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syluses · 26 days ago

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fuck me like i’m famous

popstar! rafayel x female reader

in theory, attending your favorite popstar’s after party seems a dream come true. for you, it certainly is. in reality, though? it doesn’t live up to it- at least not innocently.

content popstar! rafayel, nsfw, smut, dubcon, fingering, disillusion, mc learns why idolizing celebrities isn’t wise (by being banged by one during his afterparty), yandere & obsessive undertones, 18+ characters

sidenote hrm… was supposed to be a lil drabble but it snowballed into almost 5k words. hopefully the fishie girlies will like this lil meal tho since he’s kinda a rare sight on the blog 💔 rafayel is freaked the fuck out in this deadass... also i literally had nothing better to name this but i believe chase atlantic kinda fits raf’s vibes here so :,] OH & THANK U FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YALL ♡♡♡

Lights glitter on his face in the after party.

You don’t know what you did to earn God’s favor in this life, but whatever the reason, you’re thankful for scoring yourself that ticket. He’s all you listen to; a staple to each of your playlists. And so for what Thomas did- gifting you a special pass he had as an extra to your favorite popstar’s show- you’re ever in his debt.

He might be his publicist; that spare ticket may mean nothing to him. Alright, but-

It might as well mean the whole world to you.

Girls crowd his spot on the couch. It’s decadent: the room bathed in dim, yellow lights as the drinks, generously taken from, sparkle on the table before it. He kicks his long legs out on it and stretches an arm behind the woman at his side. She’s beautiful, scantily clad, all of them are- some curled up to his shoulder, others drunkenly twirling around the room- and because of it, you feel a little out of place.

In jeans and a band tee, you weren’t prepared.

Not for this.

One part of you is positively gushing at the scene that unfolds around you, deciding you could die in peace now that you’d finally experienced one of his concerts, especially in such an exclusive way. Still, another part of you, dwelling low in your belly, twisting like a bad gut feeling, quietly thinks, Has Thomas mistaken me for a whore? Perhaps it’s wrong to think that of those girls... But you also don’t believe they’d take any real offense to that if they were to hear your internal back-and-forth, because they seem delighted to put on their shows for him.

They can’t be blamed, right? I mean… It’s him. Rafayel. Everybody and their mom would trip over their own two feet trying to get an audience with him.

Still.

You ball your fists in your lap.

A-Are you even meant to be here?

Rafayel was always bold on camera, yes; flirtatious to a fault. Sure, he was a playboy and you were aware of that, the whole community was. Really, it was integral to his charm.

But this—

One of the girls giggles when she stumbles over her high heels and into Rafayel’s lap. It’s convenient. Too convenient: even if she’s only half aware of her surroundings, in for a bad hangover tomorrow morning, she still manages to go flying right towards him. You know the purple-haired man must be aware of it too, her frolicking stunts.

Nonetheless, he catches her in his arms before she topples, and he laughs, too.

It’s a pretty sound. Then again, everything about him is. With his dyed, lavender curls and the softness to his otherwise coy face, the little moles dusting it and his glossy, pink lips— he’s beautiful. All the more in that outfit. Cheeky but not enough as to be scandalous. His stylist and his designer have your applause. Clearly, they know what they’re doing.

On stage, he’d seemed playful, but was able to keep his gallivanting at bay. With a wink, though, all that sex appeal just oozes out, and—

It’s weird. How you can spend so much weeks and months and years idolizing somebody, and then suddenly have all that worshipful intent collapsing in a breath. Within the span of not even an hour, you’ve become so disillusioned with this celebrity- your all time favorite- that you can hardly bear to look at him and his wanton display.

Sat on the armchair opposite of it all as it takes place, deathly quiet, you begin to feel sick.

Is this really him?

You knew he was a flirt, yes, but- but what the hell is even this? Is this what he demeans himself to after each show? Just some cheap manwhore with his hand-selected throng of groupies, sipping away at an expensive wine just moments after he set the mic aside after a love song you’d thought to be heartfelt—

Your glass, the one a suited man offered on a tray and you took only to mimic the others, remains untouched before you.

This is startling. And far from your preferred scene.

M-Maybe you ought to go home. And soon. Is what you’ve been thinking for closer to thirty minutes now, and yet you’re too nervous to speak on it. I mean, maybe if you just stood up and left, nobody would notice your slipping out— the room is far from bright and everybody’s buzzed on something, anyway—

Marbled, coral-blue eyes stare at you over the rim of his glass, and they glint with something you think is mirth.

Curiosity, alongside it.

It makes you second guess yourself. Taking your leave.

He’s been watching you for a while now. Even when the stunning women gather in a flurry around him, tugging on his hair and teasing with whispering breaths in his ear, his attention doesn’t remain on them for long. It drags back to you and, for all the distractions occuring around you (the stereo playing an all too familiar song, the drunken chatter, the unease in your chest), he’s impressively focused.

It’s unnerving. It’s divine. He’s all you listen to in the car and in the shower and in your bedroom when you’re dancing to his newest album in an oversized sleep shirt and panties. You’ve cried to him and laughed to him and now he’s here, in shocking clarity, and you were so so excited, rambling about it to your girlfriends for months, but now you’re not so sure of what you’re seeing. If you like it.

He seems less god to you, now; oh, still heavenly, still angelic, for sure, but he toes more along the line of something wicked— like a cherub fallen.

And you can’t find it in you to get up and scurry out even when that’s all you can picture yourself doing in your head, escaping.

When you catch his eye again, you dip your chin (not out of reverence, no longer, but rather unease) and bite on your lip until you taste blood.

So when he lifts his hand with a snap then, the girls pouting as they crawl off him, dissipating no different than fog- you’re ever thankful for the opportunity to finally get up and leave, too—

A voice chimes over itself, layering over the familiar song playing in the background.

“Hey- wait up, cutie.”

You pause when you belatedly realize it’s calling for you.

As if your legs are stilts, you turn around hesitantly (strange: because really, shouldn’t you be happy he’s noticed you?) and try to lessen the shock on your face- even though his amused little smile tells you it’s as clear as day.

He laughs pleasantly, playful to a fault.

“What’s that silly face for? Oh, IIIIIII see, you’re feeling a lil left out, is my guess. Here,” he pats the cushion beside him and you actually blanche. For a moment you think your heart has stopped beating and those thumps you hear are the drum beats in his song as it drifts through the now empty room.

Save for you and Rafayel, it’s completely barren; the better part of its energy has left with the dancing girls but whatever remains of it, he holds.

You eye the spot beside him, unmoving.

An excuse, you realize right then— you can still spit out an excuse.

“I-I’m not one of the girls,” you stammer with a wince before clearing your throat, “I- I don’t even think I’m really supposed to be here.”

Another laugh, and a dismissive wave of his hand. You try to make yourself laugh too if only to appease him, your idol- endlessly nervous.

“Oh, well that’s just untrue,” he teases. “C’mon, don’t be shy~! I was just playing around with the others. It’s just you and me now, so no need to feel all nervous,” he assures, the image of harmless as he crosses his leg over the other and waits.

You blink rapidly. “I—“

You’re about to spew out a feeble rejection and that’s when his face drops.

You’re not sure, for all the records and posters and billboards you’ve seen of his face, if he’s ever made that expression. Not on camera, at least.

He lowly murmurs, “Aren’t you a fan?”

“I-…. Well-….”

A fan? For years now! His number one! A stupid girlish voice in the corner of your mind shrieks, and you almost dredge some joy out of this whole thing.

Letting out a shaky sigh, defeated, you creep over to him on equally shaky legs and take the spot beside him— all with great hesitance, though.

His pretty face alights again. Some of the pressure loosens up, even if only by a little, and your shoulders relax by a smidge.

Maybe it’s fine. Maybe you’re crazy and this is how he interacts with all his listeners no, no it’s not. Or maybe this is just a normal, celebrity thing and you’re blowing this way out of proportion here.

Just like he did with that other woman- that other likeminded fan or plaything or- or you don’t know- he loops an arm around the back of the couch behind you.

…What’s different, though, is that, unlike with her, he rests his hand on your shoulder and hugs you closer to his side. Clinging.

Rafayel smiles. Charming. Frivolous. With a glint in his eye, intense and engrossed, that’s weirdly sober when taking the half empty drink he sets down on the table into consideration.

“There. Good girl. So tell me, pretty,” he starts thoughtfully, fingertips twirling your hair as he leans into you. For the popstar that takes very little seriously, you think he appears awfully interested in some no-name girl who happened to score herself a limited-time lanyard to see him sing.

You swallow thickly. In the back of your mind, thoughts race. So does your heart. You might explode.

H-He didn’t act like this with the others— did you somehow present yourself in a way that made him think he could take more than what the others let him? More than what the others practically begged him to, but for some fucking reason he wouldn’t—

“Did you like the show?”

“Y-Yeah.” You don’t mean to whisper, but a certain, resigned silence is what you’ve been reduced to. His other hand stretches across his body to rest on your thigh.

Rafayel hums. But before he can speak, you- rudely, might he add- cut in. “I- I have to go home soon, so-“

Amused, he snorts. “Relax, alright? Tonight, you’re a very important person, aren’t you? Home can wait,” he muses, so close he’s near nuzzling your cheek.

A very important person? Funny. You’re just another fool bouncing around amongst the nosebleeds- a face he’ll be hard-pressed to catch and certain to forget. Honestly? This whole facade of his is as cruel as it is unbelievable.

Gradually, he’s letting you down.

Your throat bobs. Almost a bit bitterly, you remind, “I- I know you’re a popstar, but we’re still strangers. You don’t have to feel like you need to entertain me or be nice to me.”

“Huh. You’re one smart cookie,” he wryly comments before giving his head a tiny shake, almost more to himself than to you. “Um, look, cutie, you’re definitely no stranger to me,” his words leave you dazed because they sound genuine. You snap your head up to look at him, needing to gauge his expression and fish for deceit. You… find none.

He smoothly continues. “But I guess I’m no stranger to you either, huh? And tonight, you’ll be like, extra acquainted with me.”

✦

It’s difficult.

-When he’s hovering over you and gently pushing you onto the plush cushions into a half-lying position, to not only push him off but find the strength to.

