#it is well known that he’s the favorite amongst my characters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cozymoko · 10 days ago

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TO TEACH A DOG TO SIT. —

⠀⠀MINATO CITY - TOKYO, EARLY 2000s

word count 𖹭.ᐟ approx 2,738

tw, tags 𖹭.ᐟ emotional abuse, bullying, physical injury, toxic relationships, self-loathing, angst, bullying, emotional abuse, toxic relationships, romantic tension.

Hey! so, I decided to post this, if you guys want to see more of him, maybe he'll become an OC, haha.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀NEW GAME?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𖹭⠀LOAD GAME?⠀ 𖹭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀O̷̳̻͓͉̐̄͂͑̅̆��̆͠ͅV̵̨̟͙͎͎͙̫̹̟̟̰̯̀̊̉̂̃Ȩ̴̲͎̰̝̞̻��̘͒̀R̶̢̡̥͓͚͈̫̹͐̀͛̀̐͐̉̈̑͋̚R̸̢̖̺͖̟͖̝̤͉̥̀̀ͅͅİ̷̩̥̯̕D̴̢̡̢̲͚̖̱̼̹̝̠̔͗̈́͝Ȩ̶͔̲̫̥͚̘̜̩̹͉̓̅̏̅̒̆̂?̷͖̆͂̎̾!̵̨̫̮̲͖͇̲͉̪̟̣̀̈́̓̋͌̂̈́͛͊̚͠?̴͈͑!̴̬̣̰͚̞͕̯̭̲̳̒͋́͋͊!̵̛̤̥̳͆̿̇̏̀̏̀̊̚ ̵͇̹̜̻̹͙̙̄̌̇̋̀̔͝;

⠀⠀

⠀⠀LOAD GAME, SELECTED .ᐟ

⠀⠀LOADING, PLEASE WAIT...

⠀⠀

new info unlocked 𖹭.ᐟ MINATO CITY (also known as the Minato ward) is home to the wealthiest families in Japan. Happy hunting. (≧∇≦)/

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𖹭

CHAPTER XXXX, 13:30PM

My, my, what a pretty girl you are. Birthed and bathed in wealth that the lower class would kill for. Soft, glass-like skin that could make all the girls kick and scream with envy. Talented, as though you were gifted by the heavens themselves, a divine being amongst all others. Your mom, for she was a woman of faith, proclaimed you as God's favorite creation as well we her own. And at some point, you began to believe her words.

God's Creation. God's Favorite. Everyone's favorite, she said.

So, what the actual fuck was happening right now?

The faceless, shadowy figures in the background were slowly gaining distinct features, their expressions becoming eerily human. The game world, once surreal and empty, was shifting, revealing a more tangible reality. What had been mere background noise now had identity, as if the boundaries between the game and reality were beginning to blur.

“C'mon, [Name],” He chuckles halfheartedly. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

A little? Was he fucking with you right now?

A little wasn't the clumps of mud hugging your scalp. Nor was it the dirt that absolutely ruined your neatly pampered skin. It wasn't the muck that stained and streaked the beautiful plaid of your uniform skirt. Not even, the crud and filth that soiled your stockings — seeping all the way to your Mary Jane's. A little didn't hurt your pride the way this did.

Your eye twitched. So what was so damn funny? "How could you say—"

A sickly-sweet giggle cut through your thoughts, high-pitched, cutting through your seething anger like nails on a chalkboard. You could almost hear the background music shifting into a jarring, high-pitched tune, like some in-game character had triggered an event that was beyond your control. When was anything ever in your control?

"Kyaa~! Nanase-kun, you're so bad!" The girl giggled, covering her mouth with perfectly manicured fingers, eyes sparkling like he’d just told the joke of the century. "I swear, you always make everything so fun! Poor [Name]-chan, though~" she added, not sounding the least bit sympathetic as she threw you a fleeting glance before turning her attention right back to Aohei, as if you were nothing more than background noise.

But the real target of your rage wasn’t her. It wasn’t even the filthy rich asshole standing next to her. No, it was Aohei. The boy you had grown up with, the one who, for as long as you could remember, had been there by your side.

Who was he? Glad you asked, honestly!

Aohei, the golden boy of Nanase Global—a name that made everyone in Tokyo bend the knee. A family that practically owned everything. Hotels. Fashion lines. Tech companies. Entertainment empires. If it had a name, it had money flowing into its coffers from the Nanase family. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if even the designer of your ruined Mary Janes answered to his father’s empire.

And yet, despite all of that, despite all that privilege, Aohei was standing there laughing. Laughing with them. The same obnoxious, clueless, no-name delinquents who thought it was hilarious to drag you down into the mud, as though you were some sort of joke. You didn’t think Aohei had the ability to be this cruel—this thoughtless. And yet, here he was, barely looking concerned. Barely. Fucking. Concerned.

Maybe he didn’t realize the severity of the situation. Maybe he thought this was all just some lighthearted fun. Maybe his stupid fucking trust fund brain had short-circuited for a moment. Maybe you let his leash run a little looser than you should've.

Dumb, stupid dog. Dumb, Dumb dog!

"Aohei, take me home right fucking now!"

Your voice came out slow, each syllable dripping with barely contained rage. Your hands clenched into fists so tight your nails dug into your palms, a sharp sting against your already frayed patience. And if you looked at this fool for one more second, you swore you’d pop a blood vessel.

His laughter stopped almost immediately. You could hear the shift in the air. "Eh? What’s the matter?" he asked, sounding...confused.

His voice triggered an odd sensation in your chest—almost like a glitch in a game when something doesn’t quite align.

You stare at him, incredulous—was he seriously asking that? With a sharp breath, you fish your phone out of your purse, fingers already dancing over the screen, ready to call someone—anyone—who could save you from this nightmare. You bite your tongue, swallowing every ''unladylike" — foul-mouthed profanity ready to spill from your glossed lips.

Before you could press send, Aohei’s voice rang out in a panicked shout, his hand reaching for you. "Hey, [nickname], don’t call anyone," he begged, visibly nervous. "I’ll take you home, okay?"

You could feel the tension in the air. Aohei's voice, now slightly higher-pitched, almost like a character breaking from his usual persona. You swore you could see the “affection meter” rising in the corner of your vision. This was an event you hadn't expected, but you were now forced to deal with the aftermath.

His hand wrapped around your wrist. Not to restrain you, but to pull you closer—just enough so he can see your face. His grip is warm, hesitant, as if afraid you'll slip away entirely, and when he shifts, dirt smudges against his pristine slacks, but he doesn’t seem to care. His golden eyes search yours, wide and desperate, drinking you in like he needs to memorize every detail.

For just a second, the warmth of his touch had soothed you, or rather her, whoever she was. But you barely registered the sensation before you jerked your arm away with a force that could’ve snapped a lesser person’s wrist. You glared at him.

Your voice came out ragged. "Don’t touch me." It was almost a breathless plea, as if there was too much going on inside of you. Too much to even vocalize. You stumbled to your feet, biting back a yelp when a sharp, shooting pain stung your knee—only to realize there was now a nasty purple-ish hue creeping up the top of your knee. Perfect.

You slowly pulled down your ruined stockings, each tug making you feel more and more like you were living in some twisted, never-ending nightmare. "Fuck," you hissed at the pain in your knee, glaring at the growing bruise, then straightened your shoulders. "I’ll be at the car. Don’t make me wait."

A system alert blinked before your eyes—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀WARNING ⚠:

‘Frustration levels are high.ᐟ’

‘Negative affection points accumulating.’

"Bite me," you scoff, closing your phone shut.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the group whispering, their eyes flickering between you and Aohei. There were the girls, squealing for his attention, the guys hyping him up, throwing out plans for the night—drinks, basketball, whatever the hell they did to get their kicks. It was all so... predictable. You knew how they’d react. Aohei had always been the life of the party, the golden boy, always so easy to be around. They’d gladly throw your name in the mud if it meant keeping him around just a little longer.

It felt like the game was taunting you now—like your actions didn’t matter, like you were just a piece to be manipulated by the other characters.

You phone pinged softly. Quiet yet unbearably shrill, a sound you've grown used to, regrettably so.

REMINDER.ᐟ REMINDER.ᐟ PLEASE CHECK.ᐟ

⠀⠀“A dog will always come running to his owner”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CLOSE TAB: yes or no

You blinked at the words, almost like a coded message in a game. It sent a chill down your spine, the words feeling like a directive—an eerie reminder that you couldn’t escape what was happening. Your avatar might have been stuck in the game, but could Aohei have been a part of that too?

You didn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, you turned on your heel, making your way toward the car with all the anger in your chest, each step a stab of fury. The weight of the mud squelching against your shoes seemed to deepen your frustration. You didn’t wait for Aohei to catch up—of course he would.

“Wait, wait, [Name]—!" His breathless voice caught behind you, laced with guilt and panic, but you were too far gone. "I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t laughing at you, okay? Just... stupid jokes. I can make it up to—!"

The wind carried his words to you, distorted, like the sound had been slowed down in some game cutscene. His voice shook the air, making you feel the weight of each word, but you didn’t care.

You put yourhand up, silencing his pointless chatter. You slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door harder than necessary, right in his stupid, pretty face. The satisfying thud is the only thing that feels remotely in your control right now.

Aohei quickly followed, slipping into the driver’s seat. His usual sunny smile was now nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was full of something darker, something that almost seemed like self-loathing.

"I’ll take you home. You’ll be cleaned up in no time, I swear," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

You could see his stats now—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AFFECTION: 90%.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀HOSTILE INFLUENCE: 10%.

The numbers flashing in your mind, like a hidden system you didn’t sign up for.

You crossed your arms, glaring out of the window as your heart thudded erratically in your chest. "You think a shower’s going to fix this? You let them humiliate me, Aohei."

Aohei’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. His jaw ticked in that rare show of tension. You couldn’t even bear to look at him. You knew that look. It was always the same, ever since you were kids—the look of a lovesick puppy. He was just trying to fix things with that stupid grin of his, his soft, golden eyes sparkling with the same desperate affection.

“I didn’t let them. I just... I didn’t realize how bad it was until—" He trailed off, guilt thick in his tone. His eyes were pleading now, searching for some kind of forgiveness, though it wasn’t clear if he was even aware of what he had truly done.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his attempt at explanation. There it was again, that look. His golden-brown eyes, wide and desperate, flickered toward you every few seconds, even as his hand tightened around the gearshift. Was he... waiting for your permission? For some kind of sign that you wouldn’t push him away for good?

The silence in the car felt suffocating, heavy with a tension you couldn’t shake. With every passing second, Aohei's presence seemed to grow more overwhelming, his devotion more unbearable. His dimples were still there, barely visible when he bit his lip nervously, his shoulder-length hair falling just perfectly around his face like some advertisement for a shampoo commercial. The piercings on his ear glinted in the dim light, drawing attention to how meticulously he had crafted his image.

When you pulled up to the gates of your mansion, the weight of the tension in the car was almost unbearable. He didn't speak, not right away. Instead, his voice came out in a low, strained whisper. "I’ll wait here. In case you need anything."

The ‘AFFECTION INCREASED.ᐟ’; banner blinked across your vision. You rolled your eyes. What a mess this all was.

You unbuckled your seatbelt without looking at him. "I don’t."

You could feel his gaze on your back, a weight that burned through your skin. But this time, there was something more to it—something darker. More desperate. A humorless laugh slipped past your lips as you stepped out of the car. You glanced at him one more time, barely a flicker of emotion behind your eyes.

"Macarons," you muttered under your breath. "Bring me my favorite, and I might forgive you."

As you turned away, the door slammed behind you, and Aohei didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to look back to know that he was watching you with those same soft, broken eyes.

Ha, what kind of stupid game did they have you playing this time?

A dog would always come running to his owner.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CHAPTER COMPLETE.ᐟ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SAVING...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yes or No?

final farewell 𖹭.ᐟ Oh, my, we've got quite the interesting predicament. Oh, do tell, what will you do? Trust me, darling, keeping secrets around here never ends well.

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theblueflower05 · 1 year ago

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Mi Ti’ong(In Bloom)

A/N: Usually I try to keep my readers pretty ambiguous so that everyone can envision themselves, but this ones gonna be a little more distinct. If that isnt your jam, please dont read! No use of Y/N. Reader nicknamed Flora. Based on the character from Winx Club! And this art!

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: Size difference kink.Mature Language. Smut. Overstimulation. Oral sex(female receiving) Neteyams a munch, it’s canon now.

Summary: Neteyam can have anyone and yet he only wants you. A small human who can usually be found among the flowers. Neteyam x Human! Reader

Sugar, honey, iced tea. Bumble bee on the scene.

Yeah I’d give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie, ugh!

-See You Again, Tyler the Creator.

The forest is alive, the beating heart of Eywa felt in each and every leaf among the trees.

Every glowing piece of flora and fauna, every creature whose calls echo through the vastness.

This time of year is special and it's as though it is known. Deeply and primitively by all. The rains had come and gone, nearly a month of bruised skies that had bogged down the village and its daily life.

But as they always do the skies cleared, and the sun made its reappearance. Glittering and glimmering- triple rainbows breaking out in kaleidoscope like figurations. Beaming down with all of it’s warmth and vitality.

The earth is well fed and fertile, the soil rich and blooming with new life.

It’s that new life that brings the talioang(water buffalo like beasts) back. The creatures return in great migrations to the lush pastures of sweet new grasses to have their babies. The fish swim upstream, battling the roaring rivers, to spawn. The fruit hangs heavy and ripe in the trees. All around there is nothing but full bellies and joy.

This period of abundance is the Great Mother’s gift to her children.

It had always been Neteyam’s favorite time of the year.

Everything lush and bursting with life, the excitement a low constant hum amongst the tribe. The Great Hunt is coming and his father had given him the okay to take lead.

In his nineteen years, he had never been appointed with so much responsibility.

Jake tells him it will all be fine, nothing but easy smiles. This will be good. A fantastic way to show the clan that he’s ready to take on the title of Olo’eyktan once his father steps down. Although he manages to keep is calm and cool demeanor in public, he’s so fucking nervous he can barley function.

It’s why he’s here, trudging through the branches.

The village is buzzing with excitement. Everyone wants a moment of his time, their voices overlap as they wish him good luck.

Question his competence as head of the hunt.

Subliminally hint that hunters twice his age have never gotten the chance to do what has been so freely handed to him.

Remind him that their daughters are pretty. Unmated. Makes the best steamed Teylu. Are fertile and willing to give him strong children-

Fuck.

The moment he could, he’d slipped away. Disappeared into the foliage and had booked it deep into the trees, desperate for a moment alone. For a moment of silence and the peace of being away from prying eyes.

He doesn't even really know where he’s going.

Only that he just needs to be away. If only for an hour. He needs to recharge his ever draining social battery, to get his head on straight before tomorrow's hunt.

Neteyam has always performed his best under pressure.

Things that made others balk and cower ignited something in him. A need to fight. To prove himself- it’s not the prospect of high adrenaline and stampeeding hooves that makes him squirm. It’s all of the attention its garnering.

He know’s fully well that being the next Olo’eyktan means that attention comes with the territory. But that doesnt mean the thought of everyones focus on him doesnt make his indigo skin crawl.

He’s leaping aimlessly between vines when he remembers his sisters earlier proposition.

“Come with me and Flora to the watering hole today! The waterfalls are so pretty during this season- We’re going to go swimming!”

It’d been tempting this morning, and now it is even more so. He could use a dip in the cool waters and Kiri was always an ear to vent to when he got overwhelmed. He’d clear head and then leave-

He wouldn't get stuck staring at you.

Again,

No.

He can't pinpoint exactly when this happened.

It was like one night you were just another human at the Outpost. Another familiar alien face he’d grown up around. Just like Spider you’d stuck close with the Sully children. Your cheeks always flushed beneath your exo-mask and your fingernails always dirty and caked with mud from the hours and hours you’d spend tending to any and all plants that came in your line of vision. You were always so soft. Too soft for his liking sometimes. You’d cry at just about anything whether it be one of those old Tawtute movies the scientists played at the lab or the sight of an injured shimmyfly.

And then suddenly gone was that snotty, teary little girl he’d always known. And in her place was…you. A woman grown. Beautiful and bold- and there was strength in your softness now. You’d proved him wrong so many times- made it clear that you weren't another responsibility he’d have to shoulder-

“I can take care of myself, Neteyam” you’d insisted, never letting him carry your heavy baskets or tend to your scraped knees.

It’s maddening, the way that you shrug off any and all of his advances drives him fucking insane.

Neteyam approaches the secluded bank of the watering hole that his family loves best slowly, keeping in the treeline. Just out of sight. Just like he’d expected he finds you and Kiri on the familiar sands. Kiri is lounging in the sun, eyes closed and humming a pleasant tune to herself-oblivious to anything around her. He’d have to chastise her about her complete lack of situational awareness later.

You’re knee deep in the lake- tending to the water lilies that grow close to shore. Your back is to him but he bets your nose is all scrunched up, just like it always is when you’re around anything green and growing. His eyes drink you in greedily. All of your sun kissed skin is on display in the tiny faded pink panties you don for swimming.

He’d never found humans particularly pretty before you. The intense differences in their bodies had never appealed to him-

But Eywa, are you something to look at.

Time had been kind to you, and as you’d grown your body had morphed into something goddess like. You’re a real looker, his father had claimed. Would’ve been a total knockout back on Earth.

You’re all plush curves. Your breasts are pert and sit like rip hanging fruit on your chest, your hips wide and thighs jiggly and thick. And your waist…he’s sure if he put his much larger hands around them, his fingers could touch. He could cage you in his hold.

That thought has him biting his tongue, hard enough to taste metallic. You turn a bit, your laughter chiming over the glittering water like soft wind at some dry joke Kiri made.

Your hair color is light, lighter than any Na’vi’s and falls down around your shoulders in thick waves. He can only make out the side of your face but your full lips are pulled into a coy smile and your light jade eyes sparkle and all hell. Neteyam is so gone on you.

You’re like nothing he’s seen and definitely nothing he’s had.

And since his Iknimaya he’s had his first pick of the women of the clan.

He’s tasted passionate huntresses and flexible dancers alike and none of them satiate his thirst. None of them are able to replicate what he can only imagine you might taste like. It’s almost pathetic how many women he’s had and how many times he’s almost called out your name as he emptied his seed.

Neteyam’s more discreet about his romps than his brother, that’s for sure- but still. It’s a known fact that he’s an unmated male at his prime and that comes with a certain appetite. He can have anyone he wants, any Omatikayan woman would be glad to spend a night with him.

Yet somehow he’s lurking, hiding in the bush. Watching you longingly. Simpering like a pre-teen and pining over the way that the sunlight plays in the strands of your hair.

He shakes himself from his embarrassing reverie.

No one would be able to tell that just moments before he’d been debating on stroking his cock to just the sight of you, lurking in the trees like a creep. No. As he approaches its with his head held high and a sharp smile on his handsome smile.

“Brother!” Kiri grins, sitting up once she clocks him.

“What are you girls up to?” Neteyam greets. Cool as a cucumber.

“Nothing much, just been here since dawn. The waters so high this year!” Kiri picks up a fruit from beside her, peeling at its tender meat “everyone’s been out here today-on the other side, but no one knows how to get to this spot so we’ve had the beach all to ourselves”

You’re coming in from the lapping shore, beaming at him “Look at all the paysul(waterlily) that’ve bloom! I’ve never seen this many- isn't it amazing?”

“They are very beautiful. The rains were hard this year. I’m surprised the flooding wasn't worse” Neteyam tries not to focus on how tiny your chest covering- the bra as you call it- is. He turns his attention to his sister instead.

“Where’s Tuk, I cant believe she’d miss a chance to swim with you guys”

“She’s with mom, stuck on weaving duty since she tore grandma’s favorite tapestry” Kiri snorts because her baby sister had thrown a complete fit when she had been told she couldn't come “What about you? I thought you we’re too busy to hang out with the likes of us”

“I was able to make a little time for my favorite girls” Neteyam jests, amused by your eye roll and Kiri’s scoff “Plus, Lo’ak told me you need some humbling. Seems you forgot who’s the best diver in the family”

“Oh, you’re on, Teylupil(penis face/dick head)”

After stripping down to only his cloth, his cumberband and com left on shore, he slips into the cool refreshing water with a pleased “Ah”. Enjoying the gentle current against his skin-only to be tacked under the surface by Kiri and all of her bony lanky limbs moments later.

The sun soaked afternoon is filled with laughter and splashing. It’s exactly what he needs.

The three of you play in the river like children. Neteyam and Kiri go at it like the always do- careful to be gentle with your smaller form as you join in. It’s easy to forget the looming pressure of the hunt while he’s jumping from the rushing waterfalls and racing his sister, discreetly preening when he wins and you cheer him on with little claps.

Eventually you all tire.

Kiri floats on the water and goes to that place in her head that she so often does. Completely at peace to be surrounded by nature. She claims it’s when she can best hear Eywa.

Neteyam keeps a bit of an eye on her to make sure she doesn't randomly fall asleep again. Hoping she’d have the sense to get back to the beach before that happened.

Water floods his face and goes right up his nose.

His head snaps to you, spluttering and wiping at his eyes, “What the hell?”

You just giggle innocently before disappearing beneath the surface.

Neteyam’s tail flicks with interest.

He decides to let you get your little head start. His heart speeds up with the promise of a hunt before he starts his chase.He might be bigger then you but you're quick and slippery. Your mask giving you the advantage of not having to come up for air like he does.

When he grabs your ankle, so sure he’s got you, you all but kick him in the face to get away.

You little shit.

Fine.

If you want to play dirty, then he’s game.

He allows you to think you have a chance. That you may be winning the little game. You’re heading for the waterfall, planning to hide behind it.

He’s bigger and more trained than you could ever hope to be.

