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barbieaemond · 1 year ago

Text

And I dream of a grave

Header by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs 💕💕

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.

2K notes · View notes

daistea · 1 year ago

Note

Since you take requests, would I be able to ask for something with Mithrun and Kabru with like a reader that's kind of dense with social cues/hints (especially if they're romantic)?

(I had people confess their love to me, and I still didn't get it till they put it in very clear terms)

(it's probably the 'tism, but I digress. )

I think it's potentially an absolutely hellerious dynamic since Kabru always plays 5D chess with every social interaction. As for Mithrun, I think it's funny to think how the other canaries would just be repeatedly hitting their head on the wall because their captain won't say it straight and they just don't g e t i t.

Ps: I absolutely love how in-depth all of your understanding of characters and their personalities are, and I just hxfhxdvgudts.

This blog just brings me so much joy

Yaaa!!

“Iᴛ’s ᴀ Dᴀᴛᴇ” Kᴀʙʀᴜ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, Mɪᴛʜʀᴜɴ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

gn reader

5000 words ;P

Warning: reader is very oblivious. Like incomprehensibly oblivious (for the lolz)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

♡ Kabru ♡

- Kabru has had little flings here and there throughout his life. He treated every partner with respect, of course, but Kabru wasn’t particularly looking for love. He doesn’t dislike the idea of love, it just hasn’t happened yet.

- So, when Kabru starts to genuinely fall in love with someone, it’s a new feeling. He’s observant enough to recognize what it is.

- Unfortunately, the person he’s falling in love with is you.

“He’s been unusually quiet lately,” Holm remarked. Who he was remarking that to remained to be seen. Mickbell didn’t care much. Kuro had other things to worry about. And Rin had already made the same observation three times earlier that day.

The first floor of the dungeon was always crowded, and Kabru’s ears were usually open for anything that could be of use. The leather armor merchant to his left had recently raised his prices. The cobbler to the right was in an argument with an older lady over the shape of a patch he’d made on her favorite boots. And Holm was concerned about Kabru’s recent lack of observations; as concerned as Holm could be.

“Is that really such a shock?” Kabru sent Holm a smile over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly a chatterbox.”

But he was aware of himself enough to know that his behavior lately had been odd. He was usually so good at hiding it, too, but the comfort of his friends seemed to lower his walls. Without realizing it, Kabru had spent their latest dungeon expedition sighing to himself, staring at walls, and missing the details of important things. On the third floor, they’d encountered thieves. His party always relied on him to clock the intentions of approaching adventurers— thieves tended to be overly familiar, friendly, and a bit too eager— but Kabru’s mind was elsewhere. The thieves attacked, and it had genuinely taken him by surprise. The fight wasn’t hard, but Kabru’s lack of preparation set off alarms in Rin and Holm’s heads.

“You’re not,” Rin agreed. Her brow furrowed and she got that cute little line on her forehead again. “However, you’ve really been out of it.”

“Have you been thinking about that person again?” Holm asked.

That person. That person? Kabru knew a lot of persons. The whole first level was filled to the brim with persons, half of them being his acquaintances. Kabru had zero desire to admit that he knew precisely who Holm was referring to, though, and decided to keep his gaze straight ahead as he weaved through the crowd.

When he didn’t respond, Mickbell laughed, “Yeah, he’s thinking of them alright.”

“Heat?” Kuro asked.

Mickbell scoffed from his place on Kuro’s shoulders, “Tall-men don’t go into heat! At least I don’t think so. But they catch feelings, like a cold. Kabru’s caught a cold.”

“Not sneezing,” Kuro mumbled.

“A feelings cold, I mean! The worst kind.”

That was one way to put it. Kabru couldn’t help but sigh as he led the party towards a quieter spot in the corner. Once they were out of the sea of people, he leaned against the stone wall and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have feelings, I’m simply curious,” he said.

Curious. Right. Mickbell sent him a scrunched up, narrow-eyed look that was reminiscent of constipation. Yet, Rin interjected before the half-foot could say something heinous. “What’re you curious about, particularly?” She asked.

“Good question,” Kabru folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head in thought.

What was he curious about? You held so many secrets. You had this look in your eyes that drew him, a look that reminded him of a room in his mother’s house. She always told him to not go inside. Her rules only made him want to turn the knob even more. And when he finally did disobey her and go inside, all he saw were boxes full of ceramic unicorn miniatures. Still, the rush of satisfaction he’d felt at finally knowing what was in there couldn’t be matched. That’s what he wanted to do to you, open your door and take a peek.

Or, perhaps a ‘peek’ was an understatement. He wanted to meticulously inspect every inch of your mind with a microscope, to know the atoms unseen by the human eye, to be intimately acquainted with every molecule you possessed.

“He’s zoned out again,” Holm muttered, ripping Kabru out of his thoughts.

He looked up, eyes widening at the observation. Holm was right, he was zoned out again, staring at the dirt on the floor and contemplating you.

He forced a smile, “Don’t worry about me, really. I’m just preoccupied. It’s that person, I simply want to know their intentions.”

“Intentions for what?” Rin asked.

For everything. There was no simple answer.

“Oh hey,” Mickbell glanced over his shoulder. His voice was flat as he scanned the room, “There they are.”

Kabru followed Mickbell’s gaze, a straight line that led directly to you— all lines seemed to lead directly to you lately. His heart clenched in a way that was both unpleasant and addictive. Without realizing it, he pushed away from the wall and began striding toward where you stood.

“Wait,” Rin grabbed his arm as he passed. Kabru blinked, looking down at her and waiting for her to speak. She met his eyes and frowned, “I think you’re going to be disappointed. They’re not as mysterious as you think they are.”

Nonsense. You were incredibly mysterious. Kabru could tell you had secrets, layers. He dreamed of pulling them back one by one.

“They couldn’t disappoint me,” he sent Rin a smile that he hoped was reassuring— he knew it was, he’d practiced it in the mirror and on other people all the time.

“I think they will,” she argued.

“They won’t,” his smile faltered just the slightest. Rin didn’t usually get involved in Kabru’s… hobby. Did she know something he didn’t? He decided to not ask outright, accepting the challenge of figuring out the meaning behind her concern on his own.

Rin let go of his arm and Kabru was free to go. His mind switched elsewhere, onto you, and before he knew it he was already slipping through the crowd of bodies to reach you.

You were in front of the vegetable seller’s stand, inspecting a lumpy potato. Kabru knew the vegetable seller was cheating on his wife. Usually, he’d try to get more out of the man, digging deeper simply for the sake of knowing. Yet, you stood there, beautiful and mind-consuming. What did Rin mean by ‘I think you’re going to be disappointed’? Kabru was rarely disappointed with secrets.

“Hey,” he raised a hand as he neared. You looked up from the potato and returned his smile. There was that look in your eyes again, that closed door he desperately needed the key to.

He loved crowds. He loved the hundreds of voices. He loved listening to each one and assigning them meaning, picking apart their words, filing them away into neat little categories. Yet, the crowd might as well have disappeared. All he saw was you. All he wanted was you and your words and your thoughts and your fears and your goals and your likes and your dislikes and your intentions and your—

“Oh hey,” your voice cut through the wants like the slash of a sword, “Kapru.”

Kapru.

His brows furrowed and he plastered on a polite smile— also practiced in the mirror. “It’s Kabru.”

“Right, sorry,” you shrugged.

Were you playing with him? Were you sending your pawn out, a piece that you expected him to take for the sake of a larger, more powerful move? Was it bait?

“How are you?” He forced himself to ask, though he could hear the weakness in his voice. He desperately hoped you wouldn’t notice.

You only tilted your head in thought, “I’m fine. Just buying potatoes.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Kabru said. It was a lie, you saw him last week. “My party and I are about to go back to the surface to restock. We could grab a drink if you wanted.”

“Why?” You asked.

Why? Why? Kabru couldn’t say why. He wouldn’t say why. ‘I want to take detailed notes on every word you say, every gesture, every breath’ wouldn’t be helpful to his cause in the least.

“Because we’re friends,” he slowly explained. Again, there was that hint of weakness lacing every syllable. He wanted to tear his voice box apart and reconstruct it in a way that wouldn’t falter every time he saw you.

But you didn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” you sent him a smile that made his heart clench.

Alright. Kabru’s smile relaxed, “Alright,” he echoed. “It’s a date.”

‘It’s a date’ was a common saying, of course. But it still held implications, it still held desires, it still signified something more— At least to him it did.

You remained unphased by it, though. Usually, when Kabru said that, there would be a laugh or blush or the widening of eyes. You gave him nothing of the sort. No flirtatious looks, no intention-laced smile, no flicker of recognition.

“See you then,” was all you said.

Rin was wrong. You couldn’t disappoint him. Opening your doors and peeking inside your mind would be so satisfying.

- You go on several dates with Kabru without realizing they’re dates.

- After one date when you make friends with the next table over and invite them to join your meal, introducing Kabru as ‘my friend’ and not ‘the man who is courting me’ or ‘my boyfriend’, he begins to wonder…

- Do you not realize that these are dates?

Kabru knew he had the tendency to stare, but he usually kept that urge locked away for the sake of masking. Always masking. Always aware of his surroundings and the people and the words and the looks.

He kept his staring urge hidden at first. Yet as time passed, as you went on more dates, he couldn’t help himself. He had to stare. He had to drink in every detail of your face, coveting it all as a desert wanderer would covet water.

And you didn’t seem to mind. You would give him this look sometimes, a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mixture between affection and confusion and bashfulness. It was his favorite expression of yours and never failed to put butterflies in his stomach.

Kabru knew he was falling in love. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he’d never been truly in love before. At night when he forced himself into bed, he stared at the ceiling and mused on the future you had together. Neither of you had said anything to make the relationship official, but was that even needed? It was obvious that you were together— to him, at least.

Kabru held your hand as he led you through the crowded streets. Once you caught up to his side, he placed his palm on the small of your back. He wasn’t much for PDA, but it was a necessity when traversing the island together. He didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.

Once you were in a more quiet spot, he sent you a smile, “I have to ask, I’m too curious; What’s your favorite date that we’ve had together?”

You thought for a moment, “Hm… I would have to say last week. It was a Thursday. I like Thursdays anyway. I think it was the 7th? Yeah. June 7th, Thursday. That’s a good date, it’s a bit cool outside and all the flowers are blooming. But if I had to say which one was my favorite, I think it would be April 18th. I’m not sure that we spent that date together, though.”

…Okay.

Like the sunset rising over the mountains, it began to dawn on him.

Were you stupid?

No, you weren’t stupid. He had seen you in the dungeon before, how you fought and strategized and reacted. You couldn’t be stupid.

Then what? Were you playing hard to get? Were you teasing him? Was this a move on the board, your Knight piece pressing forward to continue the assault? Kabru needed to know.

He kept his hand on your back but his gaze straight ahead. “That’s nice,” he said. It wasn’t nice, actually. “What about when we hold hands? Do you enjoy that?”

You shrugged, “It helps us keep track of each other as we go through a crowd.”

“But I hold your hand even when we’re not around other people.”

The face you made betrayed your true thoughts. “Yeah, it seems like your hands are cold a lot. You really should start keeping gloves with you.”

“...Do you think I’m holding your hand because my fingers are cold?”

Another flash of confusion, another furrow of your brows. “Why else would you hold my hand?”

The sun rose completely over the mountains and the daytime, clear and bright, engulfed his world.

You had no clue.

- This stresses Kabru out immensely.

- He starts taking notes. He has a special little book just for you. A lot of the pages are filled with scribbles and question marks.

- He makes a plan on what to do. He’s going to up the ante, he’s going to make his feelings so clear that you can’t ignore them or be oblivious even if you tried.

- He starts getting more touchy. He kisses your forehead often. He kisses your knuckles. He’s around you all the time, every chance he gets. He tells you you’re beautiful. He says that he wants you to meet his mother. He talks about your future together.

- You say, “Oh, your mom? Cool. You think we’ll get along? I’m always up for making new friends.”

- “You want a future with me? Well, I’m free next Wednesday.”

“I like you,” Kabru was breathless and wide-eyed. His hair was a mess from how often he’d run his fingers through it. He was disheveled and hadn’t slept the entire night.

You glanced up from the book you were reading, “Oh? Cool, thanks.”

He sent you a look. “No, I mean I love you.”

“Yeah,” you flipped a page in the book, “love you too.”

“You do?” Hope bloomed and unfurled like a spring flower. Kabru felt his cheeks grow warm, a fire igniting within him.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, “I love all my friends, of course.”

That spring flower suddenly wilted. The fire was doused by a cold bucket of water in the form of your words. Kabru wanted to scream and bang his head against the wall.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers tensing as he leaned forward, desperate. “I’m in love with you. This is really hard for me to say, but I think you need to hear it like this. I love you. I love you. I love you…” Somehow, his cheeks went even hotter. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed his embarrassment, “I-I… Sorry. I just need you like I need oxygen. I…”

You snorted, “You don’t need me to breathe, I’m a person not an organ. You’re breathing right now just fine.”

He was not breathing just fine, but that was beside the point.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Kabru said. He could hear how strained his voice sounded.

You watched as he walked away, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Then he screamed. It sounded like he also kicked something, a crate or box maybe.

How odd.

- When it finally gets through your head, he’s actually a bit satisfied by your embarrassment at it all. Yes, please do acknowledge your obliviousness. Please do apologize for treating his love confession so casually. When you do so, he feels as if he could melt from the relief.

- He still wants to bang his head on the wall, though.

- And he’s spent a lot of nights screaming into his pillow.

- Kabru continues to play 5d chess with you, just simply out of habit, but you’re playing Hungry Hungry Hippos the entire time. He still finds himself trying to pick apart your actions and responses, but he’s learned how to take things at face value when it comes to you. It’s a difficult adjustment, but one he’s willing to make.

- He starts to learn, take more notes, observe your behavior. For dates, he lays it out carefully. You two are going to do this specific thing. Why? Because he would like to see you happy, and hold your hand, and kiss you. Why? Because he loves you. Now you get it.

- You’re fascinating actually. Genuinely, he starts to adore how your brain works. He wants to pick it apart and hold the pieces up to a magnifying glass.

♡ Mithrun ♡

- He does not care.

- Be as oblivious as you want, that’s not going to stop Mithrun.

- The Canaries, however, are going insane.

“How’s it going with them?” Pattadol asked. Her hands were folded in front of her in that polite way, the way that told Mithrun that his second in command had something on her mind. Pattadol thought she was subtle. She was not.

And he knew precisely who she was referring to. Might as well give her an answer that’ll satisfy her curiosity, lest she keep asking questions.

“Fine,” he answered, “just fine.”

Yet, Pattadol’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Just fine?” She asked. Her voice went up a pitch. “It’s just fine? Really?”

“Really.”

She unlaced her fingers and spread out her hands as if gesturing to something, but all that surrounded them was Mithrun’s under-decorated living quarters. There was really nothing to gesture at besides the wooden cabinets and the bed. Mithrun waited, aware that she was picking through her piles of thoughts— probably thoughts mixed with screams of frustration— to find the right words.

