately called out for whoever was at the door to come in. you waited with a polite smile and when you saw the familiar long hair of johnny at your office door you smiled.

“hi” was all he said as he stood awkwardly by the door like a little schoolboy

“hey” you said back giving him a warm smile “watcha doing here?”

He took a seat in the chair directly in front of your desk and cleared his throat before he looked back up to you. You watched and waited for him to answer you or at least say something else, and as the seconds went by and the room was still silent you began to smile wider and wider.

“johnny?” you asked

“I’m sorry. I’m just-“ he smiled up at you and then looked down again “I’m just a little tired” he finally said

“what time did you get here this morning?” you asked him

“8am” he answered

You looked over at the clock on your computer monitor and you noticed that the time was only 12. Perhaps he got home late last night. Or maybe he was so tired that he couldn’t sleep.

“so I wanted to ask you if you would eat lunch with me today.” He said keeping a straight face. “I mean I figured that you may not know about the good places to eat around here yet or have any friends to eat with so I thought id take you somewhere” he said nervously explaining away

You chuckled and smiled at him as you asked him “you think I don’t have friends?”

Johnny’s eyes went wide and you knew that he felt a sense of panic since he had essentially called you a loner. And it wasn’t that he was wrong and you weren’t offended either, but you knew that he wasn’t in his right mind and you wanted to give him a little bit of hell.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean that since you just got here-“ he yelled as he explained

“its okay…. Im just messing with you.” You said with a smile. You stood up and grabbed your purse and watched as johnny remained seated “come on… where are you gonna take me?” you asked

The practice room…. He took you to the practice room to eat with you. You looked around and let out a happy chuckle as you looked around the room that you had seen so many times on the internet and in dance practice videos. And while it wasn’t the place that you had really anticipated eating in you knew that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be in the same place that so many of your favorite idols had been before.

“is it just you and I?” you asked him, confused as to why the room was so empty

“yeah” johnny said taking a look around until he saw something that caught his eye. He ran off towards a counter in the back corner of the room and grabbed a bag that had takeout inside. “everyone usually likes to go out and eat or they have other schedules and they eat on the way”

He sat down in the middle of the floor and he opened up the containers one by one. Kimchi fried rice, kimbap, rice cakes, and fishcakes were opened one by one and as you smelled the aroma of each dish your mouth began to water.

“I didn’t know what you liked so I ordered all of my favorites assuming that you must like at least one of them” johnny said as he pulled out chopsticks and separated them for you.

“so do you not have any more work for the day?” you asked him

Johnny looked up at you and gave you a small sad smile. “its not that I don’t have any more work for the day, I just don’t have any individual work to do. When the group comes back then ill have more practice” he stated with a confident tone, but with one look in his eyes you could see that he was affected by his lack of work.

“at least you have time for a life. I mean you get to eat peacefully and enjoy taking midday naps.” You said with a smile hoping that it would cheer him up.

“I guess” he said before he let out a soft sigh “it gets tough being alone though. And since I cant really go outside and just do whatever I want to do, I almost just kind of wish that I would be working more.” He confessed.

You had no idea what you could say to make johnny feel better. And If you could make him feel even a fraction of a bit better you would do so in a heart beat.

You had always known that the companies of idol groups tend to have favorites and display that unequal kindness quite unashamedly. But to hear how sad johnny was and see the look in his eyes, you had realized that there could be a lot more hurt than you had ever thought.

The two of you ate comfortably as you enjoyed the food that johnny had prepared. The two of you had made small jokes back and forth with one another and it felt good to feel the energy of the room switch from sad to lively.

“if you ever want to eat lunch with me just text me” you said holding your hand out for johnny’s phone

“really?” johnny asked with a smile. He immediately looked down at your hand and eyed it for a moment before he placed his hand in yours.

You laughed and shook his hand off “not your hand! Give me your phone weirdo!”

“oh” was all he said as he fished his phone out from his pocket and handed it over to you

You quickly put your phone number into his phone and then handed it back to him. He looked at the contact and then smiled to himself before placing it back into his back pocket.

The two of you had wrapped up your meal and you were about to leave the practice rooms when suddenly johnny had cleared his throat, making you turn around.

“soo” he said as he put his hand on the back of his neck out of nervousness “I just wanted to say thank you for having lunch with me and being so fun… I really like you. And it’s a shame that you’ve already got a boyfriend.”

You were speechless that johnny had just said that he liked you. It was something that you could never even imagine would happen in this lifetime… or well ever. And yet after two days of knowing each other he has already said that he likes you. Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you felt like you were the most successful fan ever. Not only did you get to work with your favorite idols but you also got to-

“did you just say boyfriend?!” you asked him confused

Johnny looked back at you perplexed and he nodded his head. You took a second to think if you had ever mentioned anything about dating anyone or even liking anyone and you kept coming up short.

“what boyfriend?” you asked him

Johnny gave you a strange look before he finally answered you “Baekhyun said that you already had a boyfriend.” He looked up at the ceiling as if he was wracking his brain and trying to remember something “someone who was also from the states… I think he said his name was corey.”

“cole” you said to clarify

“yeah cole!” johnny said snapping his finger and pointing at you in confirmation.

You scoffed and looked down at your shoes. You couldn’t believe that Baekhyun would lie about something like whether you were single or not. Why would he even lie to begin with?

You were starting to feel like who your impression of Baekhyun was, was only who he wanted you to see. and the more that you were talking with other people about events involving him, the more that you found lie after lie. This on top of the whole phone incident was starting to not sit well with you and you were starting to lose some of your good impressions of him. And while it hurt to feel like the excitement from the night previously was diminishing you figured that it would be for the best to not get yourself involved with him anymore.

“yo hyung!” johnny called out to someone behind you and it snapped you out of your thoughts “did’nt you say that Emily had a boyfriend?”

You immediately turned around to see Baekhyun who looked like a frozen deer in headlights. You stayed put in your spot and watched as he panicked as to what to do next. He continued to choke on his words and with a scoff you turned around to face johnny once more.

“no I don’t have a boyfriend” you clarified to johnny “Cole is just one of my friends”

“oh” johnny said nonchalantly “well then if you aren’t seeing anyone would you maybe like to go out sometime?” he asked with a shy smile

You would be lying if you said that you were excited. The fact that Baekhyun was here and was still acting so shady had completely ruined your mood.

You knew that dating within the company was definitely a no-no. and while it wasn’t a written rule per say it was definitely an unspoken one, because the idols available image was very important to their marketability. But in this moment you wanted Baekhyun to get the message to stay away from you loud and clear.

Without a second though you smiled up to johnny, giving him your best fake smile before answering “sure. Id love that”

You didn’t care if Baekhyun had felt bad about seeing you and johnny agree to a date. It had infuriated you that he was manipulating so many people and doing so many shady things. And hopefully now he would leave you alone.

#kpop #kpop series #kpop imagine #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #exo #exo series #exo imagine #exo fanfic #exo smut #exo baekhyun #baekhyun #baekhyun series #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfic

24 notes · View notes

marvus-xoloto · 4 years ago

Note

perhaps marsti for the ask game?

First impression

I was inclined to like her just because she was a rustblood. Love those funky little dudes!

Impression now

I love her and relate so much. I think she’s way underrated!

Favorite moment

“You’re filthy 😏“ and “nah I’m just fucking with you”

Idea for a story

GOD i know i am the marvus mutual and I’m so sorry, but I had this idea.... maybe i am just projecting because i relate so hard to marsti and i love so hard the marvus but skdjasf

Basically, Marvus and some of his friends are out on the town spraying graffiti everywhere and just generally being clowns, and Marsti has been following them everywhere because she likes cleaning up their graffiti (the colors swirling around in her scourdray are super soothing to her).

Marvus is savvy, though, and knows he’s being followed. Idk the meat of the story tbh, but there’s this whole conversation he has with her about like, art as temporary becoming more meaningful and she calls him full of shit, he just doesn’t want her cleaning up after him and he laughs akjfas anyway. they become fwiends :^]

marvus: datz my emotional support bitch

marsti: -_- you don’t have any emotions. or my support.

marvus: dam guess tha only true thing that got said wuz ur a bitch [author’s note: (affectionate)] then

marsti: -_- heh

Unpopular opinion

She has a KILLER sense of humor, people just don’t see it because it’s so dry.

Favorite relationship

Touched on it, but I want her and Marvus to be weirdo friends. I also like Folsti and I looooove love love Marsti<>Lanque.

Favorite headcanon

I have so many for her, but I like the idea that she runs the first restoration grubtube channel on grubtube. She and Folykl raid the local dump and Folykl picks up random trash that feels cool in her hand or smells weird or whatever else to simultaneously fuck with Marsti but also she’s a little genuine. Marsti always makes it new again for her.

#asks #ask game #marsti #i went ham here and i'm not sorry #i actually got so caught up in the story idea section #that i didn't realize this ask wasn't about marvus #and had to rewrite the last three bullet points lmfao #i'm so braindead #Anonymous

25 notes · View notes

translationandbetrayals · 3 years ago

Text

Junnosuke Miyamoto and the Evil Line of Music Production

What’s the role of a producer? The answer to this question might depend on the field we’re approaching or the scope of the work itself, but for the purpose of anime analysis, as in most forms of artistic media, we could broadly say a producer is the person in charge of making the connections and agreements required to keep a project ongoing. At first glance, the job of producer might not seem like the most interesting or creative role in artistic production, but I have a counterargument in the form of a name: Junnosuke Miyamoto. Never heard of him? Let’s see what the deal is with this man.

The cute Miyamoto

Junnosuke Miyamoto’s longtime relationship with anime production started in 2007, when he was working as an employee for the now defunct Starchild. Starchild was a sub label of the music firm King Records, one of the biggest in Japan. It was specifically made to produce anime and its soundtracks, contemplating both scores and associated music (such as OPs, EDs, insert songs, and even promotional or image songs). Though merely starting as an assistant producer, Miyamoto quickly rose in importance within Starchild, becoming one of the head producers until 2014, year in which he became head of the newly founded Evil Line Records sub label, another subdivision of King Records that we’ll address later.

During that time, Miyamoto cultivated a sort of authorship or artistic character, as the work he produced shared certain characteristics and differentiated itself from most of the anime music of those years. The truth is, Junnosuke Miyamoto brought total weirdos to the anime sphere, artists who nobody would’ve thought to pair with that market, and formed partnerships that not only brought a breath of fresh air to the scene, but matched perfectly the kind of works Starchild was producing. It was an era of experimentation within the anime industry, and anime music was getting a bit behind. Miyamoto broke that comfort zone.

