#so he tends to just assume everything is to be taken at face value. )

[charmonys]

i  feel  like  sunday  is  the  type  of  person  who  would  deeply  appreciate  tone  indicators  when  texting  because  it  helps  compensate  for  the  lack  of  an  audio  element.

[csuitebitches]

The Charisma Myth: things that I liked

Three quick tips to gain an instant charisma boost in conversation:

Lower the intonation of your voice at the end of your sentences. Reduce how quickly and how often you nod.

Pause for two full seconds before you speak.

The very next time you’re in a conversation, try to regularly check whether your mind is fully engaged or whether it is wandering elsewhere (including preparing your next sentence).

Expensive clothing leads us to assume wealth, friendly body language leads us to assume good intentions, a confident posture leads us to assume the person has something to be confident about. In essence, people will tend to accept whatever you project.

when you can project both power and warmth together, you really maximize your personal charisma potential.

charismatic behaviors must originate in your mind. Knowing how to skillfully handle mental discomfort is even more important than knowing how to handle physical discomfort. Anxiety is a serious drawback to charisma. First, it impacts our internal state: quite obviously, it’s hard to be fully present while you’re feeling anxious. Anxiety can also lower our confidence. Anxiety, low presence, and low confidence can show up directly in our body language, as well as reduce our ability to emanate warmth.

 The single most effective technique I’ve found to alleviate the discomfort of uncertainty is the responsibility transfer. Pick an entity—God, Fate, the Universe, whatever may best suit your beliefs—that you could imagine as benevolent. Imagine lifting the weight of everything you’re concerned about—this meeting, this interaction, this day—off your shoulders and placing it on the shoulders of whichever entity you’ve chosen. They’re in charge now. Visually lift everything off your shoulders and feel the difference as you are now no longer responsible for the outcome of any of these things. Everything is taken care of. You can sit back, relax, and enjoy whatever good you can find along the way.

Golfer Jack Nicklaus said that he never hit a shot, even during practice, without visualizing it first. For decades, professional athletes have considered visualization an essential tool, often spending hours visualizing their victory, telling their mind just what they want their body to achieve.

“There is good evidence that imagining oneself performing an activity activates parts of the brain that are used in actually performing the activity,” Professor Stephen Kosslyn, director of Stanford’s Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, wrote me. Visualization can even physically alter the brain structure: repeated experiments have shown that simply imagining yourself playing the piano with sufficient repetition leads to a detectable and measurable change in the motor cortex of the brain.

Silvia recently confided that visualization is one of the secrets to her success. Before key meetings, she’ll imagine “the smiles on their faces because they liked me and they are confident about the value I’m bringing them. I’ll imagine as much detail as I can, even seeing the wrinkles around their eyes as they’re smiling.” She visualizes the whole interaction, all the way through to the firm handshakes that close the meeting, sealing the deal.

A twenty-second hug is enough to send oxytocin coursing through your veins, and that you can achieve the same effect just by imagining the hug. So the next time you’re feeling anxious, you might want to imagine being wrapped up in a great big hug from someone you care about.

Self-confidence is our belief in our ability to do or to learn how to do something.

Self-esteem is how much we approve of or value ourselves. It’s often a comparison-based evaluation (whether measured against other people or against our own internal standards for approval).

Self-compassion is how much warmth we can have for ourselves, especially when we’re going through a difficult experience.

It’s quite possible for people to have high self-confidence but low self-esteem and very low self-compassion.

Types of charisma:

Focus: Focus charisma requires, of course, the ability to focus and be truly present. Good listening skills are nonnegotiable, as is a certain degree of patience. To develop focus charisma, cultivate your ability to be present.

Visionary charisma makes others feel inspired; it makes us believe. It can be remarkably effective even though it won’t necessarily make people like you. We assess visionary charisma primarily through demeanor, which includes body language and behavior. Due to the fact that people tend to accept whatever you project, if you seem inspired, they will assume you have something to be inspired about.

kindness charisma comes entirely from body language—specifically your face, and even more specifically your eyes. Kindness charisma is primarily based on warmth. It connects with people’s hearts, and makes them feel welcomed, cherished, embraced, and, most of all, completely accepted.

Authority charisma is primarily based on a perception of power: the belief that this person has the power to affect our world. We evaluate someone’s authority charisma through four indicators: body language, appearance, title, and the reactions of others. you’ll need to learn how to “take up space” with your posture, reduce nonverbal reassurances (such as excessive nodding), and avoid fidgeting. You may need to speak less, to speak more slowly, to know how and when to pause your sentences, or how to modulate your intonation. Look expensive. 

Avoid holding a drink in your right hand, especially if it’s a cold drink, as the condensation will make your hand feel cold and clammy. Before shaking someone’s hand, whether you are a man or a woman, rise if you’re seated. And keep your hands out of your pockets: visible hands make you look more open and honest. Make sure to use plenty of eye contact, and smile warmly but briefly: too much smiling could make you appear overeager. Keep your head straight, without tilting it in any way, and face the person.

Ask people open ended questions, focus on questions that will likely elicit positive emotions. With your questions, you have the power to lead the conversation in the direction you want. In fact, even when you’re speaking, the one word that should pop up most often in your conversation is not I but you. Instead of saying “I read a great article on that subject in the New York Times,” try “You might enjoy the recent New York Times article on the subject.” Or simply insert “You know...” before any sentence to make them instantly perk up and pay attention.

Another way to exit a conversation with grace is to offer something of value:

Information: an article, book, or Web site you think might be of use to them A connection: someone they ought to meet whom you know and can introduce them to

Visibility: an organization you belong to, where you could invite them to speak

Recognition: an award you think they should be nominated for

When someone has spoken, see if you can let your facial expression react first, showing that you’re absorbing what they’ve just said and giving their brilliant statement the consideration it deserves. Only then, after about two seconds, do you answer. The sequence goes like this:

They finish their sentence

Your face absorbs

Your face reacts

Then, and only then, you answer

The next time you’re given a compliment, the following steps will help you skillfully handle the moment:

1. Stop.

2. Absorb the compliment.

3. Let that second of absorption show on your face. Show the person that they’ve had an impact.

4. Thank them. Saying “Thank you very much” is enough, but you can take it a step further by thanking them for their thoughtfulness or telling them that they’ve made your day.

It’s not just metaphors that can paint the wrong picture. Some common phrases can have the same effect. When you tell someone, “No problem,” “Don’t worry,” or “Don’t hesitate to call,” for example, there’s a chance their brain will remember “problem,” “worry,” or “hesitate” instead of your desire to support them. To counter this negative effect, use phrases like “We’ll take care of it” or “Please feel free to call anytime.”

You can deliver value to others in multiple ways:

Entertainment: Make your e-mail or meeting enjoyable.

Information: Give interesting or informative content that they can use. 

Good feelings: Find ways to make them feel important or good about themselves. 

The longer you speak, the higher the price you’re making them pay, so the higher the value ought to be. 

If your goal is to communicate power, set the pitch, tone, volume, and tempo of your voice in the following ways:

Pitch and tone: The lower, more resonant, and more baritone your voice, the more impact it will have.

Volume: One of the first things an actor learns to do on stage is to project his voice, which means gaining the ability to modulate its volume and aim it in such a targeted way that specific portions of the audience can hear it, even from afar. One classic exercise to hone your projection skills is to imagine that your words are arrows. As you speak, aim them at different groups of listeners.

Tempo: A slow, measured tempo with frequent pauses conveys confidence.

To emanate vocal warmth, you need to do only one thing: smile, or even just imagine smiling.

Charismatic people are known to be more “contagious”; they have a strong ability to transmit their emotions to others.

The most effective and credible compliments are those that are both personal and specific. For instance, instead of “Great job,” you could say, “You did a great job,” or, better yet, “The way you kept your calm when that client became obnoxious was impressive.”

Here’s one specific—and surprisingly effective—recommendation for phone charisma, courtesy of author Leil Lowndes: Do not answer the phone in a warm or friendly manner. Instead, answer crisply and professionally. Then, only after you hear who is calling, let warmth or even enthusiasm pour forth in your voice. This simple technique is an easy and effective way to make people feel special. I recommend it to all my business clients whose companies have a strong customer service component. The gains in customer satisfaction are impressive.

Charisma takes practice. Steve Jobs, who appeared so masterful on stage, was known to rehearse important presentations relentlessly.

Retain at least a certain measure of equanimity. Most charismatic leaders are known for their ability to remain (or appear) calm even in the midst of turbulent circumstances.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

what do you think Jack's flaws are? I believe that one of them is that he tends to idealize people like Leona he doesn't see the unpleasant sides of people.

Real quick, wanted to thank @/tinyfantasminha for taking the time to share their thoughts with me + give me some ideas on where to look for supplemental Jack lore ^^

I won't be going out of my way to make a list of all his flaws due to the reasons cited in this post. However, I'm going to discuss the idea posed by this anon. I don't know if I'd phrase it as "[Jack] doesn't see the unpleasant sides of people". I actually think the contrary: Jack is often suspicious and unwilling to trust others. This is particularly true for Octavinelle (see: book 3, Jack Labwear vignettes, etc.), but also extends to the general student populace, as he prefers to work alone. Jack does have more leniency towards his Savanaclaw senpais, Ruggie and especially Leona, but they're exceptions and not the rule. I think Jack would ideally like to have honorable senpai to look up to, but ideals are very different than what life handed him. Additionally, I don't think Jack has a habit of idealizing (like Kalim or Silver, who are oblivious to red flags and/or choose to think the best of their peers) or idolizing others (like Sebek does Malleus), at least not to the same extremes as some of his classmates do.

Back to Jack’s feelings about his Savanaclaw senpai for a moment. He first saw Leona on TV before ever meeting the guy, so it’s very possible that Jack formed a parasocial attachment to him and projected his own just ideals onto this stranger. That’s not uncommon or unexpected behavior for a preteen or teenager, who’s still trying to get a sense for their own identity and their place in the world. When he actually meets Leona, Jack is then taken aback by reality being totally different than his expectations.

Though Jack claims to operate as a lone wolf, he respects and adheres to pact hierarchy very strictly. In his own dorm uniform vignettes, he expresses that he believes Ruggie is Savanaclaw’s second-in-command and goes out of his way to try and earn Ruggie’s trust. Even when Ruggie says it’s annoying or acts suspicious of his junior, Jack persists like a wolf on the hunt. And that’s the thing about Jack: he is stubborn, and that can lead to problems, especially if others are involved. In his attempts to help out Ruggie, he’s being overbearing. By trying to do everything on his own, he’s potentially shouldering more work and shutting his peers out. That’s part of Jack’s brand of NRC pride—all the students have it to some degree.

Jack’s real fatal flaw is that he’s too judgmental. I already mentioned earlier how he tends to be very suspicious of others, but Jack also has a tendency to see things “as they are” and is inflexible with his thinking. Like… he sees things as very face value. He sees Leona ordering Savanaclaw mobs to injure other students? Automatically goes, “that’s wrong!!” based on his own moral compass, doesn’t ask himself “why might they be doing this?”. He also assumes Leona is acting out of cowardice or just isn’t “trying hard enough”. This is a behavior Jack exhibits in other situations too. For example, he laughs when Leona talks about the honorable lessons he’s supposed to grant to the Sunset Warriors (implying he doesn’t see Leona as honorable). He calls Vil an “old man” when everyone returns from S.T.Y.X. He expresses surprise when people he thought were twigs at a glance (Silver, Azul, etc.) are actually muscular or are at least making efforts to bulk up. This all makes Jack come off as blunt or, at worst (unintentionally) callous or insensitive.

I know this is technically a post about Jack’s flaws, but I think it’s pretty admirable that he consistently apologizes when he’s wrong and tries to learn or to make up for it. He willing worked in the Mostro Lounge to replace Jade’s wood ear mushroom that he accidentally disposed of (Labwear vignettes). He realizes townsfolk find him physically intimidating so he tries to take customer service training to be friendlier (Port Wear vignettes). He tries to protect child!Vil but learns that Vil can protect himself. There are countless other examples—and for a first year, he is remarkably mature in genuinely owning up to his mistakes and striving to be better next time.

I guess I’ll leave you with that ^^ just so we can end this post positively!

[hauntdoesthings]

let's talk about: Husk

Husk is a character that I see a lot of love for, but not a lot of discussion about, at least not the same way we talk about Angel Dust or Alastor, so I'd like to start the conversation since I've noticed certain details about him during a rewatch.

How He Socializes

Husk puts it best himself; "Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender." He knows more about everyone than anyone else, whether they tell him or not. Not only is he the one people turn to vent to at their lowest, he has incredible skill at reading others. It's most likely something he picked up as a gambler, but we can see he still utilizes it to read the other residents, like knowing Angel shouldn't be getting drunk after his long shift and realizing when he's masking right afterwards.

On the other hand, reading people like this doesn't seem to fit with his character in earlier episodes. In the first episodes, Husk makes it very clear he doesn't want to at the hotel and by extension doesn't want to be around the residents. His first line is literally about how he's forced to be there and pretty much all of his screen time is spent being anywhere from unfriendly to outright aggressive towards the rest of the cast. He surely doesn't care enough to read people to get closer to them, so why does he? I believe it's either a subconscious behavior or possibly as a defensive measure. Like in a poker game, he reads his "opponents" to stay ahead of them while keeping his own cards close to his chest.

It's already clear Husk values his boundaries when watching his earlier interactions with Angel, but this combined with other behaviors makes me think he's a very defensive person in general. His body language is constantly closed off, often crossing his arms or physically being separated from others behind the bar. This could just be indicative of his surly personality, but there is a specific behavior makes me think more of it. During my rewatch for this post, I realized Husk has a tendency to hug himself during certain moments of discomfort, like the entire first trust exercise in episode 3(more on that later), and during his first argument with Angel in episode 4, he actually shields himself with his wings when AD insults him before leaving.

Speaking of, episode 4 is really a great example of how Husk view others, especially since this is when his mindset finally shifts.

It's easy to see how dismissive Husk is of AD during this episode, with his constant reiterations of how "fake" he is and even saying that he'll be fine after running out despite knowing that he's had a hard night. Looking a little closer at his mannerisms though, it's clear that he cares more than he wants to let on. He insults the scripts and setting of AD's video rather than his acting and even says that that's specifically what Angel tends to complain about. Even when Valentino sudden calls up AD, Husk's face is more upset than "I told ya so." He realizes that Angel is unhappy with his work, but at the same time, he doesn't think too deeply about it.

Husk assumes that because everyone tends to spills their guts to him while drinking, he knows all he needs to about them, and he's correct to a certain degree; however, despite everything he knows, he doesn't appear to think too deeply beyond what he can easily glean. Charlie wants to help others so she doesn't have to help herself, Vaggie projects her self-hatred and high standards onto those around her, and Angel bullshits his way through everything because he's an actor who doesn't know how to be real. Husk realizes these things easily, but not why the others are this way, and it especially shows during his confrontation with AD, as when Angel finally snaps and reveals his true motives, Husk is visually taken aback.

