#but i cannot look at it for another second

[kissedsuns]

♥︎ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆, lando norris

fem!reader. minimal suggestive behaviour. pet names. lots of fluff. established relationship. kissing. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist.

as many know, lando norris is quite the busy man, professional when required yet terribly unorganised, his tight schedule allowing him to pardon his tragic mess of a house when he simply cannot tend to it. lando is also known to have one of the sweetest girlfriends to walk this earth, which would obviously be you.

he loves you, that much he is most certain of— lando is very much aware of your feelings for him, that you love being able to look after him, you’re his angel, the girl of his dreams...

but sometimes, he feels terrible that you have to come to his home and maneuver through all of his clothes shamelessly tossed onto the floor, or several boxes cluttering up the space of his bedroom. they were already unboxed, but lando hadn't the time of day to rid his house of such a mess.

he was embarrassed. his lifestyle is far too chaotic to be meshing with yours.

he was about to head off to austria for yet another race weekend, and you intended to stay at his place instead.

even when lando mumbled a honeyed “it’s no fun without you.” into your hair, you reluctantly turned him down; usually not one to refuse him of anything when he looked at you with that specific softened green colouring in his eyes.

“you’ll be stuck here in this shithole. do you seriously want that?”

“lando, i already told you,” you caressed his cheek softly, legs dangling off the side of the bed where the two of you were perched. your foot would occasionally brush the side of one of his gaming consoles that were thrown onto the floor. “i don’t care about the mess. it’s okay.”

to lando, you were the most understanding girl in the world.

“alright, alright, sweet thing,” he planted two soft kisses to each of your rosy, flushed cheeks. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

on his way out, luggage in hand, you swatted his ass cheekily, earning one of his hilariously girlish yelps.

with him gone, it gave you an ample amount of time to relax.

you managed to spend the rest of the afternoon pampering yourself with a face mask, a bubble bath, and a fresh coat of nail polish in a dreamy shade of pink.

as the evening rolled around you found yourself sprawled across his bed, lounging in a matching pyjama set paired with your favourite fluffy socks. lying on your stomach with your legs kicking in the air, you flipped through a glossy magazine brimming with juicy, but unnecessary, celebrity gossip.

it was peaceful, until your mind began to wander. your eyes trailed across the room, really taking in just how cluttered your boyfriend’s space had become.

you knew he wasn’t a messy guy; in fact, he couldn’t stand hoarding or unnecessary chaos. if only he had someone to tidy it all up for him.

oh, if only.

the thought lingered in your mind as you assessed state of the room. you loved cleaning, keeping things neat and organised was practically second nature to you. but lando would never expect, let alone rely on you to tidy up his space.

still, the longer you observed the mess, the stronger the urge to help grew.

so, that is precisely what you did when you scrambled to sit up and set the magazine aside.

you got busy, plugging in your airpods as you gathered lando’s scattered clothes and tossed them into the washing machine. once that was sorted, you tackled the empty cardboard boxes, discarding them properly and clearing up some much-needed space.

junk was removed from his gaming setup, his helmet display shelf was dusted and reorganised to the way it was (before it got a little crowded and lando forgot to take care of it), and finally, his apartment looked a little more cozy.

it would be a few nights without him, which you didn’t mind. it just gave you more of an opportunity to do some harmless decorating!

you took that time to slip away to a lovely flower shop and couldn’t resist picking up a few bouquets of tulips, creamy white roses, and some lilies too. you arranged them in mismatched glass vases, placing one on the dining table, another on the coffee table, and a smaller one on his nightstand.

you also thought his bathroom looked a tad bland, and lando knew it too, so what better way to fix the problem than a little scrubbing up?

you also couldn’t help but notice his bathroom looked a bit plain, and you knew lando thought it too, son what better excuse to freshen it up than with a little scrubbing?

the sink and mirror was left spotless, his scattered toiletries were neatly grouped on a tray (which you made sure to clean as well), and you borrowed a sweet, vanilla candle from the living room to set on the counter.

you stepped back to admire your work, adding a few final touches with a proud smile on your face.

there were only a few days left until lando came home, and you kept yourself busy, finding little things to do and spaces to tidy up.

you were just lounging on the couch, the sun finally setting, just minding your business watching some girly series in a small cami and lacy shorts that you could never see yourself watching with your boyfriend.

you didn’t make any attempt to move as you heard the front door lock click and the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards the living room.

sock-covered feet pad along the hardwood floors when you finally heard the lock of the front door turning. lando was home later than usual— a fact you were entirely too aware of since you were impatiently waiting for him to return.

usually, you’d stir awake to him smearing kisses all over your face and mumbling sweetened words about how much he missed you over the race weekend, but now it was your turn to give him a little surprise.

“baby, i’m home, hellooo?” he sang, grinning from ear to ear.

you were not exactly sure how to approach him, hesitant in your movements before you saw him in front of you in all his glory.  

“hi,” your voice was meek, careful not to startle him too much in his vulnerable, barely functioning state.

lando was in the process of mindlessly kicking off his shoes when he looked up; a tired smile tugging at his lips when you practically tumbled into his arms.

you mumbled something to him which was muffled against his chest when he rested his big hands on your hips in an attempt to steady you.  

“hey, princess,” he murmured into you hair. “did ya get up to much?” he reluctantly pulled away in order to look at you properly.

“you tell me.”

his brows climbed his forehead, moony eyes staring down at you in bewilderment before being ushered towards the bedroom. it took him a minute to take in his surroundings, but when he noticed the lack of dirty socks and a lot of open space to walk around in, his face lit up.

“i just wanted to keep myself occupied while you were away,” she says bashfully, almost as if waiting for his approval.

“you did this? all by yourself?”

you nodded, looking up at him with pure adoration swimming in your eyes. 

“you’re so fucking perfect, baby. i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but you’ve turned my place into a goddamn dream.” he couldn’t help his mouth from twisting upwards at the way your eyes rounded out in response to his words. 

“you’re just saying that,” you dismissed him with a playful scoff. 

“m’being so, so serious. look at this—look at you. you didn’t have to do any of this, but you did. you always do. god, how’d i get so damn lucky?” he swooned, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek; overwhelming you to no end. 

his gaze sweeped over every detail, from the flowers to the perfectly fluffed pillows on the bed.

“sooo, i take it that you like it?”  

he let out a sigh. “sooo, you’re really askin’ me that?”

a giggle escaped your lips, head lolling slightly, “just had to be sure… do you?”

with a roll of his eyes, he quickly closed the gap between you, giving you a kiss so casual and natural, it made your lashes flutter rapidly. sticky gloss transferred onto his mouth that he didn’t even bother to wipe away.

you pull back slowly, breathless smiles on both their lips. you wanted to linger there together, wanted to stay in their own little bubble.

“does that answer your question?”

but with his lips on yours, in that moment, it didn't matter to you in the slightest.

you cheekily yanked him back in for another kiss, giving his fluffy curls a little tug. you felt him smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his room getting messy again ... your clothes scattered across the floor as he hoisted you up and practically threw you onto the bed, completely ruining the freshly made bedding!

all that hard work for him to just make his room and you all messy again?

but with his lips on yours, none of that mattered in the slightest.

©KISSEDSUNS 2024.

[jjkbambi]

is it new years yet? luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! you run into ex-boyfriend!luigi mangione at a nye party! smut!

warnings: fratboy!luigi, darkfic (very much implied he slips something in ur drink), cnc?, long fic, mentions of calvin harris music, inspired by the fact that he had to nominate himself to win this category

the new year was meant to feel different.

yet, the doors at phi kappa psi open for you and a chances of anything more seems to slim. a record number of beer cans trashed in the hallway, the kitchen buried in chaos, and the overwhelming stench of beer clings to the air, impossible to ignore. you were surprised at how easily they’d let you enter—the bouncer was known for being a bit mean, strict on names and IDS and ages and sorority associations, yet one short smile was enough to get you and your best friend, lacy, into their annual new years eve party.

there wasn’t a second break from avicii or calvin harris, the crowd bouncing with red solo cups in hand. about a dozen of drinks were spilled on you already, and you were sure this was an indicator of a good night.

“is that him?” your friend’s nudge proves your prophecy wrong. your stomach drops immediately as you turn to the direction she was staring in—and yes, there he was, shirtless and six-packed on new year’s eve, surrounded by his pack of fraternity brothers.

the world suddenly feels so much smaller. you turn quickly. “lacy, he cannot see me.”

“have you spoken since the breakup?”

“if i had, id be in classier heels,” you retort, shaking your head.

you show her the reason you’ve been off your phone so much recently. about 34 days since you’ve seen each other in person, and a stunning 78 texts and 29 missed calls left in lieu of a breakup conversation. it honestly felt like too little an amount considering how long you’d been dating, but perhaps that was the least of your relationship problems, seeing as though you’d caught him making out with another girl at a football game.

she groans. “why’d we have to come to this house?”

“free entry? fireworks?” you come up with a lie that’ll make the both of you feel better. “i honestly don’t think we’ll run into each other. it’s such a big place.”

“he’s walking over here.”

“aaand we’re moving,” you sing, dragging her into the crowd of calvin harris enjoyers. for two hours, slipping in and out of the chaos seemed to be a surefire solution in avoiding your ex-boyfriend. that is, until you turn and suddenly your best friend isn’t there. you stiffen immediately, backing into the kitchen. in that step back, you bump shoulders.

“y/n,” an all too familiar voice says.

oh for fucks sake.

you smile tightly at the sight of luigi, trying not to make this already awkward situation more awkward. he looks different than he did the last time you’d seen him. his usually short hair had grown out longer, his beard more prominent. he looks… grown.

“hey!” you say, attempting to make a swift getaway. “happy new year, man!”

“get back here.” he grabs your wrist, pulling you right back to him. “what’re you doing?”

“it’s new years!”

“what are you doing here? wearing that?”

you smile, feigning innocence. “getting a re-fill!”

luigi’s eyes were dark and his grip firm. your air of innocence is almost completely defeated at his warmth, his body leaning into you, intent. “i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

no, you can’t do it. this was gonna be a new year for you. no setbacks, no cheating ex-boyfriends.

“i’m surprised you even noticed, with all your other distractions.”

luigi’s head tilts. “what does that mean?”

“you know what it means.” you pull away from him with as much force as possible. “seriously, lu, it’s over.”

“no, it’s not.” he argues. you shake your head as you walk away. “y/n, we’ve got to talk about this—“

“just leave me alone!” you leap out of the kitchen as soon as opportunity arrives, and pour the entirety of what’s left of your cup into your mouth. the wicked sting of alcohol had never been so relieving.

minutes pass but the sound of avicii is constant. phi kappa psi has promised fireworks and began to gather in the backyard and you want nothing more than to join in on the party—but lacy. your best friend. you need to find her. the recovery mission begins with a stumble down the hallway and a headache. it’s more than a headache, it all of a sudden feels like you reallyreallyreally need to take a nap.

“hey, hey, i’ve got you,” it’s luigi again. you can tell by his warmth and his scent and the way he grabs your hand. “where are you going?”

“lacy.”

he takes the drink out of your hand, then lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck. and suddenly, the warmth of his body isn’t so intimidating anymore. “that’s not my name.”

“i know.”

he leans in closer. “come on then, what’s my name?”

“lu,” you murmur. “i need to go.”

“you’re not going anywhere.” luigi promises you.

within a second, his lips are on yours, and suddenly his warmth is everywhere. you whimper into the kiss, trying to spell out protest but you’re too weak. “relax for me,” he tells you.

you were entirely too relaxed. any reasonable part of you wouldn’t allow for him to be this close. but before you can stop him, his hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate him, and you gasped at the feel of his length pressing against you. he’s so hard.

“i love this dress on you,” he murmurs.

desperate, you try to push, “no, no, we need to find—”

“we’re taking care of her, too, baby, don’t worry.”

you squirmed underneath his touch, which only made the friction hotter. “what?”

he doesn’t care to tell you anything more grinding into your resistance mercilessly as his hands clamp around your hips, rocking your body back and forth on his thigh.

“you’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, you know,” he grumbles into the kiss, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle in your core. every kiss he gave you was hungry and heated, and you gasp when he goes to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “walking around my house dressed like a fuckin’ slut. got me all worked up in front of everyone.”

you despise the helplessness that washes over you as he holds you down. tears sting at your eyes as you beg, “lu, stop.”

“pull your dress up,” he orders, drinking in your scent. his scruff scratches your skin.

“no.” you shake your head again, though his kisses are persistent. “luigi, we can’t.“

“you’re right,” luigi agrees, chuckling into another kiss. “i’m not fuckin’ sharing you.”

his lips don’t leave yours—theyre all over your lips, your cheeks, your neck, your tits—as he carries you into the nearest room, and you’re too lost in the moment to notice whether it’s his own. your dress hits the floor and his hands are all over your nude. the mix of confusion and pleasure leaves you breathless. before you can process it, you’re on the bed with your ex-boyfriend on top of you.

“you know how many other guys were looking at you tonight?” he growls as he flips you over. “swear ill fucking kill them”

he was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made luigi laugh. a choked gasp left you, and your mouth was soundlessly parted as he started to thrust into you, hips snapping against yours every time.

“fuckin’ knew it,” lu groans. your teeth sink into your lips as you tremble underneath him, his hard length relentless in its assault. “knew you’d take it f’me like this, yeah? like a good fuckin’ girl.”

the bed shook beneath you as he pounded into you. he goes to bite your neck, his curls tickling your skin. he feels so good, but the weight of how wrong it is lingers in every touch. “lu,” you moan.

“what?” he says, smug. “what d’ya wanna say?”

“it hurts,” you whine.

”i don’t care,” luigi says in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “you know how fuckin’ long it’s been since ive had you? no, you’ve got no clue. drove myself crazy thinking i’d never have this pretty pussy again.”

“it’s your fault—“

“shut the fuck up.” his hand comes down hard on your ass and a whimper slips from your lips. he growls low, feeling how tight you’re holding him. “you’re mine,” he grunts. “don’t you ever forget that.”

“luigi, wait,” you moan, your mind going blank. it’s too much—wrong in every way, yet too good to resist.

you feel him smirk against your neck. despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length as a flood gushes from your trembling core. he chuckles darkly, mocking your resistance. “can’t take it? too much?”

“lu, please.” your voice was embarrassingly breathless. he goes faster, which felt entirely impossible.

he must’ve heard the plea this time, because he doubled his efforts. he picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand went to massage your clit. you could hardly breathe.

“so good,” he groans. “be a good girl and cum for me, princess. all over me, come on.”

“please,” you whimper again. you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but it hardly mattered. the most devastating orgasm of your life was building deep within you, an unstoppable force growing stronger with every moment—and you were desperate to chase it.

“you’re all fucking mine,” he laments. “i wanna hear you say it.”

you couldn’t possibly. your mind goes blank as he ruts into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the room and almost drowning out the sound of the new year celebration.

“tell me what i wanna hear.” he demands.

“yours,” you mewl.

“good girl.” he bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. he fucks you harder, faster, slamming into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave a mark inside you.

you couldn’t take it anymore. your pride snaps inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating his massive cock in your cunt. pleasure consumes you until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. he groans at the sight of your orgasm, his cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

luigi grumbled a soft, “fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock deep into your still pulsing cunt as he came. he let out a long moan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

“i’m so glad you came around, so glad,” he murmurs, turning you over to kiss you over and over and over again. “i love you, baby, you know that, right?”

the day after

[phantomrose96]

(A Breach of Trust)

[I am putting the rest of the ask under a ReadMore because it IS long [and now super-long with my responses added] but I am biting and chewing this ask I am biting everything it has to say I love this ask I have things to say]

But yes responding to this first chunk! First THANK YOU second I loved writing just the inherent comedy of each chapter being like "[Scene 1] Ritsu spitting blood: I have to save my brother. He's dying. [Scene 2] *Happy domestic montage of Mob petting a kitten and maybe drinking some hot chocolate*" It was a great way to keep some emotional balance in each chapter and also. Funny.

I was crawling the wallllls getting to the makeshift reveal. I think it was about 5 years between coming up with it and getting to the reveal. So I just had to bite my tongue and dodge any suspicion in Makeshift's direction leveraged in the ABoT discord (ABoT discord! BTW! If you want)

I ended up making this to channel the energy somewhere

[Rest of ask under the cut!]

i was nervous for a hot second early on (around when reigen first takes mob in) that it was gonna be the kind of story that would get frustrating because "oh if the characters literally just told each other anything it would all be fine" but i didn't end up feeling that way at all? like yeah a lot of the plot relies on characters not knowing things and technically a lot could have been solved if idk all the characters decided to meet up and sit in a circle to politely explain everything to each other but it never feels like that should happen. even besides them all generally having reasons for lying or not explaining things or not talking to each other it's like. all their decisions feel very natural even when they're bad or unreasonable, and also crucially when the characters do learn things or w/e it usually doesn't fix things (ie when reigen learns mob's real identity and tells mob the truth and it kind of fixes some problems but also adds a host of new ones). in general despite it being a story that hinges on all the characters making bad decisions it rarely gets aggravating bc all the choices they make are understandable and make sense for them -- it doesn't feel like anything is happening simply because the plot demands it. everything is constantly getting worse but that's because the characters are making it worse it's not just Happening. and then the characters have to confront and deal with the consequences of all their actions and learn from them and it's very satisfying

YEAH!!! YEAH YOU GET IT!!!!!!

It is VERY important to me that the story in ABoT is character-driven. There should virtually be no "it happened because the plot demanded it." If it happened, it happened because a character's choice caused it. And if a character made a choice, it was due to their own motivations and not because the plot demanded it.

So, YES, there is this scenario where so much of what is happening comes as the result of each character having, at most, a 20% understanding of what's going on. But the withholding of information, CRITICALLY, cannot be because of Idiot Plot reasons.

Reigen "could" just ring up the Kageyama's and send Mob home, cutting short the first like 2/3 of his and Mob's arc. But he doesn't. And not because he's an idiot. He tried. Mob freaked out. And that was a good enough reason to just delay this until tomorrow, surely. But we watch as Reigen gets to experience was feels like genuine accomplishment, genuine joy, genuine meaning, by helping this kid experience life again. From the very start that's what Reigen wanted--to feel like he mattered. At the beginning this is what drives him to take up the Tetsugami case, despite knowing it can get him killed. (Because maybe Reigen can do something, this time. It's not just another doomed marriage or unsolvable missing person. Maybe he can make a difference. Maybe he can matter.)

And it manifests in what looks like heroics, but in the case with Mob, it drives Reigen to stall... more and more. He knows on some fundamental level it's wrong to be keeping Mob this long, but he can justify it in how this IS what Mob wanted.

And the same extends to the other characters... Tetsuo doesn't tell Reigen about Shigeo Kageyama's link to the Mogami case because he can't bear to admit HE was probably Shigeo's captor. Mob keeps secrets about Mogami because Mob knows he "killed" Reigen's "friend." Ritsu withholds information because it's the only power he has, and giving up information allows other people to stop him. Gimcrack and Slipshod keep quiet about Mob's location because their free lunch would end if they told.