We might start reviewing what was the first anime Miyamoto worked on. Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei, in which Miyamoto was assistant producer, is one of the first (of many) Shaft masterpieces, and the first example of the prolific relationship Miyamoto would have with the studio, followed by almost every collaboration between Starchild and Shaft until their partnership was dropped (we don’t know the details, but perhaps it was due to the success of Madoka and Monogatari Series, both produced by Sony’s Aniplex).

Zetsubou Sensei is relevant to Miyamoto’s career for a number of reasons. Namely, it was one of the first contacts made in anime between artists that would later become staples of Starchild and even Miyamoto’s own Evil Line. The first OP of the series, Hito Toshite Jiku ga Bureteiru, is easily one of the most memorable OPs in anime history to this date, both in its intriguing visuals directed by Shaft’s Tatsuya Oishi and the crazy song that accompanied them. Sung by an unexpected combination, the unit was composed by the already legendary rock and metal singer Kenji Ohtsuki, best known by his classic band Kinniku Shoujo Tai or King-Show, but also famous on his own; in addition to the female seiyuu of the series.

Bure bure bure bure

But this mixture of moe vocals and metal vocals wasn’t casual, as it had a precedent in one of the players at hand. Narasaki, composer and arranger of the song, was already known in the alternative music scene through his band Coaltar of the Deepers, which mixed shoegaze, metal, punk, electronic, and pop influences, often alternating between harsh and soft vocals. They were backed by Tokusatsu, a band formed by Ohtsuki (in vocals) and Narasaki (in guitar), as well as Arimatsu as drummer and King-Show’s Satoshi Mishiba as keyboardist. Tokusatsu would later become part of the Evil Line Records repertoire, and while this is outside the anime sphere, Miyamoto also produced the film Nuigulumar Z, based on a novel written by Ohtsuki and musicalized by Tokusatsu. And the title might also be related to a fixation with the letter Z in Miyamoto that we’ll discuss later.

Miyamoto would continue to work as an assistant producer in the 2nd season of Zetsubou Sensei, and, finally, in 2009, he was assigned main production roles for the 3rd season of the series. Both featured Kenji Ohtsuki and the Zetsubou girls with the Tokusatsu backing band as well, with the theme of the last season being Ringo Mogire Beam, a now classic OP. He repeated his role as a producer in 2011 for Katte ni Kaizou, another Shaft adaptation of Koji Kumeta, the author of Zetsubou Sensei. The OP, surprising nobody, was done by Tokusatsu, but this time it also featured the legendary anison singer Ichiro Mizuki, also known as Aniki (big bro). Mizuki sang many classic anime and tokusatsu OPs, including the original Mazinger Z theme. In that way, Miyamoto brought the nerdy spirits of Tokusatsu, Mizuki, Kumeta, and Shaft together. The OP animation, just like anything from Kumeta, is full of references to anime and tokusatsu, and the song even has a choir of children that’s reminiscent of the themes from the ‘70s and ‘60s.

It’s even cooler with Aniki

Other important works by Miyamoto during that era include Toradora, in which he directly worked as music manager, and A&R director (artists and repertoire, a job which mostly contemplates scouting and guidance of the artists). Toradora is characteristic for being the first show to be scored by Yukari Hashimoto, who would go on to have an amazing and prolific career in anime, including two works produced by Miyamoto. Hashimoto was already known as a composer and arranger of anime themes, such as the EDs for Shaft’s Tsukuyomi Moon Phase and Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei, but this brought her career to a different level, proving she was more than capable of handling an entire score by herself.

Toradora also features what are, in my (not so) humble opinion, some of the best, most memorable, and emotional themes in all of anime history. All four of the original songs that work as OP and ED for Toradora are each a masterpiece in their own right, so much that it almost feels like cheating to put all of them in the same show. That feeling right there is something you will often get if you check any of the anime Miyamoto produced. The Toradora OPs were composed by the veterans Kaoru Okubo (in the 1st) and Miki Fujisue (in the 2nd), but it’s perhaps the EDs that carry the most power themselves. They were each composed by one of the members of the duo Funta, forerunners of the denpa style, that also had its roots in some of the King-Show music. Take note of that denpa thing because we’ll return to that later. Orange might be my favorite of the 4, and that one was specifically also arranged by Hashimoto.

So sweet

In 2009, after Toradora ended, Miyamoto moved on to his next project, now consolidated as a lead producer in Starchild. Again in Shaft, it would be Natsu no Arashi!, an adaptation of the manga by Jin Kobayashi, also author of School Rumble. This time, he brought a band that had never been featured in anime before, and wouldn’t appear again either. As a sort of oddity within the anime song records, Omokage Lucky Hole’s Atashi Dake ni Kakete brought the funky fusion style of this alternative band to anime, in a song that while having a retro feel to it also predated the similarly styled Kaguya-sama’s themes by nearly a decade. Now part of this is lost in translation, but OLH is a band that’s characterized by their acid and sometimes vulgar lyrics, so it was quite brave of the production staff to even contact such a band for an anime tie-in, and we probably can thank Miyamoto for that. As a side note, the animation is again flexing the level of culture at Shaft by being entirely composed by references to classic Japanese cover arts.

This is not casual

Now there’s a link that we will discuss further as we advance through Miyamoto’s work, but it’s relevant to note there was another feature in Arashi’s OP, albeit minor. It’s the voice of Mariko Goto, who sings the chorus and even screams a little at the end of the song. And this right here is a connection that blew my mind, because when I found out about the credits I already knew about Goto. I knew her very well. Starting in the band Usagi, her career took a spike when she formed Midori in 2003. A very eclectic project, Midori fused punk, jazz, and some traces of metal to form a completely unique and original sound that became a success within the alternative scene, even inspiring other female fronted groups to come out with similar styles, such as 385 and Bokutachi no Iru Tokoro. After 7 intense years of playing, Midori disbanded in 2010, not without releasing a farewell album, a bit tamer than their usual style but reaching new levels of subtlety while also being quite emotional. In a way, the style of Shinsekai (their final album) would be an anticipation of the following steps in Mariko’s career: her first solo run. And we’ll let the rest in suspense, as her way would cross with Miyamoto’s again.

The second season of Natsu no Arashi! was also released in 2009, with Miyamoto returning as producer. It was quite the landmark, as that was the first time Etsuko Yakushimaru had a part in anime, performing the OP theme in what would be her debut single as a solo artist, Oyasumi Paradox. For those who don’t know Yakushimaru’s career, she first made a name out of herself as the lead vocalist in the band Soutaiseiriron, an amazing band in its own right, but the scope of her career is much wider: aside from her solo career and her band, she has recorded poetry readings and recitation, presented art installations, and even created her own original instruments, which she sometimes uses in her music. In 2017, her song “I’m Humanity” won the international STARTS Prize for Artistic Exploration between science and technology. It was the first song to be converted to DNA and reproduced through a microorganism, in a complete innovation for recorded media and music history. And it’s a freaking great song as well. I’m nuts for Etsuko and I’m not ashamed to admit my bias here. Since the first time I heard her music I immediately fell in love with her. But while Oyasumi Paradox is a good theme, it wasn’t personally my first.

An I’m Humanity exhibit

That moment would come with a later show, whose music coincidentally (or not) was produced by Miyamoto. I would argue it’s also a turning point in Miyamoto’s career, as it’s placed in between his initial Shaft years and the subsequent Evil Line era. It was also a point of reunion between some of the actors we’ve mentioned so far.

The anime is Mawaru Penguindrum. And I will disclose, it’s my favorite anime, though regardless of any bias I might have, I think the merits of its music speak for themselves. After all, it was precisely through the music of the show that I was initially captivated and brought to the side of the director Kunihiko Ikuhara, now an idol of mine. The score was composed by Yukari Hashimoto, who we already reviewed by her work in Toradora, and it’s here where, to my view, she steps up her act, going from being a good composer to becoming one of the best in the entire anime scene. In fact, her soundtrack in Penguindrum was so fitting that Ikuhara has continued to work with her since, with the scores to the follow ups Yuri Kuma Arashi and Sarazanmai being just as good. Her work in Sangatsu no Lion, one of the Shaft adaptations in the last decade, is also worth noting, even though that title bears no relationship to Miyamoto whatsoever, nor do the rest of Ikuhara works.

This was a one time occasion, but Miyamoto exploited it to the max, helping this become a landmark in anime production. Because the charm of the music wasn’t only on Hashimoto’s. The themes of the series are just as memorable and special, and perhaps even more. The two opening themes are both by Etsuko Yakushimaru, this time under the name of Etsuko Yakushimaru Orchestra. And it’s not an exaggeration, as an actual orchestra was recorded to accompany the magnificent Etsuko vocal performances, which in both OPs, Nornir and Boys, Come Back to Me, are just some of her best. And we can be sure Miyamoto had a hand on that, as he’s even credited in the CD as A&R director for King Records.

I get chills everytime

The ED, on the other hand, is handled by another character we’ve discussed before, Narasaki from Coaltar of the Deepers, who for the first and only time had his own band perform an anime theme. It was also special for the band, because for a long time it was the only song they released in years. Since their album Yukari Telepath in 2007, the band took a break from publishing with sporadic live shows, until returning in 2018 with their long anticipated Rabbit EP. The Penguindrum ED Dear Future, released in 2011, was the only recording of the band during that time. Just as in the OP single, Miyamoto held the role of A&R in representation of King Records, which specially published the band even though they were then signed to the independent label Music Mine (which has totally cool artists that you should check).

But that was not all of Penguindrum’s music. If you’re anywhere familiar with Ikuhara’s body of work you might be aware that Penguindrum was his first directed series in some time, more than a decade after finishing his latest, Shoujo Kakumei Utena. And one thing that characterized Utena was its music. It combined a traditional score by Shinkichi Mitsumune with fusion pieces of choral music for the duels, which featured a new theme in almost every episode. That part of the soundtrack was composed by J. A. Seazer, a renowned Japanese prog extraordinaire, who was part of the avant-garde and revolutionary counterculture of the ‘60s and ‘70s, and musicalized the films of the influential film and theatre director Shuji Terayama, a marked influence in Ikuhara himself.