Physically, Rafayel’s no hulking display of power, but he’s intimidating all the same. Mentally, he’s more or less your idol and although he may not hold too much weight in stature (still, he’s stronger than you), he still holds enough golden trophies to decorate a shelf— and too much influence for you to really comprehend.

Or try to toy with.

…You should want this. Should want to lie down and offer yourself up to him with eagerness— it should be like a blessing and yet you’re hesitating.

…Why are you hesitating? A voice in the back of your head, the one that had raved endlessly to her friends about the upcoming concert, asks perplexedly. You’ve no answer. But the man atop you seems to wonder much of the same, too; his brow twitching just slightly with what you think to be dejection before he tilts your chin with long, slim fingers to kiss you and it’s gone.

He moans into that first kiss. Prettily and soft.

Heat flutters in the core of you, your body involuntarily responding to him even as your eyes snap open and shift to where the door is- or where you think it is (have the lights gotten dimmer? or is he just all you see?)- his palm tugging at your hair softly to lie you down.

His lips are plump, pink, just as gentle as they look as they meld against yours— definitely aroused, there’s no doubt there, his warm breaths tinged with needy whines- but there’s an odd affection in them, too. Something personal and doting.

When he tries to slip in tongue, you reel away but there’s nowhere to go. Not really. Not when your head finally touches the cushion and he lets out a small, disapproving sound before giving up on that goal- for now- and attacking your neck instead.

It’s good. Delicious; that perfect mouth knows its way around a mic and a lover, you suppose- suckling and kissing and nipping with the barest amount of teeth as if he’s intent on leaving a mark.

You can’t hold back on it anymore— you drop your hands that had been hovering awkwardly on his broad shoulders, mewling in response, and he shivers.

“Yeah, cutie, make some noise,” he chuckles mildly. You think back to the auditorium. The roaring cheers and shrieks, the phone lights waving in the air and the mist rolling beneath his feet as he sang.

His hand descends down your belly, and you’re brought back to now.

It’s more instinct than anything that has you clamping your legs shut as soon as his fingers reach the denim. He tuts at you, and yet the glimmer in his eye is… endeared, almost.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t shut me away now,” Rafayel scolds, thought it lacks any real bite. Still, your lashes flutter and you stare agog at him.

Like this, he’s positively gorgeous as he props himself up mere inches away- albeit his little grin can almost be considered vulpine. “Didn’t I put on a great show for you out there? Don’t tell me I get nothing in return,” he pouts, tone light but what lies under it is a layer of desire. Opaque and thick.

Hesitantly, you mull over his words. I mean, you just really want this to be over- so to hell to with it, maybe you should just submit yourself. The sooner you appease the playboy with what he wants— that is, some nameless girl he perceives as cheap enough to get on her back for him— the sooner you can leave and pretend Thomas never gave you his special ticket.

The popstar’s words turn comforting as he watches you carefully. “If you’re shy, don’t worry. I’ve seen it plenty’a times before, you know.”

Bigheaded, you think then. Bigheaded but he has every right to be.

Maybe if it was any other guy bragging about the chicks he fucked and scrutinized, you’d throw up in your mouth— and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t cringe a little on the inside— but it’s embarrassment for yourself above all that stirs in your stomach. It joins the butterflies as your cheeks warm over.

“Now,” he continues, his familiar lilt flattening into heavy, breathy lust, “All I want is to see yours. I’m sure your pussy is pretty, cutie- really,” he convinces.

A tremble. “So pretty.”

Oh, you’re erupting on the inside— heart snapping like a snare drum in your chest, overpowering the faint music and drowning it out- your hand shaking where it weakly closes over the back of his own, now only half trying to drag it away.

He hammers the last nail into your coffin. With a ragged, but gentle breath and- as he leans in- a surprisingly chaste peck to your lips, appreciative of what he has before him.

“Won’t you show me it?”

But jaw slack, you hesitate. And- Of course you hesitate. The reasons for your deliberation, that weird gut feeling, become clearer and clearer as seconds progress:

Firstly, he’s the image of fame- and if you were to deny him, if he said the smallest word over it, your whole entire social life as you knew it would backfire on you. The possibility of his saying mean things on the internet hangs in your mind. Rumors circulating, as untrue as they are vivid, coming to bite you in the ass. For as many hours as you’ve spent watching and listening to Rafayel, you don’t know his true colors (as evidenced by right now); that includes what a wounded ego would look like if you rejected him.

Secondly, you hesitate because—

Because he’s perfect. Much like an idol on a pedestal, carefully set there with a singular light overhead to define him and him alone.

In a dark room, all look to him.

Once- an hour ago- you did, too.

Maybe you still do. You don’t know. There’s a whole bunch of feelings (confusion, awe, a betrayal that makes you question just how parasocial your relationship with him was) swirling inside you, none able to be grazed or grasped, and it shakes a part within.

“Please?” He breathes, ever headstrong.

…Your rationale is headlong, falling into the abyss with a word.

“O-Okay,” you all but squeak out. It’s the best you can manage. Rafayel’s breath hitches at that, though, your given assent, no matter how feeble, planting satisfaction deep in his chest.

And so with that he’s swiftly undoing your jeans and rucking them down your thighs.

It’s less out of good will that you help him shimmy them off you, to a bunch above your shoes, and more so eagerness to be done with this whole thing.

When he tucks his knuckles beneath the waistband of your panties- cutesy cotton put on full display for him, perched above pretty thighs- he curses under his breath.

His hands are as big as a man’s but as soft as a woman’s. His fingertips are dutiful as they brush along your folds, as singleminded, hungry, as the former.

…But when they nudge between your pussy lips and at your tight hole, his thumb prodding expertly at your clit, it’s like he has all the awareness of the latter.

“Ah, you’re so wet…” he muses aloud. Very pleased with his discovery.

His eyelids, dazzling with some glittery shade his makeup artist applied prior to his show, droop and don’t meet your flustered stare as he focuses on the space between your legs. And he takes it upon himself to rid you of your panties, too: for as adorable as they are, Rafayel knows it’ll be ten times better for you both if he can just-

Finally fucking see for himself what you’ve got goin’ on down there—

Undies midway down your leg, he comments, “you’re really hyped up after the show, huh?” His exhale is a shaky sound. His gaze is utterly fascinated (and perhaps a touch unnerving, what with its intensity) when it bounces back to that soft dip below your belly.

You’ll give him this much credit— for as wild as that glint in his unblinking stare becomes, he’s fortunately gentle with you.

He wets his lip absently. “Yeah… it gets me going, too. All the lights and cheering faces... Feeling the bass vibrate up from the floor. Can I be honest, though, cutie? When Thomas- oh, shit-“ he shivers when he inserts a digit in- his pointer one- and your hole instinctively clamps down around it, juices glistening to the base of his knuckle as you try not to squirm.

Y-You can’t believe this is happening. Your clothes are all in a disarray- the only piece intact, actually, is your tee that just so happens to be merchandise of the popstar that hovers over you now with his hand between your legs—

You blink back to real life when he sharply inhales.

“…When Thomas told me you were comin’, I made absolute sure to know your standing. That way, I could find you easily in the crowd. I was gettin’ so worked up just looking at you. Could you hear it-? My voice began to shake.” he chuckles, voice euphony to your ears. Familiar in its lilt but not in its timber.

His words stun you. They don’t make sense- is this is all some cruel, sick game after all-? Or- Or maybe he’s mistaking you for someone else? or he’s just choosing a really weird, admittedly screwed up way to let off some steam. God knows, what with his recent album built on the back of unrequited love, he needs the stress relief—

But no. He continues on like nothing is amiss, like your heart doesn’t plummet to the tips of your toes at his offhanded admission, and you forget how to breathe.

“When our eyes met- you looked like you were doubting yourself, but I really was staring at you, you silly girl.” Again, he’s fucking laughing, albeit this time, it takes on a more self-deprecating tone. You witness, almost unseeing, as his facade crumbles in increments. More and more he undoes it by the seams- much like he is with you.

“I was… Hm. I was even singing about you. All those stupid pining love songs— who do you think they’re for, princess?”

A gasp punches out from your lungs. You don’t know what it’s for- his nonsensical confessions, or his handling as he stuffs in another finger (you could’ve used some more working up to it, sure, he knows, but he’s a little impatient tonight) and scissors you open.

Wet shlicks ring in between guitar riffs. Your essence flows all over his knuckles and the numerous- horrifically expensive, you realize- jewels lining them. Rafayel doesn’t seem nearly as appalled as you do, though... If anything, aroused.

It feels so good. He’s hitting that spongey spot inside you just right. It’s a surreal experience, so much so you almost feel like you’ll coalesce into a dream at any moment. The melody playing in the background, the opulent couch as it groans beneath you with every piston of his arm, the twinkling, but dim lights and his face. That picturesque, idol face.

“Here, I’ll tell you the answer…” he leans over you to whisper in your ear, subjecting you to all the charm of a siren. You’re helpless to it ‘cause you’re just a girl.

“You. Always you.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is light but your lower half is heavy, the inner portion of your thighs numbed and sticky. Your limbs tingle but all you can feel is his lips tenderly suckling at your neck and your gushing walls as they constrict around their intruder.

Though they, too, ease up on him. He’s good at disarming you. That’s how you were walking in here, anyway, disarmed and beyond yourself with excitement.

Rafayel moans over you, finding a great amount of pleasure in the whole ordeal.

“You gonna cum? yeah?” He’s sweet, purring in your ear, making sounds as pretty as a girl- maybe even more so. His voice has won awards for a reason. You recall binging musical ceremonies on the internet and shrieking as soon as his name was called to stage, his seeming nonchalance as he accepted an accolade…

Yet you saw his ears, too, the tips of them red under the resounding applause, and wondered just what or who it was that had him bowing his head to the camera—

“A-Ah, mmph- Rafayel, please—!” You choke, fingers curling into his shoulder. In response, he lets out a pleasured, breathy sound, all encouragement and delight in his eyes.

“Mhm. Go ahead. Cum. Cum, pretty girl, all over my fingers. Oh- I really wanna taste you- will y’let me taste you afterwards?” He’s moaning unabashed as you come undone at warp speed. It’s shameful and your cheeks toast over but you clamp your eyes shut and choose to bask in the feeling of it all as it overwhelms you.