He's so used to knowing and analyzing people easily that this sudden, truly heartfelt moment from Angel makes him rethink how he's been going about their interactions, how he's been thinking of him this whole time. And this is the moment that makes him decide to open up about his own past. Whether it was seeing that common thread between himself and Angel or possibly a realization that he won't accept help from someone who doesn't offer any input of their own, this is the first time we really see him offer any of his private, personal life, and afterwards, there's an obvious shift in how he treats Angel and everyone else.

"Loser Baby" is the first time we see Husk willingly initiate physical contact onscreen when he's always be visibly tense and uncomfortable at even most mentions of it, though most of that was AD being suggestive so it could be an issue with sexual intimacy than physical. He's comfortable enough in episode 6 to go clubbing with the group and genuinely looks like he's enjoying himself, especially compared to when he went to keep an eye on Angel in episode 4, even helping look out for Niffty when needed and supporting Angel after standing up to Valentino. In the lead-up to the Extermination, there's not a single insinuation that he would've left the hotel, choice or not, and he is with the rest of the cast during all the important moments of the battle, from Sir Pentious' death to the ending number. Even when Alastor is presumed dead, even if he assumed Alastor wasn't really gone, Husk could've easily run off during his absence, but he sticks around to help rebuild, undeniably of his volition, wanting to help his friends and possible family.

That note also brings me to something I've really been wanting to talk about:

Husk and Alastor

Unless we see a shift or get new knowledge about Nifty, Alastor and Husk have a really unique relationship both in theory and as evidenced. Husk is a former Overlord, presumably from before Alastor's rise if he was willing to bet his soul in a game with him. This opens up a lot of questions for me, mainly about what their bet entailed, what led Husk to making it in the first place, and if there's a certain respect between them. Yes, Alastor refers to Husk as his "pet," but Husk also comes to him with his suspicions about Mimsy and it can almost be read as worry. Alastor even responds that "it's nothing [he] can't handle." There has to be a certain level of trust for someone to bring up "hey, that friend you've known for decades only ever comes to you when they need something" and have their concerns taken seriously, even if Alastor's care for others is negligible at best. This whole scene seems to be showing that despite their deal, their past as equals has not been totally forgotten by either of them, leading to a certain understanding of each other that neither, particularly Alastor, have had with anyone else up until now.

The biggest reason I bring their relationship up though is Alastor's deal. With all we've seen, I believe Husk is the one character besides Alastor himself and whoever the other party is that knows about the deal and its possible connection to Alastor's disappearance.

For one, Husk is the one that confirms Alastor is "on a leash" in the first place, and he shows no surprise that Husk knows. Alastor is definitely not the kind of person to let anyone know about something like that no matter how close they are, so this makes me think either Husk had to know or that he was possibly there during the deal.

It also stands out to me the specific phrasing that Husk and Alastor use during the scene.

"You've been gone a long time, and it's not like anybody knows why." "They don't need to know!"

This kind of phrasing makes it feel like Husk is specifically being excluded from that group by both himself and Alastor. If it's true that Alastor's deal is the reason he disappeared, then Husk knowing about both the deal and why Alastor's been gone lines up perfectly. Maybe Husk will be the one to reveal more about this to the audience or even the rest of the cast later on, but it's clear that he does know more than anyone not directly involved and at this moment is the most likely to talk about it, assuming Alastor doesn't immediately tear him a new one for it.

Little Details

Last section, I promise. This is just some little details I noticed while rewatching for this that didn't really fit in anywhere else and questions/speculation about them.

Remember how I mentioned Husk hugging himself earlier? The first time I noticed this was during episode 3 when, after seeing the stage, he declares "I'm not about to put on some show for these fucking chumps." Not sure how much of everyone's backstory is still canon, but it was stated that Husk was a magician during his life, so maybe this is hinting that he has some stage-related baggage?

Also during episode 3, we see Husk sneak down the stairs before Vaggie can toss him off the roof in the warzone, and since he didn't come back up with Angel and Pentious, he presumably left before they made it out. However, at the end of the episode, he's laughing with everyone over the events of it. He comments that SP can "take a beating like a champ" and "you did ok, new kid," so was he just pretending like he was there or did he just hang out on the sidelines and watch? Husk wtf?

Husk specifically says that AD's video is "not a very convincing interrogation scene." Does Husk have experience?

When the bartender pours drinks for the gangster getting Angel a refill, Husk immediately watches the drinks themselves, before the guy even reaches for that little bottle. He's a bartender, he's probably seen too many people have their drinks fucked with to the point it's just an instinct now.

He was ready to square tf up when Valentino hit Angel, but waited until Angel walked away instead of jumping in like in episode 4. He really does trust him to take care of himself and was ready to back up whatever he did.

During "The Show Must Go On," it's minor, but Husk actually tucks his wings around the group hug and it's aasfjkdsajfd

For those who've made it this far, thank you so much for listening to my overthinking and ramblings. Please feel free to ask about anything incoherent, add on to anything, or point out things I missed, I'd just really love to get the discussion started on some of these things!

[tokiwarcube]

can we get general relationship hcs for toki please 🫶

Would you believe me if I told you all that Toki is actually one of my favorite boys? Thank you for your patience!

Nathan HERE ; Pickles HERE ; Skwisgaar HERE ; Murderface HERE ; Charles HERE

Toki wants little more to love and be loved in turn. Despite his notably cold upbringing, he still yearns for that “perfect” relationship. Although surprisingly, Toki doesn’t actually fall all that fast! He really values your friendship, and while he does recognize how pretty and funny you are, he’s not quick to fall. But when he does? Oh, he falls hard. He has to be held back from proposing a week after he realizes how much he really likes you.

When he does decide he wants to pursue a relationship with you, he is refreshingly plain in his intentions. He’s probably the only member of Dethklok who won’t act like a complete dumbass to try and get your attention… assuming he doesn’t take the advice from his bandmates, that is.

The media loves to focus on the cutesy parts of his personality, but nobody ever really hones in on just how much he likes to be in control. It’s a very subtle thing, but it absolutely bleeds through in the romantic sense. It starts with smaller things, like planning dates… and then guiding you through crowds… and then subtly encouraging you to wear his clothes out of the house, and wow, how long have you been staring at him?

He’s overshadowed by Skwisgaar in a lot of sects, but it certainly doesn’t feel like that with you. He has a very special way of commanding your attention, and he uses that to fluster. Often. He lives for it, really.

That’s not to say that there isn’t an equal relationship — you’re just as much of a cornerstone in his life. You've had many a call from Charles, asking you to please get Toki into the studio. And you’re the first person Toki goes to for… most everything! Whether it’s to share a story about a cat he saw on the street, or to nestle himself in your arms after a hard day, you’re always on his mind. He’s nothing if not putty in your hands.

He has so many nicknames for you, many of which are tooth-rottingly sweet. He thinks they’re adorable, and even though the guys rib the hell out of him for it, he refuses to stop using them.

His camera roll all but belongs to you, with how many stolen photos he’s taken. His lockscreen seems to change every other day — he can never seem to choose a favorite!

He’s very clingy in his sleep — part of it has to do with the nightmares that plague him, and he can’t help but subconsciously grip you tighter. It’s usually the only way you’ll know he’s having a nightmare… until he wakes up, stark still, breath caught in his chest. Call to him softly, let him know you’re there, that he’s safe. He won’t say anything, he never does… but eventually he’ll press his face into your chest, and he breathes.

It’s a 50/50 on whether or not he remembers the details in the morning, but he never wants to talk about it, regardless. His past is a scary thing that, in his mind, is left untouched and forgotten. Working through it is hard.

But again, in the morning, all is well. He’s a strong man, and despite the fact that he’s the one curled up in your arms, he imparts this very deep feeling of safety. Just, you know, don’t try to get up before him. He will whine, and he will use his strength to his advantage.

On that note, you’re such a critical part of his morning routine. Mornings (or I suppose afternoons is a better descriptor) are a sacred time for the two of you — hazy and sweet. Although without you, he tends to miss little parts of his upkeep — having you there keeps him on track. Brushing his hair in the morning is just one small part of that routine, and sure, it’s a little thing… but it’s the tenderness that really gets to him. And of course, you start the day without a good morning kiss.

He’s just as clingy while cuddling, too. He loves resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat while you card your fingers through his hair. He’s chatty, too — he’ll talk about anything and everything, occasionally peering up at you to watch you respond. Sometimes he’ll press quick little kisses to your collarbone while you speak too, just because he can.

Needless to say, he’d be a wreck without you on tour, if for whatever reason you couldn’t come along. He’d beg to call whenever you’re free — even if that means the makeup crew has to work around his phone 5 minutes before the show starts.

Please take him to an animal shelter — if you only ever surprise him with one date, let it be a shelter date. With the life he lives (and the curse that seems to have woven its way into his bones), he can’t necessarily have a cat of his own… but that doesn’t mean he can’t make friends with them!

This man gets so, so excited if you engage in his interests with him. He’s so used to being talked down to, being told that his interests are childish or “cute,” so having someone just as excited? Just as passionate? He’s over the moon.

He’s the type to scrapbook all the little moments in your relationship. Saved receipts from your first dinner together; pulled pop-tabs from the drink you shared on a night in; spare tokens from the arcade… it all stays in a little wooden box he keeps on his nightstand. He also regularly gets all of his photos developed, so he can properly glue and press them into his memory book.

[hunter-sylvester]

The quiet sexual assault symbolism in Metal Lords.

[TW] Discussion of SA, SA aftermath, and SA symbolism.

Every time I've written about these scenes I've felt like I had to hold back. But fuck it, right? I was inspired by this ask to actually share a bit more of my thoughts on the topic.

I can't overstate that I don't think any of this was intentional. I don't believe the scene was ever supposed display any more explicit SA, I think it's all purely accidental. Which, if you ask me, tends to be where the best emotional representation happens.

There's two scenes that unintentionally mirror the typical portrayal of sexual assault and its emotional aftermath. The scene where Skip attacks Hunter, cutting a chunk of his hair off. And the following scene where Hunter shaves the side of his head in his bedroom.

How many times have we seen female characters cut their hair after an abusive relationship or after being assaulted? And how many of us, regardless of gender, have done the same? Hacking away at our hair with blunt scissors and tears in our eyes. Standing over the bathroom sink trying to somehow cut out the memory.

And we know the likely "why" to the typical post-trauma haircut. It's looking in the mirror and seeing something other than the person that endured the trauma. It's taking back control over our bodies.

Before the attack even happens, Hunter's been slowly losing the control that he at least thought he had. Control over himself, his surroundings, and not to mention: Kevin. Kevin's pursuit of Emily creates an important crack in Hunter's perception of their relationship. And is evidence of the lack of control he really has over it.

Everything about the attack screams accidental SA metaphor. He's ambushed by several guys, overpowered, "gagged." A piece of him is taken, only to be discarded. Because it was never about the thing that's taken, only that it's violently ripped away. And afterwards he's left writhing on the floor. Eyes wide in disbelief. Trying to process what just happened to him.

That scene in isolation already has this theme thoroughly woven into it, but I think it's really hammered home in the one that follows.

Of course, Kevin is there with him. The person he feels most comfortable around. The person he needs now more than ever.

Not only does Hunter directly call Skip's coach a rapist before lamenting that when Skip & his friends come back they'll "ass-rape" him. (Again, I don't think that's a literal accusation, but the fact that that's where his mind went in at the very least notable.)

More importantly: he blames himself.

Kevin justly points out that Hunter didn't "get them suspended." They got themselves suspended by attacking Hunter. But he pushes back. Pointing out that he flicked Skip in the face first.

Let's not let it slide how much of a batshit escalation Skip's actions are. Even if we take everything entirely at face value, Skip is fucking unhinged. As most bullies are.

The fact that Hunter flicked Skip in the face in no way justifies him literally hacking off a chuck of Hunter's hair. But the fact that Hunter tries to justify it as being his fault brings it that much closer to the SA symbolism. It's painfully common for us to assume we must have done something to warrant the abuse we face. That we made the fatal mistake that led to it all, rather than it being a decision made by our attackers.

Obviously, at face value, Hunter shaving the side of his head is a logical way to deal with a chunk of his hair being cut off. It's that or cutting all of his hair off. Part of me feels like that's what Skip would have been hoping for. So choosing the shaved side instead feels like a subtle(ish) "fuck you" in and of itself. It's Hunter reclaiming his hair.

It's also that step towards regaining control. It's destruction on Hunter's own terms. (cough see the fucking jacket post cough) (and for that matter my other haircut post)

It's removing Skips fingerprints in favor of the scratch-marks of Hunter's own nails. Because by fuck is the stinging those leave preferable over the dull aching memory of Skip's hands on him.

For a split second we see him realize even a sliver of the impact of it all. When he's no longer able to distract himself by focusing purely on the act of shaving his head, he can't ignore what's directly staring back at him. That he's not the same as he was anymore. He's a different Hunter from the one that woke up that morning. He's been defiled. Destroyed. Partly by his own hand. Which doesn't exactly dull the sting of it but it at least makes it his. At least he has ownership over his damage. At least some of it's on his terms.

Of course the thing he turns to to snap himself out of this is to seek Kevin's approval.

A plea, perhaps. Tell me I'm not as broken as I feel. Tell me I'm not completely destroyed. Tell me I'm going to come out the other end of this. Tell me you still love me.

(I'm aware this scene is played relatively lighthearted, and that I'm in fact insane. Water is also wet.)

I think that's all I have on this for now. Might add more later idk

[tothebestofmyabilities]

@seemoreseymoursbay day 3! OC day

So in the episode 'Bad Tina' Zeke mentions that his dads girlfriend just had a baby, assuming that the dads gf he talks about in early seasons is Cheryl his step mom and that the father of that baby is Zekes dad we can also assume that Zeke has a very young half sibling. And I did go ahead and assume all those things so this is Zekes baby sister Cherish (Cherry for short).

Used the prompt wonder wharf

Im gonna talk some more about her under the cut bc im sure that will devolve into infodumping zeke lore/headcanons and i dont want anyone to get stuck scrolling past a wall of text

Interestingly she's the only oc i have that's part of a different piece of media rather than one of my own projects.

She's a spunky little toddler for sure she's always got tons of energy, she's extremely confident and fearless constantly running off when she sees something that excites her or to ask strangers questions. She has a big sweet tooth but also loves spicy foods, off the top of my head I don't think its been discussed in canon where Zeke is from originally but recently I've been thinking of him and his bio mom as being from louisiana (projection on my part my mom is from louisiana and bc I like Zeke as a chef and the food there is soo good) I love the idea that his mom taught him to cook the local dishes and that he makes them for Cherry. She dresses in a chaotic mix of her own love of bright, clashing rainbow colors and dingey hand-me-downs from Zekes childhood and from their other cousins. I definitely think Zeke has adhd and Cherry does as well.

