#i think they should have that kind of symbolic intimacy

[chucklepea-hotpot]

fred wearing sprotte‘s feather necklace under his shirt right over his heart <3

[geospiral]

Taking a look at Mizi and Ivan as symbolic of Till’s desire for escapism vs. having to acknowledge the cruel reality he lives in:

When people think about Ivan and the idea that Till “never looked at him,” many people take this claim either in the literal sense or in the sense that Till was not appreciative of Ivan’s presence when he was still alive, both of which can be disproven with canon material. However, I want to take this idea and apply it in another way, of Ivan being the reality that Till does not want to acknowledge or face.

One of the most defining aspects of Ivan’s character is his rejection of idealism, to the point that you could honestly say that he leans towards nihilism. This is in great contrast to Mizi pre-Round 1, who was sheltered as a child and throughout most of her young adulthood, right up until the actual Alien Stage competition itself. The disconnect between these two and their worldviews can most readily be seen when comparing their intimacy levels with each other, with Ivan having a hard time relating to Mizi due to her innocence, whereas Mizi, although very fond of Ivan, seemingly only knows the version of him that he specifically curated and hid behind for the sake of survival.

(Text: "Intimacy: 75%. A cool friend with a prince-like smile! The object of every child's admiration! Whenever I don't know something, he's always kind and teaches me.")

(Text: "Intimacy: 30%. I like Mizi because she has a purity that is free of lies. As you get older, its natural to become pessimistic about your situation. But sometimes... its so bright it's difficult.")

(Text screeshot taken from a previous post)

Till was most definitely a witness to the different faces Ivan wore, being one of only two people that Ivan let his mask down around. But Till knew Ivan even before he started actively masking, before their first fight even, when he saw Ivan small and beaten from his holding cell.

Ivan is like Till’s shadow, ever present. Shown to us to almost always try to be by Till’s side even in his worst moments, especially in his worst moments. And while the two of them are friends, and I’m sure Till is glad that he doesn’t have to go through his ordeals completely alone, what comes with Ivan is an aching reminder of Till’s cruel reality. With Ivan there to care for Till in the aftermath of his mistreatments, there is now a witness that also carries the knowledge of what happened to him, and that can be both comforting and horrifying. These are no longer contained occurrences between Till and his abusers that Till can try and use escapism (Mizi) to ignore. Ivan knows and will always be by Till’s side, and so will the reality of Till’s circumstances.

This isn’t to say that Ivan’s presence is a detriment to Till but far from it! Reality cannot be fully ignored; you must come to acknowledge what is or has happened to you and then go forward with that to try and see what can be done about it.

Which leads us to the meteor show incident.

Till taking Ivan’s hand and leaving what he knows behind is NOT him ignoring reality but is him trying to escape from the constant abuse he suffers. Till should never have to “accept” the torture he is put through, and neither should anyone else who is in an abusive situation. The meteor shower escape attempt is simply a chance for something to be done about Till's circumstances—to leave and hopefully be able to live a life more independent and free away from the creatures and system that torments him, similar to Hyuna’s own escape.

It must be reiterated that in this moment, however, Till is leaving everything he knows behind, his entire life up until this point, and that scares him...

Till letting go of Ivan’s hand isn’t as simple as “Till running back to his crush." It's Till not wanting to leave behind the most prominent source that he’s used to cope with basically everything in his life.

And obviously Till cares for Mizi as a person, but he also sees her as much more than that. She is his light in the dark; she is his hope—innocent and yet to be scarred by the world.

Till going back is NOT a failure on his part or something that he can be blamed for. It's sad, but also incredibly human and understandable. A lot of people would have probably gone back, choosing familiarity over the unknown. I probably would have gone back.

Talking about Round 6 now, it makes perfect sense how devastated Till is over Mizi’s disappearance. It's important to face reality, yes, but it's also important to have something to emotionally rely upon to get you through your darkest moments. Outside of Mizi, Till doesn’t really have anything that he uses to comfort himself; sure, he writes and draws, but he’s made those things about Mizi with her being his muse.

Till’s obsession with Mizi isn’t healthy, but it's also all he believes he has. Ivan is still there, of course, but he’s not like Mizi. Till could never view him in the same light as he does Mizi, but at least he’s still here. Him being the only one left, a reminder of all he's lost, sure, but he's still here.

Then he pulls his stunt, and he’s gone.

And Till, who had decided to give up in the absence of Mizi, is forced to really look.

I don't have much to say about Round 7 because I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it yet, but I want to point out that Till didn't know that Mizi was trying to save him. When he was singing and fighting for his life on that stage, he was doing it for himself. He wanted to live! Despite everything he wanted to live, and the importance of that and that he was doing this for himself cannot be undersold.

[igotanidea]

Specter: Jason Todd x ghost!reader (pt 1)

Warnings: death of reader (duh!), death and resurrection of the other main character, angst

***

She was his best friend.

His only friend.

More than his friend.

Knowing each other since they were kids running loose on the streets of Gotham forced to tend to themselves.

He chuckled at the memory of their first meeting.

Fighting over few apples and a half loaf of bread she managed to rim from some man while batting her elalashes and making innocent face of a street-starving girl.

Well, she was a street starving girl, but as far away from innocent as they come, of which fact Jason was almost brutally made aware upon trying to steal some of it from her. Gaining a bruised eye and a scratch that left a tiny scar on his arm instead.

A well-deserved scar, cause even after all those years he was mentally cringing at the memory he was actually trying to rob a girl his age of food. Terrible thought. In his defence, he was starving himself.

Fortunately, they somehow came to an agreement and since then, there was always someone to care for and who could take care of them by their side.

Y/N and Jason.

Together even when not.

Inseparable even after that batmobil-tires accident, cause there was no way in hell Jason would start living with the Bruce Wayne and left his best only friend behind.

Nah.

So would anyone be surprised that after a while they actually started falling in love? Or maybe they were in love from the beggining since the apples but never noticed?

The point however stood, obvious to everyone but those two donkey level stubborn young adults.

So apart from a few stolen kisses, helluva blushing, talking through the nights, secret awkward hugs and one attempt at intimacy, nothing—

Ok, you know what scratch that last sentence. A LOT has happened in the span of a few weeks. And it brought them significantly closer. Hoping for more and actually trying to work towards more.

So when Jason, at the mature age of 16 went for another Batman-related mission, he pecked her lips and promised to have the real talk about their future when he gets back.

Spoiler alert: He never did.

And when Batman walked to the Batcave with no Robin to follow him and broke the news it was like Y/N’s heart was gone with Jason’s life.

Torn from her chest since at that moment it stopped beating and everything lost its meaning.

She refused to eat, drink, talk and get up in the morning. Spending her days in isolation or sitting by his symbolical grave since the body was never found.

Withering her young life away at the graveyard.

No one ever told her the truth.

***

Miraculously Jason came back five years later. Completely different than a scrawny kid everyone used to know him. Raging terror upon Gotham for a while before actualy forming some kind of allegiance with the Bats. And at some point, the question had to be asked. And the hard truth had to be revealed.

„Where is Y/N?” he whispered, getting shy, gulit, regret and remorse filling him to the brim as he was searching through the entire manor in search for her.

A few saddened looks were exchanged between his siblings as those words rung in the air.

Oh, no.

„Where the hell is she?!” Jason yelled, ready to punch a wall, hit Dick in the face and beat the shit out of Bruce for keeping something from him.

„Jaybrird—„

„Do not fucking call me that Grayson! Where is my Y/N?!”

„No one told you—„

„She;s dead.” Damian muttered, unaware of the consequences of dropping such a bomb on his brother. „We burried her a year—„

Jason roared like a wounded animal, nearly making the glass in the window shutter.

„DEAD?!!”

„Jason—„

„STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

„I think you should-„

„YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING DICKHEAD!”

The rage creeping inside Jason’s head and heart was suffocating. Beating the post-Pit madness multiple times and seeming neverending. He panted and wailed, wanting to destroy something. Kill someone. Anyone, but preferably the one responsible for Y/N;s premature departure from the world. Set a fire to the manor. Break into the League of Assasin’s headquarters and let them kill him. For good this time. Crawl into the deepest darkest pit and die.

„Jason—„

„WHO DID THIS?!”

„It was—„

„I WANT A NAME!”

„We don’t-„

„I WANT THAT PERSON;S HEAD ON A STICK!”

No matter how hard Dick, Tim, Cass, Steph and Barbara tried to get to him (cause obviously Damian was just watching with curiosity), nothign worked.

„It was an accident.” Bruce muttered, finally joining the family allured by the screams.

„AN ACCIDENT?!”

„A car crash. She was just a pedestian, did nothing wrong. The driver was DUI.”

„SO WHAT?! YOU’RE A FUCKING BILLIONAIRE, YO COULDN’T HAVE PROVIDED HER WITH A GOOD FUCKING DOCTOR!?”

„She died instantly.”

„SHE—„ Jason’s voice broke, all the anger finally subsiding replaced by the pain. „She what- ?”

„I am sorry jason…”

„SHE WAS YOUR RESPONSIBLITY!”

„No, she was your resposibilty Jason. You were the one who befrended her, fell for her, brought her into this life. Should have known better.”

„SHUT UP!”

„She stayed here after you died instead of moving forward, unable to forget you.”

„SHUT THE FUCK UP!” it was impossible to listen to Bruce only fueling up the guilt and pain iside Jason’s heart.

„She—„

„Master Bruce.” Now Alfred came into the scene, preventing another blood bath that were bound to happen between a father and a son. ‘Perhaps we should give master Jason some space now. Miss Y/N’s death took a heavy toll on all of us, didn;t it?”

”Hm.”

„Come Jay. Upstairs.” Cass smiled at him to the best of her abilities „You need rest.”

Hazily he took a few steps forward but didn;t miss Bruce’s pained whisper and haunted expression.

„You’re not the only one who lost her…”

***

It’s been five years since then.

But now, as Jason was standing by her grave it all felt surreal.

Y/N Y/L/N, daughter, friend, prankster.

That last word was something she would laugh at.

But he was not.

Five years. The same amount he was gone, same amount for which she believed him to be dead, visiting his grave.

Did she feel all those feels he was dealing with right now?

Emptiness.

Numbness.

Anger.

And that pressuring what if-.

They could have been happy together. Working though their difficulties and becoming real. Maybe starting a family. Escaping all this shitty vigilantism life pushed them both into.

Destroying both of their lifes.

One cold six feet under, the other cold six feet inside.

„I miss you.” He whispered in the space, putting a buquet of flowers on the ground next to the ledger „You will forever be the one to haunt me.”

With that he turned around, walking away with head hung low and hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Getting back to his apartment.

In which she could have been with him if things were to work out differently.

part 2 : phantom

[6okuto]

Monster mhin headcannons???? Or just mhin headcannons in general I've been starving with the lack of mhin content lately

MHIN HCS 3

gn!reader | mhin time! :3 i'm going to let the knowledgeable and big brained people mostly take care of monster mhin bc I fear a girl like me is silly and less capable...

as for my limited monster thoughts it'd be nice if their first transformation was done to protect you rather than an involuntary thing and letting it act as a symbol for your growing relationship. but Who Knows at this point

i assume there's some level of lost conscience when they transform So if there's a scene where some part of them refrains from hurting you I Will Start Eating Tree Bark.