And when these characters make bad decisions instead, it is CRITICALLY important to me that those decisions were the organic result of that character's complexes, goals, misunderstandings, and absent information. It's a train wreck and God Dammit I do everything in my power to ensure each character is their own conductor.

and the Themes. okay first of all i am a huge fan of stories that are like "no, heroic sacrifices are Not the answer, please stay alive so you can actually get better and fix your mistakes and be there for the people you care about", so obviously i adored that. i loved reigen confronting ritsu about this and urging him to stay alive, and i'm also obsessed with how reigen immediately Does Not Take His Own Advice. reigen's self-sacrifice plan makes a lot of sense with his character and given the circumstances it's definitely understandable why he and teru would be willing, however reluctantly, to resort to that, but of course it's not that actual solution because that's the whole point. (shout out to mogami being the one to save him. congrats on accidentally doing one (1) good thing.) reigen, ritsu, mob irt to being imprisoned rather than death -- none of them can just sacrifice themselves and expect that to fix everything and everyone to be fine without them, because that's not how this works. (also i can't wait to see ritsu inevitably be pissed at reigen about him trying to do exactly what he talked ritsu out of and reigen having no excuse except "yes i know, i am a hypocrite, please do as i say not as i do.") the story is dark but it's also so full of hope -- you can live, you can heal, you can move forward from all of this, no matter what you've done or what's happened to you.

YES!!! ANOTHER RESOUNDING YES!!!!

I've talked in the ABoT discord about how Reigen's sacrifice didn't work because it couldn't work. Because, if Reigen intentionally killed himself in order to end Mogami too, and Mob was saved and went home, then that means you DO save what you care about by sacrificing yourself. Which would be fine in other stories, but not this one.

ABoT's message has pretty loudly been "you don't save things by sacrificing yourself. you save them by living long enough to fix what you've broken." And even when Reigen is the one SAYING this to Ritsu... he doesn't believe it for himself. And he does not get to get away with not believing it for himself.

In earlier planning stages of the Reigen sacrifice scene, my plan was to have Reigen's knife slip before he could slice his throat (palms sweaty, grip slipped, parallel to what happened in the struggle-for-the-knife in the original chapter 8 Reigen-vs-Tetsugami scene).

But I thought about that and I said "No, actually." If Reigen fails because his palm slips, that suggests this COULD have succeeded, and Reigen just botched it is all.

So instead, the scorching fire around them (the blaze Reigen set) has dehydrated him to the point that his sweating has stopped. He is salty dusty skin and dry lips and his grip on the knife handle is perfect (anti-parallel to the first struggle for the knife scene). His execution is perfect. Reigen sacrifices himself perfectly.

...And then it's Mogami, who is well-practiced at controlling a maimed possessed body, who snatches back control and cauterizes the wound shut. Mogami (the antagonist of this story) cannot be defeated by self-sacrifice.

There is no "if only Reigen did it right" ambiguity. There is an absolute statement about where the themes stand.

(And yes, I'm sure Ritsu will have only positive emotions about what Reigen tried to do once this is made clear to him. :))

one of the other themes i found most interesting was the theme of lies and people trying to act like something they're not, and how that factors in to all the characters' stories. of course mogami is right there (and the parallels between him and reigen in how they both lie to mob for different reasons are super interesting) but i was particularly thinking a lot about reigen, teru, and ritsu and the different sorts of false lives they live -- reigen the con man playing the part of the confident, powerful psychic, constantly lying about his abilities and his accomplishments; teru keeping up the appearance of being totally in control and untouchable, surrounding himself with friends he can't stand and a girlfriend he doesn't care about; ritsu trying to maintain his reputation as the perfect, model student and constructing increasingly elaborate lies to convince his parents that he's doing fine.

i was thinking especially abt the parallels between reigen and teru -- their identities as liars are both emphasized, literally having teru saying "i was lying. i lied to you. i'm a liar" and reigen saying "i lied to you. i've been lying the whole time. i'm a liar" in the same chapter. both of them have grown accustomed to being alone and having a life that's more an expertly crafted facade than anything with substance, but both find in their respective kageyama brothers someone who they genuinely care about -- and they both doom these relationships from the beginning because they can't let go of the facade they're used to keeping up and their desire to feel important/superior. teru continues to be the same smug, uncaring asshole he's designed himself to be even after he starts to see ritsu as a friend, and because of this ritsu remains antagonistic towards and distrusting of him; reigen pretends to be the "21st century's greatest psychic" with mob even when he's starting to care about mob and want him as a permanent fixture in his life, causing things to fall apart when he reveals the truth. they both say the right things to point mob/ritsu in the right direction, but the way they act does the opposite: teru tells ritsu the dangers of what he's doing and reigen tells mob that they should call his family or the police, but at the end of the day, no matter their good intentions, teru likes feeling superior to ritsu and reigen likes having mob depend on him, and so they're not actually going to do anything that would upset that balance. (and, of course, they reassure themselves with the knowledge that it's not their fault, ritsu and mob just won't listen to them! which isn't technically untrue, but nonetheless frames the situation in a way that ignores their own role in it.)

Aaaaaaaaaaaa honestly I don't even think I have anything to add here because your analysis is already so 🤌🤌🤌. They are Liars they are Liars living through a Mask they are Liars who Say one thing and Do another they are Liars who convince themselves this Lie is fine.

all the characters are so good but my favorite has to be ritsu his whole storyline is fantastic. from the start i was enjoying the fic a lot but it was when it started to really get into ritsu's story and his whole deal that i started being like "oh yeah this is the good shit." seeing him go further and further down his self-destructive spiral, constantly digging himself deeper as he hurts himself and the people around him more and more, is so fascinating and painful. and then seeing him get better and start actually wanting to live as he talks to reigen and later teru! and then in the confrontation with mogami when he decides once and for all that he wants to live and remember and try to find a way to fix his mistakes rather than forgetting them or giving in to them! just. he is thirteen years old and he just has all this rage and grief that he's been holding onto and repressing for so long and he finally gets the chance to do something with it, something he can do to find his brother at the low low price of bleeding himself dry, and so he throws himself into that, tearing himself to pieces and not caring who else gets hurt in the process, until he reaches rock bottom, what should be the point of no return -- but it isn't, because teru saves him, because reigen convinces him to try to stay alive, because mob is waiting for him, because he has people who care about him and he's just a desperate, hurting kid and no matter how badly he's fucked up he can still come back from it. just Such a compelling and painful and beautiful character arc

Thank you for stating exactly the reason I loved writing Ritsu's arc so much 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺❤️

When I was about 13, I got really into Naruto and I really liked Sasuke's character. Even seeing him now makes some inner part of me point and go "It's Sasuke!" Brooding, stoic, over-achieving, entrenched in family trauma, is swayed over to the darkside because of the rage and grief he's been sitting on.

And because it's Ninja Fantasy World, Sasuke gets to do this and be really cool the whole time.

Ritsu is... actually just a 13-year-old, with psychic powers which he didn't even want after his brother vanished. He IS smart and he IS a model student and he IS powerful but... he's scared. He's scared, and he's 13. He NEEDS to be smarter than everyone (he's not, and he knows this, and it's scary) and more powerful than everyone (he's not, he knows, he's scared), because he knows that anyone with power over him can control him. And he's at his wit's end being controlled.

So he needs to be COMPLETELY in control and have COMPLETE power. And every instance that proves to him he's actually weak, actually clueless, actually being taken advantage of drives him to panic.

And he finds antagonism on all sides... Teru who loves to pick apart and mock Ritsu for every weakness he has. The spirit horde who eat him within an inch of his life. Isa trying to shut him down. His parents trying to control him.

No one is helping him with his grief... No one is finding his brother... No one is saving him... He does not want to keep living like this. And "no longer living" isn't even an option with how heavily his parents rely on him.

So what does he do. He's so alone. He doesn't have a single soul on his side. Every day is torment. ...And then he has this opportunity that shows up like "if you hurt yourself real bad, kill yourself doing it maybe, you can solve the very thing that ruined your life"

So of course he does it. He grabs onto it like a hot stove or a live wire because he's been wanting to hurt himself, and now he can do it in pursuit of the very thing which will save his brother and fix everything. The risk of dying isn't even a risk. It's an escape. He can do this and he can BECOME more powerful and he can GAIN control and he can USE and MANIPULATE whoever he wants (namely the people who've proven again and again they'll hold him down and force obedience out of him).

Of course he spirals. Of course he hurts people...

And then he finds rock-bottom. Teru chews him out and abandons him. Ritsu flips on Gimcrack and exorcises him out of paranoia (Teru turned on him, Gimcrack probably betrayed him too.) He NEARLY kills Reigen under that same absolute fit of paranoia and fear. ...And then he finds his brother. His brother. Alive.

And grabbing his brother shreds his hand. It does not fix him. It does not save him. It maims him.

And now Ritsu is nothing. Not powerful. Not in control. Not certain. He's someone who just hurts people. He's someone who destroys. He drives everyone away and they're RIGHT to leave him because of how horrible he's been. He can't save his brother, and his brother won't save him. ...So Ritsu wanders back to Reigen. The only person who seems to have a semblance of direction in this whole thing. Broken and beaten, Ritsu joins Reigen because he does not know what else to do.

But there is an up from rock-bottom. As much as Reigen and Ritsu are just The Worst to each other, it's actually that childishness in Reigen that starts to work on Ritsu... This is not a typical adult, using adult-speak and adult-authority to make Ritsu comply. Ritsu can't even fall into his typical masked-up behavior against an adult because Reigen is a fucking nuisance and an irritant and Ritsu, for all his "maturity", riles easily.

This is... really just Some Fucking Guy. A loser, at best. But it's someone Ritsu's brother cared about, and who Ritsu knows gave kindness to Mob where Ritsu couldn't. And it's someone who isn't forcing Ritsu to do anything. Reigen is, in fact, letting Ritsu make these decisions to change on his own. Teru comes back with an apology. Ritsu is staring at the chance to do better, and the chance for some future that doesn't involve killing himself.

And he gets to make that decision against Mogami.

And--here's the thing--Mogami was WITH Ritsu for so much of Ritsu's spiral. He knows what sort of kid Ritsu is. So he "knows" Ritsu will accept what Mogami has to offer...

But when "makeshift" vanished was exactly when Mogami got Mob back, aka exactly when Ritsu went to Reigen. Mogami did not get to see Ritsu's healing. So he got to be blindsided by Ritsu's ultimate decision.

and ritsu's dynamic with teru is just. so good i adored every single scene they had together. first of all they are so fucking funny. they're just these two psychic middle schoolers who both suck so bad and just cannot stop trying to murder each other on the soccer field and i love that for them. ritsu's terrible decision-making reaches new heights every day and teru's just standing there watching him and being right about everything in the most annoying way possible. literally the worsties ever <3

I have, consistently, referred to them as "the two worst middle schoolers ever". Like "you're a horde ghost and you're stuck doing the bidding of the two worst middle schoolers ever."

With huge consistency, the scenes I find funniest end up being Ritsu Teru scenes. Because they are, in fact, The Worst.

but more importantly on a serious note i am obsessed with the complicated mess that is their relationship and the way it and the reader's perception of it change as the story goes on. when they first meet things are seemingly pretty straightforward (mostly. i have thoughts which i will talk abt in a second): teru is the one causing the conflict between them by being shitty, and ritsu's just responding to it relatively reasonably. ritsu's the protagonist, the good guy, whereas teru is a morally gray asshole. them working together is a matter of necessity, with ritsu only going along with it because he needs teru's skill and power on his side and teru presumably having his own secret, self-serving motivations. standard stuff; we all know how this goes.

except then the story keeps going, and it gradually becomes apparent that things are far from this simple. it slowly becomes clear that despite teru's arrogance and callousness, he does have ethical standards and lines he won't cross -- whereas ritsu gets more and more unfettered as time goes on. it also gradually becomes obvious that teru does genuinely care about ritsu and see him as a friend (probably the closest thing to a genuine friend teru has), even if teru himself is pretty shitty at being a friend -- leading to the incredibly striking moment when ritsu himself realizes this, and his main takeaway is just that he has power over teru. by the time they have their second soccer field fight, teru has proven himself the more morally upstanding one, which is pretty wild considering the first thing we ever see him do is beat the shit out of a near-defenseless thirteen-year-old for annoying him. of course, he still isn't supposed to be fully in the right -- one thing i really appreciated about the story in general was that the conflicts between characters are rarely as simple as "this character was Right and this one was Wrong," but rather a matter of all the characters making mistakes at one time or another and then having to deal with the consequences and make amends. ritsu and teru's relationship is a prime example of that with how "ritsu made his own decisions and those decisions were Very Bad" and "teru treated ritsu poorly and never actually did the work to make himself someone ritsu could actually trust or would want to listen to" are facts that coexist and both get addressed. the second fight is a masterpiece of a scene in basically every way, but one of my favorite aspects is how teru is desperately trying to reach out to ritsu but is hit with the truth that it's too late for that, that he should have been doing this the whole time, that all this is partially his fault. and in this scene, he fully accepts that, gives in and decides that ritsu is right: it's too late to make amends, it's too late to save ritsu. but it doesn't end there, because this is not a story in which things are simply unfixable, and so instead teru comes back, decides to make the hard choice and try to fix things instead of turning his back on ritsu for good. during the fight, teru says he wants to help ritsu, to sacrifice for him, and ritsu scoffs at him and rejects the idea -- but then teru actually does it. he puts his money where his mouth is and reaches out to ritsu and offers his own psychic energy to save ritsu's life, along with apologizing to him and offering his help to find mob. like i dunno what else to say that's not just summarizing every scene they have together but god i love their dynamic and its arc. i really hope they manage to become actual friends now because god knows they could both use more (read: any) of those. the text exchange they have at the end of the most recent chapter is delightful i love that they bond by insulting reigen i think that's great for them.

Yes yes yes yesssss. It definitely felt like the most ambitious thing early on in ABoT, where I had early-story Ritsu and early-story Teru, and I wanted, somehow, to pull off "they basically swap moral grounds by their second fight."

It's easy enough to just SAY "Ritsu spirals and does progressively worse things. Teru starts to take objection to these more and more until he's the one who thinks this whole thing has gone too far."

And, harkening back to earlier, this kind of plotline has to be deeply rooted in their characters. There is no "Ritsu becomes evil just because" and there is no "Teru becomes good just because."

So they needed to be consistent in their own characters, but evolving under the pressures of the story. Ritsu I talked a lot about early up, how deeply he fears not having control, how much repressed frustration he has over the ways everyone in his life has failed him. And he's never allowed to speak up, or god forbid lash out, because it is his JOB to be the surviving child. Perfect, mature, composed.

Ritsu takes this WILD leap into something insanely dangerous which he has no understanding of, nor power in. Teru IS his first big painful wake-up call with how summarily Teru curbstomps him. Ritsu goes home desperately wanting to quit.

He pushes through it, afraid and knowing he has so little power and control. Then there's Teru, exacerbating this. Because he loves to point out how weak, clueless, and not in control Ritsu is. He jabs and he teases and he chews Ritsu out and he knocks Ritsu down because Teru cannot pass up the chance to prove he's better.

So... of course Ritsu eats up the first opportunity he's given to improve his power over Teru. Gimcrack offers to train him--Gimcrack who's far more supportive of Ritsu than Teru ever is--so of course Ritsu accepts. Every single tick of power in Ritsu's direction is security. And Ritsu is consistently rewarded. He learns to manipulate, and it rewards him with control. He pushes Teru away and it rewards him with independence. He lets the whole horde possess him and it rewards him with power.

And then there's Mezato in all this, threatening to rip away his control. But he can beat that out easily with possession. And if he possesses people, why should he care? Possession feels nice, to him. That's not even a fraction of a fraction of the pain he's been through. He can do this to other people, because possession is POWER.

And, ahhh, possession was such a great thematic vehicle to spin the Ritsu-Teru face-heel-heel-face turn around.

The first cracks we see in Teru's demeanor are all, subtly or not, around possession. When Ritsu almost blasts the possessed woman (Ritsu, panicked, uncertain how to handle things) Teru tackles him and screams at him. (Killing a possessed woman? Teru oh Teru why might that terrify you?)

So Teru DOES have morals. He does have limits. But of course, his first exercise of this is tackling and SCREAMING at Ritsu for fucking up. Just another tick mark in Ritsu's check list of feeling powerless and antagonized.

And the next time, when Ritsu offhandedly mentions he's had his parents possessed for the night while he and Teru were at the meat warehouse... well it's out of focus, since Ritsu is our POV character and he doesn't notice, but Teru freezes. Teru questions this. Teru, instead of letting Gimcrack phase him through the wall (and he was resistant to letting Gimcrack touch him to phase him in in the first place) Teru instead blasts a hole through the warehouse wall.

But... Teru has a plan. When Isa catches Ritsu in the call center, Teru confiscates Ritsu's spirits and (behind his back) blackmails them into never accepting a command from Ritsu to possess someone. (Teru is also a control-freak, and rather than try to talk to Ritsu directly about not possessing people, he just uses manipulation and threats to make it happen).

So now, Teru can relax, surely :). He invites Ritsu along for the movie. He's mocking and insufferable and cruel to Ritsu but, hey :), that's just Teru proving his place in the hierarchy. He... actually does want Ritsu there. He actually does help Ritsu (cauterizes his wound without asking). (It's still power-plays. Still power-plays all the way down which Ritsu hates.)

And Teru... incorrectly... starts to entertain this idea that Ritsu also thinks what they have is friendship. And after the ice cream thing, is when Ritsu leans into Gimcrack's offer to learn how to start being manipulative like Teru is.

So Teru notices NOTHING is wrong for a long time, because now Ritsu is faking it. He doesn't notice until it is much too late. And, frankly, it was ALWAYS too late for Teru to take the moral high road. And some part of Teru realizes this because what he sees in Ritsu, he realizes, is what it looked like to watch Teru from the outside. Teru was ALLOWED to be manipulative and horrible because Teru, himself, always knew he would stop before crossing a real moral line. (Not that Ritsu knew this.) And now he's staring at Ritsu, a true threat who won't listen to reason and who CANNOT reliably be expected to back down before a line is crossed.

And... to THROW this in Teru's face in the FORM of Ritsu letting every spirit from his own horde possess Ritsu during the fight, giving Ritsu the upper hand.

I always knew, for this second fight, the tables would need to be a lot more evenly matched, with Ritsu coming out ahead more often than not. But I also don't like "some character is morally questionable now, and for some reason that's made them stronger than the master character who pulverized them earlier."

But POSSESSION. The motif that all this conflict is hanging upon, used as a boon on Ritsu's side to smash Teru into the ground, to physically and MENTALLY rattle him to the point that he's lagging on Ritsu's attacks and incapable of subduing Ritsu until Teru puts aside his psychic powers all together...

AND JUST... Teru all the while being forced to realize he IS not blameless in this. That every horrible, callous remark he made to Ritsu was not directing Ritsu to the right path or proving himself cool and powerful. They were all instead only cementing Ritsu's hatred of him.