I tend to draw her/think of her around age 2 1/2- 3 (so when zeke is 16ish) but in canon time she'd still be a newborn. I love the idea of Zeke with a young sibling he's portrayed in the show as being super caring, protective of and loyal to the people be cares about, and good with younger kids all of which read as big brother qualities to me and he's also mentioned wanting siblings hes closer too. (He mentioned having a 44 year old brother in Presto Tina-o but also has said his bio mom was pregnant with him at her prom which is probably just a continuity error with his throway lines but taken at face value makes his dad out to be a gross old creep which is my personal headcanon idk if there's anyone out there who are big fans of Zeke's dad and step mom but my headcanons do not paint them in a nice light so beware of that)

Based on pretty much everything Zeke has ever said about his family I get the impression that the adults in his life are pretty neglectful and irresponsible and definitely not super present (he rarely ever speaks about his dad I hc him having a job that keeps him away from the family most of the time probably something like trucking and Zeke has mentioned Cheryl being an alcoholic I also hc her as much younger than the dad maybe she's a bartender? I definitely see her having a nightlife kind of job also for reference picture her as a redhead with blue eyes and a lot of tattoos that's where cherry gets her eyes and freckles)

I believe with Cherry a lot of parenting responsibilities would be placed on Zeke and while i think he has qualities that are really well suited to that the parentification of an older sibling is not ok and would negatively impact him, I like the idea of him applying for a job at Bob's Burgers bc he needs a more stable way to provide financially than doing odd jobs around town and not only getting a job but also getting a support system and adults who care about him and his sister and their wellbeing. I think Bob would take Zeke under his wing and help him make himself and his education a priority (the belchers helping out with Cherry when they can so he can focus more on school and extra curriculars) and help him get into a culinary school after graduation. Linda would fall completely in love with her (we know how much she loves babies) and basically treat Cherry like she's her own grandbaby. They all babysit her when needed but Louise is her favorite babysitter and maybe person also she really looks up to Louise and likes to imitate her fashion style and the way she speaks, Louise would pretend that this annoys her but not so secretly finds it adorable.

Anyways clearly i could go on and on but ill just cut myself off there hope y'all like her!

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟙𝟞

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

↳ Sitting on the cusp of an irreversible decision, you effectively disappear, but your plans of doing so are thwarted by a couple of unexpected visitors showing up on your doorstep.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [7,4k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

Thankfully, before the burden drives you mad, Woori's lips part slowly—no words spoken at first—and then eventually she says with the firmest resolution: "Are you insane?"

Upon returning to Seoul, you begin biding your time.

Emotions were running high when you said those words, and though they felt utterly truthful in the moment, you know yourself well enough to acknowledge the fact that they cannot simply be taken at face value, as they are. Not after that, not after everything you had only just come to discover.

Two days before MVNE's comeback showcase, you all but disappear.

An avalanche of calls, text messages and emails begin to cascade sooner than you had really anticipated. Suppose you thought it might take longer for people to realize that your being gone is not just a short skip off to the local cafe or the convenience store across the street. The majority of your belongings still reside in the dorm room that you've done your best to make your home—but the essentials are gone, and it is obvious enough to anyone with a mind to notice.

No time is wasted from the company's side, and with a cup of coffee in hand, you laugh to yourself as you read over the announcement of your alleged 'illness.'

They don't have any information about your whereabouts or the reasoning behind all of this, so they must err on the side of assuming that no conclusion on the matter is going to be reached in time for the showcase. You come to learn that you have 'flu-like symptoms' and your 'worsening condition' is of the utmost importance to all of them. Thus, you will be sitting out of MVNE promotions indefinitely, and further updates will be communicated at a later point in time.

Rimi's place doesn't feel as soulless now as it did the first time you ventured here.

The home is yours for as long as you need it, with Rimi off in Japan tending to business of her own. It is an excellent getaway spot that you could really only dream of in the event of being a runaway idol unsure of the future of your own career. You'll owe the company a substantial sum of money should you wish to terminate your contract early, you'll let down the rest of the girls, and ultimately; you'll also have failed yourself.

All of this weighs heavily on you, each point to be taken into careful consideration. The money is less of a concern, but the rest of your members are not deserving of as much of a tumultuous debut as they have already ended up in, and regardless of the bumps that have come to pass, success still awaits on the horizon; just out of reach, but close enough that you can see it.

What more could you have really asked for? This sort of debut, in this sort of group is the kind of thing that all aspiring idols pray about. 

And instead, you are here in Pyeongchang-dong running away from it. 

It has been hours since you last looked at your phone, knowing what awaits you there. You wonder if Sunwoo has heard yet—almost certainly he has now with the announcement having gone out—and if anyone knows it's fictitious, it's him.

Realistically, you know you cannot hide forever, and this point is driven home by the loud and untimely sound of someone at the front buzzing in from the intercom.

The sound of it startles you and nearly has you spilling hot liquid all over yourself, but you manage to gather yourself enough to not have to walk away from this with burn marks to accompany whatever humiliation you may face. Still, you turn and stare off towards a door that you cannot quite see from the couch that you've sat on another time before. 

Any of Rimi's friends should know that she is not here, which unfortunately means that any number of yours know that you are. 

Terribly unlucky, but whoever has come all this way is at least owed a conversation on the matter. You cannot run away from this forever, and eventually, the documents will need to be signed should that be the decision that you ultimately come to.

By the time your feet hit the cool marble of the floor, the buzzer is already sounding off again. This time, it is longer; less careful and brief in its alarming. Whoever is waiting on the other side of it has already grown tired of having done so, and through their only line of communication, urging you to hurry up and get this over with.

You rush over to the door, turn on the screen for the camera, and find a face that you had not at all been expecting to find staring back.

The gate crawls back against its track, the front door unlocks, and in only a few seconds time Woori has crossed the path and stands perched up in the doorway right in front of you.

Once the door has shut behind her, she only stares at you. A sort of incredulous look marks her features. Anger, disappointment, sadness… But most of all; concern.

"What's going on?" she asks, words laden with a breathless sigh as if she walked herself the whole way here. You recognize it for precisely what it is, however; a choking worry that like so many other things, this is one that is completely out of her control.

It's too late for this. Too late for all of the things that need to be said, to be said. Still, they must. Finally, the time has come where the weight of all of this can finally be relieved for better or for worse. A suicidal notion of freedom making you feel weightless in the face of any potentially disastrous outcome that awaits.

"We should talk," you say. The truth of it all resting in wait on your tongue. "For real, this time."

You tell Woori everything.

All of it, from the very beginning. You retell the history of how your friendship with Sunwoo began, how it blossomed into something you could have never anticipated, and how he was the one that not only told you about auditions opening up, but pushed you to swallow your reluctance and self-doubt to enter try-outs for yourself.

As you do so, you catch yourself reminiscing in it all as if it's a story about a person that you only vaguely know, not a recounting of your own life as you have lived it. In so many ways, it does not feel as though it is your story to tell. This is the story of another person, someone who perhaps once was you, but has long since splintered off into a person that you no longer see, much less recognize.

Woori holds a shallow glass of wine in her hand as you speak, but you're not sure that she ever sips from it. Her attention is wholly locked on you as you go over every minute detail of everything leading up until this very moment, as it all stands now.

You tell her about Juyeon, you tell her about Rimi and Kokoro, you tell her about Eric. You tell her about Sunwoo—completely truthful and in its entirety.

Heaviest of all, you tell her about the company.

When you finish, there is nothing left inside of you beyond a heavy sigh. The weight of so many lies, so much deception finally feels as though it has been lifted from you. It is something that you are unsure you can bear any longer, and so, you tell her that, too.

Picking at the skin around your nails to the point that it almost bleeds, you look down at the damage you have done. Your lips thin into a shape that so desperately wishes it could be a smile and you say, "So, that's everything. Honestly, this time." Eyes slowly creeping back up to find hers, you nod once and add, "Of course, I understand if you want me to withdraw from the group. I knew that it would probably come to this once it reached this point. It's something I'm willing to do quietly for the best of the rest of the members."

Woori stares at you in silence for a while, and for the most part, her feelings are utterly indecipherable. You do your best to try to pick out pieces of her thoughts that may be lingering on her features. A master of her craft, a completely impossible task. 

Thankfully, before the burden drives you mad, Woori's lips part slowly—no words spoken at first—and then eventually she says with the firmest resolution: "Are you insane?"

Your face drops. "In… In what way?"

"All of them, really," she says. Her arms jostle around her a bit and the untouched wine in her glass sloshes about as she demonstrates her exasperation. "But what I'm referring to specifically this time is about the leaving the group thing. Are you insane? Why would I want you to leave the group over something like this? Might I remind you, this entire time all I have ever been trying to do is minimize that being a potential outcome." Woori leans forward across the couch, squints at you and continues on to say, "You really think I believed that it was just going to be a one-and-done, never gonna happen again and certainly not going to escalate, thing? Of course I knew it was going to continue! I just wanted you to trust me enough to help you… Well, not end up here, I guess."

Your heart sinks hearing the words, and the truth of the matter is that the writing has always been on the wall. Woori's actions line up perfectly in relation to the words that she's saying now; you've never had a reason not to trust her beyond your own unwillingness and terror. You didn't trust her, and you wouldn't trust Sunwoo, either. Two people who have done nothing but extend themselves in an effort to minimize the impact of a decision that you were always going to make.

"Didn't really anticipate you going all scorched earth with Juyeon, though," she adds.

Groaning, you toss yourself back against the couch. "It wasn't exactly thought-out."

"And of course, it didn't scorch the earth, either. That guy really is just absolutely crazy about you."

Looking up towards the ceiling, you give time for the concept of that to truly wash over you. It feels new and old simultaneously and in ways that you find you don't quite have the means to articulate. Something you have known forever and yet, are only just discovering.

"I think he always has been."

"Obviously," Woori says, your obliviousness punctuated by her tone. "He wanted you to audition because he both wanted you to debut and because he wanted to close the otherwise insurmountable distance that would always stand between the two of you. Surely you understand that now."

"That night in Germany… I told him I wanted to quit, that I didn't want to do this anymore. I don't know why but I thought he'd be happy about it. I expected him to be glad because if one of us isn't doing this anymore then at least it's only one person's career that's hanging in the balance, you know?"

Cocking her head slightly, Woori looks at you with a sort of knowing grin pressed into her lips and she says, "But he wasn't happy, was he?"

Slightly shaking your head, you recall the moment as if even now you cannot help but disbelieve the way that it had all played out. "Nope, not at all. Not even a little bit."

"If the cost of being with you means sinking your career then it's not worth it to him," she reasons. To her, you realize, this is all the most simplistic thing in the world. "He'd rather watch from afar and weather the treacherous storm of his feelings forever. Sunwoo isn't a bad guy, you should give him a little bit more credit than that. You've wanted this for years; you've trained and auditioned, suffered and overcome the sort of breakneck-paced schedule from debut to now that a lot of people would not even survive, much less thrive in. You thrive. He's not going to let you throw it away when all it means is that you still have to suck face in the privacy of unmarked cars and hotel rooms. It's not like it would really make that much of a difference to your lives. The two of you will never be holding hands walking down the street."

Your head flops lifelessly to the side so that you can look at Woori once more and you say, "And the rest of MVNE? This is all going to become a situation now. I've disappeared and they're going to start investigating. They're going to find out, it's no longer a matter of if, but when. So, what's going to happen when the meeting is called and they motion for my withdrawal?"

"Then we fight it, stupid." Woori squints at you like she doesn't understand why you're asking the question, at all. "Groups have done it before. If they want to play stupid games then they can win all of the stupid prizes they could ever ask for, and we have nine more where you came from."

The smile that creeps up on your face precludes the tears that otherwise threaten to come. Instead, Woori scoots across the expensive furniture and wraps her strong arms around you in an embrace that you have needed to feel from her for a long, long time. 

She has always been on your side, you only needed to allow her to be.

With a sniffle and the nonchalant wiping of her hand across her eye, Woori flashes you a smile and adds in: "By the way, I have something to confess, myself. You have to promise you won't be mad, though."

Reluctantly, you agree to her terms.

Digging her phone out of her bag, she swipes and taps across the screen for a moment before simply setting it down into her lap and staring at you with a wide and fairly unnerving smirk.

"Wha—"

Before you can get the question out, a loud chime resonates through the entirety of the home. It frightens you, first and foremost, unfamiliar with the intricacies of a place of this magnitude, before eventually coming to realize that you suppose it must be the doorbell. 

Why a house with a gate, buzzer and security at the front of the neighborhood needs a doorbell, you may never really know.

Woori appears unperturbed by this which, when coupled with her alluding statement prior, leads you to believe that whatever—or whoever—this is, is a concoction of her own making. Your being here is not meant to be a reunion of any kind, and so it is not at all ideal that more people come to learn of the fact that you are here. Unfortunately, whoever it is is already here, and so you have no other choice than to face what awaits you.

And if your meeting with her today has taught you anything, it is that you have no reason not to trust her.

Making your way down the hall, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror hung against the wall. You look terrible; barely slept, barely eaten, barely cared for yourself and especially not your appearance in the last couple of days leading up to your eventual vanishing. It's not a great time for visitors, but maybe that's just the idol in you talking.

You don't turn the security screen on before opening the door. Just another small signal of your willingness to let go.

The door pulls open slowly, and suppose you didn't know what to expect once you reached this foyer; only that this most certainly wasn't it.

"Crazy person delivery," Sunwoo says. "You thought you could disappear to Pyeongchang-dong and I just wouldn't find out about it? Yeah right!"

Stunlocked, Sunwoo gently pushes his way inside and before the door even has a chance to close, you hear Woori shouting from the living room. "Don't take credit for the fact that you're here! I told you to come! You're not a detective!"

Sunwoo rolls his eyes, leans in towards you and whispers, "Romance is dead, huh? Can't even pretend I tracked you down out of pure adoration and spite anymore." He turns his head back towards where the voice had come and then shouts, "You can't talk to me like that! I'm your senior!" Then, back towards you he goes. He says, "I love pulling that out of a hat when I need it, works every time."

Eyes wide and still standing in silence, you stare at Sunwoo as if you expect the vision of him to dissipate any moment now. He kicks his shoes off and pulls the hoodie over his head to hang up by the door. His hair is a mess, but he's wearing make-up. Has he just come from a schedule? How did he get here? You have a lot of questions but no idea where to start.

Then Woori arrives at the entryway, flashes you a smile, and begins gathering her things.

This is enough to break you from your trance. Your sights dart from her, to Sunwoo, back to her and as she pulls on her shoes you say, "Wait, you're leaving?"

"Yeah! I can't stay here, it'll be a much bigger situation if we both go off the grid, don't you think? Besides, I have to talk to the girls, we need a game plan going forward."

"You're leaving him here? With me?"

Woori flashes you a sort of condescending look and then says, "Oh yeah, I'm sure you're really bummed about that."

Glancing back towards Sunwoo, he is idly meandering around the home and taking in the sights. As far as you can tell, his attention is so far from the conversation you are having with your bandmate and in fact, he appears far too content for how absurd this whole thing has now become.

"Wait! How is he getting back?" you ask.

Pausing, Woori appears as though she considers the question for all but a second, shrugs, and says, "I don't know. Ask him."

"How are you getting back!?"

Sunwoo's head snaps towards you, as if he is not anticipating being addressed at all. "Manager? How else would I get anywhere?"

Closing your eyes, you press the heel of your palms hard into them in hopes that at some point, you will no longer feel like the most logical person in the room.