Oh...and a scene where they've transformed back and you try to help them...them flinching and confused (though their voice comes out angry? frustrated? at first) about why you haven't run away....letting you cover them and bandage their injuries... 😵‍💫

moving on. they're on the verge of if not threatening people when it comes to co-op games like pico park or heave ho, especially if they're playing with people like vere and ais. no one's ever heard them speak this much someone needs to get them out of there

window seat enjoyer :-)

secretly enjoys when you send posts that remind you of them. the first few times they're like ? what do i do with this. but learn to appreciate it even if they don't actually reply in chat (sometimes if you're like "this is u" and it's Too accurate mhin's like Can you stop no it isn't (yes it is))

"when you're complaining about someone and your best friend is meaner" or however that trend goes. that's them. very direct with saying that person sounds like shit and you should stop talking to them

mhin may not like big, loud festivals, but i think they'd enjoy celebrating things with you alone ^^ maybe eating their favourite dish (tang yuan?)....it'd mean a lot to have someone to share with again

also!! having it for the first time and them mentioning their family and the last time they had it with people... the intimacy of it all...

and !! they reciprocate it!! they do!! they take note of any festivities you say you like, especially one that you wish you could celebrate or haven't in a long time. whether it's cultural, your birthday, your pet's birthday—mhin plans something for you and 'offers' to spend time together that day if you'd like. 'offers' as in shows up and mentions they'll be free some time in the conversation

^ more for the beginning of a relationship (platonic or romantic)... it'll take time, they'd be more direct eventually!

they care for you quietly and by...noticing. folding your laundry and putting it away when they know you're busy. picking up your favourite snacks when they notice you're running out. automatically getting ready to catch you or pull you back when the time calls for it. watching you from across the room at a party and noting where you are and how long you've been gone. that kind of deal

mhin's wary and off-put by being spoiled, but if you're stubborn enough, you'll find them using whatever you got pretty regularly. for example they'll tell you they don't Need a new softer comfier blanket, theirs is Fine, but then the one you buy is the only one they ever want to use. they will pretend like it isn't a big deal if you try to tease them about it

they don't like reading things online and would rather have a physical book. not that i'm projecting or anything of course. they take care of them too and don't lend them to just anybody

i think mhin has actual bookmarks, or would at least like them. they might also use a receipt to mark their page but won't fold the corners...

they always put books back where they found them at the library/book store. if they find one in the wrong section, they'll put it in the right place themself

they can get upset, but don't cry super easily, but that's mostly because they've gotten used to suppressing their emotions. they do their best to channel it into anger instead

mhin isolating themself when they're upset,, conflicted over wanting to be happy and letting themself drown in the sadness. but in the end they hope and survive and will continue to do so

hmm... keeps information of their family and history close to them, but at some point i do think they'd (bittersweetly) share stories with quiet fondness

mhin seems like a silver jewelry kind of person but i just think they'd look really nice with gold earrings while pushing their hair behind their ear...

they see You in formal attire for the first time and keep trying to glance at you the entire night btw. they might not take initiative to compliment you, but if you ask if you look alright, they'll say yes you look nice

...? likes earphones more than headphones. can't tell you why i feel this way

light sleeper. i think. they always know when you can't sleep and they'll stay up with you. if you say you'll go sleep somewhere else so you don't bother them, they're like ..? no.

...affectionate mhin....NOOOOO... it takes so long for them to reach that point it's literally like when a cat finally trusts you and lies next to you/on your lap You Cannot Move Now. You're both obligated to stay here and don't Want to do Anything else.

like imagine cuddling them and they hug you back and their grip tightens in their sleep when you shift around. mhin burying their face into your neck and taking a deep breath. please

if you're an introvert and you both finally get home after a long day out, it's just like. Thank god. and i think they'd understand if you'd rather spend time alone to recover ^^ but depending on the crowd there will be a gossip/complaint session at some point

mhin is one of the top LI's for me when it comes to scenes of like, fixing their collar/clothes. the intimacy of them clasping your necklace, the tension and bated breath because you've never been this close. the surprise on their face when you reach to fix their hood etc.

they enjoy sneaking up on you. they end up in some corner of the room and while you're scanning the crowd to look for them, they suddenly speak from behind you. there's a hint of an amused smile when you jump

@semifilms @mitskiologist @sweet-milky-tea705 hiii

[bleachbleachbleach]

Saw your reblog on tragic unrequited platonic love and technically, that trope definitely applies to the betrayed trio, especially on Hinamori’s end (depends on whether or not you subscribe to the view that she was crushing on Aizen). The way I saw it in my initial viewing of bleach, it was more of the type of intense admiration for an authority figure that can be misconstrued as a crush cuz you (the devotee) lack the ways to properly articulate it. Like how u feel abt the rlly cool English teacher u sometimes eat lunch with before they get arrested for like fraud or something. After experiencing the Horrors, of course Kira and Hinamori are going to imprint hard on the first semblance of stability and symbol of safety at the time. So that what they went thru meant something. Also, let me take this moment to briefly gush abt the headcanon u presented in the B3 fic cinematic universe abt hinamori’s fixating on squad 5 because it offers her the knowledge beyond her town that she’s lowkey seeking + the values she wants to strive towards (source: from afar). These nerds just wanted to be mentored so badddd!! Thus, the reveal of the fact that they were only a means to an end, specifically chosen on where they fall on the “easy to manipulate” scale hits HARDER. All that devotion?? Loss of work life balance and for WHATTT? Extended medical leave ? 😭 oh bleach my fave workplace sitcom AND workplace drama u will always be famous

PS: thank u for tagging me in that post!! In the process of drafting my response. It was so lovely of you.

You're right! That totally works here. It's interesting because (and I'll just focus on Hinamori here, because otherwise I'd feel compelled to honor the distinctions between her and Aizen vs. Kira and Ichimaru and Hisagi and Tousen, and this would probably end up reading very convolutedly) I think it kind of asks a question about when the platonic pining would have happened.

Is the pining part of suddenly realizing the disjuncture between what Hinamori thought something was and what Aizen did, and mourning something lost (and something that never really was)?

Or was there also pining when things were Good? We see Aizen be reassuring to Hinamori and generous with his time, etc. and we see Hinamori happy to receive from him, and quite devoted both to her VCship as well as to Aizen on a person level (or as he put it, "as a man" lol). We know she's well-respected by her division, and esteemed by her colleagues (okay, Kira and Hitsugaya may have some bias in this arena, but they both describe her as highly skilled).

But was she needed? Was she doing, and did she get the opportunity to do, things that Aizen couldn't do better? Did she have opportunities to express things that Aizen found interesting or outside of his expertise? Even as they are not equals--and there is no expectation that they should be--in the most fruitful mentorships, both parties have things to teach and learn.

Did Hinamori ever look at other Captain/VC relationships and yearn for pieces of what those looked like to her? Nanao would probably say "god i hope not" because Kyouraku's "reliance" on her often takes the shape of her having to do all the busywork and also herd cats, but in spite of this there's an intimacy there, an openness or trust, that Hinamori might yearn for. And that's taking Kyouraku--shadowy and full of many surfaces himself--into account. Hitsugaya and Matsumoto also have something that both Hitsugaya and Matsumoto probably complain about to Hinamori, but there's a degree of mutualism and collaboration to whatever's going on at the 10th that Hinamori might not mind a taste of, too. Renji has been Byakuya's VC for a month but Hinamori has probably already thought to herself "Kuchiki-taichou let him do WHAT" at least twice. Even though Byakuya is Byakuya, judging by how they handled their "meeting Ichigo in the street" mission, it seems like Byakuya lets Renji have his little projects. Like Renji is part of his investment portfolio and Byakuya feels very comfortable considering Renji a volatile but potentially valuable property and in order to get that ROI you need to stick with him through several honorless tech startup busts and commit long-term to the thing. Er, but I digress. My point is, Renji gets projects. "Develop training menu." Creative opportunity! With a result that has Renji all over it.

Does Hinamori get projects? Does it ever feel like she's pushing the envelope of what the 5th can be and how it can function on her own, without it being something Aizen already predicted the outcome of, or was actually his idea that he let her propose and take nominal ownership of anyway? Despite being completely blindsided by the actuality of Aizen, was there already that sense of inevitability/Aizen all over everything that happens at the 5th? (Competing, of course, with Hinamori's self-concept as a creative person; and her love of Aizen as a person, not just as a boss and mentor; and feeling as though she just needs to excel more and be creative better and she'll eventually meet this need she feels--it's not the environment that's the issue. She's happy here. Mostly. She doesn't need to leave, she simply needs to surpass--)

[daechwitatamic]

VIII. Nothing Grows Here || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

Namjoon starts to question where your heart lies.

Section Warnings: kissing, language, drinking, breast play/nip stim, public physical intimacy (they do not get caught)

WC: 5.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Thursday November 22nd

Namjoon catches you for breakfast on Thursday, too. He stands on the kitchen side of the breakfast bar, while you sit on one of the stools facing him. You each hold a coffee mug - yours blue, his white with lineart of a tree peeking between his fingers.

“I’m working on Journey for my thesis today,” you tell him suddenly. “Do you know that one?”

You must be talking about a St. Vincent Millay poem, Namjoon figures. 

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t know that one.”

You lean your body fully towards him, clearly excited. Namjoon feels a tickling sensation of fondness at how animated you get when you talk about this kind of thing. “It’s about freedom,” you explain. “Or, longing for it. It’s about walking a certain path but longing to step off, to go somewhere uncharted.”

Namjoon hesitates. He feels a little like you’re telling him something without telling him, in a way. “It sounds good,” he hedges finally. “What’s your favorite part?”

“The last two lines,” you answer immediately, reaching for your phone and opening a note you’d made. “A gateless garden, and an open path: / my feet to follow, and my heart to hold.”

“What’s the context?” Namjoon asks. “What’s your thesis?”

“Well, the first line’s clear,” you say, turning your phone screen back off. “A gateless garden - the gate being the symbol for what was holding her to the strict path, right? And now it’s gone? Leading her to the open path she mentions next. It’s like, the moment she breaks free.”

Namjoon nods, following easily. 

“It’s the last line I’m not sure about,” you admit. “My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. I feel like you could take it two ways? Is it spoken to the reader? Like, my feet are for you to follow, and my heart is for you to hold? Or is it my feet’s task to follow, and my heart’s task to hold tight? The second, right? Her feet are meant to follow the open path mentioned in the line before?”

“If you want my actual input on this,” Namjoon says with a sly smile, “you’ll have to come to my office.”

You grin at him, laughing. “I think I should get free TA services. It’s a roomie privilege.” 

Namjoon laughs too. “Nope,” he says, standing and picking up his emptied plate. “Office hours, or no help.”

You sigh dramatically, draping yourself over your plate. “You wound me,” you say mournfully, and Namjoon chuckles from the kitchen, where he loads his plate and fork into the dishwasher. 

“Maybe I just like you showing up during my work hours,” he says, looking at you sideways. “Maybe it makes work suck less.” 

That shuts you right up, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

–

You don’t visit Namjoon during his TA hours, and he tries hard to pretend that’s not the reason he’s in a weird mood by the time he locks up and walks home in the dark. 

His mood darkens even more when he unlocks the apartment door and finds you and Taehyung side by side on the floor of the living room, your laptops open on the coffee table, clearly working on homework together.

You look up when you hear the door open. “Hi!” you say brightly, oblivious. 

“Hey,” Namjoon says, hoping he sounds normal. He sets down his bag next to the breakfast bar and heads in the kitchen. He starts scavenging for anything quick and easy - leftovers would be ideal, if there are any. 

Out in the living room, he hears Taehyung’s low voice ask you, “Hey, do you remember that time at the beach?”

You let out a peal of laughter instead of answering.

Taehyung giggles, too, and then adds, “I still can’t believe that kid jumped on me. Who does that?”

You’re still laughing, the words coming out strangled. “And you’d been fast asleep,” you wheeze. “What a wake-up!”