It only takes one well planned move and you’re done.

He yanks a hold of you, secure. He holds you then, your back against his chest and his strong muscle corded arms wrapped around you from behind before propelling the both of you through the pounding waterfall and into the small, closed off cave behind it.

“Neteyam!” You whine, squirming in his hold like a fish and he just laughs because honestly. He can barely feel it. You’re trying to escape with all his might and he’s holding you the way he might hold a child throwing a tantrum.

He leans in close, burying his face in your wet hair, close to your ear “I win, Sylaung(flower)”

He feels you shiver in his arms and it just makes him hold you tighter. He could keep you like this forever, if you’d only let him. Instead he can feel without you even saying so how hesitant you feel about this

“I think I deserve a prize” he pushes on even further and you give him a confused, side ways look. He so graciously allows you to turn in his hold until your chests meet, face to face.

“Like what?” you wonder and you’re too cute. You’re looking up at him, struggling to treading water with your smaller legs- Neteyam lifts you higher, until you’re bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and he’s holding you above the current. Supporting you totally.

“Well what can you give?” His inquiry is almost condescending and you shrug.

“I’m fresh out of gold stars” you tease and he barks out a laugh. Do you think he can't tell? That he can't see the way your cheeks flush and your pulse hammers beneath the delicate skin of your throat?

“What about a kiss” he offers offhandedly and your face scrunches up in a glare automatically.

“You don't want to?...”

“Why do you make fun of me like this, Neteyam” It’s not often he hears your voice this hard, soured by embarrassment and self doubt.

“I’m not making fun of you” he insists with a sigh “I don't know why you always say that. When have I ever given you the impression that I’d do that?”

You won't meet his gaze. Your green eyes flick, anywhere but on him. Zeroing somewhere behind his back. All too interested on the rocky cave wall.

“If it wasn't for this damned mask” Neteyam husks, low and sincere “I’d kiss you right now”

Even still, you don't seem convinced. Won't look at him until he takes your face in his hand, his fingers gentle but insistent. They grip the mask at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Why don't you believe me?”

“I’m nothing like the Omatikaya women you’ve been with” you say plainly like it's so obvious. Like it's a problem.

“I know”

“You didn't even like me growing up. You thought I was annoying”

“That isn't true-”

“It is” you insist haughtily “you’d make fun of me for talking to my plants”

He doesn't mean to laugh, really he doesn't. It’s not the time for it and it just pisses you off even more. He doesn't let you out of his arms even when you swat at him. “Listen, I’m sorry. I think it’s very sweet the way you talk to your plants. I want you to talk to me just like that, please”

That earns him a little giggle and he feels very pleased with himself.

You play with his hair often, most times it's mindless. A way to distract yourself. Your small deft fingers twirl along his adorned braids. He craves the scritch of your manicured nails on his scalp.

“How do you want me to kiss you? If I have my mask on” The interest in your hair is only just veiled. Your attempt at being nonchalant fails.

“Hmm” Neteyam feigns thinking, face screwed up “I think I could come up with a few ideas”

A few thousand more like it. You were the star of all of his fantasies. You, twisted and contorted into positions that would surely make you blush. You, with your mouth hanging slack in pleasure. Screaming his name-

But you hadnt agreed to that. You only, just barely, agreed to let him kiss you.

When he leans in its slow. Slow enough to give you time to push him away.

The waterfall roars in the background, white noise, but even it can't drown out the thunderous beating of your frantic heart.

Then his lips are pressed against your throat, gulping in the sweet scent of you. He cant kiss your mouth, but he can kiss the sweet, smooth column of your neck. Your clavicle. Your quivering shoulders. The heavy flesh of your breast. His kisses are open mouthed, his rough textured tongue dragging over your skin, leaving saliva trails in their wake-

You gasp sharpley when drags the skimpy fabric of your bra down so he can get at your pebbled nipple. He’s just about to suckle, when the moment is broken.

“Guys! Where’d you go?!”

It’s Kiri. Obviously awake from her nap like meditation time.

Your eyes go comically wide and Neteyam reluctantly releases you. Not wanting to get caught with an armful of pretty, half naked human. He’s thankful for the cold water and the way that he can hide the hardness tenting his tweng.

He catches you by the wrist before you can dip beneath the falls-

“We’re not done here, Sylaung” the promise leaves his lips fevor laced and full of heat.

You can only gulp and nod dazed, “I still owe you a kiss” your sweet voice reminds, before you’re ducking back under the water.

Leaving him dazed and buzzing for a moment before he gets it together and follows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days later he still hasn't gotten his prize.

Although he’s celebrated by his clan, praised for his successful hunt, he feels like something is missing.

The Harvest Season and its celebrations are well underway. Every night there's dancing and singing around the large bonfires we’re fragrant spiced tailong meat roasts. Neteyam is highly decorated; feathers adorn his freshly braided hair and he's donned his most ornate cumberband. He’s hauntingly handsome

Spider and Lo’ak are sat near the main fire, laughing heartily and sharing a leather gourd full of liquor between themselves.

Spider’s obviously drunk and eyeing Kiri hungerly as she dances with Tuk- he’d never do that sober. Not with Neytiri so near. Lo’ak is lounged out, an attractive female in his lap. She giggles madly at whatever filth his little brother whispers in her twitching ear.

Jealousy bubbles acidicly in Neteyam’s belly and again, he wonders where you are. Why you arent here, in his lap. Letting him woo you.

He figures he’ll have to go to you then, if you won't come to him.

First thing to do is find you.

“Hey, Spider!” the human man is the best place to start. Spider’s eyes are glassy under his mask and still. His friend is excited to see him, greets him with a hand shake and a small hug.

“Neteyam, man! Where have you been all night?”

“Around, you know how it is” Neteyam shrugs, sitting sown on the log, accepting the gourd and taking a swig of the thick sticky sap inside. It burns all the way down.

“This partys essentially for him- I’m surprise you we’re able to get away from dad” Lo’ak shit-talks, like he always does. It’s good natured for the most part “I thought he might throw you a parade or something. Call in the clans-”

“Fuck you, man” Neteyam chuckles, shaking his head at Lo’aks theatrics. “Don't be jealous”

“Jealous of dad? Nah” Lo’ak “Now the women you’re getting? That I might be jealous of”

“Hey!” the girl in his lap, a weaver from a modest family, squrims, pinching at his shoulder “You’ve got all the woman you need for the night, sayrip”

She squeals when Lo’ak squeezes her tight around her middle and blows wet raspberry kisses into her neck.

Neteyam just rolls his eyes and shares a little look with Spider. By the next eclipse, Lo’ak wouldve moved on. He has a knack for loving and leaving.

“Why arent you out there, bro? I saw Amitsa giving you the eyes! She’s so hot and she doesnt ever give anyone the time of day” Spider juts his chin and sure enough. The woman is giving Neteyam longing looks from across the fire. She’s a pretty thing and her sultry voice is renowned in the tribe. He’d be lying if he said he wasnt attracted to her “You’re not gonna go try to get at that?”

No. He’s not.

“Uh” Neteyam scratches the back of his neck “I was actually looking for Flora, I havent been able to find her around lately”

Of course, that sets of a exactly what he knows it would.

His brothers are assholes and have teased his merciesly since discovering his obsessive crush. Spider knocks his much smaller shoulder against Neteyam’s and Lo’ak hoots with laughter.

“How someone can be pussy whipped for pussy they haven't even had is beyond me” Lo’ak snorts and Neteyam gives him a warning growl, his lips snarled up.

It’s nothing he hadn’t heard before.

Lo’ak finds it endlessly amusing that Neteyam had his eye on you, the tiny human he’d grown up so lukewarm about. It had always been his siblings; Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk that were close with you growing up. Neteyam had never shown a speck of interest until your figure had grown curvy and supple-

“Piss off, I wasn’t asking you” Neteyam gives his best big brother stare down. His golden eyes hard and unimpressed before looking to Spider, hairless brows raised “You know where I could find her?”

“Listen man, she said wasn’t interested in hanging out with anyone tonight” the human man starts with a sigh and Neteyam’s growl is low and warning “-but I’m sure you can find her where she always is”

Neteyam wracks his brain for a moment “The Greenhouses?”

“Bingo” Spider nods, an almost sympathetic look in his eye as he watches Neteyam jump to his feet and set off.

Lo’ak sniggers and the girl in his lap scoffs and mutters something about “shameful, being that twisted up about a tawtute” but Spider says nothing.

Instead his plixr hazed eyes focus on the figure dancing close to the firelight. Kiri lets out a twinkling laugh at something Tuk says and yeah. Spider understands Neteyam. He understands being completely obsessed with something you’ve never had.

Instead of taking a note from his much braver brother, he lifts his mask and takes another shot of the acidic syrup.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam could make the trek through the forest to Hells Gate in his sleep..

He’d spent a good chunk of his childhood retracing these exact steps, headeded for the familiar concrete fortress that made up the last human outpost on Pandora.

Neteyam had always been far too similar to his mother, for countless reasons. But his distaste for everything industrial was one of the main reasons. As he got older he spent less and less time here. Couldnt be found in the cold echoing hallways like Lo’ak and the girls coul

But even he could admit.

There’s something beautiful about the Greenhouses.

With their dome like structure, the big glass buildings are a fortress for the humans. Inside they’re as hot and humid as the Pandoran rainforests- but circulating Earth air so that the fruits and vegetables that are native to Terra Firme can grow, even on this alien planet.

Neteyam makes his way inside, plugging in the codes into the keypad and letting himself in through the pressurized doors that slide closed right behind him. His eyes are peeled, taking in all of the foreign greenery, hoping to catch a flash of tanned skin or light hair in the cracks between trees.

The Greenhouses are huge. There’s orchards of apples and oranges and long deep garden beds full of root vegetables. Enough to feed the Hell’s Gate settlement throughout the year, to trade with the People of the Omaticaya.

No matter, he’s a blooded hunter after all.

He hones in on that training as he tracks your path. Your footprints along the cement floor are light, and really you barely leave any trace of yourself at all. You float along with light steps and Neteyam truly thinks if you had been born one of the People you would’ve made a fine huntswoman-

He finds you in the shade of the orange trees. You’re up on a stool, gathering the plump fruit and humming a pleasant little tune.

You’re ethereal in artificial sunlight.

You’re something out of the books that Norm used to read to them when they were kids. His favorite had been the one about the boy who would never grow up and the island of Neverland. And the tiny golden dust covered pixi that flitted from page to page.

A fairy.

A being not quite real. Too gentle and feminine to exist.

He likes the tawtute clothes you wear. The small top that clings to your breasts like a second skin and the flowy patterned skirt. Of course if it was up to him you’d only ever wear the garments of the People- or even better, Nothing at all.

You reach too high, strained up on your tippy toes and Neteyam feels irrational fear at that. At all of your delicate skin and breakable neck-

He’s beside you in an instant and he doesn't need a ladder to reach the high hanging fruit you’d been struggling for. He grabs the fruit with one hand while the other stabilizes you, his big palm spread out across the small of your back.

You gasp at his warm touch. Your head snapping in his direction and legs going wobbly.

“Neteyam!”

“Flora” He sighs as he urges you down from the ladder, takes the heavy bucket of fruit from your hands “You really do need to be more careful”

You splutter for a moment, still shocked at his sudden arrival “I- ugh! I was fine!” you insist haughtily “It’s not like I don't do this all of the time. You didn't need to come help me, I can manage perfectly fine on my own”

“Need to help you?” Neteyam cocks his head a bit.

“Yeah…I mean. Why else would you be here?” you ask, scratching awkwardly at your arm for a moment “Tonight's the celebration. You really should be back with the clan-”

“As should you” He cuts you off firmly. Not liking the way that you’re trying to separate yourself from the tribe. From him “I have not seen you for days. Do you not want to feast with our people?”

You sigh, looking away from him. Biting at that plump ever pink bottom lip of yours. Always shy, he knows he needs to bring you out of your shell. You’ll find a way to run away from him again if he doesn't.

“I didnt come here to help you” Neteyam admits because he’s selfish and because you’re too beautiful. Even more so, since you’ve been hiding from him. Avoiding his attention.

“Oh really?” you’re not coy by nature but there's something in your eyes. In the way you’re looking up at him “Then what are you here for?”

“My kiss”

Your pupils expand, just the tiniest bit but he can see it. He can see it all. Every inch of your pretty face, unbridled by that cumbersome mask you usually are forced to don. He can see every freckle and blemish- and the way that a blush creeps across the apples of your cheeks.

“A deals a deal” Neteyam insists at the prolonged silence. At your nervous flicking gaze.

“Okay” is your sweet reply and he can only stare at your plump lips. A man with one thing and one thing only on his mind.

You don't protest when he reaches for you. When his big hands go around your waist and tug slowly until he’s enveloping you in his chest. You fit so perfectly, right under his sternum. Stare up at him with wide eyes that flutter closed the closer he inches his face towards yours.

The kiss is wet and electric and Neteyam wants to eat you whole.

Any awkwardness that comes from the size difference is soon overcome by the desire that simmers between you. You let him lead, always so willing to go with whatever flow he may give. Let him nip at your delicate bottom lip until he can almost taste the metallic twang of blood. Let him stick his much bigger tongue into your warm mouth, and then down your constricting throat.

As you make little gasping choking sounds, he imagines it's his huge pulsing cock stealing the air from your lungs instead.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, as he trails kisses down your soft jaw. He cant stop, wants to taste you everywhere. Every inch of skin. He know it must be overwhelming- if your heaving breaths and mewls are anything to go by, he knows you’re feeling every inch of the mind spinning need that he is.

Still,

No matter how much he gropes at you with rough hands and drags spit soaked kisses over your neck and chest, youre so good for him. Such a good girl. Holding on for any ride he might take you on. Your fingers twined in his silky braids arent there to push him away, but to pull him closed.

When he grasps you by the back of your thighs and hoists- you wrap your legs around his slim waist, your ankles hooking at his lower back.

The helpless noise you make goes straight to his groin.

Neteyam lies you down on hard floor. He’d rather have you in the warmth of his Kelku, or under the stars, but at least here he can get at your maskless face. At your bare lips. Once he’s cradling your head safely and tucked in between your spread thighs he's at you again. Ravenously.

You’re so docile, so eager to let him take whatever he wants.

“Flora” he husks into your hair and you shiver.

“Yeah?”

“Flora” Neteyam brings your little body even closer.”You have no Idea. I have to have you. I need-”

You squeak needily “You can have whatever you need” and gasp when Neteyam kisses your cheek. Your lips. Your jaw. Your neck. Your nerves are on fire and your hips grind against his.

“I need this body. I need to see all of it, you drive me crazy” Neteyam armits as he tugs on your top and you help him pull it up over your head. You dont wear a bra, why would you? Your pretty rosy nipples are all on display for him. Pebbled and begging for attention, He laps slowly with his wide textured tongue at the puffy nub.

He suckles like a newborn until you’re chivalry and making hurt little sounds, until your pretty chest is covered in blooming bruises.

And then he’s dragging his wanting mouth down. Past your heaving ribs and over your soft belly. Neteyam hikes the flowy material of your skirt up high, until he can bend down and poke his head underneath.

“Oh!” you gasp, writhing a bit. Your thighs trying to close on instinct.

You’re so wet for him, the smell of it is thick and heady and he digs his nose into your inner thigh and snuffles. Its mouthwatering.

And it bit mortifying, from your end. Having the large man with his head buried under your skirt as he sniffs at your core-

When he licks a fat stripe over you, wetting up the thin material of your panties you cry out. No ones ever touched you like this and here he is, licking at your clothed pussy. Over and over until the fabric is translucent and sticky with your flowing juices.

“Please” you mewl, gathering the fabric, yanking until you can see him.

Its filthy and erotic. The sight of his hulking blue body between your trembling tanned thighs. So alien. So taboo-

“Please what, sylaung?” Neteyam taunts, his golden eyes meeting yours. They shine with mirth, and lust. So much lust. When he noses at your pink flowery panties you throw your head back, eyes squeezed closed. Unable to take the sight any longer “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes” you sob because you’re pulsing and you can barley breathe you’re so horny “Please take care of me with your tongue”

Neteyam strips you then, out of your skirt and cute little panties and you’re lying under him. Naked and flushed and wanting.

He shoulders himself exactly back where he wants to be. Where he’s always wanted to be.

“Don't worry, I’ll take care of this sweet pussy for you”

Oh god. Your head is spinning.

You can barely think as he kisses on the jiggling fat of your thighs.

“I’m sorry” you gasp.

Neteyam hums right against your core and you can feel the vibrations throughout your entire body “What for?”

“I’m so messy” you whisper, that pink blush blooming all over your body.

Groaning, Neteyam can't wait any longer. Your flavor bursts along his taste buds. Tangy and earthy and decadently sweet. He’s had his fair share of cunt before, but he’s never tasted a humans and he’s shocked at how saccharine it is. It’s sticky and coats his mouth and throat. His lips and nose and chin as he digs in.

“Neteyam!” You wait.

“Fuck. Oh, Eywa. One Second” Neteyam sits up and adjusts himself where his painfully hard under his tweng and the ache in you deepens. You try to be good, try to be still as he leans in and licks at you again. Kisses your pussy in that same beautiful passionate way he kisses your lips.

He’s good. Too good at this. He’s had too much practice and you never had a chance againts that oversized mouth.

“Holy fuck” the words sound even more vulgar in your honeyed voice “Fucking hell, Nete. Nete. I’m almost there”

Neteyam grin is hidden between the lips of your pussy. He doubles down, letting you hump and soak his face. Then lapping back at inside of you in a repetitive and ceaseless rhythm, One that has you shaking, arching up off the ground. Your plush thighs closing, clamping around his head as you come.

Your orgasm cinches tight and rushes around you, inside of you, out of you with a gush of slick. It’s so deep. So strong, that it takes a moment for you to truly peak and it leaves you in a daze. Out side of your body as you fuck up againts Neteyams mouth like a wild animal.

You’d never come so hard in your life and it takes a while for you to recenter.

Once youre able to focus past the rushing in your ears, the first thing you notice is Neteyam’s face streaked with wet. Your blush blooms across your cheeks as you both breathe unevenly into the quiet.

“Did that feel good?” Nereyam knows it did, but still. He needs to ask. Needs to hear you say it.

You giggle, girlish and airy as your dainty hand releases his hair and cups at his cheek “So so good. I’ve never felt anything like that before”

His grin is all too feline and seeing those white canines gleam so close to the most sensitive part of you is a little alarming.

“There’s so much more to come, yawntutsyip” Neteyam promises, leading back down. His fingers play with the jiggle of your thigh- so different then any of the Omaticaya women he’s had You squirm a bit, clearly overstimulated, but keep your legs spread anyway.

Neteyams long digits prod gently at your pussy lips. You’re oddly pretty here. All red and rosy and inflamed, like that blush he loved so much on your cheeks. He spreads you with two fingers so that he can look at you inside. At your quivering pink folds and your tiny little hole that clenches when he runs his finger along it.

“You’re so small here” he whispers, completely hypnotized by it “So fucking tight. You’ll never be able to take me”

You whimper unhappily “Don’t say that. I want to- please just try”

“Shh,” Neteyam soothes your cries. Your dazed worries. He distracts you with his tongue, as it swirls over your throbbing clit. It feels a bit like sandpaper to your nerves, but you can get enough.

When his finger begins to breach you, you hold your breath.

Its big, but youre so loose from your first orgasm, so desperate to be filled that he sinks in until the hilt.

Its maddening after that and you grind the back of your head into the hard concrete under you- your eyes closed and your mouth hanging open. The sounds you make are feral and raw-

Neteyam fucks you open with one and then two fingers until its easy. Until the sweet stretch doesn't burn- instead its slippery and wet.horribly wet as Neteyam feasts on you as he fucks you with his fingers-

“Too much-Fuck” you weakly try to pull away from the assult of pleasure but he he’s too strong. Pins you down. Makes you take whatever he wants to give you.

When he lifts your hips up even higher to take a curious lick at your puckered asshole you white out.

This orgasm isnt like the first. You sink under the waves of this one. Your muscles cramp with the intensity. You cant come back to yourself, you can’t cling to anything but Neteyam. You cant even scream.

He’s everything, as he soothes you. As he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“H-hurts” you whimper, eyes filling up with tears. Pussy aching.

“Just a little more baby” Neteyam huffs as he licks at you and stuffs the hand that's covered in your cum down his own tweng. It lubricates the fast and furious pumping of his fist along his rock hard cock.

He cant fuck you tonight, thats something the two of you will have to work up to. He’ll teach your tiny body to take him. To crave penetration.

But with his tongue buried in your pulsating pussy and your scent all around him its easy enough to pretend. Easy enough to imagine shoving himself into you slowly. Stretching you’re ruined. Your hole would never be the same. You’d forever gape because of him-

Neteyam comes with a roar and dirties his loincloth up like a teenager.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, after he’s cleaned you both up the best he can and gathered you to his chest. After he’s taken a sip from the breathing mask and nuzzled ar your wispy soft baby hairs that are plastered against the side of your sweaty head-

That he has the urge to read that book again. The one with the fairies. As he watches your slumbering face, your nose scrunching and lips pursing, he thinks the onlt thing missing is the gossamer wings,

His own little fairy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

AAAAAAND we’re done.

First and foremost I want to give the wonderful @oakbuggy her accolades. Her Neteyam x Flora art inspired this fic 100%. A couple months ago I actually messaged her begging her to let me right this for her because I just couldn't get over this crackship of dreams. Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy that overstimulation, baby!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT HER ART. It’s sooooo delish.

This was a monster to write because I just had so many different ideas of what I wanted to do with the two of them and couldn't pinpoint where exactly I wanted the plot to go. Even now its a bit messy but still. I’m a fucking sucker for Neteyam x Flora and I would be more then happy to write more of them if thats something everyone would be into.