Finally, Pattadol forced a shaken smile, “It’s clear to anyone that knows you that you’re in love with them, Captain.”

That was what she decided to say? It was a bit blunt for Pattadol’s usual style. Mithrun only shrugged, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty obvious.”

“So why haven’t they noticed yet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I want you to be happy for once!” Pattadol snapped, but she then took a deep breath, “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t mean to sound that way. This is hard for me, talking so openly about these things… But it’s so frustrating to watch.”

Mithrun could understand that. While he personally wasn’t frustrated by the circumstances, he knew that the Canaries couldn’t stand watching his interactions with you. It wasn’t a big deal in the long run, in his opinion. They’d get over it.

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Do you have any ideas on how we can do that?”

“Do what?”

Pattadol’s eye twitched ever so slightly. Her fingers tensed like claws, and Mithrun felt the corner of his lips turn up in a barely-there smirk. But genuinely, he wasn’t sure what she referred to. Did she mean the part about him being happy, or the part about you being oblivious? She should’ve been more clear.

“About…” she hesitated. Obviously she wasn’t sure what she meant either. She then nodded as if deciding, “About everything. About the obliviousness, your happiness, etcetera.”

He didn’t know what the etcetera referred to, but didn’t care to ask. “You don’t have to do anything,” Mithrun assured her as he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. The wood creaked slightly from the movement. Everything on this boat creaked, as was the nature of boats, he guessed.

“I would like to do something,” Pattadol nodded, determined. “We all would.”

A shrug, “Alright. Then do something.”

- Pattadol, over-achiever and top student and certified Girl Who Cares Too Much, takes that as a challenge.

- Cithis only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- Fleki also only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- And Lycion also also joins because he thinks it’ll be funny (though he does care on some level. Not really about you, but about Mithrun. And it’s painful to watch.)

- Otta is forced to join.

- The attempts are weak at first, like dipping a toe into the water to see how cold it is. Mithrun only has so much patience for interference with his life, so they have to be smart and tread carefully.

- Pattadol gives Mithrun a hint. “There’s some pretty flowers growing beside the road over there. You should give one to them!”

- “What would they need a flower for?”

- Mithrun asks that on purpose. He knows precisely what he’s doing. Yes, people generally like receiving flowers, he knows that. But he also believes that flowers are useless gifts.

- “Then what present do you suggest?” Pattadol asks.

- Mithrun has an idea. He gets you soap. Everybody uses soap (hopefully) It’s a useful gift, and if he gives you the same kind he uses then he’ll get some weird sick flicker of pleasure from having his scent on you. (He wisely chooses to not say that part aloud.)

You held the little bar of soap in your hands as if it were an injured baby bird you found on the ground. Yet your feelings towards it were far from protective or empathetic. This soap said something. It had a mouth and it used it to scream.

You met Mithrun’s flat gaze, “Soap…”

He nodded, “Yeah. Soap. It’s a gift for you.”

For you?

Mithrun continued, “It’s the same kind I use. Smells the same.”

It felt as if you’d swallowed a handful of pebbles and they all had gotten stuck in your throat. “Do you… think I’m stinky?”

You cursed yourself for even asking that. What a useless question. Obviously, he thought you stank! He gave you soap! He was trying to tell you something, being subtle and polite for once! Usually Mithrun would just say it bluntly, but he’d been working on his desires lately. Perhaps he’d also decided to embrace societal expectations? You weren’t sure. But soap. Soap!

You didn’t notice how Mithrun tensed. You didn’t see him quickly blink several times and tilt his head. You didn’t see the slight widening of his good eye. “No, I—“

“I’ll go use this right now,” you interrupted, “I’ll go wash away my stench so you can finally stand to be near me.”

Despite the horror, you were a bit proud of yourself. You’d taken a hint, maybe you were getting less oblivious.

- In your defense, a bar of soap is a weird gift.

- Alright. Mithrun admits it, he needs help. He’s not so prideful anymore that he won’t admit that he doesn’t know what to do.

- Pattadol is really triumphant about that but does her best not to show it.

- Plan B: make it so obvious that you have no choice but to realize his feelings.

“This has to be the most physically uncomfortable I’ve felt in a very long time,” Mithrun said as he tugged at the ends of the fancy, over-decorated blouse the Canaries had put him in. “I honestly prefer Cithis’s frilly dresses.”

Which was saying something. Mithrun had a preference? That was a good sign.

“It makes you look handsome,” Pattadol said.

“The only thing it makes me is itchy,” he corrected.

The Canaries had somehow found a blouse— not a shirt or tunic, a blouse— that made Mithrun feel something other than indifference. He usually didn’t care about what he wore, as long as it was comfortable, but the clothes they’d stuffed him into were offensive to human-kind, like vegan bacon.

It had a big frill on the front and puffy sleeves. It was somehow both too flowy and too tight at the same time. The trousers weren’t much better, digging into his legs. And the shoes…

Mithrun didn’t want to talk about the shoes.

It was clear to him that Fleki and Cithis had only contributed to the outfit because they thought it would be amusing. Good for them, he supposed. Pattadol seemed to genuinely like it, Otta looked horrified, and Lycion was in some in between state where he wanted to show pity but couldn’t quite stifle his giggles.

“Remind me again what the point of this is?” Mithrun asked with a sigh.

“We got them to agree to a date!” Pattadol said, grinning, “I said outright ‘it’s a date’ so there would be no confusion. I made it clear that the date was with you. Now, if you show up looking like a million gold with a bouquet of flowers, they’ll get the hint.”

Mithrun did not want to do that.

Mithrun rarely wanted to do anything, but this just felt wrong. In his opinion, the relationship between you and him would develop naturally in a way that fit both of your personalities. He didn’t mind waiting for you to realize his intentions, he had time. As long as you didn’t fall in love with someone else, and didn’t stop him from staring at you or touching you, then he wasn’t in a rush.

But since the Canaries insisted, seeming to think that this was the right course of action, he would go along with it. Maybe it would be an utter disaster and Pattadol would realize that she knew very little about relationships— especially a relationship involving Mithrun. He was aware enough of himself to know that it wouldn’t be conventional.

With his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the ridiculous outfit on, Mithrun entered the restaurant Pattadol had chosen. He found you immediately. You sat in a chair with your elbow on the table and your ankles crossed, waiting.

Mithrun held a bouquet of pink roses as he approached. You lit up when you saw him, but your brows then furrowed.

“Where’s Pattadol?” You asked.

His stride faltered, “She isn’t coming.”

“Oh,” you shrugged, “well since she set this up I assumed she’d be here.”

Why would she be here? It was a date Pattadol had set up for you and Mithrun specifically.

You probably didn’t know it was a date, he realized. Pattadol thought she’d been clear by saying ‘it’s a date’ but failed to realize that that was just a common phrase among people and meant nothing to no one.

Calm, he slid into the seat across from you and watched as you raised a brow, “What’re you wearing?” You asked.

“My team picked it out for me.”

“You look like you’re part of an opera or a ballet, like you’re about to stand beneath a balcony and start spouting poetry to your lover.”

That was a good description, actually. Those were the words Mithrun had been looking for earlier when he saw himself in the mirror.

He nodded, “Yep.” Then, wordlessly, he held out the bouquet to you.

Your eyes widened, “For me?”

“I’m handing them to you, aren’t I?”

Gingerly, you took the flowers and held the stem of the wrapped bouquet with both hands as you inspected each petal.

A flicker of surprising satisfaction ran through his chest. You liked the flowers. It made sense, most people liked flowers, even if he didn’t see why.

You dipped your head down toward them presumably to smell them, but your lips then parted and you dug your teeth into the nearest rose.

Mithrun froze.

You chewed on the rose, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You gave the flower a good shot, a proper taste, but it didn’t take long until you grabbed a napkin and spit up the pink slobbery mess into it.

“Sorry,” you sent him an apologetic smile and tried to hand the bouquet back to him, “they don’t taste that good, and I don’t think I could season or cook them in a way that would help.”

Mithrun knew he was staring. He knew he was making a face, slightly tilting his head down, intensity in his eye. The kind of face someone made when they were internally screaming.

He was not internally screaming, but he was thinking— about you, how your brain worked. And how it was so damn charming for some reason and all he wanted to do was kiss you until he was all you could think about.

He wanted something. The feeling was sweet, a shot of adrenaline, one of Fleki’s drugs. Addictive. Like the slow drip of honey. He could survive off that want for ages.

Wordlessly, Mithrun threw the bouquet over his shoulder to get rid of it. Judging by the gasp that followed, it probably hit someone in the head.

Loving you was as natural to him as breathing.

- Mithrun decides to not let the Canaries interfere any longer. He was wrong earlier in thinking he needed their help. He doesn’t.

- Also, watching them go insane over your obliviousness and his lack of communication provides a good bit of entertainment.

- When he finally decides to give into that all-consuming, new, exciting desire and kiss you, your response is, “But I wasn’t casting a spell, no reason to try and stop me.”

- God, he adores you.

- He takes kisses whenever he wants them, with no care about what you think his intention is.

- After a certain kiss that involves tongue and teeth and fingers digging into your waist, you start to openly wonder… Are you in a relationship with Mithrun?

“Yes,” Mithrun didn’t even glance up at you, remaining unphased by your rather serious question, “We’re in a relationship.”

He continued to jot down notes about a monster he saw, as if he’d just casually answered a question about the weather. ‘Is it going to rain today?’ ‘Yeah looks like it.’

You gulped, “How long?”

“A year now,” he kept writing. Truthfully, he’d been expecting this. A flash of disappointment crossed his mind; there goes one of his hobbies, watching the Canaries have a crisis over his love life.

You buried your face in your hands. Mithrun stopped writing and patted your head as if comforting a dog.

- The Canaries are pleased that this is over. But actually, they’re going to have to watch you not realize it when you’re engaged to the Captain.

- At your wedding you’re in regular clothes. Someone asks why and you say “Mithrun told me we’re going to a wedding. He didn’t say it was ours.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

#dungeon meshi #asks #mithrun #delicious in dungeon #mithrun of the house of kerensil #mithrun x reader #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi x reader #kabru x reader #kabru #kabru of utaya #x reader #reader insert #my writing #gn reader #oblivious reader

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cece693 · 7 months ago

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tony stark x male reader who’s kinda shy and quiet but crazy good at math and science and all those equations. something fluffy and cute thank youuuuuuu

Brilliant (Tony Stark x M! Reader)

Announcement: for those who have been following my Velvet Ring trilogy fic, I've created an AO3 account where I intend to flesh out the story. Here's the link! Also, since I'm not smart myself, I didn't go in-depth about science and calculations, so forgive me :(

Tony Stark was many things: a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—but being in a committed relationship? That wasn’t exactly the headline he wanted plastered all over the news. Not because he was ashamed—far from it—but because Tony had learned the hard way that the world had a way of ruining what mattered most. And you? You mattered more than anything.

You were everything Tony wasn’t—quiet, thoughtful, reserved. While Tony thrived in the spotlight, you thrived in the solace of your work, diving deep into equations and theories that would leave most people with a headache. You were a prodigy in your own right, a quiet storm of brilliance and ingenuity. The kind of man who didn’t seek recognition, only results. Tony couldn’t help but admire that about you—and, though he’d never admit it out loud, you kept him grounded in a way no one else could.

Tonight, you were sprawled out on the couch in your shared apartment, wearing a faded hoodie and sweatpants you’d stolen from Tony long ago. A notebook rested on your lap, filled with scribbled formulas and diagrams. The room was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of your pen against paper.

The sound of the front door opening broke your focus. Tony stepped inside, tie loosened and suit jacket draped over his arm. He looked tired, but his eyes lit up when they landed on you.

“Hey, handsome,” he greeted, his voice warm as he crossed the room. “What did I say about math after ten?”

You glanced up, rolling your eyes. “You said it’s a house rule. I said it’s not enforceable.”

Tony smirked, plucking the notebook from your hands before dropping it onto the coffee table. Sitting beside you, he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. “You were late,” you muttered, resting your head against his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Just the usual corporate nonsense,” Tony replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You know how it is—saving the world, keeping the board happy. Exhausting, really. I’m practically a saint.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, but instead of responding, your eyes kept flickering toward the discarded notebook on the table. After a moment, you shifted slightly in his hold, trying to reach for it. Tony groaned dramatically, tightening his grip.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, pulling you closer. “I just got home, and you’re trying to ditch me for math? Do you have any idea how lonely I’ve been? I’ve been deprived of your presence all day, and this—” he gestured at the notebook—“is more important?”

You bit back a laugh, managing to wiggle out of his grasp. “I promise it'll be worth it."

Tony crossed his arms, slumping back against the couch like a sulking child. “Fine, but if I die from lack of cuddles and attention it's on you.”

Grabbing the notebook, you turned back to him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You look fine. And for the record, this 'math' you're referring to is yours."

That caught his attention. His brows furrowed as he sat up straighter, his earlier theatrics forgotten. “Mine?”

You nodded, flipping open the notebook and holding it out to him. “You mentioned the other night that you were having issues with stabilizing the power output on the Iron Man suit. I’ve been working on it.”

Tony’s eyes scanned the pages, his expression softening with each line he read. Your neat handwriting detailed calculations, theories, and possible solutions. You’d even diagrammed potential fixes, complete with annotations on how they’d improve efficiency. “You’ve been working on this?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “For me?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “I know it’s been frustrating you, so I thought I’d try to help.”

For once, Tony Stark was speechless. His eyes flickered between you and the notebook, the weight of your gesture hitting him like a freight train. You’d spent your time—not for your own research or projects, but to solve one of his problems. It wasn’t just the effort or the brilliance of your work—it was the care behind it, the way you always seemed to go out of your way to make his life a little easier.

Tony set the notebook aside, reaching for you instead. His hands cupped your face, his gaze warm and filled with an emotion he rarely let himself feel this deeply. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. “I don’t deserve you.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, soft and full of affection. It wasn’t the usual teasing kiss he’d steal when he was being playful—it was deeper, more vulnerable. A silent thank you, a promise that he’d never take you for granted. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled. “You’re too good to me.”

You laughed softly, your hands resting on his chest. “You’re worth it, Stark. Even if you are a little dramatic sometimes.” Tony chuckled, pulling you into another kiss, his heart full and his mind already spinning with ideas. If this was what it felt like to be loved by you, then he never wanted to let it go.

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diamondkat · 5 months ago

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"VivziePop highlighted Alastor's duality as a character and described him as being the type of person to own two homes, one a fancy townhouse, the other a rickety hunting lodge in a bayou on stilts." This is from the wiki and I have been thinking about it concerning who Alastor is on the show.

You can see the most obvious show of this duality in his room. The room moves from a rather tasteful room to a bayou where he apparently prefers to eat. There is a combination of civilization and wildness. There is the duality of how Alastor can go from seemingly harmless to a literal monster. He is as close to his human side as he is to his animal side.