Namjoon finally settles on something and heads back through the kitchen, hands full. He slips into his bedroom and closes the door gently with his foot, placing his food on his desk and preparing to start writing.

He wonders, as his laptop boots up, if he’ll ever manage to be around you and Taehyung at the same time and not feel like the outsider. 

Friday November 23rd

Namjoon’s Friday schedule is his best all week - he’s done by two in the afternoon, free as a bird to start his weekend. 

He hangs around the offices for a while anyway, killing time and trying to pretend it’s not because he knows you have an afternoon class that ends around three-thirty. 

When three-thirty rolls around, he can’t lie to himself anymore. He texts you.

[3:32 PM] Namjoon: want company walking home? im leaving my office

[3:32 PM] You: siiiiiiiiiiigh i WISH i was going home

[3:32 PM] You: i’ll be in the library until it closes, bye 🙃

Namjoon tries to put aside his sinking feeling of disappointment. He gathers his things and starts to walk home. Once there, though, the apartment feels too empty, too quiet. He used to like that, used to seek out being home when he knew he’d be alone. Now, it makes him feel… kind of hollow.

He takes a quick shower, mostly to kill twenty minutes, and then texts Yoongi and Hobi - “happy hour?”

It’s less than twenty minutes later that he’s on a barstool next to Hobi at their favorite dive, waiting for Yoongi to arrive. The place is dimly lit, practically empty as the office crowd has another hour or more of work and the college crowd won’t start filtering in for another six hours or so. 

The door opens, a blast of late autumn air accompanying Yoongi as he makes his way over and sits on Hobi’s other side.

Two beers later, each, Hobi knocks his elbow against Namjoon’s. “Anything new from the she-devil?”

Namjoon eyes him flatly. “I assume you mean Elyse?”

Hobi nods, biting back a proud smile at his own bad behavior. 

Namjoon sighs, fishing for his phone in his pocket. “I told you about her coming into the bookstore out of nowhere while I was hanging out with Y/N, right?” he checks, as he searches through his phone for what he’s looking for. 

“Yes,” Yoongi confirms. “We all agreed that was very kdrama of you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Namjoon complains. “Anyway, so she called me like two days later. I let it go to voicemail. You never heard this, okay?”

The guys nod, and since they’re essentially alone, Namjoon puts the voicemail on speaker and lets it play.

“Hi, it’s me. Elyse. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m calling… you were pretty clear about how you feel. I just… I’m just having a hard time feeling… closure, I guess? I know, it’s silly, when I’m the one who ended things. I just… I don’t have anyone to talk through all this with me… you were my person to talk to.

“I know this is so unfair. I know it’s illogical. And I’m sorry, I hope you can believe that. Anyway. I’m not asking for anything. Just… if you ever want to talk… I wanted you to know you can call any time. I’ll talk to you.”

“So now she’s the saint and you’re the villain,” Hobi grumbles, leaning back in his chair. 

“Right,” Namjoon agrees. “She’s the poor baby having a hard time and I’m the asshole for not entertaining her every need, when she’s the one who asked me to move on.”

“You don’t owe her a fucking thing,” Yoongi says seriously. “I hope you aren’t planning on calling her back.”

Namjoon pauses. He has no intention of humoring Elyse’s little game, but mostly because his head is too full of you.

And somehow, Hobi reads his mind.

“Listen,” he says, uncharacteristically serious, “I’m not saying to call Elyse, because I think I am speaking for everyone on planet earth when I say that’s a terrible idea. But if your reason isn’t your own dignity and self-respect -”

Yoongi cuts in. “What he means is, if your reason is the roommate.”

“She has a name,” Namjoon snaps.

Hoseok carries on like nobody else was speaking, “-then you need to sit back and think about that. Because that’s been going on for, what, two months? And what do you have to show for it?”

Namjoon feels defensiveness flood through him, clear down to his toes. 

“It’s a two-way street, though,” he protests. “I haven’t pushed the issue with her, either.”

“And that’s all well and good…” Hobi allows. “But do you want to come second forever?” 

Namjoon scowls. “I don’t think you’re being very fair to her.” 

Yoongi leans forward, his elbow on the sticky bar. “I think you’re giving someone too much grace as they string you along - again. I kept my mouth shut the whole time with Elyse, and when she broke your heart I felt fucking responsible for not being a better friend and telling you what I could see from the outside. So I'm doing it this time - I'm not making the same mistake twice.” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s not the same. She’s not Elyse. You can’t hang her for someone else’s crimes.”

“We’re just saying,” Hobi says, eyes finding Yoongi’s for confirmation as he speaks for both of them, “this feels a little familiar.”

When they leave, a few hours and a few beers later, Namjoon’s still got an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach. They’re wrong, he knows they’re wrong, he knows you have feelings for him - they don’t have all of the information. 

Can he say for sure you’d choose him over Taehyung if it came to it? No, but he also doesn’t think it has to come to a choice like that. Surely you can all handle this like adults? 

When he texts you, asking if you’re still at the library, it’s with that ugly feeling stirring and churning inside him, the need to prove something building up into a flurry.

When you text him that you’d meant it when you said you’d be there until closing, Namjoon pays his bill and heads, on foot, for campus.

It’s not hard to find you in the library; there are four other people, total, each of you at your own tables, hunched over laptops. He pauses by your elbow, and you look up at him, surprised, your fingers somehow continuing to type as your brain catches up to the world outside your paper.

“Oh,” you say. “Hi! What are you doing here?”

“Come with me,” he says. He meant it as a question, a request, but he can hear how it comes out like a demand. Your eyes widen, your mouth opens a little in surprise. But you close your laptop and slowly rise to your feet. Namjoon takes your hand and gives it a gentle tug, pulling you towards the stacks.

Once you’re shielded from view by the shelves and the books they hold, he tugs more insistently, pulling you to him, catching your lips in a kiss. 

You stiffen in surprise, but melt out of it quickly, reaching up to cup his jaw as you kiss him back. He grunts happily when he feels you return it, reaching around you and pressing his large hand against the small of your back, forcing your bodies closer, pushing your hips against his. He keeps you there but doesn’t push it further, waits to see how you react, gives you the chance to indicate that you want him to cool it down.

You don’t. You release his jaw and fist your hands in his sweater, opening your mouth for him as he kisses you like he has a point to prove.

He does have a point to prove. He’s fully aware of why his feet led him right here, right now. 

He backs you against a shelf, careful to leave his hand between your spine and the metal, his other hand coming up to tangle in your hair. He kisses you like he wants to meld himself to you, leave a piece of himself, leave a reminder to everyone else that he’d been here first. You let him, you take his fury, you spin it into something softer, and you give it back to him, just a little changed. 

He doesn’t know how long he kisses you, your body pressed between his and the books, but when he finally abandons your mouth and straightens up to look at you, you’re panting, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, chest heaving. He takes a step back, putting space between your bodies again, unpinning you to the bookshelf. You seem like you’re not sure how to hold yourself up without it, without him. You take a tentative step, and your arm twitches like you might reach for him, might pull him back. But you don’t.

“What was that for?” you ask instead, breathless. “Not that I’m complaining. Just. What the heck.”

“You’re in this, right?” he asks you, which isn’t an answer at all. It comes out strange, strangled, desperate. “It’s not just me?”

“What?” you utter, looking positively alarmed. “Namjoon, what? Of course I am. What’s going on? Did something happen?” 

Namjoon feels himself calming by degrees, his control coming back to him little by little. He needed to hear you say it. 

“Nothing happened,” he says, which is kind of a lie. Yoongi and Hoseok happened. Elyse happened. In his own way, Taehyung happened. But none of that is your fault. “I just… had a moment where I wasn’t sure. What this is. If it’s… just me.”

You shake your head, eyes wide. “Did I do something to make you feel like that? I’m really sorry if I did. Is it - is it because of -?”

Is it because of Taehyung.

A little, Namjoon thinks. But not entirely.

“Look,” he says, reaching out a hand and touching your arm gently. “I’m not asking you to… choose between us or anything stupid like that. I just need to know if this is… going somewhere. If you want it to, or if you’re just… enjoying it. No judgment either way - I’ve just hit a point where I think I need to know.”

You continue to stare at him, eyes still wide, looking probably as blindsided as you feel.

“Namjoon,” you whisper finally. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

The air all leaves his body. “Okay,” he says, exhaling. He gives himself a mental shake. He can lick his wounds later, alone. “Okay. Thanks for tell-.”

“I’m not just enjoying this,” you continue, putting a little sneer on the words. “I’m - I’m in this. I’ve told you - I like you, and I want to be with you. It’s just - my paper’s due in an hour and a half, and my brain is pudding, and you just kissed me absolutely stupid and…” You trail off, look at him a little desperately, like you’re trying to juggle just one too many things. “I don’t know what exactly I want, within what parameters - I was… I was kind of okay with just seeing where it went and not trying to put a name or rules to it just yet? If you need more than that, we can have that conversation, but… maybe not right this second?”

“No need,” Namjoon tells you, meaning it. He reaches out without thinking first, smoothing down where he’d messed up your hair. “I’ve been fine with that, too. I just needed to know that… it isn’t nothing. That we’re going… a direction. That’s all.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Something happened,” you say, sounding sure of it. “You don’t spook this easily. Was it her?” 

Namjoon shakes his head, takes your hand, starts to lead you back to your table. “Nothing happened,” he lies again. “What’s your paper on? Do you want help?”

Sunday November 25th

I unlock my ribs and pry them open. I want to view the things I make. The garden has that fresh-earth smell, each seedling marked by a little stake.

But I grow only skeletons - no petals - brittle blooms, instead. Buds of bone will reach the light. Nothing grows here that isn’t dead.

An offering made - a little seed. This one, they say, will live. There’s quite a price for this living thing,  a price I’m not sure that I can give.

You stare at the page, chewing absently on the end of your pen - a bad habit you’ve never been able to break. 

You kind of like this one. Especially the eighth line - nothing grows here that isn’t dead. You roll the words around your head again, feeling the weight of them. 

You do like it, you decide. You’ll turn this one in; you hadn’t turned in the shitty wolves one - you’d drawn an ‘x’ near the top of the page and left it to die.

Namjoon passes behind you at the breakfast bar, touching your back lightly as he does. It’s his little way of announcing his presence without scaring the shit out of you; you’re not sure when he started it - not long ago, for sure - but it’s sweet.

“Morning,” you tell him, closing the notebook. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” he says, coming back around to your side of the breakfast bar now that he has a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “You?” He crosses the living room and drops heavily on the couch, turning to look out the large windows. Outside, it’s overcast - so dark that you really ought to turn a lamp on, but no rain falls. 

“Pretty good,” you say. “Can I come hang out over there with you?”

He says the same thing back to you that you’ve said to him before - “You don’t have to ask.”

You perch by him on the couch, coffee cup warm in your hands. You curl your feet up next to you and tug a throw-blanket over them. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, both watching the window absently.

When Namjoon speaks, it surprises the hell out of you.

“Y/N…” he says slowly, turning to look at you. “Tell me about you and Taehyung? Like - about your friendship?”

You’re shocked into literal silence, mouth open, brain absolutely devoid of words. What do you even say to that?

He reaches out a hand, places it gently on top of your thigh. “It’s not a trick,” he says gently. “I just… want to get to know more of you, and your friendship seems like… a really big piece. You’ve told me before that he’s family…” He trails off, looks down at his coffee, then back at you. His face is open, genuine, kind. “I want to know more about that. If you’re comfortable telling me.”

You lick your lips, eyes on the ground. You should let him see this part of you; you owe him this honesty. But how to make him understand? Which moments of your life best paint a picture of what it was like having only Taehyung in your corner?