Please give me some feedback. What did we think about this writing style? Do we like the Y/N route more?

Until next time sweet honey bees!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x flora #neteyam x you

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somewhere-elena · 9 days ago

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ

ʜᴇɪᴀɴ ᴇʀᴀ sᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

(ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ)

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰ ★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

The bird's chirpped outside as you exited from your home, a basket in hand as you were making your way to the village market. You lived in a small village, being basically adopted by the town's inventor, Satoru Gojo. He found you when you were young and took you in, basically raising you. And you loved him as if he were a father.

You were well known amongst your village for being the beauty that loves to read. Ever since Gojo taught you when you were young, you always got lost in the different worlds that the books had to offer.

As always, the village was as lively as ever, people walking around doing their morning errands, children playing, business owners working hard. It was always satisfying to see in a way.

You walked around, using the money Gojo gave you to buy bread, produce and other goods.

Once you were done with that, you walked over to the town's library. Your favorite shop in the whole town. Not just because of the books, but also because of the librarian, Nanami. He was good friends with Gojo and helped taught you to read and provided you with all the books you could want. While he was a stoic man, he had a soft spot when it came to you.

The bell jingled as you entered the shop, alerting Nanami of your presence.

"Ah, Y/n, good morning." He greeted with a soft smile.

"Good morning, Nanami. I came to return my book." You said, handing him the book you borrowed two days ago

Smiling, Nanami took the book from you. "Already finished, I see? Come to get a new one then?" He asked.

"You know me so well." You said with a small laugh, walking to one of the bookshelves and looking at the different selections, a lot of which you already read. You settled on a certain thicker book. A book with many different fables and tales inside, each story a different universe with different characters and outcomes. It was your childhood book and you loved it. It was very nostalgic.

"This one." You declared.

"That one? But you've read it twice!" Nanami said.

"And I can read it again! I can't help it, the different stories, the characters, the world's, it's wonderful!" You said.

"Ah, if you like it so much, then consider it yours." Nanami smiled.

"But Nanami-" you said, wanting to argue against it.

"Please, I insist." He said.

You smiled brightly, holding the book close to your chest as you backed towards the door. "Well, thank you! Thank you very much!"

You left the library and began walking through town to return home. Until you bumped into the last person you wanted to see. Naoya Zenin. When you first met him, he immediately started trying to woo you, which didn't really catch your interest that much. You could tell he was cocky and arrogant. You didn't like that in a guy.

"Good morning, Y/n!" He said with a charming smile.

"Good morning, Naoya." You replied, putting on a polite smile.

"What's that you got there?" Naoya asked, picking you book up and holding it up to inspect it.

"My book." You replied.

"Why do you read, Y/n? You could do much better things with your time, like trying to find a perfect suitor. Like me." Naoya said smugly, tossing your book in the mud.

You sigh, gently picking you book up and wiping the mud off of it. "It's a hobby, Naoya." You said.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get home, see you around." You said, waving him off before he could say anything else and walking away.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You walked through the front door, closing it behind you then walking over to the table and setting your basket down.

"Gojo?" You called out, curious as to where he was.

Until you heard flanking noises from the cellar. He must be working on a new invention. Smiling softly to yourself, you walked down the steps.

"Gojo?" You called out again. He was at his work desk, twisting something his wrench.

You walked over, peeking over his shoulder curiously.

"How's the crossbow coming along?" You asked. That was his invention. A contraption that could launch arrows on its own.

"So far so good! I'll have it complete in time for the convention!" He exclaimed.

He had an upcoming inventors conventions tomorrow, it would be a days long trip, so he was leaving today.

You laughed softly, patting his shoulder.

"Hand me that screwdriver." He said, holding out his hand. You reached over to his toolbox and pulled one out, placing it in his hand.

"Gojo, would you say I'm weird?" You asked.

He paused his movements, surprised by your question. "Now what brought that up?"

"Just.. Some things said around town, I guess. I mean, women don't normally read." You replied.

"Well, yeah, but that makes you special, doesn't it? You can read while most women can't." He said.

"But that makes it harder to find a man to love. They don't like my smarts..." You mumbled.

Gojo frowned, standing up to where he was now taller than you. "Any man that doesn't like your smarts, is a damn fool. You're amazing, Y/n and I made sure to raise you to be unique in your own way. You'll find someone soon, Y/n/n." He reassured.

You smiled, hugging him tightly, warning a grunt of surprise from him. He smiled as well, wrapping his arms around you in return.

"Thank you for being the best guardian I could ask for, Gojo." You mumbled.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You gave Gojo one last hug before he hopped on your guys' horse, Jugai.

You sighed softly to yourself as you were up for a long next few days.

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

#fanfic #jjk #x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk au #au #beauty and the beast au #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #nanami kento #jjk nanami #naoya zenin #naoya jjk

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 days ago

Note

One of your posts popped out on my feed, and I've spent a couple hours now scrolling through your page here and there, and I have some thoughts.

First of all, I can tell that you put so much effort into each post you write, and I commend you for that! It's so cool!

Secondly, this going to be super long, I started writing and the words kept flowing, sorry! Feel free to ignore if it's too much. English is not my first language (Japanese & Korean are), so I apologize for any mistakes!

Please, don't take the following as an attack on you, I just want to state my observations, you aren't obliged to reply, and I tried to be as respectful as possible.

I recall you mentioning in one post that you try to be as 'objective' as possible when you answer questions and write posts, but personally, when it comes to a certain character, you are anything but.

And that character is Malleus.

I'm not even a fan of him, I'm pretty neutral, I think he has so much potential to be an interesting character, but he has been consistently done dirty by the writers, especially in his own book, and this seems to be the general consensus among people who aren't hardcore fans of his, and you seem to be to one of them.

Each time you mention Malleus in one of your posts (posts that pertain to other characters, and have almost little/nothing to do with him) I could tell that something was 'off', from the very first moment, I could tell that you viewed him negatively. I can tell you try to word things as neutrally as you can, but your dislike of him just oozes through, I guess. Lmao.

And lo & behold! I saw a post where you mentioned that you DO dislike him, and I was 'Yeah, I could tell'. I have no problem with people disliking him, as I said, I'm neutral, and people are entitled to their opinions.

But then you mentioned that you try to be objective whenever you answer questions, and I was like 'What? So that was you being objective?!' And then you said Leona was one of your faves...and yeah, you don't say! (Leona is my top 4 favorite, BTW)

There's you very SEVERELY minimizing his popularity in Japan. From my observations, it seems Malleus is the most popular character overseas & the most well-liked in general. Here in Japan, he isn't the first, but he is definitely one of the most popular, the only ones I'd pit above him are: Octavinelle, Idia, Skully, Leona. He ranks fairly high in polls & is spoken about very fondly, and is rarely criticized. You bringing up the topic of popularity just seems like a way for you to 'justify' & 'validate' your dislike of him, when he's universally loved. People like you & me (people who are neutral on him or dislike him) are pretty rare, whether it's in Japan or overseas. No matter how much you try to spin it, the tastes of fans across the two servers are very close, for example: Jack, Ortho, Grim, Epel, and Crowley are unpopular amongst both fandoms, Vil & the Scarabia duo are decently popular amongst both fandoms. Malleus has been steadily growing in popularity with the releases of Book 7, and I expect him to really raise in the ranks.

It's very obvious you hate Malleus, and your takes on him are fuelled by that hate, especially some of your takes on the ending of Book 7. You don't give him any grace, you are ESPECIALLY hard on him compared to the other characters, and frankly, you demand too much from him, as a person and as a character.

Even when the writers themselves made sure to let it be known that no injuries were caused, no lasting damage (which I personally thought was pretty obvious, but figured the writers had to get that one out for people like you, who convinced themselves he was more dangerous than he was) you still insist on it being false.

Out of all the other overblotters, Malleus had the most severe consequences, both physically (as he's now handicapped) and mentally (just because Lilia is now alive doesn't change that Malleus KILLED HIM, which is pretty different than Idia's situation, and bound to leave some PTSD). Leona caused way more injuries and girth way more people, even tried to kill Ruggie, and he didn't even have the excuse of being in a state of overblot, he did all that fully conscious, fully aware. He intentionally hurt people, but he's instantly forgiven & immediately he's back to his normal everyday life, forgiven. In contrast, Malleus hurt no one (except Lilia), never intended to harm (and intent DOES matter), all of this makes paints him in more favorable light compared to Leona (and Vil, who also tried to murder someone intentionally before he overblotted) It just seems like you WANT the narrative to justify your hatred of Malleus, you intentionally try to interpret & look at him and his actions from the worst perspective possible, in the most contrived way.

Even when most of the supposed 'victims' themselves have made an entire club based on how happy the dream world made them (which was Malleus's intention all along), and how much they miss it (in a scene presented as a comedic moment, intended to hammer the fact that Malleus truly hurt no one) you twist the scene into it being 'cult-like'?

The narrative isn't bending over backwards to make the situation seem more lighthearted than it was, it isn't retconning anything, the narrative is simply confirming what has already been implied (and what I thought was plainly obvious) for the sake of making things clear for people who would insist that the situation was worse than it was.

Why the surprise over no one being injured? Malleus has simply put people into sleep! Why would they be injured? They aren't in distress, and are content in their dreamworld. The only danger has always been it eventually taking over the world, and the people atrophying without the sustenance.

Why the surprise that he was allowed back in school? Why would the others be given a second chance & not Malleus? Even Crowley points that blatant hypocrisy out. If everyone turned out healthy & sound after the ordeal, all the damage has been repaired, & sincere apologies & compensations were provided, & there no long-lasting damage, then why should Malleus keep suffering?

Why the surprise that the students immediately forgave him? Physically no-one was harmed. Emotionally he didn't intend to hurt them, and the vast majority of them were happy in the dreamworld. Silver explained to them why Malleus did what he did, and they were all smart enough to understand his motives & intent, and wanted to stop him. The main characters got their lickback & the anger out of their systems by fighting him & weakening him, so they don't have a reason to be angry anymore. A running theme has always been NRC students being extraordinary difficult, they're all aware of it, and if anything, thsy find it amusing.

Twisted Wonderland has always been about second chances, learning from one's mistakes, applying the lesson one learned, and doing better. All the other students were given a second chance and proved themselves, why do you so vehemently abhor that for Malleus?

Malleus was misguided, but his actions were not out of malice (like Leona, Vil, Azul, Riddle), they were out of love & genuine desire to help people, and since he's a child who's never been taught proper emotional regulation and social behavior, he went about it in the most childish & simple way possible.

It just seems like you WANT Malleus to be punished, you want him to suffer. Him being maimed & handicapped for centuries isn't enough, you want more punishment for him. Him living in isolation & loneliness for almost 200 years, and being feared & avoided by his peers isn't enough, you also want him to be hated by them & isolated even more severely than before, you want him to be labelled a monster. Him having to live with the fact he killed his father isn't enough, you also want his father to have stayed dead, and for Malleus to wallow in his grief, pain, self-hatred for eternity (which includes a forever broken & unrepairable relationship with the only other 2 people who loved him).

And don't even get me started with you implying he hasn't shown enough guilt, because when has Leona? When has Azul?

It seems you don't Malleus to get a second chance, you don't want him learning from his mistakes & given a chance to do better, you don't want fairness, you just want him punished, hurt, and suffering.

I probably wouldn't have had much of an issue had you not stated your goal of being 'objective'. It's obvious you want & expect the worst out of him.

ご質問ありがとうございます！最初は丁寧にご意見を述べてくださいましたが、途中で感情的になってしまったのでしょうか。誤解を与えてしまったようで、この回答で説明いたします。

From my understanding, you seem to take issue with my usage of a particular word, "objective". I'm not sure which posts you happened to see (as there are admittedly a lot of them on this blog), but assuming that this was one of the #feedback for the writing raven posts, it's not a claim I make very often. It's typically something I hear from readers, such as in this post, this post, and this post, which are all examples from the last year. In the final example I linked, I do mention my goal in being objective, but I also state that 1) it's impossible to eliminate all bias and 2) there's a difference between minimizing my bias for the sake of analysis and allowing myself to freely criticize a character or writing based on my opinions. I will never be 100% free of bias, especially on posts where I am sharing my opinion. I don't claim to be perfectly objective in all instances, I just try to give every character a chance since they all have the potential to evolve, especially in a live service game like Twst. Some of the characters I love today are ones I loathed at launch (ie Leona), and some of the characters that are my most loathed today are the ones I loved at launch (ie Azul). By that logic, there's no reason why Malleus can't have a similar shift.

Again, I don't know what posts you looked at to form your view of how I see Malleus--but honestly, I guess I'm just confused as to how you reached the conclusion that you did. At this point, I don't think it's a secret that I dislike him (I sometimes bring it up to give context to what I'm about to say), but I also don't think I've ever expressed outright hatred. Hatred implies an unwillingness to see his positive traits and potential for growth, and I don't think that describes how I discuss him at all (a sentiment which I believe is shared by my readers). I do sound exasperated in some critique, yes, but it doesn't come from a place of malice. I don't think there's a purpose in getting needlessly mad about a fictional character. Malleus Draconia doesn't exist and doesn't impact my life outside of the moments when I engage with fandom.

My exasperation with him comes from a place of... I guess you'd call it disappointment??? Like, he has potential to be an interesting character, but the writing that's currently there (in my opinion) doesn't support him very well and keeps squandering that potential. I want him to be better and develop as a character (as I feel he has various flaws that aren't properly addressed), but I keep being let down time and time again. It leads to me sometimes sounding frustrated when I speak about him, because it feels like the narrative is holding his character hostage until maybe post-book 7. This is especially the case because Malleus's writing has this consistent issue where he is granted opportunities to learn and grow (and even social support from Lilia and other peers), but ultimately doesn't. This isn't true for other characters, who are given moments of character development in vignettes or event stories, even if in just small ways like Idia pushing himself to drum in public or Deuce doing his best to be an honors student.

I'm not sure where the claim that I "severely minimize" his popularity in Japan comes from?? If I mention popularity at all, it's usually to compare between EN and JP. In EN polls, Malleus consistently places #1, but doesn't reach those same heights in JP. The highest placement I've seen for Malleus in JP polls is around 7th place (which is still quite commendable!). This is also the case when you consider that Malleus x Yuu is the most popular self-insert category on AO3 (largely EN), but only has a fraction of the posts as the most popular yume'd character, Floyd, on Pixiv (largely JP). His spike in popularity is also more of a recent phenomenon, I believe coinciding with book 7 which fleshes out his character a lot more. Coincidentally, this also seems to have boosted his yumejoshi ranking in JP, as he appeared in the 2024 and 2023 lists (book 7 was actively releasing in these years). I even mentioned Malleus's bump in popularity in recent posts, such as here and here.

I'm by no means downplaying Malleus's popularity, and I never claimed that the tastes of JP and non-JP fans are vastly different 💦 I only comment on major differences I noticed, such as how Trey is much more popular to yume in the JP fandom than he is in the EN fandom. I make note of things like this because I find it interesting that we can all be fans of the same content, but also interpret that content in vastly different ways. I don't do it to "justify and validate" my own feelings about Malleus. (This also applies to the claim that I want canon to "justify and validate" me; I don't, I'm perfectly content with my own views and think it would be boring if canon always agreed with me.) I have expressed time and time again that I do not care how other people choose to engage with their media; that's their business, not mine, and to encroach on that or to disrupt the fun that someone else is having would be extremely invasive and rude. There's nothing to be gained in trying to get "justification and validation" from external sources, whether that's canon or what other fans think, because it's always going to be a fruitless effort if there's no internal satisfaction, but that's a whole separate can of worms.

Regarding the ending of book 7, I'm going to take a shot in the dark and guess that you may be sourcing many of my opinions of it from this summary post. As I mention in the opening disclaimer, everything contained in that post are my initial thoughts on the events that unfold. They in no way reflect all of my thoughts, just the very emotional and on-the-spot reactions I had directly after reading the last bits. I think you may be conflating my recent critique of book 7 with hating Malleus?? I have said that I think breaking his horn was extreme and that I sympathize with him for that; there were other ways to power cap him without having to do something that drastic. I never denied that Malleus might be harboring complicated feelings after killing Lilia (I actually acknowledge it as a possibility), but the writing of book 7 certainly fails to communicate this to us. (It's also something past OBs like Riddle, Leona, and Vil, fail to express, so this may just be a quirk of Twst writing.) As I said before, many other characters were let off with a slap on the wrist and not made to fully account for what they did, and I'm not necessarily satisfied with those either.

When I say "intent doesn't matter", it's only in relation to the results. Saying "I did not mean to harm you" does not negate any harm caused. You still have some degree of responsibility for it (albeit, in a court of law you might get a lighter sentence, but technicalities). If Kalim accidentally insults Riddle's lack of physical stamina, it... doesn't negate that Riddle feels insulted by it, even if Kalim didn't mean to. If we're going to say "intent does matter", then are we willing to apply it to all other situations, not just Malleus's? Mrs. Rosehearts did not mean to traumatize her child. The Briar Valley senators did not mean to isolate Malleus by blessing him with tons of magical power. Are we willing to extend them the same courtesy of "having good intentions", even if those "good intentions" led to harming others in the process? I don't think it's fair to say this of Malleus but then not do the same for other characters.

A large part of book 7 has been dedicated to those in S.T.Y.X. emphasizing the danger Malleus's magic poses to the rest of the world. The narrative has brought up the potential of the dreamers' physical bodies wasting away from lack of sustenance at least twice. Malleus's grandmother (a mage previously described to be even more powerful than her grandson) cannot pierce his barrier. They stress that his barrier will continue to grow, unburdened, and that he has an endless magic source to draw from. Malleus is trying to attack those who get in his way (including Ortho, Silver, and Sebek with killing intent). I don't think I would be incorrect to believe the characters when they say that this is a genuinely dangerous situation. It just feels tonally dissonant to me when a lot of book 7 was building up this danger, but then the ending doesn't really match what they were building up to.

And to be clear, the other OBs also get off easy. Like, it cannot be the case that all Scarabia students suddenly trust Jamil again after book 4, or that all NRC students feel comfortable dining at the Mostro Lounge again after book 3. However, the difference here, again, is scale. It's more believable when the numbers are small, like a few hundred students. It's less so when you pump it up to several thousand people and entire nations. The larger the number we're dealing with, the more likely there would be a non-zero chance that something would go haywire. This is why I also heavily criticize how Fellow Honest was treated at the end of his event; the crime ring he was associated with surely operated on a scale grander than just the NRC student kidnappings, yet we never touched upon this further.

The "cult" comment is something I made off-the-cuff, and was partially informed by the fact that a character (I believe Ace?) called the Fairy Dream Life Association members "Draconians". That's the same term that is used to refer to die-hard Malleus fans in Diasomnia--those same die-hard fans, who will ardently and blindly support Malleus in everything he says and does. I seem to recall one instance in the first Halloween event in which Sebek leads a group of Draconians to support Malleus in attacking Magicam Monsters; Silver and Lilia had to prevent that from happening. That reads to me like a cult of personality around Malleus. If you happen to disagree with me, that's fine--but there is no need to attack different interpretations.

I want to make it clear that I'm in disbelief at the lack of consequences not because it is Malleus causing them, but because the scale was so enormous. (The other OBs already faced such limited fallout for their own actions. Had they also reached the same scale as Malleus did, I'd still be shocked at how it was all hand-waved off.) It reads as unrealistic when the ending only focuses on the good or only vaguely covers the fallout. For example, other countries were put in danger. Why were we not told about their reactions to anything that happened or how they're reacting in the aftermath? Are we expected to believe that ALL countries in Twisted Wonderland accepted the apology and moved on? The 20,000 residents on Sage's island were put to sleep. Are we supposed to believe that not a SINGLE one of them had a negative experience or woke up confused or hurt from it? What about the parents and family members of those on Sage's Island? Not ONE of them was mad, not even Mrs. Rosehearts, who yelled at a kid for 5 hours for sneaking out with her child to eat a strawberry tart? To write it as though everyone reacted the exact same, convenient way cheapens the world + its people and makes it come off as paper thin. I think these are valid concerns and not convoluted nitpicks. There is natural variance in the world (it's nearly impossible to get 20,000 people to agree on anything irl, not even things you'd think are common sense), so it's very difficult for me to believe that there was NO variance at all when reacting to the aftermath of the OB incident.

I never said Malleus shouldn't be forgiven or that he shouldn't be allowed back in school (I've actually said the opposite). My issue isn't that there wasn't enough accountability for what he did. I don't want Malleus to be "punished more" or to "keep suffering", I want him to fully realize and own up to everything he did. The way the ending currently stands (I blame the time skips, honestly), there's not a lot that indicates to me that Malleus truly understands the full gravity of his actions. A lot of it is being assumed by the fandom, but not indicated in the story itself, which I think is a shame because it's quite limiting for his character. It feels like everything stops short, when really, it should go on for a little longer??? For example, Malleus does apologize to NRC--which is a good start! But he still didn't like... apologize to anyone else on Sage's Island that he affected with his magic?

I'm surprised that the students seemed to immediately forgave Malleus because NRC students are frequently portrayed as vindictive and petty. They get mad, pick fights, and hold grudges over the smallest things, so it's unbelievable to me that a peer would go and do something big like this and then no one in the entire population of 800 students holds even the slightest reservation about what happened?? Again, it feels like flattening the world and the people in it (by implying they'd all act the same way) for the sake of a convenient ending. On a related note, I'm not sure if I like the use of "smart enough to understand" in your wording; it's as if to imply anyone that feels differently (even though I feel there definitely would be some variance among the students) is somehow unintelligent for having their opinion 💦 By extension, it almost feels insulting to fans who also see the situation differently (although I'd like to believe that's not your intention).