He’s good. So good. Masterful with it, really. Not like any of the bungling guys who courted you for all of one date (the more patient: two) before ripping your pants off and sticking their fingers inside without prompting or even half the skill to back their confidence.

No- he’s every bit qualified and then some.

Your nails dig into his clavicle. Rafayel doesn’t care- if that pinch of pleasure between his brow is the least bit credible, maybe he even likes the sting.

“Good girl. There, good girl.”

It’s building inside you. He works you up progressively, rapidly, and it shows in the little gasps you make that fall back to back, the L shape you make with either of your legs as they hitch up around his hips and quake, the ball in your gut that suddenly hardens before—

“Ngh— Rafayel-!”

You scream. Louder than the music. Louder than his words of encouragement, sugar-sweet, hungry, susurrating as they spill in your ear. He sensually nibbles on it and wraps his free hand around your head- with a misplaced affection, you think- to anchor you throughout your climax. He manages to keep you grounded there on the couch but only barely.

Your mind does slip off to another place, though, floating in white oblivion for a number of seconds as your limbs offer small trembles.

Rafayal takes close to nothing serious. So the light, but bubbly laugh that draws you back to consciousness with a sigh is fairly appropriate.

What isn’t is his touchiness as he drags you to sit on his lap— boneless; your skin damp with heat, your damned pants still cuffed awkwardly around your ankles— and croons into your neck. Holding you close like a lover would in the after glow. But this isn’t the after glow, this is the after show. But then again, if his earlier words were true- the ones that barrel back into you with clarity, the haze dissipating- then…

But no. No, how could that be? Those songs aren’t about you— and when you met his eye during the opening, and all the times afterward, you were sure it was just your imagination, especially after the fan beside you threw up her arms and cheered as if his stare was for her instead—

You might know Thomas (very vaguely- more of a friend of a friend you’ve seen at a few get-togethers; you follow him on insta), but that doesn’t mean Rafayel, the man he works for, should know you... I mean, you doubt they hang out often, anyway. Especially not since Thomas would more or less be viewed as the king of no-fun in the popstar’s eyes.

His whole job is to assure that Rafayel keeps his lips sealed tight: you can’t imagine that he’d be loose with his own by chatting with him about you, a girl he’s not all too familiar with but knows just enough to throw a spare ticket at.

So there’s just no way any of this is true.

Half of you expects Rafayel to shove you off his lap at any second, snap back to the reality that you’re not the woman he mistook you for, and flusteredly point you to the door. The other half of you is like it’s waiting for him to pull out his cock (it stirs underneath your ass, hard and by the feel of it, very excited) and take all that’s left to.

He moves your hair aside your shoulder and rubs along your back, instead.

And he whispers in your ear (or into your neck, really), his warm breath fanning there as he says like it’s a vow:

“Wanna see you at my next show. Better be there.”

Your throat bobs. As he speaks, you try not to focus too much on the fluid that oozes from your pussy lips and onto his expensive, designer slacks- but that’s no easy task when he seems to want for that, slightly lifting his hips up.

“No. Before that, even—“ he pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before smiling, resolved. “Oh, I know- I’ll have Thomas help get you settled in with the tour bus. That way, you can just be on the road with me.”

You gawk. Whatever he’s saying doesn’t reach you; you’re only receiving that garbled bits of it, like a radio interpolated by static between voices. Your palms lift to his chest and push there softly.

Smoothly, he takes them in his own and kisses the knuckles, peering up at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky, giggling.

“Doesn’t that sound just great, cutie?”

“I- wait, you-?”

“I’ll name my next song after you- my next album, even!- and then we can go public immediately.” You can recognize it for what it is, even coming from someone as frivolous as him.

A promise.

“The fans will love you,” he says excitedly before leaning in and smushing a kiss to your damp hairline, murmuring there with a fiery tinge of what you think is devotion. “But not as much as I already do.”

He fishes into his pocket, then, one hand still securing your waist.

“Lemme give Thomas a call… I guess he kinda deserves my ‘thank you’, too, huh?”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace smut #rafayel smut #lads smut #rafayel lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x you #qi yu love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #calebrity #on the eve of syluss birthday is crazy #GAH LOOK AWAY KING 😣😣#‧₊ 🍰.┊𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

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tiedyeflannels · 3 months ago

Text

Never Let You Go

Park Jimin x reader

Pt.1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 - Masterlist

Word Count: 1.4k

Genre: Angst to Fluff

A/N: Here's the last part! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy!

6 months. 6 months felt like nothing after returning from the US. Jin and Hobi were busy doing their own things like promotions, content for ARMY, writing and producing songs, and a frickin’ WORLD TOUR. So… Things got busy real quick since I came back, but it’s been a blast!

And now, it’s June and the rest of the members were scheduled to come back from their service soon. We (Jin, Hobi, and I) had already picked up Namjoon and Tae, but when I asked when the others were getting out, they refused to answer me which led to today…

“You promised me that we would get food and that’s what I’m expecting,” I said, crossing my arms and glaring at the members currently sitting in front of me in van. I slumped against the third-row seat of the van as I watched a couple of them smile. It was something that set me ill at ease.

“We will, we just need to stop somewhere first,” Jin said, prompting me to sigh and look out the window. I looked around at the buildings, when something caught my eye.

“You have to be kidding me,” I mumbled under my breath as we stopped by the gate to a military base. “I knew something fishy was happening when you didn’t tell me when the others were getting released.”

Tae snickered as they all started to undo their seatbelts and got out of the car, making me do the same.

“We knew that you wouldn’t have come if we didn’t,” Jin nudged me as we walked through the gate and to an open area with a few other families who were waiting for their sons too.

“You’re not wrong about that,” I muttered, crossing my arms. I watched as the surrounding families talked excitedly with one another before doubts started to creep in my head.

Should I even be here? What if…

“What if I make things awkward by being here?”

What if he doesn’t want me… here?

“Now, why would that happen,” Namjoon asked, making me turn toward him.

“Yeah,” Hobi started, “If anything, he should be the one that’s awkward. You did everything you could so you could mend the situation, and he ghosted you. It’s his fault, not yours, so keep your chin up!”

I sent a small smile his way as a thanks, but I still couldn’t shake the nervous feeling in my gut.

“I’m still nervous though.”

“And that’s okay,” Tae smiled and put a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “You haven’t seen or talked to him in 2 years, it’s normal to feel nervous, but don’t feel that way just because he might be mad that you’re here. Jungkook is getting released today, so if he asks why you’re here, just say you’re here to support Jk!”

I squinted at Tae with a sly smile, “When did you get so wise?”

He chuckled and was about to say something before someone beat him to it, “It was all that time at the super cool base of his.”

We all turned to the voice and watched as Jungkook happily made his way over to us.

“Jaykay~” “Jin~”

I chuckled as the youngest and oldest pulled each other into a hug. I continued to watch the others take turns hugging the youngest before it was my turn. I smiled as he turned his attention to me and scooped me into a hug, spinning us around before setting me down.

“I missed you, Y/n/n! How was America,” he asked, giving me one last squeeze before pulling away.

“It was good! Kind of boring though, without you guys there, but I had fun,” I smiled.

“How was your time here,” I asked glancing at the building that stood a ways away from where we were.

He shrugged, “Eh. Fine, I guess. Don’t even get me started on Jimin.”

I tensed up, letting my nerves get the better of me.

“Speaking of,” Namjoon started, looking at the building Jungkook had come out of, “Where is he?”

Jk looked back, then turned to the group, “He said there was something he forgot to pack when we were starting to leave so… he should be joining us fairly soon.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear because as soon as Jungkook finished his sentence, Jimin came walking out of the front doors.

I peaked around Jk’s arm and watched as he made his way over to us with a relieved smile. I was technically blocked by Jungkook, so I watched as Jimin gave some of the members that approached him a hug while striking up a conversation. I smiled fondly as I watched him joke around and happily laugh with the others while he was unaware of my presence behind Jungkook.

That was until said person made his way over to Jimin, leaving me to awkwardly stand out in the open, not sure what to do. I fiddled with my fingers as the group kept on talking before Jimin took a simple glance in my direction, effectively stopping what he was saying.

Anxiety started to run through me as he just… stared at me, with a blank expression.

He dropped his bags and started to slowly make his way towards me while my mind was racing, trying to come up with an excuse as to why I was here.

I nervously chuckled when he stopped in front of me- looking everywhere but him, “Hey… Just setting the record straight; the members tricked me into co-”

Jimin hurriedly wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug and buried his head in the crook of my neck- effectively catching me by surprise and making me freeze against his touch. My brows furrowed in confusion- not sure what was going on until he muttered something that I couldn’t quite catch. I hummed in question, prompting Jimin to repeat it.

“I’m so sorry.”

My eyes widened.

“I’m so sorry that I ghosted you. That I left you wondering what you did wrong. That I let you leave without giving you an explanation.”

Tears started to wet my shoulder as he cried. I finally wrapped my arms around his torso while letting the tears that were building up silently fall down my face as he continued.

“I read every single text you sent me when you were in the US and I should’ve texted back.”

“Why didn’t you,” I sobbed, tightly gripping the back of his shirt, “I always gave you the chance!”

“I know,” he pulled back, allowing me to see face. It was red and blotchy from the crying with tears still making their descent on his cheeks, but he still looked perfect.

“But I didn’t think I deserved to after what I said to you,” he continued. “We were about to enlist, and I wanted to push you away because I didn’t want it to be hard for you, but that didn’t work out like I wanted…”

I let out a humorless laugh as I brought my hands to his face to wipe tears.

“You dummy,” I gently smiled when he leaned into my touch.

“I know. That’s not an excuse and I’m really sorry. If you wanted nothing to do with me anymore; I get it. I wouldn’t want to be with me after that either.”

I shook my head. “Don’t think that! Would I have sent you a text nearly every day for two years if I didn’t want to be with you?”

“No,” he whispered.

I manually shook his head, earning a small smile.

“No, of course not! Though, you’re going to have to make it up, but I’m not that easy to let go.”

He shook his head as a fond smile graced his lips at my confession and wrapped me up in a hug again.

“I could never let you go,” he whispered, making me smile.

“Let’s go home, hmm?”

He pulled apart from the hug, looked me in the eyes and nodded, “Let’s go home.”