The duality of being both predator and prey is something that I feel needs its own post to explore but the best example I can think of for creatures that exist with this duality are cats and how they are predators but also constantly worry that other creatures around them are going to hurt them. The duality of pride and fear can even be seen in this. Cats are known for their pride, but a lot of things scare them.

The duality in how he treats those he owns. We have seen Alastor's relationship with 2 of the souls he owns. Alastor is abusive to Husk while he treats Niffty with care. He drags Husk by his chain for disrespect but lets Niffty put a roach crown on his head and call him the roach king. Someone actually pointed out to me that Alastor is the only person at the hotel who treats Niffty like a person. The difference in his treatment of them is so great that some people started theorising that he doesn't own Niffty. However, it is just more of the duality in his nature. His capacity for kindness exists beside his capacity for cruelty.

Vivzie said that Alastor was a chaotic neutral character but also admitted that she wasn't familiar with the terms. She might have been referring to his dual nature and his existence as both good and evil with no idea which version of him you will get. It could also turn out that he is the type to do good for evil reasons and evil for good reasons.

Alastor is the type of character that is best understood when you understand that he is a character that is meant to hold contradicting traits. When only one side of the character is considered, much of the character's depth is lost.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel analysis #niffty #husk

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7-deadly-cats · 4 months ago

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killing me softly | 7

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, overthinking, SUPER awkward confrontation

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ you left kelce’s house feeling uneasy after rafe’s weird invitation, overthinking what he actually wanted from you. back home, you spiraled even more, debating whether he was setting up a hookup or if you were just reading too much into it. eventually, you texted him to test the waters, but his dry response—and then complete silence—only made you feel worse. meanwhile, rafe complained about you to kelce and topper, confused by your shift in energy, but deep down, he was more frustrated and thrown off by you than he wanted to admit.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 3.9k+

✿ A / N ✿ a huge thank you for the big support on the last one, always makes me smile so hard <3 feeling kinda drained atm bc of personal stuff, so i had a harder time writing this one but i hope you guys still enjoy !

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // T U E S D A Y

Your entire heart—no, your fucking soul—plummeted through your body and straight into the depths of Earth the moment your eyes landed on the message.

Your phone had been off all afternoon, and ever since you got back from Kelce’s, you’d spent the rest of the day in bed, watching crappy Netflix movies and scrolling through TikTok.

Anything to distract yourself from the fact that Rafe had left you on read after your embarrassing attempt to schedule a third project session. Oh, right—before that, he had already been responding half-heartedly. And even before that, he’d been acting weird ever since you turned down his invitation for tomorrow.

It had stressed you out so much that you’d overloaded all your senses just to cope. Eventually, your mom called you down for dinner. You hadn’t been hungry but you dragged yourself downstairs anyway.

And when you came back upstairs—there it was.

You had turned your phone back on, settled onto your windowsill, ready to tell Cara all about your humiliation… but the first thing you saw was his message.

You couldn’t even describe the feeling. It was like someone had smashed your elbow with a hammer, sending every nerve in your body into a full-on meltdown. Because holy shit, this was the last thing you’d expected.

Not only had it taken him almost two hours to reply, but you also had no idea what to make of it. Your mind was blank and swirling with a thousand thoughts at the same time.

It was obvious that things had been tense when you'd last seen each other, but for him to bring it up so directly… THAT WAS CRAZY OMG.

Then again, was he even talking about the weird vibes between you two? And if not, what was he referring to? More importantly—how the hell were you supposed to respond?

A mess of emotions swirled inside you. You were still hurt, still kind of pissed that he had taken so long to reply. But at the same time, you had no idea what was going on in his head, and you didn’t want to judge him too quickly. Maybe he was struggling with this just as much as you were.

HAHAHAHAHA. As if.

You glanced at the clock. Almost 7 PM. You could text him back, theoretically. But did you even want to? Better question—did he even deserve a reply?

Ugh, no. You needed to shut that kind of toxic thinking down real fast. Maybe this was just another one of his weird little attempts to get a reaction out of you.

Should you call Cara and ask for advice?

No—you kind of wanted to handle this on your own. You bit the inside of your cheek and started typing.

Okay. That was good. Neutral, polite—just a normal question, right?

Ugh. There was nothing normal about this situation. Just thinking about it was stressing you out again. He’d probably take another two hours to reply. Or maybe he wouldn’t reply at all, and then you’d have to see him at school tomorrow, and it would be so fucking awkward.

At least you didn’t have any classes with him on Wednesdays, so you could avoid him if necessary. Thursday would be trickier, though—art class.

You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes in exhaustion. The evening sun warmed your face, and for a brief moment, you felt yourself relax.

And then your phone buzzed in your lap, yanking you right back into reality.

Okay. No matter what he says—I can handle this.

I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.

Oh my God—did he figure out that I was lying?

Sure, saying you had to help Cara clean out her closet was an excuse—just a way to turn down his invitation without sounding like a total asshole—but it wasn’t that unbelievable… was it?

Your face burned as adrenaline shot through your veins.

What the hell were you supposed to do now? Admit that you’d turned him down because you were lowkey terrified of ending up in his bed?

HAHAHAHA. NOT A FUCKING CHANCE.

Okay, okay—then maybe… this.

"READ." AGAIN?

The thought that he was also sitting somewhere, staring at his phone, waiting for your reply sent a weird, uneasy feeling through you.

Did your rejection actually bother him more than you'd thought? Or was this just about his ego—like he couldn’t handle being turned down and now wanted to come out of this as the "winner" or some bullshit?

OH GOD, HE’S TYPING.

Your eyes widened. So, he had figured you out.

Shit.

OKAY, OKAY. Stay calm. Denying it was the only thing you could do right now—because no way in hell were you EVER going to admit that you lied just because you’d spiraled so hard in your head, convincing yourself that his invite was just a sneaky way to get in your pants.

That would definitely get you labeled as a full-on crazy bitch in his book.

So your only move now? Try to gaslight him just a tiny bit.

That made you pause.

Fuck.

You were right back where you'd started in this absolute shitshow of a situation. And the worst part? Rafe wasn’t even wrong. You were dancing around the truth—but what the hell else were you supposed to do?

Okay, focus. Back to the chat.

Shit. You had no clue how to respond.

Because seriously, why the fuck did he care so much about working on this project at his place? You could just as easily do it at school as you did the first day.

Oh god. Were your suspicions right? Did he actually have deeper intentions in mind, or was this just about proving a point?

Damn it, you were already taking way too long to reply—

Bzrrt.

Yep. Rafe was thinking the same.

Alright, fuck it. Just type something.

With furrowed brows and a racing heart, you let your phone sink onto the windowsill beside you. You didn't expect another reply from him.

You pulled your knees to your chest and stared outside. Even the colors of the sunset looked off today as if they couldn’t quite decide what picture to paint the sky.

A huge mess of indescribable feelings swirled in your chest and your head? HOLY FUCKING SHIT, no one would want to be in there right now.

You had no idea how things had started off so well yesterday, only to spiral into this weird, tense situation in less than 48 hours.

Of course, all of this could’ve been avoided if you had just accepted his damn invitation without overthinking it. But no—you were cursed to overanalyze every little thing.

Not that it mattered anymore, because apparently, he’d already figured out your reasoning anyway. And fuck, that was beyond awkward and embarrassing. Rafe Cameron actually thought you believed he was trying to sleep with you.

You rested your head on your knees and closed your eyes.

Maybe I should just fake being sick tomorrow. Or better yet, for the entire two weeks until I don’t have to deal with him anymore.

Yeah, no—that was completely ridiculous. At some point, you’d have to face him again. He was your project partner, even if he’d basically just told you to handle it all on your own.

He was probably just talking shit anyway. If his graduation really depended on his art grade, then he needed this project. And if not? Well, screw it—you’d handle it on your own.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off the windowsill. Sleeping was probably the only real way to escape your thoughts right now.

And tomorrow? You’d deal with that when the time came. But something told you it wouldn’t be any easier than the past two days.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // W E D N E S D A Y

Oh, and you'd been so right.

Because guess who was in the same English class as you?

Kelce fucking Statter.

Fuck, you hadn’t even thought about the fact that you’d have to see him and Topper again as well. Wow, so crazy, considering you all went to the same school and everything…

And the fact that the three of them had probably talked about you after you'd left yesterday? Yeah, hadn’t crossed your mind either. You’d been way too busy spiraling over the whole Rafe invitation disaster.

Okay, chill, it’s fine. Just walk straight ahead, sit down, act normal. Perfect. Class was about to start anyway and—

"Yo, Y/N."

Your eyes squeezed shut for half a second, clenching your jaw. Fuck. You hadn’t even put your bag down yet.

Quickly, you forced a polite smile and turned. “Oh, hey.”

Kelce’s signature smug grin was already in place. “You could’ve stayed a little longer yesterday, you know.”

Um... Was that supposed to be some weird attempt at flirting?

Whatever. Just keep smiling. “Oh, yeah, thanks. But like I'd said, I didn’t wanna interrupt you guys more than necessary. It was your hangout after all.”

Kelce folded his arms over his chest, one brow quirking up teasingly. “Rafe kick you out?”

Your brows knitted together. “What? No.”

“He was pissed after you'd left,” Kelce said, grin stretching wider. “Still is, by the way.”

…

You weren’t sure what was worse—Kelce bringing this up, or the fact that Rafe had definitely been bitching about you to his friends.

You wanted to ask what exactly he’d said but that would be way too weird. Luckily, you didn’t have to say anything because at that moment, Mrs. Andrade walked in and told Kelce to get to his seat.

You sank into your own seat as well, wondering if some kind of weird parallel universe had cracked open during art class on Monday, splitting your soul into a different reality—because seriously, what the fuck had even happened since then?

Didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was avoiding Rafe today. That was the mission, and so far, you were doing a damn good job.

You’d made sure to get dropped off earlier than usual, completely avoided the parking lot, killed a few minutes hiding out in the bathroom, and then came straight here.

So far, so easy.

English was smooth sailing, too. Next up was Math, and since it was in the same classroom, you wouldn’t even have to move. Plus, you’d be rid of Kelce.

Lunch, though, would be tricky. You knew Rafe had afternoon classes on Wednesdays, which meant he’d probably be sticking around.

Whatever. Maybe you could grab lunch with Cara somewhere down the street. That way, you could also fill her in on everything that had happened since yesterday because you’d been way too drained to call her last night after your horrible texting session with Rafe.

You pulled out your phone to text her.

Ugh, okay, maybe you could ask Molly or one of your other friends but most of them usually stayed in the dining hall.

Okokok. One thing at a time.

The rest of English dragged on forever. Mrs. Andrade went over the required reading for the year and stressed how important this final year was for everyone.

And by the time Math rolled around, your brain had completely checked out.

After two hours of numbers, formulas, and all that other crap no one understood, the liberating sound of the bell finally rang.

For you, though, it felt more like a damn death knell.

You packed up your stuff and left the classroom, tension gripping your every move. The hall was crowded with students which was good. That was really good. Now, if you could just get out of the building, cross the courtyard, head down the street—you’d be safe.

Clutching the strap of your bag, you kept your head down and maneuvered through the sea of people. As soon as you slipped outside into the courtyard, you picked up your pace, feet hitting the paved path with purpose.

ALMOST THERE.

...

Are you fucking kidding me?

Up ahead, sitting on a bench under a tree, was a way-too-familiar back.

FUCK.

And right across from him? Topper.

What the hell? Shouldn't they be in the dining hall right now? Whatever. Just keep walking. Make a wide circle around them, and it'll be fine.

Actually, nothing was fine. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Topper nod in your direction—And of course, that meant Rafe turned and saw you.

HOW CAN SOMEONE HAVE THIS MUCH BAD LUCK?

You kept walking as naturally as possible but there was no escaping it. Rafe was already on his feet, making his way toward you.

Okay. Just act like you didn’t see him.

"Y/L/N!"

FUCKING HELL.

No way out now. You had no choice but to stop. Every nerve in your body was on edge as you turned around.

Rafe came to a halt in front of you, irritation and amusement flickering across his face. "And you call me immature? Are you seriously running away from me?"

You shook your head. "What? No. I was on my way to get lunch."

He tilted his head slightly, gaze shifting to the empty space beside you. "With the same friend you’re helping clean out her closet today?"

His smug tone made your skin crawl.

Your brows furrowed but the heat rising to your cheeks was out of your control. "No, alone." Then, before he could say anything else, you added, "Do you need something or...?"

Rafe shrugged unfazed. "I don’t know. The way you're acting, maybe you should figure out what you need first."

Wow.

You knew Rafe Cameron could be an asshole but experiencing it firsthand like this? Yeah. Wow.

"I don’t get what you want from me," you said, hating how small your voice sounded.

Rafe shook his head, spreading his fingers in exasperation. "Shit, nothing. That’s the whole point. I just wanted to finish this damn project with you but you keep coming up with cheap excuses—helping your friend, not wanting to waste your free time." He let out a sharp, irritated laugh. "Seriously, what the fuck is that?" He gestured toward his temples. "Do you think I’m an idiot?"

A horrible feeling twisted in your chest. Shit. You KNEW he was RIGHT. You wanted to tell him that—that you were a total idiot, that he had every reason to feel played—but you couldn’t.

You just stood there, gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles had turned white. The only thing you managed to get out was, "No."

"No, what?"

"You’re not an idiot." Your voice wavered slightly. Shit, you hated confrontation. And arguing with someone like Rafe...He didn’t even need to yell. He just had this presence, this intensity, that made you feel so damn small. "But I don’t understand what you want me to say right now."

Rafe let out an annoyed scoff. “I wanna know what your problem with me is. And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me there isn’t one. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be going out of your goddamn way to avoid working on this project at my place.”

You hated how direct he always was. It was like he could reach right into your brain, pull out your thoughts, and throw them in your face. Somehow, that was both terrifying and extremely irritating.

Alright, you were done with this shit. “Why do we have to go to your place so badly?”

Rafe pulled a face, his lips twisting into a confused smile as he gestured vaguely in the air. “Shit, we can go to yours, I don’t give a fuck. I'm definitely not hanging around in school longer than necessary.”

...

You didn’t mind taking him to your place as much as you minded going to his but still—FUCK, THIS FELT SO INTIMATE. Bringing a guy home? HELLO???? He’d see your room, meet your parents—at that point, you might as well walk him down the aisle.

"You know, I can tell you don’t like this either." His voice yanked you out of your thoughts. "You don’t say much but your face does all the talking."

Heat crawled up your neck. "What? No—I mean, I…" WHERE THE HELL DID MY WORDS GO? "That's just my face."

Rafe scoffed in amusement, the tension in the air easing just a little. “Yeah, nah, cut the crap. I prefer your weird nervous smile.”

WHATWHATWHATWHAT. That was absolutely not a compliment, and yet, your heart started racing, your cheeks burning up.

“So, what’s it gonna be? Your place or mine?” Rafe asked, his gaze drilling into you. Then, with a smirk dripping in mockery, he added, “Or are you actually scared I’ll try to get in your pants?”

OH. MY. GOD.

You shook your head so fast you probably looked like a deranged tomato. “What? Oh my god, no. I—of course not.”