So, what would replace the charge of Seazer? The shoes from Ikuhara’s latest work would prove hard to fill, but one solution was found. Perhaps not in such a revolutionary character, but adequate enough for the kind of work Penguindrum presented, and an update to modern styles of music. They resolved to provide cover versions of the rock band ARB, mostly popular during the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s. The interesting part is that they would be rearranged by the composer Yukari Hashimoto, and sung by a seiyuu unit. The idea was to create a fictional group within the show, Double H (once being triple), that would sing the themes.

Himari on her Triple H outfit

Some of them were featured as insert songs, such as the unforgettable Rock Over Japan, that played over the transformation sequences in the Crystal World. But most of the songs were used as additional ED themes, each of them being assigned to a specific episode. This structure mimicked that of the duels in Utena and gave an extra element of engagement while maintaining the EDs fresh, also creating some of the most memorable moments in the show through the juxtaposition within the music and the scenes. I think of episodes such as 10, 15, 20, and 23 with special regard, and this is partly because of the way music is used to enhance them (I know for sure I will never forget the saa omoidashite…).

It has recently been confirmed that Penguindrum will indeed return for a cinematographic project, but it’s unlikely Miyamoto or Evil Line will participate. Ikuhara has stopped working with King Records in his last few projects, and he seems pretty comfortable with the group of people he’s working with since the creation of his own studio Lapin Track. Regardless of what happens, the mark Penguindrum left for both will never be erased. That project was the representation of a perfect time and space synchronicity, and we must be grateful it happened. Of course, here’s hoping for the best for the individual projects of the two of them, who gladly haven’t stopped, and still have lots to offer.

I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the concept of denpa. I mentioned it earlier in relation to Funta, which was one of the kickstarters of denpa music. However, denpa is more than a music genre. It’s perhaps better described as a social category, such as otaku or weirdo. It refers to the idea of paranoid and schizophrenic people imagining they’re being controlled by electromagnetic waves.

This notion was massified by the precedent of a murderer, Kawamata Gunji, who in 1981 killed 4 random bystanders, injuring many others. In court he claimed he was being controlled by electromagnetic waves during the murders. Curiously, Kinniku Shoujo Tai, the Kenji Ohtsuki band, made songs about the incident, and some assert those are some of the first examples of denpa music. In general, denpa is associated with mental illness, psychosis, a psychedelic state or just plain weird or strange behavior. It’s a word that, just like otaku, might have different connotations depending on who’s using it. During the 2000s, the wave of denpa music acts such as Funta, Under17 or Mosaic.wav associated denpa with otaku subculture, sometimes even separating it from its original psychotic meaning.

Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko, a 2011 light novel adaptation by Shaft, is in the middle of both sides. On one hand, it displays the delusions of a teenage girl who claims that she’s an alien, isolating herself from the external world. On the other hand, it’s also pretty lighthearted, and in the end, the characters learn to integrate themselves to the world around them. It might be better described as a coming of age drama with romance and comedy elements.

The music, however, is pretty crazy, at the very least in its OP (The ED is by Etsuko, representing the softer side of the series and the moe in the protagonist Erio). I think it’s one of the OP songs that really broke the mold of what was supposed to play on television. And this is almost 100% due to the band behind it: Shinsei Kamattechan. Now they are popular worldwide thanks to the Youtube algorithm and their Shingeki no Kyojin themes, but back in 2011 they were still a new band that had just signed with a major label. They found unprecedented success however, and the songs from their debut EP quickly became standards of Japanese rock. It was around this time that they held a double concert with Midori, right in time before the disbandment. There was a serious craze about Kamattechan, very much so that their label, WMG, basically let them do what they wanted, putting out truly noisy and hysterical music to disc. And it worked fantastically. So it just made sense to feature them in anime. The song wasn’t performed by their main vocalist Noko, however, but it did feature the manic band that accompanied and Noko’s crazy compositions, along with his voice as chorus for the vocalist Asuka Ogame, the seiyuu that voices the main protagonist of the series. She sounds pretty crazy to be a professional seiyuu, so the loss of Noko isn’t that sad. Her high pitched voice fits the song and even adds to the feeling of it. For this recording, Miyamoto reprised the role of A&R.

It looks as good as it sounds

What follows might just be the weirdest I’ve encountered in anime music. It’s not bad at all, actually, it’s quite great, but I’m perplexed at how the producers allowed it. Perhaps, it’s due to the nature of the show itself, which ended up alienating a lot of viewers through its rather ugly style. I see it as an artistic choice, but it’s odd nonetheless. Anyway, the series is Aku no Hana, an adaptation of the manga by Shuzo Ozimi that was characterized by using rotoscoping, in a rather disturbing way (probably intentionally so). Miyamoto was again involved in music production, specifically the theme songs. Aku no Hana has four opening themes, all of them being backed by the band Uchuujin, that would become part of the Evil Line label for a brief period of time. They would dissolve in 2014, the same year the label was founded. A special thing about the OP themes is that each featured a different singer. The first one was Noko, the vocalist from Shinsei Kamattechan that we mentioned earlier. The second one was Mariko Goto, and this was significant. We already talked about her Midori career, and teased about her solo career. That career was started at Defstar, a Sony sublabel, but when Evil Line launched, she switched there. She didn’t last long, however, as she took a break from music in 2015 after her lack of success as a solo artist. She has since come back to music, but only through indie and self published imprints.

The third one is Shiho Nanba, a singer for which I honestly don’t know much about, other than the fact that she sang a Fairy Tail ED. She also performed in 18if, an anime project that didn’t have direct participation of Miyamoto, but was produced by Evil Line. The fourth OP was sung by the vocalist of Uchuujin. The Uchuujin songs are pretty original and unique for anime song standards, they might be melodic but there’s a feeling of borderline mania about to crack out, which is a pretty powerful effect. The EDs are much more overtly avant-garde. they’re seriously the most uncommon tracks I’ve heard as an OP or ED. The songs are not completely new, but rather reinterpretations of Hana, a song released in 2001 by the duo of experimental electronics Asa-Chang & Junray. It would be pointless to try to explain the experience of listening to it, it’s something you have to try for yourself. Even if you end up hating you’ll have to recognize the uniqueness of it.

Pretty haunting huh?

Dragon Crisis, released in 2010, is relevant for two reasons. First, the OP, sung by Yui Horie. Horie, a seiyuu and singer, was already a King Records star by the time Dragon Crisis came out. She had performed amazing themes such as the Love Hina Again OP, in my registered opinion even better than the first one, and the first School Rumble OP (remember the Arashi author?). In fact, Horie was one of the voices behind the already praised themes of Toradora, singing by herself the first ED and the second OP, and getting by herself pretty well. But while those songs were good, the Dragon Crisis OP was at another level, perhaps not necessarily in composition but definitely in arrangements and sophistication. It sounds experimental and artistic, even though it’s a commissioned work to tie in a voice actress with a theme song. That sort of innovation is always welcomed, and the explanation to this phenomena would be in the name of the composer: Ryuujin Kiyoshi, aided by King Record’s Go Takahashi.

I didn’t watch this

The authorship of Kiyoshi can be attributed to the fact it was his first participation in anime music, while Takahashi was a veteran and had a different, already established style. But this track was something unheard of even within King Records, which by that time was already somewhat more experimental and daring. And this would be confirmed by following participations of Kiyoshi in anime music, most of them being collaborations with Horie, who became sort of an art pop star through his help. The latest proof of this is in the recent Shaman King ED sung by Horie, and produced of course by Ryuujin. Even more than a decade after Immoralist, Kiyoshi’s style hasn’t grown stale, and he will hopefully continue exploring new territories along with Horie, as they definitely make a great duo. Another example of the pairing, a little older, and unrelated to Miyamoto whatsoever, but nonetheless outstanding, would be the 2nd Golden Time OP, one of the heaviest pop songs I’ve heard that never stops being pop, albeit a carefully crafted one. Hearing it makes me feel goosebumps to this day.

That was the OP. Now on the ED there runs a deeper relationship with Miyamoto that goes through his past and future work. On one hand, the ED, Mirai Bowl, is arranged by Miyamoto’s now longtime collaborator Narasaki, but on the other, perhaps more important side, it was performed by the idol group then known as Momoiro Clover (without the Z, we will soon get to that), which Miyamoto started producing that very year. As a part of the Momoiro Clover staff, he also participated as A&R in the recording of the Yosuga no Sora ED Pinky Jones, composed and arranged by Narasaki, though for whatever reason he wasn’t credited in the production of the anime.

Something for sure is that Momoiro Clover had weird music, more so for a group of idols, which are supposed to have a clean or safe sound. It’s also important to note this was before the success of groups such as Babymetal and BiS, so there wasn’t a clear alt-idol scene formed yet, at least within the mainstream and major labels. This was helped by the fact that they often collaborated with out there composers such as the all so mentioned Narasaki and also by Kenichi Maeyamada, also known as Hyadain and someone I hadn’t had the opportunity to address yet, as his collaboration with Miyamoto would increase in the following years. In fact, it was Hyadain who composed Mirai Bowl, alongside Tomotaka Osumi. The presence of so many people in only one song really makes itself feel, as the song constantly switches styles. But that instability isn’t an issue but rather a strength of Momoiro Clover as a group, who prove themselves gracefully managing the style changes.

Them on the Mirai Bowl times

However, with the departure of member Akari Hayami, Momoiro Clover would end. And by that, I mean the first formation of the group. It would reform with the remaining members with a different name. And this time, their name was suggested by none other than our own Junnosuke Miyamoto: Momoiro Clover Z. Perhaps in a remembrance of classic anime such as Dragon Ball Z, Gundam Z, and Mazinger Z, Miyamoto wasn’t mistaken by renaming the group. It gave Momoclo an edge that allowed them to grow even more, as they developed their distinct personality, inspired by tokusatsu and action shows. In fact, they would do a theme song for a Dragon Ball film, composed by would-you-guess-who (it starts with an N and it ends with arasaki...). This advancement of the Momoclo brand and Miyamoto’s growth in importance within the management of the group, further advanced him towards his own label and perhaps his most successful times.

In 2014, Junnosuke produced the music of the new Sailor Moon adaptation, Sailor Moon Crystal, which, of course, featured his star group Momoclo. In fact, this is technically the first Evil Line production, as the label had just been founded by the time Crystal’s 1st season was released. The OP theme, Moon Pride, was this time composed by Revo of Sound Horizon and mostly Linked Horizon fame. As a curiosity, it even featured the ex-Megadeth Marty Friedman on guitar. This was not the first collaboration between Marty and Momoclo, as he also provided guitars for the Mouretsu Pirates OP performed by them. But the flirtings between Momoclo and hard rock/metal don’t end there. They would also famously collaborate with Kiss, the union being immortalized by a great video animated by Trigger. And this is relevant to our assessment of Miyamoto’s career, as it was through him that the contact between Kiss and Momoclo was done. In fact, it was Kiss management that approached him, recognizing the similarities between Kiss’ and Momoclo’s staging.