I really do not like that Malleus keeps being compared to the other OB boys in these discussions. It's always framed as "Malleus is better than them!", which implies that the others are somehow "worse". It's actively putting down others' trauma in order to uplift another's. We can talk about Malleus's own background, experiences, etc. without having to minimize others' background, experiences, etc.--but I fear that's not what is happening here. Why is it okay for people to shame and dehumanize the other OBs for the extreme actions they took, but it's "too much" when the same behaviors are turned towards Malleus? None of them should be going through that to begin with, and the fact that this is happening at all seems hypocritical to me. I have always held this opinion and am equally disgusted by this being done for any OB boy, as someone inevitably comes out of it labelled "lesser" than the others. Trauma is always valid to the person that experienced it, and to compare it to other traumas can be so incredibly demoralizing and isolating. It sometimes feels like Malleus's background is being used to shield him against taking responsibility for his actions, when the same isn't applied by fans to the other OBs. Their backgrounds are meant to explain why they are the way they are and help us empathize with them, not to entirely excuse them. This was something mentioned all the way back in book 1 too; Ace accuses Riddle of always citing his mother or the rules to justify his beheadings rather than accept accountability for his own actions. Similarly, Trey us called out for pointing out Riddle's tough home life as a reason for his current leniency in suppressing his dorm leader's anger. Riddle's background explains why he acts out and is so stringent, but it doesn't mean he isn't still responsible for his own rage and his students living in fear of him. By this logic, all OB boys (Malleus included) shouldn't lean on a tragic backstory to excuse the extreme measures they took in their respective books. I'm of the belief that they should all be granted forgiveness and the chance to redeem themselves, but they should also be aware of what they previously did and accept that they were responsible for that before they can move on and improve themselves. Both statements can be true at the same time.

To be clear: I DON'T want Malleus to be "punished", "hurt", or to "suffer" more, as you claim I do. I have explicitly stated that I disagree with his horn being broken. (There are other, much more humane ways to limit his magic, and as I bring up in my book 7 rewrite, limiting his magic may actually free Malleus of his "curse" and make him more approachable to classmates.) I DON'T "want and expect the worst of [Malleus]." I have never stated I want him to be feared/avoided/hated or labelled a monster by the people of Twisted Wonderland. What I am asking for is for more explicit accountability for what he did and more realistic fallout for his actions (again, I find it very difficult to believe that not a single person in all of Twisted Wonderland holds even the slightest reservations in the aftermath of his OB). I want him to prove he has changed and have to EARN people's trust, not have it be handed to him so easily. The other OB boys all have to work hard (and are still working hard) to make amends for their wrongs, but Malleus seemingly has to do so much less despite the scale of his magic being so much grander. One example I mentioned earlier was him only apologizing to a fraction of the people he put under his spell when he actually disrupted many more lives than that.

I want to clarify that the reason I think Lilia should have died ISN'T because I "want Malleus to suffer". It's because I genuinely think this would better serve Malleus's character arc. He initially OBs because he wanted to prevent Lilia from leaving, yes? But then he... ends up getting the exact thing he lost his temper over, even though the solution was never quite this simple for the other OB boys. This feels as though Malleus and Malleus alone is getting special treatment. It's true that he killed Lilia, but Lilia remains dead for all of 5 seconds, so it doesn't feel as though that loss really sank in. Malleus is not challenged by, nor confronted with, mortality or coming to terms with drastic life changes. As I mention in my book 7 rewrite, Lilia didn't even necessarily need to stay dead in order for Malleus to have growth; all we would have needed was like... a coma or something? Some period of time that would force Malleus to sit and really self-reflect. The recurring issue with Malleus's writing is that he is always given chances to learn, but doesn't follow through on them. Even when it is advice being dispensed to him BY Lilia (a la Malleus's Dorm Uniform vignettes), Malleus doesn't take it to heart, either because something gets in the way or because he struggles to understand that advice, whatever. But in the aftermath of such a serious situation--something that unfolded by his hand, it's an opportunity for him to be introspective instead of brushing it off like in previous instances.

Again, I really think that the characters not openly demonstrating remorse for what they did is a consistent pattern with Twst's writing. It's not something unique to Malleus--but the thing is, when Malleus's motives are so often identified as "selfless" and "for everyone's happiness" and his magic isn't contained, he's impacting many more lives. Malleus is also in a position in which he represents a country and its future, and he himself has continuously expressed that he must maintain relations and decorum as future head of state. When he then goes and betrays his own morals, should he not demonstrate more recognition of that? (I think the only OB that stands out in this regard is Vil, who did apologize to the VDC/SDC team.) Of course, it's possible that this is covered more in book 8, but since book 7 ends in a time skip of several weeks and a party, I was expecting this to be more prominently displayed in the speech Malleus gives to the attendees.

I will say that I am tough on Malleus, but I think I'm allowed to be when he has so much power and status behind his name. It's that whole "with great power comes great responsibility" thing; the more you have, the more careful you should be with it. That's something Malleus is very aware of himself, so it tends to irk me when he misuses his magic. I disagree with other powerful mages' use of magic as well; you just don't see me harping on those because those instances are not as frequent. I don't like that Vil cursed the cake and pie Trey gifted the gang, and I don't like that Leona almost sanded Ruggie--but we rarely see other characters doing these things repeatedly. But then I see Malleus attacking Magicam Monsters and children (Lock, Shock, and Barrel), Malleus disregarding his fellow dorm leaders' autonomy (by using a spell normally cast on objects on them), stopping time and kidnapping people for a party without considering the consequences, etc. On one hand, you have Malleus aware of his position and the difference in power between him and his peers--but on the other hand, he's frequently using these powers on others with little regard for them, and isn't truly told off for it. This will feed into how some people perceive him--because if even his closest guardian figure, Lilia, isn't holding him accountable, then naturally some players will take up that mantle.

Malleus has been enabled his whole life, and this is even shown to us in his post-OB flashback and other materials. He's been told he doesn't have to apologize when he hurts people. He's never had to answer for the things he does--whether just simply rude or cataclysmic--because his power and status excuse him. I feel that fans protecting him and not truly holding him accountable for what he did is actually holding him back from bettering as a person, and that is endlessly frustrating to watch. He cannot be better if he's never allowed to identify that there is a problem to begin with. It feels like I'm watching someone I grew distant from spiral into a really bad habit, and he's ignoring all my warnings and pleas to take a look in the mirror; he fails to see that he's hurting himself because his other friends keep telling him that he's not doing anything wrong, so he keeps getting worse and worse when all I want is to see him improve. I don't think it's "demanding too much" for me to say that I don't think Malleus will improve if he's not first recognizing that he's made a mistake to begin with. If anything, I think it's unfair to give him treatment that isn't granted to any other OB. Frankly, I don't think I've seen anyone defending an OB boy to the same extent that Malleus has been, and to point out this discrepancy is my attempt at trying to provide "the other side", sans vitriol. If it seems to you like I'm not granting Malleus any grace, it's because those I'm discussing the topic with are typically already granting him maximum grace. When I point out what's missing or perhaps feels unsatisfactory about the ending, it's not a dig directed at Malleus; it's me trying to be pragmatic about writing in general. (I think the "not everyone thinks the exact same way" part is particularly salient, especially after seeing the variance in reaction to book 7's ending.)

TLDR

Many accusations about how I feel about Malleus were made in this ask. I do not believe that they accurately represent me. If you don't agree with that, that's fine--but then I guess my question becomes "Why send this in the first place?" It feels as though an opinion was formed based on making the worst possible assumptions of my character--and that's okay, that's a right everyone is allowed to have, and I certainly don't expect everyone to agree with me or to even like me/my takes. However, I just don't see what there is to gain in sending these thoughts to anyone?? I am genuinely very confused.

To clarify, I responded to this ask because I wanted to clarify my opinions on book 7's ending again, in case anyone missed them. I don't want my thoughts to be misconstrued as being blindly hateful.

#disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #feedback for the writing raven #book 7 spoilers #book 7 chapter 13 part 2 spoilers #Malleus Draconia critical #tw // mutilation #tw // death #not tagging any of the main character tags because I don't really feel like putting this on anyone's search

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logansargeantsbabymom · 8 months ago

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Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

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A Marvelous Surprise

I’d always thought that my life was pretty perfect. I had everything I could ever want: a supportive family, great friends, and a boyfriend who was not only incredibly talented but also genuinely kind. My boyfriend was none other than Oscar Piastri, the Formula 1 driver who had taken the world by storm. But, as I found out one sunny afternoon at the racetrack, sometimes even the perfect life has a few extraordinary surprises.

The day started like any other Grand Prix day. I was in the pit lane, surrounded by the clamor of engines and the frenetic energy of the race day preparations. Oscar had been busy with the team, and I was making my way through the paddock, trying to stay out of the way but still soaking in every moment of the high-octane atmosphere.

I had my usual race day ritual—cheering for Oscar from the best spot I could find and, if I had a moment, catching up on social media. My love for Marvel was well-known among my friends, and they had teased me about it endlessly. Every interview I did where I gushed about my favorite characters—Bucky Barnes, played by Sebastian Stan, and my all-time favorite actor, James McAvoy—was met with knowing smiles and playful jabs.

Oscar had heard it all, of course. He was always so patient with my endless Marvel monologues. I had even been lucky enough to attend a few fan events, where my excitement for superheroes could be fully unleashed. But nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen.

The race was in full swing, and Oscar was driving brilliantly. I was on the edge of my seat, my eyes locked on the track, when my phone buzzed with a new message. I glanced down to see a text from Oscar: “Meet me at the hospitality suite after the race. I have a surprise for you.”

My heart raced—not from the thrill of the race, but from the anticipation of Oscar’s surprise. The remainder of the race felt like it dragged on forever. When Oscar finally crossed the finish line, victorious as always, I couldn’t wait to see him.

After the post-race celebrations, I headed to the hospitality suite. The area was relatively quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the pit lane. I entered the suite, expecting to find Oscar waiting with a small token of his appreciation or perhaps just a sweet gesture to celebrate his win.

What I saw instead took my breath away.

The suite was filled with the unmistakable aura of Marvel’s finest. There, standing among the elegant furniture and decorations, were some of my absolute favorites—Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Elizabeth Olsen, Scarlett Johansson, Robert Downey Jr., James McAvoy, Evan Peters, and Anthony Mackie. They were chatting amongst themselves, their faces lit with amusement as they turned to see me enter.

My jaw dropped. My eyes darted between them, not quite believing what I was seeing. I stumbled into the room, feeling like I was walking through a dream.

Oscar stepped up beside me, his grin as wide as ever. “Surprise, YN!” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. “I know how much you love Marvel and James McAvoy, so I thought I’d arrange a little meet-and-greet.”

I couldn’t form words. I just stared, blinking rapidly. Chris Evans noticed and chuckled. “I think we broke her,” he said, leaning toward the others.

Elizabeth Olsen came over, her smile warm and genuine. “Hi, YN! I’m Elizabeth. We’ve all heard so much about your love for Bucky Barnes. It’s great to finally meet you!”

Sebastian Stan, ever the charming Bucky, approached with a wink. “Hey there. I see you’re a fan of my alter ego. I have to say, it’s always amazing to meet someone who appreciates Bucky like you do.”

James McAvoy was next. My heart skipped a beat as he extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, YN. I’ve heard you’re quite the fan. Your enthusiasm is contagious.”

I shook his hand, barely able to contain my excitement. “James, I can’t believe it’s really you. You’ve been my favorite actor for as long as I can remember.”

Evan Peters and Anthony Mackie joined in, their smiles infectious. “So, YN, what’s it like having Oscar Piastri as your boyfriend?” Evan asked playfully. “Is he as impressive off the track as he is on it?”

I laughed, still trying to get my head around everything. “Oh, absolutely. He’s amazing.”

Scarlett Johansson then stepped forward, her presence commanding. “YN, I’ve heard so much about your passion for the Marvel universe. It’s wonderful to see such enthusiasm.”

We spent the next few hours in a whirlwind of conversation, photo ops, and laughter. I felt like I was floating on a cloud. Oscar watched with a knowing smile, clearly enjoying the joy his surprise had brought me.

I chatted with each of them about their roles, my favorite scenes, and even got some behind-the-scenes stories. Chris Evans regaled me with tales from the set of the Captain America films, while Robert Downey Jr. shared funny anecdotes about his time as Iron Man.

When it was time to say goodbye, I was reluctant to leave. I hugged each of them, my heart full of gratitude and happiness. “Thank you all so much. This has been a dream come true.”

As I walked out with Oscar by my side, I felt like I was walking on air. “You really outdid yourself this time,” I said, leaning into him.

Oscar kissed my forehead. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You deserve every bit of happiness.”

The ride back to our hotel was quiet, filled with comfortable silence and shared smiles. I knew I’d be reliving every moment of the day in my mind for a long time. The memories would be a cherished part of my life, thanks to Oscar and his incredible surprise.

As I finally settled into bed, I found myself replaying the day’s events. It felt like I was living in a Marvel movie, where everything came together perfectly in the end. I had my superhero dreams come true, and it was all thanks to the love of my life who knew me better than anyone else.

Taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal l l @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi i @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess s @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan @styl1shl1v @eddieharrington @hellowgoodbye

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mondaymelon · 2 years ago

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— 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗻: 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 ♥

: sumeru edition!! : (haitham + kaveh + cyno + tighnari x gn!reader) ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

AL HAITHAM is a man of few words.

because of that, you aren't able to read his expression most times - and many things go unsaid. there are a lot of things he wants to tell you. if you'd let him, of course. he just doesn't know how to ask - or how to bring it up, so haitham just stays silent.

it's only on quiet nights like these where his true feelings toward you begin to escape from his serious facade.

he whispered your name. "are you awake?"

when you didn't respond, the corners of his lips curved upward, just the slightest amount.

and then there's a warm hand on your head, stroking your hair reassuringly. his steady breathing is methodic as he leans forward and gently kisses your forehead, before whispering:

"rest well, my love." ♥

it's no overstatement to say that KAVEH is quick to anger.

but he tries not to stay mad whenever the two of you butt heads. after all, if the contender is his favorite person in the world, he really can’t, can he? then he’d just be acting like a terrible boyfriend!! :(

so every time he gets upset with you, or vise versa, he's got to find a way to make up with you! in the end, it's only fair!

kaveh insists on treating you to meals, even when you know he has no mora to spare. it's his way of showing how much he cares for you!! besides, if he has to room with al haitham, so be it. it's better than not being able to see your joyous face when you get to eat delicious food!! it makes kaveh unwillingly smile no matter the occasion.

but even the renowned architectural genius has his shortcomings. it's... well, he's not great at apologizing - or admitting he's wrong. he can't help the way his ears and cheeks flush as he starts to stutter... he's not supposed to make any mistakes!!

"i-i'm s...sorry...!!" he can't even meet your eyes, but all you can think is:

"adorable." ♥

CYNO wants to do everything he can to see you smile.

which is selfish of him, he'll admit that. but he witnessed you cry once, and that was enough for him to swear to never let that happen again - at least not while he was in the picture.

hmm... just how should he make you happy?? tighnari insisted his jokes really weren't funny... but maybe if he told them to you?

and he does just that.

it doesn't go two minutes without a wisecrack from him - but for some reason, you just can't seem to stop laughing. maybe it's his actual humor, or maybe it's about cyno himself, but there's just something about him that makes you smile without fail.

and when cyno is able to see that expression on your face, his heart flutters. he can't stop the way his heart is beginning to pick up pace and the way the atmosphere just feels warm. all he notices is how you look so immaculately beautiful right now - like someone from another world - so perfect, and all his.

so it was okay to be selfish this once, right? ♥

TIGHNARI tends to rant to you. a lot. he's got quite the mouthful to say about his coworkers and acquaintances.

however, that's not exactly a surprise. his temper and character is well known amongst the forest rangers and even the civilians through his sassy manner of speaking and how harshly he reprimands those who ignore the rules of the forest.

so when he comes home from work to the shared home and settles onto the couch next to you, taking in a deep, aggravated breath, you already know what's about to come.

but, somewhat surprisingly, he happens to a good listener as well. (and not just because of those fluffy ears of his!!)

maybe it's a bad day at work, or maybe you just woke up on the wrong side of bed - tighnari will listen to it all, letting you lean on his shoulder while you ramble away. he waits until you're done speaking before offering a couple sentences of gentle advice, then opens his figure, inviting you in for a hug.

and how could you refuse?

you mumble into his embrace, face warm. "thanks, nari."

"it was the least i could do." ♥

(a/n) fjaldjg fluff. god i love kaveh so much hes just??? ???? ahem. tell me any characters you'd like to see + any prompt if you want !! thank you for reading ♥

he's so babygirl

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ret1cent · 2 months ago

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the space between (pt.1)

josh dun x fem reader

WC: 3,000+

“you want me? fuckin’ well come on and find me”

a/n: hey everyone! this is my first fic on here and the first fanfic series i am dedicating myself to ever since a wattpad markiplier x reader fic i wrote in 6th grade LMAO.. so bear with me as i get used to writing consistently again.. just a heads up this fic will have heavy themes for some people so make sure you read the warnings <3 i also think it's worth mentioning that unless made obvious all new characters introduced are purely fictional.

warnings: angst, unhappy relationship, falling out, topics of mental abuse and manipulation, bad work environment, stress and depression, abandonment issues

pt.2 here

May 19th, 2016.

“On your right!” I hear the voice of a man coming from behind me.

I whip around, quickly swerving to the left, almost running into the wall of the hallway as a group of camera loaders haul a huge camera, wind rushing past me as they scurry past. I sigh as I look down and see that the sudden maneuver caused the coffee in my hand to splash onto the front of my cardigan. I closed my eyes, as if when I opened them again the overwhelming feeling of frustration building up in my chest would magically dissipate.

I was delivering coffee like an intern and my favorite cardigan is stained, today is going great. I continue down the hall and enter the studio, the overhead lights shining hot and nearly blinding. I stagger through the bustling set, unable to hear my own thoughts from the chaos amongst me. I walk until I find Frank, a big burly guy with dark facial hair who wore the same crusty hat every day. He’s my new boss and the head of our production department who ordered me to bring him a latte. Needless to say it was quite embarrassing to play out an intern movie trope in real life.

“Frank, I have your coffee.” I say, pulling his attention away from the set designers he was closely studying, most likely looking for any excuse to yell at them. He looks over at me in silent annoyance and takes the coffee without a word. I turn to start walking away but then turn back.

“You know I’m not an intern Frank, I’m a production assistant and I’ve been working with the actual equipment for years, you can give me more technical tasks.” I say bravely, trying to hide any obvious anxiety in my voice.

It was true, of course my job title wasn’t the most renowned. I hadn’t been with Warner Brothers for an prolonged amount of time. I spent many years picking up gigs with smaller indie film companies or brand photo shoots until I landed this job.

So on a lot of sets it wasn't unusual for production assistants to do coffee runs, but I had started to become well known and appreciated on sets due to how well versed I am with technology. I was usually given larger tasks. In fact, the last head of our production department had brought up the possibility of my promotion. Unfortunately, that was shortly before he left, and Frank was not shy about hiding his disinterest in the possibility.

He looks up at me, as if offended. “Well last time I checked I’m your boss and I don’t give a shit.” He says with a curt laugh. “I think I know what I'm doing I don’t think I need you to be telling me how to do my job.” He says harshly.

“Ok, sorry.” I say with false sincerity, biting my tongue to hold back the many profanities I wished to inflict upon him. As I start walking away, he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Is this fucking whole milk?” He asks in disbelief, stopping me in my tracks.

You’re fucking kidding. I look at him over my shoulder, confused.

“You just said you wanted a latte sir you didn’t clarify anything about the kind of milk.” I say with a thin smile.

“I always have oat milk in my latte you should know this about me!” He says, aggravated and shoving the cup into the hand of a passing intern. “Throw this away.” He demands her and she nods quickly in compliance and then he turns his attention back to me.

“That’s ridiculous I have never gotten you coffee before how am I supposed to know what kind of-! Forget it.” I say turning away to keep walking as I knew that no matter how good of a defense I had, arguing with Frank was like arguing with a brick wall. He was a stubborn bitter man.

“Yeah, if you can’t even get a latte right that’s probably why you’re not working behind the camera.” He says with a crude laugh, and I quickly blink away the hot tears stinging in my eyes. Crying when angry was probably one of my most embarrassing tendencies. I make my way back down the hall, coworkers staring at me with concern after my obviously distasteful interaction with Frank.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

I sat in my car with my head on my steering wheel, still in the parking lot of the set as I tried to regain myself after all the frustrations of the day before I left. I sit up and sigh, putting my car into reverse. It was a quiet drive home, the radio quickly silenced as every song playing only seemed to further my annoyance.

I pull into the driveway of my house, wishing I had other plans to prolong my arrival. The house itself wasn’t the issue, it was in a quiet neighborhood in North Hollywood, it was a humble yet comfortable rental home with a cream-colored exterior, a warm wooden interior, a short red brick staircase with bushes lined up by the entrance.

The issue was my fiancé, Logan. We’ve been dating for 2 years and just got engaged this year. Everything started great until I slowly started to see red flags, him lashing out over minuscule inconveniences, random negative comments about me that he plays off like jokes, and the way he always seems to victimize himself in every argument we have. His family has a history of mental health issues and every time I try to bring it up to him, he gets angry, claiming that he’s a not a “crazy person” whatever that’s supposed to mean, or he claims that it’s my fault he acts the way he does. But we’re engaged and I'm almost 30 and still not married, our families have the expectations of our marriage and he’s not awful all the time. I still love him. But these days it was just difficult to be around him sometimes.

I get out of the car and walk into the house, finding him sitting on the couch drinking a seltzer in the dark, the only light being the glow of the tv. I turn on the living room light and he looks at me with annoyance.