“Shit, you so are.” Rafe let out an amused snort, running a hand over his mouth like he was trying to hold back laughter. “Thought I didn’t give off ‘fuckboy vibes’—or whatever it was you'd said.”

HOLY SHIT. How embarrassing could this possibly get? Answer: yes.

“I...I meant that”, you stammered, absolutely mortified. “I'm serious.”

Rafe chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that.”

You let out a breathy, “Oh my god,” and fought the urge to dig a hole in the ground, throw yourself in, and bury yourself under a thousand tons of cement.

“Shit, you do know if I wanted to get you into bed, I’d do it at a party, not like a pathetic loser through a school project.” His voice was laced with irritated amusement but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.

Whatever it was, it weirdly helped ease your original worries.

But your blush and the overwhelming humiliation crawling under your skin? Yeah, absolutely not soothed.

You were too overwhelmed, too frozen in place to even form words. Just the fact that this topic had been brought up had completely short-circuited your brain. And the way he was looking at you, all smug with that cocky-ass grin—UGH, it was so fucking humiliating.

Oh, he was milking this for all it was worth like he was having the time of his life watching you squirm. “So that’s why you kept making those weird excuses.”

That finally snapped your brain back into gear. “No! That’s—why do you keep thinking I’m lying?”

Wow. Fantastic, Y/N. Just keep digging that grave.

Rafe raised his brows, clearly feeling like the upper hand in this conversation. “Really? Your whole face is on fire, and you’re still denying it?”

WHAT. WHY WOULD HE MENTION YOUR BLUSH OMG?!

Okay, you had to get out of this. This was officially the worst moment of your life. Yeah, you'd thought that a lot of times in the past few days but this? HOLY FUCKING SHIT, YOU'VE NEVER FELT SO SELF-CONSCIOUS.

So you were left with no other choice but to do the only thing that could put an end to this topic once and for all—because if you didn’t, he was never gonna drop it and you seriously couldn't bear any more of THIS.

You locked eyes with him and never felt so vulnerable.

“Okay! Okay, I—I admit it. I thought it was ... strange that you offered me to come over that late when no one would be home. That— I don’t know, I just…” Oh god, why did he have to look at you like that? “I totally overthought it and freaked out, and then I said that thing with Cara and—I know it’s completely stupid.” You shook your head, annoyed with yourself, and crossed your arms in embarrassment. “I just can’t help it. Overthinking, I mean. It’s a huge problem of mine, and when it comes to this kind of thing… I—I mean, not that it is a thing ... um", you chuckled nervously, "... what I'm trying to say is, I don’t know, I just panicked. It’s not about you or me thinking you’re some fuckboy or player or whatever. It’s just—my brain is just… I don’t know, I just spiraled for no reason and I know it sounds extremely weird, I mean it is weird and I completely understand why you're pissed.”

...

There. It was all out.

And you felt miserable. Having said something like that so openly, IN SCHOOL, AND TO YOUR CRUSH, too?

FUCK, you could feel your whole nerves being ON FIRE. Because now you looked like a liar AND a crazy bitch.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, feel it pulsing in your face. You felt sick. You just wanted to crawl into bed and never come out again.

And Rafe? You had never seen him look so—genuinely surprised (?). Like he actually had no clue what to think or how to react.

Shit. It must be really bad if Rafe Cameron was speechless.

A crease formed between his brows, and before he could roast you into the next century, you tried to salvage what little dignity you had left. “Please don't think I'm crazy—”

“Shit, you really need to get laid.”

You blinked, completely taken aback. “What?”

“Someone needs to fuck the overthinking right out of you,” he said, waving a hand in your direction. “And not just once.”

Caught completely off guard by his reaction, all you could manage was a terrible nervous chuckle because WHAT THE FUCK.

Rafe let out a short laugh. “You spend way too much time up here.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “You gotta get all that shit out somehow.”

You furrowed your brows, equal parts confused and mortified. The whole conversation from earlier? Instantly forgotten. “That—” you laughed, somewhere between horrified and incredulous. “I don't... It’s not that simple.”

“Oh yeah? Have you tried?” His look told you he already knew the answer.

And that made your face BURN.

“The break’s almost over”, you blurted out with an awkward smile. “And I haven’t even eaten yet.”

Great safe.

Rafe raised his brows slightly as if debating whether to push you further or finally put you out of your misery. “Alright,” he said at last. “Just to be sure—you do know where I live, right?”

In a split second, the heat in your face evaporated, replaced by sheer, stunned disbelief. “What?” was all you could manage.

“For when you come over later,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “Or do you actually want me to pretend you’re really going to your friend’s place after you've just admitted it was bullshit?”

SERIOUSLY. He was a master at making things excruciatingly uncomfortable.

You furrowed your brows but before you could say anything, he cut in: “And just to be clear, this is not a sex date.” He smiled boyishly. “Unless you do feel like shutting off your brain for once.”

JESUS HOLY FUCKING CHRIST. You were officially done for.

You knew he was just messing with you, maybe even trying to lighten the mood or calm your nerves in his weird way, BUT THAT WAS ENOUGH OMG.

Before your system could completely crash and burn, you mustered the last bit of dignity you had left. “Enjoy your lunch,” you said, voice only slightly shaky, before turning around to go dig your own grave.

“Six, at my place” he called after you. “No need for condoms.”

THIS GUY. You seriously had no words or thoughts left.

This whole conversation had left you completely drained. Jumping out of a plane or climbing Mount Everest would have been less adrenaline-consuming than whatever THIS had been.

And despite how utterly flustered, embarrassed, humiliated, exposed, and mortified this conversation had left you… you couldn’t stop the small smile that dared to creep onto your lips.

Because somehow, despite his horribly accurate and straightforward observation of you, Rafe Cameron had in fact managed to ease your worries. That, even though your brain had been buzzing in your head just moments ago, completely shattered and restless.

And whether that had been his intention or not, in some strange way, it made you feel seen—in the best and worst way possible.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M If you're only interested in this series, it's enough to drop a comment, no need to fill out the form

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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

Text

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Blade x Reader, Fluff & Angst, Romance, Introspection, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Symbolism, Metaphors, Emotional Depth, Established Relationship/Developing Relationship, Soft & Subtle Gestures of Affection.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Survivor’s Guilt, Internal Conflict, Moral Dilemmas, Philosophical Themes, Themes of Immortality & Loss, Mild Manipulation, Mentions of Violence, Combat References, Yearning, Emotional Suppression.

Tagslist: @smoochi-modest, @themiddletenmasibling

The clematis flower sat between Sunday’s fingers, its violet petals softly brushing against his glove as he studied it in quiet contemplation. You watched as his eyes traced the delicate veins running through each petal, the navy-blue pupils reflecting something distant—something that lingered between the past and the present.

"You brought me clematis," he mused, voice gentle as ever. "A flower that speaks of resilience and artifice. Do you believe me to be a man of deception or of ingenuity?"

You hesitated before answering, sensing the weight in his question. "Neither," you admitted. "Or perhaps both. The way you see the world, Sunday… it's different. You find beauty where others see illusions, and yet you fear the dreams you once nurtured. I suppose this flower reminds me of you—always reaching, always entwining with something just out of grasp."

Sunday’s wings fluttered, an unspoken emotion stirring behind his composed mask. "I have spent so long questioning whether my dreams were worth the cost," he murmured. "But you…" His fingers curled slightly around the stem. "You offer me a kindness I do not know if I deserve."

You reached for his hand, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his gloves. "And yet, you accept it," you said softly. "That’s a start, isn’t it?"

For the first time in a long while, Sunday smiled—not for the world, not for an ideal, but for himself.

Aventurine twirled the clematis flower between his fingers, his usual smirk playing on his lips. "So, let me get this straight," he drawled, leaning back against the lavish lounge seat, "you’re giving me a flower that symbolizes both ingenuity and trickery? Darling, I’m flattered. Truly."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "I just thought it suited you. The way you weave your words, how you always seem to be three steps ahead of everyone else… It reminded me of you."

His eyes glinted as he leaned forward, closing the space between you. "And here I was thinking you liked me for my winning personality," he teased, plucking the flower from your grasp and tucking it into the lapel of his blazer. "But I suppose I'll take what I can get."

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. "Must everything be a game with you?"

His expression shifted, just for a moment—a flicker of something unspoken beneath the bravado. "Life is a gamble," he murmured. "And the trick is knowing which bets are worth the risk."

His fingers brushed against yours, lingering just long enough to send a thrill through your veins.

"And you," he whispered, voice quieter, more sincere, "are the one bet I don’t mind losing."

Jing Yuan’s eyes traced the clematis flower nestled in his palm, its delicate form a stark contrast to the battle-worn hands that held it. The gentle rise and fall of Snowmoon’s slumbering breaths filled the quiet garden as you sat beside him, watching his contemplative expression.

"A flower of mental strength and artifice," he mused, tilting the stem slightly as though testing its resilience. "You must think rather highly of me."

You chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "More like I know you, Jing Yuan. You carry the weight of the Xianzhou with such ease, making it look effortless—even when I know it isn’t."

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. "Ah, so I am a performer now, am I?"

"In a way," you admitted. "But there’s an artistry in what you do—maintaining peace, guiding your people… it’s not deception, but it requires a certain kind of ingenuity, don’t you think?"

Jing Yuan hummed, turning the flower between his fingers before tucking it carefully into the folds of his coat. "Then I accept this gift," he said, "as a reminder that even a man of strategy must appreciate the beauty of unpredictability."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, the warmth in his expression melting away the distance between you. "And," he added, voice lower, "as a reminder that even the dozing general must stay awake for the things that truly matter."

Blade’s fingers hovered over the clematis flower you had placed before him, the deep violet petals stark against the cold surface of the table. His red eyes flickered toward you, unreadable.

"You think this suits me?" he asked, voice devoid of mockery, yet tinged with something akin to disbelief.

You nodded. "The flower represents mental strength and ingenuity. Both things you have, whether you believe it or not."

Blade exhaled slowly, picking up the flower with deliberate care. "Strength," he murmured. "And deception. I have known both intimately."

You reached across the table, resting your hand over his. "Not deception," you corrected. "Artifice. The ability to create something from nothing—to survive, even when the universe has tried to erase you."

His grip on the flower tightened slightly. "I am not whole," he admitted, a rare confession from a man who had long since discarded the need for such vulnerabilities.

"You don’t have to be," you whispered. "Even a clematis vine blooms with fractured stems."

Blade stared at you for a long moment, then, slowly, he brought the flower to his chest, resting it against his heart.

"Then perhaps," he said at last, "I can learn to bloom again, too."

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sylusjinwoon · 1 year ago

Text

{ 179 }

company.

academy arc

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ let's end each other's lonely nights | be each other's paradise | need a picture for my frame | someone to share my reign… }

you walked to school in the early hours of the morning, simply looking down at the novel you were reading in your hand. a smile paints your features the more you basked and read each scene, and as you were in the midst of turning the page, you felt a strange sensation creeping up on you-

the sensation of being followed.

your steps begin to slow just then, unaware of the large hand that reaches out to you-

as sung jinwoo lets out a rich chuckle of your name, wrapping an arm around you as he brings you closer to the front of his chest.

“morning, angel.” he purrs into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. you give him a playful pout, lightly pushing yourself away from him.

you missed the lost expression seen in his gaze the moment you pulled away from him, trying to calm down your racing heart as you smoothed down the skirt of your uniform.

with a cough, you put your novel back within the confines of your bag, choosing instead to walk side-by-side with jinwoo to school.

you and jinwoo had a special relationship-

this didn’t mean that you two were a couple or anything, oh no.

what you meant was that you still had memories of another life with jinwoo…

where you and him were both hunters, taking on raids while supporting each other throughout it all.

jinwoo was your best friend during those times; he helped train you, a mere b-rank hunter, making you more proficient in your raids as you slowly rose up the ranks, given you freedom to attend more high level raids despite never being able to level up like he could.

your memories became a little hazy after the war, and once jinwoo used the cup of reincarnation one last time-

you found yourself being 14 again, living with your parents and little brother in your humble home. perhaps what came as the most shocking to you was how you retained all of your memories.

which was why you felt so happy when you and jinwoo ended up going to the same high school together. he was a great source of comfort during the times when memories of your past life became too much to bear.

ah, but you were getting ahead of yourself-

you’ve since then gotten better at dealing with the hardships of your past life, even getting the tiniest bit upset when jinwoo admitted to taking on all the monarchs on his own, spending a total of 27 years within some strange, dimensional rift. you knew that he had won the war all on his own while telling you how he succeeded his mission, now living his life as a normal human despite how truly godlike he was.

jinwoo’s knuckles were suddenly felt being gently placed against the top of your head. “you’re dozing off again.”

“what? i am not dozing off, woowoo.”

a blush immediately paints his features when you refer to him by that stupid nickname. “h-hey, that nickname is dumb as hell, and that’s not even how you pronounce my name! the ‘woo’ in ‘jinwoo’ is more subtle than that, like a soft ~u.”

“heh, whatever, woowoo…!”

you giggle when his eyes flash purple in annoyance, running to catch up to you, but all while hiding his grin.

you would never know the depths of his feelings for you, and that fact alone was killing the shadow monarch on the inside.

{ … }

you and jinwoo end up enjoying lunch together back in the classroom, with you taking casual sips of your juice.

“so do you have track practice today?”

jinwoo takes a rice ball from your lunch box as you stole a piece of his bulgogi beef. “yeah, i do.”

“hehe, did you want me to hang out with you on the field?”

a soft smile paints jinwoo’s features, “if you don’t mind, then yeah. i could use your company.”

a teasing grin paints your expression, “you still trying to get with cha hae-in?”

jinwoo chokes on his rice ball, “w-what the- you know about that?!”

“what? it’s so obvious that you’re still into her! want me to look her up and give you her number or something?”

you giggle in response, basking in jinwoo’s embarrassed expression. you recall how jinwoo was pretty much dating cha hae-in in the original timeline, and they were truly such a cute couple in your eyes!

two of the most renowned s-rank hunters taking on high level gates, never once failing their missions or goals. because of jinwoo’s blossoming romance, you, being simply labeled as his best friend, took a step back and gave them the space they needed in order to let their romance bloom.

and now, with time going backwards due to jinwoo’s actions, you were certain he was going to try and capture her heart once more, leaving you more than willing to play as his wingwoman once more.

despite your playful words, jinwoo appeared uncomfortable, shifting his rice around his lunch box with his chopsticks, eyebrows furrowed in response. noticing the change in his demeanor, you softly ask him, “are you okay?”

your question snaps him out of his reveries. “i’m fine. here, you can have the rest of my lunch… i’ll be right back.”

you could tell something was wrong with jinwoo, watching as he stood up a bit too fast for your liking when you stop him, allowing your hand to wrap around his wrist. “wait, where are you going?”

he looks down at you with gentle grey eyes, allowing the pad of his thumb to grace at your cheek as he wiped away an imaginary stain. after that simple touch, he points to your empty juice bottle.