The last work I’ll cover is where I originally thought of starting this post, as one of its themes has become insanely popular in the last months, so much that it surprises me as a longtime fan of it. And it’s from a series that I’ve teased for a while. Joshiraku, a manga written by, take note, the same Koji Kumeta of Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei and Katte ni Kaizou. The art of the manga, however, is not done by Kumeta, but Yasu. And who is that Yasu?, you might be wondering. It’s the illustrator and original character designer of the Toradora novels. So it all circles back yet again. But wait, there’s more. The so popular theme I’ve mentioned before is Nippon Egao Hyakkei, a song performed by none other than the already reformed Momoiro Clover Z, though this time they’re adopting the Momokurotei Ichimon moniker. It is also the work I’ve insisted so much on being retrospectively produced by Evil Line. Joshiraku aired in 2012, 2 years before the label was officially founded, but it still can be found in the Evil Line site and it’s also credited as such in the subsequent BD releases. But let’s talk a bit about this song, shall we? While astonished at its sudden success in platforms such as TikTok, I do understand the reasons behind this. It’s a very unique and fun song, and the mixture of rap and dance music with more traditional Japanese instrumentation, as well as the style of Rakugo, create an effect of fascination, perhaps due to certain exoticism and most precisely, weirdness. Weird things tend to catch our attention, and I think this is why the career of Miyamoto is one of success. He didn’t fear to deal with weirdness but rather embraced it and saw its true potential, and I think that sort of attitude is really what makes a good producer. Someone who’s willing to take risks in order to deliver a new, interesting product. Thankfully, he now runs a full Evil Line of it.

Why is this a meme in tiktok

Salvador González Turrientes

Sources and more!:

A video connecting Narasaki and Ohtsuki with Babymetal (in Spanish)

A blog post about Omokage Lucky Hole (in English)

A video explaining denpa (in Spanish)

The main denpa source (in English)

Explanation of the A&R role by a professional of the field (in Spanish)

Junnosuke Miyamoto's credits in VGMDB

Junnosuke Miyamoto in Discogs

The Momoiro Clover Z own wiki (in English)

The Wiki article for the Momoclo and Kiss collaboration song (in English)

#Anime #Japan #submission

5 notes · View notes

rhydianww · 4 years ago

Text

Kicking and Screaming

“You don’t need the trouble, Rhydian. Just leave her alone.” This was the sage advice from the Slytherin’s just barely older sister. Owena sat next to her brother in the back seat of their mother’s car, a pile of snacks and a forgotten game of Uno laid between them. They were on their way to Kings Cross station, ready to start their fourth year of Hogwarts.

But Rhydian was paying no head to his sister’s warning, he could hardly hear her over the music reverberating between his ear drumbs and the soft black cover over his headphones. His violet eyes were cast outward to the blurring scenery as the vehicle moved down the winding highway away from the northern welsh coast and the place they called home. Had his father been around, the family would have apparated somewhere with a floo that connected to King’s Cross, but Louis had been beckoned for work in the dead of night. His father had woken him up in to hug him goodbye and wish him well in school, and Rhydian had been too tired to be rude and deny his father the simple affection.

He felt bad for him, Rhydian, even if he’d never admit it to the older wizard’s face. But Louis hated his job and it was clear for anyone to see. He was always tired and grumpy when he came home from a mission, and he often didn’t speak to his family members until after Caerwyn would take her husbands hand and lead him to the bedroom, the door would lock behind them and they’d be gone to the world for a few hours. Rhydian knew some of what his father experienced must be horrific. Louis never spoke about work but Uncle Cleary, Louis’ partner and Rhydian’s Godfather, was much more forthcoming with information now that Rhydian was older. Knowing the bits and peices of what his father had done at work, and what had been done to him made Rhydian just as sympathetic to his father as it did angry.

On one hand Rhydian understood his father put his life on the line and was witness to many dark and terrifying things for the sake of his family. Caerwyn and Louis had ended up pregnant and unwed at nineteen freshly graduated. His father had done what he needed to and found a job with security. On the other hand Rhydian felt that Louis’ experiences should have made him more sympathetic to his son’s illness. Louis never slept well and could be found nearly at all hours with a cup of black hot coffee in his hand. Rhydian knew it was because of work just like Rhydian had trouble sleeping because spirits. Shouldn’t that mean Louis could understand why Rhydian didn’t going new places? Why he needed his music? Why he couldn’t pay attention all the time? These were all coping skills Rhydian had unconsciously picked up from his parents after all.

But Louis didn’t seem to understand his son, and Rhydian felt he never would.

As if sensing the way her son’s thoughts were heading, Caerwyn spoke up. Owena nudged her brother, and two matching sets of violet eyes met in the rear view mirror.

“It’s Poppy’s first fucking year, you’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?” Caerwyn asked. She was always interrupting Rhydian and Louis when they started to go at each other, always trying the ease the waves between them. Could she feel the impatience Rhydian had begun to stew in the fleeting thought about his father’s absence?

“She’s going to look simply adorable in her robes, oh I can’t wait to see her, I bet she’s going to be in Hufflepuff, just like Aunty Lils.” Owena cheered, always bright and cheerful. She was like the sun, Owena, and just like the gaseous celestial body, the world seemed to revolve around her. Everyone liked Owena, everyone wanted to be her mate. Rhydian was envious of such magnetism but also thankful. He had gone his whole life being left alone he shouldn’t think he’d take to being popular all that well now.

“Mmm.” Was Rhydian’s gruff response, his eyes falling away from his mother’s and back to the landscape. Poppy was one of Rhydian’s dozens upon dozens of cousins, a daughter of his father’s cousin Lily and her husband Lorcan. The Potter/Weasley family was large, too large for Rhydian to feel all that comfortable around every one of his cousins the way his father was, but he got on well enough with Aunty Lils’ girls. Briar and Thistle, the eldest of his aunt’s surmounting hoard, were close enough in age to Rhydian that they had been able to play as children. There were also no spirits in the valley Aunty Lils and Uncle Lori had made their home which meant Rhydian was willing to spend time there on occasion.

But home was one thing, school was another. As sort of a social pariah, Rhydian was generally avoided at school, even by his cousins. Rhydian didn’t care, he wasn’t particularly close to any of the one’s in his year anyway. Owena was really the only one he hung around with regularly at school, usually tagging along to whatever she was doing with her mates at her insistence. Most of the cousins he saw consistently were older anyway, after Addie had been born it was like a baby bomb had gone off. Sophia, Tante Vic’s daughter had been born, then James’ oldest, Junior, and then a whole ton more. If he had to pick favorites Rhydian would have to say it was Viktor, Tante Doma’s son, but he lived in Eastern europe with the Dragons so it was rarely Rhydian got to see him, they certainly didn’t go to school together.

Poppy was alright, but young and a girl. Shy but sweet. She’d make friends fast enough. Rhydian agreed with Owena’s assessment, Hufflepuff was likely.

“And leave fucking Maggie alone.” Owena quipped. Rhydian rolled his eyes as he replaced his headphones, not looking up to meet the violet eyes staring at him once more in the mirror. It was no secret what had happened over the summer at Addie’s going away party. Louis had blamed Rhydian but he hadn’t cared. There had been no use in arguing. But just because he had accepted his father’s lame punishment of having to sit at a table with him -probably what he would have been stuck doing anyway- that didn’t mean the Slytherin didn’t blame Maggie Stonefyre for him getting in trouble to begin with.

Rhydian wasn’t the forgiving type, and Owena was probably sensing her brother was scheming, but Merlin did she have no idea what was in store for the weirdo snake bitch was in for. Maggie was a nice girl, according to Owena, ‘a Hufflepuff’ Owena had stated, dragging the house name out, her eyes reflecting exasperation. She believed no Hufflepuff was rotten to their core. And Rhydian supposed Maggie wasn’t rotten to her core, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t deserving of justice.

He started picking on Maggie the first day of classes. He found them sharing a bench in Potions oddly enough, other students were weary of the snake that curled itself around her body. Rhydian had learned the snake was passive enough though and so he took the opportunity and grabbed the seat next to her. They hadn’t spoken, but she had gone to the loo which allowed Rhydian ample time to poor a sickly smelling sap into her book bag. He had been carrying it around of hopes of seeing her.

He expected to give her a hard time for a week or so, then move on. Just enough to upset the girl. Rhydian however did not expect retaliation. Perhaps he should have, looking back on the event over the summer, but he had assumed the gun had been Hads’ idea, she could be a wicked little thing Rhydian had observed. But you know what they say about hindsight; it’s always twenty-twenty. Maggie came back at Rhydian was a vengeance, pouring the same sap in his trunk and on his bed, he had no idea how she got in his dorm. From their things escalated to name calling, to school work sabotaging, and it was now to the point they were hexing each other in the corridors much the frustration of their Professors. They could hardly stand each other, Maggie and Rhydian to the point their anger was on sight. Peers knew to stay out of their way if they noticed the pair glaring at each other and drawing their wands.

It landed them in detention more than once, but the Professors were loosing their patience. It wasn’t very fair either that they favored Maggie over Rhydian, especially the Arithmancy Professor who was particularly defensive of the annoying witch. But Rhydian couldn’t let it go even though he had received angry letters and phone calls from his parents by now about how often he was getting in trouble. Even Addie had written inquiring what it was that was upsetting her brother so much. He didn’t write back. Rhydian had always been a difficult and was in and out of trouble most of his school career but no one thought this fixation he had on ruining Maggie Stonefyre’s day was healthy.

Eventually the Professors decided if the two couldn’t resolve their differences on their own, they would force them to do so. And so as a pair, the two were sent into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid to tend to the Unicorns. Rhydian doubted it would go well, the whole thing was ludicrous. How was he, a boy, supposed to even see the unicorns?! How had Hagrid been feeding them to begin with?! It didn’t make any sense.

“Yer Grandfather Ron-”

“Bill. My grandfather is Bill. Ron’s my great uncle.” Rhydian had reminded the half giant gently. He was getting very old, Hagrid, forgetful. He had enough wit however to recognize a Weasley when he saw one. His father having been close with Harry and Ron’s respective children, Auntie Rose and Uncle Shithead, had known the half giant well in their time at Hogwarts. And he was kind, Rhydian noted, in a way that was quite rare.