Bonus~

“So… how was Jimin during your service,” Jin asked Jungkook, who was accompanying the oldest in the front.

The maknae sighed, “He did great with the jobs he was given, but a lot of the time, he would talk about Y/n. He couldn’t even sleep that well.”

Jin chuckled, “That’s funny because Y/n/n also had trouble sleeping.”

Both of them smiled and peeked toward the back row of the van where the both of you sat. You had your head on Jimin’s shoulder while he rested his on top on yours, peacefully sleeping now that both of you had each other back.

“It’s kind of funny how they won’t admit that they need each other as much as they do,” Jungkook said, facing forward again, leaving you both to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

#bts fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic #bts x you #park jimin #jimin #jimin x reader #jimin angst

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runawrites-blog · 4 months ago

Text

Undercover Ch. 10 (Connor x Reader)

Summary: On your first day back at work, you and Connor decide to make your relationship known. (Female Reader) Warnings: Chapter 10/10. Last One. No Y/N. Petnames (Love, Sweetheart). Detective Reader. Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62247359/chapters/159245413#workskin Previous Chapter

---

”--This case and the perpetrators’ motifs have once more sparked a conversation about the manufacturing of donor biocomponents and whose jurisdiction this would fall under after CyberLife was reformed from a place of production to one of repair. The president of the United States has been in contact with the leader of the android revolution, the RK200 Markus, to once more unravel this time-sensitive topic. Get updates on the development of this conversation right here on Channel Four.”

The next news topic faded into the background because as soon as you and Connor walked in, hand in hand, a commotion erupted from across the bullpen. You two had not made your relationship public for the past two weeks, opting to wait until the ripples caused by the case had died down and you were able to go back to work. But now that Ashley and Dave had been sentenced and you were cleared to go back to work -- albeit while working from your desk for the next few weeks -- you two felt like it was the right time to tell your coworkers and friends you were a couple. But you didn’t quite know how to breach this topic of discussion, so you’d just opted for entering the precinct as a couple on your first day back on the job.

“I knew it!”

You couldn’t help but smirk at Gavin’s enthusiastic exclamation and you watched as he hit Nines in the arm to make him look away from you and Connor. The android gave Gavin a surprisingly affectionate look before nodding his head.

“You really did, I have to admit.”

Hank leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as you and Connor arrived at his desk. “That explains why you’ve been spending almost every other night at her flat. I know your excuse of just feeling safer that way was fishy.”

“It wasn’t an excuse. The two of us really find comfort in each others’ presence.”

“Gross.”

“Gavin, I will smack you.” You hissed at your friend and shook your head. “We were attacked and frankly, even with speaking to a therapist, I feel a little uneasy about being alone which is why Connor spends almost every night at my place right now.”

“Yeah, that and to bang you.”

Hank was the one to smack Gavin, dealing a light blow to his arm to make him stop talking. “Stop it, Reed.”

“Thank you.” Connor nodded wisely. “I had my Thirium pumped ripped from my body, so I don’t find it hard to believe that I’d find comfort in sharing the bed with someone.”

“Yeah, I bet you shared each others’ bed.”

“Can you be serious for one second?” Nines rolled his eyes at Gavin’s words. “The two of them were attacked and injured which can be traumatising even to a police officer and all you think about is sexual intercourse?”

“Fine, I’ll stop.”

“I love the fact that out of every here, you listen to Nines when he tells you to stop.” You chuckled and leaned into Connor’s side. “But I also fail to see how my sex life is any of your concern, Gavin.”

“All I’m saying is that I have to find a good robo-fucker song to set as your ringtone now.” Gavin grinned and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Maybe ‘Computer Boy’ by Poppy?”

“I did fall in love with the man of the future.”

At your joke, Gavin’s grin only grew. “You got a thing for your laptop, computer.”

“I can’t believe Gavin was right about something!”

You all looked up to find Tina approaching you and when she got to the desk she flopped down to sit on it, shaking her head at her friend who just flipped her off much to the woman’s amusement.

“But I’m happy for you two. I knew you two were getting closer and closer every time we checked in on you. It was just a matter of time until you got together.”

“I second that.” Hank said in amusement, giving Connor a teasing smile. “You two were practically fused at the hip whenever we called you.”

Gavin nodded his head in agreement. “And he gave you his jacket, you two held hands, you danced and all that romantic stuff, so I was totally expecting you two to get together. But I’m happy for you two.”

“Me, too.” Nines said with a smile, fixing Connor’s eyes. “I know you’ve been infatuated with her for the longest time.”

“Nines, don’t tell her!”

“Was that wrong of me to say? I was under the impression that it was fairly obvious since you two did start a relationship.”

“I guess you’re right, it’s pretty obvious that I love her.”

You smiled softly at that and leaned in to press a kiss on Connor’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

“That is my cue to leave!” Gavin exclaimed and made a face. “I don’t need to listen to you two confessing your love for each other.”

“Why? Because you’re jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“He has no reason to be jealous anymore.” Tina grinned and wriggled her eyebrows at Gavin, earning herself a glare from him. “It’s not like it’s a secret that you and Nines banged.”

“Not anymore.” You said in amusement, chuckling as Gavin’s face heated up and he glared at you. “Don’t act like that. You’ve been annoying Connor and me for weeks now.”

“She’s right, you know?”

Gavin rolled his eyes at Connor’s agreement. “You agreeing with her isn’t really a surprise, tin-can.”

“You think just because I love my partner that I cannot be objective, meat-bag?”

You chuckled at their bickering, leaning your head against Connor’s shoulder to which he pulled you closer to his body, his hand beginning to stroke your side. Smiling at his ministrations, you laced your fingers with his where his hand lay on your side. Connor was smiling brightly, making Hank’s lips twitch upwards, as well. Tina was still poking fun at Gavin and the man was just rolling his eyes at her, bickering back while Nines watched them with an amused smirk on his lips.

“I’m happy to be back home.” You said, looking back at Connor with a smile. “And I’m even happier that we’re in a relationship now. I really love you, Con.”

“I love you, too. I’m glad you took the first step and kissed me.”

“I guess Gavin was right, after all.”

“How so?”

“This really was like the plot of a romance novel.”

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shads-shipposts · 11 months ago

Text

"Anachronism" Prologue Rough Draft +LORE✨

Remember how I mentioned that the chapters prior to this would only leave you more confused as to wtf was going on? Well, the prologue is now finished and is being posted.

The background of Anachronism is this: back in 2015 I attempted to rewrite a 2014 RP that included the Tintin sailors (which is my first fanfic ever). True Colors was the name. It was never finished, instead transitioning halfway through into an original fic where the sailors got new names/designs/backstories as they were changed into ocs. The Karaboudjan would become the Caroline, but Scarlett was already a self-insert so her initial character remains (though she's changed quite a bit). Both the original fics and the 2015 are scrubbed from the internet, though I do believe one of you followers actually read that 2014 one when it was on Deviant Art. I am so sorry you had to witness that 😬.

Jump to late 2017-early 2018, the first hints of Anachronism were forming. It wouldn't be until 2019-2020 New Years that I started it in earnest. The story follows myself (yes, I get "isekai'd") as I end up in the same timeline as that 2015 fic. Originally it was the 2014 fic but I really don't want to deal with certain elements of that mess. Anyway, that Anachronism kinda started collecting dust as my Bad Batch hyperfixation hit and Adventures!AU was born. That series takes place after Anachronism, but Anachronism was never posted.

Well, 4+ years, three and a half books, and 500k+ words later I am finally starting to post snippets to curse the world lol. Schedule-wise, Anachronism won't premiere in full until 2029 most likely, as Adventures!AU is still my main project. But I miss the Karaboudjan crew, and my hyperfixation is strong for them rn so I'm posting and working on chapters.

All that to say buckle up, this fic gets wild. Magic elements are minimal in this fic, but they still be there.

Enjoy! :D Feedback is most welcome, I'm still figuring out the characterizations for the fellas as it's been a while since I really wrote heavily with them (Bad Batch has claimed most of my time).

CW: Mild horror elements

1872 words

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

“Scared, Allan?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself here after he closed his eyes. It’d been months since the incident that gave rise to the event playing over and over again in his dreams, but time hadn’t dulled any of his emotions concerning the event.

“I must say, your fear scent is… unique. Fishy and tart.”

Confusion, horror, shock, disbelief.

“Don’t worry your little head there. I respect you and, strange as it may seem, I do find the need to fear you.”

Yes, fear there too.

“Funny ain’t it?”

And who wouldn’t be scared?

“An Alphian fearin’ a human.”

When they were faced with an alien of unknown magical abilities?

“Don’t see that every day.”

The scene wobbled and fizzled at the edges, like staring at a reflection on the surface of a stormy sea. The secrets surrounding the scene trapped deep in its depths, unreachable even if one tried their hardest to grasp the answers.

Allan Thompson walked through the scene, removed from his own actions as if he were just on autopilot. He couldn’t change the scene, no more than someone watching a reel on a screen.

He sat at the table, across from the half-human, half animal woman that watched him like a hawk. Dark stripes cut through her skin like thick shadows across a moonlit patch in the woods, a black and white tail flicked behind her, and piercing eyes the color of glaciers scanned him inside and out. She was a head shorter than him, yet power radiated off her like heat from an open flame.

His voice reached his ears, muted and distant.

His own and yet… not, in a way.

“Kid… I’m sorry about Turtle.”

The alien looked up at him, the furry ears on the sides of her head flattened against ginger hair.

“Thanks, man.”

Those cat-like eyes shifted to the side, as if searching for any other threats.

He knew it was a dream. Knew what was about to happen.

It did not ease the churning of his stomach.

“Actually,” she continued, mouth moving but voice coming from the very walls surrounding them. “I kinda wanted to ask you about something related to that.”

Allan knew what was coming. Knew what she was going to ask.

Knew how badly it would go, how swiftly the scene would turn dangerous.

But he was helpless to do anything but follow the script. Follow the events as they unfolded.

Eyes on her hands, waiting to see those thorn sharp claws, Allan again heard his voice from far away.

“Aye?”

He wished he could change course. Wished he could prevent what came next. Perhaps, if he could, then things would be different.

But no.

“Let me go after that short slaver with the dark brown hair. I want his head for orderin’ me to kill Turtle.”