“i was going to get you more juice. are you opposed to it?”

your eyes go wide, but you shook your head in response. “no, i don’t mind it.”

jinwoo gives you a nod, shaking your grip off of his wrist, leaving you utterly confused as you kept staring at his quickly retreating form.

“how strange…” you look down at your shadow, seeing a few, glowing purple eyes glancing back at you.

at least he still wanted to protect you-

even when you knew you did something to upset him.

{ … }

jinwoo told you he didn’t mind you watching him at practice-

but you didn’t feel like your presence was warranted after upsetting him at lunch earlier. so, you hid out at the library, working on some assignments while doing your readings for your classes. you had thoughts about going home first, but deep down, you knew that avoiding jinwoo wouldn’t help with making this whole situation any better.

as you were writing, you immediately became aware of the shadow looming over you, a pair of solemn, glowing violet eyes staring down at you with a neutral expression.

“why didn’t you join me at practice?”

you tremble a bit, detecting the accusation in jinwoo’s voice as you let out a sigh.

“how could i join you when you’re mad at me?” you whisper back at him.

hearing his scoff tones down your anxieties the tiniest bit, and you felt your shoulders visibly relax at the sound of it. you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze, seeing jinwoo leaning closer to you while placing a hand on the table.

he was dressed in his track uniform, consisting of a purple and white shirt with matching shorts. he taps the top of his sneakers against the linoleum floors, giving you a nice view of his muscular calves.

you were ready to tease him about it, your lips puckered up as a low whistle escapes from them when jinwoo suddenly wraps an arm around the back of your head.

your words die against your throat, eyes going wide when your face was pressed directly against jinwoo’s chest. he runs his fingers through your hair, a pained whisper heard coming from him when he asks,

“do you really not feel a single thing from me? am i doomed to remain just friends with you in this timeline, too?”

your mouth goes dry when you hear his question, and you were uncertain as to how to respond to him. you felt your lips open and close, yet still, not a single syllable would come out.

jinwoo lets out a disappointed ‘tsk’ then, shoving you away from him as he gazes down at you with a neutral look. “forget about it. just… forget about it.”

you watch helplessly when jinwoo picks up his duffel bag and backpack, facing away from you as your heart clenched painfully in response.

if you didn’t stop him now, then you’d lose him forever.

shoving back your chair with such intensity that it nearly falls to the ground, you grab jinwoo’s wrist once more. his eyes go wide, and you catch his shocked expression momentarily before standing on the tip of your toes to fully kiss him.

his reaction was immediate- instinctive even when he wraps his arms around your back, bringing you achingly closer to him all while deepening the kiss.

you lost track of time, uncertain of how many kisses you shared when you finally found the strength to pull away from him. he keeps both of his arms wrapped tightly around you, purple eyes gazing down at you in amusement and love, all while running his hands through your hair.

“i… i always thought that you always deserved a girl like cha hae-in… because, well, you know… she was pretty powerful… and gorgeous, too.”

jinwoo scoffs at your admission, but remains quiet, wishing for you to go on and explain yourself.

“that’s why, i kept all my feelings hidden for you.” unable to meet his gaze, you play with the front of his shirt, smoothing the fabric while picking away at the imaginary lint. “i always figured you deserved better than me-“

“tch, stop.”

jinwoo then gently pulls you back by your hair, eyes becoming more passionate when he crashes his lips against yours. you could only whimper in response to his sudden kiss, hands remaining curled up against his chest as jinwoo presses you even closer to him.

he pulls away first, lightly panting before admitting to you, “please… i never wanted hae-in… but you were so determined to set us up that neither one of us knew what to do.”

you blink up at him in complete shock. “what…? but, she had such a huge crush on you…?!”

jinwoo chuckles all while tracing the pad of his thumb against your bottom lip. “well yeah… she liked me, but that didn’t mean that i liked her. how could i like her when i already had you?”

your head was spinning, yet despite it all, you couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “eh? but didn’t you say you wanted to join track to meet her someday?”

jinwoo lets out a huff, bringing your frame into his chest once more before coming clean to you. “forgive me and my poor attempts at making you jealous. joining track was just an excuse, really.”

his admission finally earns bouts of laughter from you, feeling so relieved and happy that your feelings were requited after all. after spending a few more minutes in each other’s embrace, jinwoo gives your body one last squeeze before pulling away from you, giving your forehead a gentle kiss.

“how about i walk back home with you, then, we can talk about our plans for our upcoming first date.”

you giggle, watching as jinwoo packs up your notebooks and assignments before carrying your bag for you, giving you a lovesick expression while you cling on to his side.

perhaps dreams do come true after all…

a.n. - this is so self indulgent, but oh so much fun to write! (/ω＼)

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #.stories

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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

Text

———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

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ghosts-and-glory · 1 year ago

Text

Some Narinder character analysis for y’all.

This is a slightly re-edited excerpt from a much longer post of mine where I was specifically trying to provide a rebuttal to someone else. I’m kinda proud of some of my takes here and the write up took me hours so I’m gonna repost it here on its own.

I’m going into specifically into Narinder’s

Speech patterns and way of expressing emotions.

Implications of his post defeat dialogue

Relationship with Aym and Baal

Feelings on Ratau’s death

And a little extra on why do we “babygirl” Narinder

Full analysis under the cut.

The way Narinder expresses his positive feelings

First I gotta establish Narinder’s voice. Narinder seems almost incapable of giving a genuine compliment especially without turning it into something about himself.

Here’s three examples of him giving a complement to The Lamb. Taken from after defeating Amdusias and Shamura. He also complements The Lamb when you sacrifice Ratau but I’ll come back around to that.

I wanted to grab the entire quotes so it didn’t look like I was nitpicking.

"Very good, my vessel. It seems I chose well when I kept you from Death.”

First example, “very good,�� is the complement, but immediately after he takes credit for this by calling you “my vessel” thereby claiming ownership over you. His vessel did well. And again “I chose well” doubled down and complemented himself.

“I admit, you have worn it (the red crown) almost as well as I could have myself.”

Again we see the complement layered in ego. “Almost as well as I” in other words you did well, but don’t forget I’m better. Also important to draw attention to is “I admit” this is a very explicit statement of his refusal to acknowledge the success of others.

"Your appetite for death is something I can admire, Vessel. But the Crown is mine, and none - NONE - are worthy. None other than I.”

Here he almost lays down a complement. “Your appetite for death is something I can admire” straight up, states his admiration. He seems to almost realize what he’s done and quickly pulls back into his ego, “But the crown is mine” “-none are worthy- None other than I.”

These are the three of the four ONLY times that Narinder ever says anything explicitly positive about someone else when he is a god. Thus establishing that the head ass cannot give out a compliment to save his life. The one time he gives you full credit for your actions he immediately pulls right back into his ego.

I cannot stress this enough. Someone who is characterized as cold and emotionally closed off as Narinder is WILL NOT suddenly undo this characteristic when they try and express a positive feeling.

Okay with that established we can look at his follower dialogue. Specifically these two examples from when you resurrect a follower and allow him to go on a mission.

“I cannot begrudge supplantation by one such as yourself.”

Literally saying I don’t resent you for taking my place. It’s not an explicit statement that he respects you but this is he weird fucked up little way of saying it. Of course he still lays it out in a way that’s self centred but we know from the way he has spoken that this is about as much verbal praise he is capable of giving.

The other one is a less explicit statement but I think it’s a interesting reflection of the final place of his character.

“…my thanks, Lamb.”

Being his last bit of unique dialogue, it’s an incredible ending to a character. He thanks you. That’s all he needed to say.

Narinder’s reaction to his defeat that he would rather die.

Let’s go over his dialogue in some depth.

"You weak, snivelling, foul thing. You - wait! Waaaiiiiiit!"

I’m starting with this line as it compels me the most. I find that there are two separate readings of this and I can’t really point to one above the other. On my play through I had assumed his wailing was more in reference to being denied death. It could also be read as him not wanting to be reduced to a follower and realizing what your mercy really means for his future.

“-are you to be a vengeful false idol, or a merciful coward? No longer can you blame your vile acts on me."

Okay, looking at the way he presents your two options he seems to push more for the murder action. “-vengeful false idol,” is how he refers to murder. It’s not exactly a glowing review but his use of the word vengeful is important. We know that one of Narinder’s main goals in the game is revenge, we he already acts with revenge I can’t say that he’s using this word as an insult. The false idol part of this statement seems like he’s attempted to separate himself from you, again for is ego.

Then he presents the spare option by calling you a “merciful coward.” The flow of this full sentence puts more pressure on this option. He presents it as the “or” the second option. This is the bad option, the option of a coward.

“So. vou are no different to me after all. You have become as I am."

I know this is a deranged order to go over these quotes but last we got murder. Compared to his spare dialogue this is incredibly sombre. We know from already establishing how big his ego is that saying you are the same as him is almost a compliment. I do find this dialogue incredibly interesting tho, I can’t exactly explain why but I can’t help but read this as damning as well. It’s like he means it in both ways, the ultimate fuck you. You are just as I am, for better and worse.

But from what we know about Narinder his edgy ass cannot express emotion. He wraps his statements in layers of irony and selfishness. Unless it supports the persona he puts on or inflates his ego he WILL NOT right out state his feelings or needs, especially when he was a chained god.

Relationship with Aym and Baal

Aym and Baal are incredibly hard to characterize. They don’t have much dialogue to work off of and only three characters every speak on them, Shamura, Narinder and Forneus. The context of the game does present them as more Narinder’s first (and second) hand, less followers more apprentices, almost, but where’s the fun in assuming.

"Intended as keepers, perhaps, but they were young and in need of guidance. Must I be blamed for my influence?"

I wanna draw attention to the specific wording of keepers. Again, based on the way Narinder speaks its safe to assume he means the formal meaning of a keeper, meaning a caretaker. It is unclear if Narinder was told they where his keepers or if he assumed so, but either way he still speaks on them as such.

For the sake of argument (and I don’t wanna rewrite this bit entirely) I’m gonna put the idea that Narinder brainwashed Aym and Baal against my presented idea of them being his keepers or apprentices.

The proposed idea of the brainwashing angle can be developed based on Narinder saying that “they where young and in need of guidance, must I be blamed for my influence.” This implies that, as much as Aym and Baal may have been sent as keepers, they where still young and Narinder could not help but be an influence on them. I am gonna come back around to this thread so hold onto this for a moment. Moving on.

“Two kits I did have, true love found! And yet one lackadaisy summer day, my beautiful children were taken away... a gift, they said, for the one they loved most, the one that waits...”

“Ooh, kits... I remember, I remember... two kits in my claws... a gift.."

It is unclear and morally dubious how Aym and Baal came to Narinder. First we’re not 100% where Narinder is chained. The wiki lists it as the afterlife and in dialogue Narinder refers to it as “at the gates between this life and the next, trapped at the nexus of what was and what wasn't.” (When he asks you to send him on a mission.) We can travel there both by dying and being summoned there by him.

Either way the assumption is that Aym and Baal had to die. (As an aside I have my own speculation on the conditions required for a person to be presented to Narinder or to be resurrected but that’s off topic.) The horrific implications being that either Shamura themself killed the kits or that they where already dying. However you cannot blame the reaper for ushering the dead away from life.

I’m going to work off of the cult specific definition and characteristics of brainwashing. It’s hard to characterize where Aym and Baal sit here as, again they have little dialogue and due to the nature of brainwashing it’s hard to spot. First I wanna grab my brainwashing resources.

I’m using Encyclopedia Britannica’s page on brainwashing, cults, indoctrination, manipulation as my primary resourse.

Again I kinda wanna apply a layer of irony to how literally I apply real life tragedy to this game that obviously uses cults in a comedic manner. I wanna focus in on the characteristics displayed by victims of brainwashing and the techniques used in brainwashing by an abuser.

Looking at the elements used in brainwashing the only one I can say off the bat that is present is isolation, obviously. But with that let’s grab all of Aym and Baal’s dialogue.

What is clear from their dialogue is their obedience to Narinder. They call him master while his keepers and still when you meet them later when adventuring. And physically we do see them by Narinder’s side the entire main game and they fight the Lamb first. But if we add some nuance and look at their role as keepers or my own theory of being apprentices both actions of obedience make sense still for those roles. On the same note they also don’t display traits you would expect for someone fully under Narinder’s control. They speak to the Lamb out of turn and attack without prompting from Narinder.

Other characteristics are hard to imply. With torture I do want to pass it off an unlikely as based on the way Narinder tries to manipulate the Lamb it’s only verbal and he cannot attack while chained and I don’t see that changing with the keepers. Traits like sleep, water and food deprivation can’t be applied for various reasons (mostly the being dead one) and we don’t know anything about Narinder and the keeper’s interactions in the past so I’ll have to disregard other traits like suggestion.

Baal: "It's you. Usurper of the Red Crown. The one who freed us."

Aym: "Ha! You are nothing compared to our Master. We have not been in this world long, but already I can tell you are weak. You lack discipline. Our Master wielded Death with precision and control. You allow chaos to reign."

Baal: "What my brother means to say is thank you."

Moving onto groupthink I can pretty comfortably say that this is not a present characteristic of Aym and Baal. In their limited dialogue we can easily characterize Aym as more outwardly defensive of Narinder but Baal is more reserved and even contradicts Aym and is able to speak freely of Narinder.

Looping back around to the way Narinder speaks on his influence on Aym and Baal. Again we know how Narinder speaks, he cannot give honest compliments and dodges affection like it’s a professional sport. With the way he will outright tell the Lamb to manipulate followers and then uses the words “guidance” and “influence” about Aym and Baal, he has to be avoiding admitting affection to the keepers. He does follow that up with “Do what you wish, scornful God. I care not for them.” But again does Forneus not also allow her kits to do as they wish?

My own reading of Narinder’s relation to Aym and Baal is that of mentorship but it could also be read as parental. But saying brainwashed is a big stretch.

His feelings on the death of Ratau

This is like another example of like, yeah, wow, an evil character does evil? Who could’ve possibly foreseen this? Sarcasm aside I do see his comments on this being a lesser evil.

First I do have to ask why, if Narinder held strong sense of unrest against his former vessel, did he not have him struck down? The main reason I can see is that Ratau is still devoted to the red crown, most clearly seen by the statue at the lonely shack which generates devotion.

Second, Ratau’s death isn’t on his hands, it’s on yours. I find his pride here is from The Lamb’s actions not the death of Ratau. You killed your mentor, he describes your actions as “treacherous opportunism” and says “A great Vessel takes their master's will as their own.” Based on his later dialogue this is likely more foreshadowing the Lamb becoming as Narinder is. Narinder tried to kill his siblings, and you did kill your mentor. “You have become as I am."

I’m gonna tangent quickly cause there’s a line here that is incredibly interesting.

"He renounced his position after striking a bargain that resulted in the sacrifice of a Follower. He was weak."

Incredibly interesting the way he condemns Ratau’s sacrifice of a follower. Narinder directly contradicts himself. It is implied that the follower was lost to another being that did not benefit Narinder, but the Lamb also sacrifices followers to the Fox and Midas. Just something to chew on.