And Teru does not want to accept this at first. He wants to think he did the right thing, ultimately, and it was RITSU who rejected him. And this is where the scene with Slipshod comes into play. Slipshod, who is shown again and again being good at pressing people's buttons. Slipshod is the one bully bigger than Teru in all this, and behind his dumb demeanor is he really really good at knowing how to get a rise out of people. He does it to Reigen while possessing Mezato. He does it to Ritsu while possessing his mother. And he does it to Teru, for fun, because he loves to rub Teru's face in the mess he created.

Which, on the plus side, was the wake up call Teru needed to recognize how consistently horrible HE had been. How much of Ritsu's spiral (and now, imminent death) happened because Teru gleefully pushed him toward it.

Teru's one and only friend.

After Teru swore off friends and loved ones, because they can be used to hurt him.

So it is a big moment, and a big decision Teru makes, when he chooses Ritsu. chooses apologizing. chooses making himself vulnerable (VERY LITERALLY, with how the power transfusion drains Teru to nothing). Teru chooses to care.

And ultimately, it's not even that Teru went from the bad moralless one, to the moral one. He always had these morals. He had these uncrossable lines since day one. But he hid it behind his horrible antagonistic demeanor and the cracks did not come through until he realized he lost control of Ritsu. Teru's ACTUAL heel-face turn comes in him realizing how awful his demeanor was and making amends for that.

i'm actually not done talking about them though because it's finally time for that tangent about teru and ritsu's first fight on the soccer field now because i just reread it while writing that last section and it's so interesting actually. like okay, like i said before it does set teru up as the problem -- in that scene teru is very much the aggressor; he's being a complete asshole for no goddamn reason, with absolutely no compunctions about beating the crap out of some random kid, and ritsu is the scrappy underdog determined to fight back despite not really having the means to. but then there are the moments hinting at more complexity to teru -- him literally stopping the fight to teach ritsu to use his barrier, giving ritsu the makeup after the fight, and of course his decision to spare ritsu in the end. and then on ritsu's side, he almost actually kills teru -- the only reason he doesn't is that teru manages to break free. (awful awful au idea: ritsu actually does kill teru here. would that be fucked up or what) something that stood out to me when rereading it is that despite teru repeatedly saying he'll kill ritsu, and ritsu's internal monologue being very convinced that he's in mortal danger, teru's reaction to ritsu actually almost killing him -- "you really are trying to kill me. we're done", etc -- seems to imply that his threats were more him just talking a big game, expecting ritsu to give in and surrender eventually, and he didn't actually intend to kill him until ritsu gave him an actual reason to. especially interesting to me is the bit where teru asks ritsu if he really meant to kill him, because ritsu's narration and teru's actual actions are kind of at odds -- ritsu tells teru he meant to do it because he thinks him scaring teru is what's making teru hesitate, and that he needs to make teru think he's dangerous in order to get him to leave ritsu alone, but teru's actual response is the opposite, attacking ritsu more fiercely because "there's no reason for [him] to hold back". in general the scene very cleverly sets up the core difference between them: teru is pretty awful but does have firm moral standards, whereas ritsu is desperate and willing to do just about anything if he thinks it's the only option. also the parallels and contrasts with the second soccer field scene are excellent -- the role reversal with the strangling but also how when ritsu does it both the initial act of starting to strangle teru and the fact that he doesn't end up killing teru are both unintentional on ritsu's part, but when teru does it it's a very intentional choice both to do it and to not go through with it; "we're done" said by teru the first time when he's preparing to kill ritsu and then the second time after he's decided not to. have i mentioned that this fic is good because this fic is good. i'm running out of ways to say that

YES!!!!!! ANOTHER RESOUNDING YESYES YES.

I have slightly pre-emptively answered this question by mentioning it above but Teru demonstrates this hypocritical "rules for thee but not for me" because, internally, Teru knows HE will always stop before the line is crossed.

BUT RITSU DOES NOT KNOW THIS. THERE IS NO REASONABLE EXPECTATION FOR RITSU TO KNOW THIS.

So Ritsu, and we the audience, do NOT know this during the first soccer fight. Teru is going to kill Ritsu is a very reasonable conclusion to draw from the way Teru goes all out on Ritsu. Ritsu is terrified. Out of his depth. He's panicking. This kid is going to kill me and he has every reason to believe it.

We don't know, unless (like you) you look at the smaller details, that Teru is not intending to kill Ritsu. He's talking big. He's trying to force submission in Ritsu. He's not trying to kill.

But Ritsu does go for the kill. Because it is the single break he gets and it's perhaps his only chance to survive (he thinks), and he does, IN FACT go for the kill.

Teru breaks free and he does... even give Ritsu the chance to clarify if that was an intended kill-shot. Teru is giving the chance for Ritsu to essentially say "Sorry, accident, don't escalate to trying to kill me." But Ritsu misreads the room, like you point out, and this is when Teru gets serious.

Strangulation, in the first fight and in the last fight. Exactly as you say. Accidental, by Ritsu, the first time, and accidental in letting Teru live. Intentional, by Teru, the second time, and intentional in letting Ritsu live.

"WE'RE DONE" ECHOED. TWICE. In their first fight and their last. With entirely different meanings.

okay those were my big points but i also had a bunch of smaller thoughts so here's just. a list: - i just think it's really funny that teru saves ritsu by punching him in the chest with psychic power on not one but two occasions. literally their dynamic in a nutshell. (also. the way during the time at the mall ritsu responds by being like "did you cauterize me" really gets to me for some reason. he sounds so offended. like you can't just cauterize someone's wound maybe he liked bleeding all over the place you don't know!) (actually wait that thought is also very funny considering what happens with mogami and reigen later. you really can't just cauterize someone's wounds that's very rude. they worked hard to be that grievously injured) - okay so the burger scene. first of all generally a great scene second of all obviously it's a parallel to the scene with mob and the milk (reigen saying "have mine too" and all that) but also i love the parallels to the scene with isa in the coffee shop (also a great scene btw. have i mentioned this fic is good). they're both scenes in which ritsu has a loud emotional breakdown in a public restaurant (love that that happens twice. ritsu honey can you maybe not) with a major focus on ritsu's insistence on letting himself suffer and refusing any kindness he's shown, but they show ritsu at very different points in his story and have very different outcomes -- isa can't manage to get through to ritsu, but reigen can. ritsu refuses the croissant till the end, but he eats the burger. (sorry to add another side note but i love that that was a very serious sentence i just typed about a very emotional character arc.) also the symbolism in the fact that in the coffee shop scene, ritsu's explosion of psychic powers freezes and then spills his hot chocolate, rendering it undrinkable, but then in the burger scene when he blows up the ceiling the dust explicitly doesn't get on the food, so he can still eat it. good shit - i'm trying to avoid going through every single line or joke i liked one by one but i will say. the "this--" "reigen." "reigen" jokes were both incredibly funny on their own but the fact that they're like 30 chapters apart is what really kills me. the dedication. i saw the second one and was thinking "didn't that joke happen before. when was that. wait was that literally all the way back with tetsuo". countless plot events and several irl years may pass but reigen will never catch a break - the "FUCK OFF" tag reigen made being the one that they exorcise mogami with. perfect - love that ritsu is indirectly responsible for teru's girlfriend breaking up with him (good for mei honestly. sure teru wasn't actually cheating but his ass deserved to get dumped) and i like to imagine that teru never lets this fact go. he's not particularly upset about the breakup but he WILL bring up that ritsu ruined his relationship at every possible opportunity purely to annoy him

I THINK YOU MAY PERHAPS BE THE FIRST PERSON TO RECOGNIZE THE DOUBLE-CAUTERIZATION, and the intentional joke in Ritsu, the first time, declaring "Don’t… perform psychic medical procedures on me without my permission, okay?!" Like sorry bud, this is not the last unauthorized psychic medical cauterization Teru's gonna perform on you.

But not every unauthorized medical cauterization can be a win. Turns out when Mogami does it it's kinda mean >:(. But also necessary, for a not-dead Reigen, so actually thanks Mogami.

ABSOLUTELY THE "HAVE MINE TOO" INTENTIONAL PARALLEL BETWEEN THE MILK SCENE AND THE BURGER SCENE. I'm always glad when someone notices the repeat phrasing that ends both those scenes.

And aaghhhhh I could write a whole other essay about the symbolism that food plays with Ritsu's plotline, but in the smallest nutshell how it tends to represent someone reaching out with care and how often Ritsu rejects it. One public restaurant psychic outburst rendered the offered food unconsumable and the other one intentionally points out the way the food (burger) avoided the destruction :')

THANK YOU YES. "This--" "Reigen." "Reigen." as a repeat joke tickles me so much. Just Some Guy energy. Could've played the most pivotal role all night but he'll still end up somewhere next day where someone needs to figure out who he is. Reigen is here too, btw. His name is Reigen, btw.

Fuck Off tag was delightful... It started as an inside joke for a very early comic that @sandflakedraws drew (and then later redrew), of the (chapter 5 or 6) Reigen Tetsugami confrontation. The ineffective tag Reigen sticks to Tetsugami's cheek has, in katakana, "fuck off" written on it. Hilarious enough joke for me, years later, to incorporate it into the story.

Re: the girlfriend thing. I've joked before "if I had a nickel every time evil spirit possession was mistaken for an affair in ABoT I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice." But yeah, Ritsu, you asshole. You cost your bro his girlfriend.

i could just keep going but at this rate i'm going to be going back through the entire fic and just talking about every single scene so i should probably stop before this gets any longer. basically what i wanna say though is that the fic was very good, thank you for writing it, it has given me brainworms. once again i am so sorry for the length of this ask

THANK YOU!!! I think I just spent like 2 hours writing this response because, as you can see, I REALLY LIKE talking about this stuff haha!!

[pawpiefawn]

𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼, 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x reader 2.5k words five acts of love, where alhaitham loves you more with each. reupload + edited from my previous blog. thank u coco for reminding me :"

ask around the bustling hub of sumeru city, and the native dreamers would often describe being loved as something mesmerising and captivating. it is much like a kaleidoscope, twisting and turning enchantingly in hopes that the beads would fall perfectly in place, but it never always truly does; endearing and a lesson for the lovers all the same. the messy beads twirl and turn but there is just some reason why they can’t get enough of it.

the thinkers talk about love like an anchor dragging you further and deeper down into the depths of adoration and affection and infatuation; to them, there are often few clear differentiations between sinking into love and drowning in it.

but for alhaitham, however – love is natural, like the cycle of growth of the dainty flowers and wild grass beneath his feet. a swanlike, enchanting piece of music that flows from your violin’s bow – with the right person, it is as natural as breathing.

but for alhaitham, however – love is also... unnatural, given his lack of experience. he has adoring fans, he has scholars singing his praises and piles of handwritten letters from secret admirers commending his mind and aesthete – but he has never loved before, not until you.

the first act of love. listening, when nobody else will try to.

alhaitham is a wonderful listener. if you ask him, he’d say that he prefers listening, even – he is content to hear all that you have to say, however nonsensical or ridiculous you sound to others. the scribe’s work is simple, so he never truly minds – to sit quietly with a small smile on his face while you talk his ear off about anything and everything – that is what love is, you are sure.

“hey, i’m sorry.. this is just too much right now.” you know they use this as a replacement for you.

“could you tell me another time?” another time will never come.

“just keep quiet, archons! do you ever shut up?” no, i’m sorry. i probably should.

alhaitham watches from his office as your heart breaks with every unwilling individual, each choosing to walk away while you tore your heart out, still bleeding from your ribcage while laying the offering bare at their feet. how could a human being be so cruel? there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ – yet you believe you cannot make it speak because they do not choose to listen.

“...i believe you hadn’t quite finished your story from the last time we met.” he speaks plainly, eyes glistening – with pity or with eagerness is something you don’t wish to distinguish. let it be the same, lest the heartbreaking realisation that he is just like the others.

“you remember?” you ask cautiously. please do, i can’t bear to beg anyone anymore.

“i do. that day about your old neighbour’s dog escaping into your garden. you’re welcome to continue, if you’d like.”

he watches your eyes light up as you trip and stumble over your words, quietly surprised and eager to please. there is a soft feeling in his chest – a warm, weighing feeling nestled in his ribcage.

the second act of love. remembering, when it feels like no one else does.

it is no secret that alhaitham’s mind is incredible. highly intelligent, closely observant, adept at noticing discrepancies – any researcher would fight to have him take a spot on their team. he is good at remembering, you think to yourself – alhaitham remembers everything – the things you’d grovel at someone’s feet, to remember the slightest thing about you, for, and everything you wished the world forgot. him remembering everything is incredible – whether that be a good thing, or not; is another.

“when’s your birthday again?” your co-worker taps his fingers against his chin, looking through the sheet of office birthdays.

“it’s–”

“december 26th.” alhaitham walks past, not looking up from his notebook.

you and your co-worker stare in silence. he...

“yeah, december 26th...” you catch a glimpse of the silver-haired scribe around the corner. he remembered. even if it was just an offhand comment about how funny you found your birthday to be right after christmas. he remembered.

“huh.” your co-worker shrugs it off, noting it down on the list as if nothing happened.

something happened. you feel something warm blossoming in your chest – warm, comforting, lovely all the same. a tender, sweet feeling like the heavy blanket on a rainy day that attempts to capture your heart in your throat and keep it captive forever; there is so much you want to say to alhaitham. it’s nice that he remembers – out of all your friends ( was he a friend? ), who could confidently say the date without thinking twice?

“i believe those are nuts. if i recall correctly, aren’t you allergic?” the next time you see a glimpse of his silver hair, alhaitham peers into your bowl of noodles. nuts – how comical it is to think that such a small, minuscule digit could potentially cut off breathing for you.

“i thought i told them ... perhaps i didn’t.” you mumble, hurriedly spitting out half-chewed food into your tissue. you stare tiredly into your bowl – surely you remember letting the waiter know that you had an allergy.

“you did.”

before you could even turn your head to reply to his reassurance, alhaitham flags down the same, tired waiter. he trudges to your table, serving tray tucked between his arm and body.

“can i be of service?”

“excuse me, i believe we mentioned earlier that they couldn’t have nuts.” alhaitham stares at him in the eye, glancing briefly at your bowl with spat-out nuts beside it. the waiter grabs it, letting out a soft sigh of frustration.

“you are a service professional, are you not?” alhaitham interrupts the languid movement; yet he does not break the stare.

“sir, i am just a wa–”

“my apologies. are you are a paid member of this establishment?”

“i am.” the waiter nods in quiet submission. it is better to shut up than to argue with a man who loves.

“you understand the laws regarding a customer’s health and safety, do you not? even if it’s tiresome, if they had gone into an anaphylactic shock here in your cafe, i believe it would have been a matter of time before an investigation is launched and a lawsuit is filed.”

you hear alhaitham soften at the word they. they. you. you are important enough to him that he’d quietly, but fiercely rip into the waiter over your allergy. (alhaitham wishes you felt important enough to care about your health instead of apologising for not speaking loud enough.)

the waiter steels himself and takes your bowl back to the kitchen without another word.

“thank you,” you turn to alhaitham. “that meant a lot.”

you show him a soft smile, and alhaitham feels a wave of silent thankfulness wash over himself – that you sit before him, wearing a bright and sweet smile and not a pained grimace from struggling to breathe, on your features. he feels the same warmth in his chest once again.

“you don’t need to thank me.”

alhaitham remembers, even when it feels like no one else does.

the third act of love. holding, when your skin feels achingly colder.

alhaitham does not strike people as a touchy person; his love language is not physical touch. touch scares him a little, even. the thought that a simple loving gesture could be twisted and morphed into a threatening hold scares even the most intelligent and strong of men – but he is human, and that is enough for him to appreciate lingering touches on his back as and when he needs and wants to.

he sees you – fingers twitching and rubbing against each other, clumsily tapping against your palms then scrunching inwards – you need touch. you need to be held. it was as simple and as crucial as breathing. your fingers press in inwards of itself, and he watches the colour recede and return once again as you loosen your grip.

“come here,” alhaitham gestures, wrapping your hand around his. there’s something comforting about how your hand is smaller than his; it’s not that much smaller, but it’s smaller all the same. if you curled yourself up even more, perhaps you’d be able to fit into the palm of his hands.

“don’t do that. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“do what?” you look at him quizzically.

“i wasn’t sure if you were unaware, but you tend to self-soothe and search for touch.” he sighs quietly, absent-mindedly stroking your purlicue as he turned back to his book.

“although i believe you search for it too much. press too hard, and you’ll start to feel numb.”

“ah.” you stare at your hands – the left, which he holds, and the right, resting on the cool table.

“thank you.”

“i said before, there is no need to thank me. if it is a simple matter regarding your well-being, i would do–” he stops himself. anything, is left hanging in silence.

“i would be happy to resolve that matter.”

even holding you? would he dare hold something so shamefully broken?

“thank you...” you close your eyes. he hesitates; just once.

“you don’t sound pleased, nor satisfied. was it something i said?” you hear his voice soften.

no, it’s not you. you shake your head quietly, resting your head against your right palm on the table.

“it’s alright. you do not have to talk if you don’t wish to.” alhaitham replies. you feel him smoothing your hair back – a touch so soft and tender, you can hardly believe it to be for yourself. it was intoxicating; his touch lacked lust, full in love– you have never been loved (loved?) like this before.

you feel slightly warmer now.

the fourth act of love. comforting, when there seems to be no one in your corner.

“i just wanted them to be different. just this once. is that too much to even ask?”

alhaitham holds you tightly as you sob and lament; he holds tighter than he ever has before, and he mourns. he mourns for the walls you had slowly built up over time dawn with the realisation that it had been justified all along; alhaitham knows how hard you have begged for them to be unneeded.

“i know.”

you hiccup, ducking beneath his arm tiredly – and he holds you gently. he holds you, arm resting on the crook of your neck as you rest against a pillow on his side – he holds you like he has done it all his life. fitting yourself – not small but not big – into his frame, alhaitham thinks, may very well be the most natural thing the world has brought him.

“they had no right to treat you like that. i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault.” you sniffle.

archon, it hurt. you were going to get hurt in every lifetime, you know that– no, you deserved it. that has been etched into your mind since day one of starting your work. that was just who you were. the poor, miserable corner-sitter who had nothing else to do but correct their own mistakes. no initiative, no ounce of thought. why had the akademiya even hired you if its own people despised you?

“you don’t deserve to be hurt over and over, you know.”

how did he know?

“you said that aloud.”

you mumble a soft sorry, and he replies, shaking his head.

“it isn’t your fault,” alhaitham echoes your previous sentiment, almost teasingly.

“i believe you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

before you look up at his tousled hair to reply, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

a kiss.

his kiss.

“if you find them still bothering you, come and talk to me. the scribe’s position is – it may not be much – but i know with my place within the akademiya, they will listen. i promise you this,” he holds your warm hands in his broader ones.