“When I think of Taehyung,” you say softly, when you’ve thought of a starting point, “I always think of fall. We met on the first day of school, two years before I lost my family. He was the only kid who would talk to me at lunchtime, because I was new.” You laugh under your breath, remembering. He’d been all ears, but you’d been so glad someone was sitting by you that you wanted to never let him out of your sight again.

You claimed him as yours immediately. 

“When I lost my parents,” you continue, “I lived with my Grandma for a long time. She was really strict; she was being protective. She didn’t like a lot of the other kids in my class, she wouldn’t let them come over to play. But she had a soft spot for Taehyung. He could just charm the shit out of her, even when we were seven years old. I still don’t know how he did it. But when I look back on my life, he was the only one there. Every holiday, every birthday, every stupid childish adventure, every mishap, every failed test or scraped knee - it was Taehyung who was with me.”

You don’t look at Namjoon while you talk; it’s easier not to have to see him as you recount your early years. But you can see out of the corner of your eyes that he’s watching, listening, hearing you out.

“When my Grandma got too sick to take care of me - she started losing her memory, it got unsafe for both of us really rapidly - Taehyung helped me pack up her stuff that was going to the facility with her.” Remembering this makes your throat tight, and you drink some coffee to cover it. “I think the only reason she went in willingly was because he held her hand through the lobby and down the hall. It wasn’t me she was clinging to, it was him.”

You pause, bracing yourself for the next part a little. “Aunt Lin raised me after that, but… her heart wasn’t really in it, and she worked nights and slept days. Most of my teenage years, I spent on my own - unless Taehyung was with me. He shared food with me when Lin forgot to give me lunch money, gave me Christmas presents when she worked the holiday… made me laugh with his dumb-ass jokes when I felt like no one in my life ever remembered I was there.

“When we graduated high school, Taehyung bought me flowers and…” You swallow, fighting hard against choking up. “He told me he was proud of me for getting this far, alone. That he knew I’d make it anywhere I wanted to go, because he’d watched me fight my way that far. Lin… didn’t show up to graduation, and left me some chicken in the fridge to have for dinner. That story’s the best metaphor for all of it. No matter what step of my life you’re looking at, that’s the picture you get.”

Namjoon waits to make sure you’re finished, not just thinking of what to say next. “Can I ask something kind of challenging?” he says quietly, and your heart stutters, afraid of what it might be.

“Of course,” you tell him, because if he can sit and listen to you talk about another guy like this and not walk the fuck away from you, you owe him the answer to anything.

“All those stories…. all those moments…” he says thoughtfully, and you recognize his tone from when he was trying to let Elyse down easy, “they’re all from when you were growing up. What about now? What about these last three years, here at university?”

He was right. It is a challenging question. Putting words to it is hard enough, but add in that your audience is the guy you’re developing strong feelings for… it feels like a puzzle. Or a test. 

“It’s been… hard,” you admit slowly. “Being his friend… it’s different, here.”

Because of other girls. 

Because of your own stupid heart.

Because you’ve left home, and your circle of support isn’t just him anymore.

Because your worlds have gotten bigger, your edges expanding, and you can’t revolve around each other as tightly anymore. 

Namjoon doesn’t even have to ask the question he’s driving at. You get there all on your own.

Are you and Taehyung even really that close, now? Or is it all nostalgia and familiarity, loyalty and habit?

He seems to see it on your face that he doesn’t need to push it. He brushes his thumb along the side of your leg, where his hand still rests from earlier.

“Thanks for telling me all that,” he says, voice hushed. 

“Thanks for listening to it,” you counter. “You want a turn? I can listen for a while.”

He laughs a little, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good,” he teases. Then, he lifts his arm to make a spot for you. You slide over, leaning against him, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders.

You sit in silence together a while longer. You’re not sure what he’s thinking about, but you’re thinking about your friendship with Taehyung - its benefits, its failings, its definition. 

Monday November 26th 

Even though you spend most of Sunday together, working separately on your homework in the living room, even though you walked to campus together as the sun burned away an early-morning fog, you still think about Namjoon the entire time you’re in class on Monday. You can’t help it. When class ends, you catch yourself practically running to go bother him in his little office.

Girl, you think, scathingly, get a grip. 

But it’s happening and it’s exciting and you just like him and you can’t stop thinking about how he kissed you in the library last week and -

You knock on his office door, and he has the audacity to smirk without even looking up to check that it’s you.

“Come in,” he says, pen scratching away at whatever he’s working on. There’s something dangerous and playful in his voice, and you shiver. Then, feeling bold, you close the door behind you when you enter the room.

That makes him look up, the smirk still on his lips. 

“Hi there,” he says, still in that same voice. 

It’s cocky, a little smug - a side of him you haven’t really seen before. 

“Happy to see me?” you tease, dropping your bag on the ground with a thunk and stalking closer, feeling a little predatory. 

He hums agreeably and stretches, the movement pulling his shit taut across his chest. 

There’s part of you that thinks he’s fucking with you on purpose. You decide, on a whim, to push back - to play the game, too, and see where it gets you. 

You approach him purposefully and he spreads his legs to let you stand between them, leaning back and peering up at you, a dare on his face. You feel alight with thrill, your own smirk playing on your lips. 

You swivel and sit, perching on his (strong, thick) thigh, looping your arms around his neck. You half expect him to lose the bravado, to get shy or flustered, but his hands come up to grip your hips - dangerously close to your ass - immediately, tugging you more firmly onto his lap. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he murmurs, one eyebrow raised. 

“Just wanted to see you,” you tell him honestly, and lean in to kiss him.

It’s light and sweet, at first - less desperate and hungry than your previous kisses have been. His lips feel feather-soft for a few seconds, brushing gently against yours, and your heart stutters, trips. He brings one hand up to the middle of your back to help you balance, and you pull yourself tighter against him as he opens for you. 

It’s tongue and teeth as you pull yourself against him, your chest flush with his. As you kiss him, the sweet, gentleness melts away and you find yourself humming low in your throat as he grabs your ass again with the hand that isn’t holding your back, fingers kneading into the jean-clad flesh there. 

He makes a noise of his own at yours, like an answer, pulling you tighter against his lap by the meat of your ass. You can feel him, hard beneath you, and you shift purposefully against it once just to hear him groan so quietly you might miss it, his mouth only centimeters from yours. 

Then he’s kissing you again, more forcefully, his hand creeping up from the swell of your ass to dip under the hem of your shirt. His fingers feel warm and sure against the bare skin of your waist, and then they’re sneaking higher, his thumb sliding firmly along the side of your breast, over your bra. You sigh into his mouth, and it ends on a bit of a whine as you wordlessly ask for more.

He obliges, shifting slightly to cup your whole breast in one large hand, squeezing once before running his thumb over your hardened nipple. You whine again, pressing your leg against his hard length, trying to egg him on. He squeezes again, then slides his fingers beneath the underwire, rolling the bud he finds there between his fingers.

You moan quietly into his mouth, breaking the kiss to gasp as he does it again, a fraction harder. He swipes his thumb over it again and you press open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck as he buries his face in your hair, eyes closed. 

Footsteps approach and pass outside the door, and you both freeze, his hand still wrapped around you. You look at each other, wide-eyed, afraid to move.

“Does… that door lock?” you manage to whisper. He shakes his head no, almost imperceptibly, and slowly withdraws his hand from up your shirt. 

“We should probably cool it anyway,” he whispers back. “Even if someone knocked first, having the door shut with you in here… is probably enough to get my office rights revoked.”

You nod, vacating his lap and fixing your bra, which he’d left askew. He does some adjusting as well, you notice, before reaching over and pulling the door open a few inches.

“I’m working the store tonight,” you tell him, trying to get your head back to reality, focusing on your schedule to help get it there. “So I won’t be home for dinner.”

“Should I bring you something?” he asks. “I’m here until five. I could come by, after.”

“That’s your choice,” you tell him. “Kris is working with me tonight, so if you show up with food for me it’ll be officially a thing. Like, there’s no going back from that. So if any part of you is trying to keep this low-key, that’ll be over.”

“Hm,” Namjoon says, mouth making a straight line.

“To be fair,” you say, as an after-thought, “Kris has been being obnoxious about you and me since you moved in, way before anything happened. So. It can’t really make things worse.”

“Okay,” Namjoon says, giving you a sweet smile. “I’ll see you later, then.”

You glance at the time - you’ve got twenty minutes to get across campus. Which is plenty, but you need to go. 

“Alright,” you say reluctantly. “I guess I’m off. See you in a little bit.”

At the store, it takes Kris about fourteen seconds to look you up and down and say flatly, “You’ve been kissing.”

“What?” you gasp, hands leaping to your body - checking your hair, your shirt, your mouth. “How do you know?”

They shake their head in mock disapproval. “I just know these things. Honestly, Y/N, you live with him, can’t you do these things at home?”

You swat at their arm petulantly. “Quit acting like you aren’t super jealous.”

“Oh, I am,” they inform you. They lean against the counter, placing their chin in their palm, a dreamy expression crossing their face. “Believe me. So what’s it like with him? Tell me everything.”

–

Namjoon shows up sometime before six, a bag of food in hand. He looks a little nervous, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of your warning about Kris, or because last time he did this he got accosted by his ex. Maybe both.

“Hi there, Dimples,” Kris greets him with a big smile. “Come stay a while.”

“Have you ever formally met Kris?” you ask, coming between them. “Kris, Namjoon, - Namjoon, Kris.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replies. “Unfortunately, I have to go home and finish a paper.”

You set the bag of food on the counter and walk with him back towards the doors leading out. 

“Just so you know,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth, voice barely audible. “I have had a problem for the last hour and a half since your little visit. And that’s not me flirting with you, that is me filing a formal complaint.”

It surprises a laugh out of you, and he grins at you sideways too. 

“Sorry,” you say, barely meaning it. “That’s sounds… hard.”

“Oh, my god,” he utters, as you lose it, laughing so hard you have to grab his arm for support as you double over. “Seriously? Kris, do something with her. Who let her out of the house today?”

“I do believe that was you,” Kris says dryly from their perch by the registers. 

You wheeze through the laughter, trying to suck in a long breath. “Sorry, sorry,” you giggle. “I couldn’t help myself. 

He shakes his head at you, moving for the door. “I’ll see you at home,” he tells you, and then he leaves.

“At home,” Kris sighs, like it was so romantic.

You shoot them an eye-roll as full of ire as you can manage. 

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Finally some backstory, and finally some spice!!!! What are we thinking??!!!

As always thank you so so so so much reading, I appreciate you all sooo much! Happy friday!!!

[prettyboykatsuki]

Hello! firstly let me say that I am a HUGE fan of 'how to be a dog' ive reread it 23 times now(?) and the symbolism, the imagery, just everything??? to this day I cannot believe it's a fanfic that's free! youre just so talented and have such a way with words! the manipulation and the introspection gojo has is horrific but so entertaining to read! fanfics that are secretly one big character analysis are my favvvss! its one of the best gojo works out there!!!

idk if you ever answered this or not, but I noticed despite the fic being in Gojo's POV (mostly), he never referred himself as 'Satoru'. I always found that a little interesting! Is there any particular reason for that?

i completely understand if you have too many asks to get to mine, i just hope you know that i think you're amazing!!! tytyty<3

HI? ALSO IMMEDIATELY 23 TIMES IS CRAZY????? IM SO HONORED U THINK IT IS WORTH SO MANY REREADS THAT IS SO SPECIAL THANK YOU SO MUCH? writing dc takes a lot out of me but i was very proud of that one so it means the world. thank you very much for saying such kind things!!! one of the best makes me want to cry a little!!

im surprised anyone noticed but yeah there is in some sense of the word. i actually had a debate with myself about if i should change it or not about 15k words in but i think gojo referring to himself as Gojo and not Satoru was more symbolic to his sense of detachment. the intimacy of Satoru did not feel fitting for the story if that makes any sense and while im sure anyone else would consider themselves with first name

uniquely i think gojo probably thinks of himself as Gojo (clan name) rather than Satoru (given name). the thing he inherits and that haunts him vs the idea that someone cared to name him a long time ago. i like to think after getou he stopped thinking of himself as Satoru all together.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

you are an evil person. the way you’re focusing on how doomed by the narrative the fushiguro siblings are? the way you’re really highlighting how the siblings are so protective of each other & are so willing to sacrifice themselves for the other to live happily? THE WAY IT SHOULDVE BEEN SO OBVIOUS THEY THREATENED TSUMIKI?

oh i’m in tears. i’m mourning who i once was before this fic. i’ve never been so invested in a fic before. i would sell my soul for the lore to this story.