Why do we “babygirl” Narinder and other evil characters?

This is kinda the last bit I’m gonna get into before I cap this off. It is incredibly funny for me to say “I babygirl Narinder” only to get a reply that’s like “I don’t think you babygirl him on purpose.” But I wanna talk about why this happens and why it happened to specifically Narinder.

When people complain about the fandom interpretation of Narinder I think they forget the tone of cult of the lamb. The closest thing I could think to call it would be a dark comedy kinda energy.

The game has very dark themes going on. Mentions of real horrible things like genocide, cults and religious abuse. But also just like look at the game, it’s visual style is so cute and non threatening, the bird characters have two mouths to commit to the bit. If you look at the way it depicts cults it’s very surface level, it’s more focused on being a satire on the common satanic media kinda look of a cult. Visually it bathes in its aesthetics, taking names from books like The Lessee Key of Solomon, uses villainous depictions of symbols like the pentagram or old Hebrew script, disregarding its nuanced origins.

And then they go onto do the funniest thing ever. The other bishop’s? Gross little freaks, based on commonly disliked animals, worm, frog, squid and spider. And then- and then they make the god of death, who they characterize and manipulative and evil, they make him a catboy. You cannot tell me they did not know what they where doing.

Why have I shot Narinder with the babygirl beam? CAUSE THE GAME DID IT FIRST!

I’m gonna call the god of death my little meow meow and point out his status as a Tumblr sexy man cause he’s a little guy and I wanna give him head scritches. But I’m also gonna call him a layered, fucked up and an incredibly interesting character in the same breath.

#my post #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cult of the lamb narinder #cotl the one who waits #cult of the lamb the one who waits #character analysis #Malachi Why?

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trafalgalar · 1 month ago

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Character Analysis: Rory Peters from Final Destination 2

So, not sure if anyone cares, but 3 days ago I wrote a character analysis on Rory Peters after a YouTuber called him one-dimensional in a Final Destination death tier list. (I had to defend my shayla 👅✌️) I originally wrote it in Turkish, my native language, then fully translated to English so there might be some grammar issues. Decided to share it here, might share it on other platforms too. If you're interested about reading a full-fledged analysis about Rory, here it is:

...

I want to share what gives Rory depth.

He's mostly known for doing coke, sure, but to me he's a "Green flag trying to look like a Red flag". His Y2K-style fashion tells me he's trend-conscious and that makes him stand out among the other male characters.

He has a kind of dynamic with Kat- maybe not obvious at first, but it's there. Like when Kimberly gathers the group and Nora asks Kat for a valium, Rory jokes, "Send one my way too/Keep em coming" It feels a bit insecure- he wants one but masks it with humor. Or maybe that's just how he talks? Is that behavior on the surface only around her? I'll come back to this later.

Another moment showing his undefined dynamic with Kat: when she's driving, he jokingly whispers "Hope she’s next to die" referring to her- loud enough for others to hear. Kat responds via rearview mirror with a "Hehe sure babe" look. I love these moments; from that tiny scene we get so much character insight.

And at the apartment, after Kat proudly talks about her career, Rory says "Shut up and you'll live," even though he's usually fine with that kind of proud talk. (Remember the scene with his coke-head friends, he only tells them to be quiet to hear the news- before that, he proudly says, "Look babies, I was there too!") So maybe his issue is just with Kat- a kind of "teasing antagonism." Also, before saying "Hope she’s next," he says, "One of us is going to die in this car… Are the rest of us going to be okay sitting next to that person?" It clearly shows he wouldn't be ok- but instead of admitting it, he masks it as a hypothetical because he's insecure! IT'S AWESOME!

Edit: I looked into the original script (not the final version), and after Rory says "Shut up and you'll live," it says: "Kat's hands ball into fists. The hatred is mutual." (Btw in this version, Rory swears more, is rougher, but also more emotional. Keep that in mind) The script describes their dynamic as "hatred," but in an interview, the producer described it as "itchiness"- probably meaning tension or irritation. Rory says that line right after Kat mentions her successful career. Let's dig into it:

In the film Rory drives a Mustang; flashy and expensive, for young rebels and speed lovers. But in the script, he drives a Chevette; cheap, low-quality, and often joked about. Why am I pointing it out? Because maybe Rory resents Kat’s success. (They are 1 year apart in this script btw, Kat, 28, being older) Kat is described as “Corporate American” wearing a “Power Suit."

That term refers to someone professional, ambitious, money-driven. And a Power Suit isn't just a regular suit- it implies confidence, authority, and designer tailoring. Also, Kat drives an Expedition. An SUV; big, powerful, expensive...

Now, there's this one part in the script that made me smile- another example of their dynamic which I STILL COULDN'T FIND A NAME I LIKE to describe as:

The group is gathered at Thomas' home and Clear asks why they were on Route 180 in the first place.

RORY:

Last July I dialed a wrong number and got a radio station by accident. They asked me what number means "good luck" in Jewish.

KAT:

Eighteen. And it’s Hebrew.

RORY:

Anyway, I guessed it right and won these (He holds up two Yankee tickets.)

Isn't this just adorable? Also, there's a moment where Rory slams his hand on the table out of frustration, and Kat flinches. I wish this version had made its way into the film. It's a good initial script, but has its flaws. Eg; Rory tells Kimberly "Throw my stuff so my mom won't be upset when I die" thing right after Nora dies, at Thomas' home. I think that line coming later in the movie (as it does in the final version) works better in terms of character development.

But again- this version of Rory is more aggressive and more emotional. The script says his tears well up when he talks about him dying. So maybe him accepting his fate earlier on and saying that line sooner does make sense in that context.

Also when Rory asks Kimberly to get rid of his stuff, she thinks it's a joke- even waits for the punchline.

Then a phone rings, Rory jumps in fear, scanning the room all paranoid.

And remember when he saw Carter being crushed by a sign on his way to a theater in Paris? He says he was so traumatized he hid under a shopping cart for 4 hours. My shayla 😭 They legit threw away this side of him and tried to make him cooler for the film by giving him a Mustang, by deleting the scene where he tears up and him saying he got so scared he hid under a shopping cart for 4 hours.

Oh and in the script, right before he dies he's about to do drugs behind a car, but when Thomas, a cop, calls out to him, he cringes at his name and walks off in fear while dragging a dead tree (maybe to hide behind it?). If he'd stayed put and done drugs where he was, he wouldn’t have died.

TOLD YOU HE'S INSECURE!!!

Here are some other things that hit me about Rory when reading the script:

While at Thomas' home, Nora leaves saying she has to plan the funeral. Eugene wants to leave too, so Rory hands him a phone and says "Be careful. Even if you don’t believe it, give this to Nora."

Why?

Because Rory knows the elevator is kaput. In the script, we only read him tooking it earlier.

So as I've already explained below: Rory cares about the people around him- even those he's just met. That line is also proof that he's one of the first to believe Kimberly's claim about death chasing them. In fact, it was said Rory was the most helpful to her after Thomas and Clear (Can’t recall where I heard it, maybe a producer interview?)

Final note about the script:

Kat and Rory die much closer together- and happily. In the film, Kat is annoyed and says something like "Can you work quieter?" before dying, so it's not exactly a happy death. But in the script, she's already safe and celebrating when she dies. And Rory too is happy; is satisfied and smiling while doing coke.

That's not something you see often in Final Destination; two characters dying that close together both in terms of the place of death, time of death and the mood they were in right before/while dying.

Trivia: Kat’s death in the script is described as "Head-Kebab." Damn it 😭

Back to the film:

Rory is one of the first ones to take Kimberly and the whole death situation seriously. Eg; when he's hanging something to the storage room, even though no one asks what he's doing, he still feels like he has to explain it out loud: he clearly wants help without outright asking for it. (Kind of like what I mentioned earlier with the car scene.) But when help doesn't come, he goes through with it in an insecure way, and he takes the hook man shadow seriously- we can tell it bothered him.

Another moment: when Eugene freaks out and puts a gun to his head, Rory says, "Don't do it, chillax man" While his body language may seem exaggerated, you can really feel how he genuinely cares- not just himself, but Eugene and the others he's just met. When Eugene collapses, Rory rushes to help him calm down. And let's not forget: when Brian almost gets hit by a car, Rory saves him, saying, "You trying to get yourself killed, little boy?" That fits so well with my "Green flag trying to look like a Red flag" theory- or maybe the film wants us to sympathize with him before he dies.

Then there’s the car scene again where he says he wanted to see a theater in Paris. At first it felt off- didn't really match his character (Also does it mean a play or the movies?) But the situation was serious, so he let his guard down and had to talk about it.

There's a great contrast between how reluctantly he says "I had tickets to go..." and how excitedly he talks about doing coke and seeing a guy get crushed by a sign, though he was scared lol.

Same thing when Rory asks "Can you throw away my porno, drugs, and stuff when I die? I don't want to make my mom sad" He knows what he’s doing is wrong and cares about his loved ones. But like I said, maybe his insecurity makes him try to look like a red flag.

Still, I'm not sure how to interpret him doing coke right after asking Kimberly for that favor, but one thing is certain; conflicting desires and the choices made accordingly always add more depth to characters. And remember what I said earlier? To Kat, he says "Send it/Keep em coming" but to Kimberly, he asks nicely- maybe it's a sign of growth/development, coming to terms with his "Green flag" side. And I won't even get into, "Will it hurt when I die?" part in the same scene.

Now let's talk about the elevator scene- possibly filler but my favorite Rory scene. It adds nothing to the plot, just foreshadows the elevator danger and offers comic relief.

And in this scene, Rory doesn’t seem insecure at all. After all, who licks their hand and goes "Let me get that for you" to a stranger- for a thing that isn't even there? What exactly motivates them to do so?

Just to mess with him? Or he wanted to touch him? I've tried analyzing it but nah- nothing. But everything I've written proves that Rory does have actual depth- maybe even character development.

Though, this "confident/non-insecure" moment happens right after he does coke. (Honestly, is there even a single scene where the guy isn't on drugs? Blud was high the entire film)

I wonder if his use of coke/drugs might be about feeling more confident- getting high as a way to boost his self-esteem?

I don't know. This elevator scene messes with my head bro 😭

Edit: Remember when Rory takes off his shoe and asks "Is that dog shit?" Why does he do that? Because in the script, it happens around a large group- so maybe it's his insecurity again, trying to shift the blame or deflect attention after possibly feeling embarrassed.

Edit for Tumblr 3 days after posting this: I stumbled upon the novelization of Final Destination 2 (not sure if it's canon?) and decided to read the Rory scenes and honestly... WHAT THE ACTUAL FÜCK 💀🙏

-> Rory in the script: Sometimes rough, sometimes emotional, very insecure, caring towards his loved ones

-> Rory in the movie: Cool, Funny, Caring

-> Rory in the novel: H O R N Y C R A C K H E A D 😐

So firstly, Rory's surname isn't Peters here but "Cunningham" (Apparently it is a Scottish surname but when I first saw it I couldn't help but notice the "Cunning" part which kinda may fit him? Idk) He is not 27 years here, but 24.

Now read this:

"The air around him was thick with a heady mixture of marijuana smoke and burning joss sticks, and the rapid beat of his latest demo track thumped through the floormounted bass speakers, making the empty beer bottles strewn on top of the TV clatter. It was making him feel horny, for no particular reason.

But then, he was twenty-four. He always felt horny."

Wrap it up unc 🥀

Now, the novel actually gives us the answer why Rory says "Is that dog shit dude?"

Get ready...

Because he was drunk and/or on drugs 😐 Wow... He saw something wedged under his shoe and asked that to that guy. Just wow 😐

And also apparently he just "imagined" that something was on that man's face (we read that Rory even thinks that the thing, a piece of turkey, is growing) due to being drunk and/or being on drugs as well.

Come on dude... 😐

Out of all the answers we could have gotten we got the most simple and obvious one. I mean yeah it explains it but idk- it just doesn't add anything interesting to him at all. That's why I even questioned that elevator scene in the first place. What's worth analyzing is there if Rory was not really concious of his decisions during the elevator scene? What depth would be there for such character? Damnit.

Well, at least he was nice. He was hit with a sudden hilarity and wanted to laugh but controlled himself because "it was rude to laugh at people when you were in an elevator. He had to be polite." OK. 😐

Anyways, when the quote on quote "coke-head kid, Rory" sits on the couch besides Kat when they first go to Thomas' home, Kat is quote on quote "disgusted" and tries to sit as far away from him as humanly possible. OK. 😐

Also in this version, Rory doesn't ask for a Valium compared to the movie and script versions, which, if you've read above, we had concluded he might have asked that because he was insecure and needed it.

Though, I think I kinda like this exchange:

"So, maybe if you shut the fuck up you'll live, huh?" Rory muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, like I'm going to take advice from you,” Kat retorted, giving him a disgusted look.

We read that Kat finds Rory disgusting and maybe the writers wrote these because they didn't want us to ship Kat with Rory because there is another girl whom they most probably wanted us to ship Rory with instead... I wish I was joking. Let's read a bit about this.

"Rory wriggled deeper into his seat, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being sandwiched next to X. True, she was kind of weird, but she was really warm and she smelt so good. He wondered vaguely if she would make out with him if they survived all this "Death" stuff."

What name do y'all think belongs to the X spot?

A-) Nora

B-) Clear

C-) Kimberly

D-) Isabella

The true answer is...

IT'S NORA THE WIDOOOOW 😰😱

WTF!? RORY U MF HER KID JUST DIED HOW COULD YOU BRO 😭✌️

jk.

it's kimberly 😐

*sighs*

*internal screaming*

Rory is just too pervert and kinda creep in this novel. He legit wants to make out with her. He thinks she "smells good and is warm". So... Um... Rory was actually with lots of girls at his "Bachelor Pad" when he heard the news of Evan Lewis dying and one of the girls was even unzipping his pants and he thought this was some bitching party and "he was getting more than lucky tonight." Ayo 💀🖐

So even though he isn't married yet, he slept with lots of girls and possibly had relationships with some too. (I'm unfamiliar with this strange relationship concept but won't write my opinions to not to make it biased 😝)

But maybe he wants someone to actually love this time? Kimberly made him realize this? We read multiple times in this book that Rory's life has always been sorta bad and we also read he truly cares for his loved ones just like we analyzed from the screenplay. So woah- yes, that could be!!!

But nah- unfortunately no.

After Kat's Expedition crashed while they were on the road to find the pregnant Isabella, in the scenes that followed, Rory knows it's his time to die, so he dreams of a death that he is "somewhere surrounded by dozens of beautiful naked women, too blissed-out to notice that the cyanide his twelfth ex-wife had slipped into his double mocha decaff that morning was finally taking effect."

Man that was a long ahh sentence.

(Also, I'm sorry but as you've read his dream, this version of Rory screams actually being RED FLAG!!! 🚩🚩🚩)

Now, letting my personal thoughts aside for the sake of unbiased 😝 analyzing; this doesn't sound like a character who cares for his loved ones to me that we had concluded after analyzing the movie and the screenplay.