“if they do not stop, i will leave. i have no regard for a company that will not protect its own workers.”

he wants to say a company that will not protect you, but thinks otherwise. perhaps it is too much right now after his impulsive kiss – that is the one thing that alhaitham mulls over. he has never been impulsive before; always thinking through and filtering and being rational and all the things that makes alhaitham, alhaitham. being impulsive is not a trait others describe him by. 

so why, you–?

the fifth act of love. loving you, even when you believe people cannot.

–because he loves you, and alhaitham cannot, for the life of him and even with all the overbearing advice from kaveh and more bearable guidance from nahida – he cannot put it into words. for the first time in his life, alhaitham stumbles over himself, words tumbling out like love letters hastily shoved into a sack with a cut into it.

“what is so special about me? you’re always here, alhaitham, yet you never grow sick of me.” he finds himself caught off guard when you ask suddenly, caught in today’s throes of anxiety. your words hang cautiously on your tongue like a snake waiting for the moment a displeased reaction appears �� whether you hiss or hide, is something alhaitham feels a modicum of curiosity about, pulsing, and pulsing, until he tries.

“you-”

there are too many things that he can think of, he feels. nahida, give me strength.

“you are- you are kind. and generous. you have a heart for people even when they do not have one for you.” he starts, slowly.

“you listen intently, and you enable people to open and talk. they talk because you listen and you support them with all your soul and it is so evident that you love.”

you want to cry.

“i admit i am not good with words, but you deserve every vow i utter tonight. you love so loudly, and you feel no shame for it – you have inspired me, and i dare confess that there have been many times i have desired to pull back, out of worry that i have felt the distinct possibility that i was about to fall in love with you.”

oh. you blink as if that hasn’t been obvious enough.

alhaitham is deeply and madly in love with you.

“i love you, not only because you are special, but also because i believe you deserve every ounce of love i can retrieve from myself. i know it has been made clear to you that others do not feel the same way, and it hurts to believe that some of it has come from those i know – i promise to be different–”

“you already are, alhaitham.” you feel yourself choke up. love is entangling itself around your trachea and holding you hostage, never letting go.

“you have never treated me with the same contempt. i love you, i know you return my feelings and for that i am thankful. i’m sorry that i’m not an easy person to love, please...” you trail off, feeling his body collide into yours. alhaitham holds you. he holds you, hand on your back and the other cradling your head against his shoulder.

“i want to love you,” he whispers into your hair.

“please let me.”

ask alhaitham, however? you see a soft smile adorns his features as he mulls over the question of what love is to him. love, forever yours, evermore.

[nghtwngs]

teach me the rest

description; unable to withhold your feelings any longer, you confess your more than friendly and familial affections for the second-born bridgerton.

genre; fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, love confession

pairing; benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

word count; 0.8k

warnings; implied masturbation (non-explicit), slight corruption kink, suggestive themes, overly dramatic period drama love confession

a/n; please don’t come for me if there are inaccuracies—i have seen one (1) full episode of bridgerton (i know) but i have read like 50 benedict fics so there’s that? but as an sea, i WILL be imagining myself in sophie’s place when their season comes out so more content on the way in the near future?

“Benedict Bridgerton, if you do not wish to marry me right this second, I will wait until the next minute, day, week, month, season, year… I will wait for every desert to flood, for every ocean to lose colour. I will wait until the earth destroys itself again and again because there is no amount of time in which I could no longer love you. I beg of you, take me as I am yours, but do not take me if you are not mine. Spare me the embarrassment of my confessions.”

You feel as though you cannot breathe each time you avoid his gaze, but once yours return to his, you inhale more oxygen than you could ever dream of. Benedict looks just as breathless as you are, and you can only hope that that means he too feels what you so unceremoniously conveyed.

But unfortunately, you’ve turned him speechless, so you continue speaking in fear of his rejection of your affections—“I realize my father, although ever the artist and drinker of the elixir of life, would prefer Anthony’s hand over yours—you may recall my frankly naïve crush on your older brother—“

You both wince at that.

“—he is no longer the one I foolishly love, and my father would not argue against someone he treats as his own son, one whose passions for painting are one and the same. Please, Benedict, for the love of God, shut me up like you’ve always wanted. I fear I am incapable of not embarrassing myself.”

Benedict, on the other hand, believes he has just taken his first good breath since you first began your declarations. “Is that your wish, darling? To be shut up by me? Because I am afraid it is not mine. I would listen to you waxing poetic about me every second I continue to have ears. And I do believe I will not lose them anytime soon. Even if I lost one—hopefully not my left one, so I may continue to stand right by your side—I will hang onto your every word, as your pretty lips haunt my dreams, waking or sleeping. I did not before desire marriage because I had yet to understand what it does to souls—I thought Anthony would never marry, and yet, here we are. I worried for him after father died, but now, I know that love can melt even the coldest of hearts. Teach me, my heart, each and every way I can love you, for I am now nothing but your student.

“Teach me the art of love—“

In an odd turn of events, you initiate the kiss, the first since the many you shared before either of you quite knew the weight of them, or love. You had once seen Anthony in the Bridgertons’ backyard many, many years ago, lips locked with a girl whose identity you never found out. Thankfully, you think now, you did not stay for very long, or else you might’ve tried to sway young, sweet Benedict into an experiment beyond either of your comprehensions.

After your first kisses as children, he soon learned of the passions people could have for one another and of the cost it could have to your dignity. So, regretfully, dear Benedict would never again know the touch of your lips until now.

“Do not,” you begin breathlessly, achingly, “think for a moment, you have not learned every way in which to please me.”

“If I am out of line, I do sincerely apologize and will let you slap me if only you could forgive me—but I have not yet learned every way to please you. Should we marry, I will learn each sound you’re capable of making, every taste of you, every touch you will learn to take from me. I will offer all of life’s greatest pleasures and indulgences, and I know of no one in this universe more deserving of them.”

You believe that he is the only person who could make you feel better than you dare to yourself, alone in the silence of your bedchambers, masking your pleasure through a trained, quiet mouth.

“I have only known touch through the stories I indulge myself in…” Embarrassed, you continue, “And through my own hand.”

The sound your beloved makes should be quite shameful to the ears of any maiden like yourself, but you can’t but hope to hear it over and over.

“You know, then, only a fraction of what a person can feel.”

“Teach me the rest, so that I may be fulfilled?”

Benedict groans loudly, suppressing it with the palm of his hand. You both pray no one is awake at this hour. You’re oblivious to the double entendre you voiced in your yearning, which for some reason, grows his aching need for you.

He so earnestly murmurs your name. “I will marry you, only if you will marry me.”

“I believe that is how it works,” you tease him.

“But you had such little choice since we were children, so I want you to have this one.” He then admits lowly, “And I wish to hear it from you again.”

“I will marry you, Benedict.”

[fireheartpages]

enough | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader one. two. part three. four. five. summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. leave it to you to catch his attention, but will it be enough to bond a dragon? word count: 2.2k notes: second person pov with she/her pronouns for the reader, as well as a dirty-dancing inspired stolen nickname and a last name (no y/n in this house). pretty sure i've just started making shit up about the empyrean universe when i needed to. i want a dragon real bad after writing this. half of this was written while wine drunk!

He owed Ané his first born after that balm. And he might just have to give it to her, because the soft smile that had bloomed on your face had been worth every coin he'd owed Ané. Every last one.

It had been two days now, and he hoped it had been enough for you. Enough to heal your hands, at least just a little bit. Enough to get you bonded to a dragon.

He looks for you on the field, but your squad isn't here. Yet. You would come. They can't be missing a while squad. Right?

Right. He felt like an idiot with the way he had panicked.

"You're acting like one," Cuir chimes in helpfully. Bodhi just sighs.

Professionalism is key right now. He can't spare a second glance at you right now. He's an acting Executive Officer, and it's an important day in formation--

You look really pretty. Your hair is braided back, and the way your flight leathers cling to your figure--

"Seriously?"

Bodhi just sighs, and settles in for a long day.

-

You rub Ridoc's back as he empties his stomach onto the roots of the tree beside you, grateful for the stomach of steel years of being tossed around on choppy waters had granted you. The warmth of the sun did nothing to bite the cold of the morning, the freshly October air sharp against your skin.

You hand Ridoc a water canteen as you try to pay attention to Kaori at the front, but maybe you're hallucinating because there is no way he just told you to listen to your heart while bonding a dragon. That cannot be enough. That cannot be real advice.

It's not long and far too soon before the professor offers you good luck and turns away, releasing you to a riot of dragons that could have every intention of eating you alive rather than bonding you. Second squad turns to one another, no more wise cracks or well wishes left to say. With a stay alive order from Ridoc, you're off. And then you're traipsing through the valley, and honestly, just hoping for the best.

You pass by a few reds and oranges--terrifying fucking things, and if there were any room for doubt, you'd be thinking you're not cut out for this. There's no way you can be allied with something that vicious.

A blue and a brown both stop in front of you, and the brown cocks its head as if you're a puzzle it needs to solve. Not that one, you realize. Neither of them. Your gaze stays glued to the floor the entire time, and it's far too long for your liking before they both meander away.

It's a few deep breaths before you're steady enough to continue on.

The only color left for you to see is a green, and you know--you just know one will be yours. Or maybe you really want it. You want a dragon with cunning. A green is your best bet.

Another brown crosses near you, and your heart picks up again. It's followed by a green, and you freeze. This is it, this--

They both pass right by you.

Oh. Okay. No problem, yeah. It's just not that green.

You've got to keep moving. There are more, and you know it, because you haven't bonded yet. You've watched dragons launch into the sky with newly minted riders on their back, counting how many are off. How many are left. It's only an hour and a half in, and already you've seen close to twenty riders emerge.

That leaves just over eighty dragons to bond. Yours is out there, you know it. Can practically sense it, feel it in--

Okay, maybe Kaori had a point.

You just had to keep going so they could find you.

Through the trees, you saw four greens, a brown, and two reds. You were about to make your way to them when he materialized on the edges of your vision.

Second- and third-years weren't supposed to interfere with Threshing, but were there any rules about interacting? From the way he was looking at you, open and expectant, you had to assume not.

You came to a stop, turning to look at him, and when your gazes locked, it felt like the world around you stilled.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi," he repeats, and he's grinning, except one side of his mouth is just a little higher than the other, as if some invisible force had strung it up and tugged. You wanted to run your thumb over his lips and smooth it out. See just how pretty those big brown eyes were when they were focused on you all up close and personal.

Oh, no, that's not--

"You're still out here, so I assume it's not going well, but I'm gonna ask anyway." That grin widens, his eyes dancing, and you have to take a deep breath before you can respond.

"I feel it. Something. I don't know what, but--" You bring a hand to your chest, the way Kaori had. "Here."

"Yeah," Bodhi breathes. "They have their eye set on you before you even know it sometimes."

"Is that how it was for you?" you ask, and you have no idea why you do. You're wasting valuable time standing here chit-chatting. You're not even supposed to clump up. This boy is going to get you incinerated.

You eagerly wait for his reply.

"Yeah," he says. "Cuir knew before I did. I don't think I was out here more than an hour before we found each other."

You nod.

"I got lucky. Imogen was out here all day. I think Glenn wanted to fuck with her a little." He laughs, and you falter, unable to suppress the smile that weasels its way across your lips.

"That's rather unfortunate," you say on the tail of a laugh, and suddenly Bodhi's staring at you in a way you can't discern.

He rubs his palm along his jaw and you chance a step towards him.

"Having a..." You trail off, unsure if you should ask. How stupid can you sound while actively trying to bond a dragon? "If I have a feeling, it's a good sign, right?"

"Yeah," he agrees, without hesitation. "Absolutely."

You nod, unsure of what to say now. Because you don't know if the feeling in your chest is anything more than sputtering hope. If your parents fucked you by giving you the desire to do something great without the means to do it. If you inherited their cowardice.

No. You would not be a coward. Something you did would have to be enough. You were bonding a dragon today.

It was like Bodhi could read all of those thoughts on your face. Not that you'd ever been particularly good at hiding your facial expressions, but it was as if he has a secret key to all of your emotions.

He inclines his head to you. "We did it," he says hesitantly. "Marked ones. They didn't think we would, but we did."

"I'm not Marked," you say quickly.

"No, you're not," he responds, and his gaze tracks your body from head to toe, leaving shivers in its wake. "You should go. You have a dragon to bond."

You nod, not finding your tongue before he disappears back into the foliage.

And that's when you feel it--a puff of hot air at your back, and you don't know if you should turn around slowly, or just send up a prayer to Malek now. You opt for the former, spinning as slowly as possible with a downcast gaze until you see the gleam of navy scales. You chance a look up a bit, and you meet golden, keen eyes. A blue scorpiontail, and its nose is so close to you you're convinced it's about to blow a plume and end you right then and there.

There was no way you were making it out of this interaction alive. Perhaps that feeling in your chest had been your last moments os peace before doomsday.

The blue lowers its nose until it's level with you, and you suck in a breath as it goes to your gloved hand. Fuck. Of course your stupid skin is what's going to keep you from--

Did the dragon just set your hand on its nose. Holy shit.

You look down, a furrow finding home between your brows as your breath saws in and out of you, and you see that this massive dragon had placed your hand on the top of its nose. It shuts its eyes, letting out another warm puff.

"Hi," you whisper. You're really racking up these multiple syllabic interactions lately.

The dragon chuffs, bumping your hand. "You are enough."

And it feels like your chest cracks in two.

"How did you--"

"I know you."

Holy shit, you were talking to a dragon--

"What do you mean?" you ask. You needed to catch up before she changed her mind.

"You're nothing like your father. It's why I've chosen you." She straightens, extending her leg. This is probably the moment you're supposed to mount. You stumble, and it's not the most graceful thing in the world, but you make it up, figure out your way to where you're supposed to sit, a hand resting on the pommel of her scales.

"You choose me?" you ask aloud, still in disbelief.

"You're surprised?" she asks, her gentle voice filtering through your mind. You never thought you'd describe a dragon as gentle.

"Maybe," you answer. "A little bit."

"You knew." Her voice is almost chiding. Did you just get stuck with a mother hen for a dragon?

"I guess," you say. "I knew something, I just--"

"You're ging to need thicker gloves. It's colder the higher in altitude we climb, and the ones you have aren't going to have enough grip to keep you safe." She launches into the sky without warning. Something like a laugh filters through your mind as your scramble to grip the pommel, your gloved hands sliding against her scales as your brace with your thighs and hold on for dear life.

So, she doesn't even care about your hands. You swallow the rising lump in your throat.

"Obviously, I don't care about your accommodations. I know you. I also know you're about to fall off. Please, don't embarrass me on the first day."

You tighten your grip on her pommel as best you can, the wind whipping tears from your eyes and--

Oh. You were flying. On the back of a dragon.

It was more than anything you'd imagined, better than anything you could have dreamed up. It was pure adrenaline and joy, the freezing air kissing your cheeks, ripping the strands loose from your braids. You gingerly loosen a hand, slipping the glove off and tucking it away. You trace your hand along the wind, letting it dance between your fingers as she loops around. It was unlike anything you had ever, ever experienced. It was like your entire life, you'd just been waiting for this moment.

And you made it. You did it. You had proved yourself worthy.

You're a fucking dragon rider.

You'd given her name to the roll-keeper--Shocairinntinn--and turned around only to have Rhiannon barrel into you, talking excitedly about her new bond. She drags you away, demanding to see who you'd been chosen by, and when you approach Shocair, you noticed you've gathered a bit of an audience.

"A blue?" someone sneers. "She bonded a blue?"

Something in your chest sinks, and you blink hard. Shocair snaps at the boy that had said it, and when his orange starts to put up a fight, all it takes is a rumbling growl for the larger dragon to stand down. Shocair was small for her breed, smaller than most of the dragons on the field, but you had a feeling what she lacked in size, she made up for in viciousness.

"Your assumption is correct," she muses into your mind, sounding indignant. "Though I find the observation unnecessary."

You open your mouth to apologize, but she speak into your mind again.

"Don't. I chose you for your sharp mind and quick wit." You swallow, surprised. "And you better figure out how to talk back to me. I don't do discussions with others."

So, your dragon was an introvert. A warm feeling filled your chest, and you had a feeling she approved of this descriptor.

"She's beautiful," Rhiannon muses, and you shoot her a smile.

"She is," you agree. Shocair lowers her head in inclination, reaching until she's level with you. The riders around you take a step back, giving the two of you a large wake, but you just raise your hand until it rests on the tip of her nose. Something that sounds suspiciously like a sigh comes from her.

She straightens, extending a leg, and you take the hint.

"Cadet Marho," a professor calls. "Stay grounded!"

Shocair waits until you're mounted before moving to growl at the professor, and he has the wits to raise his hands in surrender and back off.

And then she takes off into the sky, and you're flying again. Tracing the clouds with your hands.

A dragon rider.

[genshindsau]

The Price of a Man - Kaveh

Summary: After decimating the army of another and acquiring more land under your growing rule, you take some time to look around. While walking around you come across the public punishment of a man from his wife. The image seems to linger within some of your own harem members and while you like to think you are not soft, you cannot bear seeing the strain on your own harem members' face and act accordingly.

Pairing: Imperial!Reader, Concubine!Characters. Hints of Reader x Diluc, Zhongli x reader. But there is not much romance in this piece.

CW: Reverse Harem, cursing, morally grey reader. Heavy descriptions of matriatchial settings, sexism aimed towards men. Mentions of killing, starting a fire, whipping (not by reader), punishments (not by reader), the selling of men, threats from reader but not towards harem members.

Notes: This doesn't have much romance to it as I tried to focus more on the plot and politics which was, no doubt, one of the hardest things to write. Dialogue may be choppy.

Bodies brush against one another, a small crowd forming in the front of an estate. Women look on with a mixture of disinterest or even amusement, lips quirking up. Soft, muffled sounds of voices that are only covered by the sound of rushing wind and the echoing crack of something landing on something, or rather someone.

It was only the men who looked uncomfortable by they don't move from their wife's side. Flinches leave some of them as if feeling the hit on their own skin; others have their head bowed, sympathy in their eyes though they would never disrupt. If someone is bold enough to hit someone in public it is because they have a high enough position to be overlooked. Or in other words, there will be no consequences.

Leather. You can tell just by the sound that comes from it. Most likely some kind of whip but the sound is muffled enough that you know it's not hitting directly on skin - not that it will help with the pain.

By the way you can hear the sound even with the conversations and loudness of children running around, you don't doubt that whoever is flicking the whip has more than enough strength in their arms to break skin even through clothes.

The view is hidden from you, not that you minded. You were more than happy to just walk right by, hardly giving another glance to see what was going on. Your feet pause only when the two figures you were walking with are no longer next to you.

A glance over your shoulder and Diluc stands still, eyes wide, mouth parted that reveals only the smallest sliver of his tongue that licks at his bottom lip. His body was perfectly still, only the small rise and fall of his chest visible under the red robes but his breaths were shorter than normal. Next to him, the smaller form of Xiao had his head bowed and turned away from the crowd. His jaw flexed, hands balled into fists at his side; knuckles whitening by the second, no doubt his nails are about to break through his skin.