"Anyway, I'm going," Woori announces, the door in front of her already ajar. "I don't know if it's wise to text from now until you're back home, so stay safe and you're welcome back whenever you're ready. I would say don't do anything stupid but…" Her attention draws towards Sunwoo specifically. "He's already here and you already did, so. There's that."

Sunwoo's face twists mockingly. "Very funny!"

"See you!"

The door shuts, Woori disappears behind it, and now only you and Sunwoo remain in the quiet, empty liminality of a Pyeongchang-dong mansion.

In the privacy now allotted to you, the hours pass by through simple, affectionate touches and light kisses that linger on your skin long after the lips that left them have departed.

As the time dwindles, however, you are forced to come to terms with your lack of planning as far as being in this space is concerned. Rimi does not live here full-time—something you have known—but once the door to the refrigerator and numerous kitchen cabinets are opened, the realization becomes just that much more stark.

There is enough stress on your shoulders already, the weight of everything that follows you even this far away from the heart of it all. A hiccup such as this one feels insurmountable when faced with all the rest, but when you look at Sunwoo and his sort of effortless whimsy in spite of it, a small bit of the struggle is indeed chipped away.

Without a word, food arrives at the doorstep and you only become aware of it when the driver buzzes in from the driveway. Sunwoo quickly scrambles to his feet with a big smile and a brief glance back at you that insists for you to acknowledge that he has done a good job; he has, he always does, and that is sort of why you have landed yourself in this predicament to begin with.

"When's the last time we've shared a meal?" Sunwoo asks through a mouthful of noodles, "It has to be before you became a trainee, right?"

"There's the cafe, or that time we went across the street to the store after you were out drinking with the guys."

He shakes his head. "That doesn't count. Actually, that time I took you out after Idol Radio. That counts. Our first foray into what it might be like going forward."

"How could I have forgotten about that?"

Bent in half and leaning against the kitchen island, Sunwoo shoots a glance at you and says, "Because you were too busy stressing yourself into an early grave to even enjoy it, probably."

Perhaps there is some truth to that.

"At the very least," he adds, "This scenario is a little too life-altering to not remember it, so I have that going for me."

"I never even got around to asking Woori how she figured out where I was…" You take a bite out of a dumpling, grimace at its bizarre texture, and let it fall from your fingers back into the plastic container from which it came. "I probably have to start coming to terms with the fact that I'm not even half as clever as I think I am."

"Yeah, it would be a good time for that. Also, it's not hard to figure that out. She's friendly enough with the other guys to follow the breadcrumbs back to your friend."

You look at him with narrow eyes. "And then she decided it was a good idea to tell you."

"It was a good idea, because I'm probably the only person who can talk you down from making a truly insane career decision." Finishing his bite, Sunwoo pushes the cartons of food in front of him away, turns to give you his full attention and leads his thoughts with an already exhausted sigh. He says, "It's kind of funny looking back, because you used to be the one with your head screwed on right when it came to all of this, not me. I mean, I was just going along with it because really, you were right. But now…?"

A small pause follows as he thinks through his next step, but he arrives at it fairly quickly.

"Bit of an overcorrection, don't ya think?"

What little appetite you had originally leaves you entirely then. This conversation—a conversation that is so long overdue—is one that you knew would be rearing its ugly and uncomfortable head from the moment you saw Sunwoo walking in through that door. More realistically, however, it has been needed for months; since the first kiss, since all of the others after it, since that night in your dorm and since Sunwoo's overarching and unending willingness to bear all to you and receive little-to-nothing in return.

But especially since that night abroad.

The breath you take is an obvious one, and Sunwoo's eyes never leave you all the while. He grants you the quiet space you ask from him without a single word uttered, merely watching and listening for you to finally be willing to take this quest on and move forward with whatever your choice may be.

You know what you want, but can you have it?

With a fingertip idly tapping into the black marble countertop, your lips part to speak despite the way they feel utterly lost in your throat. 

And just before you manage a single word, Sunwoo stretches forward and takes your fidgeting hand into his, gently pulling you away and out of the kitchen.

"Let's get cozy," he says. "Being surrounded by knives is no way to navigate this sort of thing. Ya know, just in case I say something that doesn't land as I might have hoped it would."

"You think I'm going to stab you."

"I think it'd solve, like, most of your problems! Though it may raise a whole mess of other ones."

It takes much longer than anticipated to get the intricacies of the fireplace figured out, but once the flame comes to life, the tension melts and drains from your bones.

Sunwoo can't sit still, not until everything is perfectly in place according to whatever mental imagery he has concocted in his mind. He doesn't say it aloud, nor do you ask, but you know him well enough to understand that there is a particular series of events that must play out; an idea of a scene that exists in the theoretical that plagues the fantastical, dreamy hopeful in ways that you may never truly come to make sense of. A hopeless romantic in every sense of the word, and you have no other option than to allow him to go through the motions until it all comes to fruition.

Thus, pillows and blankets are thrown on the floor into a pile, and with the only thing left in the house being expensive wine, a bottle of that is popped open, too.

You watch him make his way back over to the middle of the living room with two empty wine glasses in one hand and the bottle in another. As usual, a loose hoodie and even looser jeans draped from his body and at a glance to anyone not knowing any better he could pass for someone with no business having the alcohol in hand.

Holding the items up for display, Sunwoo cracks a proud grin and says, "Okay, now we're ready. Romance isn't dead, after all!"

With glasses half-full and the fire quietly crackling ahead, the two of you take a moment to sit together in silence—offering nothing more. No words are spoken, no movements are made to close the physical distance and connect your bodies in any fashion whatsoever. In all truthfulness, you take the time to acknowledge Sunwoo's often overlooked emotional intelligence; always seemingly able to understand precisely what you want and need from him without even needing to utter a word.

Now, he knows that you do not wish to be pressed further for answers. The answers that the both of you seek already sit with you together in this vast, empty room. They will come in due time, and any urgency he could display is ill-suited for the delicacy of the topic at hand.

The first sip of wine you take is a bit longer and stiffer than originally intended to be, but once the harsh bitterness hits your tongue you realize that you're going to need just a little bit more liquid courage than you had hoped in order to finally lay your truth out onto the table.

It is difficult, but Sunwoo deserves this. Both of you do.

Turning to look at him, you hold the glass between both of your hands, cradling it far gently than what is necessary; just like your heart that you've been desperately hoping to shield from harm.

"So, I guess this is the end then," you say to start. Your voice trembles ever so slightly, and for once, you don't bother making an effort to steady it. "Or the beginning, I'm not really sure which it is yet."

"Both," Sunwoo says with a nonchalant shrug. "The end of one thing, the beginning of another. Both things can be true." Looking at you, he scoots himself a bit closer but still does not make physical contact of any kind. "It all depends on what you want, what you're willing to take on. It always has."

"It's going to be a nightmare, you know that."

"Yeah, for a while, but it'll pass. We don't have to go public, you know. That can be a problem for another day."

"I know." You take another sip, this one smaller than the one prior. "I guess I just feel like… It's better to take on the worst of it and just get it over with as quickly as possible, you know?"

"Yes, you're a doomsday-er, I've long since gathered that much." Sunwoo rolls his eyes, finally swaying himself enough to bump your shoulder with his own. He says, "The company situation is going to be bad enough, I'm not going to lie to you. Once they figure out that their little set-up didn't go to plan and that we figured it out and even worse, are moving forward with things…" He pauses, and for what might be the first time, you see the light wash of fear draped across his features. Eventually though, Sunwoo must catch himself in the midst of it all and he forces a smile, saying, "Well, let's just say it won't be the best day either of us have ever had!"

Your eyes fall down to the glass still clutched within your hands, and though your chest is tight and throat stinging with terror; what other options do the two of you have moving forward?

"We…" The word drips from your mouth slowly, bitter and heavy with the sort of vile falsehood that you promised yourself to never succumb to moving forward. It is a last ditch effort now—the final option—the only remaining time that the two of you have to cut your losses and try to move on with your hearts merely functionally intact. "We… Don't have to do this. If it's too hard, too much trouble. There's no glory in forcing it if it's the wrong choice."

Slowly turning to look at you, Sunwoo waits patiently for your eyes to drag upwards to meet him. What is there for you, however, is not a sadness or concern that you might have come to expect. Instead, a small smile tugs at a corner of his lips—at odds with the words you have just said before. What you find there is a truth that you realize you have been exerting far too much effort into ignoring, and now, that wall is suddenly crumbling away.

Sunwoo huffs a laugh out from under his breath, rolls his eyes and says, "You're ridiculous, you know that? Are you like, being obtuse on purpose, or something? Of course we have to do this…" Turning back to face the warm, ambient flicker of the fire, Sunwoo shakes his head gently as if still in disbelief of your unwillingness to accept what is now an unshakably obvious fact to the both of you. 

"I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for a while, which you have gone to impressive lengths to somehow not notice. So, yeah, we kind of do have to do this now, because it's too late and we're in too deep to just go on pretending it isn't what it is." His head falls back lazily, face tilted up towards the ceiling, clearly exhausted by your obliviousness. Fair enough. He says, "And I don't know if you realize this yet, but you're in love with me, too. If I have to act out this whole confession scene between the both of us just by myself I'm going to put my head in the fireplace. This is utterly excruciating."

A deep sigh rolls out from you, no point in arguing with the point and fighting this any further. "Yeah, I guess unfortunately I am."

"Unfortunately!?"

"Well, my life would certainly be much more carefree if that weren't the case."

"It'll be worth it," Sunwoo says, leaning to the side to rest his head on your shoulder. "They'll have to kill me to keep me away from you at this point, and while they definitely have nasty methods of trying to get what they want, I don't think they're willing to stoop down that low, at least."

Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you linger in place there and quietly say, "You should go back. It's getting late and it's a long drive."

But to that, Sunwoo hums and says, "No, I don't think I will, actually." His tone is sarcastic, a little comically inclined that you know well enough alludes to something else on his mind that has not yet been spoken of. A stray fingertip finds the skin of your hip from underneath your sweater shortly thereafter, and for as much as he may understand you, in a lot of ways, the same can be said for you about him. "I can go back early in the morning and still make my schedule, I'd rather spend the night here with you."

"We have about five bedrooms to choose from," you say, attempting to play off the way that his insistence makes you feel. "Or we can stay here all night, your choice."

Mulling over his options for only a second of time, Sunwoo nods along with the decision it appears he has made and says, "I want the biggest one you got—with a bathroom! Truly living in the lap of luxury now!"

"Enjoy it while you can, who knows what awaits us in the morning."

Moving to stand and struggling to make it to his feet, Sunwoo groans along with the mere mention of having to return to his typical life. "I know exactly what awaits us in the morning, and it's going to be a nightmare, so let's put a pin in that for the rest of the evening and just… pretend that that isn't the case until we have no other choice but to face it. Deal?"

You nod, accepting the terms. "Deal."

With both of your bodies covered in a light sheen of sweat, Sunwoo—ravenous as he is idealistic—pries himself from your limbs and allows for new air to waft over your heated, sated skin. There is a long silence that follows once heaving chests find a more calmed rhythm, neither of you daring to utter the first word just yet. Perhaps he shares the thought that sits so pertinent in your mind: to enjoy this for what feels like the last time, even if it is not exactly that.

Instead of speaking, Sunwoo rolls to the far end of the bed and takes his phone into hand.

"What are you doing?" Curiosity paired with the strangeness of the action gets the best of you, proving that you no longer have the strength to continue along with the charade. Sunwoo continues typing for a moment without acknowledging your words, but it's not long before his head flops to the side, and a grin tugs at one corner of his lips.

"Telling my manager I'm not coming home tonight."

"I'm sure that will go over well."

He shrugs, slumped against a pile of messed up bedding and pillows. "Doesn't matter if it does or not. I'll make it back in time for schedules and I'll do my job just as well as I always do it. Shouldn't that be what's important? He doesn't want to babysit me any more than I want him to."

"A stern talking-to will be waiting, that's for sure. Running off with me is probably far from what he had been hoping for."

"He has known about us for a while," Sunwoo says, and the tone in his voice alludes to it being a completely inconsequential matter in ways that are not at all in line with the reality either of you are facing. Your face contorts into something that you can only imagine being read as horrified, and he huffs out a laugh as a result. "I mean, the guy has worked with me for a long time, and has been involved in enough of our passing matters to not be blind to the obvious writing on the wall. Yeah, it's not ideal the way this has all turned out but… Oh well!"

Laid out against the mattress, your eyes drift from Sunwoo and instead settle onto the plain vastness of the high ceiling above. There is a kind of tranquility that has found its way nestled into your bones when the topic comes up now, and you wonder how much of that is your acceptance of there being no good or easy way out of this swamp.

Those final two words ring through your ears repeatedly long after they leave his lips: Oh well. What's done is done, and as far as Sunwoo is concerned there is little point in wallowing on the matter.

"Will you quit if I do?" you ask.

There is no thought behind the question when you pose it to him, a passing thought with no particular start or end point in mind. You don't look at him once it leaves your lips, waiting once again in silence for an answer that you feel confident in already knowing. 

And making oneself smaller for love is hardly any kind of love, at all.

After a few beats of no response, you hear Sunwoo pull in a breath. "No, I won't," he says. "And neither will you. You're not a quitter, you've made it this far. If they want to make the worst choice they could make and cut your contract for this then that's on them, but don't give them the easy way out. Make them do it."

"And if they do?"

"They won't." Rolling onto his side, Sunwoo slings an arm over your chest and uses the leverage it gives him to shorten the distance between the two of you. He says, "MVNE are too successful and you're already a year in. I mean, sure, groups have had member losses early—I should know—but they'd be foolish and taking a huge risk chopping the line-up like this right now. They'd have to lie about the reason and then cut you a fat check for you to keep your mouth shut about it, and the last thing any company wants to do is pay out an idol. Don't worry about it, you're going to be fine."

Turning to look at him again, your eyes meet his and he looks up at you with the sort of joyful, boyish exuberance that he always carries. The kind that betrays the severity of any given situation, the kind that you have learned to very much appreciate.

It all sort of melts away.

"Woori said she and the girls are going to figure out a plan, just in case," you say through a heavy sigh. "So, when I go back, I suppose I'll move forward with them on my side."

"You were never even half as alone as you thought you were," Sunwoo says. A hand of his finds yours, interlocking your fingers as yet another reminder of the fact. "You're going to get through this, and who knows, maybe your mysterious illness will clear up in time for your comeback showcase, too."

Narrowing your eyes, you say, "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Damn right I would! I've seen the outfits sitting in the fitting rooms, sheesh."

Playfully nudging an elbow into him does little to deter his advances, and you suppose that's just another thing about Sunwoo that you like, too.

Overhead, the bright lighting from the enormous bathroom mirror illuminates your surroundings. As you stare at yourself in the reflection, you cannot help but think of how similar it is to the many times you have been seated for poking and primping from any number of stylists. Always in preparation. Not unlike now.

Sunwoo's alarm begins to sound off just beyond the open door.