There it was. The request that shattered everything. The request that would leave Allan with gaps in his memory that no amount of pondering or searching could ever fix.

He felt the shock course through his body, felt his spine stiffen and his heart skip a beat.

“I’m sorry…” he heard himself say. “But I can’t allow that.”

Ears shot up, a tail bristled, sharp teeth bared, and anger blazed in those icy eyes.

“What?”

If only he could alter his words. Explain more, explain better.

Save himself.

If only.

“I can’t allow you to kill him.”

He had dreams. He had nightmares.

This hell was something else entirely.

Pupils narrowed to slits across from him, jagged scars streaking down the table as wicked claws dug into the old wood.

“Is that your final answer?”

There was red now, deep in those eyes.

He could only watch, silently scream in his head as he fought with all his might to change the memory.

“Aye, I refuse to let you go after him.”

Futile. The scene would play out as it had many nights before this one.

The woman stood, ears low and tail lashing.

“Whose side are you on, Allan? Huh? The slavers?” A snarl curled her lip, the temperature around them plummeting as ice snaked out from her hands across the table. “How disappointin’.”

The edges of the scene corrupted, bleeding red and black.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to hide.

Hide from the devastation bearing down on him like a hurricane at sea.

But there was no refuge. No escape.

“There will be another time to kill him.”

He had to witness the event that would alter his fate.

Words came faster now, a distorted echo to them that sent chills down his spine.

“But I heard the other slavers talkin’! He’s goin’ on patrol tonight! I can’t pass up this opportunity to claim revenge for what he did.”

“Look, kid. I said no, and that’s final.”

“Nobody’s gonna stand in my way. Not even you. Stand down now, Allan. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He got up.

Walked over.

“I told you no, kid! That’s an order!”

“Give it up, Allan. I’m doin’ this my way. I’m killin’ him tonight and you can’t stop me. Don’t even try to.”

He got close.

Too close.

It was over fast. She winded him with a headbutt, driving him back into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from him. He didn’t even have a chance to rise to his feet, weight pinning him to the floor. A rag clamped over his mouth and nose, drowning the world in a sickly-sweet haze.

Darkness followed swiftly after, a growl echoing in his ears.

“You brought this on yourself. Sweet dreams.”

And those were the last words he ever heard from Scarlett Hyde.

Allan sat up in his bed with a gasp, cold sweat pouring down his face as he fought for breath.

Was that her now, hiding in the dark corner?

He flicked on the light, fingers struggling to grasp the knob.

Nothing, just his trenchcoat.

It was too hot. Too stifling.

Air.

He needed air!

Staggering to the porthole, he yanked it open and welcomed the sharp chill that rushed in. Allan leaned against the wall, eyes closed as he fought to catch his breath and sooth his racing heart.

After that fight, any and all memory of the Alphian ceased. He couldn’t even recall what happened once he woke up. Because they sure as hell didn’t go from being overrun by slavers to being back at their home port without any sign there was even a hostile force occupying the ship.

Only one man had memories of Scarlett that went past Allan’s; Tom.

His friend and trusty right-hand man. The closest person to Scarlett on the ship prior to her mysterious disappearance.

Allan hoped he could have shed some light on Scarlett. Maybe Scarlett somehow drove off all the slavers after knocking Allan out, accessing some type of beast mode or something. She was an alien, and could shapeshift, so it wasn’t entirely implausible.

But no.

Tom’s last memory of her was Scarlett heading off the ship into the woods. Tom had gone after her, only to find himself face to face with the same slaver Scarlett was after. The slaver attacked him, but Scarlett showed up in some animal form and attacked the slaver. She won the fight but was stabbed in the process. Tom tried dragging her back to the ship after she shifted back to that half-human form, but then his memory too went dark.

That was it. The trail ended. Went cold. With no hope of recovering the fractal memories.

Maybe Scarlett was around longer, and had some alien way of wiping their memories. Why, then, did he have any memory of her at all? If she truly aimed to wipe all memory of her existence, he should have forgotten her in totality.

Instead he was left with only partial memories and no explanation that could even remotely make sense of the event.

Every port they stopped at, every contact he knew, he asked. When Scarlett Hyde rang no bells, he tried the false name she gave at first; Ice Shadow. Still nothing.

He tried her description, her species, her family, everything.

Nothing.

As if neither she nor her species even existed in the first place.

A knock sounded on his door, and Allan turned away from the window to stare at the clock by his bed.

05:00 am.

His port watch wasn’t due for another few hours, so it couldn’t have been someone calling him for that.

“Al?”

Tom. What was he doing up this early?

Passing through his dayroom, Allan opened the door and found Tom looking almost as disheveled as himself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tom rubbed his arm. “It… happened again.”

Allan’s eyes widened. “Scarlett.”

Tom nodded.

Allan stood to the side to let him in. “You too, huh?”

Tom straightened, looking slightly more alert as he sat on the couch in Allan’s dayroom. “Same dream?”

“What other dream would it be?” Allan growled.

Tom wasn’t put off by his tone, but then again he never was. “What are the odds, huh?” he said in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, a weak smile accompanying the joke.

Allan wasn’t amused. “Real funny.” He leaned on the table, pushing his hair back. “This is the fifth time in two weeks,” he growled. “I do not need this. We got that proud peacock prancin’ ‘round like he owns the damn ship, orderin’ us to and fro like damn dogs. I don’t need this headache on top of it.”

“At least the captain ain’t givin’ us any issues.”

“Don’t think that old man would notice if I scuttled the damn ship,” Allan grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Probably not.” Tom tilted his head. “Don’t think the dreams mean anythin’, do ya?”

“Concurrent dreams about an alien that we both know had the power to alter dreams?” Allan said. “It’s fishy.”

“Think she’s comin’ back?”

Allan shrugged tiredly. “Hell, Tom, I don’t know.” He glared in the direction of the door. “At least Sakharine’s finally tracked down the second ship. Then we can be back at sea, and I’ll have other things to keep my mind on.”

“Yeah, can’t wait to have that guy off.” Tom shuddered. “Gives me the creeps.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Allan stretched. “Guess I may as well get coffee, not like I’m gettin’ any more shuteye today. Want some?”

Tom nodded, stretching too. “Won’t say no.” He shuddered. “Anythin’ to keep awake after that nightmare.”

Allan understood his hesitation with going back to sleep. Tom’s dream was far worse than his, with the man being hunted down in dark woods by a slaver bent on murder. Scarlett’s animal form wasn’t exactly comforting either, Tom describing it as a large tiger-looking beast with saber teeth that was a third again the size of a normal tiger.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute. Maybe the cooks have somethin’ already.”

Tom nodded. “I’ll wait outside.”

As Tom left, and Allan headed back to his room, the first mate mumbled under his breath.

“I really hope it was just coincidence.” He punched the door open. “Because I cannot deal with anything else.”

#karaboudjan #tintin 2011 #allan thompson #tom karaboudjan #anachronism fic #my writing

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let-gavin-free · 3 months ago

Note

Oop, hello again! I try and send asks to ppl who rb my ask games, so you’ll be getting a few from me lol

7 or 16 for the de Riva prompts, if you want!

Stumbles in with messy pile of papers

I am so sorry for this late reply 😩 Answering #16!

Thank you for asking once again, you are so kind to do this 🥺!

De Riva Asks

A headcanon before you start: While its canon that elves can see in the dark ("and their eyes glint like those of a cat in the dark" OKAY COOL thanks bioware for more funny ideas-), i have a head canon this extends to a heightened sense of all the senses, except touch (just cuz i think that leads to dwarf territory). So they can hear much clearer than their human and dwarven counterparts.

Characters:

Evunial Surasa de Riva- age in fic: 33

Viago

Set before Veilguard, after Viagos and Evunials talk

Saving Viago

His eyes shone in the moonlight, the mismatched ice blue and hazel locked in on the house Viago had entered just minutes ago. He could feel it in his soul, a large drawing of magical energy being unleashed somewhere. He didnt know what or whom or where, he just knew his nerves itched- like Lucanis' own itchy eyes when magic is about.

He tried to voice this to Viago too, trying to warn him that there was something fishy about the home of their target. Tried to warn him that way nothing happened to him, the man that took him in after loosing his entire clan and family to similar means. But of course the damn fool waved him off and ordered him to stay back, be his eyes and ears for the outside.

So he did.

He watched every movement of the quiet night from his perch on a roof top near by. The rustle of bushes and trees. The flight of some birds against the white of the moon. The gentle rush of the river near by.

And everything seemed fine, even as the time ticked on.

Until it wasn't.

It was like his blood started to boil under his skin- the nerves alight as he felt the surge of the magical energy from before. Though, this didnt feel like any spell he was familiar with. It didnt have the biting cold or the energy of lighting, nor the blazing heat of fire or the smell of necrosis. No this smelled metallic, felt thick like molasses. Almost felt…familiar.

Then it dawned on him.

Blood Magic.

He was off the roof in a matter of seconds, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around for anyone that could see him before he rushed to the back of the home, trying to peer inside through a window. It was hard to tell from the light drapery but he saw no motion inside and part of him celebrated for an easy entrance, before the other part of him wondered where this was happening.

He tried the door and let out a breath as it opened, slipping inside. It was eerily quiet, even for the time of night. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, the blood magic feeling getting stronger the longer he stayed in the house. He tried to find any trace of where Viago could have gone but of course the man was a Talon for a reason. No trace left behind, it would be sloppy work other wise.

He finally came to a door that was cracked open at the end of a hallway. The magical energy throbbed beneath his skin, making the nerves feel almost on fire. He held his breath and took a moment to listen, leaning in close to the cracked door. He heard the rush of some wind outside and the natural creeking of the home before he heard voices, Tevene being spoken.

He froze.

A vague memory coming to mind, of that dreadful night. Echos of Venatori voices, screams of his clan…his wife, fire and blood- He shook his head, shaking away the memory. His mind clearing from the nightmare just as he heared a pained groan from below. That had to be Viago.

He took a calming breath, his mind going back to saving the other man. Now wasnt the time to think of the past, remembering his Talons words spoken to him, a month prior.

'you cant be a crow — if youre being haunted by your wife. '

If he failed to save Viago now, he'd just be proving him right. Right that his late wife did in fact haunt his dreams, that it was affecting his training. And to fair, it definitely was at the beginning of this but he worked so hard for the last month to improve, to actually sleep

'Viago doesnt need the ego boost', part of himself reminded.