Why? Because this way he would clearly dump Kimberly too. He even called her "crazy bitch" in his mind when he saw her at TV. He's way rougher in the novel than he was in the script.

Yes he called her that in his mind for fun but like... What's left of a character if all of what he says should not be taken seriously because those were the sake of comic relief?

I don't get it.

But well, that might be a contradiction oh right; to really care for the feelings of your loved ones but still you can't help yourself jumping from one girl to another, not seeing them like a genuine human being with hurt feelings just as real and painful as yours.

Can we conclude this? 😩✌️

I will admit though- I actually loved those 3-4 pages on which we dive into Rory's mind before and during his death. Those were really good to understand his mentality and life journey. I recommend you all to give those pages a read.

Now let's change the tone a bit and speak about what I liked:

-> I'm glad Rory saying he hid under a shopping cart for 4 hours and him tearing up while asking Kimberly for the favor are in this novel too. Oh god why did the movie said "begone th0t" to these 2 scenes 🥀

-> You guys remember the kerfuffle inside Thomas' home that made a canoe crush to the glass after Eugene's motorcycle ring fell to the floor?

After that, this happens:

"I should've seen that coming," Clear said dryly as she nonchalantly dusted herself off. Huddled on the sofa, Rory, Kat and Nora stared at her.

SO CUTE. As we saw in the movie but in this novel 3 of them are almost hugging 🥰

(Huddled apparently means something like things getting closer to each other so...)

Kat now isn't very disgusted by him huh 🤭

That was it.

Now let me very quickly list the things I didn't like that much and try to analyze some of them:

-> So, Rory wanted to make out with Kimberly, and later, Kimberly thinks Rory doesn't look that bad actually, it would be even good if he took a shower...

GOD PLS NO WTF GOD NO NOT THEM OMG NOT THEEEM 😭😭😭

(Text: "She turned to look at him properly, watching as he stood and twitched and sniffed, his unwashed hair hanging down in greasy ringlets around his face. He actually wasn't that bad looking, she thought, if only he would get a haircut and a shave, and maybe take a shower every once in a while.")

And also, Kat actually finds the guy who came to save him cute!!! 😱

WHOEVER WROTE THIS NOVEL HATED RORY X KAT YALL AND DIDNT WANT US TO SHIP THEM I JUST KNOW IT 😩

BUT NAH- RORY X KAT FOREVER!!! RAWWWRRRHHHH-

-> Do you remember Kimberly saying "If I call you and say "subway, get to a high rise fast." while they were at Thomas' home?

Upon this, Rory looks at her with a confusion on his face. So Kimberly, while rolling her eyes, explains him what she means. Then she thinks in her mind:

"She hoped that Thomas would have some luck in finding the white van soon, because if she ended up in a padded cell with this Rory guy, she might as well just shoot herself right now and be done with it."

the AUDACITY of Kimberly thinking like this when her friends who died in the car crash were not so different than Rory 🥀

In fact she even admits this:

"She was dimly aware of Rory hanging on the periphery of her vision, but was too focused on what was going on in front of her to pay him much attention. As it was, most of what he'd said to her up 'til this point consisted of callous jokes at someone else's expense or drugrelated humor. In a way, he reminded her of a far grungier, more burned-out version of Dano."

So I too realized in the novel, he just jokes a lot. And Kimberly doesn't care about him that much even tho he was one of the first to believe her and 'helped her' (I think it was mostly because he was afraid of dying and so he probably thought there is nothing to lose if I believe her and help her)

-> In this novel version, Rory doesn't give Eugene the phone so he could give it Nora. He just says "Be careful dude"

Thomas does that instead.

Though, this was his apartment after all so he possibly knew the elevator is kaput so it kinda makes sense he would be the one to do that.

But how in the world could a cop know this, and still let a woman, who he knows is about to meet her maker, go there even though they legit worked hard to escape death just minutes before???

Well, we read that he was a rookie cop or something but anyways, this isn't about him 💔

-> In this novel, Rory says this:

"...I mean, someone in this car is about to get whacked; do the rest of you really feel like sitting next to him? Or her?"

As you can see, he says "rest of you", meanwhile in the movie and the screenplay he said "rest of us".

This tells me yes he still doesn't like to sit next to a dead body but now he provides it to them more clearly. It sounds less insecure of him actually. Well I guess I like this kinda.

-> Above, I was wondering why Rory would decide to do coke right after asking Kimberly for the favor of throwing his drugs and stuff.

We have an answer why here:

"If he was going to die soon, why not doing it?" Oh my f1cking god 😀

-> Rory wanted to be Rock Star ever since he was a kid; a guitarist. One of the guys at his Bachelor Pad was said to be his bass player.

As I understood, he was in a band but the band wasn't really successful.

There is one crucial line here though which almost made me shed a tear.

So apparently, he wanted to be a famous musician like Kurt Cobain. It says:

"Nothing was going to stop him.

Nothing, it turned out, but himself."

...

This line opened my eyes on Rory's personality and his decisions made in this novel. His addiction... was a problem. I should have understood that already by the book saying time to time that his life has never been fine. He also described his life as fucked up and never going right. He had said he truly loved his loved ones but he doesn't like who he is. Also, read this, it comes right after Rory gives Kimberly his stuff:

"Rory took a deep breath and blew it back out through his teeth, relieved to have at least one worry taken off his shoulders."

He really was having a burnout his whole life...

I didn't really see it that way until now because he was like a comic relief indeed.

I feel like it came so suddenly but looking back... WE HAD THE WHOLE BUILD UP!

And I'm angry at myself because I actually have a friend (shout out to Blake, if he ever reads this) who was struggling with addiction and after rehab, he came clean. Drugs and addiction are something Blake always opens up whenever we have a convo, I see it now very well that it really is hard to let go of truly, it makes its way into your life but there's this...

... Wasn't Rory's actions/scenes supposed to be for comic relief, as Kimberly also says something similar to it (I had written about this above) but now with this line it all turned upside down? Ah damn it...

-> Rory's drug habit is described as "expensive" on one of the pages I recommended you all to read.

Guess it checks out why our hb was a Chevette driver. Though, I guess he was driving the Mustang in the book...

(I feel stupid not having guessed that obviously drugs would be expensive... I'm innocent af 🤣😐)

Now let me finish this:

I love how while at Thomas' home, Rory goes to the closet and many stuff fall towards him, he actually screams and cries for help when he falls.

"Help! Help me!"

"In his mind's eye he could see his throat being sliced open by the blades on the hockey skates, his eyes being gouged out by the soccer cleats, his skull crushed like a ripe melon by the bowling ball."

He keeps his eyes out for these things huh.

Then he falls and makes other things fall with him.

"Kimberly stared at him accusingly, and rolled her eyes as she saw the mess he'd made.

"Sorry," Rory said lamely."

Bro Kimberly had a beef with Rory 😭✌️

So anyways, it's just very vulnerable to me. In fact, Kimberly also describes Rory looking vulnerable later on, I think she had sensed it through his eyes...

His true nature is vulnerable and insecure, he is loving and caring but drugs destroyed his life. He acts cool and jokes around, tries to look like a red flag, probably lives with his unsuccessful band at the Bachelor Pad and being broke with so many problems and regrets...

He is real and he is relatable. Many people today are like that, just the thing that altered their true self may not always be drugs.

To whoever reading this; Please take care of yourselves and your loved ones, or even a stranger you think needs it ♡

Thank you for reading.

#final destination 2 #final destination #rory peters #analysis #character analysis #horror movies #kimberly corman #ian mckinley #sam lawton #peter friedkin #fd5 #fd2 #horror #wendy christensen

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 9 months ago

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Beg For It

Puppy!Kate Bishop x Domme!Fem!Reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, pet play, begging, degradation, use of restraints, use of strap on with a knot, breeding kink, R is referred to as Master

Authors notes: Puppy!Kate lives in my head rent free at all times along with Mommy!Wanda

Kate is always the perfect little puppy for you—obedient, loyal, and always eager to please. Her bright blue eyes light up with joy every time you give her the attention she craves, and she practically beams with pride whenever you praise her for being such a good girl. But tonight, you’ve decided to make her work for what she wants, just a little bit.

It starts with a simple test of patience. You’ve been home for a while, and Kate’s been following you around like the eager pup she is, her clipped on tail wagging and ears flicking back and forth, a fun little project you had worked on with Tony’s help. She’s waiting for that moment when you’ll pull her into your lap, giving her whatever love you decided. But instead of giving in right away, you keep her waiting.

Kate, clad in simple leggings and a t-shirt, looks at you with those big puppy eyes as you sit on the couch, pretending to be engrossed in a book. She’s always so eager to please, always ready to be the good girl you adore. But tonight, you’re in the mood to see just how far she’s willing to go when she really wants something.

“Is something wrong, puppy?” you ask casually, not looking up from the page.

Kate shifts on her feet, biting her lower lip as she tries to decide how to answer. You can see the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I just… I missed you today,” she murmurs, her voice soft and tinged with that familiar hint of longing. She gets down onto her knees in front of you. It was her place.

You hum in response, still not giving her the attention she craves. It’s a calculated move, one that has Kate squirming a little, her need for your affection, attention growing with each passing second. Finally, she can’t take it anymore.

“Please…” she whispers, her voice trembling with that sweet desperation you love to hear. “Please, I need you…” Her cheek pressing into your thigh.

You set your book down slowly, taking your time as you finally turn your gaze to her. The sight of her kneeling there, so eager and needy, sends a thrill through you. Kate’s eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anticipation and mild embarrassment at having to beg like this.

“Come here, Katie,” you say softly, your tone firm but gentle.

She’s by your side in an instant, her breath hitching as she looks up at you, waiting for your next command. You let your hand trail down her cheek, your touch soft and reassuring.

“What do you need, puppy?” you ask, your voice low and teasing.

Kate swallows hard, her hands fidgeting slightly as she struggles to find the words. “I need… I need you to touch me,” she finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please…”

You smile, a small, knowing curve of your lips. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, Kate,” you murmur, leaning in close enough that your breath tickles her ear. “But if you want me to touch you, you’re going to have to beg a little more. Show me just how much you want it.”

Kate’s breath catches in her throat, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she tries to steady herself. When she opens them again, there’s a fire burning in those deep blue depths—a fire fueled by need and desire.

“Please,” she whispers again, her voice shaky but determined. “Please, I need you so bad… I’ll do anything… Please…”

You let her words hang in the air for a moment, savoring the sweet desperation in her voice. Finally, you reach out, your fingers tangling in her hair as you pull her closer. “That’s my good girl,” you purr, your lips brushing against her temple. “You’ve begged so sweetly… how could I ever say no?”

Kate’s relief is palpable as she melts into your touch, her body relaxing as she finally gets what she’s been so desperate for. You reward her patience with slow, deliberate caresses, your hands roaming over her body as she sighs in contentment.

Tonight, you’ll give her everything she wants—and more. But first, you’ll make sure she knows exactly who she belongs to. And by the time you’re done, Kate will be more than happy to beg for your attention anytime you ask.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Her collar is secure around her neck, purple rope laced through it and tying her up so her movements were limited. Her face down in the sheets and ass up, tail still secured around her waist and wagging like crazy. You lined your strap up, it was one with a knot on it and ready to breed her.

You grab at her tail, stopping its movement with a whine from Kate as you pushed into her. The whine turning into a moan. “That’s my good puppy. Taking me so well.”

As your movements changed into a steady, yet rough pace that Kate loved her moans changed to breathy ones, tongue sticking out making your girlfriend look like the puppy she desperately tries to be all the time.

“Master please can I cum?” She manages out, making you smile.

“Go on puppy. Cum all over your Master’s cock so she can fill you up.” It’s all Kate needed was your command and the knowledge that you’d fill her. As she tightens up around you, you push the knot into her. A long, low moan coming out of her as you fill her up. “Good girl. Such a good girl.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You took her tail off for the night as she cuddled up close. You rubbed her back gently with your eyes closed. Something on YouTube playing in the background that Kate had put on.

“You did so good for me sweetheart. I’m sorry I made you wait baby.” You kissed the top of her head and when she looked up at you, you brushed her wavy black mane back.

“Thank you Y/N. Thank you for everything.” She smiled and nuzzled into you. She always thanked you, but you felt like the luckiest person getting to please her so well.

#ley writes #ley writes one shots #leys kinktober writing #kate bishop #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop x reader #puppy!kate bishop #subby!kate bishop #domme!reader #dom!fem!reader

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mokokone · 7 months ago

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Games |Kon!Kusuriuri x Reader Oneshot|

This cannot be happening!

"Aren't you going to make a move, my Kiku?" Kusuriuri's voice was smooth as silk, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned closer to the board. His nearness made your heart race, and you could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

You glanced down at the Go board, your white stones outmatched by his strategic black formations. You knew you were defeated, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it.

"I... I think I'll pass this one," you murmured, fidgeting with the folds of your kimono. You couldn't help but feel a little frustrated at how easily he had maneuvered his pieces, trapping yours in a merciless dance of conquest. Kusuriuri's smile grew wider, his amber eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Are you sure? There's still time to turn tables," Kusuriuri said, his voice a seductive purr that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

You felt your cheeks flush as he traced a gentle finger over the delicate line of your jaw, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

You knew he wasn't just referring to the game anymore. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, you're lost in the depth of his gaze. It was like looking into an abyss, filled with secrets and promises you weren't ready to explore.

"L-liar," you mumbled through grit teeth, trying to keep your composure. "You know there's no way out for me." Your hand hovered over the board, the warmth from your palm almost scorching the delicate wooden surface.

You could feel the tension building between the two of you, as palpable as the electricity in the air before a storm.

Kusuriuri chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, sending waves of heat through your body. "Ah, but that's where the real fun begins, isn't it?" He leaned in closer, his breath a whisper against your ear. "The art of surrender, the sweetness of defeat♡." His words played with your senses, making it difficult to focus on the game or even form a coherent thought.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his proximity made your heart flutter like a trapped butterfly. "This isn't fair," you protested. "You're using your... your charms to distract me!ꐦ"

But even as you spoke, you couldn't deny the allure of his words, the way they painted a picture of submission that seemed almost... appealing.

The sly fox-like still plastered on his painted lips grew into a full-blown smirk, and his eyes gleamed with victory. He knew he had you right where he wanted. "Is that so?" He murmured, his hand reaching for a black stone, poising it above the board. "But isn't that the essence of Go? To anticipate your opponent's moves, to out-think, and sometimes, to outfox?"

Your eyes narrowed in a mix of annoyance and fascination. You knew he was right, but you weren't about to let him have the last word. "Fine," you huffed, placing your hand firmly on the board, claiming your territory. "I concede this round." You leaned back, folding your arms over your chest, the fabric of your kimono rustling with the motion.

Kusuriuri's smirk softened into a knowing smile as he placed the black stone down, sealing your fate. "As expected from my clever Kiku." He said, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You mentally screamed at the sappy nickname. (Kiku being Japanese for "chrysanthemum.") It has become his affectionate term for you ever since you started playing these games with him, and it never failed to leave you both exasperated and endeared.