You follow Diluc's gaze and by now the crowd opens up a little, allowing small peeks of what had drawn all the attention. You stare blankly at the male on his knees, hands poised on his lap. The figure's back was angled towards you, giving you a full view of the purple bruises that marred his skin. Yellowish specks of his skin peaks out from underneath the blooming red whip marks. All of this was visible to anyone's eyes due to the dark maroon robe that was pooled at his waist now; not allowing him to cover any of the marks.

The women standing above him made you let out your own sigh, rolling your eyes under the cloth wrapped around your head. The Ministry. You vaguely recognize her, she was in charge of retaining knowledge and long held secrets of the land. What was her name? You can't remember it but it hardly matters. You do remember that she was furious and bold enough to insult you. You had found it amusing at the time which seemed to infuriate her even more.

Your eyes linger on the blonde male kneeling on the ground, tears in his eyes that fell silently down his cheeks but he made no move to try and cover himself up or defend himself. Properly trained, you think wryly. Punished into obedience, you correct yourself.

You know the people of this land are still hesitant about your arrival. You had come in and nearly massacred more than half of their army. No need to cause more chaos by getting involved with someone the people look up to. The Ministry members are practically divine beings to the public, something that has made you snort and chuckle.

You don't spare another glance as you face forward again, Zhongli by your side as the both of you walk forward a few paces.

"Your grace." Your feet stop their movements, looking over your shoulder as you look at Diluc.

Even he appeared shock at his own interruption. His lips part before they quickly close again, not a single sound leaving him. His eyes flicker from you to the man kneeling on the floor before back to you. There is an echo of the whip landing on skin once again and Diluc winces as if he was the one hit.

He doesn't have to say anything. You can read him without any of your magic. A bleeding heart. No doubt he feels the pain of the other like it's own. He cares too much.

"You want to save him?" You face him His hands twitch at his side, fighting the urge to curl them into his robes. He doesn't reply though, head bowed.

"He is hardly the first to be given such a public punishment. He won't be the last either. Will you intervene?" Your words goad him even if you both know nothing will come of it. "What, or do you think I should intervene?"

Diluc's own expression drops; Xiao's pinches together as he stares up at you. Zhongli is the only one who looks on impassively.

"Sure," you roll your shoulders, hands clasped behind you. "I could if I wanted to but I don't. I intervene and all it does is lead to problems with the ministry. Problems that go beyond one single man being given a public lashing for a punishment. He is none of my concern and he is none of yours either."

"Your Grace," Diluc tries again, this time more firmly but he still wavers. His voice is soft but edged with something desperate. "Please..."

Your gaze flicks back to him, catching the way his head remains bowed, refusing to meet your eyes directly. He's trying, you know. Trying to speak out, unable to ignore such a scene of cruelty. It's amusing in its futility.

"You've grown bold," you murmur, stepping closer. Your tone is teasing, but your words make him flinch. "Tell me, what will you do? Give him your robe? Promise him it gets better?"

Diluc's lips part, trembling slightly as he struggles to form a response. Xiao shifts uneasily beside him, his own hands clenched into fists, but he doesn't speak out of turn.

"Your silence tells me enough." You step away again, your hands clasped loosely behind your back. The sound of another lash cuts through the air, and the man kneeling lets out a choked gasp.

Diluc flinches. Xiao glowers. You don't miss it.

"Zhongli," you say suddenly, your tone sharp enough to make your knight snap to attention. He steps forward immediately, bowing his head slightly in deference.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Take care of something for me," you say, your voice low, almost lazy. "I expect you to be swift."

Zhongli doesn't question you. He doesn't need any more information either. He nods once, his expression unreadable, before turning and walking away without a sound. Diluc and Xiao both glance after him but say nothing, their confusion carefully masked.

You turn back to the scene in front of you, your eyes falling on the ministry woman. She's standing tall, her expression hard, but there's a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes as she watches the punishment unfold.

It isn't long before the commotion begins. Shouts ring out from the direction of the ministry's archive, and the woman in charge stiffens, her eyes darting toward the source of the noise.

"Fire!" someone yells. "The archives are burning!"

The ministry woman curses under her breath, hitching her skirt up and turning to leave. She barks orders to the guards nearby, and soon the punishment is all but forgotten as chaos erupts. The crowd soon dissipates, not longer caring about the punishment. You hear questions about what happened but you don't pay attention to them.

Diluc remains still, hands fisting at the side of his robe despite the fact that it forms wrinkles in his usual pristine clothes. Both him and Xiao are staring up at the growing fire, eyes wide.

"You want to help because he's a man; sure, I understand. You've always had a bleeding heart but he is not the one you need to worry about. The ministry is powerful in these lands, admired. I could very well make a possible enemy of them all because you care far too much."

Your hand curls under Diluc's chin, fingers brushing his jawline as you direct his attention. "It will be your undoing, sweet boy." You whisper low enough for only him to hear. Perhaps your words are cruel but he needs to hear them. You need him to hear them, so that he knows what sympathy can do and it is not always good. 

Diluc stares at you, his lips parted slightly as if he wants to speak, but he doesn't. He simply bows his head again, his shoulders trembling faintly with relief.

As Zhongli returns silently to your side, the faint scent of smoke clinging to him, you give him the barest nod of approval. He bows his head in acknowledgment, his expression as calm and composed as ever.

"The man's fate is paused but I doubt it will be the last punishment he faces, he is still bound to his wife."

The man is still kneeling on the ground. His body shakes, body trembling with pain. Without all the attention on him and the punishment looming over his head, he clutches at the robe laying around his hips, his fingers which are red and raw around his nails, tug the robe up and back over his shoulders. The red and purpling marks disappear from view.

"Let us go. Now."

The sound of water dripping fills your ears. The inn wasn't the most extravagant but it was on the outskirts of the land, far away from the ministry and any possible ears straining to learn secrets, something to provide the ministry with the power to kick you out of their land.

Your land now.

On a tatami mat, underneath a wooden gazebo, you gaze at the small pond with brightly colored koi-fish swimming around. Flowers were blooming around, providing a sweet scent in the air. One of your legs is bent at the knees, resting your foot on the ground with your elbow resting on your knee. The other is crossed on the ground in front of you. You take a sip from the small glass, savoring the bitter burn.

The soft brush of fabric gliding against the ground comes up from behind you. Diluc. You do not even need to turn to know. His footsteps were always soft, even, as if he puts a lot of thought into something as simple as walking properly. Well he probably was.

He bends down, settling on his knees adjacent to you on the other tatami mat. You glance at him. He was wearing his nighttime robe and his hair was out of his pristine updo, only pulled back into a ponytail with a few hairs dangling free. You fight the urge to push it behind his ear, tug out the updo, let it all fall and then use it to tug him….

You clear your throat, lowering your hand, placing you glass back on the floor. He refills it even though you didn't ask for him to.

"You're pouting," you muse out, voice level but deceptively blank. Well not exactly, but you know him well enough to know something was wrong. The way his eyes glaze out of focus as he becomes lost in the thought. His fingers that have become a slight pink due to him constantly wringing his hands together. The way his breath gets more labored when he falls too much into the depths of his mind.

He startles, placing the bottle back on the ground and then place his hands on his thighs. You watch as he takes a breath, fingers tapping against his robe. "Forgive me," he murmurs out, voice as soft and gentle as it ever is.

"I did what I could in my position," you shrug, downing the alcohol in the small glass before placing it to the side.

Could you have done more? Yes.

Would you have? No.

The only reason you intervened was because of how much it distressed Diluc and Xiao even if it wasn't as obvious in the latter. The poor man that was being punished is probably hurting more in the privacy of his wife's home. You don't tell Diluc this even though you know he suspects.

"I know," he answered.

He knows you were the reason for the fire. He doesn't address it, not openly because you don't seem to think too much of what you did. You hardly care about it so he decides it is best to just appreciate that you heard him out and did do something about it.

"I cannot get involved in every dispute or wife who punishes their husbands," you wave a hand, lazily explaining as you rest. "It is, by law, their prerogative. We are still the strangers in this nation. I am seen as the ones who massacred their families, tore down their infantry. How do you think it would appear if I came in and decided to alter everything, offer out punishments without any explanation."

You shake your head. It's already a mess with the Ministry pushing back against you. Trying to use sly tricks to get a one-up on you. Pity for them that you know all their tricks.

Diluc knows all of this. He knows. He also knows he shouldn't be causing you any problems. You were right in your words from earlier. He cares too much and he usually tries to push that need to care for others onto you or the other harem members. But when he sees it with his own eyes, the pain, the punishment, the humiliation that other women force onto their husbands, it's hard to forget.

He could have ended up like that. In the beginning of the marriage, he expected to. He expected to be demeaned, punished, used. He was taught to expect it all and bear it without a complaint, to do as his wife requires. He wouldn't say you were kind in the sense other people think about kindness. But you've never raised a hand to him that was meant to inflict pain. You never demeaned him, degraded him. Never let others either. He's treated better than he ever thought possible.

"I'm sorry," he says the only thing he can think of. His head lifts, even with your eyes covered, he knows your eyes meet his. He can feel it with the weight that encompasses him, the air feeling like it is pressing down on him but it's not stifling. It's comforting, like a weighted blanket.

"I know what I did was selfish and based entirely on my own feelings." He thinks back to the man. "I know he was just a single man but no one seemed to care. They all just… watched on," his voice dropped. "And he appeared to be in so much pain. I couldn't - I needed to do something."

But I didn't, he think. You were the one who stopped the man's pain at least for a short while. Diluc couldn't even bring himself to say something to you asides from pleading with you.

"You realize that I stopped nothing, correct? I am sure they will come to know that the fire was orchestrated by me, I'm sure they already think that," you snort, shaking your head. "They are looking for anything to undermine me and once they find even the slightest of a connection, they will not drop it. Especially not those damn Ministry fools."

Diluc's heart aches for numerous reason. The tension in your tone, the tiredness that he's learned to detect with the soft sighs that leave you after you speak. Also for the man, the bruises littering his skin, the wet cheeks, the idea that he could be in the process of being punished right now.

It is stupid. He didn't know the mans name. Didn't know his story but he is sure it was not easy. Yet this man continues to linger in his mind.

He knows he made it more challenging for you, something he never wanted to do. Not when you already have so much on your shoulders.

"I am aware, Your Grace." His voice is defeated. It makes your eye twitch. You roll your shoulders, keeping your gaze in front of you on the small pond.

"Then why must you look so despondent? Did you think a small gesture of kindness would do much in the long run," you shake your head. "Men in his position do not know kindness even if it’s a robe tossed over their shoulders or soft words meant to comfort them."

His eyes lower, face shifting, pinching in a way you know is meant to hold back the whirlwind of emotions inside of him. It leaves an uncomfortable tightening within your chest that you're not accustomed to. For a minute you wonder if it was the alcohol affecting you.

Gods, maybe you were becoming too soft. It is hard to even glance at his downturned face and not feel the need to go and burn down that which is causing him so much grief. It would be easy to. You know who and what is troubling him: two insignificant people in the grand scheme of things.

You've killed others for less. Some of the blood coating your hands comes from individuals who were foolish enough to aim a negative look or inappropriate words towards your harem members. What would be a few more? Though you know killing would cause more problems later on. Most of all, it would not cause Diluc to feel any better.

There is only one thing that will. One action that you really do not care to do but you may do just to stop Diluc's grief.

The negotiation hall was grand, adorned with tapestries of woven gold and deep crimson, but the air felt suffocatingly thick with protocol. You sat at the head of the long, polished table, an emblem of your power, your chin resting lightly on your hand. Beside you stood Zhongli, his impassive face betraying nothing.

Across from you sat Lady Samara, a high-ranking official from the Ministry, her deep emerald robes a testament to her wealth and influence. She sipped delicately from her glass of wine.

“You understand,” she said, her voice honeyed but laced with steel, “that Kaveh is not merely a possession but my husband. Breaking his vow to me would be... unconventional.”

Unconventional. A polite way of saying taboo. You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to make her falter. “And yet here we are,” you said, your tone smooth, almost bored. “The longer you delay, the more tempted I am to simply take what I want without regard for your ‘formalities.’ Name your terms."

She chuckled, leaning back in her chair as though she had the upper hand. “You misunderstand me, your grace. This isn’t about price alone. It’s about precedent. If I were to part with him, what would stop others from demanding the same? Vows such as these hold our society together.”

You allowed the silence to stretch, your gaze unwavering. Zhongli shifted slightly behind you, his presence a quiet reminder of your authority. “You forget,” you said at last, your voice soft but cutting, “that I am the precedent.”

Lady Samara stiffened, the tension in the room palpable. “Even so,” she said carefully, “Kaveh is a husband of noble standing. He is educated, refined, and capable in art and homecare. Releasing him from his bond with me will not come cheaply.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You reached for the goblet before you, sipping slowly before setting it down with a deliberate clink. You lean back, folding your hands neatly in your lap. "It appears as if your are the one who misunderstands. This is not a negotiation." The air in the room drops. "The price is a mere courtesy I am giving you. I could just as easily take him by decree if I so desired. The ministry may be a stronghold in this land but the land and all of its people and possession are now under my control."

You let out a sharp laugh, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table. You stare directly at her, watching as she suppressed a shudder even with your eyes covered by a cloth.

"I allowed your ministry to stay in place because I do not want to cause unnecessary riots among the people. But do not think that I will not tear it all down. You know as well as I do that no one would be able to stop me should it ever come down to this."

Her lips tightened, though she quickly masked her irritation with a practiced smile. Though you spot the slightest of wavering in her face at your threat that you made no move to hide. "Of course. But surely Your Grace recognizes the value of maintaining... goodwill, especially with one such as myself."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Goodwill, yes. But do not mistake my patience for obligation. Name your price." You repeat at what you said earlier but sharper, letting her know that you are growing bored and tired: a dangerous thing.

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. You could see the calculations racing through her mind. To name a price too high would risk your wrath. To name one too low would devalue her standing. Finally, she said, “Five estates. Three within the capital, two along the southern trade routes.”

 You tilted your head, pretending to consider her words, though you had already made up your mind.

“Done,” you said at last, your tone leaving no room for argument.

She blinked, caught off guard by your swift agreement. “And… and a formal decree,” she added hastily, grasping for more leverage. “One that acknowledges my contributions to this nation and ensures my continued influence within the ministry.”

You smirked. “Greedy, aren’t we?” But you nodded nonetheless. “You’ll have your decree. My scribes will prepare the documents by nightfall.”

Her relief was palpable, though she tried to mask it. Rising from her seat, she bowed stiffly, her hands trembling as she gripped her fan. “I thank you for your generosity, Your Grace. Kaveh is now yours."

Zhongli stepped closer once she was out of sight. “You were rather lenient with her.”

“I was fair,” you corrected, rising to your feet. “She thinks she’s won, but she knows the cost that comes with defying me. Besides, it may do good to have some kind of... business transactions with minsitry memebers. This may just yet get us through the door."

You gaze down at the man, his arms are folded, the sleeves of his robe hanging off his elbows revealing marks on his pale skin.

"Kaveh, was it?" You ask. "Just nod, I have no need to hear any long answer." You add on before he can speak.

He nodded, hair falling in front of his eyes which are lowered.

"I want to be clear." You step in front of him, a foot apart. "I am not doing this for you, nor because I have pity or any care for your former situation. I am merely bringing you in my harem because someone dear to me asked for you."

Kaveh's stomach lurched. Asked for him? It sounds like a proposition, one that men who sell their bodies or company would be asked for. Even with the churning of his stomach, the bile burning in his throat he does as he always does: nods and offer a submissive bow of his head.

You incline your head, turning around. "Come."

You lead him back to the carriages, remaining a few steps in front of him. You get to one of the carriages, pulling back the maroon cloth, so he can step inside. "You want to thank someone one, the person who managed to change the course of your fate is inside. Do show your proper appreciation." You hold out a hand to help him up.

Kaveh's eyes are warily looking between you and the opening of the carriage. His feet carry him to the opening, placing his own hand on top of your own, his other hand braces on the edge of the carriage as he steps up and into his new life

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep 10

This show keeps on delivering and is making up for what has been an absolutely dismal year for kdramas.

I wonder how the assistant got mixed up with OG Sa Eon and how they never met up until the end. It's good to know that the assistant was not completely evil and was able to help Sa Eon, now the he knew he was not the one to who killed his brother. Interesting to note, that in some ways, Sa Eon considered Do Jae a friend. He tells him that he does not trust, yet the only one he trusted as Do Jae. When Do Jae saves him from being stabbed, he lets OG Sa Eon go and focuses on saving Do Jae. I weirdly hope that they can become friends (well not that much), though Do Jae does need some prison time.

OG Sa Eon underestimates Hee Joo because she was not going to just let him drive away with her leaving Sa Eon behind. No, she fights for her life and yanks his hair hard so that he crashes the car and can escape. I love the hug when she runs to him and then later her putting the blanket on him, patting his back to comfort him.

I simply cannot get over OG Sa Eon's mom. Look, I don't have kids so I cannot speak to the mother/child bond that most mothers have. However, I fell like a line would be drawn if my child killed small animals then progressed to killing multiple children when he was still a child himself.

What do you mean how could you still treat him this way? He became a serial killer as a child and I am pretty certain he would have killed you at some point without a second thought. OG Sa Eon's father is terrible but at least he recognizes that his son is a monster and will cut him off or work to capture him. BECAUSE HE IS A LITERAL MONSTER. Of all the terrible parents on this show, and there are four of them, I think she is the worst.

I love, love how In A and Hee Joo are working together to put all the pieces together. It's In A who realizes that the car accident was likely intentional, all because their younger brother saw the OG Sa Eon.

I cheered for Hee Joo finally speaking back to her mom. For finally realizing that her mom never loved her and her obeying her mom was not love. She will not be gaslit anymore. I have a feeling it won't be long before Hee Joo completely cuts her out of her life. And I love how In A stayed, partially to comfort Hee Joo but also to immediately let her know who she thinks sent the DNA results when memory was triggered by what Hee Joo's mom said.

Sa Eon was the one who sent the DNA report, which is a twist I did not see coming. For Hee Joo, it's one of the final missing pieces. He really did orchestrate their whole marriage. Because he loved her and wanted her to have her freedom, never believing she would love him back. The fact that Hee Joo asks him to marry her, while crouching before him in the dress he bought her is swoon worthy. But he says he will propose to her instead. They both want to start over properly. The kiss was amazing.

We get another piece of the puzzle - what the deal was with the Chairman. The Chairman was behind the car accident and Hee Joo's stepfather found out. However, the Chairman promises to kill his grandson to balance killing the stepfather's son. The Chairman would replace someone as Sa Eon, but the stepfather knew and would bound to secrecy with an additional guarantee of getting anything he wanted from the family as long as he kept his quiet. At the very least, it looks like he really needed Sa Eon to be dead and all deals were void if he was not, as we see him crash the memorial with a shot gun.

By the way, proof again the OG Sa Eon's mom is terrible since she knows he is there and does nothing.