The two spoke about family and Great Uncle Harry’s heroism until they were joined under the stars at the edge on the Forrest by Maggie. Hagrid gave a small lantern to each of them a bid them to follow after him into the woods.

12 notes · View notes

mackwritess · 4 years ago

Text

Westwood Road

Word count: 3k+

Summary: It’s your average high school romance. The boy meets a girl who accepts him despite his hidden secret, and in turn he changes her. But what happens when she’s got her own little secret?

A/N: Hi! This story represents a lot of milestones for me as this is both my first commission and my first attempt at romance! I hope you like it!

He’s running late. It’s a character flaw of his, really. A problem he’s never been able to correct, no matter how many alarms he set to go off in time. This time though, it isn’t just some unimportant thing he’s late for, oh no.

Today, he’s meeting her parents.

He takes a sharp turn down her street, the street people normally avoid. He doesn’t have time to think about the warnings he’s gotten about this old gravel road. He has somewhere to be.

He finally decides to slow down a bit in order to ensure he doesn’t pass up his destination by mistake. Slowing down to what feels like a snail’s pace, he pays close attention to each disheveled home he passes by, looking out for the house that was described to him.

Luckily, he didn’t have to look particularly hard, as she was standing outside the very place he was looking for, waiting for him to arrive.

He slows his vehicle to a stop and jumps out immediately, trying to make up every second he may have lost. Running over to where she stands, he tries to rush out an apology, explaining his situation. Instead of lashing out as he fears, she offers him a serene, almost eerie, smile. She assures him he’s right on time, and takes his hand to lead him inside.

How they met was something straight out of a romantic comedy.

He was running late, of course, to a special event at his local video game store. He insists it’s not his fault this time, really, it’s not. He’s got a reputation to uphold, he can’t be caught hanging out with a bunch of people who’ve never even been to prom without a group of friends rather than a date, he rationalizes. He’s ducking around corners and hiding behind telephone poles in a borderline cartoonish manner, hoping he won’t run into someone from school, specifically anyone he’s on a team with.

After finally arriving at the store, he can finally drop his elaborate manner of movement, certain that he’ll run into no trouble here. Upon arrival, he spots the table set up for the event he’s attending, already surrounded by others who are there for the same reason he is. He scans the scene quickly, looking for a place to sit, and his eyes find an empty seat next to a girl.

He thinks nothing of it and takes a seat next to her, offering her a small smile when he does. It’s only when she turns to look at him that he realizes he knows her from somewhere. Perhaps he’s seen her in the store before, though he isn’t quite sure.

Today’s event is for a game tournament. It’s a relatively popular game, if the attendance of this event is anything to go by. After the order of the tournament is decided, he’s careful not to take his eyes off his other opponents' game play, hoping to catch on to any tricks they may have.

The girl he had sat next to doesn’t appear to have any particular strategy. Unlike her more animated competitors, she remains calm, her expression blank.

Eventually, after making his way up the tournament bracket, he finds himself facing her in the final. He’s nervous, having been unable to learn anything about her potential, but can tell that she’s skilled.

“I’m nervous,” she says suddenly, “You’re really good.”

He’s caught off guard. She hasn’t spoken a word this entire time, and he’s certain he’s only gotten this far by luck. All he can do is offer her a sheepish smile, before the game begins.

He’s feeling a little misled by the time their turn concludes. Not only was he utterly destroyed, but their match was the shortest out of all the others, lasting a measly two minutes. She’s given her prize, a gift card to be used in the store, and immediately stands from her seat, presumably to begin her shopping with her newly earned funds.

He finds himself following after her, not to berate her or accuse her of cheating like some people his age might do, but rather to ask how the hell she managed to do what she did in such a fashion. He finds her looking at the old used games, likely because of their relatively low price range compared to the rest of the items in the store.

He’s unsure how to approach her, the first time he’s ever been nervous about such a thing. He can’t quite place it, but something about her is making him feel sheepish and insecure in a way. It’s when he finally decides what he’ll start with, a simple “hello” that he sees her pick up an old game he recalls from childhood. Immediately, he calls out to her, seeming to startle her, and explains the relationship he has with the game.

“It’s one of the first games I ever owned,” he elaborates. “I’ve never even gotten to complete it. Haven’t seen the cartridge in years.”

The girl seems to consider his words. “What if I let you borrow it? After I’m done with it, of course.”

He lights up at her offer. “I would love that!” He says, albeit a little loudly, attracting the attention of other patrons in the store. Taking note, he lowers his voice. “But how would I know to get it back from you, and how would I return it?”

“Well, it is the twenty-first century after all. I could just give you my number.” He cringes at himself, realizing how clueless he must seem.

“Right, yea, we could do that.” He moves to take her phone to enter his number before pausing. “Wait. Do you mind keeping this a secret?”

“I mean, sure,” she says, clearly confused by his odd request, “Can I ask why?”

“No one knows I do things like this, it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. If people found out, my reputation would be ruined.” He expects her to get angry. To tell him he has no respect for the hobby or the people who play professionally.

Instead, she laughs.

“What year is this? Dude, everyone plays video games these days. What, do you think you’re gonna get bullied if you tell your friends you like Mario?” She laughs again, and he decides he likes the sound of it.

“It’s a long story, alright? Just promise me you won’t say anything,” he says, trying to preserve what little dignity he has left after today.

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep your dirty little secret,” she says. She hands him his phone, and he quickly inputs his name and number. Upon finishing, he looks up and hands the phone back to her. Though, he’s afraid to make eye contact, so instead he finds himself watching the fly that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

“How long do you think it’ll take for you to finish?” He asks, trying to shift the conversation back.

“Not sure,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve never played, could be weeks, months even. But I’ll get back to you as soon as I finish.” He nods, already eager to talk to her again.

Three days later, he receives a message.

What had begun as a simple exchange had quickly turned into a friendship between the two of them. The two of them clicked better than he had ever expected. Upon talking more to her, he realizes she looked familiar because they have a few classes together. He worries that she’ll be upset that he didn’t know her, but instead she laughs it off.

They’ve made it a weekly tradition now to meet once every week at the game store where they first met. They talk about their favorite releases, look at new equipment that the store has gotten in, and comb over the clearance section, hoping to get their hands on a cheap game or two.

This time, though, his luck appears to have run out.

The two of them are making their way around the store, looking for a particular pair of headphones that professional gamers swear is the best product in the business. Upon examining them, deciding they won’t look at the price tag just yet, he hears a familiar voice call out his name.

He looks up, and is met with the confused expression of his teammate.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“I’m looking for some game for my brother, he’s got his heart set on it so I’m getting it as a Christmas gift. What are you doing here?”

He stutters, trying to come up with an explanation, when she peers from behind him to see what the sudden commotion is about.

“It’s a game store, can’t you read?” She asks, obviously irritated by the interruption. “Why don’t you look for what you came here for and mind your business?”

He’s shocked by her sudden outburst, and when he turns to look at her, she’s back to browsing the shelves as if nothing happened.

“You’re here with her too? Man, you really must be desperate for something to do,” the other boy responds, unphased by her words.

“What’s wrong with her?” He lets slip immediately, wanting to return the favor.

“You’re telling me you haven’t heard? She lives on Westwood Road. You know, that old freaky abandoned road at the edge of town?”

“So what?”

“What do you mean, so what?” The boy balks. “That place is haunted, no sane person would ever live there, besides, even ignoring the fact that she’s probably some undead weirdo, this place is for nerds.”

He moves to say something, but a fearful expression briefly moves past the other boy’s face, and he’s backing away.

“You know what? Forget it. I won’t tell anyone I saw you, just keep that freak away from me.” He turns around and quickly moves to another part of the store.

“Well,” she says, drawing his attention back to her, “that was something.”

He profusely apologizes to her, which she brushes off and insists is fine. She continues her shopping, deciding she’ll buy the overpriced headset she’s heard so much, and he asks when he’ll be allowed to borrow them.

It had been a few months since the incident, and rather than growing farther apart like he feared, they’d actually grown much closer. They spend almost every day together now, whether it be just goofing off or working on school assignments together. With spring break underway, today is one of their goofing off days.

He decides that today he’s going to ask her to go to prom with him.

He doesn’t really have a plan, deciding he’ll keep it simple and wing it rather than some big display of affection. He’ll wait for the right moment, and then he’ll ask her and hope he doesn’t get rejected.

They’re at a local diner now, having decided after last time that if they get confronted again that they can handle it. He’s listening to her explain the plot of a game she’s been struggling with lately. She’s clearly frustrated, having never struggled with a game before, and he finds it endearing.

“Will you go to prom with me?” He asks, not realizing he’s said anything until she stops ranting, a shocked expression appearing on her face.

“What did you just say?”

“I was just thinking, since we’ve been hanging out so much. I don’t know, I don’t really talk to any other girls and I really like spending time with you and I just thought-“

She cuts off his rambling by throwing a napkin at his face, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Relax, already. I just wanted to see you freak out a little,” she chuckles lightly. “I’d love to go with you.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, pulling another laugh from her.

“I really thought you’d reject me for a second there.”

“Do you really take me as being that heartless?”

“Heartless isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Intimidating?”

“That’s the one.”

They continue to talk for hours on end, until the street lights outside the diner turn on. Another fly appears in his field of vision, though his focus this time is entirely on her.

“What are you smiling about?” She asks, having stopped at her front door, waiting for him to snap back from whatever thought he was having.

“Remember prom?” She laughs immediately.

“Yea, how could I forget the wonky chocolate fountain they had that got all over everyone’s clothes?”

“I still can’t believe I talked you into going to an after party.”

“Listen, I heard there was a pool, I wasn’t about to say no.”

The two of them laugh again, reminiscing on the night they decided to make their relationship official.

“C’mon,” she says, suddenly much quieter, “let’s head in.”

He follows her through the door, and is met with a surprisingly nice house compared to the disheveled appearance. There’s a few paintings hung up on the wall, and an old fireplace lit in the living room.

He makes his way through the house, curiosity overtaking his thoughts that he may be acting a bit rude for digging around. He finds a decently sized kitchen, and a dining room straight out of a centuries old painting.

While he looks around, she’s following him slowly, hoping the old furniture is enough to distract him from her presence. She lifts the weapon above her head and, right as he moves to turn around, brings it down on his head.