So he rolled his shoulders before swinging the door right open, fast enough that the hinges made no noise and a rush of air ruffling his dark hair. He let out a slient breath as his eyes landed on a set of stairs that led far down below the home before turning off to the left. It was dark save for a torch or two but his eyes adjusted to the change in light, offering more detail to the path.

‘This was a spellblade job’

He summoned his spellblade, a simple black metal hilt that curved up and around a silver metal piece in the shape of a wing before getting to a simple blade. He held it as if he was going to stab downwards, the blade acting like a second forearm as he descended the stairs. He tried to keep him footsteps light, narrowly missing the creeks in the wood before getting to the corner.

The voices were louder now, speaking in clear Tevene. Despite only knowing a few words here in there, he managed to understand that they were trying to figure out what to do with Viago with a 'damn bastard' thrown in here and there. He let out a huff of a laugh through his nose before, peering around the corner. A few more stairs awaited him before an arched doorway let into a dimly lit room.

He waited for the at least two Venatori begin talking again before making his way down the short stairs and pressing up against the wall, hoping the angle was enough to hide him.

"How about we try to bribe the king? Isnt this one of the bastards children? Maybe hed pay or ally with us to save his kid."

"Stultus (idiot), The Antivan king doesnt care about his bastard children. Besides, the crows are more powerful. Our better bet is to bribe or threaten them."

Evunial chose that time to take a peek around the corner, seeing only the two Venatori talking- with their backs turned to him and facing a seemingly unconscious and tied up Viago.

"Or we just kill him, dump him in the river and hurry back to camp. I dont want to deal with more crows. Especially that Rattus he's involved with." Another voice from a dark corner of the basement grumbled out, filled with annoyance.

Damn, one more than two. And a racist one at that.

He looked at his belts and eyed the smaller winged carved throwing blades peeking out from their hold on his thighs. If it were three against one, possibly two if Viago was okay to fight- which he doubted with how strong the blood magic felt this close- hed need to make it at least semi fair.

"Just kill him? Well I suppose we can bottle some blood more reserves, blood magic would be helpful against them in a fight, if crows are in the area that is."

"Oh we're here." Evunial stepped out of the shadow, throwing two blades at the one in the corner, pinning him to the wooden post of the wall with a shout.

The other two shouted in Tevene, the rogue of the two getting his blades out, swiping at the elf. Evunial dashed back before casting chain lighting- inturupting the others three shot attack and the rogues advance. His focus became the two infront of him, dodging and attacking, failing to keep track of the third that managed to free himself.

As he blocked the rogues attack, the clashing of metal echoing, he failed to see the third venatori come up and grab him from behind. He shouted, grunting before hoping up to kick back the rogue, launching the one that held him back into a table. They tumbled to the ground with a groan. Evunial scurried up and summoned a ball of necrosis, launching it repeatedly into the chest of the one that grabbed him, before magically grabbing him. The venatori dangled in the air before he launched his blade into their chest, blood spraying, and threw him into the ground; dead.

During the fight, the rogue had gotten up and the mage had stablized the lucky shot the elven crow manged to get on her. They called upon one of their gods, claiming their actions in the name of them before rushing him. Evunial crouched to dodge an arcane bolt before jumping to avoid dual blades coming at him. Mid air he managed to swap his summoned spell blade for his staff, a silver staff with a crow curling around a green crystal at the top, and slamming the end into the ground. Around him, a blast of necrosis exploded- knocking the venatori back and on the ground. They groaned and shouted before they were once shocked with lightening wrapping around their limbs and stunning them before he dashed forward, summoning his blade once more to end them in one large sweep.

Their bodies slumped onto the cold ground, Evunials chest heaving with exhaustion.

"Creators above." He groaned, before securing his blade on his hip. He looked over at Viago, still tied up but waking up now that the blood magic had been interrupted.

"Evunial?" The man groaned, shifting before realizing hed been tied up. "Oh maker-"

"Dont worry," Evunial muttered before tenderly walking over to start untying him, his right ankle now yelling at him for the double kick earlier. "I got you."

"Idiot did you come down here yourself? You could have-"

"I saved your ass didnt I? I did try warning you too."

That shut Viago up, much to Evunials delight. He finally got the binds undone and helped Viago up, before going to collect his blades from the wall. Viago took time to dust himself off, groaing at how sore his body was.

"Fucking Venatori." He grumbled, aiming his frustration to the Tevinter radicals instead.

Evunial nodded in agreement, walking over to the Antivan and offering a potion. He saw Viagos hesitation in taking it and it made Evunial chuckle softly.

"Teia made it, promise."

That seemed to be an okay for Viago as he took it and chugged it down. He was about to respond, before shouts from upstairs echoed throughout the house. The crows looked at eachother In alarm.

"Idiot did you not clear the house-"

"Oh youre one to talk Viago-"

Despite bickering, they both scaled the stairs and both took on the Venatori that came looking for their friends. Together they made quick work, their blades striking true at each enemy. The last body fell and they sheathed their blades, the blood magic aura fading once more.

Evunial started checking bodies, stealing coin and reading letters that they had on them. Nothing important for them to know but it did bring questions on why the Venatori were here. But those questions would be answered later, their contract was a trap and both crows were tired. So they bid the now quiet home farewell before scaling walls to the rooftops.

The night stretched on as they headed home. They talked quietly about possible next steps as they stepped foot inside the casino. They agreed to pick this up again in the morning, and Evunial was about to turn and head to his room before Viago stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

"Evunial, I…" the Antivan cleared his throat, "Good work tonight."

Evunial blinked before smirking and nodded his head, taking the compliment silently. Viago nodded back before letting Evunial go and walking off to find Teia. Evunial watched him go before going deeper into the casino towards the rooms, celebrating silently.

//This one was my favorite, i might spice it up later on but for now im happy

Bonus: picture of Evunial for this piece

#dans asks #Evunial de Riva #viago de riva #rook de riva #rook story time #dans writings #Dans DA:V Rooks

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cleverhottubmiracle · 3 months ago

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It’s officially Pisces season — and if you’re expecting a baby between February 19th and March 20th, a Pisces-inspired name can be a beautiful way to celebrate your little fish’s arrival. People born under the sign of Pisces are known for their dreamy and imaginative nature, and a name that gives a nod to this mystical sign can be a lovely way to honor those qualities from the very start. As the final sign of the zodiac, Pisces have a unique perspective; they’ve absorbed all the lessons from the other signs, including the highs and lows. This makes them super empathetic, compassionate, and even a little psychic. But here’s the thing: Pisces are also totally torn between reality and fantasy. Their symbol — two fish swimming in opposite directions — is basically a visual representation of their inner struggle. According to astrologers Ophira and Tali Edut, known as The AstroTwins, “Pisces babies are old souls, born with wise and knowing personalities. Their eyes may be dreamy, but they see everything that’s going on. Perhaps that’s why so many of the zodiac’s fishies grow up to make excellent visual artists, engineers and photographers. Caretaking Pisces can be a bit bossy with their peers.” Pisces represents a blend of intuition, creativity, and emotional depth. Humane, imaginative, and with artistic flair to spare, Pisces babies are truly special – and these Pisces names are just as unique. From the mystical to the maritime, this article explores the most captivating Pisces names to inspire your baby-naming journey. Whether you’re looking for a classic choice or something more unique for the zodiac’s most dreamy sign, these names are sure to make a splash. Dylan Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI The name Dylan originates from the Welsh prefix dy, meaning “to” or “toward,” and llanw, meaning “tide” or “flow.” According to the Mabinogion, a collection of tales from Welsh mythology, Dylan was an ancient Welsh hero who took to the sea immediately after baptism and possessed incredible swimming abilities. Some theories suggest that Dylan’s character may be linked to an ancient Celtic sea god. Either way, it’s a perfect Pisces name — and though it was traditionally used for males, it’s a great unisex pick these days. Lev Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI In Hebrew, Lev means “heart” — and since Pisceans are known for their big hearts and emotional personalities, this is a perfect Pisces pick. Beckett Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Beckett is a surname that comes from the Old English word bekke, meaning “stream.” In English (as in, a word used in the country of England), a stream is still called a “beck” — which makes this a water name befitting any Pisces. It also has a soulful literary feel, thanks to associations with Nobel Prize-winning Irish author Samuel Beckett. Mina Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Mina comes from the Sanskrit element mīna, meaning — very fittingly — “fish.” It’s also the name of a Hindu zodiac sign, which makes it doubly appropriate. Thaddeus Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Thaddeus comes from the Greek form of the ancient Aramaic name Taddai, which itself is derived from the Aramaic word tad, meaning “heart.” Like Lev, it’s a nod to the Piscean trait of deep emotion. And if Thaddeus feels a little too formal, it has a whole host of cute nicknames like Thad, Tad, Ted, or Teddy. Kai Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI In Hawaiian, Kai means “sea” — and it’s a fabulous gender-neutral, sweet-and-simple choice for a Pisces baby. Hugo Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Hugo is derived from the Old High German word hugu, meaning “spirit.” Pisceans are known for being deeply spiritually-connected beings —and as a bonus, Hugo fits neatly into the trend of vintage “grandpa” names that are so hot right now. Laine Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI When you first look at Laine, you might think it’s a shortened version of the name Elaine, which means “torch.” However, when you pronounce it LIE-neh, it’s the Estonian word for “wave” — and a unique option for your Piscean princess. Zola Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Whether you’re talking about the serene and tranquil nature associated with Pisceans, or the peaceful waters symbolized by their sign, you can’t get a better Pisces name than Zola, which originates in the Xhosa language and means “calm.” Fisher Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI There’s no explanation needed as to why this occupational name is a clear winner for a Pisces baby! Amethyst Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI The amethyst is the birthstone for February babies, but is pertinent to all Pisces because it’s associated with intuition and spiritual connection. For March babies, the birthstone is aquamarine — which could also make for a distinctive Pisces name. Harmony Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Pisceans are known for their creative abilities, so we love Harmony as a Pisces name! Not only is it a nod to those abilities and artistries, but it also means peacefulness and tranquility, which are also Pisces traits. Jupiter Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI In astrology, Jupiter is the traditional ruling planet of Pisces. It represents expansion, growth, abundance, philosophy, spirituality, and higher education; and an undeniably optimistic energy. And if you’re looking for a unique Pisces name, you’ve found it! Naia Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Naia is another beautiful water name — because in the Basque language, it means “wave” or “sea foam.” Lily Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI The lily — specifically, the water lily — is Pisces’ birth flower, chosen for its symbolic associations with the Piscean traits of calmness, intuition, compassion, and creativity. Aisling Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Aisling is a modern Irish name that means “dream” — and since Pisces is the dreamiest sign in the zodiac, it’s a perfect Pisces name! In traditional Irish pronunciation, it’s closer to ASH-len, so if you want to ensure proper pronunciation, you could spell it Ashlyn. Kavi Image Credit: SheKnows/Created with AI Another gender-neutral gem, Kavi means “poet” in Sanskrit — a nod to Pisces’ creative and emotional nature. Pin It: Pisces Names Source link

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norajworld · 3 months ago

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chilimili212 · 3 months ago

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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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Outsider (Looking In)

Inspired by something Ashynarr said on the NWA discord. :)

Hitoshi didn’t think it’d be so easy.