Hee Joo the fighter and survivor that she is, makes good on her promise to protect Sa Eon. She tells Sa Eon that she loves him, floors it and drives straight off a cliff into the water below. How OG Sa Eon thought that letting Hee Joo drive was good idea is beyond me. Did he forget how she escaped the first time? She crashed the car. Did he forget that she nearly tore his hair out causing him to crash a short time ago? Hee Joo has repeatedly shown that she will crash a car if necessary to survive or protect. He never should have let her drive.

The press conference scene was hands down the best scene. Disheveled Sa Eon, revealing that his is not the Chairman's son. No, the one true thing is that he is a husband who loves his wife and she is missing. He reveals to everyone who Hee Joo is, nearly breaking down completely in the process.

The lack of promo sucks, though I get why there is not one.

[doodler16]

No same Anon about Lilith and Eve.

I agree that at this point, I don't expect anything from Vivzie's female characters. I know I'm going to be disappointed, I'll just take what I like and rewrite them.

Now, the fact that Anon threw out is wrong: Lilith does not belong to the Bible. It belongs to Jewish folklore (Torah) but more as a legend since its origin is Mesopotamian.

Thanks to a medieval satirical text, Lilith was considered the first woman and wife of Adam.

Of course, the second fact that I throw is true: Lilith in her myths is far from the feminist figure with which the image of Lilith is popular. Unlike "Lilith who does not let herself be bent" in the original myths, she is a demonic being who kidnaps babies and rapes men. She does this together with Naamah, Agrat bat Mahlat and Eisheth Zenunim (this is more from the Zohar).

The idea of Lilith as an "empowered figure" is thanks to the creator of Wicca, Gerald Gardner. A very controversial subject, very controversial. I will not go into the debate if the Wiccans are considered a kind of pagans or just imitators of paganism who want to feel special because of the esoteric of the whole thing, but it is due to them that the figure of Lilith was bleached to look like this "rebel" being. And recent popular culture pushed that narrative further.

The same example is HH: Lucifer and Lilith are in love, Adam is evil from minute 1. Lilith did not bow to Heaven and Adam, she rebelled with her love Lucifer and now she is the queen of Hell.

When in reality several myths tell us that the one who did not overcome her ex was Lilith:

In one version we are told that Lilith transforms into Eve and has relations with Adam.

In another we are told that one night she enters Eden and rapes him.

In another we are told that, after Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve separate for 140 years due to the horror of the affair. In this myth there are 2 versions: again, Lilith has relations without Adam's consent (here Naamah, Agrath and Eishet are included). And the other is much calmer where Adam accepts to be with Lilith during those years.

What is made clear is that in all versions they have descendants: the lilims, the succubi, some vampiric beings, and sometimes it is even said that Asmodeus is the son of these two.

(In other versions, Asmodeus is the son of a mortal and Naamah, in other versions he is simply the husband of Lilith).

So for the first time, if Vivziepop puts Lilith as an evil being, a bad mother and so on... well, she would be the only character that is close to the original source.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not against reinvention or looking for a different route to the established (I have Adam x Lilith as the endgame in my rewrite and of course I've had to tweak some things) but Vivzie is criminal to the point that I'd rather she didn't touch Lilith and Eve because they're going to be at the mercy of favoring Lucifer. Do I want to be wrong? Yes, I want the show to tell me "You know what? Actually the conflict of these two doesn't revolve around Lucifer or Adam, neither are they going to become lesbians, nor are they going to have that kind of "I'm better than you because..." fight; no, their conflict is going to make Lilith feel guilty because she realized that she ruined two people's lives by imposing herself before what she thought was right, becoming the very thing that she complained about Adam and Heaven. And that Eve's conflict is that for a long time she felt this complex of being the replacement, that she should imitate Lilith because she was "the original, what a woman should be" as well as sticking to what "a wife should be", even putting that Adam let her be her own person because he was worried about how bad Eve was getting because of her own existential crisis. He as Lilith can ask Eve for forgiveness, but Eve cannot accept it. Thank you for saying so, but Lilith and Lucifer's actions doomed many and in horrible ways."

Am I going to get it? No, but I have accepted that I will live with it. There will always be a fanfic, a video, a new series, something, that really wants to explore all these characters beyond the original versions or the cheap tropes surrounding them.

Sorry for the big text, I needed to get it out of my system.

Yeah, I don’t blame anyone for having super low expectations regarding the Hazbin Hotel women especially with Lilith and Eve. Since in Helluva Boss, the women are demonized, one-note, and super side-lined. The women in Hazbin Hotel so far are mediocre anyway.

You good, Anon. No need to apologize and thanks for the clarification regarding Lilith. The version you mentioned about Lilith transforms into Eve is interesting because Vivziepop is planning some big plot twist with Lilith, Eve, Rosie, and Roo. Something about one being the other.

[lamemaster]

Marred Music

Request: @liar-anubiass-blogGood day🫶🏻 I hope you are feeling well, congratulations on the upcoming holidays 🎊 Fingolfin/Maiyar reader Ulmo. Timeline before Nolofinae's courtship of Anaire, everyone was just waiting for it to happen, but there had been some kind of strange pause for a long time. And then at one of the dinners where Finwe's entire family was present, Fingolfin finally takes the floor and informs everyone that he is breaking the agreement and will not court Anaire. He says that his heart and mind belong to another. When Finwe wants to object, Fingolfin says that he has already explained to Anaire that he loves another. Everyone is shocked. And then in the silence, the intrigued Feanor (who is delighted with the prospect of conflict) laughs and asks for whom he is trying so hard. Plus or minus so. I hope you can extract something worthwhile from this😅maybe a little drama? Nolofinwe deserves to get a cool Maiar wife and wipe Feanor's nose with this)))

Genre: Drama & angst

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I love your ask! And Fingolfin over Feanor any day but this one turned out very different (I'm so sorry). But once I started writing there was no stopping so please expect some more chapter ig. First time writing Fingolfin yee-haw

Chapter 1|

Reader POV

“It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwe,” Namo declares, his voice cold yet resolute, echoing through the desolate halls of his domain. The restless winds swirl around him.

You lower your gaze to the ground. The rippling waves of the lake lap softly at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves grieve with you for what cannot be undone.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice trembles under the weight of the words. Fragile, hollow, they carry a sorrow that coils deep within you. A void left by something Namo has stripped from your soul.

An act you must obey from the words of your lord. An act that was done for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the pain grasps your heart and flows from your eyes. 

How wretched was such affection that had weakened you to a weeping mess. Why had tales of Melian and Elwe not warned you of such an end? Why had you not looked for the tale of Miriel instead? Then perhaps you would have held your heart closer. Away from this misery. 

In the vast, cold expanse of the valley, the only warmth comes from Namo’s hand as it rests lightly on the top of your head. The touch is solemn, neither cruel nor kind, offering comfort even as it deepens the ache in your chest.

You feel your composure unravel, the fragile mask you wore dissolving into a raw sob. A sound that echoes through the stillness, as acute as any note in Ilúvatar’s song.

You sink to your knees, the waters rising to embrace you. Their cool caress mingles with your tears, which fall freely, carried away into the depths.

“What am I to do? What music is this?” The cry bursts forth, anguished and pleading, your voice breaking against the unyielding silence.

Fingolfin POV

He had been but thirty loar of age when he first met you—an ellon barely beyond the years of growth, still enchanted by the orchards of Ingwe, his maternal uncle who ruled the Vanyar.

It had been during one such visit, a special occasion meant to introduce the newborn Findis to the court of the Vanyar. It was a tradition Indis upheld diligently, just as she had for Nolofinwe, and Lalwen before.

Escaping his sister’s relentless questions, Nolofinwe had wandered off, eventually finding himself climbing a peach tree to marvel at a tiny nest perched on the topmost branch.

The cool winds of Taniquetil whispered through the air, mingling with the waning light of Laurelin. Enthralled, he studied the intricate weave of the sparrows’ nest, snugly cradling two eggs amidst scraps of fabric.

When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

The fall might have been disastrous. One that would have left his brother Curufinwe in fits of laughter for weeks, had it not been for you. Swiftly, with a fluidity that reminded him of a hawk diving for prey, you caught him mid-fall, your movements swift and precise.

“Stealing younglings is hardly moral,” you chirped. Your head tilted sharply as you studied him, your movements sudden yet graceful, and your golden eyes narrowing in brief suspicion before softening with curiosity.

Nolofinwe barely registered your words. Now that his feet were on the ground, he could only stare at you in wonder.

You stood tall, radiating the ethereal presence of the Ainur. The golden light of Laurelin seemed drawn to you, pooling around your form. To his awestruck eyes, you were wondrously fair, your back graced by wings of a great eagle, folded neatly yet trembling slightly, as though ready to spread and take flight at any moment.

Your sharp nose and piercing gaze of your features- similar to that of the maiar of Manwe. The curious tilt of your head became more pronounced as you stepped closer, your gaze darting over him with a quick, assessing flicker.

“Second-born of Finwe,” you trilled, as though testing the sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, you ruffled your wings, an instinctive motion that made Nolofinwe flinch as though he were being considered for retribution for disturbing the nest.

A newfound interest lit your eyes, the same fascination with which one might observe a fledgling testing its wings. And then without a word you were gone. As if done assessing that Nolofinwe, indeed did not hold any intention to harm the eggs.

From that day forth, eagles became his most cherished beings. A sudden, fervent love for birds blossomed within him. A devotion his maternal uncle wholeheartedly approved, though he never fully grasped its origin.

Beside his bed, a small basket of peaches always rested, their soft fragrance weaving through his room like a whisper of memory. Each breath carried him back to the moments he could not forget the gentle music of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the majesty of your wings.

To Indis’s great curiosity, peaches became her son’s most beloved fruit. What had once been a passing taste grew into a quiet obsession.

Even the peach orchards of Valinor, which he had rarely noticed before, became his frequent sanctuary, a place where the scent of the trees and the murmur of the breeze spoke to a longing he could never quite explain.

Reader POV

“How is it that Melian came to love Elwe?” you ask Eonwe, who stands vigilant beside you. Your brother, ever steadfast, serves your Vala, the King of Arda, Manwe Sulimo, as you do.

A gentle breeze stirs the air in the halls, coaxing the wayward vines to release their blooms, which fall like whispers to the ground. You watch their descent, lost in thought, as the question lingers between you.

Eonwe turns his gaze toward you, a hint of puzzlement crossing his features. His attention shifts, now entirely on you. He has little fondness for the songs and tales of the Children of Iluvatar, yet even he cannot deny that this particular tale weighs heavy on the memory of most Maiar.

Melian, the first among your kind to forsake the blessed lands of Aman. Hers was a path followed by many, though few remained in Middle-earth as she did.

“Iluvatar revealed a purpose for Melian,” Eonwe replies at last, his voice steady, though touched with reverence. “Their love is woven into the fate of Arda itself. A union that will bring forth the rest of Iluvatar’s music in the days to come.”

“Does Melian love the Firstborn King as we love our lord?” you ask softly, turning to meet his gaze. “Or is hers a love like that of our Lord and Lady? An eternal love.”

Resting his spear against a column of intricately carved marble, Eonwe exhales, his eyes distant as they wander eastward. “Much sorrow will this love cost her,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with foreknowledge. “Yet joy, too, she will find—this, our lord believes. Love in Arda Marred comes with a price.”

Your thoughts drift unbidden, carried away like the falling petals. You think of the elf from weeks past. The elfling from ages ago who had once climbed a tree to peer into Yellen’s nest. A chance meeting so simple, yet one that lingered through the passing years.

Through letters, through feasts, through fleeting encounters too brief to satisfy, and through the careful delivery of trinkets now hidden away in your room, far from prying eyes.

Nolofinwe. His name sings to you in every moment of Laurelin’s light and Telperion’s shadow.

It is a love distinct from your devotion to your lord. A tenderness set apart from the bond you share with your brother.

You have hidden it well, shielding it from the omnipresent song of Arda, whose marred melody seems to reach for all things pure, twisting them into its discordant strains.

But had you forgotten? Forgotten that he, your beloved, is a part of that same melody? That no matter how you might try, you cannot shield him from the song of which he is an inseparable note?

The mercy Iluvatar bestowed upon Melian to love Elwe was hers alone. It was never yours to claim.

Fingolfin POV

“My mother named me Aracáno,” Nolofinwe explains, his tone thoughtful. “It means ‘the high chieftain.’” He blushes faintly, the memory of childhood teasing surfacing unbidden. “Though as a child, I didn’t think much of it. My brother Feanaro often mocked me, calling me the chieftain of snotty elflings.”

He chuckles softly at the recollection, his hand holding yours in a snug grasp. Hidden away from the rowdy feast of rains, Nolofinwe has finally stolen a moment with you, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

It had been no small feat to slip away, especially with your brother. Eonwe, the mighty Chieftain of the Maiar, ever watchful. For days, Nolofinwe had been haunted by uneasy dreams of spears and falcons, as if even the thought of drawing close to you invited his disapproval. Yet here you were, close enough to touch, and for this moment, all those fears seemed inconsequential.

Clad in the luminous bloom of Telperion’s light, you were a vision he could not bear to miss. And as always, in your presence, the words spilled freely from him, unguarded and sincere, a rarity even among those he trusted.

“And then I let Arafinwe cho—” He falters mid-sentence, his words dissolving into silence as your wing extends, wrapping gently around him. The soft, downy warmth envelops him, and for a moment, Nolofinwe can only look up at you, pleasantly dumbfounded.

You tilt your head slightly, your golden eyes studying him. “Is it too warm?” you ask, already beginning to fold your wing back.

But Nolofinwe shifts closer, leaning into the embrace with a soft sigh. “It is pleasant,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. His hand lifts instinctively to comb through your feathers, his touch reverent and light.

The story he’d been telling fades entirely from his thoughts. All that remains is this quiet moment, the warmth of your wing around him, and the quiet peace he finds in your presence.

Feanor POV

A Maia?

Curufinwe nearly laughs aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Surely this is some elaborate jest, another one of Nolofinwe’s ill-advised attempts to outshine him.

Beside him, Nerdanel discreetly stomps on his foot, a warning meant to temper his reaction. But it does little to dissuade him. The sight before him is far too amusing to ignore.

Seated beside a straight-backed Maia, with magnificent wings slightly fluffed in what Curufinwe assumes is either nervousness or pride, sits his brother, Nolofinwe.

Feanaro had every intention of interrogating you later about the beads woven into your feathers. How they managed not to hinder your flight was a mystery worth solving but for now, his attention is wholly consumed by the scene before him. A pair indeed. A couple of trolls.

“So… this is your suitor?” he asks, his voice laced with poorly masked amusement. The effort to suppress his laughter is futile; from the glowering look on Nolofinwe’s face, it’s clear he’s failed spectacularly.

You, however, remain utterly unbothered, your posture as straight and vigilant as a guard on duty.

“Yes, I reckon I am indeed the one your brother courts, Crown Prince Curufinwe,” you reply, your tone cool and precise, as though delivering a patrol report.

For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe is struck by the urge to test you—to see if the obedience typical of Manwe’s Maia extends to you. Would you follow his orders with the same unflinching diligence?

The thought alone is nearly enough to make him laugh again, but Nerdanel’s second, more forceful stomp ensures he stays (relatively) composed.

From the prideful look in Nolofinwe’s eyes, Curufinwe can practically see him preening, as if to say, Look at this marvel I’ve claimed.

The Maia beside him, however, seems to be fighting a very different battle. Your gaze flickers just barely toward the chandelier above the table, a glittering temptation. You try valiantly not to let your eyes linger, but the effort is almost painful to watch.

A preening peacock and a gullible eagle. What a pair indeed, Curufinwe muses with a ghastly bout of fondness he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.

[vidra-comprehends]

Taking this as a chance to flesh out a dynamic between two characters more. It will eventually be part of a longer work, but it is not a huge spoiler to say these two get together.

The game is Mass Effect, the characters are members of Archangel's team. Tiken has IR training, while Erash was raised to be a dalatrass, which means they get to use that 'fancy professional' language around each other and, according to the others, 'they get really weird about it'. The following scene is as close to a traditional love confession as they will get.

Every fight has its end; someone always runs out of thermal clips first. Someone always miscalculates their steps, allowing for the enemy to swoop in and take their fill. What he cannot get used to is the quiet after the battle. This is an office building; people should hold meetings here and argue about economics, not shoot each other down. He takes some comfort in another live person; one he followed back into this room. ‘It’s empty.’

‘They will not be happy about the carpet. It would have been salvageable… before the blood dried.’ Erash walks up to the window of the conference room. ‘And the dry matter?’

‘Sidonis is taking care of it. Those with living family will be shipped soon.’ It’s easy to notice that, even compared to herself, Erash is very still. ‘Is something bothering you?’

She has drawn the curtains aside. Arms crossed, she is looking at the bulletin board in the corridor. ‘Nothing. I am picturing my body in a bag like that. Where it would be taken.’

‘That’s a good question. Where do you want to go? Back to Dagnes?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Erash closes the curtains. ‘It would make sense, right? The prodigal daughter finally returns home; more loyal in death than she ever was in life.’ She turns to face the drell, who has since closed the distance. ‘They would not refuse to bury me, I know that much. And you, with the mark on your forehead? Where would you go?’

‘Do I get to choose?’ he laughs. ‘One option is better than the other. Kahje? I don’t even remember what it looks like. Feros? You know what happened on that colony recently… It’s a struggle out there even without having to dispose of another corpse. Noveria? Yes, that sounds good. I wouldn’t be the first to "walk until my limbs are frozen". They rarely find the body, because they are not actually looking for it.’ He smiles warmly. ‘Best to go with cremation.’

‘Convenient,’ she admits. ‘If you die first, I can turn you into a diamond.’ A silly offer, but she means it.

‘And you can keep me in your pocket!’

‘...Yes. Exactly.’ Erash wants to say something more, but thinks better of it.

Unfortunately, Tiken notices. She should know by now that he always notices. ‘Erash, you are awfully gloomy today. Are you grappling with your mortality or… is there something else too?’

‘We know how this ends, darling.’ She avoids looking directly at him. ‘Salarians rarely mate for life. And even then, it’s for a salarian life.’

‘I am,’ he stares at her with those big dark eyes, ‘more than happy to carry you around in my pocket.’

She snickers. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘What am I getting at? What I am getting at is that you should acknowledge all aspects of this problem… like I am trying to.’

Her lower eyelids twitch. They stand there in silence. Erash slowly walks around him, taking the chair at the head of the conference table. ‘Have a seat. What is the proposal, exactly?’

He sits down at a respectable distance. ‘What it entails is largely up to the Chair, but the base concept is a relationship that would benefit all participants.’ He clears his throat. ’Of course, this must involve more data than we currently have; possibly even a referendum.’ He blinks at her.

Deep breath. ‘Reliable sources indicate a strong interest in such initiatives, therefore it is advised we move forward with this motion.’

‘Second.’

Erash smirks. Her voice fills the empty room. ‘Any objections?’ The bodies have been bagged and removed already and Tiken is slowly shaking his head. ‘Very well. Moving forward. Opening speech?’ She accepts his raised hand.