NAOYA. i feel like im overlooking things but was naoya like purposely copying some of gojo mannerisms (the hair ruffle, the clapping) as a big “fuck you” to megumi?

regardless of that, i’m just waiting for the day that gojo (& yuuta) fucking tortures the shit out of naoya for megumi. i’m also just waiting for megumi to wake up to just everyone being so protective of him even though he hasn’t met half of the people so invested in his life before.

(maki being so proud of megumi because of his “if im dying we all dying ” mentality? oh megumi & maki are going to be menaces when megumi finally heals. yuuta will never know peace again.)

Megumi: *finally wakes up* I—Who are you people?

The first years, already murderously defensive of him: your protection detail

they love him a normal amount

Tsumiki was really the only thing I could see them holding over his head. I won’t get into the details here, because we’ll get into them in the fic itself, but Tsumiki’s safety and happiness is very regularly the thing that locks Megumi into action. For Megumi’s start in this world, Tsumiki was what made him sacrifice himself.

At the end of the day, all each one wants is for the other to be safe. And the narrative makes that mutually exclusive. They really are uniquely doomed by the narratively, and that’s what makes their relationship so tragic.

See, I think storytelling is just such a flexible medium that each interaction with the story itself is different. The story I write may be slightly different from the one you read. You can absolutely read in that reason behind Naoya’s actions—it’s the kind of sick shit he would pull, and the narrative will never contradict it directly. I actually love that reading of it. It’s more than a little twisted and viscerally terrifying when you’re in megumi’s shoes.

I just won’t claim I was planning that personally when I wrote it, because I didn’t think of that myself when it was being written. I still love it and think it’s a great interpretation of his actions. I just didn’t come up with it myself.

I included that bit because I thought it would be kind of a perversion of the relationship Megumi should have had with Naoya in a way that was a little cruel and really underscored how terrified Megumi was in this moment.

Naoya should have been Megumi’s blood family. He should have been his uncle. And in a good world, they would have loved each other. Naoya would have never hurt him.

Wrapping an arm around your nephew, ruffling his hair—that can be a very healthy expression of familial affection. It’s something you do with someone you love. Someone you feel safe with. Naoya is mocking the role he should have had in his life. He’s too rough with him. He ruffles his hair like Gojo does, but it shoves Megumi’s entire head around, and he uses his grip on his neck to force him into a car. He’s using symbols of family love as a way to hurt megumi.

It’s a facsimile of affection meant to make megumi feel uncomfortable and unsafe. Because Megumi’s fucking terrified of Naoya. This was his worst abuser for a long time. And Megumi’s not someone who really likes physical touch.

Megumi isn’t safe enough to assert his own boundaries. He isn’t safe enough to pull away. He just had to sit there and take actions that are hurting him. It’s invasive and humiliating, and the forced intimacy of it probably hurt him worse than punching him in the face would have.

[swampstew]

A Bloody Nightmare

A compilation of short stories and character building for my OC fic "What's the Magic Word?" Basically, bonus stories to build up my fic. They include stories within the time-skip period, leading up to the current manga timeline, and even in the distant distant distant future.

Summary: Kid didn't have a clue what being a Witch meant but he's about to find out. Also, discovers he does not like Ayahuasca.

Word count: 3.7K CW: Mostly SFW, Witch lore and practice/drinking/psychedelic drug use, blood imagery and usage, OC background tied to main book. Minors do not interact with my posts or blog.

Eustass Kid was no stranger to blood or gore, he was quite familiar with it, comfortable even. Seeing Rowena covered head to toe in it as she was now, was a little…unsettling.

If it was in the heat of battle Kid would find it hot; had found it erotic enough in the past to initiate intimacy while still disheveled from said battle. Hell, he’s even found it kind of sexy when she was experiencing her period. Not even that could frighten him away from seeking her out to quell the lustful need he had for her; loved seeing it on them both during those moments.

Rowena’s hair was soaked in a slain buck’s blood, dripping thick red liquid to the dusty ground by her bare feet. Her tube top and short tulle skirt were coated in it too, her limbs and body marked with bloody streaks and rune symbols she had drawn on herself from the collection bucket. The smell of burning fur and flesh filled the air as the sacrificial pyre was lit, courtesy of Heat. With a final swipe of her thumb coating her lips in blood, she laid the digit on her tongue and sucked the iron taste off her flesh.

Kid still wasn’t entirely sure he got what was going to happen, but he begrudgingly followed Rowena’s plea to not interfere. Said fuck no to her request to have him and the crew stay on the ship while she conducted the ceremony. The others had already begun eating and drinking the mead she speed made with the help of her magic. A separate brew in a black boiling pot had begun to bubble and emit smoke that curled over the pot lip and spilled to the ground, creating a thick mist.

Rowena ladled a cup for herself and turned to the crew, “Thank you all – sincerely, for allowing me the opportunity to do this. It’s been…a long ass time since I’ve been able to freely practice my rituals. My uh emotions might run high, my magic might also get a little weird, don’t worry nothing will harm any of you. It’s like a soft rite of magic task. To show I’m worthy of possessing my natural gifts and show my faith to the natural order of the world, that balance I’m always talking about.”

She took a long sip of her drink, taking a long-suffering sigh from the taste. “Never liked this brew. Anyways, please enjoy the food, the music, and the drinks. Don’t drink this stuff though, it can be compared to Ayahuasca and if you’re familiar with that, you’ll know it’s not something that should be taken lightly.”

“We’re not pussies, Witch!” Wire yelled from the food table.

Rowena cracked a smirk at that, “That’s fair. You’re all the scariest motherfuckers I know. Ok take at your own risk. Whatever your drink of choice is, no matter how little or much you indulge, please be aware of your surroundings. If you find yourself in any kind of…state where you think something sounds too good to be true, or you find yourself unknowingly wanting to commit to something, politely decline.”

Everyone stared at her in confusion.

She let out another long-suffering sigh, “It’s not been known to happen often. In fact, I’d never seen this happen even when my coven was intact. But these rituals are intended as worship to the Master of Nature – the very essence of Chaos. Different people call Him different things, I believe some of you call Him the Sea Devil.”

EVERYONE stared at her in disbelief.

“Yeah, He’s allegedly real. I’ve never seen Him though. It was said that He used to visit these ceremonies in abundance. Approving blessings, giving them out Himself. Engaging with Witches…who He considers His daughters on the Earthly plane.”

She winced when they all kept staring at her incredulously. No matter how comfortable she felt with the Straw Hats, the Kid Pirates, Killer, Kid even – she always felt so fucking…freakish. So different.

“He hasn’t been seen in ages so there is no reason to think this time will be any different. For a single, insignificant Witch,” she dug her nails into her hand. Rowena’s ears pricked up at the sound of Kid getting upset, making his way towards her. No confidence at all, she drained her mug.

“Nevertheless, don’t make any promises or agreements of any kind tonight, or with each other either. Got it?!”

The crew and Killer nodded respectfully before resuming their activities, more warily than before. Rowena turned and grabbed another cup of her brew before Kid’s hand grabbed her wrist and forced her to drop the mug.

“Does the same apply to you?” he asked gruffly.

“I should take my own advice, yes,” she bit her tongue.

“Will you?”

She was almost afraid to meet his glare. She did and it was intense, his eyes shimmering in the reflection of the fire, making them almost look like they were fire.

Rowena gulped, “I’m just supposed to accept His grace if He gives it.”

“Why?”

“To show I’m devoted to my own power and survival. The survival of His line.”

“What would happen if you didn’t?”

Rowena scoffed at him, “I don’t know! No ones done it before and I don’t think it’d be wise to start NOW, Kid.” His grip on her wrist tightened. “Whatever you think is going to happen during this, get it out of your head right now. You told me to not hold myself back and that you’d help me be my best self.”

Kid regarded her coolly before sharply nodding, releasing his grip, and taking a step back.

“I did. Fine. Do your ritual and I swear on everything that—”

“No! Don’t make any swears, promises, nothing tonight! I just said that!”

“BUT!”

“NO!”

“FINE!” He angrily swore. “Then tomorrow morning then. And don’t you interrupt me then or I’ll kick your ass.”

Rowena tiredly nodded. So jealous.

Kid ducked his head and kissed her, licking her lips and nipping her flesh before kneeling to grab her fallen rose gold cup. He ladled himself a cup of brew and finished it in one sitting.

“Tastes terrible.”

“Oh I know it.”

Rowena pulled back from the music transponder snail as it began to play her requested songs. The electro pop tune and synth overtones was a popular song heard across the seas, a song the Kid Pirates were familiar with. Rowena walked towards the raging bonfire as the enchanting melody flowed, and she began dancing. She nodded her head and swung her hips to the beat, her eyes closed as she let go of her inhibitions in front of the others. She didn’t see the crew sprinkle in to join and dance alongside her at first. Feeling their energy buzzing with her own, hearing them sing along to the song, she cracked a smile before opening her eyes in delight. Joining them in singing the chorus as they drunkenly laughed and partied.

Kid sat on a bench, watching everyone else dance as he drank mead with a smirk on his face with his eyes transfixed on Rowena as she transitioned from anxiously awkward to freely happy. Seeing her hair whip in the air as she danced, bopping her head with a smile on her face. It made his own wretched heart feel lighter.

He figured the potion brew had finally taken effect during the next song. Rowena was tapping her heel to the drum as the lyrics queued up and he swore her entire being was enshrouded with a glowing aura that trailed after her as she swayed. As the chorus peaked she began to skip and twirl, the glowing aura raced after her, moving both in slow motion and much too fast, creating rainbow-like streaks that chased her. His neck twisted as he continued observing her and he couldn’t help but feel that she seemed so right that way. She’d never looked so magical before.

Kid wondered if the others could see what he was seeing.

He briefly hoped they couldn’t, feeling the scene was only right for his viewing.

The outro started playing and she was buzzing, light refracting off her like a firecracker as the thrum of the rock guitar sped up and she kicked her feet keeping up with the music. She looked so perfect.

‘Hmmm. Keeping thinking like that Boy, and you may yet be worthy of her,’ a low, sibilant voice rasped in Kid’s ear.

A chill fell down Kid’s spine as he turned his head and came to face to face…with himself.

Only it wasn’t quite him. This version of him had creepy eyes. An extra halo around the blood red irises. It’s posture and demeanor held a certain madness that Kid only wished he possessed. And he was already a psychotic fucking bastard!

Kid’s eyes sought out Killer to see if he noticed the mysterious figure, and saw that Killer was dancing between Rowena and Quincy, very much not paying him any attention. Kid was on his own.

‘Yes but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Orphan…’

Kid glared at the mirrored version of himself, “What is this?”

‘You mean you don’t recognize yourself? I am you. Your chaotic nature.’