Sure, he’d always intended to make the most of this, he wanted to win not just the match, but the whole tournament. But he’d thought he’d have to spend at least a little time working Midoriya up, getting his temper to the point of snapping, while dodging him and whatever his quirk was.

(Speaking of, Midoriya hadn’t even used it yet, as far as Hitoshi could tell. It wasn’t possible that he had some kind of subtle quirk, like Hitoshi, was it?)

Hitoshi had been prepared for a tough battle.

But then—

“What’d you say?!”

Midoriya was, apparently, ridiculously easy to bait. Hadn’t tail boy warned him?

Hitoshi felt the line connect and grabbed it, mentally pulling it taught to complete the brainwashing, and then…

… and then?

He blinked, trying to clear both his suddenly blurry vision and the ringing in his head. Had he lost time, somehow? He brought a hand up to his head, feeling unsteady.

Except, he didn’t move. Or did he?

His hand was, just slightly, transparent. He stepped backward, out of his immobile body, and stumbled sideways in shock.

“Okay, kids, don’t panic,” said an entirely unfamiliar voice.

“ARGH!” shouted Midoriya. “Who are you? Are you doing this? What’s going on? Why am I not in my body? Shinsou, I thought your quirk was brainwashing? What is this? Is this a side effect of your quirk?”

Hitoshi looked up and, sure enough, there was Midoriya somehow standing outside his body, partially surrounded by weird shadow people.

“That’s what I should be saying!” said Hitoshi. “Midnight-sensei, what is this? Who are these people? Shouldn’t you be stopping the match?”

But Midnight wasn’t looking at him. Rather, she was looking at his body, which he was not presently in.

Hitoshi was approximately two inches from a for serious mental breakdown. He was not under any circumstances supposed to be having an out of body experience in the middle of the most important day of his life (sans the entrance exam).

“She can’t see you,” said one of the shadows, who was resolving into an adult man. “She can’t see any of us. In any case, I’m not sure this violates the rules, exactly. Nana, you’re the one who actually taught here – What are you doing?”

“Trying to see if I can get Toshinori in on this, too,” said a shadow woman who was poking at a skeletal blonde man who was standing in the entranceway behind Midoriya.

“I think you’d have more luck with his ghost,” said one of the other shadows, pointing at a shadow that seemed far less put together than the others.

The first shadow pushed hair out of his face and sighed.

“So, if you can say whether or not this is against the rules, that means you know what’s happening, right?” asked Midoriya, who had his fists half up in a loose guard position and was backing away from the shadows. “Has this happened to you guys before, then?”

Right, his class had been attacked by villains, there was no reason to assume this wasn’t more of the same. Slowly, Hitoshi brought up his fists as well.

“Not exactly,” said the man. “But all things considered, I think we can chalk this up to an unusual quirk interaction. Ninth.”

Hitoshi saw Midoriya stop, mid-step, and mouth the last word. “Oh,” he said. “You’re, uh.” He looked over his shoulder at Hitoshi. “Um.”

“We are absolutely the ghosts who are haunting you as part of your quirk. Nice job last week, by the way,” said a shadow – a ghost? – who was wearing what looked like a high-necked coat. It was hard for Hitoshi to focus on them.

“Do you think we could talk to Toshinori if this kid brainwashed him.”

“Nana, this kid has a name.”

“Which we all forgot immediately,” mumbled another shadow.

“You’re really…” said Midoriya, and oh, gosh, was he tearing up? Was he crying?

He was.

“You’re really here?” finished Midoriya, finally, with a sniffle.

This was when Hitoshi regained the ability to speak. “Your quirk is that you’re haunted?”

“Uh,” said Midoriya, suddenly very shifty-eyed. “Yes?”

“It sure is!” said the ghost in the coat, giving Hitoshi a thumbs up as he put a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. “But he couldn’t find any ghosts to haunt him for a long time, which is why he’s such a late bloomer!”

Okay, Hitoshi might not be a hero (yet) but he could tell when something smelled fishy. “You’re part of his quirk, but he’s never seen you before?”

Midoriya put his face in his hands. “I’m going to have to change my quirk registry,” he muttered.

“Hey, if his quirk was easy to understand, he wouldn’t have been a late bloomer.”

“I think your teachers are starting to become concerned,” said the first shadow… man… ghost… guy. Person dude. That guy.

“Yeah,” continued turtle neck guy, “we all used to haunt Toshinori over there, but then Izuku met him, and we figured out we could power him up, lend him our strength, but he didn’t really know we were there, so—”

“Sixth,” said one of the more taciturn shadows. “He doesn’t need to know all that.”

“You’re the one that said we needed an explanation.”

“An explanation, yes, for you to explain, no.”

“Rude.”

The first ghost sighed. “In any case, Izuku, we are with you, and we’re all very glad to have a chance to meet you.”

Midoriya nodded vehemently. “Thank you,” he said, tearfully, “for giving me the chance to become a hero. I don’t know how to—”

“You can tell Toshinori I said hi,” said the woman, who was suddenly much closer. Close enough to make Hitoshi jump.

“Okay, and, um, what’s your name? So I can tell him.”

“Nana,” she said, “Shimura Nana. Tell him… tell him I’m proud of him, okay?”

Midoriya nodded firmly. “I will,” he said.

“You know,” said Hitoshi, “this is great and all, but how do we get out of here? I want to finish this match before we’re dragged off to the nurse.”

The ‘ghosts’ (or whatever the hell they were, because Hitoshi was not buying anything they were saying) all exchanged glances.

“Have you tried,” said the first ghost, “turning off your quirk?”

Hitoshi rolled his eyes. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that simple, his quirk wasn’t even on, not really, but he might as well try—

He hit the ground with a thump.

“Ow,” he croaked, amazed and peeved at the fact that had actually worked.

“Shinsou-kun?” called Midoriya from the other side of the arena. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” demanded Hitoshi, picking himself up.

No answer. Darn. Midoriya had wised up – Although Hitoshi wasn’t sure he’d have wanted to risk getting kicked out of his body again even if he hadn’t.

“And after that interesting turn of events,” said Present Mic over the speaker, “the match goes on!”

Hitoshi grit his teeth. Yeah. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy.

(But, in some ways, wasn’t that what made it worth it?)

#boku no hero academia #bnha #fic #fanfic #oneshot

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bandaged-writer · 5 years ago

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hi!! since requests are open- can i have jealousy hcs for dazai, ranpo, tanizaki and chuuya with an s/o who’s friendly and doesnt really catch on to flirting? :0

Dazai Osamu

➤ Dazai doesn’t get jealous easily. He trusts you all the way to his bandages and knows how long it takes you to notice that someone is flirting with you. Before the two of you became a thing, Dazai had been excessively flirting with you only and always threw compliments your way such as “Ah, those earrings really compliment the color of your eyes, belladonna!” and you’d just say “I think so, too. Thanks,” before resuming your way of life. Yosano had to tell you that Dazai was looking at you with heart eyes, trying to score a date with you for 2 weeks at that time.

➤ He watches with an amused smirk when the person flirting with you starts getting frustrated. To Dazai, it’s just funny how the person becomes more desperate and the flirting becomes blatantly obvious, yet it’s like you’re immune unless it’s Dazai that does the flirting (yes, you got better at catching his advances). Eventually, Dazai will smoothly join the scene with his hand resting on your waist and pull you close to his side.

➤ “Thank you for looking after my belladonna while I had to use the bathroom, but we’re on a date. If you’d excuse us.”

➤ However, Dazai won’t pull the playful side if the person makes you uncomfortable or uses inappropriate pick-up lines. He knows you’re just too nice to tell the person to fuck off and would rather sit through the experience than potentially anger them.

➤ You can actually see the light in his eyes fading into nothing and his voice drops an entire octave. You’d only witnessed that side of Dazai one or two times, but you will never forget the goosebumps that covered your skin. “Put those paws of yours on her and you won’t see tomorrow come.”

➤ I can see Dazai getting somewhat jealous when it’s someone you have good chemistry with and/or if there’s some kind of romantic background; like someone you’d once gone out on a date with, was partner other and such. He’d stay attached to your side all the time, but not because he doesn’t trust you; he doesn’t trust that person.

➤ While you’re happily chatting away, Dazai is extra touchy in that situation. May it be his arm around your waist, his hand on your upper thigh or gently caressing your knee underneath the table while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Ngl, he wants to fluster you a bit, just enough for it to be visible or audible. Dazai is a little shit in that situation and wants to make the person feel uncomfortable enough to leave.

➤ “Dazai, you what-?!” You’d slap his arm and blush furiously.

➤ “I don’t like the way they looked at you, my love,” Dazai would say pouting once you’re home and proceeds to suck some purple bruises into the skin of your neck, so that they wouldn’t look at you twice, again.

➤ Can and will continue if you liked what he was doing.

Ranpo Edogawa

➤ That man protects his candy better than his own life and you’re no exception. Sharing ain’t caring and he sure as hell isn’t having it when someone flirts with who belongs to him.

➤ Unlike Dazai, he can’t just watch and immediately sweeps in to stop whatever the person was about to do with both of his arms around you or you behind him. Depends on how badly it rubs Ranpo the wrong way.