“Hi.” I say curtly, putting my bag on the ground and laying my boots next to it.

“Hey.” He replies, equally as unenthusiastic, taking another long sip of his drink. I looked at the coffee table to see about 5 other abandoned cans. He’s been drinking a lot more than usual recently, he used to barely drink at all. “What’s for dinner tonight?” He asks and I bite the inside of my cheek, frustrated.

“Logan you were supposed to make dinner tonight.” I remind him softly, trying not to lose my temper and start an argument.

“No, it’s your night.” He says in a bored tone, not providing any defense for his accusation and not turning his attention away from the screen.

I knew from the bottom of my heart it was his night, we had assigned tasks for the week. His job today because he gets off work before me was to get groceries and make dinner for us. I don't even bother trying to defend this, knowing it’ll get me nowhere. I walk to the kitchen. Fine, I'll just suck it up and make dinner. I need to be fed one way or another. I opened the fridge to see it was mostly empty besides fruits, drinks and condiments.

“Logan did you not go to the grocery store?” I ask from the kitchen.

“Forgot.” he replies dully.

I feel my eyes burning with tears again and rub them away. Work has been hell today and all I wanted was to sit down in peace and eat a hot meal. I walk into the living room and Logan looks up at me, seeing my fuming expression.

“Why don’t we just order something?” he asks with shrug and annoyed tilt of his head. “I’m hungry and I know you are too.” He says trying to reason with me.

We’re on a budget, rent here is expensive and although we both held decent jobs it still wasn’t enough for constant luxuries beyond rent and groceries. But at this point I'm so exhausted and just want to eat.

“Whatever, just order a pizza, something cheap please.” I beg and walk down the hall to our room that was adorned with house plants and my photography framed on the walls, flopping onto the bed looking up to the ceiling. In moments like these I just can’t help but wonder what I’m doing with my life. Of course I'm lucky to have a job in production, so many people dream of that. But from a young age my real dream has always been photography. But it’s such a competitive industry that I finally just gave up on the idea of it, I needed a job that would sustain me. But at this point with rent going up and my mental health spiraling, even that doesn’t even feel worth it anymore. But I don’t have a choice, the industry is oversaturated right now and I'm lucky to even be holding my current job. I feel my phone start to vibrate besides me and turn it over to see that it’s my friend Kass calling me.

“Hello?”

“Hey dude, you ok? I saw Frank Fuckface was giving you a hard time earlier?” she asks gently.

I laugh softly at her nickname for him. “Yeah, you know Frank, he was just being a dick. Got mad I didn’t get oat milk for his latte when he didn’t even ask me for it.” I say with a scoff.

“Seriously oat milk? That’s a little fruity Franky.” Kass says and I laugh.

“Stop it!” I say and she laughs.

“I’m just saying unless you have an intolerance caring that much about what kind of milk is in your coffee is a little gay!” She says, both of us laughing.

Not that there would be anything wrong with him being gay, but he has not made his far right ideals and obvious homophobia very secret. He’s not the type to be careful about posting his opinions on social media.

“You know you can leave too... right?” Kass asks, turning serious and I sigh. Kass had recently put in her two weeks to leave the company. My work life was now going to be even more miserable without her. She has a new job lined up, but ironically enough it was to be a crew member for a tour of my ex best friend’s immensely successful band. I guess that’s just what happens when your friends have a web of attachments to each other.

“Kass...” I start with a sigh, already knowing where this was going.

“I’m serious (Y/n) I could easily hook you up. Or you could hook yourself up if you would just make up with Josh!” She argues. “Imagine how fun it could be. Us on the road escaping from all this bullshit, helping with these amazing shows! Their music is phenomenal, and you know it.” She points out.

She wasn’t wrong, I was happy for Josh in that aspect, I never had any wishes against his success, him and Tyler worked incredibly hard and deserved all of the success and adoration they got. “Of course I know that, they are talented. But I have a life here now, even if work sucks, I still have a fiancé and I'm getting married in a few months.” I say, hearing my own voice falter at the thought. “Plus, I just can’t be around Josh like that, I’m still hurt by everything.” I say softly.

“I know.” She says gently and there was a momentary silence. “But if you change your mind...” She says playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nooo.” I groan.

“He’s back in LA right now!” She says in a singsong voice.

“KASSSSS!”

“Ok fine, dropping it.” She says laughing. “I just wish I could keep working with my bestie.”

“I know, me too.” I say sadly, my chest suddenly feeling heavy with emotion.

She changes the subject, and we talk for another half hour until she had to go. The happiness from talking to Kass quickly faded when I came back to my dull reality, the house was quiet besides the hum from the ceiling fan and the incoherent voices coming from the Tv in the living room.

Maybe it was crazy, but I couldn't help but feeling a sense of yearning for the life that Kass had described to me. I can imagine it now. Seeing new cities every week, exploring with Kass, being cramped but content in a tour bus with likeminded coworkers, late night gas station runs, bonding with Josh, Tyler and Mark again... My heart stings at the thought.

Josh and I were long term friends. We met in 2010 through a few mutual friends. Ever since that point the rest was history, we spent countless days lounging around each other’s places, going to gigs together, me going to his own band’s gigs, hanging out at each other's work places when things were slow...

We were inseparable. When Josh met Tyler, he quickly introduced me to him. I got along with him effortlessly, we all formed our own little group with the three of us and the boy’s other mutual friends. I helped Tyler and Josh with their creative ventures with the band, me and Mark often acting as their camera crew. I did photography for them and promoted the band around as much as possible. Those were the days. I didn’t know it, but things were just so much simpler, they were fresh, new and exciting. Josh and I fell out of contact in 2013. He had started dating a girl by the name Sophia the previous year. He was head over heels for her and I supported him in every way. He seemed happy with her. Josh even brought her to hang out with the group sometimes. I always tried to make her feel welcome and even create a bond with her, but she just never returned the same energy.

Over time Josh became less and less available to hang out. I understood, he had a girlfriend after all, it was normal for him to want to spend time with her. But it got to a ridiculous point where I finally confronted him about it. I look up at my ceiling reflecting on the memory.

January 12th, 2013.

I sat on a wide leather couch with Josh, his legs sprawled across it while I sat in the corner of it, my head leaning against the wall. Mark and Tyler in the other room filming a video Josh had already completed his part for. It was the first time he and I had been alone together for a prolonged amount of time in months. We had been chatting and laughing about random things, but I finally gained the courage to ask the question that had been pressing me for so long.

“Josh?” I ask softly, my voice holding an air of somberness.

“Yeah?” He lifts his head up, sitting up halfway and bracing himself back with his hands. His expression held slight concern, yet a strange look of expectancy. Like he knew what he was going to hear, or like there was something he wanted me to say.

“Why haven’t we hung out just the two of us in so long?”

His expression falters. “Well, you know with us releasing an album under a label for the first time and being with Sophia I don’t know things have just been... busy" He stutters slightly.

“I know I know.. I understand things have been hectic for you guys, I’ve been seeing it firsthand. It’s just that... It always used to be us... You know?” I let out a shaky breath. I was never good at any kind of confrontation. “I just... miss you man.” I say sadly.

Josh fully sits up, his hands on his knees as he looked at me. “I know I... I miss you too.” He says genuinely yet almost sounding guilty.

There was a silence.

“Can I be honest with you (Y/n)?”

“Of course.” I say, a nervous anticipation swirling in my stomach. I don’t even know what to expect.

“Sophia doesn’t want us to be friends anymore...” He says slowly.

There was a long pause.

“Why?” I ask, a blurry layer over my eyes as they welled up. I had a gut feeling ever since we stopped hanging out that this was probably the situation at hand. I was just hoping it wasn’t true.

“She thinks we’re too close. I-I don’t know she always freaks out about it. She thinks there’s something going on between us.” he says, rubbing his hand over his face.

I scoff. “Well, that’s ridiculous, have you tried to tell her nothing weird is going on? We’re just friends!” I say and he looks down at his shoes at this, not saying anything for a moment. He looks back up at me.

“I’ve told her that so many times she just won't believe me.”

“Well, she should trust you! You’re her boyfriend.”

“I know...”

“So... what do we do?” I ask, looking up at him and he looks to the side, biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

“I guess we’ll only be together when we're with the group... That’s what she asked me to do.” He says, avoiding eye contact and I laugh in disbelief.

“What so we’re forbidden from ever hanging out again?” I asked, standing up and wiping the tears that were dangerously close from rolling down my face.

“(Y/n) she's my girlfriend!” He pleads, also standing up.

“What so that means our friendship lost all value? You aren’t even trying to fix this!” I say, slightly raising my voice.

I hear the noise in the other room quiet and a few moments later Tyler and Mark are standing in the doorway, concerned expressions on both of their faces.

“Guys what’s-” Mark start’s but Josh speaks over him.

“I have been I’ve been trying so hard to fix everything, but I don’t know if I can!” Josh says his voice staggering.

I was silent, looking at the pleading expression in his eyes. “Well... I think you’ve made it abundantly clear where your values lie.” I say with my arms folded over my chest while I walk to the door.

“(Y/n) stop!” He pleads.

“Why should I?” I ask plainly, turning around with a humorless laugh.

“You’re my best friend.” He says softly.

“Then fucking prove it.” I say, turning back around and leaving the building.

That was the last time we had spoken.

Tyler and Mark reached out to me occasionally after the fight. They let it be known that their friendship to me still held despite me and Josh’s falling out, but I slowly fell away from their friendship as well. Not that their efforts didn’t go unappreciated by me, but being with them only when Josh wasn’t around would’ve felt wrong, it would have only remind me that everything had changed. So my relationship with Tyler and Mark held in the way a pair of old high school friend’s would, they’d text happy birthday and send holiday wishes, but we all had our own lives to move on with.

Of course me and Josh’s relationship equated to nothing after everything. We weren’t petty enough to unfollow each other on social media or block each others numbers, we just never talked. Josh would try to text me after the fight, apologizing and telling me he missed me. But I was hurt, his actions spoke louder than words. When I never responded he slowly stopped texting. I suspected this was the work of Sophia, or him just realizing it wasn’t getting him anywhere. I just wasn’t going to reply. Maybe this was petty of me, my stubbornness had never been one of my attractive traits.

But when you’ve had so many people who mean anything to you in your life leave, you just learn to let go. Holding on so hard only hurts more. But no matter how hard I tried to block out the pain of Josh’s absence in my life, it always lingered. It felt as if a part on my soul was missing ever since that day. I rub my hands over my face. Is it crazy to feel that way about an old friend?

“(Y/n) the pizzas here!” Logan’s voice shouts, snapping me out of my trance.

I get up slowly. Yes, it was crazy. I have a new life now, and I have to remain present. I can’t stay stuck in the past forever, it’s time to move on.

I walk down the hall, my socks padding against cold wooden floor. He looks at me, holding the pizza box with a smile. I look up and softly smile back.

#josh dun #josh dun x reader #tøp #twenty one pilots #joshua dun #twenty øne piløts #Spotify

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meddling-in-horror · 2 years ago

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Giving Them the Moment: How Our Flag Means Death and it's Portrayal of Black Men is the Most Important Thing on Television Right Now

Note: written April 20, 2022

Media is an incredibly distinct way of communicating. It has a wide reach, and each person has their own interpretation of what they see. That’s the beauty of the medium as a whole. However, there are often downsides, especially when it pertains to the West. In the US in particular, there is a trend within popular media to lean towards propagandization. Whether it’s the idea that communism and socialism are products of the ‘Evil East’ or the lingering effects of the Motion Picture Production Code - also known as the Hays Code, the media monopolies have a firm grasp on what we as a society watch and enjoy.

When you begin to play close attention to how the media portrays Black men, this becomes abundantly clear.

It is a rare thing when we see Black men whose characters aren’t portrayed as being the object nor the perpetrators of violence. In fact, only one mainstream popular show comes to mind: The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. But even then, the given circumstances of Fresh Prince revolve around Will’s escape from the violence of the ‘urban’ inner city. This vilification of Black men dates back to the 1910s with D. W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, and continued into the 1930s, where Black people were often personified as the monsters, representing the ‘exciticism’ of the world beyond the West. It is the ‘exoticism’ that has played a huge part in the dehumanization of Black men as a whole. But as a Black Queer person watching Our Flag Means Death, it is breaking that mold in an incredibly important way.

The Black men in the show are allowed to have fun.

This show is breaking barriers left and right. Of the major recurring cast of 15, over half of them are people of color. It’s overt and unflinching portrayal of Queerness when so many of its older viewers - myself included - have lived through the Bury Your Gays and Dead Lesbians tropes time and time again is overwhelmingly refreshing. Nearly all characters are Queer until proven straight and represent all parts under the umbrella, including Leslie Jones’ polyamorous pirate queen and Vico Ortiz - a non-binary actor - playing a non-binary character.

But in a world where the narratives of Black men are so often framed around violence and brutality, the Black crewmates of the Queen Anne’s Revenge - Frenchie, Oluwande, and Roach - are allowed to be funny and vulnerable. Each one of them is starkly different from the other with identifiable characteristics that allow the audience to humanize them. The trio quickly became my favorites among the crew, with Roach being the stand-out amongst them. Samba Schutte’s often deadpan delivery never fails to draw a laugh from me, in particular the assertion that “meat is meat”. Frenchie, played by Joel Fry, is the quickest on the draw where his intellect is concerned, being posited in the show’s fifth episode as having had a hand in inventing the pyramid scheme while spouting the wildest of conspiracy theories and being afraid of cats (they’re witches, they steal your breath, and have knives in their feet, you know). The softness and constant vulnerability of Samson Kayo’s Oluwande may be one of the most important aspects of the show, as it establishes him as a reliable and trustworthy confidante to not just Jim, but to Rhys Darby’s Stede Bonnet as well.

They exist in their own separate spheres on the ship, going about their own separate business completely unbothered. While it is implied they lead violent lives as pirates, this violence isn’t used to define them as characters. In fact, Oluwande stated that both he and Jim engaged in piracy because they “had no choice”. The brief mention we get of Frenchie’s backstory implies that he lives a life of servitude, though whether that was as an enslaved person or a freed Black domestic worker is not mentioned. While there is little known about Roach so far, it is implied that his culinary skills are far beyond the levels of what is needed aboard a pirate ship.

The friendships and relationships they form within the crew aren’t built on violence either, but on open and honest communication. Most notably, the friendship of Frenchie and Wee John Feeny, played by Kristian Nairn. Fry and Nairn are an impeccable comic duo when their characters become ‘room people’, and the scene where they begin to design their new space is a personal highlight of the episode. Oluwande and Jim’s romance - played to perfection by Kayo and Ortiz - is one that revolves around both characters being almost devastatingly open with each other. Both actors play the emotional vulnerability of the characters well, and it is important to emphasize that it is Kayo’s Oluwande that moves to meet Jim where they are.

While the show allows all its men to show varying levels of emotional vulnerability - an exception being offered to the emotionally constipated Izzy Hands, played by Con O’Neill - there is something so special about seeing that luxury afforded to Black men. This show has, in just ten episodes, has become a game changer for the television industry. It has proved that a show with explicitly Queer characters can become a massive sleeper hit, and that sometimes the best kind of historical show is one that is historical fiction. But it has also proved that you can create a narrative with Black men that doesn’t include their stories being framed in violence or brutality, that they can be funny, charming, witty, vulnerable, intelligent, complex characters with their own narratives that serve a purpose outside of a device of exoticism. It is this rare thing that makes these characters, and indeed the show as a whole, so important to its viewers.

We deserve more vulnerability, more humor, and more humanizing content from these three men, and this show is one that is truly deserving of a glorious second season.

Sources:

Donaldson, Leigh. “When the media misrepresents Black men, the effects are felt in the real world.”

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/aug/12/media-misrepresents-black-men-effects-felt-real-world.

Kumah-Abiwu, Felix. “Media Gatekeeping and Portrayal of Black Men in America.”

Opportunity Agenda. “Media Portrayals and Black Male Outcomes.”

https://www.opportunityagenda.org/explore/resources-publications/media-representation-impact-black-men/media-portrayals.

Our Flag Means Death, (2022-). HBO Max.

#not horror but its relevant #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #roach #frenchie #oluwande boodhari #david jenkins #black men in media #let black men be silly in things!!!!!!#our flag means death season 2

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deaddee-anime-brownfanlady · 11 months ago

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TOP 10 personal Favorite Manga.

Here's just a couple of manga that I love & just think are top-notch.

NUMBER: 1 : TOKYO GHOUL

A series that means a lot to me in many ways. When I first got into Tokyo Ghoul it was by the very first season of the anime during 2014 and upon hearing the opening theme of Unravel and seeing the first episode, I was hooked and went into the manga series right after. A nuanced morally compelling storytelling with an array of so many cool and great characters and narratives, incredible art progression from Ishida Sui, and overall just a satisfyingly great conclusion to boot.

NUMBER: 2 : J NO SUBETE

On the surface, looks like a regular BL series, but underneath an emotional-roller-coaster and pretty heavy story about a transwoman named J. Set in the 40s /50s, you fellow J childhood and the awful, rough bullshit she deals with in life as well as her love & massive admiration of Marilyn Monroe. Really such a good story that deals with some real heavy shit...but still so good.

NUMBER: 3 : MONSTER

Not only one of my favorite anime adaptations but also equally as wonderfully engaging & just as well done as a manga as well. Monster is such a captivating, intense story and truly one of my favorites from Urasawa's works. Following Dr. Tenma, a talented neurosurgeon who has grips with the moral dilemma of either saving the Mayor or saving a young boy who was shot in a murder. Tenma chose to save the boy instead and while it costs him being demoted he still believes he did the right thing. Unfortunately years later discovering the boy he saves...turns out to be a killer. This series is such a banger from its storytelling to the characters and just one of the best from Urasawa's.

NUMBER: 4 : GOODNIGHT PUNPUN

At first glance of this manga, you might think of it as something of a cute slice-of-life story about a cute cartoony bird. But actually when reading it...IT'S WAY MORE DARKER and GETS A LOT MORE FUCK UP! For real Goodnight Punpun is one of those series that's start-up pretty light-hearted and a little bit goofy with Punpun being a cartoony-drawn bird amongst very average-looking humans as a young kid in the first volumes of the series. But as things move forward within the story as Punpun gets older and his family situation gets more unstable as well as his life, the tone gets more depressing as a whole. Love the dark psychological storytelling, although it definitely the type of story you can only read once in awhile or in a good headspace because it definitely can be a hard read.

NUMBER: 5 : BERSERK

Seriously, what can I say about Berserk that already hasn't been said on some level. But this manga is seriously, I feel one of the most top iconic series within manga as well as one of the most engaging, moving, fantastic, epic storyline I've read thus far. I know the series itself is still ongoing, and I've been keeping up-to-date with this story since reading the very first chapter. Hearing about Kentaro Miura death....was tough, I knew he had serious health issues, which is why volumes would tend to go on pretty long hatiuses... but man. Another influential iconic figure in manga gone, Berserk is definitely a series any manga-lover or anime fan should read once in awhile.

NUMBER: 6 : SHOUWA GENROKU RAKUGO SHINJUU

Not only one of the most beautifully mature, well-written, compelling storytelling I've seen thus far in an anime series. But as a manga, even more so, a well-crafted story on the life and times of a sad, burden-ridden, slightly bitter, depressed, old man known as Yakumo Yurakutei, who is a highly skilled and experienced master of Rakugo, which for those who don't know is an traditional Japanese verbal form of entertainment. Think of it as something like a form of Improv done by only one person playing different characters to tell a story, This series has many layers to its storytelling that's is done so well dealing with Yakumo and those in his life that has impacted him as to the type of pained almost broken old man he is within the present time. Just a overall good & bittersweet but fantastic story that's deserves to be check out more.

NUMBER: 7 : INNOCENT

It is one of the most beautifully drawn manga series that I have read so far while also being equally gruesome as well. Innocent is a fictionalized historical manga set during 18th century France about the story and legacy of Charles Henri Sanson (actual real historical figure), who is the fourth generation of a family of Executioners known as the Sanson family who are the royal Executioners of Paris. The story follows Charles rough journey towards his path of becoming the Monsieur De Paris. This absolutely such a fantastic piece of work, both in terms of the visually amazing stunning artwork and along with the historical storytelling of Charles coming to terms with his hated lineage and becoming Executioner of Paris but also showcasing the societal/political chaotic changes and upheaval of France slowly leading up to the French revolution. Although some historical aspects are obviously fictionalized, but still such a good series.

NUMBER: 8 : THE PROMISED NEVERLAND

While my feelings on the anime are highly mixed due to really, really, really not caring for the way they handled parts of the storytelling from season 2 of the anime series. But the manga, on the other hand, is a totally different story. Seriously, reading this series was a blast and just an enjoyable experience from beginning to end, as well as seeing Emma and Ray also Norman grow & and develop throughout each arc was great to witness including seeing the rest of the kids thrive and survive the outside world. For this manga was a great read, and definitely, I'll say at least personally to me was done far better then the second season flimsy adaptation.

NUMBER: 9 : HOMUNCULUS

Truly an mindfuck of a manga in more ways than one. But still a pretty damned good and wild story, Homunculus is a story about a homeless man named Susumu Nakoshi who ends up meeting a seemingly antagonistic young medical student named Itoh Manabu to do a little experiment on him by drilling a actual hole in his skull for a total of 700,000 ¥en. Itoh, who is very fascinated with studying the human minds and amongst other things such as ghosts and the occult, but ultimately he thinks he can unlock the hidden psychic potential of Susumu brain. Nakoshi goes through the process, and at first, nothing seems to happen after going through the the operation. Until he closes his right eye and starts seeing otherworldly nightmarish monsters and shapes with his left eye when he looks at other people. This series is truly a weird but also such a highly intriguing and fascinating psychological read while at the same time being a bit of a downer, but still an excellent but messed-up good story.