He doesn’t stand up, but his back is straight as a ruler. ‘As we all know, tensions have been high in the past few months. The ever-growing power vacuum presents a unique challenge for our initiative. As our working conditions change, so should we adapt to the new situation. It is imperative that we nurture our emotional side in order to reduce psychological harm and any suggestions regarding our… direct alliances… are to take priority.’

The salarian is visibly amused. ‘Is this, then, a suggestion about a subsection of the organisation?’

‘Precisely.’ In a very unprofessional manner, he puts his hand over his heart. ‘It is this delegate’s firm conviction that this subsection could gain a lot from it, translating well into their professional life and greater group dynamic as well.’

It is her turn to complain of a sore throat. ‘General working hazards aside… Due to a collection of negative past experiences, establishing security and resilience may prove a challenge here.’

It is a fair point. She has never taken root anywhere she went, while Tiken has had too many roots cut short. ‘Would making this entirely dependent on feedback be considered a viable option? Permission to elaborate.’

Erash leans forward. ‘Granted.’

‘Instead of relying on preconceptions, both parties might want to opt for a test period. During this time, we may confirm that the dynamic is truly bilateral and mutually satisfactory.’

‘Has the delegate taken note of… the time constraint? Simply due to the amount of time available, one party is at a notable disadvantage here,’ she smiles, amphibian eyes wetter than usual. No matter how much they joke about it, the elephant will not leave the room; they both know Erash doesn’t have nearly as long to live, and sooner or later, Tiken will be left behind.

Milo is ready to leave the place that served as the stage for an hour-long firefight and the death of several important Blood Pack clients. It has been a long day. She almost turns the corner when something catches her eye. The conference room they ‘cleared out’ earlier; all targets eliminated, bodies disposed of. Why are the lights on? Nobody’s home, after all... The turian chuckles at her own joke. Yeah, she needs to go home. Erash said she left something in there, but she must have turned the lights off again. Milovea sneaks her way to the window, peeking inside where two curtains meet. A moment later, she sighs in relief, now heading straight for the door. It’s her people. ‘Weaver? What are you guys up to?’

Tiken turns towards her with the solemn expression of weary diplomats and spoiled lapdogs. ‘We are negotiating for a long-term partnership between our clients.’

‘...Okay.’

‘I am quite hopeful about our progress so far.’ The way he eyes Erash is borderline disgusting.

‘And you don’t mind that she treats you like a house pet?’

‘Milo, look at me,’ the drell lowers his voice, waving for her to come closer. His irises are barely visible; as if his pupils were trying to join with the dark of his sclerae. ’I am… I am so tired. Of everything and all the time. No, I don’t mind being cherished and cared for, thank you very much.’

‘Will the delegation of Noveria please practice decorum?’

‘Certainly.’

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Mumbling something below translation volume, Milo hurries back out. ‘Just turn off the lights when you’re done, alright? Don’t want to drive up their electricity bill.’ She looks back from the doorway. ‘I am rooting for you both.’

The salarian smiles at her. ‘Thanks.’ For the very first time, Erash and her might be seeing eye to eye. It is a brief moment that Milo doesn’t think of until much later. The door closes.

Writing Challenge

Alright now that I was both sincere and pedantic(warned y’all I’m almost always both) here’s your writing challenge for the day. Don’t forget there’s no time limit to these, if you find it in a month I’ll still reblog it. I’ll take pretty much any BW fic not just DA. Reblog, tag, or link me!! My ask box is always open as are my DM’s! Without further ado:

I want flirty dialogue without physical touch OR flirty touch without dialogue.

OR OR

If romance like that isn’t your thing I want angst. Give me the longing. Give me the hurt/comfort. I yearn for yearning. Emotional distress???? I love that shit. I’m leaving this one wide open. Bonus points if you manage both categories. Look for mine later.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 2/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 2: "feel better" 3266 words

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

You don't listen to them when they talk to you. You don't even look at them. You only snap, like when Dust kicks you in the shin for ignoring him. 

You don't care.

You don't think about Dream. You don't think about Nightmare.

None of this matters anyway.

Pain and suffering was all you had to make you feel alive, and now you don't even have that. Hah.

—

“...K–”

“If the words that come out of your mouth aren't ‘I’m here to give you your soul back’, I’ll make it easier for you,” you interrupt him, “and advise you to shut the hell up.” 

And once again, Night falls into silence. He stands where Dream usually does. You don't even give him the courtesy of looking at him. 

You don't want him here. You made that expressly clear. In a perfect world, he returns your soul and then leaves you be so you can finally off yourself. In a slightly less perfect world, but still an acceptable one, he just leaves you be. 

You hate him so much it's more than you can handle.

You want to rip him apart.

Instead, he just keeps standing there. What a coward. He can barely muster up a few words for you. What a fucking coward. All that power and yet he's a weakling.

You hear him take a breath. Steeling himself. You want to ruin his resolve.

“...You haven't been reading my–”

“Yep, and I'm not going to.” you cut him off again. “Not unless that results in me getting my soul back.” 

“...I cannot do that.” Night says quietly, and it almost makes you laugh. You're too tired for it, however. 

What a joke though, huh? The almighty Guardian of Negativity can't do something as simple as returning an object that doesn't even belong– ...well. You suppose it does belong to him, in a way. 

It did, at least. 

You belonged to him. 

And now he's... like this. 

“Right.” you reply flatly. “In that case — au revoir.” 

Another pause. It’d be funny how apprehensive he is to speak to you if it wasn't so pathetic and, frankly, annoying. 

“...Killer–” 

“I’m too lazy to get up and force you out,” you bulldoze over his words yet again, no interest in hearing him out, “so be nice and don't make me, baby,” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him flinch at the nickname. Your grin widens. Good. He deserves to hurt a little. You hope it made him deeply uncomfortable.

“I merely wanted to say I’m sorry,” Night rushes out in an attempt to be heard. “The way I treated you was never acceptable and it never should've happe–” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

The silence rings deafening in the quiet that follows. 

That exploded from you in a way that surprises even yourself. You realize you are boiling. It's detached, but it's there. You shove yourself to your feet, grinding your teeth in a malicious grin.

You breathe heavily. The hatred and rage and desire for violence courses through you like liquid nitrogen. 

“Shut up.” you snap, staring at Night. He stares back, mouth pressed flatly, braced. There’s scarring over his right eye, like very wrongly healed cracks, making it mottled. Deformed forever just like Killer’s soul. He can't erase his — their — past, no matter how badly he wants to. “That’s not for you to decide.” 

He doesn't say anything. 

You stalk toward him slowly, blade already summoned to your hand. You want to make him bleed. You want to make him hurt. 

“I remember,” you start, voice coldly cheerful, “the way you would wring my neck until I couldn't even cry out. I remember the way you told me to attack my– subordinates, and I didn't even hesitate. I remember the way you would make me sob with despair–” 

“And it wasn't right–” 

“And I wanted every bit of it!” you raise your voice over his. He’s barely two feet away from you now. You wish he would cower away.

There was always something... larger, about Corrupted Nightmare. Something bigger than life. Something superior to you.

Night, the way he stood in front of you now, was lithe. He was small. It made you want to squash him like an insect. 

“I don't know how you're seeing this in your sorry little brain,” you mock, “but I’m not some victim. I chose every part of what you did to me.” you step closer, raising your knife. “I enjoyed it.”

Pressing it under his chin. 

Forcing it ever so slightly upwards so the little coward meets your fucking eyes. His eye lights tremble. You hope he's scared.

“Wanna know why, Night?” you barely have to raise your voice to be heard, with how close the two of you are. You hope he feels all the violent intent pouring from you. 

“...Why?” Night dares to prompt, even quieter. 

“Don’t you remember?” you laugh harshly, “I’m defined by my suffering. I breathe negativity.” 

Night flinches as you parrot his own words back to him. You can see in his expression that it hurts. 

Good.

“And that...” you idly trace the line of his jaw with the tip of your knife. “...made me perfect, you said. You gave me exactly what I needed. I can’t be ‘helped’ — your idiot of a brother may think otherwise, but we both know the truth, don't we?” you chuckle. 

Night just keeps staring at you, a twisted expression on his face. You entertain the thought of peeling it away bit by bit. 

“You're all I had, and I’m all you had.” you remind him. 

(I loved you at your worst. I’m the only one who did.

And you left me.)

It all happens in a flash — you've barely pulled the knife back before you slam it into his chest and he screams, but you're louder–

“And you THREW IT ALL AWAY!” 

Hands flying up to grab yours but you twist the knife deeper, shoving him back. Until you slam his back into the pillar behind him. 

He clutches at your wrist with both hands, blood streaming down his shirt. But he doesn't leave. He just takes it. Probably due to all that misplaced guilt. It's pathetic. You're almost disgusted to wound him. 

You wonder if he’ll let you kill him. He won't die from this, of course, it's nowhere near enough, though you almost wish the sheer harmful intent you packed into it was enough to make him keel over.

Oh how the tables have turned. Now it's you putting that look on his face and making him cry out in pain. How cute.

He stares at you, tears building in the corners of his eyes despite his set expression. You wonder if it's the pain from the wound or the pain from your words.

“I was ready to do everything for you,” you snarl, still grinning close to his face so he misses none of it. “But nooo! Little Mister Good Night wanted to play nice!” you jeer, ripping the blade out of him. He buckles and chokes on it, gasping for breath. 

You grab his hand roughly. 

“But you’re not nice. You can't be nice. You’re a monster, just like me. We know the truth,” you pull his hand up, and slot the knife’s handle into it, “Don't we, my king?” 

Night tries to jerk his hand back, and then again, but he still refuses to fight back against you. It’d be adorable if it wasn't so stupid. 

You just use your second one to forcibly press his fingers closed around the handle of the blade. 

And then you press that blade to right where your soul always sits, always bared and vulnerable. 

You lean close, until you can even feel the pain from the sharp tip.

“So here's your ultimatum,” you speak slow and calm. Quiet enough so your voice doesn't even echo, because this is personal. Between you and him. You’re grinning. “You can't have both cakes, baby. Either leave me be completely; or stop with your game of pretend, stop being a coward and finish it.” 

The silence is deafening. 

You feel the way your grin is stretched over your face, leering and dripping black. You listen to Night’s harsh, quick breathing. You watch the shake in his wide, wet eyes. 

What a fun idea Night had, coming here. You wonder what he was expecting to happen. Fool. 

“...I–” Night takes a breath, “I don't wish to hurt you any more than I already have.” he says, pushing determined resolve into his voice, even with how quiet and shaky it is.

“Oh, but dear,” you croon, and you wonder if it’ll work if you were the one to shove his hands in the right direction, “can't we do what I want for once?” 

Night shook his head, distressed.

You sigh, releasing him, taking your knife back. 

It won't work if the intent isn't there, so you can't do it yourself. What a disappointment. Although that isn't a surprise, when it comes to this version of Nightmare. 

“Go on then,” you wave dismissively, turning your back to him. “Leave.” 

And in a perfect world, he does. In a perfect world, the Void comes and claims you with its own hands.

“No.” your wrist is grabbed, and you pause. 

Slowly, you turn back around. Until you can once again see his face. Like a little mouse. It has no right holding all that determination all of a sudden.

“...What?” you hiss.

“I said no.” Night repeats, as if you simply didn't quite hear him. Raising his chin a little, eye lights flickery but holding your glare nonetheless. “I'm not leaving you again.” 

You stare at him. 

You spit a laugh in his face and he winces. You hold your face, and you start laughing so hard your head hurts. The harsh sound bouncing around the mess that became of this damned corridor. 

Well isn't that a funny joke? Never knew Nightmare is such a comedian!

“Laugh all you want!” Night goes on the defensive, trying to speak over your deranged laughter. “I know you hate being alone, I’m not leaving you, even if I can't help, I’ll send Dream, or Dust or– I know you hate being alone,”

“And that's why you ditched me, isn't it?” you speak over his words, through your own laughter. He still hasn't let go of your wrist. The contact feels... feels. “Discarded me when I was no longer fun to push around?”

Night cringes, clearly pained at the reminder. Reflexively squeezing your wrist. 

“Left me? In the Antivoid? Poor ol’ me, all alone?” you press deeper into the emotional wound. “Because you wanted to hurt me as bad as you could, right? Remember? What good times we had, Night-night!” 

“You're so–” Night mutters through teeth, and you laugh in his face. 

“I’m what? Callous? Mean? Evil?” you continue mocking, “Come on, saayy it! Hopeless, beyond redemption? Violent and unstable, a distorted freak, scum?” oh yes, you remember the pretty names he’s called you, always the romantic, “Am I still perfect for you, baby? Or is your little toy finally too broken to play with?” you throw it all at him like darts at a board.

You know it hurts because he cries. His expression is set, but there's silent tears down his face. The sight of it might just make the next day a little more bearable to exist through. 

Instead of daring to address any of that, however, 

“...You’re not beyond hope.” Night whispers. 

What a moron. Him and Dream really are twins, huh? 

“Hey, waste as much energy on that as you want. I don't care,” you shrug, “I don't care about anything.” you say airily.

“That's not true.” Night still doesn't raise his voice. 

“Right, because you know me better than I know myself or... something something,” you feign a yawn, “Soo you going to leave already oorr?” 

Now, Night’s hand squeezes your wrist intentionally. There's probably meaning to it. You don't care. You don't care. 

“I’ll be back.” Night states, quiet but resolute.

You don't dignify him with a response. You don't care enough to do so.

When he finally leaves, you exhale. 

And once again it's just you and the silence.

—

You're that sick and tired of this hallway to last for three lifetimes. You need a change of scenery. 

You need something to do. You crave it like a druggie. You need to sink your sharp magic into something soft, watch the life drain out, so you can pretend like you're soaking it up. You need the rush of it, the hit of raised EXP. You need the adrenaline of a fight. 

Or, at the very least, you need a change. The boredom is mind numbing. It's torture. It’s eating you alive. You feel like you're decaying with every breath.

You wonder if Dust’s offer is still on the table. Probably, right? Mm. One small issue, though. 

You have no way of contacting him. You only have company when someone else decides to come around. 

You settle for repeatedly slamming the back of your head into the wall. 

If you're in pain, maybe you're real.

—

Huh. Killer didn't think Night would dare show his face around again. But apparently he was a little more serious about the whole ‘not leaving you alone’ thing. 

Except... he did nothing. 

Killer didn't greet him back when he popped up, but Night didn't push. He just... sat down on the ground. Opened up a book. Started reading casually like he was in a comfy public library. 

At least he wasn't being a bother again. 

Killer avoided looking at him initially, but now, he observed. Just watched the way Night sat, legs crossed. 

He was dressed... proper. Fancy and regal, but far from anything grand — more on the simple side, a caplet with a clasp, that sort of thing. In purple. 

Killer watched him turn a page. Stance calm and easy. Like Killer wouldn't take every opportunity to hurt him. It was... annoying. 

“You really have nothing better to do?” Killer spoke up, almost surprising himself with it. But hey, even talking to this loser was more than the devouring silence. “No charity work? Fixed all the lives you ruined?” 

He watched Night intentionally keep his composure together, not showing that’d gotten to him. Killer knew he had, anyway. He chuckled. It was so easy. 

“There's always something to do,” Night said calmly, eyes on his book. “And right now I’m choosing to do this,” 

“Aww, you missed me that bad, baby?” Killer mocked. “Realized you can never fit among them? That they’ll always hate you?” he spoke cheerfully. 

Night gripped his book. Then pointedly relaxed his hands. 

“...I already knew that,” he said quietly. In the echo of the hallway it was audible enough. “And... I do miss you,” 

Killer fell silent. 

...That... hm. He huffed. 

That was stupid. That wasn't– he wanted to snap at Night to shut up. 

“Well of course you do,” he crooned instead, grin widening, “Who wouldn't want a brainless yes-man of a peon?” 

Night frowned slightly.

“...You're not brainless,” he countered, of all things. Hm. He wasn't rising to Killer’s bait. He was keeping himself a lot more level-headed compared to last time. Interesting. 

“Right, my mistake,” Killer mimed rolling his eyes, “I’m heartless,” 

Night’s gaze broke from his book, but he still didn't look at Killer, only to the side. Frowning lightly. 

“I...” he spoke, considering, “...I don't think you're that, either.” 

Killer immediately spat a laugh. 

“Oh so you've gone delusional!” he revelled, “We should call Dust and Horror here, get the whole Crazy Crew!” he jeered. 

“I’m serious,”

“I’m sure you are!” 

“You're not heartless, Killer,” Night insisted, Killer’s mockery only strengthening his defensive stance. “Dream told me what happened between the two of you. I know you felt his affective aura and you've always been able to feel mine–” 

“Woooww, I’m susceptible to emotions forced on me? You're right, I’m such an empath–”

“That's the thing,” Night now looked at him, closing his book. Oooh, getting serious? “Ink can't. He’s influenced only by his vials. Fresh is immune to our influence too — but you’re not. You can feel it, you feel it all,” 

Killer sighed, enduring the lecture with an almost familiar lack of care. Ahh, the amount of times he’s been scolded by Nightmare. Sadly this one probably won't end like those. What a shame.

“So what?” Killer shrugged. 

“I think,” Night spoke like this was far from the first time he’d thought on the matter, yet still treading carefully, “that... you could, hypothetically... feel on your own. You had the capability before, even if it has been a long time, right? It– it's like an atrophied muscle, you struggle to generate anything on your own, but the senses for it are still there–” 

“You have no way of knowing that,” Killer pointed out. 

Night paused. Squinted. He idly fidgeted with the top corners of his book, contemplative. 

“...You know what?” he chimed, “You're right. How about we test it?” 

Killer blinked. “Test it,” he repeated flatly. 

“Yes! Like an experiment,” Night nodded, a little livelier, “That would be at least a little interesting, right? We can bet on it, even, and it'd be a win-win for you — either you're right and you win, or I’m right and we can work on hea– recovering your emotional senses!” 

...What a nerd.

But he did know how to convince Killer. It was almost nasty, the way he used his intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Killer’s mind. 

It would be more interesting than doing nothing, though. And it would be a win-win for him. 

“Mmm,” Killer tapped a finger, acting indecisive, “A bet, huh? What are you betting?” 

Night paused again. “I meant it more figuratively,” he coughed. 

“And I’m making it literal,”

“Well what are you willing to bet on it?” what do you even have?

Clever, flipping it back to Killer. Night was showing his chess skills.

Hmm. What could he bet? Not like he had... anything, really. 

...But. There was something that Night had which Killer wanted. 

“...My soul,” Killer said, smirking. “If I win, you give it back. If you win, you can keep it.” 

And if Killer was right, and he was truly, provably hopeless, getting his soul back had an obvious next step. If Night somehow, ridiculously, proved to be right, Killer could hypothetically live with that. 

A win-win.

Night was hesitating. 

“...I don't–” he puffed an exhale, “Your soul is– that's too much. I’m not–” 

Killer cackled loudly, “Well then you better be pretty convinced in that little theory!” he prodded. “Come on, it’s my soul after all,” 

Night pushed himself to his feet, storing his book in his inventory. He took in a breath, let it out. 