This too feels familiar. The same adrenaline that courses through your veins as you stand backstage, waiting for the staff to give the final signal for you and your members to go on stage, begins to flow through you. It is muted, there is no stage and no performance to give, but the feelings of anticipation and hopefulness drive you all the same. In the other room, you can hear Sunwoo roll himself out from between the sheets with a semi-confused groan—likely due to your not being there beside him—but seems to pass quickly in favor of the ticking clock.

Gathering your courage, you do your best to settle your nerves. The bathroom is spacious but it only requires a handful of steps to lead back into the darkness of the room. He hasn't bothered with a light and you don't particularly blame him; it's too early in the morning, and he hadn't brought a whole lot with him to begin with.

"Sunwoo," you say, still shrouded in what is mostly darkness from his own perspective. From where Sunwoo stands, there is light emptying in from a place behind you, but it offers him little as far as deciphering your features is concerned.

Seated and slumped at the edge of the bed with wild hair and a shirt that has only begun being pulled onto his limbs, Sunwoo turns slightly to at least acknowledge that you've spoken to him, though his back faces you. "Yeah? You're up already…" His voice is heavy and groggy, still laden with the sleep that has only just left him. "Why're you up?"

You've been busy while he has slept.

Reaching up, your hand finds the lightswitch and flickers it on. Sunwoo winces at the intrusion to his senses, and you take his temporary blindness as an opportunity to fully enter the room and make your way to the destination in mind. It isn't the bed, as you figure he might think. Instead, you stand perched up by the bedroom door.

Next to your already packed belongings.

It takes a few moments for Sunwoo to collect himself and finish pulling on his shirt, but once he does, his head finally turns to locate where you've ended up and his face deadpans with a shocking quickness. His eyes remain glued to the small amount of things you have stationed there; a large backpack, a handbag for a laptop and some other, minor items, and then, they carefully make their way back up to you.

Neither of you speak for a while, and the bizarreness of the silence has you nearly second guessing your decision as a whole. Sunwoo looks at you with a sort of dumbfounded expression, his lips parting ever so slightly as if he wants to speak but doesn't yet have the words to accurately portray his thoughts. You wait longer, lingering in this no matter how uncomfortable it may be, because more than anything you need to hear whatever it is that his most genuine reaction is intended to be.

Then finally, he says it: "You don't have to come with me if you're not ready yet."

Your body has become so accustomed to expecting the worst case scenario that enough tension has built to withstand any kind of impact. It takes far too long for his words to sink in, for his earnestness to wash over you and begin to break down the wall that you have started to construct, but once it does, the breath that leaves you is one that carries all of the worries you've been holding in along with it.

"People might see us together," Sunwoo adds, as if to ensure that you're fully aware of any risks that may come with traversing this immediate future together with him.

"I don't care if you don't," you say with a lazy, somewhat noncommittal shrug, "but I'll stay behind if it's what's best for you."

Sunwoo huffs and quickly brings himself to his feet. The movement is all dangling, tired limbs and his head lazily lolling back and to the side—maybe even an eye roll—too exhausted to engage in the typical, playful lambasting of you, but no intention of allowing this to go unaddressed, either.

He crosses the room, stills in front of you, and just stares. The fatigue is deeply laden all across his face, and the stylists are going to have their work cut out for them once he makes it into that chair. Suppose you're no better off once you step across that threshold, though what waits for you back in that city is far less welcoming than a smudge of eyeliner and a hint of shimmer eyeshadow.

It doesn't really matter right now, though.

Inching towards you, Sunwoo presses a light, chaste kiss against your lips, nudges you with an elbow and then says, "It's a long drive, we should go."

Slinging your bags over your shoulder, you follow Sunwoo. Your heart and trust fully his, but the dread still held inside remains yours, and yours alone.

[smilesatdawnmain]

in your different AU‘s, will some characters have drastically different personalities?

I’m not sure if it’s necessarily “drastic” but there are definitely differences in their personalities.

I’ll write if there are any~

Taken

MK is very- untrusting, is the best way to put it. He trusts those he loves, but doesn’t trust a stranger at face value. He 100% believes everyone is lying until proven otherwise. He doesn’t trust anyone to keep their word- and infact is more on guard when someone “swears to do something/promises things”

While he is a very kind soul, he doesn’t often cry. Not to say his can’t be moved by emotions, but things don’t affect him at that deep of a level anymore. Even good things.

His abilities only really match to Wukong’s except his ability to dream of the future. This ability came from Macaque.

He’s far more similar to Nezha in how he dresses and fights. As well as his sense of honor. Things like cheating and breaking vows/promises is very upsetting to him.

Hesitant to cause any real injury to anyone.

The Day the World Eclipsed

MK : extremely trusting and loving- probably naively so. Grew up being able to trust everything around him, thus is far more susceptible to manipulation.

He has no reason to distrust anyone or feel concern they might be lying.

His fighting style takes off more of both Macaque and Wukong, as his powers take after both as well.

More playful fighting, not willing to cause any actual harm.

He’s the perfect little mix of both his parents. Bubbly and sweet, yet easily able to switch to a more conniving little trickster at the drop of a hat.

The Tragedy of Six (this is the Au with the biggest difference)

MK: while his playful nature and attitude towards his friends are the same as all the other MK’s, it is with enemies that MK might show the greatest change.

Far more quick to violent tendencies. Can cause harm, and isn’t against doing so if needed.

Very curious of the world, but grew up being told it is corrupt and beneath him, so sometimes that mindset shows in how he interacts with others.

He is very protective of his family- almost boarder-lining on possessive.

His fighting style does have a lot of Nezha’s influence, but it is Erlang that he learned the most from.

Red Son: while Red Son is the same in all my Au’s, this is where his personality differs. He’s far more cautious in this Au.

Feeling both responsible as the oldest, he also has a large sense of fear since he has had the Samahdi fire since birth.

He is calmer. Not to say his anger management issues are gone, but he works twice as hard to keep them under control.

He struggles with abandonment issues. Always assuming everyone is going to leave him- and for good reason. It’s just a matter of time, in his mind

Mei: in this Au, her general bubbly spirit and happy go lucky attitude is the same.

She is prone to more illegal shenanigans, impatient as she tends to be, yet she meditations far more frequently.

And influence from Nezha, you’d be surprise how often you find her meditating without someone prompting her to do so.

She’s claimed the other children and Nezha as her family, and she is not keen to share. And similar to Emerald, she often quietly wonders of her own heritage.

Worried that she isn’t enough as a “Dragon” since she doesn’t fully understand what it means to be one.

She really really doesn’t get along with Xiaoxiao~ (the siblings that are always fighting)

———

And that is all I can really think that is drastically different for the characters of each au. Most everyone’s personalities are the same except for the differences here :3

[bradleycallan]

Backstreet's (Austin) Back || Austin + Kaia

@kaiagrbrx

Kaia: The day was turning out slightly different than Kaia would have imagined, though not in a bad way. Hearing from Austin wasn’t on her bingo card for a Sunday night, but she found herself feeling pleasantly surprised at his invitation to come by for dinner. It wasn’t as if the pair ended on bad terms, things like schedules were just getting logistically difficult and they had taken the easy way out and called it quits. Kaia made a stop to pick up a wine they enjoyed as well as a sweet treat. She was dressed casually in one of her usual summer dresses and she gave herself a quick check in the rear view mirror of her car after pulling up to his place. Grabbing the bag from the passenger seat she headed up to the door and knocked, which felt almost strange as there used to be a time that she would walk right in.

Austin: After Austin and Kaia’s conversation had ended, Austin sat in his seat rubbing his chin, reflecting on what he agreed to. There were at least 5 different trains of thought going on in his brain. He knew they only separated due to being so crazy busy and couldn’t find the time to see each other, but that hasn’t stopped past exes from being angry. He didn’t want to expect too much from her, rather just some good company. He was planning on making a sandwich tonight as we wasn’t cooking for anyone but himself. He opened the fridge to figure out what kind of dinner he could make with them. Then he remembered one of his favorite recipes when he went to Italy. He pulled out Angel Hair noodles and some lemons and started to boil the noodles when he heard a knock on the door. He walked to the door and stopped right in front of the door to check his hair and clothes. His hair was the styled, pushed back, messy hair that he usually wears and he was wearing a black sweater with some light jeans on and a black apron that said “kiss the chef”. “Hey, nice to see you again. Come on in.” He greeted to Kaia, gesturing for her to come inside.

Kaia: There is a side of Kaia that overthinks things. A lot of people assume that because she’s a model that she’s superficial and takes things at face value when in reality she’s intelligent and tends to analyze things. That could be a blessing and a curse, so being spontaneous was something that the brunette worked at, and this certainly counted as spontaneous. Kaia rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, eventually standing still when she could hear the door opening. A smile formed on her lips when he greeted her, “it’s good to see you.” As she walked inside, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “just following orders,” her finger tapped the words on the front of his apron. “I brought wine, and sweets,” she held up the bag in her hand.

Austin: Austin blushed with the greeting and a grin spread across his face. He took the wine from her hand and read the label as they walked into the kitchen. “Luckily wine pairs well with spaghetti so it looks like we are on the same page.” He checked the noodles before leading against the counter and gave her a good look up and down. “You look amazing, as usual. I hope everything has been treating you well, lately.”

Kaia: Kaia was relieved to see his trademark grin, she knew she had been a little forward but around Austin it was nearly impossible not to be. She was slightly annoyed earlier at the tone Jacob had taken with her, but that feeling was quickly melting away in the blonde’s presence, something that didn’t surprise her in the least. It was actually rather ironic. “Wine pairs well with most things. But it does go especially nicely with pasta.” Setting the box from the bakery down on the counter, she grinned, “thanks, so do you.” A slight shrug of her shoulders, “working mostly. How about you? How are things?”

Austin: While she was informing him on how she was doing, he turned to drain the pasta and put all of the ingredients together. One of his friends got to train under Giada De Laurentiis and he got this recipe from her of the Lemon Spaghetti. He prepared the plate and added some basil and fresh parmigiano on top and placed it in front of her. He leaned over her and tucked a hair behind her ear when he said, “You know, I have a feeling this year is going to be your year and you’re going to kill it.” The low raspy Elvis-styled voice still wasn’t able to make a disappearance and he stopped trying. He sat down in front of her. “Things are going well. Now they are…. I just finished recovering last week from my new movie coming out. I broke 2 ribs during one of the fight scenes.”

Kaia: “Well now that is quite the presentation,” Kaia stated as she watched him plating the food, giving it a nod of approval, “something tells me that it’s going to taste even better than it looks.” A warm feeling washed over her as his fingertip grazed her ear. Somehow he always knew just what to say, “I hope that you’re right.” While she hopes that he is right, she’s not entirely confident in the statement. Maybe being a ‘nepo baby’ afforded her some opportunities, she had to work twice as hard in an attempt to prove herself. People assumed that meant things were easy for her but it often felt like an uphill battle. “Because you probably refused to let a stunt double do it,” she guessed. “You do always give 110%. You could have called me to come play nurse,” Kaia mused with a smirk before picking up her fork and taking a bite, “delicious.”

Austin: “It’s my mission to make you believe the words I’m saying to you. I wish you were able to see yourself the way I see you. You would be unstoppable.” He said, taking a few bites of the food. He made eye contact with her when she smirked and a blush flooded fo his cheeks and he rubbed his scruff with his hands, trying to hide the warmth in his face. “Now, I don’t know how good of company I could have been as I couldn’t move or breathe very well.” He picked up their plates as they were finishing and placed them in the sink. He grabbed the glass of wine and took a sip before sitting right beside Kaia on the table. He fidgeted with the wine bottle, refusing to meet her gaze. “My work ethic, Kaia…” he said nervously, “that didn’t drive you away, right? Other than my work and my passion, you were the most important thing to me” he stated, as he swishes the wine around in the bottle.

Kaia: “If only it were that easy, huh?” Kaia doesn’t necessarily lack confidence, but there is sometimes a nagging voice in the back of her head that questions whether or not the negative comments she sometimes receives are true. “I imagine that you’re kind of a terrible patient because I know how hard it is for you to slow down.” Orbs followed him as he cleared the dishes and then began to fidget with the wine bottle. “Your passion and your ambition are a couple of the most admirable things about you. It didn’t drive me away, but it’s sort of a double edged sword, you know? You’re amazing at what you do because you do put so much into it, but sometimes it’s hard to find that balance between work and normal life. Or as normal as we can get, considering the circumstances.” Reaching out, her fingers trailed over his hand, motioning it to set the bottle down. “I never doubted your feelings for me, or our feelings for each other, it was just hard.”

Austin: One thing Austin liked about their relationship is that they always managed to know when to pick each other up. He gets highs and lows of when the press and the pressure of what all the negative headlines are saying and she always knew how to ground him. He bit the corner of his lip and looked up at her when she placed her hand over his. “I’ve never worked so hard until I landed Elvis and as you know that consumed me completely. I always had that nagging voice in the back of my head thinking that you would leave me because I don’t know how to slow down and distance myself from work.” He paused and gave a big sigh, running his hand through his hair, “It’s just a trend as Vanessa and I separated from that exact reason. I mean I’m lucky because we’re still on good terms, or at least what I’m reading we are. But, I think I have a bit of that work life balance thing down.” He gave her a hopeful smile and placed his hand in hers and gave her a little squeeze. “I don’t plan to let work get in the way of any future friendships or relationships. Separating from you was really hard.”

Kaia: The pair of them did a good job of balancing each other out, something that she supposed came out of just knowing a person as well as they did. That made it easier to read situations and know how to act and react accordingly. That was necessary in any relationship and while all relationships had their challenges, the industry that they were in did tend to make things more difficult. “It’s one of those bittersweet things because career wise, it paid off didn’t it?” To an outsider, that perspective probably sounded harsh, but in the entertainment industry it made sense. Her fingertips traced over the lines of his palm lightly, “the balance is hard because we have to make sacrifices that are bigger than most. Our ‘business trips’ aren’t just a week away, it’s months at a time, and it’s not like once a film wraps that’s the end of it, because then comes all the press and promo stuff. It’s a lot. It’s like added stress.” Kaia nodded in agreement with him regarding work life balance “I think you do a great job of keeping work and life somewhat separate, if that makes sense, which is necessary to do to stay grounded.” For someone who was in such high demand he never let his ego get the best of him. “Really hard might be an understatement, I don’t think I left my house or looked at my phone for a good two weeks,” although she chuckled now it certainly hadn’t been funny at the time.

Austin: Austin interlaced their fingers and have her a smile as he looked up into her eyes, “yeah, I had some pretty good cheerleaders cheering me own though.” He gave her a wink. “I am sorry that it happened the way it did though. But, enough about looking at the past because you, miss,” he booped her on the nose, “are still here even after we’ve separated. And that makes me so damn happy.” He kissed her hand then tapped it. He hopped up and removed the kiss the chef apron he was wearing and he leaned in the door way. “Madam, how was the meal I prepared for you? Please judge me.” He asked her with a playful smirk.

Kaia: “I could probably even play one in a movie some day,” the femme joked with a playful roll of her eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry, life happens, it’s all about how you roll with it.” Chuckling, her nose scrunched up at the tap, “old habits die hard I suppose,” she responded, raising both of her brows with a jovial shrug. Picking up her wine glass, Kaia took a sip, pretending to be deep in thought about the question before responding, “hmm how do I put this nicely…. It was…” she tapped her fingers against the edges of her glass before laughing, “delicious. 10/10 would eat here again.”