NUMBER : 10 : ATELIER OF WITCH HAT

Okay, so I just recently started reading this manga series not that long ago, about a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm so freaking hooked. Atelier of Witch hat has truly captured my heart and mind with its engaging and creatively fascinating world-building involving witches and magic to the just as highly interesting characters and storytelling. Which centers around our young protagonist Coco ( the girl on the cover) who is this super adorably passionate girl who has such a huge love for all things magical /witches and deeply wishes she could become one as well, but unfortunately normal people or "outsiders" can't become witches, you have to be born into it, but that's doesn't stop Coco from trying her hardest to still wanting to be a witch. One of the things I love most about this world and how it handles dealing with magic and witches is that magic is really normal within this world and how witches tend to uses it to help and serve regular people in need or even for lighting up a cobblestone pathway also I really like how the magic system is structured in this series, such as instead of casting spells or any from of magic with words or a phrase, magic is casted by drawing, Coco here ends up in a pickle with accidentally casting magic that ends up turning her mom into stone & thus Coco journey towards witchood begins.

Seriously, even though I've just recently gotten into this manga & and its ongoing tale it's already has captivated me on so many levels and I just can't get enough of it so far wonderful storytelling and amazingly beautiful drawn artsy apart of it which really adds a lot of this series fantastical elements. Definitely a must to check out!!

Wanted to do a list of a couple of some of my most top favorite manga series and ones were I feel other's should give them a shot at checking out if there into any of these stories. (^ _ ^)

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thelarriefics · 11 months ago

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SPRING FIC REC: Below you will find fics that take place in spring, have a springy feel, etc.

📖 always you (i should have known) by @28goldens (60k)

“Oi, now we’re talking. Came running to ol’ Tomlinson for help, gotta say Harold,” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Harry watched as his eyes looked him over. “It's very out of character for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special, you're my last choice,” Harry subconsciously crossed his arms as well, giving Louis his own look over.

“Oh, that's a lot of power, I’m your last resort!” He wagged his finger at him, letting out a cackle. “Alright, hit me with it.”

Harry’s lips pursed as he slowly started to regret the words about to spill out of his mouth, “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or the one where harry and louis cant stand each other and fake date to make someone jealous.

📖 (I'm Dreaming of a) One Night Inn by @lululawrence (54k)

When everything Louis had planned for his life falls through, and on his birthday no less, he's left with no other option but to regroup and start over again. The road of life isn't always straight and it certainly isn't always easy, but sometimes it's those twists and turns that find you your closest friends and—if you're really lucky—the love of your life.

Louis just happens to be very lucky.

A Holiday Inn AU.

📖 Blush by @dip-lou-in-honey (33k)

Harry is a young omega, presented at his first Royal ball, when he first meets Louis, the King. They're immediately infatuated with each other, but in the ancient hallways of the castle, whispers travel far and wide, and what they want is not what they're allowed to have.

📖 Tip Toe Through The Tulips by @peachbootylouis (27k)

Ever since moving to Manchester, it had just been Louis and his dog Clifford against the world though it had never felt like enough. It’s not until Clifford quite literally sniffs Harry out while on a walk that Louis realizes he’d been looking for someone like this flower child all along. A fluffy one shot filled with fur and flowers.

📖 To Begin Again by @chloehl10 (23k)

Harry’s ready to spend a fun Easter morning with his two children at the park, but it’s thrown into chaos when an over-excited dog and his owner come barrelling into their lives...

📖 Sakura Sunset by @mizzhydes (16k)

Harry and Louis have a tradition. Every spring they stand below hundreds of dazzling cherry blossom trees in Kew Garden, and year after year they come back to walk amongst the trees and experience that love over again.

This year everything changes. Louis is offered a once in a lifetime opportunity in Silicon Valley, California.

Only after Louis has left does Harry realise he made the biggest mistake of his life breaking up with Louis, and he has to live with the consequences of his actions.

Four years later, Harry discovers that Louis has returned to London, and in an effort to find the closure he desperately needs, he must tell Louis the truth behind their break up so he can move on with his life.

📖 The Prince and The YouTuber by @haztobegood (12k)

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

📖 Love You To Want Me by @rainbowsandlovehl (11k)

Niall coerces Louis into doing 'spring cleaning', which is basically cleaning their flat which leads to Louis finding the pair of braces he used to wear back in early Uni days. Harry, Niall's bandmate has a strange but visible reactions to the braces.

📖 Chubby Bunny by @littleroverlouis (2k)

Harry spends his Easter Sunday basking in the spring breeze while playing games with the smallest Tomlinsons, and a package of marshmallow Peeps.

Louis is stuck in a sweltering bunny costume for the enjoyment of all around him.

Harry offers him a chance to peel himself out of the costume and indulge in some of the fun.

📖 my lap is the best place for you to be by @bottomhaztoplou (1k)

Omegas, especially pregnant omegas, are expected to ride in their marriage partner's lap, usually on their knot, during carriage rides so as to minimise any jostling that may harm the pup.

Heavily pregnant in mid-April, Harry lifts his skirts and sinks down onto his waiting alpha, his body easily taking Louis inside himself.

#masterpost #spring fics #spring fic rec

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starry-blue-echoes · 1 year ago

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I found this old snippet 90% finished in my drafts so W O E, 2k words of Tonio being my favorite character and Mr.Giovanna slowly understanding that he is not in fact Giogio's father anymore <333

(also tw for implied/referenced child abuse since Giorno)

-------------

Tonio noticed the second the man approached Giorno’s table.

His customers knew better than to do so. They knew the boy was under his personal protection and it was best to steer clear. A greeting hello when the boy arrived, a brief exchange of conversation, an offered treat or trinket was of course allowed, but approaching his booth while Tonio was not present?

That was not common.

In fact, by the time Tonio made it out of the kitchen and to the dining area, the man had gathered quite a bit of attention from the other customers if the glances being cast his way were anything to go by.

The man was practically looming over Giorno’s booth, all but boxing the boy into his seat and talking in a low voice so as to not be overheard. Tonio couldn’t even see Giorno from his spot.

Tonio did not like this.

He did not like this one bit.

So plastering on his best Customer Service Smile, he approached.

“Excuse me sir,” he spoke up, keeping his voice light and pleasant. “My apologies, but at this establishment you must wait to be seated.”

The man turned to face him, not moving away from the booth and instead attempting to slide a softer, kinder mask over his features.

Hm.

It was sloppy, Tonio couldn't help but note. Sure the facial expressions were… passable, he supposed, but his body language was all wrong. Maybe spending so much time amongst the real dangers in Italy had made him a bit of a snob, but honestly this was laughable.

“Ah, you misunderstand sir, I’m not here to eat, though I have heard good things about this restaurant.” the man waved him off with what was supposed to be a lighthearted chuckle that only succeeded in feeling patronizing. “I’m here to pick up my son.”

“Oh?” Tonio responded with a slit tilt of the head, and a cold, cold feeling slipped into his gut. “You’re this boy’s father then? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Step father, technically.” Mr.Giovanna explained, the veiled insult sailing clear over his head. “His mother already had him when I stepped into the picture, but I see and love him as my own.”

His smile got tighter when he saw Giorno, kind, smart, shy Giorno who loved frogs and ladybugs and the color pink and listening to Tonio talk about recipes, flinch.

“I see.” was all he offered.

Tonio knew so little. So, so little. Part of him knew it was purposeful. That he was giving himself plausible deniability. An empty comfort.

But he knew enough. He’d always known enough. More than enough really.

And now it was looking him dead in the eyes and spitting in his face, daring him to lie down and take it.

“Well, it’s getting late. We’d best be getting back to the house before your mother starts dinner. Come along, Giorno, you’ve taken up enough of this man’s time.”

How long has he been standing idly by as he’d seen Giorno hurt?

How many times has he knowingly allowed Giorno to return to that sorry excuse of a family?

How many times has he merely nursed his injuries instead of doing anything to stop them from happening in the first place?

Well no longer.

“Actually, sir.” he interrupted. “I have some…. concerns I’d like to speak with you about.”

The man froze before slowly turning toward him.

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes and he not very subtly squared his shoulders to make himself look bigger.

“Oh?”

How funny. The man thought he was intimidating.

Tonio had done a bit of asking around about Giorno’s family when the boy hadn't been present. Nothing too nosey of course, just the standard gossip that was floating around which he generally got quite a lot of.

And the results of his findings were quite fruitful.

Mr.Giovanna had a temper and was somewhat quick to anger, and he’d had a few dealings with the underworld, but that was as all. The man wasn't anyone important nor did he have any connections whatsoever.

He was just a simple, ordinary, powerless man.

A man who in the long run wouldn’t be able to do a thing to Tonio.

Tonio did not normally like taking advantage of his position, of the power he had at his fingertips. The near crippling fear of entrenching himself further and further into this world always had held him at bay, but in this moment he was more than willing to make an exception for this.

“Yes.” he made a slight show of stepping slightly closer to Mr.Giovanna and the booth seat, closer than was socially acceptable and a clear challenge to the man’s current proximity to Giorno. “And in all honesty, I’m not quite certain I feel comfortable allowing you to leave with this boy.”

“And for what reasons would that be?” Mr.Giovanna was openly glaring at him now, trying and failing to loom over a man who had a few centimeters on him.

“I notice things, Mr.Giovanna.” Tonio spoke, keeping his words clipped and flat lest his rage bubble over. “Giorno has been a patron in my restaurant for well over a year now, and I am not nearly as blind or stupid as you appear to think of me. I may be a chef, but I am also very familiar with the practices of medicine and the healing processes of the human body.”

Sometimes Tonio loathed this skill of his. Of seeing the way people moved and being able to pinpoint exactly what was wrong, of seeing the lethargy and careful movements and stiffness and knowing of the presence of bruises or cigarette burns or broken skin.

(In a bitterly comforting way, Giorno had always liked that part of him. Of their shared skill. He said it made him feel less alone and less strange)

Mr.Giovanna simply sneered at him. “And why exactly are you paying so much attention to little boys?”

His rage surged at the accusation, howling and throwing itself against the cage he’d locked it inside, only made worse by the man’s smugness as though he’d just won and Tonio would back down.

Oh how he longed for his butcher’s knives. They cut through skin and muscle like warm butter and would so easily make short work of the man before him.

“You know very well that is not what I’m talking about.” much to his dismay, his calm mask had begun to crack at the edges, his voice growing more tense and taught with every prolonged moment. This man was managing to slide through every crack of his carefully constructed walls in ways the most vile, loathsome mafioso couldn’t, and all with hardly more than a few words.

This needed to end soon. Before Tonio did something he would regret. For Giorno’s sake.

“I am not going to allow you to leave this establishment with this child unless you can offer me a reasonable explanation for why he comes here with bruises every single week, and that is final.”

A lie of course, he wasn’t letting Giorno go anywhere with this pathetic excuse of a father, no matter what excuses he scrounged up.

“Well I don’t owe you shit.” he snapped back, forgoing excuses and even denial of the accusations completely. At the very least, it seemed Tonio was getting under Mr.Giovanna’s skin just as badly. “I am going to be taking my son and we are going to leave. Giorno, come here right n-” but as the man tried to move Tonio out of the way and make a grab for the boy, Tonio grabbed his arm in an ironclad grip.

The man froze, surprised either by the strength or by the audacity.

Tonio’s expression didn’t falter.

“I think it would be best for you to leave, sir.”

For a second all was calm.

And in the next, pure fury overtook the man’s face.

The punch was quick and powerful, and Tonio barely had a moment to realize what was happening before he had both hands on the booth table to support his weight with a blooming pain in his jaw. With one of his hands he hesitantly brought it up to test the area, but while it would undoubtedly bruise and was rather tender, nothing felt broken or severely damaged.

Tonio should have seen the punch coming, but alas, hindsight is 20/20. He partially expected a second blow…. but it never came.

In fact, Mr.Giovanna was being awfully quiet.

His grin which had temporarily been chased from his face found itself sliding back into place once more.

It seemed the man finally noticed. Now that their conversation had reached a small pausing point, it was likely that much more obvious, but Tonio still couldn’t help but internally chuckle at the man’s horrendous observation skills.

It was dead silent in the restaurant.

The clicking of silverware, the murmur of conversation, the footsteps of the waitstaff, all of it had vanished into thin air.

And as Tonio stood back up to his full height, one merely needed to glance around the room to see why.

Every single customer and staff member was staring at them.

And not one was happy.

Expressions ranged from murderous fury to offended disgust to cold disapproval. Weapons of all types were in hand: knives, firearms, utensils, even a few Stands had joined the fray.

Sometimes being neutral felt like a curse, but in this moment? In this moment Tonio had never felt freer.

Because everyone respected the rules inside Trattoria Trussardi.

And those who didn’t……

“You’ve broken the rules, Mr.Giovanna.” Tonio spoke, a grin still on his face. Only now he let the pleasantries fade away. Now, he let his grin stretch wide and manic, filled with teeth and not quite reaching his eyes.

To an outsider, it was downright predatory.

And Mr.Giovanna, finally realizing the lion’s den he had stumbled headfirst into, froze.

But Tonio did not care.

Not one bit.

He nudged the man to the side with the back of his hand, and didn’t even resist the urge to wipe it on his apron afterwards. He’d need to wash his hands later, wouldn’t want the food suffering from whatever filth that man possessed.

“Giorno,” he asked quietly, his body relaxing and growing soft at the bright, vibrant hope sparkling in the boy’s eyes. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Giorno’s eyes widened, growing glossy and shiny yet not a single tear spilt.

“I would.” he said in a hushed whisper, as though the words would break if he was too rough with them, and in Tonio’s heart the only regret he felt was that he hadn’t done this sooner.

He gently grabbed Giorno’s hand to tug him away from the booth seat with as much gentleness as he could, leading him toward the back door that led to the stairs up to his apartment. Giorno’s hand was so small, yet it clung to Tonio’s like a lifeline.

He would call Doppio later tonight to help with the paperwork, of course after Giorno had eaten and gone to sleep. He had more than enough spare funds for the shopping trip that would be required tomorrow, but it would also likely be best to ask if there was anything Giorno wanted from his now-ex-parents house. He’d likely have to rearrange some furniture upstairs, Giorno would need his own room obviously, maybe cash in a favor or two to help, and of course possibly transferring schools which meant even more paperwork-

But that was tomorrow. Tonight, he got to look forward to a nice, calm dinner that for the first time since inviting Doppio in wouldn’t be alone.

And just as he nudged Giorno through the door…

“Marco.”

“Yeah Boss?”

Tonio liked Marco. A good head on his shoulders, a competent host and waiter, had potential for a manager position, always called in ahead of time if gang work interfered with his schedule, and on the rare occasion things got out of hand he was good at regaining order.

“I’m temporarily waiving the ‘no violence’ rule.” Tonio said. “Make sure nobody breaks anything important and if things get too noisy, see to it that it’s moved elsewhere.”

Marco’s eyes lit up with an emotion he didn’t dare to place, but his face remained stoic. “‘Course, Boss.”

Tonio looked back to the restaurant, his eyes soft and smile warm in a way that did not match the manic and horrifying implication of his words in the slightest.

“You have 30 minutes. Try to keep the mess to a minimum.”

The future looked bright and Tonio felt happy.

#G O D this was so fun to write. this au is so much fun sometimes <333 #neutral ground #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #golden wind #jjba part 5 #jjba tonio #tonio trussardi #jjba giorno #giorno giovanna #sb writes

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syndrossi · 6 months ago

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On the topic of Jon getting more comfortable to relax and being vulnerable in this life; I do wonder if you've given any thoughts to Jon exploring his sexuality? In the books, you see him just push his attraction to Satin to the back of his dead, and obviously, we don't have any resolution. Here, I can almost guarantee that Daemon will love and support his children, always. And I bet getting the support of Rheagar too would be a relief.

And of course, Jon slowly giving in to comfort and allowing himself to be vulnerable and have prefrences (like the cake scene you shared, which killed me).

Can you tell I absolutely love Jon?

I'm pretty sure that Aegon will ensure that all the royal children explore their options. 😅 My position on societal views of sexuality at least in Resonant (but seems to be somewhat true even in canon), is that the more power/station you have, the less anyone cares about your preferences, so long as you do your marital duty and are either capable enough at your job, or fearsome enough. There are quite a few canonically gay/bi (or highly implied gay/bi) characters who don't seem to be viewed negatively. Princess/Queen Rhaena and her many beloved female companions is one of the more notable ones, though obviously there are more. Lady Jeyne Arryn is described quite similarly to Rhaena in terms of beloved female companions.

Heck, when considering Rhaenyra's options, Laenor's sexuality was openly discussed and literally amounted to "who cares which he prefers if he does his martial duty?" And his favorites seem to have been well known at court.

Things do seem to be trending less tolerant by the time of Robert Baratheons rule, so perhaps it was a shift over generations (either influenced by the Faith or the general lack of stability post-Dance).

Regarding canon-Jon's attitudes, I do wonder if the southern kingdoms of the time just tend to be a little more open than the North in regards to such matters? (There were the men urging him not to take Satin as a steward due to his past, after all, though I forget if we know where they hailed from.) And obviously it will differ person to person, even amongst highborn and smallfolk. Because meanwhile, you've got canon!Rhaegar's whatever with Jon Connington. It may or may not have been wholly unrequited, but you can't tell me Rhaegar wasn't aware and clearly still considered him a dear friend. And it did not seem that he was shunned by others in Rhaegar's friend circle.

#resonant asks #fwiw i see jon as leaning female in his attractions but he does clearly notice when men/boys are pretty in canon #jon i can't see breaking his marriage oaths once wed so for him it's either marriage or bachelorhood #and i feel like he would eventually want children in this world where he's free of his nights watch oaths and CAN have them #daemon himself will want grandkids but he also would want his sons to be happy #honestly i'm relieved all this stuff is far off in the future #it's more fun to deal with low-stakes crushes when they hit the adolescent years

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tsuiioku · 2 years ago

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𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖌𝖑𝖔𝖜 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

this is a sequel! read the first part here.

content. f!reader. anxiety, child abuse, childhood trauma, grief/mourning, grounding techniques, implied/referenced sexual assault (not to the reader), loss of parent(s), misogyny, panic attacks, protective fyodor, unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied/referenced vomiting. not proofread. 10k+ words.

author's note. this will likely be posted around episode six's release (praying for my meursault frames, please bones). this will also be my last post before i move to college! i won't be posting for at least a week, unless i make some queued content. so see you guys soon, and enjoy this sequel (and wish me luck)!

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖋 /ˈgrēf / ━━━ the anguish experienced after significant loss, usually the death of a beloved person (American Psychological Association).

synopsis. for many, grief can last a lifetime. (name) has been in a fluctuating state of mourning for her entire life, lamenting the loss of a life that she never was able to cherish. and after years of suppressing emotions and turmoil, it's time to finally face it head-on.

Headquarters was buried deep underground, a system of stone and concrete halls crisscrossed and hid the mysteries behind the organization far under the Earth’s surface—so far down that most of the lackeys never scaled the entire base. They traversed the corridors, fulfilling their duties with a sense of unease, aware that a single misstep could end with them becoming one of those hidden secrets. A particular few, considered the strongest and smartest of the Rats, were huddled together for a meeting in a small room to discuss their next mission. And at the head of the table was not the overlooming presence of their leader, Fyodor Dostoevsky, but of his right-hand, (Name) Yeliseyeva.

This wasn’t a common set-up for their meetings, which was made more evident by the chair that stood empty at (Name)’s side. She fiddled with the cracking leather of Fyodor’s swivel chair, humming as she tuned out her subordinates. Fyodor had placed her in charge of his usual tasks while he was away with a mission regarding the Decay of Angels, and as such, she led their meetings in his sted. It wasn’t a difficult task—there was much harder work she had to complete that didn’t require her taking on that leadership role—and she rather enjoyed the tempered atmosphere. Fyodor’s intimidating presence often left the others mute and shaken, so it was a pleasant change to hear some of them laughing amongst themselves, even if she wasn’t particularly close to any of them.

Some of them had moved on from discussing the laborious tasks they were assigned, instead focusing on optimal strategies for their next mission—so she decided to tune back in. While she was well aware that Fyodor would have the final say on these decisions, she knew it also didn’t hurt to listen to their suggestions in case someone struck gold.

“Oh, please. You wouldn’t be able to pull that one off without me. I should be the person leading that mission,” an abrasive voice bellowed from the opposite end of the table, cutting straight through another conversation. “Wouldn’t you agree, (Name)?”

“God damn it,” she thought, internally groaning.

This delightful character was a man only known to others as Solovev, and he had to be one of her least favorite subordinates. While she had a plethora of ones she disliked, he hit the top of her list—and the sole reason he was included in the meeting was because of his ability, which increased his strength tenfold. Otherwise, with an insultingly low intelligence like his, he wouldn’t even be involved with the organization.

(Name) was aware that Fyodor often hired cruel and selfish people to become subordinates—they were the most gullible people in their joint opinion and also the ones that truly deserved to be manipulated—but that didn’t mean she enjoyed the process of interacting with them. And it didn’t help that this man, unlike most subordinates, was very vocal about his disdain for her position—though he kept those thoughts to himself whenever Fyodor was here. However, when he wasn’t, Solovev made it his personal mission to one-up her with every chance he had. His insults and snide remarks had never worked, regardless, because, in his pride, his goal to annoy her became obvious.

“Hey, Kuznetsov!” he called across the table, trying to grab the attention of a subordinate who only huffed at him in response. There was a dark gleam in his eyes, which put every nerve of (Name)’s body on edge. “You remember that last lady we dealt with on that mission to the outskirts of Suribachi City, right? Remember what I did to her? What a beauty!”

But sometimes, there were moments when he successfully got under her skin.