Yet, it's still sweet to know he sees you as a flower of beauty and value.

"Would you like to try again?" He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours.

You thought about it. To play again meant you get to spend more time with him - to be close to him, to challenge his wit, and maybe even get a chance to beat him next time. Plus, the way he looked at you when you played was something you couldn't quite resist. It was like you were the only person in the world that mattered to him at that moment besides slaying Mononoke.

But it also meant risking more of your dignity and possibly falling even deeper into his trap. With a huff, you stood, your legs aching from sitting in Seiza for an hour.

"I... I need a moment." You turned away, trying to compose yourself.

His lustful gaze followed you as you slipped into the adjoining room, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. After opening the shoji and stepping out into the hall. You leaned against the nearby wall, listening to the rustling of the wind through the cherry blossom trees outside and trying to steady your racing heart.

Kusuriuri's teasing was so infuriating, yet oddly thrilling. How could you resist playing with him again when he made losing feel like winning in so many other ways?

"Curse him," is all you can think as you take a deep breath.

You run your fingers through your hair, pushing the strands away from your face as you try to clear your mind. You know he's just playing with you, using the game as a pretext to flirt and tease, but somehow it's working.

You can still feel the imprint of his finger on your jaw, the warmth of his breath on your neck. It's maddening, and you know he's aware of it. The games he plays never fail to leave you feeling both irritated and intrigued.

❀END❀

#medicine seller #mononoke kusuriuri #x reader #mononoke karakasa #kusuriuri #oneshot #mononoke 2024 #kon kusuriuri #fanfic

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aurumacadicus · 1 month ago

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Hmmm. Hmmmmmm.

Glitter Fish were supposed to be a myth, Steve thought sourly. They were supposedly blessed by the Sea herself, glowing with Her power from within. Their magic was Her magic, strong enough to capsize a human fleet with no effort. Legend said that humans had hunted Glitter Fish to extinction, and not even for fear of them--they were surprisingly happy to admit defeat to the sea. No, humans were like crows, and coveted the solidified magic that could be carved from a Glitter Fish's body once they died, shimmering blue-silver even in the dark.

But Bucky had been rescued by one when grabbing tentacles had tried to drag him into The Depths. He'd lost an arm, but had escaped with his life, babbling to the healers about a blue light that had blasted the tentacles grasping him into pieces. The healers had told leaders in the Capitol, and the Capitol had decided they needed to find the Glitter Fish and bring it in for protection from humans. Even civilians had been pulled into the search.

Guards like Steve found they had the least desirable areas to search. He bristled at having to search the crags near where Bucky had been attacked. The Glitter Fish had destroyed the giant octopus that had tried to eat him, but blood in the water brought out more than just sharks. And if the Glitter Fish was smart, it would have left immediately. It hadn't survived to adulthood unseen by staying in one spot.

Steve was scooping up some octopus flesh with his trident and dropping it into the abyss leading to The Depths when he heard an aggravated squawk and leaned over the ledge. "Hello?"

"Gross," Tony groused irritably, trying to wipe the gore from his golden armor. "Look where you're throwing octopus bits."

"Maybe you shouldn't be floating around where people are dumping octopus bits," Steve retorted. "You don't even have a weapon. Grow up."

Tony scoffed at him again, trying to act haughty even as he twitched his long, scarlet fins and drifted up out of the crag. "It's not my choice," he huffed, hand twisting as if to hold an invisible trident handle before it dropped back to his side. Steve didn't have a chance to apologize, though, because then Tony was crossing his arms over his chest, blowing out of his gills hard enough that it formed bubbles. "What are you doing, anyway? Why are there so many armed guards along The Depths?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. He lodged the blunt end of his trident into the rocks and leaned against it, gently wafting the cool water from the depths in Tony's direction as he answered, "Looking for the Glitter Fish that saved Bucky."

"Glitter Fish don't exist," Tony spat back immediately.

"Bucky said it blew the octopus trying to eat him apart with no effort," Steve continued, ignoring him. "I think the healers would have chalked it up to delirium, but the edges of his shoulder wound were dyed silver."

Tony paused where he was slowly doing a flip, upsidedown and blinking at Steve in disbelief. "That's it? His shoulder wound is dyed silver? Please. He lost an arm in The Depths. He's probably got a septic fever," he scoffed. He finished rotating so he was upright again, mumbling, "I'll see what I have for him. Diamond chips to pay for better healers, at least."

"What's a prince doing out of the castle anyway?" Steve cut in, tilting his head.

Tony hummed, considering. Then he started doing another flip, deciding to ignore his question. "You haven't said a word about my beautiful scales. I thought you wanted to paint me like one of your marlin girls."

Steve didn't take offense. He knew being referred to as royalty got Tony's fins stiff (it was why he did it, after all), especially because he thought the royal family should be abolished and their allowances ended. The Capitol disagreed, though, because there were some allies who would only deal with the royal family, even if they were only figureheads. "I don't know that I have paint red enough to do your fins justice," he offered in apology. Tony didn't seem to be in the mood to entertain his shenanigans, irritable and distracted as he was. "And you couldn't sit still that long anyway."

Tony huffed again, blowing more bubbles out of his gills. "If you'd let me gift you things, maybe I could finally get a proper mate-ship portrait."

Steve couldn't quite hold back a snort of amusement. Tony had been using the excuse of 'no one paints me pretty enough to send my portrait out to prospective beaus' since he'd come of age years ago. And Steve could admit, at least to himself, he wouldn't want to send the portrait off when he finished it either. He let out a huff and turned to spear another length of octopus arm and fling it into the abyss. "Did you see anything indicating a Glitter Fish had been here while you were down there?"

Tony paused briefly, a moment too long, even, so Steve turned just in time to watch the edges of anxiety smoothed into cool dismissiveness. He scoffed again, turning his gaze away. "Obviously not, because Glitter Fish don't exist. Humans wiped them out. Remember?"

Steve frowned in confusion. Usually Tony liked to banter with him. He saved his peevish responses for politicians. He twisted his trident in his hands carefully, then stiffened, realization nearly blinding him for a moment. "I didn't say Bucky lost his arm."

Tony's entire body went still, the only movement of his hair drifting in the ocean's current. His expression was frozen on his face, and if Steve were any other fish, he would have figured Tony was annoyed. But his eyes had gone just slightly rounder, and his jaw ticked as if he wanted to pull his bottom lip into his mouth nervously. "...Of course you did," he finally said, but he didn't make eye contact with him. "When you talked about his shoulder wound being dyed silver. As if that means anything. You said."

"I didn't say he lost an arm," Steve told him firmly. He watched the muscles in Tony's tail flex and immediately threw his trident down into the rock tine-first, pinning Tony's tail between two of them. "Why are you running from me?!"

Tony pulled at the trident frantically, but Steve wasn't one of the lead guards for nothing--the tines had buried several inches into the sharp stone. "Who said I'm running?" he babbled frantically, tugging at the trident wildly. "I just remembered. I have to be somewhere. Not here. I'm going to be late and you're going to be in trouble with the Capitol."

Steve reached out to grab the trident with one hand, shoving it down so it buried further into the rocks. Tony's fins fluttered uselessly as he howled in dismay, trying to flap his tail to escape blindly. "Were you the one who carried Bucky to an outcropping?"

"No, I was at the castle, I just got here," Tony answered frantically, jerking back and forth as he kept blindly tugging at the trident. "I need to go back now. Bye."

"Tony," Steve tried, scowling.

"Bye," Tony repeated, eyes round with terror.

Steve reached out to grab his arm, hook his fingers in the armor, but then his trident twisted, snapped, and he fell to the rocks with a yelp. He reached out, grabbing what he could, and buried his fingers in Tony's floaty tail fin, instinctively squishing it in his fist so Tony howled in dismay and pain. Steve opened his mouth to apologize, but before any words could pass his lips, a flash of blue light smashed into him, and all Steve knew was the pain of the sharp rocks of The Depths cutting into his back, slicing through his scales like they weren't there, an open wound immediately filled with blindingly painful salt from scalp to tailfin.

"Ow," he finally managed, which seemed like an understatement. His fresh blood adding to the old tang of the octopus's would make him attractive prey to many sea creatures. He needed to get a hold of himself. Get up. Swim away.

"Steve," Tony gasped, appearing in his blurry vision.

At least, Steve thought it was Tony. Tony didn't have a blue shimmer to his gold armor. His eyes were supposed to be brown, and they didn't glow. He wasn't a Deep Sea fish. Steve blinked slowly, sure he was dreaming, even as he whispered, "Glitter Fish?"

Tony looked like Steve had slapped him, reaching out to carefully pull him up off the rocks, and Steve made a sound that was pathetic even to his own ears as his flesh was pulled free of the stone, eyes rolling back as a fresh pulse of blood tinged the water red around him.

#ideas #stony #mermay

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applysome · 13 days ago

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Miles’s artist bio including snippets of interview from Easy Eye Sound:

So we’re getting a cover, most songs were recorded as live and whilst performing every night last winter, Miles was rehearsing his new songs in every second in between. What a man 💖

When Miles Kane walked into Easy Eye Sound for the first time in June 2024, he found two acoustic guitars and two notepads waiting at the Nashville studio's kitchen table. The British singer-songwriter was an established artist in the UK with five Top 20 albums of pocket-dynamite pop and psychedelic groove as well as two U.K. Number One LPs as half of The Last Shadow Puppets with Arctic Monkeys' Alex Turner. But Kane was rolling new dice here, a songwriting session with someone he had never met before: Easy Eye Sound founder and The Black Keys singer-guitarist Dan Auerbach.

Kane was "a fan boy," he admits. "I love the Keys. And I love Dan's solo albums," citing songs like "The Prowl" on 2009's Keep It Hid and "King Of A One-Horse Town" on 2017's Waiting On A Song. Auerbach says he only knew Kane "was 'the man' over in England, buddies with Alex." Yet Kane and Auerbach immediately bonded over mutual obsessions: power-chord pioneer Link Wray; the deep-cut corners of American soul and '60s British-pop history; the rippled frenzy of tremolo guitar, triggered with a Bigsby whammy bar. By the end of their first day together, the two strangers had written three perfect knockouts, joined at the table by Pat McLaughlin, a Nashville composer-producer invited by Auerbach.

All three songs are now on Sunlight In The Shadows – Kane's turning-point debut for the Easy Eye Sound label, produced by Auerbach and the hottest roots-and-raveup party you've had on your Victrola in many moons. "Sunlight In The Shadows" is the language of the Delta with a midnight-city tension.

"Everyone was like, 'Wow, there's a feeling here,'" Kane raves at a supersonic clip. He recalls "humming this surf-guitar riff" at one point as he and Auerbach were "both hitting an invisible whammy bar on our acoustics. I was like, 'God, this guy is like me. He gets it!'"

To Auerbach, Kane was "larger than life," a rock & roll zealot with mod-avenger cool. "I felt like I'm hanging out with a rock star," Auerbach says, laughing. "I wanted to make a record as raw and in your face as he is. But sexy too, with depth. I wanted to give Miles his Scott Walker moment," referring to the shadows and majesty on that singer's fabled '60s solo albums. "I didn't want to ignore that. It's a big part of who Miles is."

The result is an album that evokes the atomic transcendence of British-beat bands like The Who, The Move and The Action, the way they turned the lessons and inspirations on their favorite Atlantic and Chess singles into original guitar-and-vocal fire. "Dan and I love all that," Kane exclaims, "mixing T. Rex, Motown and The Easybeats. When we were chatting and sharing references, we were so similar in taste it was frightening."

Sunlight In The Shadows is also alive with the sound of the instant friendship born in that kitchen. Kane and Auerbach wrote the album's eleven original songs with contributions from McLaughlin, Daniel Tashian and The Black Keys drummer Patrick Carney. Auerbach sings backing vocals and plays on every track, part of the record's guitar army with Easy Eye regular Tom Bukovac, guitarist Nick Bockrath of Cage The Elephant and Barrie Cadogan from British garage futurists Little Barrie.

"Never enough guitars," Auerbach cracks. "We had a whole mess of guitar players doing the most simple, interlocking parts, like a locomotive slowly getting going." Malcolm Catto – "A monster U.K. guy, one of the greatest beat drummers alive right now" – kept it all on the rails. The recording sessions which followed six months after that songwriting explosion took only three days. Kane, Auerbach and the band cut nearly everything in live takes, usually in the first or second pass – Kane's vocals included. "Before going into the sessions," Kane says, "I was touring the U.K.. I would sing these songs every day, between shows, so when we were doing them with the band, I wasn't thinking, 'What's the melody or lyric here?' Recording the album was like fight night," he notes. "But what you do in fight camp is just as important."

Sunlight In The Shadows was recorded so quickly that, with studio time left over on the final day, Auerbach suggested doing a cover: "Slow Death," a 1972 nugget by the Flamin' Groovies, slowing it down a hair and pumping up the swagger as if New Orleans funk master Allen Toussaint had produced it for Slade. Kane didn't know the song. Even so, "An hour later," he says brightly, "we laid it down."

"I don't know what it was," Auerbach says. "Miles and I got in the studio and it just made sense, right from the very jump." He points out that when Kane took a copy of Sunlight In The Shadows back to Britain after the sessions, "The first thing he did was play it for his mom, because he was so excited about it. That's the ultimate, man."

"All roads, over 20 years, have led here," Kane says of Sunlight In The Shadows. Born in The Wirral, across the River Mersey from Liverpool, he was 18 when he joined his first band, The Little Flames in 2004, touring with Arctic Monkeys and The Coral (whose founding members include Kane's cousins James and Ian Skelly). Kane stepped forward in his next band, becoming the singer, lead guitarist and main writer of The Rascals. Another tour with Arctic Monkeys led to Kane and Turner working on song ideas backstage, then at a studio in France where they made The Last Shadow Puppets' 2008 debut, The Age of the Understatement, in two weeks.

Kane says that "when me and Alex were doing the first Puppets album, we'd go to each other's mum's house, sit in the bedroom and there'd be acoustics and notepads. The way it was set up in that kitchen, at Easy Eye, it took me back to that place, how it all started."

Auerbach made sure the guitars were up to the challenge, The explosive break in the middle of "Blue Skies" – a bolt of vicious string-bending and feedback harmonics – is played by Bukovac, a longtime running buddy of Auerbach and The Black Keys, originally from Cleveland. "I had that one opening on that song," Auerbach explains. "I was like, 'Tom, I need you. Come represent for Ohio.' That solo is all Northeast Ohio."

"This record was incredible to make," Auerbach declares, "from start to finish. I felt like I gained a life-long friend in Miles. And that doesn't always happen. When it does, it's amazing. This is an artist who could potentially make records forever."

But Sunlight In The Shadows is an album cut live in the studio to be performed live on stage. "I want to go out there and show everyone how good this record is,” Miles exclaims.” Because it really is.”

#if only I had Miles’s work ethic #can’t wait to hear the whole album #and hear it all live #miles kane #sunlight in the shadows #sits era

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