He wakes up after what feels like days, when in reality it’s only been about an hour. His head is throbbing, and when he tries to move, he finds himself unable to, his hands having been tied behind him. He’s in a dark room, barely able to see anything as his visions adjusts to the lack of light. The smell of sulfur invades his nostrils, worsening his headache.

“You’re awake, I see. I thought you’d be out for at least another hour or two.”

He hears her voice before he sees her. When she steps forward, he notices something is different. Her demeanor has changed, and he finds himself sitting up in the chair he’s tied to.

“What happened? Where are we? Are you okay?”

“How sweet, you’re worried about me?” She sighs, “Don’t do that, my dear boy. You’re starting to make me feel a little bad for what’s about to happen.”

He’s about to ask her what she means, when she speaks again.

“Oh, have you not figured it out yet? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This has been one of my most successful catches, after all.”

“Catches?” He asked, still not understanding.

“Must I explain everything?” She shrugs. “Fine, I suppose I can tell you how you’ll be dying.” His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to scream when she interrupts him. “Don’t bother, we’re underground. No one will hear you.”

“What the hell is going on? Who are you?”

“I have many names. It’d be easier if you think of me as the one I already gave you.”

“Why am I tied up? What are you doing?”

“Well in order to get to that, we’ll have to start from the beginning, wouldn’t you agree?” He doesn’t respond. “Why don’t we play a little game? Did you notice anything strange when we first met?”

He thinks back. Nothing particular stands out to him, except for one thing.

“There was a fly, that was pretty weird.” He finds himself laughing, despite his situation. “I was too afraid to look at you, so I watched the fly.”

“Judging by the way you’re laughing right now, I assume you don’t know what this means.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“Anything else you noticed? A certain smell perhaps?”

“Sulfur. I smell sulfur.” She says nothing. He’s deep in thought. “So you’re a demon?”

“Ding ding ding! Smart boy, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Why me? Why did it have to be me?”

“Oh, it’s nothing personal, really. You just seemed the perfect target. Looks like I was right.” Again, she’s met with silence. “I know it’s hard for you to accept, but I never loved you. You’re a food source for me, nothing more.” Still, he says nothing.

“So now what happens? You eat my soul or something?” He asks, finally.

“Precisely! And since you’ve won the game, I've decided to let you have your last words. Go ahead.” He looks her directly in the eye.

“You’re lying.”

“W-what?” She stutters, caught off guard. “I’m not lying, why else do you think your loud friend ran off that day?”

“No no, I believe that you’re a demon. What I don’t believe is that you never loved me.” It’s her turn to stay silent. Taking note, he continues. “It’s not hard to tell when feelings are real, and yours clearly were, whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”

“They weren’t!” She yells, beginning to shake.

“Now that I think about it, I’ve heard of your kind before. Your death relates to lost love, and now you live as a demon, breaking hearts and feeding on the souls because this is how you survive. How you get your revenge.”

“Stop it,” she screams, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you love me, really, but I know you no choice.” She’s crying now. All she can do is shake her head violently in denial. “But it’s okay. Because I still love you. And I forgive you.”

She leaves the house covered in his blood. She found herself unable to consume his soul, as even after all she’d done, she was still unable to break him. Out of anger, and sadness, she had ripped him apart, leaving his body scattered across the room.

For years, she’s been living on this road. She’d never encountered any problems, and she never had to think too much about what she would ultimately end up doing to her victims. This time was different.

She was suddenly disgusted with herself, after doing what she’d done to so many people. Maybe she’d find some other way to sustain herself. Perhaps one day, she’d reunite with him, one day when she felt she was worthy of a love so pure.

For now, though, she would leave Westwood Road, and start somewhere new.

#support black writers #my writing #writing #short story #short stories #short fiction #supportblackcreatives #supportblackauthors #horror #romance #romantic comedy #romcom #demon

3 notes · View notes

souridealist · 5 years ago

Note

what are ur GtN thoughts did u have a favorite joke or side character or crack ship or CONSPIRACY THEORY

YES, YES, ENH?, AND YES

Favorite joke: there are a lot but I think I have to give this one to the moment I fell in love with Gideon, which is the only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted your ass kicked so hard, the Locked Tomb opened and a parade came out to sing, Lo! A destructed ass!

Side character: God I love Palamedes and Camilla. I am absolutely telling on myself to be like “yes, my favorite characters besides the protagonists were the PEDANTIC NERD HOUSE,” but, you know, sometimes we cannot be anyone but ourselves.

Crack ship: Most of my shipping energy went pouring into Harrow/Gideon to be totally honest, with a few side emotions about Palamedes/Dulcinea, but I could probably be talked into some nonsense or other.

CONSPIRACY THEORY: YES, YES I DO, THANK YOU FOR ASKING, I HAVE ONE FUCKING WILD ONE AND A COUPLE OF SMALL CONCLUSIONS, GOING TO START WITH THE WILD ONE AND CUT THIS FOR SPOILERS,

WHAT IF GIDEON IS THE GIRL IN THE LOCKED TOMB

This is absolutely an out-there bulletin-board-and-string theory based in how I refuse to accept that Gideon is dead AND think it would be the height of both humor and romance if Gideon made fun of Harrow for “having the hots for some creepy weirdo in a coffin” BUT, IN FACT, IT WAS GIDEON THE WHOLE TIME.

But also:

1) Gideon is... probably named after, but possibly has some more interesting connection to, someone who was getting notes written about them hundreds of years ago.

2) Gideon, at the age of like... a year old maximum, survived full exposure to nerve gas

3) Gideon is almost supernaturally good at using a sword3a) seriously there are too many notes about how she’s not just good but historically good, I’ve got my eye on that remark about “Matthias Nonius come again,” Naberius

4) whatever’s in the Locked Tomb is extremely supernaturally dangerous and very hard to kill

5) and is a teenage girl.

[6): there are little gray-facepaint Homestucky fingerprints in a lot of places around this book, which has little gray fingers digging into my brain and dredging up nostalgia by the handful, and it’s got timeloops on my mind.]

Okay, it’s way more likely that the girl in the Locked Tomb is this mysterious Alecto who gets to be the title character of the third book, but if there turn out to be reincarnation / time loop / clone shenanigans of some kind, I get to say I called it.

Also, a couple things that aren’t so much conspiracy theories as just... observations:

Small point: Gideon saying “I want to eat a dessert,” when she’s arguing with Harrow about going to Magnus and Abigail’s dinner, isn’t just... the same way you might say “I need to eat a food.” Gideon has probably never eaten a dessert in her life. I want to put her in a blanket and feed her many desserts.

Sadder point: Gideon is between nine and perhaps twenty months older than Harrow. That means that the Ninth House chose to take her in and raise her somewhere between eleven and zero months before slaughtering its children.

It’s really, really likely that they only ever took Gideon into the Ninth House in the first place in order to kill her to make Harrow.

(There are circles of Hell for fictional parents, and those unspellable fuckers are in the very deepest.)

#gideon the ninth #askbox #anonymous #Anonymous

65 notes · View notes

alixofagnia · 6 years ago

Text

OpheThorn II: A Slightly Less Rambling Analysis

The Missing of Clairdelune is a superb second installment in The Mirror Visitor quartet. We get more of what we loved about the first book, more pieces to the larger existential puzzle, yet it smartly stops short of resolving too much so that we stay invested for the third episode. Christelle Dabos allows herself slightly more exposition. But the novel really succeeds by continuing to follow the less-is-more mantra and the showing vs. telling style.

As you may or may not recall, after I finished A Winter’s Promise, I spent an embarrassing amount of time copy/pasting excerpts from this book into Google Translate with the result that I really did spoil a lot of the OpheThorn parts for myself—which I don’t exactly regret. But, essentially, it left me with a bit less to say. I had a good response to my first OpheThorn analysis (it’s here and thank you for all the kind words), so I did think that I’d like to put something out about Clairdelune as well, I just wasn’t sure what. After some consideration (and a re-read), I do have some more thoughts about OpheThorn.

So, here we go.

[Spoilers included this time]

[All fanart images credited to @patricialyfoung]

Intro

Since Clairdelune begins right where Promise concluded, Ophelia is still pissed at Thorn, while Thorn is still pining for Ophelia albeit in his uniquely aloof way. The only real thing that’s made me scratch my head with them is the severity of Ophelia’s anger/resentment over Thorn having withheld his true ambitions from her and her finding out about them from someone else. I just think it’s a little bit of a weak conflict for them given how pragmatic they are. I get that it’s the culmination of a frustrating situation. But I still think it’s weak.

So, once again the two begin on shaky ground, a space they occupy for the bulk of the novel. They are, at least, together a bit more than before and there’s all sorts of lovely tension, mostly caused by Thorn’s inelegant method of wooing compounded by Ophelia’s stubborn refusal to give him an inch. Thorn’s growing feelings for Ophelia were subtly hinted at in Promise and they become more apparent here, particularly when juxtaposed against Ophelia’s stubborn denial of hers for him.

And I just adore the cover art! Don’t you?

Thorn and Autism Spectrum Disorder

This is what I want to discuss. I may be alone in this, but it seems like Thorn could be coded as having autism spectrum disorder (ASD). It occurred to me while I was reading Promise and this time around, I feel comfortable in taking that perspective on Thorn. I like the notion of applying an ASD reading to his character because it explains a few descriptive quirks and makes him more than a “weirdo” or “freak”, which is reductive labeling. When considering his interactions with other characters and their reactions to him, this reading lends an added layer to his actions and overall development.

But let me make something clear.

This book isn’t about ASD, so I’m not suggesting that Dabos intended to write Thorn as having ASD or is trying to make a statement in any way on the disorder, and I’m cautious about how I use this idea to understand the character. This is purely my own speculation/take on the character.

I also want to be clear that I don’t have any personal experience with the disorder. I’ve met people with autism and ASD and they were all very different from each other and had very different needs. So, I’m largely making connections with textbook examples of ASD and they’re maybe a little bit broad because as I said it isn’t explicitly made clear that Thorn has ASD. I may very likely err in my understanding of this disorder. If that’s the case, I apologize in advance and please do correct me or give me your own opinion on this idea.