“...I have a few terms.”

“Okay,” Killer indulged him, amused.

“You’ll also let Dream help. And you have to go about this fairly — give it an actual shot, don't just... shoot it all down.” Night kept his back straight as he spoke. 

“Sure,” 

“...Genuinely?” Night was taken back by his response. 

“Yeah whatever,” Killer shrugged, getting to his feet. “Win-win, right?” 

“...Right.” 

“Well?” Killer extended a hand. 

Night glanced at it, then at his face. Breathed in, breathed out. Steeled himself, committing to his decision. 

He strode closer, took Killer’s hand and shook it. It didn't hurt. Even Killer didn't take the opportunity to hit him with an attack. 

Alright then. Time to see how this unfolds.

[smileandlove21]

Overprotective

The newly reinstated Demon Hunting Bureau continuously grows as new recruits sign up to be part of the vanguard. They would not only work with the famous commander of the bureau but also with the great demon of the wilderness. Every recruit wanted nothing more than to pass all the tests. 

Pei Sijing, the second in command, helps out Zhuo Yichen in making sure they would select the suitable recruit to be part of the bureau. They may have defeated Wen Zongyu a few months back, which almost cost them the lives of their two friends. The bureau needed recruits who could fight and be able to defend Tiandu City. 

"Did you hear? The great demon will be watching us during the test," Xichen said.

He is one of the recruits. He wanted to work with Zhuo Yichen for the longest time, and when the bureau opened for new recruits, he did not hesitate to sign up.

"I thought you wanted to show off your skills to Zhuo Yichen?" Xiaoyue teasingly asked her friend. 

Xiaoyue never wanted to be part of the bureau, but her only friend, Xichen, forced her to sign up. They both trained hard to be selected for the final selection. She just hopes they will be accepted, as her friend will be devastated if not. 

"I do, but having the great demon watch is also thrilling!" Xichen exclaimed, making Xiaoyue roll her eyes. 

The final selection began. The recruits are getting ready to gear up for their final test. What they did not know is that they would be fighting against Zhao Yuanzhou. 

"You have quite a number of new recruits, Xiao Zhuo. Let's see if any of you can land a blow on me," Zhao Yuanzhou said with a smile. The recruits instantly back down upon hearing that. 

"You mean we have to fight you? How can we win against a great demon?" One recruit asked.

"In order for you to be part of the bureau, you must be brave to face any demon to protect Tiandu. That includes facing a great demon like him. If you cannot do it, the door is open for you," Zhuo Yichen sternly said, making Zhao Yuanzhou look at him clearly amazed. 

"My darling commander is so tough in front of the recruits," Zhao Yuanzhou teasingly said, which earned a jab from Zhuo Yichen. 

The recruits seem hesitant to proceed, and Zhuo Yichen can see them slowly backing down. Two recruits caught his attention as they moved forward and prepared their stance to attack. 

"You have to decide now as your final selection test will now begin. Zhao Yuanzhou, go easy on them," Zhuo Yichen said, whispering the last sentence only for the great demon to hear. 

Zhuo Yichen backs away from the training area and lets Zhao Yuanzhou do the work. As he watched from the sidelines, the two recruits from earlier were eager to fight against Zhao Yuanzhou, and one of them almost hit him. Yichen can see the potential in the two recruits.

"How's the final selection?" Wen Xiao asked as she walked towards him. 

"They are still trying to hit the monkey. I told Zhao Yuanzhou to go easy on them, but he wanted to play with the recruits," Zhuo Yichen replied as they watched how Yuanzhou dodged any attacks and countered them.

Xichen and Xiaoyue are already frustrated, as their attacks are always countered by the great demon. He would not be called a great demon if he could be attacked so easily. All the recruits did not back down and tried again, but it was like play time for the great demon. 

"This is impossible! How can we hit him?!" Xichen yelled as he caught his breath. Xiaoyue, on the other hand, is already thinking of another way to do this test. 

"See how the great demon looks at the commander? Its like he is boasting his skills to him. Much like how you wanted to do," Xiaoyue whispered to her friend. Xichen observed and saw it as well. 

"I know you idolize him, but we cannot hit the great demon. We can try to hit his weakness." Xichen looks at Xiaoyue as if she lost her mind.

"You want to hit the commander?! Have you lost your mind?" Xichen exclaimed loudly, but Xiaoyue immediately put a hand on his mouth. 

Zhuo Yichen saw the two recruits at the back whispering among themselves while the others continued to assault Zhao Yuanzhou. Wen Xiao also looks at the direction he was looking at. 

"Xichen adores you, Xiao Zhuo. The girl beside him is Xiaoyue. They are childhood friends. I guess they both wanted this position so much that they are plotting something." Yichen hummed as a response to the goddess. Whatever they are trying to do, they must do it fast before the ape demon finds them. 

Xichen and Xiaoyue made a run towards the direction where Zhuo Yichen was standing. The commander was caught off guard when he felt a blade on his neck. Wen Xiao who was beside him was pushed away from the scene by Xichen. 

"Surrender now or we will hurt the commander!" Xiaoyue yelled at Zhao Yuanzhou. The great demon stopped his attacks and frozen the other recruits to look at the two recruits holding Zhuo Yichen captive. 

"Tsk, tsk. You are smart for your age, little girl. Let him go now and we will accept you to the bureau," Yuanzhou said, walking in their direction. Xiaoyue did not believe him and pushed the knife further to the neck of Zhuo Yichen, drawing blood. 

Seeing Zhuo Yichen's blood, Zhao Yuanzhou instincts kicked in and wanted nothing more than to hurt these two recruits. Xichen and Xiaoyue saw how his demeanor changed from playful to furious. His malicious energy can be felt within the training area. 

"Zhao Yuanzhou! You have to calm down!" Wen Xiao called out, but it was not heard by the great demon.

"Xiaoyue! What are we going to do?!" Xichen yelled, scared of what was going to happen to them. The great demon is approaching them like a predator hunting for his prey. 

Just then, Zhuo Yichen counters the lock Xiaoyue has on him and pushes the two recruits back. Yichen stops Yuanzhou with his hand on his chest. His hand emits blue energy. The recruits just watch as the scene unfolds before them. 

"I'm fine. It was just a scratch," Zhuo Yichen said, smiling at Zhao Yuanzhou, who now calmed down hearing his beloved's voice. He deeply exhales and looks at the two recruits behind Yichen.

"Never ever do that again. You two passed the test. The rest can try again tomorrow." With that, Zhao Yuanzhou left the training area, removing the one-word spell from the other recruits as he walked away. 

All recruits were shocked with what they witnessed. The great demon almost lost control because of the stunt of the two recruits. 

"My apologies for that. We can continue the final selection tomorrow. You two come with me," Zhuo Yichen said, then he pointed Xichen and Xiaoyue to follow him. Wen Xiao guided the rest of the recruits to the dining hall for food.

In the meeting hall, Zhuo Yichen is looking at the two recruits; however, they avoid his stares. They were scared from what happened earlier, and Yichen understands that. They might not even proceed with their positions.

"If you want to retract your positions, you may do so. After what happened earlier, I know you are scared. I can assure you that Zhao Yuanzhou will not harm anyone, especially recruits; however, you may have done something he did not like." Zhuo Yichen started to explain to cut the silence between them. 

"I'm sorry, commander. We never wanted to hurt you in the first place, but..." Xiaoyue cuts off her friend.

"I can see your importance to him, commander. I wanted to apologize as I am the one who thought about this and Xichen was just following my instructions. The great demon was right to be furious when you were not part of the test. We may be accepted, but we did it the wrong way." 

"What you did was unexpected. It was smart. You observed my actions and used that against me. What I really don't like is seeing my beloved husband bloodied. So you passed the test." Zhao Yuanzhou responded as he entered the meeting hall and lean against the wall near the entrance. 

The two recruits were shocked to know that the great demon and their commander are married. It was not announced or known by anyone in Tiandu. Zhuo Yichen raises an eyebrow at Zhao Yuanzhou, which is responded by a smirk from the ape demon. 

"You may go now, and congratulations on being part of the Demon Hunting Bureau." Zhuo Yichen smiled at two recruits, which made them smile. 

After the two recruits left, Zhao Yuanzhou walked towards Zhuo Yichen and hugged the dragon demon. He checks his neck for injuries but finds it healed already. 

"You should not have done that. The recruits were so scared. Wen Xiao has to bribe them out for food." Yuanzhou just replied with a chuckle as he kissed Yichen's forehead.

"They should never touch my precious dragon. Besides, I am not the only demon out there who can kill them. Its better for them to know the reality on how powerful demons are." 

"I can see the potential from them. The young girl is smart while the other is brave. With them together, they can be a good team," Yichen said as he played with the ape demon's hair. 

"They are good and talented. Too smart for their age. They are like us, Xiao Zhuo. Smart and brave. Of course, I am the smart one." Yuanzhou teasingly said earning a slap on his chest from Yichen.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night, you monkey." 

"Ape, darling. How many times do I have to inform you that your beloved husband is a white ape and not a monkey?" That made Yichen laugh as he hugged the great demon. 

[blue-mood-blue]

I’ve grown to appreciate the aus where Shen Yuan enters the story as “Shen Yuan” - same name, probably similar face, generally able to interact with PIDW as himself and change the story through his added presence. I like the sense of “if only you’d been here, things might have been better the first time around” of it all.

And I was thinking, it’s a funny coincidence in that scenario that someone named Shen Yuan gets put into… another Shen Yuan. What are the chances? What a weird twist of fate that Airplane would pick out the name that his most dedicated critic could slip into seamlessly.

What about a version where it’s not coincidence at all?

Airplane goes to school with a kid named Shen Yuan. He’s prickly and hard to approach and a little intense, but Airplane is persistent. In fairness, Airplane is relentless - and maybe it’s a good thing that they end up being friends, because they’re a little too much for anyone else to handle. They balance each other out. They’re the “weird kids” in class and they’re okay with that, because even when they don’t have any words for it, they know they’re not like their classmates, not really. That’s okay; they don’t want to be.

Recesses and breaks are consumed with the elaborate stories that Airplane wants to tell, and all the holes Shen Yuan pokes into them. It’s not mean-spirited, though, even though Shen Yuan isn’t the kind to temper his words. It’s passionate. He cares about those stories the way Airplane cares about them, and it can’t be mistaken for anything else when they lean together conspiratorially across the lunchroom table. They’ve both got notebooks filled with details and characters and monsters. Shen Yuan’s practically got a whole bestiary sketched out in wobbly childhood attempts at art, entries fervently scrawled beside them. Airplane prattles out plots nonstop, always with the promise of shining eyes and being asked “what happens next?”

They come up with a whole world together. Airplane’s going to write about it someday. Shen Yuan is going to read every word.

Shen Yuan misses school. Shen Yuan starts missing school a lot.

Airplane goes to the hospital room instead. He doesn’t think to worry, because Shen Yuan is okay - that’s what he says. He looks okay, and he’s a kid, and it doesn’t feel real that anything bad should happen to a kid. He doesn’t think to worry. He doesn’t think to say goodbye.

It’s one of the older Shen brothers who catches him on the way up to the room one day, in the hallway just outside - snaps at him to go the fuck home, and when Airplane hesitates, pushes him into the elevator and tells him not to come back. “Tells” is a generous way to describe the way the words come out - a growl, a hiss, the sound an animal would make when a hand got too close to a wound.

(It’s not fair to name a villain after him, even if the name never really comes up in the story. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He’d lost a brother minutes before, and he was getting his brother’s friend out of the way so he didn’t have to… see. It isn’t fair, but then, none of it is fair.)

Death feels very real after that.

The notebooks get shoved into a closet, and it’s not until Airplane’s moving out and one falls on him from a high shelf that he thinks about it again. He’s written things, lots of things, but nothing as ambitious as this - nothing as important. It could be good, he considers. He’d promised. Shen Yuan wanted to read it.

The problem was that no one else does, not for a long time, not until Airplane has whittled himself and his art into a corner and into such an unfamiliar shape that he has to wonder how it’s still his own face he sees in the mirror. He has to eat. He has to pay rent. Shen Yuan would yell at him, but Shen Yuan isn’t there to yell at him, and who cares. Who cares if it could have been better? The people who actually are here love it, and it’s paying his bills, and sometimes stories don’t go the way they’re supposed to and the world is fucking unfair. It doesn’t matter.

(It does. But he shoves that thought away along with styrofoam cups and soda bottles to the bottom of a garbage bag.)

Authors are not gods and their power is limited, but Airplane exercises just a sliver of what he’s been granted and gifts an inconsequential sort of immortality. He thinks about making him a rogue cultivator, maybe the kind that goes around documenting beasts and compiling his findings. He thinks about making him someone too powerful for death to touch, or too important to threaten, but when Airplane looks at the world he crafted and everything that’s become of it, it feels like the kindest thing he can do for Shen Yuan is a childhood where he’s loved, and a death that’s peaceful. What does it say about that world, that he’d kill off his best friend too early again instead of making him live there?

(The best writing he ever does is the only, shining moment of humanity that his scum villain ever displays: a lament about death that comes too early, about a brother gone too soon. The commenters praise him. The commenters flatter over how real the emotions feel. The commenters don’t get any response from Airplane on that chapter.)

Death is incredibly real when it comes for him too early, too, still hovering over his keyboard with the story technically finished and incredibly incomplete. Airplane could tell himself that’s because the written version can never be the version in the writer’s head, always shifting and with every possibility still on the table, but he knows better than that. The System knows better than that, with its condescending message about “improving” his writing and “closing plot holes” and “achieving his original vision”...

…and he’s a child again. He’s a child in his own story, he’s Shang Qinghua now without the benefit yet of a peak or cultivation or anything, and maybe he’s a little bitter, and a little scared, and…

And Shen Yuan - with longer hair, with robes, with a couple of older kids watching him from across the street, but undeniably the prickly little boy who used to sit down imperiously across from him and tell him everything that was wrong with the chuck of writing that had been handed to him last period, but with that smile that said he was only invested because he knew it could be better and they were going to make it better - marches up to him with a fire in his eyes and a frown that warns of a coming tirade.

“You told it wrong,” is the first thing he says.

Shang Qinghua wants to ask how him how he’s here, how this is possible, or maybe laugh because, yeah - yeah, Shen Yuan has no goddamn idea how wrong he got absolutely everything.

(Shang Qinghua wants to say “I missed you” and “why did you leave so soon” but he’s here now. He’s right here.)

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry. It all kind of… spiraled out of control.”

Shen Yuan frowns, but then it dissipates the way it always does, and his eyes shine with ideas the way they always used to. “That’s okay,” he relents, grabbing for his hand. “We’ll fix it. We’ll make it what it was supposed to be.”

[nottskyler]

This is in addition to what is shared here. An exploration of the interpretation I take away from the fall. David is always great at sharing multiple interpretations and letting you find the one that resonates with you for you to further explore.

Starting from the beginning: the premortal council that introduces the option to come to earth. What was the purpose of sending us to earth?

To learn and grow to become like our Heavenly Father (using the traditional term for clarity)

What characteristics do we expect Heavenly Father to have? The most commonly shared attributes are faith, hope, and charity. Preach My Gospel adds integrity, knowledge, patience, humility, diligence, and obedience. But when we learn history, we know obedience is bad when the law is bad. So we know that we need something to balance with obedience and I think this is where critical thinking comes to play (which is what Eve invokes to bring about the fall).

You cannot become like Heavenly Father if you are commanded in all things. You have to have independent plans, principles, and values and be able to apply them. Eve was given two commandments and one was easy to obey (eat the fruit), but she didn’t know how to do the second. So what did she do? She listened and learned and decided to act on the information she had to move forward.

I like how Joseph does a similar thing at the start of the New Testament and how Nephi does another form of this albeit with much more spiritual guidance than the others took. It’s the act of looking and deciding to do what you know is right even though you were told it was wrong. It’s showing that you will think for yourself and not just go with whatever you are told to do. That you will use your agency to accomplish righteous goals (which will importantly be followed up with repentance as good intent is not good enough either).

Basically, there has to be a test to prove you won’t blindly follow everything and it just so happens that was the test that lead to humanity existing.

In thr garden of eden why would god force Adam and eve to disobey him in order to move forward and keep all his commandments? Why wouldn't he just give them the choice of whether or not to eat the fruit (like maybe offering it to them and they can say yes or no) without commanding them to not do it? God being all knowing, he knows Satan will coerce eve and she'll eat the fruit anyway. I'm mormon and so confused about that part

You're on the right track in that these stories were written to get us to ponder their meaning, what are we supposed to learn from them, what lessons about life can we glean?

Here’s one thing to remember, no one has come up with a satisfactory explanation, it’s left a quandary for us to puzzle over.

I think most Christians view the Fall as a mistake, that we were all meant to live in the Garden and have idyllic lives. That certainly is not the LDS viewpoint.

As Latter-day Saints we have 5 versions of this story: 2 in Genesis, 1 in the Book of Moses, 1 in the Book of Abraham, and the 1 presented in the temple endowment. They differ from each other and the things we can learn from each of them differs accordingly.

There’s two main LDS theories I’ve heard taught. The first is that people are here on earth to learn and grow, how can this happen without choices to make? By giving conflicting commandments, God is forcing Adam and Eve to choose.

The other main LDS theory is that God created them perfect and for them to experience the sufferings and degenerative effects of mortal life and death, God didn’t impose it on them, they had to choose it in exchange for the opportunity to grow and progress. I think this idea is a bit problematic for people who believe Adam & Eve are historical and were the first humans, why would Adam & Eve get to make that choice for everyone? But if we think of them as symbolically representing humankind, then we chose to come to earth and encounter the hardships of mortal life for the opportunity to progress to become like God.

There’s some other theories. One fits with Elder Oaks’s recent conference talk that there are some commandments which are temporary and some which are permanent. Not partaking of the fruit was a temporary commandment, thus the conflict was going to be temporary. One version of the story says God will return with further instructions. Perhaps those instructions would include in what circumstances and timeline they were to partake of the fruit, but then Satan showed up and convinced them to do it now.

Another theory is it was done this way to demonstrate that when we’re faced with a decision, choose to be more like God even if it isn't the easier path. Eve chose to be more like God even if that brought suffering and death. We are all going to die in the end, so focus on choosing to become more like our heavenly parents.

In life, we are all going to have hard decisions to make, choose the higher law. Love is the highest law (see what Jesus said about the two greatest commandments). Eve chose love for God by wanting to be like Him. When Adam was faced with the decision, he chose love for Eve, he ate so he could remain with her.

Maybe another way to understand the predicament of Adam & Eve in the Garden is that life isn’t simple and predictable. Our understandings are limited and what we think is the correct thing to do and what we understand God wants for us can change as we get more experience/knowledge.

I hope I gave you some ideas to explore. Going beyond why would God give them conflicting commandments, what else can we learn from the story of Adam and Eve? You may be interested in some of my thoughts from this post and this one.

[gaytedlasso]

still looking for the blinding light

still looking for the reason why