Austin: Austin rubbed his stubble on his chin while she was debating her answer. A large grin formed on his face when she answered. Internally he felt like a 8 year old boy during Christmas. He prides himself on his art and food is one of his passions. He went to the living room and turned on a Spotify radio station and nodded to the song and started to laugh. The song that played randomly was “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis Presley. He walked back over to her with his hands up in the air in surrender. “I swear I didn’t plan this.” He said shaking his head. He waited for her to place her wine glass down before grabbing her hand and pulled her into him quickly as he started to sway with her to the music. “I can’t ever escape this man.” He whispered into her ear with a small chuckle

Kaia: Even while the model pretended to mull over her answer, her brown orbs were trained on his face. When the wide grin appeared on his face, Kaia couldn’t help but smile as well. Her ears perked up as the music filled the room and once again, her brows quirked up in his direction. “That sounds exactly like something that someone who planned this would say,” she teased him with a smirk, letting her arms drape around his neck. Top teeth bit down on her lower lip slightly as his breath tickled her ear, “it doesn’t seem like the universe wants you to, might have to just accept it,” she murmured, enjoying being close enough to take in his familiar scent. “I miss you”, it slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Austin: He jokingly rolled his eyes when she accused him of planning the song. As she murmured back to him, he smiled and draped his arms from her mid back to her waist to bring her in closer. He swayed with her for a bit after she stated she missed him. He had a ton of thoughts rushing through his head, but the main one being that he missed her too. He gave her a little twirl before the song ended and dipped her so he can look her in the eyes. “You have no idea just how badly I’ve missed you.” He said before pulling her back up from the dip, still keeping her in close.

Kaia: Kaia’s dry sense of humor often led her to making remarks like the one she just had, just a twinge of her sarcastic edge coming out to play. She rested her chin on his shoulder as they moved along to the music, wondering if it would have been better to just keep her mouth shut, but it was too late now, she already put it out there. She can almost start to hear her heart beating in her ears, hoping she hasn’t made things terribly awkward. The change in position as he dipped her shook her out of her own thoughts and hearing his response, Kaia let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t even realized she was holding in. “Badly enough that you were listening to the Backstreet Boys just for an excuse to talk to me,” she teased him with a smirk. “You had me sweating there for a minute, I thought you were trying to sort out a way to let me down easy if the missing wasn’t mutual.”

Austin: Austin knew what he was doing. He needed a minute to process his thoughts. He doesn’t want to say something that would hurt her. He wants to be completely intentional with his words with her. “You know my weakness for the Backstreet Boys. I must be in a boyband” he joked. He cupped her cheek with his hand and placed a hand on her hip. “I just want to make sure I am completely honest with you. I don’t ever want to lead you on or tell you something that I won’t regret. I only want to be completely real with you, Kaia.” He paused, looking into her eyes. He wanted to make sure she was true in her feelings and didn’t give up on the duo. There was only one way to find out if she meant her words. He used the hand on her hip to pull her into him and he planted a kiss on her lips that expressed how he was feeling about her and how much he missed her.

Kaia: “You in a boyband? The world would not be able to handle it,” even though her tone is playful, she still finds herself trying to read the room. Or even better, read his mind. His body language leads her to believe that things are going in a positive direction, but part of her thinks that he might be trying to let her down easy, maybe she’s cynical for expecting the worst. “You can always be honest with me,” she reminded him, she just sincerely hopes that the honesty doesn’t end up hurting her feelings. As soon as their lips connected, she could feel some of the tension she was holding in drifting away from body. Both of her hands moved to rest on either side of his face as she added more depth to the kiss.

Austin: Austin relaxed into her touch as she reciprocated the kiss. He responded by pulling her in tighter as if he feared her leaving him again. He let go of her once and he was not going to make the same mistake. His entire being missed her and he wasn’t aware of how much till they connected. He moved his hand from her cheek to the back of her head to deepen the kiss. He couldn’t think of anything in this moment but her and how she missed him. He pulled her with him to sit on the couch, refusing to separate.

Kaia: Kaia found a feeling of relief washing over her again and now the rest of the world could fade away as she was perfectly happy in this moment because things just felt right. she was relishing in his familiar taste as their mouths collided. Both of her arms moved to snake around his neck and she was more than happy to land on top of him on the couch. After another couple of moments she pulled back just a fraction, resting her forehead against his to catch her breath for a second.

Austin: Austin rested his forehead on hers while breathing quickly. He bit his lip as thoughts were racing in his head. He was so happy here with her. He never wanted it to change. “I do need to be honest with you though.” He told her breathily. He planted 1 more kiss on her lips then pulled away enough to be able to look at her face. He was taking in all of her features on her face as if it was the first time he was seeing her. He gave out a small sigh and with one hand on her lower back to keep her steady he ran a hand through his hair and tugged on it nervously. “If I am being entirely honest, I can’t do a casual thing with you, Kaia. I wouldn’t be able to handle you with another man.” He paused fo try to get his heart rate to slow down from the nerves. “I’m sorry, but I want to keep completely honest with you and if…” he took a breath, “you don’t want that too I will have to let you go.”

Kaia: Taking in a deep breath to help calm her heart rate, Kaia allowed her fingertips to toy idly with the hair on the back of his neck. She was enjoying the feel of his body against hers and being chest to chest while their hearts beat wildly. “You’re making me nervous,” the model admitted, a feeling she wasn’t used to experiencing in his presence. Their pair of them had been comfortable and nearly inseparable since they first met. “If I’m being entirely honest, I’m not very good at doing a casual thing,” that’s not for her lack of trying, in fact it’s something she sometimes wishes she was better at, not being so attached. She’s always gotten a lot of flack for being in long term relationships at her age. That’s why it seemed like she returned back to people she was already familiar with, hooking up with someone random hadn’t ever been her style. Her mind flashed briefly to Jacob and she immediately shook her head to clear the thought. She wasn’t exactly lying that was casual and it hadn’t worked out. Swallowing, she cleared her throat. “You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t think I would be able to handle a casual thing with you either. As nice as I am, there are some things that I don’t like to share and you’re one of them.”

Austin: Austin got goosebumps when she was fidgeting with the hair on the back of her neck. As she was speaking a grin formed across his lips as he looked into her eyes. His brain was on a serotonin high. He felt like he was on top of the world. He quickly scooped her up to place her back against the couch and he stood up. He hovered over her with a playful smirk on his face. “Now baby doll, that’s all you need to say to make a fella happy.” He said in his raspy Elvis accent, their noses touching. He gave her a wink, knowing his effect the Elvis accent had on her in the past. He stood up fully and grabbed the 2 glasses of wine and returned back into the living room. “I have about a month before i film my next movie… I want to go away with you. Me and you in nature. No phones no distractions. Us.”

Kaia: Somehow it felt like no time had passed and this was exactly the way that things were supposed to be. There was a comforting calmness that fell over her, replacing any of the prior anxiousness she may have been feeling when she didn’t know exactly where his mind was at. Taking his face between her palms as he hovered over her, she pressed a quick peck to his lips, because it felt impossible to resist. “I have no problem saying it as many times as you’d like to hear it,” the femme assured him. Sitting up straighter when he returned with the wine, her ears were perking up as he spoke. “Well now, that’s all you need to say to make me happy so I guess we’re even. Where do you want to go?”

Austin: Austin took a last sip of his wine before placing the empty glass on the floor. “Well, I imagine a place that requires minimal clothing is best.” He said sitting down beside her, placing his arm around her, facing his body towards hers. “Maybe one of the Jamaican islands? Bahamas?”

Kaia: Kaia nodded her head in agreement, “I think that you’re on the right track with that,” she concurred. When he sat down, the model kicked her shoes off and turned sideways to drape her legs over his lap and slide in closer to him. “Jamaica has the beach and amazing rum.”

[iiraven]

Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines​ for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride​ for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god. 

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.  

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began. 

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.  

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.  

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even. 

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear. 

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close. 

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine. 

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you. 

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies. 

[oleworm]

One of the books I'm currently reading is César Vallejo's little intellectual tour of 1930 Soviet Russia (so far Moscow and Saint Petersburg) about how cool the workers' paradise is, and there's a funny part right at the beginning where he overpays for a taxi but justifies it by saying it's OK, he's bourgeois so he deserves to have his money taken away from him. Which... Sure, he was a writer, not a labourer, but that doesn't mean he wasn't short of money for most of his life. ["Debo, pues, pagar duro, en el mundo obrero, mi diferencia de clase social, como paga también duro el obrero su diferencia de clase en el mundo capitalista."]

So far appears to be astoundingly naive. He takes everything at face value notwithstanding that there's a group of functionaries specifically assigned to welcome intellectuals from abroad and explain to them how everything works that they may take the good news with them when they leave.

Functionary: Unlike how it is under capitalism, every one takes the tram or goes on foot. Either everyone has the privilege of speed or no one does.

César: But I just took a taxi in Saint Petersburg.

Functionary: Oh, those are just for the foreigners. And foreigners tend to be bourgeois [in this exchange used interchangeably with "rich"], or they wouldn't be able to afford to come.

????

Another representative: Every worker no matter their nationality is treated equally.

[I'm assuming from this exchange that someone is considered a worker if they do physical labour and not intellectual labour, though it appears to be intentionally left undefined as later he interviews scientists such as psychologists and engineers who because they are working for the state are not considered to be bourgeois]

[starshipsofstarlord]

A Stark Contrast | Bucky Barnes

Summary; living in the shadow of Tony, your brother, always was the way, and you accepted it. That was until he expected you to sign the accords, that was one thing that you couldn’t do.

Warnings; Angst, mentions of death, mentions of being controlled, funeral, mourning, anger

The form, bound in a weighty book laid on the table, making the room fill with utmost tension. Tony was hellbent on signing the thing, and handing away any freedom that all of you had.

No matter how long you had supported him, this was not one subject that you could agree with him on. Whilst you understood his perspective, it would only end up with you in a hamster wheel, running around and following the orders of executives.

They wanted less destruction. To put boundaries around their country’s heroes, and limit them to the lengths they could go to in order to save lives.

That was also wrong, the entire ordeal had you bent backwards with a conflict of interests. On one hand, it would be ordinary to sign for such a cause, whether you trusted their backgrounds or not, simply because your elder sibling had.

There was nobody that you trusted more than Tony, he had half raised you after your parents were killed, you felt indebted to him. But being an avenger, on a team where your personal opinion had been valued, it opened your eyes to a whole range of possibilities.

Whilst you were loyal to Tony, you had also became in tune with your own gut. It grumbled at the prospect of giving in to a contract, which decided what you were permitted to do. It was like a child’s parent permission slip, but on a much grander scale.

“People died!” He reminded the lot of you again, which inclined you to look down. There was blood on all of your hands, and he was making it as red as it could possibly be seen. “At least y/n agrees with me.” He reprimanded Steve, whom was still far on the fence regarding the entire ordeal.

Once he said that, all eyes had shifted towards you. Nat had already basically given in to your brother’s convictions, and Steve suspected that you would do the same. You were always one step behind Tony, you were far too loyal to your sibling for your own good.

“I have yet to make up my mind.” You spoke, standing, no longer wishing to be in the room where there was far too much tension. How you wished Banner and Thor were here, they would make an equal divide. The God of Thunder would not scribble his signature upon the paper, you thought to yourself, if he knew their reasons and affects.

However, your words were taken as an assumption that you would join your sibling in providing a peaceful surrender. It is what he and the public would assume of you, and to be truthful, you were tired of sticking to the stereotypes that were made of you.

“I’m surprised that you came.” Steve spoke, as you opened the boot of your car, and revealed the shield that he was so often adorned with, as well as Sam’s wings. He, like most others, had suspected that you would join your brother in his guilt ridden cause, however, thinking for yourself gave you a sense of freedom.

“Don’t be so quick to prevail into what everyone else thinks of me.” You smirked at the captain, your eyes drifting over to the other super soldier, whom had temporarily been imprisoned by the government.

But he had escaped, and if luck was not often a Stark trait, Tony would have died. You had watched from the cameras, but you could boil no bad blood in between the pair of you, Barnes was not in his right mind. He was controlled, and put into a incomprehensible mode of himself. That was, unless, he had managed to kill Tony.

Then you would have changed your own deciding mind, and stuck to what the eldest Stark believed in. “I won’t, ever again.” Sam smiled, picking up redwing from the composed pile, and kissing the machine.

“Bucky.” You reiterated his name, the one that he had chosen to correct the unknown and deceiving man on. The nod you earnt was brief, but it gave you a sense of hope that whirled in your middle. 

It was clear that he was an attractive man, and alike his righteous friend, he was frozen through time to be in this current moment. As Sam and Steve began to get their things together, you walked over to the historical stranger, a smile upon your face. “I’m y/n Stark, I don’t believe we have had the fortune of meeting before.”

“You sure do speak like a Stark.” He softly spoke, a matching smile on his brawn face. “And you seem to have other things in common, like that necklace.” At his words, you looked down at it, a hint of anguish within your gaze.

“It belonged to my mother.” It was nice to reminisce about her for a moment, you knew that she would have made her own decisions too. In some retrospect, you were following in her footsteps.

A feeling grew in the back of Bucky’s throat, but he said nothing. If he were to spill, or reveal his dark secret, it would mean nothing more than the loss of a powerful asset, they could not afford that right now.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you got to return home?” It had been a stressful day, fighting your friends, and your last living family member. Bucky turned at your words, you had saved him from being killed, he felt indebted.

“Probably do what every other soldier did; find a woman to marry and have kids. But that’s far out of the picture in this modern age.” Steve was flying the aircraft as you and Bucky spoke in the back. It gave the two of you a moment alone, and you were truly knowing as though you knew the soldier.

He was a good man, misinterpreted by the deeds that he was controlled to do. No one chose to have pity on Barnes, they instead viewed him as a country danger, and wanted to lock him up in a cage, which was how he had come so far in the first place.

“I wouldn’t say that.” For a moment, you looked into his deep blue eyes, feeling as though he were freezing you with them. He didn’t want to look away, but you were inclined to, for you could feel the contrasts of hot and cold heat working its way up your neck, and onto your face. “There’s definitely a woman that would want all that and more with you.”

If things were simpler, you would be convinced that you could share such an intimate bond with him, but alas, everything had to be complicated. And if things could work out, they surely couldn’t last.

“We’re here.” Steve informed the both of you, as he slid out of his front seat, and you prepared to finish this for once and for all.

“How could you?!” You couldn’t defend him as Tony blasted him away, Bucky had played you, and done so well. He and Steve knew of the blood on his hands, and yet they hadn’t thought once to inform you of the one true treachery regrading you.

Bucky had killed your mother, from the intake of information alone, you felt sick. Physically sick. But you choked it down, and as Steve unsurely came towards you, you ran at him, angered by his lies.

From the start, the patriot of America, someone you had considered a friend had deceived you. You had helped him, stood with him, fought your friends for him, and not to mention Tony, and he had known all along.