Here’s an overview from the webpage of the national institute of mental health:

Autism spectrum disorder (ASD) is a developmental disorder that affects communication and behavior. Although autism can be diagnosed at any age, it is said to be a “developmental disorder” because symptoms generally appear in the first two years of life. According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5), a guide created by the American Psychiatric Association used to diagnose mental disorders, people with ASD have:

Difficulty with communication and interaction with other people

Restricted interests and repetitive behaviors

Symptoms that hurt the person’s ability to function properly in school, work, and other areas of life

Autism is known as a “spectrum” disorder because there is wide variation in the type and severity of symptoms people experience. Although ASD can be a lifelong disorder, treatments and services can improve a person’s symptoms and ability to function.

It’s been shown repeatedly that it’s very difficult for Thorn to be an inviting and easy-going person, even with people he cares about. Thorn struggles with communication, is emotionally suppressed, is both uncaring and at times completely unaware of how he presents himself socially, and obsessively consults his pocket watch, particularly when he’s at a loss for words or bored, or otherwise ready to get the hell out of any situation that causes him anxiety. He’s highly intelligent, fixated on order and organization, and has a history (as we know from Promise and learn more about in Clairdelune) of meeting intense emotion with impulsive violence.

Here’s a list (also from the NIMH website) of common symptoms:

Making little or inconsistent eye contact

Tending not to look at or listen to people

Rarely sharing enjoyment of objects or activities by pointing or showing things to others

Failing to, or being slow to, respond to someone calling their name or to other verbal attempts to gain attention

Having difficulties with the back and forth of conversation

Often talking at length about a favorite subject without noticing that others are not interested or without giving others a chance to respond

Having facial expressions, movements, and gestures that do not match what is being said

Having an unusual tone of voice that may sound sing-song or flat and robot-like

Having trouble understanding another person’s point of view or being unable to predict or understand other people’s actions

Repeating certain behaviors or having unusual behaviors. For example, repeating words or phrases, a behavior called echolalia

Having a lasting intense interest in certain topics, such as numbers, details, or facts

Having overly focused interests, such as with moving objects or parts of objects

Getting upset by slight changes in a routine

Being more or less sensitive than other people to sensory input, such as light, noise, clothing, or temperature

People with ASD may also experience sleep problems and irritability. Although people with ASD experience many challenges, they may also have many strengths including:

Being able to learn things in detail and remember information for long periods of time

Being strong visual and auditory learners

Excelling in math, science, music, or art

One can’t help but notice that we can check several of these points off for Thorn. Not all, certainly, but I’m sure you can call to mind some of your own examples of him exhibiting many of these behaviors repeatedly.

Where Does Ophelia Fit In?

Thorn has always treated his relationship with Ophelia in a very business-like manner, almost like a negotiation, which makes sense within the context of an arranged marriage. At the novel’s start, Thorn wishes to make amends, but Ophelia makes it very clear that she will not forgive him for his lies and neglect. His response to her is rather clinical.

“We simply can’t allow ourselves to be enemies,” cut in Thorn. “You’re making my life difficult with your resentment; it’s imperative that we become reconciled. […] Meet me at the Treasury, insult me, slap me, smash a plate over my head if you feel like it, and then let’s never speak of it again. Name your day. This Thursday would suit me.” [65]

I suppose this is a rather annoying response, especially if one is really just looking for a simple and genuine apology. But if we read Thorn as having ASD, then this feels a little different. He’s simplifying a conflict that he maybe doesn’t quite understand; he’s been given a different perspective on his actions and it’s perhaps beyond his capability to comprehend. To compensate, he turns this into a matter of business, which is something he can understand quite well, even going so far as to try and pencil Ophelia into his calendar. But he’s woefully unaware of the frustrating effect his language and tone have on her. Of course, what’s key here is what he isn’t saying: that she’s making his life difficult because he loves her; he wants to be on good terms, but doesn’t know how to fix this. Note that he again suggests violence as a means to deal with her emotion.

When they do meet up, Thorn says,

“I have many enemies. I no longer want to count you among them, so tell me what I must do. That is why you came here, isn’t it? You have a deal to offer me, I’m listening to you.” [152]

He’s desperate. It’s also worth noting that he’s fairly vulnerable in this chapter; he exhibits jealousy and some hurt—Ophelia missed their original appointment because she was with Archibald and forgot about him.

Modest as always, Ophelia asks only for a job, money to pay Fox, her new assistant, and to see the real outdoors again. She lastly requests that he always be honest with her, especially in matters that directly concern her. In exchange, she will teach him how to Read objects after the ceremony of the Gift and he will teach her how to use the claws that he’ll pass to her. She also reiterates, for good measure, that this will be their only conjugal duty. He grants the first three readily enough, but the fourth one trips him up. He does agree to it, but it’s obvious that it will cost him in more ways than one.

While I imagine that he’s receptive on some level to sexual intimacy with Ophelia, I think he’s more afraid of intimacy in general. Sharing things and being honest with a partner means opening oneself up to vulnerability, to weakness. The undertaking he’s set for himself—a mission he’s already devoted 15 years of his life to—doesn’t allow for that kind of intimacy; rather, it requires utmost resiliency, secrecy, and focus. Furthermore, if he were to be seen forming loving attachments (with Berenilde, Ophelia, or anyone else), then that could be turned against him over the course of fulfilling his risky endeavor. It’s that very fear, in fact, which has made him exclude his aunt (and attempt to exclude Ophelia) entirely from his investigation. His pursuit of a noble title and legitimacy is a front, an easy excuse he thought up to satisfy Berenilde’s and the court’s curiosity about why he suddenly wanted to get married and Read Farouk’s Book.

Like Thorn, it scares Ophelia to feel herself falling in love. Perhaps the womanly pride she carries with her makes it difficult for her to open up. After all, love and marriage were never apparently high on her list of things to accomplish either. Ophelia and Thorn are separately dealing with the same conundrum, which is that to love means to fear, and that’s messy. It could get in the way of a life that is humble (Ophelia) and a life that is ambitious (Thorn). Simply put, neither one had accounted for even the possibility of love in their marriage.

Perhaps because Ophelia is a Reader, I think that deep down she likes the enigma and challenge that is Thorn. Yes, he’s frustrating, but she never truly loses interest in him. Indeed, if anything, she becomes increasingly intrigued and is entirely won over when she at last learns all about what he’s doing. Ophelia is very likely the first person to make Thorn both confront and attempt to correct his inadequacy in areas of intimacy. As I touched on in my previous analysis, Ophelia calling Thorn out on his behavior and habits is surely a novelty for him.

“I believe neither in luck nor in destiny,” he declared. “I trust only the science of probabilities. I have studied mathematical statistics, combinatorial analysis, mass function, and random variables, and they have never held any surprises for me. You don’t seem fully to grasp the destabilizing effect that someone like you can have on someone like me.” [377]

Ohhhhkay.

It turns out, she’s a bit of an enigma and definitely a challenge to him in kind. This is Thorn’s way of trying to tell Ophelia that he loves her.

Thorn and Ophelia seek control and wield it differently. Thorn can be arrogant and overconfident with it, and he wants to be its sole retainer. Ophelia also wants to retain it but as it pertains to her decisions for herself, and she rebels against it when she feels like that’s being taken away from her. It’s important to them that they are in control of their own actions and destinies. But what neither one of them understands is that those we end up loving is often (or maybe always) outside of our control. Love has no explanation, and doesn’t require one. You can’t predict it. You can’t dictate it. You can’t calculate it or quantify it.

Ophelia seriously turns Thorn’s life, and everything he thought he could predict or control about it, upside down. Initially unwittingly, then actively, she encourages him to develop.

ASD Made Sexy

As inelegant as he is, Thorn does have his own way of being shocking:

“You wanted me to be honest with you. You will thus learn that you are not just a pair of hands for me. And I don’t give a damn whether people find me suspect, as long as I am not so in your eyes. You will return this to me when I have kept all my promises,” he grumbled, holding his watch out to Ophelia without noticing her stunned expression. “And if you still doubt me in the future, just read it.” [156].

You guys, this is kind of romantic, right? He’s so direct and it really flusters Ophelia, who is steadfastly resisting the decidedly non-business-like turn their relationship has taken. Skip to novel’s end, however, and she has totally changed her tune about Thorn. Right before they believe they will be parted forever, Thorn finally gives a straightforward confirmation of his feelings.

“Don’t go falling down any more stairs, avoid sharp objects, and above all, above all, keep away from disreputable people, alright? […] Oh, and by the way, I love you.” [486]

Swoon.

The fact of the matter is this: despite his unconventional looks and mannerisms, Thorn hits a certain level of sexy. Which begs the question: Can ASD be sexy? Sure, one could say that his sex appeal comes naturally with his role as the male lead, which is directly connected to his chemistry with the female lead. But I think there’s actually an important distinction to be made; it’s not whether ASD itself is sexy, it’s whether a character with ASD is sexy and I think that’s important because you don’t want ASD to be treated as a gimmick in fiction. It matters how that kind of character is presented.

Thorn’s ASD traits make him eccentric at best and a “freak” at worst, by Ophelia’s own description. Some of Thorn’s less offensive eccentricities are portrayed in an endearing light: his brusqueness with silly persons (i.e. Archibald, Baron Melchior) and their silly behavior; wearing his heavy uniform in a tropical illusion when there’s no evident dress policy for officials; preoccupied with tending to the order of his office over the tending of his wounds; launching a dangerous existential investigation all because of an illegal and unjust disruption in odds and probabilities, an utter crime in Thorn’s eyes.

But it’s also important to look at how other characters view him. Those at the Pole may look down on him, but there is no doubt that he commands a considerable level of their respect. He’s at the center of Citaceleste’s political and economical arenas, and has some judicial power as well. In short, he’s the one that everyone seemingly runs to in a crisis. Ophelia begrudgingly admires his self-control, coolness under pressure, and appreciates that he is not corrupt, like the other officials and aristocrats. Naturally, Berenilde regards him the highest. She, more than any other, gives us a glimpse of the true Thorn, putting forward the image of a protector, provider, and all-around genius.

So, the answer is yes. Thorn is sexy.

Ophelia and Asexuality

OK, I realize I’m going off on a tangent here, but since asexuality is a common reading of Ophelia that I see in reviews, I wanted to address that as well.