Kid’s shaved brow raised as a weird and intense pulsing agitated his stomach. “I am chaotic, so who the fuck are you?”

The mirrored version laughed, grabbing a glass of mead for itself but not drinking it.

‘You ate one of my fruits. Always claiming things for yourself that you’re not worthy of hmm?’

“I paid a price for the fucking fruit.”

‘And what price did you pay for my Witch?’ it hissed.

“None, I don’t claim her. I chose her and she chose me back. Loophole – in your face.”

The mirrored Eustass Kid blinked, not expecting that response. Then it gave a sharp tooth filled grin.

‘You are an interesting one Eustass Kid, Son of Captain John. His soul is in hell if you cared to know.’

“I don’t.”

‘Not even if I told you he’s apologetic?’

“He’s dead yeah? His words and feelings should stay dead too.”

‘Your spirit is very much your mother’s,’ mirrored Kid let out a hoarse whisper. Kid felt his heart drop to his ass. ‘She’s in the other place, the nicer one…’

“…Thanks,” Kid wanted an antacid so fucking badly.

‘As I was saying. Your entire existence was enveloped in violence, poverty, and anger. You turned it to power and ambition. And your rage!! It’s delicious. And yet, not one demon can permeate you. It’s really such a miracle. A perfect vessel like you would do wonders but you’re simply put…unbreakable. Your sheer will is a force. A joy. I want it,’ mirrored Kid growled.

‘If you were to…bend the knee to me…I could provide you with a clear channel of raw power that you could ever hope to obtain. It would guarantee your crews’ survival with the…trials you’ll be facing. I could extend that security to her as well,’ it hissed almost sweetly.

Kid eyed the mirrored devil in shock, considering the words spoken to his mind while he sat alone on the bench while the party went on.

Another electro pop rock song played through the snail and Rowena threw her hands in the air, lazily waving them as she let her mind float as the lyrics rolled as easily as the wind in her hair. Her glassy eyes watched through half closed lids at the scene before her. The Kid Pirates celebrating her culture, dancing with her.

She could see Kid hunched over himself in worry. She could see a dark aura hovering near him.

Rowena straightened up and began to run. Her arms swung as she tried to reach him but she felt like she was running in place as the air around her whipped quickly, flushing her face with harsh snaps.

‘Leaving your own party so soon little Witch?’ a hand gripped her shoulder, digging sharp claws into her skin drawing fresh blood. ‘Best not to interrupt a private conversation.’

Rowena’s head swiveled as she realized a few pirates had dark auras trailing after them.

“No! They’re not offerings!”

‘I know that.’

“Then why??!”

‘It’s my nature.’

Rowena’s head snapped behind her and her sun-tanned face drained of color. She was looking at herself but a much more unsettling version of herself. Her stomach clenched. She knew this face, knew those double halo eyes. She knew this feeling.

‘I just can’t help it. I’m chaos, sue me.’

Alter-Rowena forcefully guided Rowena away from the fire and everyone else. ‘It’s been so long since you’ve reached out to me Rowena. You really hurt my feelings. Don’t you have any love for me anymore? You used to adore me when you were a child. You wanted to marry me, it was so cute.’

Rowena flushed at the memory that flashed through her mind. She was six, wearing a crown of thorns as the others prepared her for the signing. Where she would bloody her thumb to memorialize her vow in the Book of Names. Her devotion to Him. Rowena’s childish mind took the ceremony to be more romanticized like the fairytale stories her sisters would tell her. She thought this would be a marriage ceremony, and she remembered the faces of adoration her Coven made at her when she declared it so.

“I-I couldn’t. There was a massacre and I was enslaved for years. I couldn’t do anything like this! It is by the miracle of pirates that I have been freed and able to use my magic once more. To honor You again.”

It tsked at her. ‘I’m aware. You didn’t have to wait until the Yule to reach out. You could have done a rebirth ritual. A cleansing ritual. Either of those would have reached Me. Guess I’m feeling so starved of worship. What will you do to rebuild the Coven?’

“I was…afraid. That if I only found silence I would have felt abandoned by You too and been truly alone. I do not know. I am only just relearning my craft and pushing myself to be at the appropriate level of a Witch my age.”

Alter-Rowena gave her an irritated look, ‘I will never understand why your Coven decided to stop The Rite once you began your first menstrual cycle. It was a year of experimentation and training, and it ALWAYS yielded excellent results. You have pathetic influence over Fire and you don’t have a familiar! Do you even fly?’

“I suspect it had to do with our dwindling numbers and low mortality rate outside our island. I do not,” Rowena answered through grit teeth. The idea of forming a pact of servitude with a demon hidden in the flesh of an animal did not fill her with any comfort. It made her feel gross even before experiencing enslavement herself.

‘Tch. Ever since the War of the Witches you silly girls were scared beyond any common sense. Diluted your line by isolating yourselves from the world. Disallowing the participation of males even!’

Rowena tilted her head at that, “What War of the Witches? I’ve not been told this history.”

Alter-Rowena matched her tilt with a bewildered look. ‘The war that happened 870 years ago, of course.’

The longest awkward pause settled over them before Rowena keeled over and threw up.

Fucking brew.

Alter-Rowena pulled Rowena back by the hair and Rowena flipped backwards, falling to the ground. Her back did not meet the Earth, instead her body began to levitate in the air. Sharp claws dragged along her back tattoo as Alter-Rowena began to walk with Rowena hovering over her like a balloon.

‘I think a family meeting is in order. Use the Cornu Ignus and follow the Amaru to the Spirit World. Do not forget your first duty before your…career…in piracy is to Me. To the Natural Chaos that makes this stupid little world spin. I made you and every Witch before you to lay out My influence in the world. For every tip in the scale, Witches have been there to righten it and advance My agency. Do not fail Me, child.’

Alter-Rowena threw Rowena across the sky to the edge of the bonfire. Rowena landed and stumbled, squealing as she jumped back from the flames licking at her face.

‘You are a Witch, you should not fear Fire you should merge with it! Stick your hand in the flames and pull out a wisp.’

Rowena hesitated.

‘Do. Not. Fear. It. It is life just as much as it is death.’

Rowena shakily reached for the fire, took a deep breath, and put all her faith in the Sea Devil’s words. You are me and I am you, we are one and the same, she chanted to herself and at the fire for confidence.

With a steely gaze, Rowena thrust her hand into the blazing heat and was shocked when she didn’t feel her hand burn to a crisp. The temperature surrounding her hand climbed significantly but it did not harm her any worse than a bright sunny day on the deck of the Victoria Punk did. Just as quickly Rowena yanked her hand out and there in her hand sat a sizable flame, pulsing excitedly, matching Rowena’s own excitement.

‘Gooooooooooooood,’ Alter-Rowena purred. ‘Now. Eat it.’

“HUUHHH?!”

‘You rely on outside sources too much instead of mastering the elements. You need to imbed them into your being if you ever hope to use them more efficiently. Think of how easy it is to master air once you begin using the air in your own lungs. Did you know when you’re channeling your water magic you’re working the blood and water stored in your own body first?’

Rowena nodded her head.

‘Then eat it. All Fire born Witches are exempt from doing this because the sparks are born inside them. All other Witches must earn Fire’s respect to reside in their hearts to use.’

Rowena condensed the flame into a small ball of fire, the size of a gumball. She popped it in her mouth and swallowed. It was like swallowing a spoonful of Killer’s soup right off the stove. She felt an intense wave hit her body that settled over her chest. Like a terrible bout of heartburn. After several minutes it petered out.

‘Now blow a stream.’

Rowena turned to the bonfire and gathered as much air in her lungs as she could. She felt it heat up inside her lungs. She let out a long and flush roar of fire above the bonfire.

The crew began cheering at her with Heat following up with his own stream of fire.

‘Ahhhh look at that. He has a spark of magic, naturally gifted. What an anomaly.’

“He said he ate a pepper.”

‘False, the pepper was a catalyst. The power within him all along. He’s not one of Mine but that’s magic.’

Alter-Rowena began to fade out, coming into focus one last time, ‘I approve of your choice in husband, by the way. You have my blessing for union. Create a new generation of Witches.’ Then He was gone.

Rowena glanced around her and could see the dark aura had disappeared from everyone except Heat and Kid. She started towards the redhead. The dark aura vanished before she reached him.

“Thanks, but I don’t need Your help. I got this far without You.”

‘Tsk, foolish Boy. If you won’t accept My offer than I’ll leave you with My blessing over your coupling. Your children will be endowed with great power and abilities, and that’s even before My Grace comes into play.’

“What do you mean?”

‘You’re committing yourself to a Witch. You will bear Witch offspring. That’s how it works. You’ve not seen the last of Me. I can already feel it, they’ll be the strongest in a new era of Magic.’

Kid had not thought that far ahead when he proposed to Rowena. He knew children were on the table in the distant future but somehow he just forgot that they’d likely have some type of power from their mother passed down. Kid shrugged.

“That may be so but they’ll be mine and hers. Not Yours – not ever.”

His mirrored version glared at Kid before it faded and vanished. Rowena took the seat his mirrored version had occupied.

“Hey how are you doing?”

“Got a bit of heartburn. You too I gather from that flame you shot out! My little dragon,” he pulled Rowena into his lap.

She giggled before turning serious, “I thought I sensed something over here with you.”

“Nope, just me and my addled thoughts. This brew is fucking me up though.”

“I’m sorry! Let’s eat to soak it up and sleep it off.”

The rest of the night faded into obscurity as exhaustion took hold of the couple.

When they woke in the morning, curled on the ground and only covered by Kid’s fur coat, they took note that not one pirate made it back to the ship. Everyone was passed out on the ground. Some were even cuddling together. Killer’s hair was tangled up in Heat’s blue locs as the two spooned each other. Wire only a few feet from them and holding himself tightly as he snored. His signature cape was gone, found a few feet away where a few of the women crew members used it as a blanket.

Kid tightened his hold on Rowena, turning his tired amber eyes to her lavender ones.

“Like I was saying last night. I swear on everything I hold dear, that if that Fuck tries to make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll rip His damn tail off and shove it down His throat.”

Rowena smiled at Kid and nuzzled into his embrace. “We’re good on that front.” She stilled for a moment before daring to ask, “Were you…visited by anything last night?”

Kid regarded her calmly before sighing, “Nope, pretty boring on my end. The brew fucked me up though, never drinking that shit again.”

They laughed quietly together while the crew lightly stirred as the sunrise began to break through the cloudy, overcast sky.

“Told you it wasn’t meant to be taken lightly.”

“I ain’t a bitch!”

“Hmm, no you’re not. You’re anything but, Eustass Kid.”

Kid leaned down to kiss her, nosing her cheek before softly whispering, “That’s fucking right, honey.”

[ballsballsbowls]

Slate recently published a relatively short interview with Holly Black and I just...

I cannot stress enough, here where you can see it, that I don't have strong feelings about Holly Black specifically. I've read just enough of one of her books to be pretty confident that it's not for me and I doubt I will read anything else. Holly Black just happens to be the person they interviewed and the person who said these things specifically. I have no quarrel with her.

What really drew my attention was this, which unfortunately I suspect is hardly unique to her.

Q: In The Prisoner’s Throne, there’s a scene early on that I thought was going to go in the way many romantasy books would go these days, but it didn’t. A lot of readers are here for the smut, but some authors, like yourself, will go the “behind closed doors” route, where the sex isn’t explicit or it’s assumed to have happened off the page. Are you at all interested in exploring the smuttier aspect of fantasy? 