With a barrage of lewd hand gestures, he explained in grotesque detail how he made the last moments of this woman’s life both miserable and humiliating. Each description made (Name) nauseous, simultaneously empathetic, and disgusted by the graphic nature of the encounter. Opposing organizations of the Rats often declared that they didn’t have morals, but she knew that wasn’t true—it was disgusting pigs like Solovev that were the real monsters. Neither she nor Fyodor liked the suffering of others unless they deserved it, only finding ironic enjoyment in the pain, but people like Solovev just enjoyed taking advantage of the weak. They revel in power, driven by lust and greed, as they take whatever they want.

But (Name) and Fyodor knew what it was like to suffer. To be taken advantage of.

Bang!

She froze as a fist slammed against the table, shaking the contents on top of it and startling everyone else. It began to splinter, and the subordinates scrambled to clean the messes of coffee and crumbled papers, but (Name) could only stare at Solovev’s hand.

"Ты маленькая сучка! Ты должен был сгореть вместе с ней!"

Her hands trembled as she hunched over in her seat, shielding her grim expression as she attempted to shuffle through her thoughts and memories rationally. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly as she fought back the instinctual tears that begged to surface. And with a vengeance, she shot a glare at Solovev, who sat self-satisfied in his chair. “This meeting is adjourned. You have your assignments for the next mission, and there will be no alterations. If you are caught doing anything less or more than you are supposed to, you will be dealt with. Understand?”

Solovev only gave her a mocking smirk. “Ah, sorry, (Name). I do tend to get a bit carried away with the details. I’ll make sure to keep those stories from reaching your delicate ears.”

She practically rattled in her chair, striking him with a look that could kill. Without thinking, she stormed over to his seat, grabbing the now-startled man by the collar. “The next time you open your mouth to speak to me that way, I’ll castrate you and shove your dilapidated cock down your throat! It shouldn’t be hard for you to swallow. Now out.”

He snarled with rage at the insult, especially since it came from a woman, but he somehow managed to maintain his temper as he took a cursory glance around at his co-workers. The misogynistic prick may not have been intimidated by her, but he knew with the tension in the room, it would be better to swallow his pride—because none of them were stupid enough to forget one thing. Most of the subordinates were not loyal to Fyodor in the slightest—other than brainwashed ones like Goncharov—but none of them would stand by if someone, even one of their own, tried to hurt (Name). The last thing any of them wanted was to piss off their boss by being bystanders in an assault, regardless of (Name)’s capability to defend herself. Solovev eyeballed the others as they ascended from their seats, each examining his next moves.

The chauvinist huffed, slamming his chair into the table before stomping out the door. The other subordinates soon followed suit, though some glanced back apprehensively at their superior. And then she was left entirely alone. She thought that the tension in her body would leave after Solovev was gone, that the room would stop spinning and she would stop sweating so much, but—

“Вам повезло видеть солнце каждое утро!”

She couldn’t help the way her body lurched, running into the adjacent bathroom to pour her guts out. Each limb shook beneath her, throaty sobs escaping her throat between heaves as her mind continued to spiral. Everything was too hot, but her skin was cool to the touch. She was dizzy, and her head hurt, and she was sweaty, and—someone lifted her hair from her face.

Shit.

There was almost no one that she wanted to see in that state, neither Fyodor nor one of her subordinates. However, the hands that caressed her back, so comfortable with touching her, alluded that it definitely was not a member of the Rats. For a moment, she wished she could think clearly again, but a cheerful voice broke through her haze of self-pity.

“My, my!” Nikolai exclaimed. If she wasn’t preoccupied, she would’ve found more humor in his enthusiasm. She had indeed gotten lucky—the jester was strangely the best person she could’ve asked for. “Seems I’ve arrived just in time.”

She leaned back against the bathroom wall, panting as she looked at Nikolai through tear-stained lashes. “Hey, Коля. Sorry for my current appearance.”

“No problem at all, dear!” He smiled brightly, squatting down on his knees to face her eye-to-eye. “Your beloved Nikolai is here to rescue you from your bout of tummy troubles.”

She smiled at the scatterbrained musings of the jester, watching him rant and rave over a variety of barely related topics before he zeroed back in on her.

“Hmm, did you have something bad for lunch? Something icky? Or maybe…” he trailed off, eyeing her with an owlish expression as he leaned in very close to her stomach. She bent her neck awkwardly to look at him with a raised brow, watching him analyze her abdomen before his grin widened. “…perhaps you’re carrying an adoring little addition to this world. Dostoy would be so pleased!”

It took her a beat to realize what he was implying, eyes bugging out as she quickly retorted to him with a shout. “I-I’m not pregnant!”

“Awwww, that’s so sad,” Nikolai pouted. “And here I was, excited to be an uncle.”

He giggled, covering his winding smirk with a gloved hand. “I can already just imagine Dostoy as a father.”

(Name) paused, stilling her racing thoughts as she rushed to erase the hundreds of images from her mind. Nikolai chortled at her rapidly shifting irises but spared her the embarrassment of commenting on her obviousness. She groaned, sullen, as she massaged the bridge of her nose.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

He halted, the gears in his mind turning, before shuffling through his overcoat, cheering with an aha as he found the object he was searching for. He flicked his wrist, and a small knife settled in his gloved hand, which was decorated with puffy stickers and colorful doodles. “I wanted to drop off a little present.

He tossed it into her hand. “I know you ‘lost’ your last one.”

"Thanks, Коля." The stickers forged a pattern of grooves that made it easier to hold onto, and she couldn't help the puff of laughter that slipped between her lips at the bizarre phrases written across doodles. She could even spot badly drawn versions of herself in there, along with Fyodor, Sigma, and the white-haired jester himself. It rolled around through her fingers, rocking in a repetitive motion that soothed her mind into a fog, resurfacing those same thoughts from before—

"Look what I can do!" Nikolai had snatched the knife out of her hands, launching it bottom-side up into the air before fanning out his overcoat to swallow it during descent. (Name) tilted her head, searching the room to find where it would reappear.

You could never know with Nikolai.

“Fucking hell!” a familiar, muffled voice screamed from down the hall. “There’s a knife in my ass!”

She gaped in disbelief, then practically threw herself onto the floor in hysterics. Tears rushed down her cheeks as she hollered, savoring the distraction from her disturbing reminiscence as she relished in the chorus of yells and guffaws echoing from outside the bathroom. Nikolai analyzed her with a slight frown; his face contorted in contemplation.

"Do I need to tell Dostoy to give you some time off?" he pouted, his bottom lip quivering in a dramatic, sorrowful facade. "Perhaps we could go diving off the Tojinbo Cliffs—or even better! Free falling!"

"I'll be fine." She quickly brushed him off, and for just a moment—and a moment was all he needed—he saw a shift in her face, a dread that hadn't been there before. "I must have some kind of stomach bug."

A trace of desperation appeared in the creases of her face. "Could you not tell Fyodor about this? I don't want him to be concerned with anything while he's on a mission."

"Sure! Pinky promise." He lifted her up by the arm, lips curling into a soft smile as he wrapped his finger around hers with a tap, holding it tight for a second. And then it was back to his usual antics, starting a discussion about his latest adventures as he escorted her out the door—his fingers crossed behind his back.

(Name) was ensconced in her office chair, thrumming her fingers against the desk's surface as she stared at the clock. In truth, she could've done anything else with her time. She had already wrapped up her weekly responsibilities, having completed them with proficiency due to their repetitive nature; however, it seemed that the lag of the week had taken a toll on her cheerless mind.

“Никогда не повышай на меня тон!”

She would do anything to distance herself from the persistent flood of memories that threatened to break down the mental dam she spent years constructing—even her paperwork. And a familiar date on the calendar loomed ahead, gawking at her with an irritating tenacity. She could never find the strength to celebrate it, despite her wishes to do so, only acknowledging it with brief, melancholic glimpses into the past.

So instead, she preoccupied herself with sorting through every nook and cranny of her office—not a corner went untouched. The room was usually what she had lovingly referred to as an "organized mess," where everything was cluttered but had a place in her mind. But her nerves forced her to be on her feet, shuffling around as she planned where to move this-and-that. She mostly found herself organizing her bookshelves over and over and over again—by book color, book height, author's last name, author's first name, book title, etc. It was during the sixth instant of taking the books off that she started to realize she was going mad, but there was nothing she could do, so she continued with her arrangements.

And she just knew that her appearance looked as awful as her mind, hair jostled like a bird's nest, and deep bags formed underneath her eyes. She hadn't slept more than three hours in the past week, her brain haunted by memories every evening. Each time she shut her eyes, even for a momentary reprieve, she found herself shrunken in a familiar study, the stench of cigars burning her nostrils.

She shivered, ceaselessly sorting through the books for the seventh time, her eyes unable to leave the cover of a familiar poetry anthology—her mother's. It was likely something her mother was gifted before she had started to work at the Yeliseyev manor. Most of the staff she was raised around had only one prized possession to their person—mostly clothing or photographs, but her mother had been an outlier with her book. An “outlier” was the term that was always associated with her mother, and it seemed with her absence, she had passed the title onto (Name). She often wondered if they were truly alike—many maids and servants told her so. But she knew that she would never truly know. The dead cannot speak.

But instead of skimming the book, her expression alight at the enchantment of a romanticized world, she found herself unable to bear the sight of it any longer. It had become too much of a reminder, outlining the canyon that loss had created in her heart—but perhaps it was not her loss to grieve. Her mother had to have had a family, at least at some point. Family was a concept that (Name) had never understood, and she believed she never would. She only had a few infantile glances at the kindhearted young woman. God, she was so young—(Name) knew she had to be older than her now. The gentle thrum of her voice still remained like ringing bells in the forefront of her mind, making her eyes water with each sweet syllable.

Knock. Knock.

The door to her office, which had rusted with time and moisture, creaked open. (Name) wiped her eyes, continuing to arrange the book in her arms as she didn't bother to turn around. It was probably one of her subordinates wanting her opinion or interference in a situation, so they could wait.

"I'll be one moment," she called with a dismissive hand, waving the person away. Their expression cocked in mirth, the patter of boot-clad footsteps and the swish of a thick coat accompanying their path as they slinked in behind her.

“Мышь.”

She stopped, her body unable to move or comprehend the word—more specifically, the speaker. It couldn't be him. He never gave her incorrect dates. His mission was supposed to last for another two days. She turned, not able to hide her surprise. “Федечка…”

Fyodor was already able to detect several abnormalities the moment he passed the door's threshold, alarms pealing inside his head as he took an inquisitory scan of the room. First, (Name) wasn't playing music—she hated the silence and constantly had something on in the background; said it helped her concentrate. Second, she didn't look happy to see him, which didn't help appease his unease. Her tone wasn't mad or irritated in the slightest, but he could see how lethargic her body had become since he last saw her. She was always elated whenever he returned, and this was the only time he had ever returned early. It made him wonder if she had hid this appearance from him every time he left.

However, the most conspicuous distinction that had set him on edge was, ironically, her organizing. He understood, better than anyone, that she hardly ever organized—he had even suggested it on numerous occasions, but he wasn't too bothered as long as her mess didn't spread to his space—let alone sort through everything within a seven-foot radius. It truly miffed him; he never thought that he would be befuddled by a collection of color-coordinated paperwork and alphabetically assorted books, but here he stood. And it had only cemented the corners Nikolai had surreptitiously brought up in their earlier conversation.

He had been in the midst of perusing through an agglomeration of reports from missions that pertained to a certain agency in the DOA's meeting room, which was established inside the Sky Casino. It had made it easier to communicate with each other while simultaneously allowing the members to keep an eye on the ever-so-antsy Sigma.

"Hey, Dostoy!" a shrill voice yelled from behind the door, practically busting it down with an impressive strike of the foot. It wobbled wearily, indented from the jester's previous assaults. He started on a tangent, ranging from his breakfast to the strange looks he had received from strangers on the street. Fyodor entertained him for a moment but knew that he needed to finish these reports if he didn't want their plans to be postponed, so he partially blocked the jester out.

He only tuned back in when his ears picked up one line about a particular person. "…and I was wondering if I could take (Name) out on a spa day."

Fyodor glanced up from his screen for a moment, raising a brow. "A spa day?" Then he huffed. "She wouldn't like that. Take her on a picnic instead."

He returned his eyes to the unremarkable words on his screen, accustomed to Nikolai's random suggestions. The jester seemed to enjoy spending time with his vice commander whenever he became disinterested in him or Sigma, and while he preferred that Nikolai occupied himself and stop distracting (Name) from her tasks, he wasn't especially bothered by their friendship. He had picked up on one oddity in Nikolai's behavior, though—he never asked Fyodor for permission to take (Name) places.

"I thought a spa day would be nice," Nikolai pouted, though he soon grinned at the morsel of fondness laced in Fyodor's silvery tone, concurrently realizing that he had grabbed his attention through his unusual suggestion. "You know, since she has become so busy with work."

The echoes of typing ceased.

"Yeliseyeva is competent. There is no reason for her to be overwhelmed," Fyodor declared with a thin layer of conviction, but he could easily see that this conversation had turned into a game — tug-of-war with bits of information, and he was on the losing side. It had become obvious that Nikolai had a camouflaged motive behind his implications, but he didn't know what. And he didn’t like it.

Nikolai sighed. "How else would you explain her frazzled appearance?" Fyodor had entirely halted his attention to his work, his thumb finding a place worn between his teeth as he found himself grasping for the answer. He hadn't assigned her much clerical paperwork, intentionally unburdening her obligations in preparation for her temporary leadership role at the base of operations. And it was not as if he hadn't left her in charge before; however, if a situation arose while he was absent, and she refrained from reporting it because of her distaste of internal turmoil, then he knew that he would have to be the one to step in.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers before he slammed the computer shut. Nikolai nodded at him as Fyodor strode towards the door, a calculated expression on the white-haired man's face.

"I will take care of it." And the door flung shut behind him. Nikolai slumped back in his chair, limp as a noodle as a self-congratulatory smirk unfurled on his lips, staring into the clouds that drifted into the floating building. "To be two birds in love, hmmm."

Fyodor was thankful that he had departed from the casino early — he feared that if he had remained away on that mission for much longer, he would've found nothing of her former self left. Throughout the years, he had seen small sprouts of this behavior on occasion. Mannerisms rooted in a past he didn't dare to explore, unease leading to over-correcting and excessive diligence — but it had never been so bad. Anxiety radiated off her tense body in waves.

The illogical, irrational side of him—one that he had long boxed away like a memoir of the past—pushed him to question her directly, to find the source of her pain as fast as possible, but his mind won over his heart. He knew that interrogating her would only drive her away, so he settled with following the conversation like normal.

He smiled tenderly. "It seems that I've returned early."

Her stupefied expression vanished, replaced with shaken lips as she attempted to hide the results of her breakdown with nimble fingers tapping against the books. "It seems that you have. How was the mission?"

"It went perfectly," he proclaimed, tone filled with humility despite the way he held his head high. Her eyes creased, ever-so enthralled in his antics—he could be so childish whenever it was just the two of them. "Everything is prepared for the next phase of the plan."

He smirked, slipping off his ushanka and setting it on a hook near the door. "However, that next step will not happen for another week." Her eyes sparkled at the underlying message, knowing breaks for either of them were both scarce and fleeting. "If you would allow it, I'd like to take a read of your collection. I've skimmed mine cover to cover multiple times, and I know you have excellent taste."

She stood to the side, allowing him to view her half-organized shelf while her hands caressed the spines with care. "Feel free." A puff of laughter escaped her lips, and she turned on her heels with a playful glint in her eyes. "Perhaps I'll borrow some of yours, too—if you'll allow it."

He chuckled, a shiver trailing her spine at his low tone. “Of course, любимая.”

His hand hovered over hers—

“Ты дышишь только потому, что я позволяю тебе это делать!”

She pulled in a tense breath, a horrid shudder making her hands tremble as she recoiled. His cool fingers contrasted with singed skin, the unexpected intensity sending her stomach into a tizzy. Fyodor removed his hand; his brows knitted as he allowed her a moment to collect herself.

"Is everything okay, любимая?"

She nodded her head, frozen in a perplexed scramble of thoughts, before she whipped back around to the shelf. He didn't need to know the reason she had become so frightened—his hand had come so close to it, too close. It burned, etched into her skin, and throbbed whenever she thought about it too much. She couldn't let anything, anyone touch it—she pulled at her sleeves.

"No, no. It's nothing."

Her eyes scrutinized the shelf, grabbing a couple of the books. "Take these." She shoved them into his arms but trembled once her fingers made contact with his skin. "I'll come find you after I place these other ones back."

He peered between her and the books that had been thrust into his arms, an atypical dumbstruck expression on his face before he snapped out of his stupor. "Have you received that vinyl yet?"

She halted, having already started to reorganize the books for the eighth time, and stared at him. It took her a moment to even process his question, scanning the room as she jumbled to remember what exactly he was referring to.

"The one you ordered from Italy?" he pressed, tone strained.

A vague memory came to mind. "Oh." She had received it a couple of days before but had lacked any motivation to listen to it. It had bugged her a lot since she had been awaiting its arrival for months—but she knew there would be plenty of time to play it later. The vinyl had remained in its sleeve, collecting dust as it leaned haphazardly against her bedstand. "That one. Yes, I have."

He shook his head, a crinkle in his eyes as he placed the books back down on her desk. "I'm assuming from your expression you haven't listened to it, no?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, then." He strode toward the door, pushing it open as he turned his head to make eye contact with her. "Let's go."

She cocked her head, pursing her lips. "Go where?"

He raised a brow, a strange level of impatient desperation in his tone. "To listen to it, dear."

She stood still before rapidly gesturing to the cluttered shelves. "But my books—!"

"Will be there when we return," he interrupted, silencing her poor excuses with a lift of his hand. With a turn on his heel, he sauntered down the hall like a soldier on a mission. "Come along."

"Wait! Федя, I—damn it!" she grumbled, rushing after him.

Her bedroom had been located in a farther corner of the organization's base, both close enough to the center to keep her in the loop but far enough away to settle herself from the rest of the subordinates. And she loved her room—it was spacious and decorated to the brim with memorabilia and knick-knacks. However, she found herself flustered the moment Fyodor opened the door. It was a mess—her covers were unmade, her clothes were scattered across furniture and piled high in drawers, and her books were either knocked over or stacked tall on the floor. She quickly kicked a stray bra underneath her bed when he wasn't looking.

Fyodor made his way to the record player, a smirk on his lips, and he pretended not to watch her frantically trying to hide her clutter—that was the (Name) he was familiar with. His hand scraped across the player's plastic top, a fond glint in his eye. He had given it to her as a present when they left Moscow, wrapped in the finest bow he could afford at the time. Her eyes had shone with delight, and she had kept it in mint condition ever since. He lifted the top up; brow furrowed into a frown as he blew away the dust that had collected inside.

He scoured the shelves, only to find that each item was more unused and dirty than its predecessor. It was only as he took a step forward, wanting to have a closer look, that his boot thumped against a thin cardboard box, which fell to the floor with a thunk. He slipped it out of the package, relieved to see the vinyl wasn't scratched, before settling it on the platter and angling the tonearm.

(Name) had sat on her bed, eyeing him as she attempted to settle and breathe. It was only when the record started to play that she felt her body subconsciously relax beneath her, lying down on the bed. Fyodor remained on the floor next to her feet; his head leaned back as he let the mellow hum of strings and decadent swallows of brass lull him into a state of ease. And it was as if they had traveled to Moscow one more time; the snow settled between their fingers as the sun kissed their skin. It was just the two of them, as it should be. And then the fourth track crackled to life.

She was in Moscow again, but he wasn't with her. But she wasn't afraid, not here. The melody played through the form of a delicate hum, bright and cheerful the warblers that sat on the sill of her window, and her blurred vision watched as her reflection—no, her mother—swayed around the room. And those eyes, oh, she would never forget them for as long as she lived. Those eyes that glimmered in the dying light with such tenderness and love as the sun settled on the pair. But those eyes could burn, they could fear and cower, they could—

"Do you ever regret being born?"

The tranquility that had enraptured them, comforting and bittersweet, stilled. Each note of the record crescendoed and accelerated, crackling in the air with electrifying chords. She could feel it, barely, as tears burned her eyes, falling down her cheeks like a silent procession.

“Любимая…” He had crept onto the bed the moment she opened her mouth, scrutinizing her with calculated consideration. Her eyes were far, far away—each element of her sleeplessness adding to a sensation of antiquity. It was like she had been dehumanized, her soul leaking out with her tears as she was replaced with a porcelain doll—lifeless and unmoving. He hesitated—he hated that she made him do that—before setting his hand next to hers. “Why would you ask such a question?”

The question broke her out of her stupor, panic instantly registering as she realized the words that had tumbled out of her mouth. She knocked him out of the way, turning off the record. “I-I need to finish organizing." She ran to the door, covering a hoarse cough as she wiped her tears. "Those books—I need to organize—"

“(Name).”

He blocked her path, snatching her wrist—pain. Fuck, the flash of heat returned with a vengeance, searing her skin. She jolted at his touch, smacking the back of her head against the door. A groan fled from her lips, knees shaking before she dropped to the ground. Hard. Her head throbbed, unsteadily held in her hands as her limbs rattled. It hurt. The room spun. Where was she? Her wrists thumped with pain that synchronized with her pulse—make the pain stop.

Please.

An estate stood on the edge of Moscow, like a guardian to the glorious city. Centuries-old bricks of decadent limestone stacked on top of each other to create its looming silhouette, and a garden caught its shadow. She often found herself meandering its pathways, staring in awe at the gargoyles and grotesques that were engraved at the edges of dormers. Chatter would be heard from the entry of the estate, clusters of women bruiting about the latest affair or calumny. She’d find her ears burning if she remained in the ire of them for too long, their voices slipping into hushed whispers as they gawked at her with abhorrence. Her hands would drift across marble banisters, lifting the sticky remnants of polish between her fingers. Velvet carpets deafened her footsteps and aided her incumbent silence as she traversed the halls. The stench of smoke burned her nostrils, candles lit in their sconces—her father preferred to use arduous methods of lighting to maintain tradition. That word was muttered by the man so often she wondered if he had ever known a different one.