There are many instances of Ophelia fulfilling, for lack of a better way to put it, the butterfly trope:

Perhaps it was due to the nervousness Thorn brought out in her, or the lace veil obscuring her vision, or the scarf coiled around her foot, or her pathological clumsiness, but the fact is, Ophelia tripped on the final step of the stairs. [28]

Hearing Thorn reawakened such nervousness in Ophelia that she seriously considered hanging up on him. [63]

She did, however, have to admit that Berenilde had got it right: it was indeed out of cowardice, more even than anger, that she’d spent recent weeks avoiding him. [100]

Somewhat embarrassed, Ophelia wondered whether he felt as nervous in her company as she felt in his. [160]

Ophelia felt her blood throbbing against her eardrums, but couldn’t have said whether it was due to sudden relief or, on the contrary, heightened tension. [323]

Ophelia gets butterflies whenever her love interest is near. It’s important to note that she’s not afraid for her safety when she’s with him, although there is one incident, where she thinks he’s going to strike her, which is quickly dispelled by his sincere assurance that he’d never harm her. He gives her butterflies often by doing totally mundane things such as standing in front of her or looking at her, and that bothers her. But why?

Like Thorn, she’s convinced herself that intimacy and love aren’t for her. Some reviewers have praised Ophelia for being a representation of asexuality and, while I think there’s a strong case for her being somewhere on the asexual spectrum, I stop short at positing that she’s totally uninterested in sex or doesn’t experience sexual attraction. She’s noted, on several occasions, both in Clairdelune and Promise, Archibald’s handsomeness. In this novel, she also notes Fox’s.

With his gold braiding and red mane, he was as dazzling as Thorn was dark. Ophelia sensed herself coloring just looking at him. [165]

So, she does experience sexual attraction and, furthermore, she physically reacts to Fox’s appearance (though never to Archibald’s), which suggests that she’s not wholly disinterested in sex. In Promise, she commented that “no man had ever quickened her pulse” and lamented about whether she’d ever feel that way about someone, and I think this is probably the point at which most readers took away that she might be asexual.

But, like...

Thorn is the only man who produces intense and consistent physical reactions in her.

Also, if you look at the [323] quote above, he did in fact get her pulse up. Just saying.

Rather than label her as purely asexual or even being on the spectrum, we could instead speculate that, as a Reader, she’s experienced to some degree love in all its forms through countless objects and perhaps she can’t help having this reaction to love and intimacy. I’m not trying to be cynical or pessimistic, but love can be treacherous and people are driven to do all kinds of terrible things for it or because of it. As wonderful as love is despite that, it seems likely that Ophelia has simply decided it’s not something she wants to navigate. Or she just hadn’t met someone yet who was worth all that trouble.

I’ll Close With This:

“You’re free,” whispered Ophelia. “Free to go, free to stay. I won’t make you leave one cage for another one, although, as you’ve seen, I really don’t live in great security. I decided your fate without taking time to think, or to speak to you. I was selfish…and I still am. […] I still am because, deep down, I would like you to choose to remain by my side. I know that apologizing can no longer change anything, but anyway: forgive me.” [135]

Ophelia says this to Fox after rescuing him from the dungeons of Clairdelune and taking him on as an assistant. Now, when I read this, I couldn’t help but think that it’s precisely the apology Ophelia wants to hear from Thorn. Yet, here she is, guilty of doing to someone the very thing she holds against him. Isn’t it funny how hypocrisy and love are such good friends? As we know, articulation and eloquence are not Thorn’s strengths and some of Ophelia’s aversion to him is based around her inability to accept this part of him.

Eventually, Thorn does make, more or less, the same apology.

“I should never have involved you in my affairs. I knew it would be dangerous. I convinced myself that I had the situation under control, and that mistake almost cost you your life. […] There is one thing that I have tried to tell you several times. I’m no good at these formalities, so let’s get on with it and speak no more of it. […] Please forgive me.” [444-45]

Strangely, she barely acknowledges this; she’s too busy having an epiphany.

At that second, she finally knew with absolute certainty where her place was. It wasn’t in the Pole, it wasn’t on Anima. It was precisely where she was now. At Thorn’s side. [445]

Well, perhaps this isn’t so strange since the novel starts off posing the question to this answer.

Deep down, Ophelia wondered where exactly her first home might be. Since she’d arrived at the Pole, she’d already visited Berenilde’s manor, the Clairdelune embassy, and her fiancés Treasury, and she hadn’t felt at home in any of them. [24]

The theme of home and belonging permeates this novel in a more central way than its predecessor. Ophelia is repeatedly confronted by it, but it’s also echoed in Farouk’s obsession with the Reading of his Book and finding out where he comes from and what happened in his past. When her family arrives from Anima, she sees the Pole and Thorn through their eyes. She ends up defending both from their disapproving remarks and in doing so, she realizes that she has ceased thinking of Anima as her home.

Life in the Pole was like that: wherever one went, whatever one did, danger was part of daily life. And yet, Ophelia reflected, she didn’t hate it that much, that life. [280]

Thorn’s apology seals the deal: she understands now that she was mistaken. Home is not a place. People, those who love you and who you love in return, give a home meaning. Belonging, likewise, is only made possible by the people who accept you and give you a place among them. It’s been hard-won, but she’s found both in the Pole, in Thorn and Berenilde. Her lack of a direct response to Thorn’s words suggests that she’s already forgiven him, that it matters less to her that he struggles with communication, that she’s finally accepted him for who he is and, better still, found him lovable despite that.

If we read Thorn as having ASD, then this intense dynamic between them is a positive treatment of mental/social disorders in fiction, which is really the only point I had to make with this entire thing.

Where Does Ophelia End?

I asked this question in my last analysis. Based off of the fact that, when we left her in Promise, she was experiencing some serious discomfort in body and soul directly connected to Thorn, I predicted/semi-already-knew that she would evolve toward him.

At one point, Ophelia loses the ability to pass through mirrors. We understand that it’s because she’s been lying to herself; after all, her great-uncle made it very clear that mirror-traveling is impossible under such a circumstance. It’s ironic because, by her own admission, she’s a “bad actress” [161] and, according to her mother, “was never any good at lying” [157].

She’s just so stubborn, isn’t she? It’s gratifying then to read when Ophelia overcomes it. Thorn makes a public announcement, cancelling his marriage, refusing to Read Farouk’s Book, and handing in his resignation as Treasurer. He does this to protect Ophelia and her family from imminent danger but at risk to his own welfare and position. He’s basically committing suicide, which very nearly turns literal at novel’s end. Ophelia can only think to go to him by the quickest means possible.

She looked straight at her determined face, beyond its scratches and bruises, finally ready to face that truth that she hadn’t wanted to see. It wasn’t Thorn who needed her. It was she who needed Thorn. Ophelia plunged, body and soul, into the mirror. [416]

I don’t think I need to spell that out.

Thorn and His Watch

To go on a little bit of a tangent, I also wanted to touch on the watch.

I believe it was mentioned in Promise that the watch had been a gift from Berenilde, which is so precious. Berenilde is the only true parental figure Thorn has known. She used her status and wealth to protect and care for him, and seems to understand him as only a mother--one with a child the rest of the world refuses to accept--can. I thought her reaction to Thorn’s suicidal announcement was especially devastating.

She had begun to shake so hard that Agatha rushed to take the baby from her arms. Bent double in her chair, as though punched in the stomach, Berenilde looked imploringly at Ophelia. “I beg you. Don’t abandon my boy.” [412]

Keep in mind that Berenilde has outlived her three biological children, none of whom survived past childhood. Thorn is such a lonely figure that it’s easy to forget he comes from somewhere. But Berenilde’s reminder to us is clear: he’s not the child of his Dragon father nor of his Chronicler mother. Thorn is her child, and she’s terrified of losing him like the others.

While there can be no doubt of her sentiment toward Thorn, it’s entirely likely that Berenilde foisted much of her maternal grief, trauma, and longing onto him without his express permission; he never seems to regard her with any particular filial warmth. Then again, he once attacked Archibald in defense of Berenilde’s honor, after he seduced her away from Farouk, and Ophelia later notes that he “suspended an investigation and jumped into an airship” to be near to Berenilde when she went into labor with her daughter [373]. Thorn is clearly defined rather more by his actions than his words. But the point is Berenilde is the one who gave Thorn his sense of belonging, and I just adore that.

Metaphorically speaking, the watch represents Thorn’s heart, which was given to him by his mother figure and which he gives to Ophelia as a token of his love and trustworthiness. Indeed, it’s even called a “mechanical heart” [156]. Ophelia has Read one of Thorn’s possessions before (dice) and was overwhelmed by the fury and breadth of his emotions. If she were to Read his watch, she’d probably die. Every time he digs it out of his pocket to look at it, to hold it, to fiddle with it, he’s engraving some emotional signature or trace onto it. Ophelia ultimately decides not to Read it.

“Before you go, I would like to return this to you. You need it more than me, and, in any case, I won’t read it. I’ve chosen to trust you—you, not your watch.” [285]

Her words have a profound effect on Thorn, rendering him totally speechless and maybe more confused than ever. At any rate, he misreads the situation and catches Ophelia off guard with an awkward kiss. It’s kind of a heartbreaking scene, because Ophelia simply reacts (by slapping him) and is genuinely baffled that he took her words for encouragement. I don’t necessarily take this to be evidence of her asexuality. I don’t discredit it by any means, but it just feels more like she was taken by surprise.

The thing is, for perhaps the first time ever in his life, he actively desired for someone to know his true heart and to trust in his sincerity, which is why he gave the watch to her in the first place. In his defense, this was quite a pretty and irresistible thing for Ophelia to tell him and I don’t think she’s as put off as she wants to be.

With ears burning and glasses crimson, Ophelia stared at the faded letters on the old wooden panel—“STAFF ONLY”—as if Thorn might, at any moment, retrace his steps, take back his kiss, and leave his fob watch with her, as she’d suggested in the first place. [286]

It’s funny. She wants to erase the uncomfortable physical side of the incident, but she also wants to retain his metaphorical heart. I mean, yes, it’s broken because of some careless action on her part and she asked for it back so her great-uncle could try to fix it. But still. It’s hard to ignore the metaphor there as well: if the heart watch has changed from beating to broken and she wants to hold onto the broken heart watch to try to mend it…

Well, good Lord, it’s just so obvious, isn’t it?

End

Well, that’s about it. As I said, I really only had the one main thought and then a bunch of smaller ones.

I just learned—and am seriously devastated—that The Memory of Babel won’t be released in the U.S. until May 2020. I’m hoping this is a tentative date and that it will be available sooner.

In the meantime, if someone could upload a PDF that I could then spend days plugging in to Google Translate (again), that’d be super greeeeaaaat…

For part III, head here.

#ophethorn #La Passe-Miroir #les disparus de clairdelune #the mirror visitor #the missing of clairdelune #christelle dabos #long book report

155 notes · View notes