A: I think that I certainly could push myself a bit more out of my comfort zone, but I don’t know how much I would want to explore it. Mostly because, as a reader, I find long sex scenes to be paced strangely—you’re moving through everything else at a certain pace, and then the pace just drops off, like, OK, now we’re spending, like, two chapters like this. I know there are people who enjoy it, obviously. I recognize that readers wish I could make the scenes a little longer. I had a reader ask me, with the Folk of the Air series, if my editor had made me cut down the scenes, and I said, “No, actually, my editor told me to expand the scene.” And she said, “Well, why didn’t you?” Friend, I did.

I also had somebody talk to me recently about how, in a certain kind of book, what you have is levels of physical intimacy being symbolic of the characters achieving a greater amount of emotional intimacy. That’s just not something I’ve ever thought of as being equivalent. I’ve been like, Oh, I have to get them closer here, but I never really thought that people often are using physical intimacy as a stand-in or as a way to communicate emotional intimacy. Building up into a greater and greater level of physical intimacy is doing work that I’m just not thinking about doing in that way.

~

Paragraph 1 of her answer is interesting in its own way. I'd always wondered why people feel compelled to write 2-paragraph sex scenes because they are my least favorite way to convey that information. I'd much rather a fully closed door OR a 2-page treatment with no in between, but you can't generalize her answer to authors generally.

But Paragraph 2 was actually kind of illuminating and, I think, is actually a notion that can be spun out and applied to other authors rather than being specific to her. I like category romance a lot (among other genres, the difference is that I never shut up about romance because nobody is spending a lot of energy being dismissive and shitty about fantasy or sci-fi as a genre anymore), but I have struggled with basically every new romance-esque genre out there that should be appealing! It's romance AND something else! But I didn't vibe with any of the rom-coms I read, which I forgave because 'rom-com' isn't a real genre, it's basically just a marketing thing.

But I also didn't like any why chooses/RH; I didn't like any 'romantasy' (despite liking both romance AND fantasy!) —even Paladin's Grace was pretty much a spite finish for me and that's the work of an immensely skilled tradpub author—not to mention, I have no idea whether she considers that series 'romantasy' or not (I doubt it). Hell, I'd dump shifter romance/urban fantasy romance in here too and it's been around longer than any of these upstart new romance-adjacent sub-genres.

But I think Paragraph 2 of Holly's answer maybe gets to some of it. She's either saying that she doesn't understand a correlation between sex and emotional intimacy in general (which is all well and good but maybe romance-adjacent author is not the career for you?)

Or she's saying that she doesn't understand a correlation between sex and emotional intimacy in romance writing, which was a lightbulb moment for me. At the risk of perhaps overgeneralizing:

A lot of these authors are writing romance-adjacent books because they think romance is a cool thing to have in a book but they don't understand why category romance does what it does, and what it signifies, and why it works, so they just...throw everything out because they are Too Cool For Category Romance because it's Grandma Porn or whatever, so they write something that's marketed as a romance that doesn't comprehend how to write or discuss emotional intimacy at all, and typically can't juggle it under the weight of the rest of the plot even if they do.

So you end up with between 2 and 7 leads with the emotional depth and chemistry of smooshing two barbies together to kiss because they don't have a clue what chemistry between leads should look like because they're Too Cool For Category Romance. And a lot of them that I have read have had sex scenes, so they're not afraid of smut, but they can't integrate emotional vulnerability or chemistry into it at all.

I think this is where her complaint about the 'pacing' of sex scenes comes in. This newer, ultra-lean writing style where everything is first person present and paced oddly and every dialogue is sparse and lacking dialogue tags and every two-page spread is mostly white space is here to stay, unfortunately, and in a world where you're trying to reduce word count and have an additional entire plot besides the romance, who has space for intimacy or whimsy or anything but maybe 2 crude indicators that they trust each other?

[adelha-mathilde]

Adelha X Diavolo (Obey Me!) NSFW fic

summary: Diavolo proposes to Adelha. They have a wonderful honeymoon.

characters: Adelha (main OC of this rp blog), Diavolo

content: NSFW for meant for mature readers only, romance, intimacy

Diavolo was looking up at the moon when Adelha walked into the back garden. His posture stiff as the Fae woman came up behind him to wrap her arms around him and hug him from behind. Her words gentle and holding that sweet Irish lilt that warmed her words. "I heard the news. Lucifer let it slip that the House of Lords insists you find a spouse. Someone that is a noble and a fitting match for the king of this realm. Barbatos told me to just listen when he let me into the castle. But I think we both know what you really want to say."

Diavolo gave a sigh that had his mighty frame all but deflate. His eyes closing as he shook his head to speak. "I've known this day would come for my entire life. My father bade me to choose one who is my equal in love and in spirit. Not for titles or for power. But for myself and whom I rule over. So with that in mind, the choice has been easy to make. I made it the moment you stole my heart."

Adelha goes very still for Diavolo to turn and place a hand to her chin. Lifting her face so their eyes might meet. A warm chuckle escaping at the stunned expression on Adelha's features. "You have lived in the Devildom for several years worth of time. Always willing to serve whoever has need. My subjects consider you to be a fine woman of kindness and compassion. Even if you are of the Fae. A very special mixture of Dragon and Vampire to be from who knows what actual realm you hail from that connects to mine. But I am certain. There is no other that I would wed, Margaret Joanna Adelha Mathilde. Last of the Mathilde clan and the current blessed member of the Currier clan. If the House of Lords wants to argue over pedigree, they would find I wouldn't listen. You are priceless and worth every star in existence. So tell me. Would you marry me?"

Adelha gives a hard huff of air for tears to prick at her eyes. A nod all she might manage before she reaches into her dress pocket. Taking out a ring shaped like a dragon to be made of special black metal. "As per tradition. This ring was made by melting onyx and magic into metal. Shaped in the Currier clan symbol to announce you as my groom. As of now, you are my husband. Diavolo."

Diavolo blushes to let Adelha slip the ring onto his finger. His smile bright as he then hugs Adelha tight. The Fae woman giving a squeak at the bear hug to then have both of them laugh. Diavolo spins them around a few times before setting Adelha back onto her feet. "We will have to have the formal ceremony and crown you as my queen. But that may wait until later. I say we are on honeymoon and I should savor my new bride. Hmm?" Adelha blushes to then lead Diavolo back into the castle and right to the bedroom. Diavolo locking the door to then sweep Adelha up and begin to kiss her with unbridled joy. His hands soon undoing the ties at the back of her long green dress as Adelha kissed him back with just as much hunger.

Diavolo slipped the sleeves of the dress off of Adelha's arms to also take the evening gloves with them. Stilling when he finally looks to see what Adelha looks like under the dress. Since the burn her knew was on her left hand and arm actually covered her entire left side. Her head turning away as she bit her bottom lip and waited. Yet Diavolo simply gave a heated hum of sheer delight to remove her boots with care. His hands gentle with slipping the rest of the dress off to then cover her with the fur blanket Diavolo kept on top of his bed. A kiss stolen for him to shiver a little. "Absolutely breathtaking... Here I am with the most gorgeous dragon of opal hues. How am I so blessed?"

Adelha watched as Diavolo all but melted out of his clothes to join her on the bed and gaze into her eyes. His words molten and powerful as he coaxed his lover into his embrace. "Striking blue. Like the oceans in winter. That is what I took notice of first. Those piercing blue eyes that hold only kindness. It sent sunfire through my blood when you hugged me that first time. I'd have sworn you stopped my heart if it hadn't been bashing against my ribs after you let go. Such a wonder you are to me, Margaret. I love you. I want you. Please."

The two wound themselves together to make each other blush. Heated touches followed by even more heated kisses. The fur blanket the only covering as Diavolo paid sacred worship to she who would be his queen. While Adelha left him breathless with the nips and actual bites to his skin. One even had blood well from his shoulder for her to lick over it and make Diavolo moan with hunger. This dance one of making love to lose track of all sense of time. Leaving nothing but the sweet bliss of the now. Diavolo would have them move to several different places. The bed. The rug in front of the fireplace. Only for them to finish in the bathtub to be two melted lovers. Diavolo hummed his joy to then wince as a knock on the bathroom door sounded out. His words molten in answer. "Barbatos. Cancel all my plans for today and tomorrow. I have a wedding to arrange with my bride. Who will need for us to make a portal that links from my bedroom and directly to her apothecary shop. See it done."

********

The wedding plans had taken almost a year to fully arrange. Since the House of Lords had thrown as much into preventing it with all they could come up with. There had even been an assassination attempt. Which had ended with the would be assassin dead by Adelha's hands and the House of Lords facing the full wrath of the Currier clan and their allied Fae clans. Which had ended rather swiftly when the Seven Brothers had pitched in to voice their fury. The actual wedding had been majestic and ended with crowning Diavolo and Adelha as the rulers of the Devildom. With Diavolo taking the Mathilde name to cement that Adelha be viewed as his equal. The partying had lasted for weeks for things to finally be settling down. Diavolo currently sitting with Adelha for them to be gazing at their twin girls. Barbatos currently setting up a fancy dinner as Diavolo watched both infants wiggle and coo in their bassinet. His joy apparent as he reached his one finger out for the red headed girl to grab tight. "Rike. Such a sweet beauty you are. Just as is your sister, Elke. The two most perfect treasures I have to call my own. Margaret. How might I thank you for giving me so much joy and love. It leaves me spellbound."

Adelha hums to note how the black headed Elke is starting to fuss. So Adelha lifts her up to get situated for breastfeeding the apparently hungry infant. Her own words full of love and joy. "Your love and devotion is enough to give me in tribute, my groom. But I do remind you about not thanking a Fae. It still stands as a taboo thing to do. However. You are very distracted right now. So I will let such slide for the moment." Barbatos pauses to turn when all of them hear the doors to the castle entrance open. the butler giving a sigh as several voices may be heard from the entranceway. "It would seem the brothers are here rather early for our appointed dinner. I should have know they wouldn't be able to sit still when they are so eager to meet Rike and Elke. Shall I distract them for you, Lord Diavolo?"

Diavolo openly laughs to just scoop Rike up and hold her close. His steps taking him to the entranceway to say, "I believe that Rike will make the best distraction so my beloved wife might finish with Elke's feeding. So you would be best at ensuring they do not decide to try sneaking off." Barbatos bowed to Diavolo for the proud father to welcome his friends with joyful laughter. The brothers giving cheers and whoops for Adelha to look to Barbatos. The two of them smiling as the brothers meet the next ruler of the Devildom.

[taylortruther]

That's intersting. I think we talked once about how dark this series is compared to a lot of YA (especially recent books). You can tell Pullman didn't write it for children and this might be why this book is so timeless.

I'm pretty sure the book wasn't recieved well when it was published because of its anti-religion sentiment (and I do think it's anti-religion, particullary anti-church). I actually think today it could be recieved pretty well because people care less about religion (particularly Christianity).

I kind of agree with your point about Lyra & Will and the sexually symbolic scene, but I read a lot of fantasy and YA fantasy and I think readers today can and will understand this scene. That scene isn't really about sex, it's about intimacy (and sex requires intimacy and sex is about love and good sex requires maturity and sex is fun and the church hates fun and knowing a person intimately both physically and spirituallly is fun and it helps you grow as a person)

my perception is that people in general care less about religion but culturally there is a big split: some people are more open-minded, some are even MORE close-minded than we've been in the last 30-40 years. and the controversy from very loud minorities might make it a hard sell to publishers. of course, if similar books for young adults have been published in the last year, i'd change my tune!

and yes, the scene is not about sex but more about the joy of connecting with someone on a level that opens you up to the universe! it's the ultimate form of "god" and truth and togetherness, which is why i said maybe the book isn't anti-religion, because this is what pullman says people should care about, and he's very much anti-church--but you can go on the subreddit and see people STILL asking "did they have sex? aren't they minors?"

i'm american and i don't really think people would have more open-minded reactions about it.