“Y/n-”

“Save your apologies Rogers.” You stared him down, as he had Bucky held up by one arm, seeing as Barnes had lost one of his own again. “And you, you’re right, there’s no perfect picture, you’re nothing but a monster.”

“Listen.” Steve commanded, but you couldn’t. He was no longer considered your captain, he was a sick liar who had helped to break you. This was the last time that you made your own decisions. Tony was always right.

“You don’t deserve that shield, my father made that. It’s government property-” swiftly he dropped said item, an exhausted and tiresome expression upon Steve’s helmet wearing face.

As soon as they trudged by, you instantly went to Tony, checking his wounds. “You were right brother, I should have listened to you.”

“Your dad loved cheeseburgers too.” You laughed lightly to Morgan, blinking back the tears. It was Tony’s funeral, there were so many people here, even Fury, but there was someone else, who was walking towards you. “Why don’t you go and ask Happy, I have some business that I have to tend to quickly.”

“Okay auntie y/n.” She ran off. She was so innocent, she didn’t deserve to be going to her father’s funeral at five years old, it was truly cruel. But that was just the way the world worked, and Tony was a hero.

“Hi.” Bucky spoke, adorned in all black, same as you. It had been a long time since you had seen him, not since he was being carried away by Steve. You hadn’t fought in Wakanda, instead you had ended up on Titan with your brother, and you would have surely died without him.

“Hey Barnes.” You greeted him with a forced smile, but nevertheless allowed him to step closer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, the guilt still burning behind his eyes. It seemed that his time in Wakanda had changed him, for the better.

“Which one?” You quipped back, instantaneously. 

“All of them.” He gulped, he was going to give you one truth before you found out after. It was his attempt at redemption, and a sorrowful one at that. “Steve’s returning the stones later.”

“I know.” You responded, the captain had already informed you about that part of his plan.

“And he’s not coming back.”

“Anthony Howard and Steven Nathan Barnes, the two of you better get back here this instant!” Your voice hollered through the house, as well as the duo’s endless giggles.

The front door opened, no other than Bucky walking through. He was quick to recognise the flash of motherly anger upon your face, and quickly dropped his serene smile.

“What have they done?” Bucky asked, watching as you crossed your arms in an unimpressed manner.

“Why don’t you ask your sons?” Your husband sighed, but despite that, he was a happy man. He had returned from a war, and found a lovely wife, of which he had two troublesome boys with. For the first time in a long time, y/n Stark and Bucky Barnes were happy.

[peridot-dreams]

beautiful people | shawn mendes

Shawn sees a familiar face at the awards show, and learns the value of realness.

The setting sun leaves the Hollywood sky pink and full of possibilities. Shawn finds himself looking out the window at it, still in a daze after the events that had unfolded that day. He’d won several awards for a song he was proud of. He thinks of the look on his parents’ faces in the audience when his name was announced and smiles. That’s who I do this all for, he thinks to himself.

His limousine rolls up the venue. It’s already teeming with people, Lamborghinis, and cameras. Shawn is used to such commotion, but the second he opens the car door, he’s bombarded with excessive noise - noise so loud that he can barely hear himself think.

He’s still riding his post-awards high when he walks in, still dressed in the same red carpet outfit as before. He has a girl on his arm, but not by choice - rather, an unfortunate PR stunt planned terribly and executed even worse. He greets his celebrity friends as he passes by, offering a small smile and a thank you when they congratulate him on his win.

He’s just about to ask the girl on his arm if she’d like to come with him to the drink bar when he sees a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Shawn realizes who had just walked past him; he feels his heart began to pound in his chest and his breathing gets shallow. “Sorry, can I go to the bathroom?” he tells the girl on his arm, not bothering to wait for a response. He detaches himself and follows the silver blur, around a corner and into a dark hallway.

The silver blur is standing in the dark, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. Shawn sighs and takes in the sight: the silver dress on her is absolutely stunning. Her hair and her makeup is perfect; he feels lost in her presence, stunned by her beauty. He’s never seen her like this, and it only adds to the pain of it all. His mother had once said that losing a best friend is worse than a break up and right now he completely understands what his mother meant.

“Y/N,” he breathes. When she looks up, he feels like running away - she’s looking at him as if he’s the dirt under her silver heels. He wishes she would stop, that she would run to him and hug him and make everything alright between them again. She’s standing right in front of him but he misses her, misses everything about their friendship and support for each other.

“What do you want, Mendes?” she mutters under her breath. She turns her attention back to her phone, tapping her toe incessantly. Shawn can’t stand the sound of her heel hitting the ground because he remembers that she tends to fidget when she’s upset; the clacking sound is only a reminder of their friendship that had crashed and burned for reasons Shawn still fails to understand.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Shawn blurts out. “I don’t get it, Y/N. We used to be best friends, and one day you just started hating me and I still don’t understand why.”

“Because,” Y/N spits, shoving her phone into her bag. “Because you’re like them now.”

“Who’s ‘them’?”

“All those fake people out there!” Y/N exclaims, her eyes glancing over to the party-goers with a disgusted look plastered on her face. Shawn feels her gaze coming back to him, judging and critical. He feels like he could wither under her stare like a plant in a drought. “Shawn, you’ve changed. You used to be so down to earth, so genuine, but now you’re caught up in the money and fame and corporate bullshit.”

“Am not!” Shawn crosses his arms as he unconsciously clenches his teeth. “That’s such bull-”

“Shawn, you’re the epitome of fake. You’re in a fucking PR relationship.”

“W-What-”

“Don’t even try to argue. It’s so obvious and even your fans know what’s going on.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He wishes that he could argue with her, but arguing in the dark hallway outside of an after party wasn’t the ideal setting to do so. From the outside looking in, he knows it looks like he’s changed but he needs her to know that it’s not true. He needs his best friend back in his life again.

“Look,” Shawn speaks, taking a deep breath. “Let’s ditch this party. I know you don’t like these kinds of events anyway, so I don’t even know why you’re here…”

“My manager made me come.”

“Right. Whatever, let’s just sneak out. Let’s hang out like we used to, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t you need to get back to fake-dating your ‘girlfriend’?” Y/N snaps, giving Shawn the most sarcastic air quotes she can muster.

“No, fuck that,” he says. Against his better judgment, he takes her hand in his. He’s relieved when she doesn’t try to yank her hand back. “Let’s just go.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thirty minutes later, Shawn finds himself sitting across from Y/N at a dingy old diner on the other side of Hollywood. He watches as she twirls the straw in her chocolate milkshake. She hasn’t said more than three words to him since they left the party, and Shawn feels like trying to salvage their friendship is pointless at this point. Shawn knew from their now-dead friendship that Y/N was a champion at holding grudges - he just never expected to find himself at the other end of one.

“So how’ve you been?” Shawn asks softly. He wants to kick himself for how awkward and nervous he sounds, but he hopes that Y/N will take his nerves as a sign of his genuine interest in rekindling their friendship.

“Fine,” she mumbles. She takes a tiny sip of her chocolate shake. “Slow year.”

Shawn knows that isn’t true. He Googles her name every few weeks and watches every single interview she appears in on YouTube. Y/N’s acting career had taken off in the past few years, and she’d been getting tons of lead roles in TV shows and movies lately. He always gets a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he sees pictures of her with friends on Instagram, because he knows full well that it could have been him travelling the world with her, experiencing new things with her.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s been keeping tabs on her. “Yeah,” Shawn mutters. “Okay.”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It doesn’t help that the diner is completely empty, save for the old man who owns it and is busy complaining about how “millenials are killing the restaurant business” under his breath. Shawn tries to focus on the owner’s mutterings, desperately wanting to think about something other than the fact that Y/N is totally not into him or the conversation that he’s been trying to keep going.

“I don’t hate you, by the way.”

Shawn’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide with shock. “Well, you stopped talking to me out of the blue, so I just assumed you did.”

“Well, I don’t.” She stops twirling her milkshake straw and drops her hands into her lap. She meets his gaze, eyes still hard and lips pressed together in a straight line. “You’ve just...changed.”

“I think we’ve both changed.”

“No.” She shakes her head, letting out an indignant laugh. Shawn winces at the sharpness of her tone. “You’re the one who started doing brand deals, ripping off fans with overpriced tickets and merch, signing PR contracts and betraying your fans…”

“Y/N.” Shawn’s hands are starting to shake; he rubs his thighs over his jeans in an attempt to calm himself down. Her words are cutting deeper than a knife; he can barely stand it.

“You’ve completely betrayed your fans, Shawn. You’ve sold them out to every company that has approached you, taken advantage of their trust. Damn it Shawn, you’re even endorsing overpriced water now, like how stupid is-”

“That wasn’t fucking me!” Shawn slams his hand on the table. The old man stops mumbling about millenials and looks in fear at the angry boy. Y/N is barely fazed, her hard glare still targeting Shawn.

“Oh really?” She narrows her eyes at him. “‘Cause your ass is everywhere these days, every time I turn on the TV-”

“Do you remember how my career started?”

Y/N stops for a second, but rolls her eyes immediately after. “Yeah, at some overpriced convention marketed towards prepubescent teenagers.”

“Before MAGCON,” Shawn interrupts. His eyes plead with her to understand, to see where he’s coming from. “I was just a kid, sitting in my room with a guitar. Singing cover songs and making six second videos even though no one was listening. Because I felt like it. Because it made me happy.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Yeah. That’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.” A sigh leaves Shawn’s mouth; his eyes drop to his lap as he tries to calm his shaking hands and voice. He’s never felt so heated in his life, like every emotion is about to burst out of his chest. “And then everything just took off and suddenly I was signing with a record label and being thrust into the public eye. I was just a small town kid from Canada, but suddenly people were starting to expect things from me.”

“Shawn-”

“No, please. Hear me out.” The suit on his body was tailored to be comfortable, but in the heat of his rant it feels like it’s suffocating him. “It all went so fast. It was just one song after another and interviews and TV shows and concerts and tours. Everything was just going by so fast and every day, I lost a piece of myself. I was on autopilot, and my team was just signing me up for everything and I would let myself be led by them. Even now, I just sign contracts without thinking and allow myself to be molded by people who only care about money.”

“Shawn, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” Y/N’s eyes are soft now. She suddenly notices how tired he looks under the makeup that he was forced to wear to the awards event: his sunken eyes, the dark bags under them, the lines that furrowed into his skin between his eyebrows. He looks like he’s barely hanging on to life, like the walls are caving in and he’s been trying to hold them up. She wishes she would have noticed earlier how lifeless he looks. “We were best friends, you could have told me about this.”

“Because,” Shawn starts, holding back the sob forcing itself up his throat. “I can’t ever tell anyone because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m grateful, I really am...I’m lucky to have my passion be my career. But I’m so tired, Y/N. I just want to go back to being that kid in his bedroom, playing guitar because he feels like it, not because he signed a contract or because someone else wants him to.” He closes his eyes, sighing, letting his head fall back slightly. He reminds himself to relax his shoulders and take deep breaths. “When I’m on stage, I get to go back to being happy for just a moment. I get to forget about everyone’s expectations, about contracts and brand deals and PR and all the bullshit. I get to be me. Completely free.”

She’s stunned and he knows it. He’s just unloaded all of the burdens he’s been carrying; Shawn doesn’t know how Y/N is going to react, but he feels lighter, he feels better. He just hopes, so desperately, that she’ll understand his brokenness and the wreckage that has been left in his mind as a result of the stress and anxiety of the last few years. He hopes that she’ll understand him for what he is, not what he appears to be.

“So I haven’t changed, Y/N. I’m not like them; I’m like you. Money and fame, it’s just not who we are.”

“Shawn, I’m so sorry.” Her tear-filled eyes move in a frenzy as she realizes the falsity of her words and accusations. “I should have realized that you felt this way and that you were struggling. I’m so sorry for severing our friendship and for not knowing what was going on.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I just…”

Shawn groans as he sees the group of people that have congregated outside the windows of the diner. They both gaze into the parking lot, bombarded by bright flashes and deafened by the sound of cameras shuttering.

“Fuck. It’s the paps.” Shawn groans again, head rolling back in frustration. “How did they find us?”

“They were following your famous ass,” Y/N says, laughing. Shawn smiles; he resists the urge to point out that she’s famous too, and has more followers than him on Instagram.

“Should we leave?” Shawn asks.

“Hell no. They want pics, let’s give them pics.” Shawn watches in awe as Y/N stands up on her seat despite the loud protesting of the owner. She starts waving at them crazily, her peace signs occasionally replaced by a middle finger.

“Fuck you!” she yells in between her laughs. Shawn grins; he finds himself copying her and standing on his own seat. He starts waving at the cameras, reveling in the flashes and dancing like an idiot to the music inside his head.

“Fuck you!” he yells. He’s never felt so liberated in his entire life. He starts posing with her, each pose more ridiculous than the prior. They pretend to tango on the table, screaming when they nearly topple over the edges. He twirls her around, smile growing bigger and bigger with each giggle that leaves her mouth. “It’s been two years and you still suck at dancing,” he cackles. She pretends to gasp, then sticks her tongue out at him and at the paps outside.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his lips are on hers. She doesn’t kiss back at first, shocked, but when Shawn is about to pull away he feels her hands on the back of his head pulling him closer. Suddenly, there’s nothing else in the entire world besides her; they’re not standing on top of a diner table anymore. It’s like they’re floating and Shawn’s body is leaning into hers and he’s never felt so complete before. The smell of her conditioner makes him forget his own name and he realizes that her lips taste like chocolate and friends aren’t supposed to know how each other taste but he doesn’t care because it’s her and it’s always been her.

When they finally pull away, Shawn’s gasping for breath and Y/N’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she realizes what has just happened. “S-Shawn. Your PR contract…”

“Fuck the PR contract. Let’s give the world something real.” And their lips connect again, for the paparazzi cameras and the whole world to see.

[nytech]

Teaching Entrepreneurship with Shaun Johnson

This interview is part of our “Getting to Know You” series, featuring brilliant entrepreneurs from the NY Tech community.

Shaun Johnson is an experienced entrepreneur who has worked across the fields of technology acceleration, early-stage investment, and ecosystem development. He lives in New York City and teaches entrepreneurship at Fordham University & Parsons School of Design. Shaun is also a Board Member of the NY Tech Alliance. He agreed to speak with us about his career journey, the lessons learned along the way, his take on diversity in tech, and what makes a successful entrepreneur.

“One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.”

Tell us about yourself

I like to describe myself as a helper of people, and that has taken a lot of different shapes and forms. I actually started my career in the federal government, then as a management consultant, and finally transitioned into the world startups as an early employee at Techstars, where I ended up spinning out a company called Startup Institute — a career accelerator aiming to equip people with the network skills and mindset to be immediately impactful in the startups that they join.

You teach entrepreneurship ー according to you, what are the skills one must develop to become a successful entrepreneur?

In teaching entrepreneurship, there are a lot of things that are important, especially at the university level because there’s always this tension between “can entrepreneurship be taught?” or “should you just go out and do it?”

The mentality of doing and learning through action is definitely a skill worth acquiring, whether in the field or the classroom.