Her room had been situated on the eastern side of the manor down a narrow hall that was never used, with the intention to place her away from guests and servants. To many, the isolation would have been tormentous, but to her, the stillness nurtured security from the newsmongers of daylight. It was a refurbished laundry room, though refurbished would be an embellishment. The defunct tile floor remained with rust in its crevices, and the dampened walls developed mold from the humid air, but she preferred it that way. No longer would she need to concern herself with ears hearkening her every breath. In this room alone, she was allowed to exist as everything she was and forget about everything she wasn’t.

Brrrrring…

An ancient call bell had been fasted above the door to her room, vibrating with sound from the tug of a string located in a far-away study. Her father’s study. She prayed that it would one day crack, and she could remain in her silence once more, but the stubborn thing rang on. Her hands clammed with sweat at the sound, wide eyes ogling the golden glow bouncing from its metallic surface. She would have frozen in her place if it wasn’t for her innate survival instincts. It was imperative that she followed its corresponding command—come see me.

Her fist wrapped against the door to the study, three knocks on the polished upper panel. And then she waited, the atmosphere thick with the scent of fermented tobacco and cheap perfume. She hated the way it clung to her clothes.

“Войдите,” a low voice called from the other side of the doors.

She pried them open, wincing at the boisterous groan that reverberated into the hall, indicating her presence to the members of staff who looked on, weary. An opulent chandelier was the first thing to catch her eyes, the collection of Swarovski crystals scattering light across bookshelves piled with old documents and philosophical texts. And there stood him—her father, Ivan Pavlovich Yeliseyev. His shape changed depending on the memory. Sometimes he was drawn with softened strokes and bright silky fabrics; in others, he was illustrated with sharpened features and deep winter colors.

She curtseyed, keeping her head low. "Good evening, отец."

"(Name)." She took his pause as a sign, raising her head to watch his back. He was silent, adjusting his cufflinks as he gazed at the garden below the gargantuan bay window.

"I heard you were talking to our gardener. Mr. Volkov?" he inquired, a lilt in his tone that showed he knew far more than he revealed.

"Yes, sir."

He clicked his teeth. "About what?"

Her mind raced to remember the conversation she had with the older gentleman hours before, knowing each second her father did not receive an answer would only make him more agitated. "I asked him about the flowers they're growing this season."

"Did you only ask him about flowers, dear?" he queried, raising a brow as he finally turned to lock eyes with his daughter, eyeing her appearance by scanning her up and down.

She bowed her head. "No, sir."

"Oh, at least you're honest." He let out a huff of smoke, stamping out a cigar onto the carpet. "And for your honesty, I'll let you choose."

He didn’t need to show her what she was choosing; she already knew—because there was something amongst the overflowing bookshelves that felt out of place to those who entered the room. An enormous wardrobe settled between two shelves, its lacquered exterior contrasting with the worn wood surrounding it. She didn’t hesitate to open its door. She couldn’t hesitate. Her arm outstretched, still too short to reach without a struggle, and she pulled out a wide-leather belt with her trembling fingers. And her father finally moved from his spot, taking the belt from her open hand and gesturing towards his desk.

She knew what to do.

Look ahead. Always look ahead unless ordered otherwise. Never disobey a direct order. Count each breath. Do not stutter. Do not whimper. He will start over. Think ahead. Do not daydream. He will start over. Wrists are placed firmly against the edge of the desk. Never move them. He will start over. Sleeves are rolled up. Do not roll them down. He will start over.

"What is rule number one?" he began, striking the belt down against her wrist. She resisted the urge to flinch, focusing on the question. He always asked the same series of questions, and she could always provide the same answers to satisfy him. That routine almost became comforting, a predictability that was her one solace whenever she entered this room.

"Don't talk to staff unnecessarily."

"Number two?" He struck her wrist again. It sparked with pain.

"Don’t ask questions that shouldn’t be asked."

"Number three?" Another strike. Her arms began to throb.

"Do everything to protect the honor of this family."

"Good," he nodded to himself before striking the belt down on her wrists one last time. "And number four?"

"Don’t think you’re more than you are."

"And what are you?" He didn't explicitly say it, but to him, this was the most important question of all. He always leaned into her face as she gave her answer, eyes daring her to declare anything different. But, like always, the answer remained the same.

"I am nothing."

"Good, good. Very good, dear," he smiled, his threatening expression softening as he cupped her cheek with calloused hands. She wished that he wouldn't do this, wouldn't pretend to care. That he would stop playing games with her heart—because she knew that he was a liar, but she leaned into his hand anyway, desperate for touch.

"If only you would listen more," he sighed, and she almost chased his hand as he moved it away from her face. He circled the study for a moment, taking in the unchanging sight of his books and knickknacks before his pacing stilled, an idea sparking. He looked back at her, lips curled as he vainly tried to cover his insidious thoughts. "You will not leave this estate for a month."

She gasped, and her mouth moved before she could think. "What! No!"

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

She shrunk back as he rushed towards him. "I-I'm sorry!-"

"You disrespectful brat!" He slapped her, striking her with enough force to make her crash to the floor—hard. With his standing position, he ground his boot into her leg, watching her choke on her words. "Don’t ever raise your voice at me!"

She shrieked as he pulled her by the ends of her hair, forcing her to meet eye-to-eye with him. "You are just some whore’s daughter! You are the dirt underneath my feet, and you will do as I say!"

"I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry!" she cried.

"Silence!"

“No, no. П-Пожа́луйста, бо́г, нет,” she whimpered, curling into herself with each kick. The torment was relentless, sparks of pain traveling up her spine as she reached defeatedly for anything to stop it. Her fingertips began to turn frigid, shaking. At first, she thought the blood circulation in her hands had been cut off, but the sensation in her fingers wasn’t numbing. It was cold.

It was an object, a smooth object that cooled her singed skin, droplets leaking through the fabric of her sleeves and relieving her wounds. She grabbed it with a firmer hand, and it took a moment for her to recognize it. It was a water bottle—her water bottle. She had one that she placed on the bedside table of her room, a room that didn’t smell of mold and isolation. This room had been covered in bargain-bin books and cheap photographs, but they were far more valuable than some old records or decaying statues. And that was because she loved them. That man didn’t love anything. And she was no longer his to torment.

“Я здесь, моя милая. Я здесь с тобой.”

She huffed wetly, overwhelming relief filling her chest at the sound of Fyodor’s silvery voice—the same voice that had become her salvation as they survived side-by-side in Moscow, shivering together from their matching wounds.

He didn't understand—a rare and unwelcome experience for him, especially when it came to her. They had known each other for so many years, with so many memories shared between them. But despite their long companionship, they had yet to discuss those deep personal questions that most asked. It had become a silent understanding—the past was too painful to talk about, and it didn't matter to them anyhow.

But the past resurfaces to those who run from it with a vengeance.

He knew, despite some initial dread, that her panic had nothing to do with his ability. Fear of his touch was normal for others, but she had always been a dauntless one. She would place her life in his hands without a second thought, faithful he would care for it without any true reassurance—she just believed in him.

"Свои рождение было благословением, моя дорогая," he spoke, voice low as he searched her eyes, reading her features to find the slightest hint towards the source of her torment. "Сожалеть о своем рождении означало бы бросить вызов Его воле."

His sincerity only made her shiver, wiping the tears from her eyes. "But it can’t be. Not when it cost another life in return…"

"…life?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing as he inched closer.

She froze. It would be strange for anyone to admit such a deep and long-hidden secret, let alone for either of them to acknowledge that there was one between them. They had tacked the lives they had lived before their fateful encounter as inconsequential, even if it spoke volumes through their habits and customs. He ignored that she carefully eyed her surroundings before speaking to anyone, and she ignored that he spread his meals until he couldn't afford to. Those things didn't matter—the mutual silence had been enough.

But it could no longer remain that way.

She thumbed with his fingers, her voice hoarse. "…my mother…"

“Yes…” his eyes became distant, memories resurfacing. “I remember her.”

Because of his status, he didn't have many encounters with the Yeliseyev family, though the few glimpses he did have stood out. His prominent memory of (Name)'s mother was her shoulders—as strange as that sounded. They were always swathed with decadent jewels, and on the off-chance they weren't, they were covered in luxurious furs. The woman seemed to have disembarked from a démodé soirée clad in gowns that had gone out of fashion centuries ago. He remembered the sound of her shrill voice, declaring that she was a direct descendant of the House of Württemberg—most alleged she was a distant cousin at best. In honesty, he believed she was terribly gaudy, flaunting wealth that held no everlasting value.

This was in extreme contrast to her was her own daughter, (Name), who wore simple a-line dresses with plain laced boots. No one would’ve been able to tell she was an aristocrat if not for the delicate laces her clothes were made of. It was like they purposefully dressed her to blend in with the shadows, which harmonized with her timid mannerisms when they were children. He used to hear the whispers of the congregation and clergy, babbling about the young girl and her unorthodox decorum—and for months, he didn’t know who they were referring to.

However, the moment she crawled onto his window dormer, he knew it had to be her—but she was nothing like the rumors said. They had made her out to be an imp, a mischievous child who only brought despair to those who surrounded her. But those people were fools. When they first met, she looked upon him with world-weary eyes, ones that gazed at him without contempt but with awe.

“Pretty,” she had mumbled.

He had never been caught so off-guard by a single word before, and his initial impulse to ask her to leave vanished. Instead, he asked her to join him in his sanctuary and, in doing so, found the one person who would ever understand him.

“…that woman was not my real mother,” she snarled, shattering his reminiscence as she squeezed his hands. Her stepmother had been such a thoughtless woman, solely focused on preening herself in every reflective surface or scolding (Name) whenever she eyed her for an extended period of time. But her gritted teeth loosened, making way for a melancholic smile that held a lifetime of sorrow. “My real mother was a simple maid, a young one that my father had his eyes on.”

He stilled at her words, immediately picking up on her insinuation, but a question remained in his eyes. “...милая, where is your mother?”

“As I grew older, business partners began to question my legitimacy. Rumors constantly circulated about which housemaid I looked most like.” She swallowed harshly, looking away. “And one day, my father—no. That monster had heard enough. He became dead-set on extinguishing those rumors.”

“And so he did…” she trailed off, the next words remaining on the tip of her tongue as her jaw weighed down like it was imbued with lead. That sensation of pressure on her chest returned, heart hammering in her ribcage, but he held her hands tight. She was in Japan with Fyodor and not in Russia with her father. And looking into those eyes, which were filled with so much concern, she knew she had to tell him. “Along with my mother. He rid the world of those rumors and of her—permanently.”

For years, (Name) was told that outwardly expressing her grief would make it dissipate, that her tears would run dry, and she would be left content and full. But that wasn’t reality. A couple of harsh, grounding words from her lips wouldn’t make decades of heartache wash away but instead made it feel all too real. She knew that she was always, and would always be connected to her birth mother—that before Fyodor, her mother was the only person to love her so selflessly. And for the crime of nurturing a child with unconditional devotion, no matter their status, she was snuffed out as the cigar sparks under the sole of that monster’s boot. Nothing but a memory.

Fyodor had remained silent, contemplative as he traced the creases of her hands. He wasn’t shocked by this tale of cruelty; he had become quite familiar with the scandals of aristocratic families from the rumors that were circled by servants in the slums. What he was truly bewildered by was the fact that he had never looked into (Name)’s family in the first place. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it; he had wanted to investigate many times. But a rare feeling for him, guilt, stopped him. If it were anyone else, he would’ve prodded through their history without a second thought—but not her. Because he just knew, he knew that the moment he found out, it would instill in him feelings that he was too afraid to address. He wasn’t supposed to be attached to anyone, but she always broke through his walls.

He clasped her fingers with his own, his thumb kneading circles around her knuckles and drifting to rest along her wrist, causing her breath to hitch. Her eyes darted, and he surveyed each action of her face as she slowly looked down at the cuffs of her sleeves. Her lips pursed before she let out a tense sigh.

“He hated when I asked about her.” He glanced between her face and hands, his eyes asking for permission as he hooked his fingers on the edges of her sleeves. With no resistance to his advancements, he folded the fabric upward, revealing what she was staring at with such contempt.

And he was grateful she was too focused to look at him—that she wasn't able to see the way his jaw clenched and the way his eyes narrowed at the sight. He had seen these scars many times before, but hearing the story around them made the impressions on her skin feel so much deeper. Neither of them had revealed the secrets behind their matching markings—not because they were fearful of judgment from the other, but because they understood the necessity of leaving some things unspoken. Despite that, he couldn’t help how his muscles stiffened, fingers trailing the clusters of raised skin with such care.

The steps to his mission weren't important to him, not at this moment. He knew that, instead, he would prep his subordinates to visit a much cooler climate for their next operation—and he would only need a week to fulfill his goal. That the Yeliseyev family would be fortunate if ashes were left of them or that old estate. But those plans could wait.

“Those poems that you loved so much,” he muttered, raising her quivering hand to his lips, trailing kisses from her palm to her wrist as he held her tight. There was no need for her to explain any further. She was filled with a profound sorrow, one that he understood in such a personal and heartfelt manner. “Those were from your mother, were they not?”

Fyodor peered into her eyes, finding tear-filled ones gaping back at him. (Name) was only able to nod her head, biting at her bottom lip in order to restrain the waterworks. His expression softened, glancing at the familiar poem book that was perched on her nightstand.

“She had lovely taste. And if she was anything like you…” he raised his hand, hovering near her cheek to make sure she was comfortable. She leaned into his touch, letting out a sigh as she cupped his hand with her own. “Then I am certain she was lovely, too.”

And as the pain came crashing down with a vengeance, those tears were finally released. Her body was wracked with sobs, pressing wet kisses into his palm in the middle of shaking breaths. While it was true that words alone would never be able to sate her grief, the all-consuming understanding between the two orphans did wonders to relieve her suffering.

“Tell me, Федечка.” Her smile was small but genuine. “How did I ever become so lucky?”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “No, солнышко. I'm the lucky one."

She sniffled, closing her eyes as she could feel her heartbeat in synchrony with his. He kissed her forehead, and she melted in the way his hands—comforting and gentle, caressed her face, mapping every freckle and scar to memory.

For the remainder of the week, (Name) was placed on a mandatory, badly needed break from her standard duties. Most of it had been spent bundled up in her room, re-reading her mother's prized poetry book for the thousandth time. Her fingers skimmed the pages with practiced ease, brushing against every indent and crinkle—it was almost like her mother was with her, that recognizable sweet tune of hers narrating the lines. And when she wasn't alone, she was cozied up in Fyodor's private study, a cup of tea hoisted in one hand as she read the stanzas aloud. The light thrum of her record player accompanied her voice, emphasizing each word with expressions and gestures. It caused his normal, stoic expression to melt, and he settled back in his own chair as he relished in the entertainment.

But tonight, she dashed towards his study, book in hand. Subordinates stumbled and stared as she barreled down a few, shaking their heads and deciding not to openly question their superior's giddy behavior—that had become a standard rule at this point. She dug in her heels, almost smacking straight into the wall before she fell against it, out of breath as her limp hand knocked on the door.

"Come in," Fyodor's voice called, an unusual lilt in his tone that was barely muffled through the wall.

BANG!

The door slammed against the wall, books shuddering on their shelves as an echo reverberated against the walls. She hissed through her teeth, sliding into the room before closing the door with a small click. It was obvious that she had gotten a bit too excited, but she couldn't help it! Fyodor had such a mischievous lilt in his tone when he had called her today, and that could only mean that he had interesting news.

The aforementioned man chuckled from behind his desk. “Good evening, милая.”

"Evening—" she panted, leaning onto her knees as the adrenaline wore off. "Evening, Федя."

His lips curled into a smirk, folding his hands. “It seems you’ve enjoyed this little break.”

"Yeah, it's been great," she sighed, not bothering to conceal the popping of her stiffened joints and muscles from her hours hidden in her blankets, settling into her designated swivel chair before wheeling it over to his side of the desk. A steaming cup of tea sat still at her side, slipping down her throat with the perfect blend of bitter and sweet. She leaned back into her seat. “Mmm, delicious as always.”

Thump.

She glanced to the side while she took another sip, watching as he placed a box from beneath his desk into his lap, fingers thrumming the lid—he only did that when he was roused by a discovery. Her brow quirked, setting her cup down.

“I actually called you here for another purpose besides poetry.”

"I’m listening," she said, eyes darting to the box every so often. He lifted the lid, not allowing her to see the contents inside, before placing two books of varying size and composition on the desk near her. "I have a small gift for you."

"Books?" She stared at them, examining the torn covers that had been shredded by years of use. Most of the novels that she had received from him had been entirely new and typically in mint condition, so it was strange to be given something so worn—not that she minded; a good book is a good book. Neither of these books had titles, or rather, they did, but they had been heavily smudged to the point of being unrecognizable.

"Hmmm, something of that sort," he mused, pushing them closer to her with his fingers. She stared at the cover of the large book, the pages underneath it bulking with plastic sleeves that threatened to slip off from the sides—a photo album. Her eyes struck him suspiciously, but he only flicked at cover with his hand, an expression she could only pin as self-satisfied on his face. Grime lathered the plastic, and the photos inside were unrecognizable from the fingerprint smudges and dirt. With an impatient groan, she yanked one of the photographs out, examining it with narrowed eyes.

But her hands quaked.

Those familiar eyes stared back at her, distant. The eyes that she could never forget. She would've mistaken the person in the photograph for herself if not for the foreign background and people. It was her mother, smiling towards the camera as she clung to someone's arm. Without a second thought, (Name) began to take out more photos, creating a timeline of her mother's life through each one. Her hand brushed against some bulking ink on the back of one, turning it—Иоланта (7-years-old). Her mother's name. She had never realized it, but she didn't even know her mother's own name. She ignored the tears that splattered against the protective plastic, setting the book to the side as her hands curled under the smaller, accompanying book that had been waiting patiently for her eyes.

The pages were worn, edges shriveled by water damage, and borders pasted with decorative newspaper—the handwriting may not have been familiar to her, but the stories that coated the pages on the inside were. Not a space had been left unfilled, beautiful cursive building elaborate plots that jumped between action to romance. Each was a somewhat more mature version of childhood tales that had been whispered into her ear during the dead of night, passed between one mind to another. Her mother had been the one to open her to a world beyond reality, existing in thought and illustrated on paper. And then she remembered one line from her mother's stories—the dead may not be able to speak in their silent slumber, but they could be immortalized by the hearts that they touched and the minds that they changed. She had become so much like her mother in spite of the separate life she had led, if only because of the kindness and compassion her mother had demonstrated that stood the test of worn-down memory. In those letters, a connection was found—her heart was not filled, but she felt comfort in the space, knowing the longing was only bittersweet.

And finally, she looked up at Fyodor between her wet lashes, only to find him beholding her with such fondness, such adoration. The smallest outline of wrinkles marred the pale skin around his eyes, the corners of his lips upturned without a hint of malice or venom. In her peace, he had found his own—and maybe one day, she could talk with him about his own mother, his parents. She could be the one to care for him, to hold him tight. To remind him that she would be his sanctuary for as long as he was hers.

"I was able to locate a distant aunt of yours. She wanted you to have these." He settled the box onto the desk with a thunk, lifting the lid to show an abundance of additional albums and journals nestled between wrapping, even a few pieces of cloth peaking out from the bottom.

"You'll have a lot to go through, so—" He stilled, his heart pumping as a wail broke his train of speech, (Name) frantically rubbing her eyes as her chest began to heave in between sobs. His face tightened, abandoning the box to settle a hand on her back. “Любимая—”

The first sense he could register was smell, the scent of flowers enveloping his body, recognizing a familiar body wash. The next sense was sight, a bundle of hair blocking his vision as he thought he had momentarily suffocated. And the last was touch, a nose nuzzling in his neck, tight arms wrapping around him as if he would disappear at any minute.

“Cпасибо тебе, спасибо тебе, спасибо тебе,” she whispered weakly, practically in his lap.

His hands floated around her waist before he sighed, pulling her into his arms as he settled her fully on his lap. A finger traced her hairline, followed by scattered, drawn-out kisses that marked a path from the center of her forehead to her temple.

"There is no need to thank me, любимая моя. I am only giving you the truth you deserve."

He traced circles into her waist, embracing the feeling of her so close to him, skin-to-skin, as they held on tight. The rest of the evening was spent whispering between the flips of pages by candlelight, (Name)'s hushed voice narrating tales from her youth while Fyodor watched in amusement—perfect reflections of the people they had once been and outlines for the people they would become.

ты маленькая сучка! ты должен был сгореть вместе с ней! = you little bitch! you should have burned with her! вам повезло видеть солнце каждое утро! = you are lucky to see the sun every morning! коля = kolya никогда не повышай на меня тон! = never raise your voice at me! мышь = mouse федечка = fedechka любимая (моя) = my darling ты дышишь только потому, что я позволяю тебе это делать! = you only breathe because i allow you to! федя = fedya отец = father п-пожа́луйста, бо́г, нет = p-please, god, no. я здесь, моя милая. я здесь с тобой = i'm here with you, my dear. i'm here with you. свои рождение было благословением, моя дорогая = your birth was a blessing, my dear. сожалеть о своем рождении означало бы бросить вызов eго воле = to regret your birth would be to defy his will. милая = dear солнышко = sunshine иоланта = Iolanta спасибо тебе, спасибо тебе, спасибо тебе = thank you, thank you, thank you.

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