[firstginger]

Hi Lauren. Are you still doing daemon form finding requests? Also what are your thoughts on the instinctual variants? Took me awhile to properly grasp and understand mine (a seriously long time,I was so confused😅). I was wondering if you factor it in with form finding or if you find it irrelevant. Thanks! God speed with your thesis💪

yes absolutely! :D i've been pretty absent these last few months as i'm finishing up my phd, but i'm finally finding time to go through my inbox!

that's a really great question and like you said i feel like there's so much confusion around the instinctual variants especially with how they interact with your enneagram. from a theoretical standpoint, the instinctual variants by their nature encompass three biological concerns of humans and animals: the survival self-preservation instinct, the bonding social instinct, and the intimate sexual instinct. it's clear that the importance of these instincts vary between species. an asocial animal like the polar bear clearly places less emphasis on the social instinct, while a domestic animal like the cow places less emphasis on the self-preservation instinct. but when you move away from extreme examples, it becomes a little more muddled. i think then you risk falling into the instinctual variant trap: viewing them entirely as stereotypes, such that a highly gregarious animal (ex a flamingo) would of course have to be a social dominant, or a stereotypically sensual and dominant animal (ex a jaguar) would of course have to be a sexual dominant. not to mention that there's just so much overall confusion around the sexual subtype. with the struggle to identify it across people, how do we start to quantify intimacy, sexuality, and spirituality in an animal species?

i think the instinctual variants might actually help shape your pullman form better, if we view them through an archetypal lens. the enneagram theory kind of does this for us -- there's nothing they love more than giving titles to subgroups lol. then it suddenly makes more sense to assign these instincts to animals based on how we as people perceive their role in our narrative of survival and instinct. we've always used animals to represent innate aspects of human nature; instead of asking how exactly the mule deer balances its prey-like self-preservation with its gregarious social tendencies with its overt displays of sexuality ecologically, we're considering how we've assigned particular motifs to the deer. even then i don't think it's entirely clear cut especially if you consider your primary and secondary instincts. but i think considering how your variant plays into your identity and archetype as a person (a social dominant being a caregiver or jester, a sexual dominant being a lover or a magician, a self-preservation dominant being an innocent or everyman) may help determine your symbolic form.

i rambled but overall to sum it up, i think it matters most for how the individual views their identity and what their daemon form should portray -- i think it's more difficult to consider it when looking at animal behavior. when people include it in their form finding requests, i tend to treat it a little more as "flavor" -- such than an ocelot may be more sp/sx and a jaguar more sx/sp just because the jaguar is a larger apex predator, not that the jaguar is an innately more spiritual and intimately-bonding animal. someone who's sx/sp is going to be looking for a form that matches their intensity, drive for meaning, and grand self-absorption, while someone who's sp/sx is going to be looking for a form that matches their cunning survivalism, need for private refuge, and unknowable self-absorption (i love so-blinds i promise).

i'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on it!!

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Un Chant D'Amour (Genet, 1950)

To be perfectly honest, I've often struggled with non-comedic silent films in the past (that era is a huge blind spot), and the version I was watching on Vimeo had a soundtrack I found distracting enough to mute after a few minutes. And let's just say that one actor's resemblance to Robert Blake probably took me out of this more than it should have. So perhaps unfairly, I was not primed to enjoy this.

But what I think was my real struggle with the movie was a certain dissonance in its images. On one hand, by virtue of the premise, a lot of the images here are euphemistic, symbolic, less than literal. Intimate by virtue of their lack of intimacy, as when the two protagonists share a smoke via a straw passed through a hole in the wall between them. There's an awareness here of the prison environment and the cold, hard interiors of the prison cell and the way they stifle intimacy and sensuality, making any expressions of these things both defiant and erotically potent. And I also found it interesting the way the prison guard's sexual drives manifest in more violent and controlling forms, as a contrast to the warmth of the protagonists' desires, their imagined sojourn in the woods providing a mental escape from the dehumanizing conditions they're under.

But then you have the scene where the guard peeks on on the different prisoners masturbating, and it kind of threw me off. I suppose if you're stuck in prison without anyone to talk to or touch, you would spend a lot of time masturbating, and might even approximate some of the motions of actual lovemaking. And I am the last person in the world to object to explicit sexual imagery, as should be evident from my viewing habits. But the way the movie captured these images felt a little clumsy, almost comical, and the exaggerated dancing of the sole black character rubbed me a little the wrong way. And I also think it's a bit of a miscalculation for the movie to expand its scope in this scene, as it seems at odds with the intimate connection between the two main characters.

[strawberista]

{Thinking about how Hanekoma views platonic and familial and romantic bonds, and how he expresses those, and the differences between them and those things. Because I feel like if someone were to look in just on a surface level and not really think about it too deeply, it might be a little hard to tell. That maybe the kind of intense feelings he has for Joshua or Hope or Joel might seem romantic to someone just passing by or someone who isn't really looking into it. And how Hanekoma's unorthodox methods of loving his family and his friends might look like romantic to the person who doesn't really know what's going on with him, or maybe even just the average person in general.}

{So I thought, maybe I should talk about that a little bit.}

⚅— Hanekoma and Love —⚅

⚀ For Hanekoma, intention is everything. And maybe that in itself might be enough to explain a lot of this. The way and the kind of love Hanekoma feels has almost everything to do with the feelings and intentions behind the act, the symbolism and the emotion of it all. He is a deeply emotional person, to the point that he cannot even enjoy physical acts of intimacy in any casual capacity. He has to have some sort of emotional tie into an act before he can be comfortable doing it.

⚀ This might also be a reason why he tries to lean into the route of scooping someone up into his family rather than just leaving it at casual friends. He can have just friends in his life, but the more attached he gets to a person and the more emotion he puts into their relationship, the more he will want to deepen that meaning of the relationship to some extent, and being family is simply his go-to for those situations. For people who reciprocate his feelings, that emotion is obviously going to grow tenfold, which is why he tends to lean so hard into loving someone that displays that they're okay with the way he provides affection to his loved ones.

⚀ Hanekoma's desire for physical affection to his family members can be really uncomfortable from an orthodox standpoint, especially if one believes in the principle of people becoming too old to accept forms of affection from their parental figures like cuddling, kissing, and being held. For those individuals, Hanekoma's acts of affection could easily come off as more romantic in nature, especially the way he talks about Joshua in particular in inner dialogue and how he views him as his soulmate. But for Hanekoma, soulmates are not a strictly romantic idea but more of a repeated pattern across parallel universes. Many Hanekomas he's met have been attached to Yoshiya Kiryu in some form or another, and so he believes Joshua is his soulmate. But it isn't a romantic love in any sense of the word. Joshua's love has a very specific imprint on his heart, and the trust and intention that they've built for each other over the years as firmly placed Joshua as his child, a familial bond. The things he does with Joshua are symbolically and emotionally very different from what he might do with a romantic partner, even if the actions themselves are similar or even identical in nature.

⚀ Much like art, Hanekoma's view of love and the types of relationships he forms with others is highly dependent on his interpretation of the situation, and the way that he feels when looking at a person can deeply alter the way he will feel doing certain actions with them. While I haven't explored the concept of a romantic partner on this blog, Hanekoma would take those same actions of holding and kissing and cuddling with a romantic partner and view them entirely differently from what he would were he with Joshua. This is once again the same reason why the term Kitten can get a completely different reaction out of him depending on who it's being said by and who it's being used on. While the base reason for being attached to the term is the same when used by Eanas verses when he uses it on Joel, because he has a completely different outlook on Eanas the term holds entirely different connotations.

{This is one of those things that I really struggle to properly display in my writing just because I'm not really sure how to write it in a way that is nuanced and clear enough to the reader, and even when trying to explain it here I don't feel like I'm not doing a very good job of it. But I think this is one of the more interesting aspects of my version of Hanekoma and one of those things that I think about a lot, so I wanted to talk about it. Thank you for taking the time to read this if you made it this far.}

[sizeableseashell]

2024/11/23

I don’t know what to say- oh yeah. Listening to my emotions I think is a BIG key part of being who I am. I feel things in a BIG way. I need to let those emotions run around within me- like… fuckin’ Webkinz of Neopets, in an expansive Y2K virtual neon green field in my heart.

When I do this- the ~gay~ feelings come out as well. I must accept them and be curious.

I do feel- when I feel such strong ~gay~ feelings that I’m betraying my boyfriend. Even if I kiss him and sleep with him. I worry, that I’m dragging him along- using him. Like his arms and his lips and his body are niceties to tide me over until I leave.

I wish I didn’t have to leave. I don’t have to. I could stay with him.

There are procedures to this. Steps to take. He’s open. He wants me to explore. So I should say “Hey Elliott. How about we try polyamory? I’m gonna date women.”

Then all I need is ONE super sexy hot BABE to fall in love with- the nail on the head.

I need to test this theory. To avoid unnecessary heart ache.

He knows this. I’ve expressed the doubts often enough.

Texting him photos of whatever gay propaganda I come across.

See me I’m whispering see me for what I am

It’s affected him though- in a way I was hoping it wouldn’t.

A few nights ago we were making out downstairs. He was kissing my neck and feeling me up.

I was thinking about this, in my head, about what he must be feeling in this moment.

He wants me, I thought.

I turned around and faced him “You’re horny.” I said teasingly.

“We also don’t have to do this right now, if you’re not into it.” Elliott replied

“What makes you think I’m not into it?” I said

“We’ll, you just said ‘you’re horny’ which makes me think you’re not.”

I froze. I wanted to have sex. Did that make me horny? It certainly wasn’t the same kind of uproarious horny I felt when I was a teenage. I wasn’t screaming and aching for it. I wanted to have sex because I like having sex with Elliot. I like how it feels. I like being close to him. I like making him happy.

I wanted to say to Elliott “I don’t want you to worry about wether I’m horny or not. If you want to have sex I want you to use me.” (This is the kind of power dynamic that I find super enjoyable.)

But instead- after a several seconds of being a human loading symbol:

I said, rescindingly “I don’t know if I’ve ever been horny.”

Elliott later said that that worried him. That he hadn’t faced that level of self-doubt and emotional over analysis since he was a teenager.

That night- I curled up close to Elliott’s chest while he scrolled on Reddit.

Say: can I kiss you for a bit?

Breathing. Time ticking.

Say: can I kiss you for a bit? Just say it. You know you’re going to say it eventually.

Seconds pass.

“Can I kiss you for a bit?”

“Sure” his response was immediate and I surprised myself by saying it.

Our lips locked, and parted, and breathed together. I rolled on top of him, and let my hands explore his arms, his chest, his, hair. I felt him touch me, and hold me. I brought to mind the recent revelation- that sex is a true form of intimacy, that it’s an expression of everything I feel for him. Our friendship, our closeness, our trust.

He rolled on top- then peeled away.

“I don’t know.” he said.

“No? Why?” I asked

“When you have a partner that talks so much about being gay, it makes you wonder if they really want you.”

“Yeah? Okay. It’s okay.” Like my quick words would cauterize the pain before it spilled.

But his words hurt, it was the first time I’d ever heard him bring up my homosexuality as a sort of weapon- or legal rationale for punitive measures: no closeness.

I was used to being punished, though. I was used to being denied. It felt all too familiar and like a betrayal at the same time.

He’s refused intimacy before, but rarely and only when he’s felt hurt.

It hurt to think- that expression from some deep place within me- could hurt him.

The next day I told him that I did want him, and he assured me that he knew- it was nothing to do with me, it was his own thing to work through.

That night though, he held me and pointed out that our heartbeats were synchronized.

Later, in the kitchen, I googled what it meant.