There will always be a lot of little failures along the way, and that’s actually a good thing, but it can be counterintuitive for folks who aren’t used to accepting failure on their way to success. Grit is also another important factor. And then the last one, just because I want to leave it at three, is empathy. To have a deep understanding of your customer, the mission that you have, and the people that you’re building around helps you to build exceptional teams, exceptional products, and ultimately, address your market in an exceptional way.

What’s your favorite thing about teaching entrepreneurship?

The people. Students are always so different. People come from multiple backgrounds, different parts of the world, different industries, and with different perspectives. Even if you are teaching one specific course on entrepreneurship, it’ll never look the same because it’s always dependent on the people who are there. Everyone brings their unique personality, and the diversity and plurality come together to create a unique experience.

My desire and appreciation for plurality reflect my sentiments about New York City itself. The city is made of 8 million people coming from different backgrounds and places, who all have unique personalities, desires, hopes, and dreams.

We all have to interact with each other and try to build a better future. Whether it’s through entrepreneurship or just our own coexistence, I think that there’s something productive and meaningful about that.

How do you think the tech industry can become more diverse?

I think one of the challenges is that we tend to take one shade or one arc of diversity, drill in on that and assume that we’ve done our job. For example, one aspect of diversity can be ensuring your company hires people of color, or getting women into the tech ecosystem and make sure that there’s equal pay and that gender rights are respected.

But can you actually look at this kaleidoscope and not just say, ‘Hey today we want to focus on, like, LGBTQ rights?’ Or ‘today we want to focus on Black people or women.�� But instead, the dialogue has to answer the question of: “How can we actually approach inclusion and value creation that is accessible to all?”

Rather than trying to identify a specific group on its own, let’s actually think about how we can lift everyone up together while also valuing their uniqueness.

Is this part of the reason or the reason why you wanted to become involved with the NY Tech Alliance?

I’ve been a huge fan of the NY Tech Alliance since my career in startups has begun. Before I was living in New York City, I would take a bus from out of state to attend NY Tech Meetups, to see that the energy in the room with so many different people there.

It just felt like a panorama of what the startup ecosystem has to offer. It was a great entry point for me. And the NYTA still serves in that capacity for others and provides a jumping-off point, an entry point, and a point of connection, learning and motivation for people.

When given the opportunity to serve on the board, it was something that I couldn’t pass up.

Which trends do you think will emerge in the tech industry in the near future?

You know, I never pretended to be a fortune teller, but I think the year we just survived showed us that despite quarantine and isolation, we still need to connect with each other and be productive. It has been great for Zoom but so many people are zoomed out and looking for different ways of connecting with people that may not just be from the shoulders up.

You’re also seeing some trends around climate tech. The conversation is now rightly shifted from climate change to the climate crisis, and it is attracting a lot of bright minds and big dollars. And I think that’s great because it’s imperative for our survival as human beings.

How has a past failure set you up for success?

I mean, I guess I’m always failing at something. If you’re not failing, you’re probably not trying hard enough. I think the little failures along the way are indicative of trying to do something audacious or something that you’re unsure of. I couldn’t point to one specific failure because there’s just a butterfly effect of one thing leading to the next thing. But overall, the lesson in failure is really to process it and move on to the next thing, ideally in an upward fashion.

As New Yorkers, there may not always be the time or space to do that. You know, we move so fast. We break things, we execute, and there’s so much going on that we can forget to stop and reflect for a minute, look objectively at failure and ask “What could I have done better? What did I learn here? What would I do next?”

It’s important to reflect in a way that builds off of that failure rather than just repetitively coming right back at the same scenario, which is likely to lead to the same outcome.

What was the biggest challenge that you faced in your career?

Walking away from something that just wasn’t for me at the time. With an early career as a management consultant, a lot of things about that job were great: the prestige, the nice fancy suits, the travel.

But then you start to just understand what your calling is, what motivates you or what nourishes you. Changing your career to pursue your calling can be risky, but it ultimately is good for the soul. At the time, I didn’t know exactly what my calling was going to be. And it took courage and conviction to just say “Ok, all these things are good and everyone else loves them for me. But I just don’t love them as much, and I’m willing to look out into the abyss and seek out something that actually is more aligned with who I am and who I want to be.”

It was really scary and that’s one of the biggest moves I’ve made. That’s the advice I give to my students. Do what you love. Life’s too short!

What was the best advice you’ve ever been given?

One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.

I apply that saying as a prompt for a lot of different things, from looking at analytics and wondering what’s going on with your company, checking in with your mental health and wondering if all of this anxiety or depression is actually real or if your perception influences what you’re feeling. And it’s also a way to keep yourself grounded.

Any final words?

Yeah. If Alicia (interviewer) says or types anything that makes me sound stupid, that was her edit. Everything that I said was brilliant (laugh). And she’ll make sure that it comes across!

To connect with Shaun on LinkedIn, click here.

To learn more valuable lessons from Founders, watch our NYTA Founder Spotlight series on YouTube.

[antarax]

𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

It's late at night when Damian makes a stop by your house with the intention to confess his feelings for you.

Damian Wayne x Black!Reader, gender neutral.

Words: 2,105

AN: Happy Valentine’s to all the beautiful black people in the fandom!! I dedicate this one to all of us, who rarely get any works that include us or are actually vague enough to. Hope you enjoy it 💞

It was a quiet, cold night in Gotham. Neon city lights blurred into your room as the muffled sounds of the videogame on the old TV kept you company, the blue hue of the fluorescent lights washing over your bedroom even through half-pulled curtains. 

The day had been a slow and uneventful one. For you, at least, after the hope of receiving someone's valentine had been completely blown off, the same energy manifesting itself in you as the night also dragged itself along. 

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of your window opening, having had no expectations of anything more for the day –that, and the fact that it was well into the night already. You saw Damian standing outside with his hand on the window sill, a bag in the other, Robin uniform dirty and tattered as his cape fluttered violently with the breeze. 

He seemed stuck in his place, as if he had been the one surprised, frowning like he hadn't expected you in your own room. 

The slight semblance of a smile grew on your face, "Well, come in," you said, pausing the game. 

It wasn't uncommon for Damian to stop by your building after a busy night, the moon shining beautifully in the sky and the clouds a beautiful swirl of the light as he came through your window expertly quiet. But, even then with the known comfortability and trust you two had managed to reach in your relationship, it also wasn't uncommon to feel like remnants of the younger, more insecure Damian still clung to him slightly. 

Slightly as in  heavily. 

You watched him as he moved into the small space and set down the bag on the floor, taking off his gloves and mask with the rough delicacy you associated with him. 

He stood as if he was tightly wound up, like perhaps he could breathe wrong, or whatever new, unspoken rule he'd created for himself plagued his mind now. 

It was a little funny. 

"I'm not going to eat you, you know?" 

Damian rolled his eyes, "I'm aware." 

"Doesn't look like it," You muttered, glancing down at the controller in your hands, "What's in the bag anyways?" 

"I— Things." 

You raised a brow. 

"Food, sweets. Drinks." 

"Really?" 

"Yes," Damian replied, sitting down and sagging against the wall underneath the windowsill, chest rising and falling slowly as he exhaled deeply. Damian grabbed the bag again, putting it down next to you, "They're yours." 

You set aside the controller and rummaged through the bag, the thoughts racing in your head. Damian knew you well and you him, your friendship spanning over a few years now. There had been a lot you'd trusted him with. Secrets, worries, embarrassing shit you'd done that still haunted you and Damian had been no different. He let you in on his bigger secret, how he carried the mantle of Robin every night. Some of his deepest remorses were ones that you had knowledge of; although never diving too deep in the murky waters of Damian’s life, you still valued the clear trust he had in you. 

And along all these moments, every opportunity you've had to know each other, slowly and softly peeling aside the layers covering the people you were, a warm intimacy rooted itself in your growing friendship. A comfortable sort of intimacy. 

Every once in a while you stopped by the manor on the quiet days where it was only Alfred and the animals. You helped Alfred in the kitchen whenever he was practicing for a new recipe or baking a dessert for the family later in the day. You spent hours with Damian in his room, where his cat Alfred would always curl up next to you on his bed as he worked on his art, walking around the manor or playing around with Titus and Batcow in the manor's backyard –which, really, was just an enormous open field that they were too humble to call so– and sometimes you'd even earn an invitation to dinner. 

As for you, Damian tended to visit at night more so than day, but there were moments where he would show up on a sunny afternoon when everyone else wasn't home, slumping down on your couch for an hour or two before going back to his own things. Sometimes he'd drop by books he'd seen at the library, a small trinket he'd bought at the store and various other paraphernalia that, somehow, you always ended up loving. 

Damian knew your taste well, and there was no doubt he'd spend countless amounts of time pondering over each of his gifts before they ever reached your hands. All things that while anyone else might have brushed over you appreciated immensely. 

"You know," you began as you leaned back into the foot of your bed, ripping off pieces from a napkin you'd taken out of the bag, buying time. Hesitating, "I actually— sort of, was hoping for a valentine this year." 

You gazed at Damian's eyes, your interest boring into them, digging as deep as you were allowed. They looked nervous, hilariously so. Almost like he'd been caught. But caught... doing what, exactly? 

Perhaps caught in the middle of staring back at you as he'd tend to do; how he'd tend to do and assumed you didn't notice. 

Or maybe caught when he would discreetly drop off something in your room or your locker after having seen it at the store or the cafeteria and knowing immediately you'd like it, always behind the guise of simple complacency. Caught, in his true intentions, what truly made him do all these otherwise insignificant things that were much too small even for somebody as detail-driven as Damian. 

Olive-colored eyes still shifted uncomfortably in front of you as the sole giveaway of the true nervousness Damian was drowning in, refusing to show anything more of himself, even when it mattered. 

Especially when it mattered. It was frustrating. 

"You were?" 

"Yeah," You shifted in your spot, "I was." 

No one could ever, ever know something about Damian that he didn't share. It's just not something you could do. Not when it came to him. Anybody who knew anything at all about who Damian Wayne is, at his core in existence, knows it only because he's allowed them to. 

And he'd allowed you to know this too, and yet now he was hesitating. 

"You wished to have... a valentine. Anyone?" 

"Anyone." 

"You could have, easily, if you wanted it," Damian rolled his eyes. 

"I could?" You smiled, and the twinkle in your eyes was nothing short of mischievous. 

"Yes." 

"Reeeally. How?" 

Damian slouched against the wall, "Well, you'd simply have to ask," he said it as if it had been an obvious fact, "I'm sure anyone at the academy would've said yes." 

Your smile widened as you raised your brows, "Oh?" 

Damian frowned, "You are making fun of me." 

"What do you mean? How." 

Damian crossed his arms as you laughed. 

"You think I'm making fun of you," you protested, "I'm not." 

"TT." 

"There's something you want to say, isn't there? Just spit it out, Damian." 

Damian's eyes lingered all over the room. His hands had started to sweat a while ago and by then, his heart had sped up so much he was sure it was making some attempt at breaking through and out of his chest. 

Originally, his plan had been to drop by and bring you a gift, but then he'd gotten nervous and internally malfunctioned, because he'd bought a double of everything so that you wouldn't assume it had been a gift and instead just him coming by to hang out like he always did. 

He had planned to come by, tell you he'd... harbored a few unwanted feelings towards you and hoped you would have been tired enough that you wouldn't have realized it, but clearly, his plan had flipped over backwards and blown up in his face. 

Damian took as deep a breath as possible with his collar putting him in a choke hold, as if trying to push out his words while simultaneously wanting to keep them buried the deepest he could. 

"I— hm," He stared intently at the floor, for the first time in a while feeling like the small child who would trip over his own emotions again, but he was resolved to tell you, "I like you. I suppose." 

It hadn't been surprising to Damian. More that it was hard to accept. He'd mulled over it for a long, long time. In fact, the reason he'd visited you tonight, made up his mind to tell you so, had been his ridiculously embarrassing performance. 

Being surprised by petty thieves and thrown out of the loop by measly codes, none of which happen, ever, not to him at least. Damian was far above such childish mistakes, at least so he thought until he started taking a closer look at his own thoughts and realized your eyes had gone from brown to 'beautiful pools of honey', your skin a beautiful, shining shade of brown. 

He was an artist, after all. He'd spent afternoons studying his environment, the shapes and colors, how everything fit in together; you were no stranger to his thoughts. 

Which of course, you wouldn't know. If you had, you would have taken the jump much earlier. You would have never acted based off of assumption alone, but having the confirmation, well. 

By now you had to contain your smile because surely, surely, your cheeks would be sore afterwards. 

"Wow," you raised your brows in obvious mocking, "Really?" 

Damian scrunched up his face in disgust, like he'd witnessed the most foul thing yet, crossing his arms tighter but refusing to meet your gaze as he turned to the wall. 

"You know, Damian." 

"Yes?" 

"The valentine I was hoping for this year… was yours. You could've easily made a card and thrown some glitter over it and that would be the end of that." 

"A card, with glitter?" Damian snapped his head at you, seeming almost bored as he spoke in a deadpan voice, "Is that how lowly you think of me?" 

At this you did laugh, almost too loudly for one in the morning, that you had to push both your hands against your mouth. 

Damian frowned, "Please do know that if I were to ever make something so miserable, it must be because I've been replaced. Which would not happen. Ever." 

You stood, shuffling over to Damian and sitting down next to him. 

He looked pretty underneath the moonlight coming through the window, the curls over his forehead looking soft and shiny. 

Damian looked right into your eyes, for the first time that night not looking away, he was trapped now. Not truly, he could leave, but did he want to? Not at all. 

Softly, Damian touched your hand, something perhaps akin to fear in his eyes as if he still expected rejection. 

"Damian?" 

"Hm?" 

"I'm going to kiss you." 

"Oh." 

"Unless you don’t want me to." 

"Please do. I mean—" 

It was a shy and quick kiss, but so, so exciting as Damian's grip tightened around your hand and you leaned into him. 

When you leaned away, it was with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

"Please do—" 

Damian frowned again, clearly not amused. After a few seconds though, your laugh died out. Truth is, your stomach was churning. Because, while you were very much happy and excited, you were also incredibly nervous. 

Both of you were stitching your thoughts back together, seconds of silence passing by. You were still holding Damian's hand. 

He closed his eyes, frown deepening considerably and quickly before he spoke, vile spilling out of his mouth, "A card? With some glitter thrown over it?" 

He looked downright furious, disgusted even. 

"Seriously?" 

"It's not that big of a deal," You chuckled, "Get over it." 

"Hm." 

Damian looked out the window, and you followed, the moon standing beautifully in the middle of the sky. 

Damian sighed, "I have to go." 

"Oh... okay." 

He didn't move. Neither of you did. 

Damian gave you a quick kiss again, looking absolutely scandalized when he pulled back. You stared at each other in complete disbelief before he stood up and started putting his gloves on again. 

He pressed his hands onto the windowsill and took a deep breath.

Damian looked at you, tenderly, "Goodnight, Y/N." 

"Goodnight, Damian." You smiled. 

Damian gave you a small smile, "Hm." 

You watched as he jumped off, grappling to the nearest building and laughed when you saw him standing still before disappearing into the night.