➤ Yes, Ranpo’s aware of your overly friendly side and appreciated it. Even flirting with you is fun, because it takes you some time to get it and when you do, it’s the most adorable thing. However, it’s definitely not adorable when someone else tries to gauge that reaction out of you. It’s only for Ranpo to witness.

➤ “Who the hell are you?” Ranpo would say in a tone that would give away that he’s definitely jealous but quickly sigh and stop the person from answering by waving them off. “Have you ever heard of rhetorical questions? Of course, I don’t want to know who you are.”

➤ The type to deny he’s jealous and be all whiny about your accusations until you stop teasing him about it, hold his hand and reassure him. “I really look up to you, Ranpo. My eyes are always on you,” and Ranpo would deadass lose it, because that’s what you said when it was your first time joining him for a murder case and he had told you to watch him.

➤ Gets soft real fast and admits that he just doesn’t like anyone else hitting on you, saying that jealousy is indeed a lame feeling that he’s not fond of. “But you’re beautiful so I can understand, but it’s still so meh.”

➤ Pls give him a forehead kiss. He treasures them so much more than kisses on the lips, cheek, neck, etc. To Ranpo, it’s like a pinky promise.

➤ Will proudly wrap an arm around your shoulder, pull you flush to his side and wanders off to the next ice-cream shop while making walking a bit hard. According to Ranpo, ice-cream cools down heated feelings (pun intended) and it’s a great place for him to show off who’s his.

➤ Can and will use his deduction skills on that person if they’re making you uncomfortable or trying inappropriate things on you. “Ah, I see. You’ve already harassed several people and had to go to the police. Wouldn’t it be a shame if you had to get actually arrested this time?”

➤ Has that proud and wicked smirk on his face when the person gets scared and makes a run for it. Ranpo will still report them though.

Tanizaki Junichiro

➤ Jealousy-wise, he’s something between Ranpo and Dazai. It really depends on the circumstances, how the person approaches you and all.

➤ If the person treats you with respect and kindness, Tanizaki will quickly inform them that you’re taken by him. He understands that you’re naturally friendly and figures that it’s also the vibe you give off, so he can’t blame anyone for finding that attractive. Tanizaki is just relieved that the person was kind enough to understand the position they were in and even wished the two of you a nice day/date.

➤ Still holds your hand a little bit tighter, though.

➤ “Wait, did you just get jealous?” It’d hit you out of nowhere once the scene replays in your head and Tanizaki would blush ever so slightly. Maybe he was a bit jealous, but not to a high extent. He’d rather call it protective. “Ah, [Name], it’s nothing like that, I promise.”

➤ Now, y’all have seen that man protecting his sister and he protects you just as much as Naomi. Once the person is creepy and fishy, it’s game over and it’s like a switch turned within him.

➤ When you get uncomfortable and feel bothered by whoever’s flirting with you, Tanizaki takes over faster than you could ask him for help. “I don’t care who you are or what you’re trying to achieve here, but bend even a hair of hers and you’ll severely regret it.” His eyes are dull, voice firm and serious as he gets his point across.

➤ Feels genuinely jealous when you seemingly ignore him for someone else, though. None of Tanizaki’s tries of joining the conversation are successful, not even him touching your hand or being a bit more touchy than usually gains your attention. It’s then that his voice sounds a little bit more lifeless and gains your observance. “[Name], weren’t we on a date?” You know you messed up.

➤ You kindly say goodbye to whoever’s flirting with you and ask Tanizaki what’s wrong - it’s just not his kind and easily flustered self

➤ “You seemed to be having fun with them, don’t you?”

➤ “Tanizaki, they were just being nice-”

➤ Give him the puppy eyes and everything is forgiven, though. Tanizaki could never, in his entire life, be genuinely mad at you. Yes, he might be upset that you ignored him for good 5 minutes straight, but that’s it.

Chuuya Nakahara

➤ Chuuya rarely gets jealous. He puts 110% of his faith and trust in you and knows that you do the same. A relationship that’s loyal to the bone.

➤ He can stand it for a little while when e.g. Tachihara is getting a little too friendly and touchy with you. Of course, you return the gesture, believing that he’s just being nice to you and not actually flirting. After all, no one but Chuuya had ever really flirted with you or so you believed.

➤ We all know that man’s temper is as short as his height, so it wouldn’t take long for him to snatch you away from Tachihara and dump a load of work on him. “Chuuya, what is all that work for?!” Tachihara would obviously complain, not quite understanding why all of a sudden he was assigned to pretty lame jobs. Chuuya just waves him off, pulling you into his side and temper tested. “You don’t flirt with taken people. If you do, you’ll simply have to carry the consequences.”

➤ Tachihara wasn’t aware you were in a relationship with Chuuya. After all, being an executive was a lot of work, he often came home late and your paths with Chuuya didn’t cross as often as you’d like, but y’all still make it work.

➤ At that moment, Chuuya makes an effort to see you more often during the day, have you closer by his side and let people know that you’re his and his alone. He’ll then bring you along to meetings, lets you sit on his lap when it’s just paperwork he has to finish for Mori and holds your hand at the mafia headquarters.

➤ It’s not like Chuuya has never held your hand. He just never thought of it as necessary and you never complained about it either, so he assumed it was okay.

➤ Chuuya introduces you to Kouyou, knowing that word will get around faster. Now, Kouyou isn’t a woman of gossip but she will assume that Mori is aware of the relationship Chuuya shares with you and casually goes “Chuuya’s partner is pretty cute, don’t you think so, Mori-san?” and Mori stops whatever he’s doing, “You mean like a..relationship?”

➤ Mori will spread word like wildfire. Elise scolds him.

➤ “Now everyone knows you’re mine, shrimp,” Chuuya pats your head and messes up your hair affectionately. You can’t help the huff slipping your lips and look up at him with a questioning look. “Big reaction for someone so small.”

➤ “cOME HERE, YOU LITTLE-”

➤ The next day everyone knows about your relationship with Chuuya and knows better than to hit on you. Not only did Mori run his mouth, but your neck was pretty colorful and Chuuya was extra cocky that day.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #jun'ichirō tanizaki #tanizaki x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader

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busterkeatonfanfic · 4 years ago

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Chapter 31 Part I

Buster tried his darnedest to get her a date for the party. He first suggested John Barrymore, apparently forgetting (or not caring) that Barrymore had once been his greatest rival for her affection. Nelly’s opinion of him hadn’t changed since Tempest; hanging onto the arm of a crude drunk all night was not her idea of a good time. She said no. He next suggested Buster Collier. She’d never met him, but he’d been in so many pictures that she knew his face well, though she couldn’t say what the films had been about. Buster Collier had been going with Constance Talmadge until recently. The break-up wasn’t personal; Buster told her the two were still friends.

“Certainly not, then,” said Nelly. “She’ll want to know who I am, how he met me—no. She’ll know something’s fishy.”

The suggestion of Charlie Chaplin followed. She gave more consideration to it. Charlie was charming and easy to talk to. In the end, he was out of the question given the many rumors about his sexual excesses and questionable behavior with women. She didn’t think it was a wise idea and Buster had to agree. The two were friendly but not pals, and he admitted he didn’t know how far to trust Charlie either. In desperation, he floated the idea of his brother, Jingles.

“Are you kidding?” she said. Buster had told her enough about his family that she’d gotten a pretty good picture of Jingles, who lacked his big brother’s confidence in all areas of life and was a hopeless failure with women. “No one will believe that for a second.”

“Well, I’m out of ideas,” said Buster, sounding annoyed on the other end of the phone.

“Let me ask Bradford. He was my dance partner for Tempest. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t go for girls, anyway, so he’d be perfect.”

Nelly didn’t know that her proposition was any better than Buster’s. To his guests, Buster had treated her presence at his party in October as no big curiosity, a matter of course, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d say now to them now, what he’d say if Natalie in particular asked why he’d invited two big nobodies like her and Bradford. Natalie might rightfully wonder why they among hundreds of aspiring actors were there. Buster’s quick mind would probably come up with an explanation that passed muster, but Nelly worried. He’d mentioned once, an offhand comment that was far more significant to her than it was him, that Natalie had fits of jealousy over him. Nelly’s instincts told her that attending the party was a bad idea, that she’d be too much temptation to Buster and he’d give their affair away with a look or a word or, worse still, a tender caress. Regardless, she couldn’t refuse even if she’d wanted to. He’d hinted about a birthday surprise and she couldn’t let him down, not to mention she was dying to know what he’d cooked up. Aside from the tabletop phonograph and occasional record, he’d stuck to his promise not to shower her in gifts and she knew he wasn’t about to present her with something in front of his wife and guests.

Uneasiness gnawing, she directed Bradford to the Villa at dusk on Friday night. He was just as keen as she was to break into pictures, so he’d agreed to drive her to the party and be her date without hesitation, especially after she explained she only wanted to go as friends. He’d gotten a minor role in the newest D.W. Griffith, the picture she’d tried out unsuccessfully for, and was happy to tell her about it while they drove, far less stoic than he’d been with her on previous occasions. His chattiness, she guessed, was due to his eagerness to meet and charm as many stars as possible and he was having trouble controlling his excitement. As Bradford recalled how he’d spoken briefly to Griffith on the set earlier in the week, she wondered, as she’d been wondering lately, about her career path in Hollywood. There were murmurs at the United Artists canteen about a Mary Pickford talkie with Sam Taylor directing, not Shakespeare. It gave her mixed feelings. On the one hand, maybe Mr. Taylor had forgotten about directing Pickford and Fairbanks in The Taming of the Shrew. On the other, she’d been relegated to the prop house for Lady of the Pavements, the new Griffith. A niggling fear had begun to creep on her, that her much more mundane talents at management and organization were impeding her career as an actress.

As the long white drive of the Villa became visible in the distance, she asked Bradford the question she’d been dreading, knowing he’d have his own questions in turn. “When we get there, would you pretend like we’re going together?” she said.

“Pretend like we’re going together?” said Bradford.

“Yes,” she said, running her fingers over the thin chain-metal handle of her handbag. “Just, you know, hold my hand or put your arm around my waist while we’re there. Dance with me more than the other fellows. Maybe a kiss on the cheek once and awhile, that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll do it if you really want me to, but why?” he said, sounding mystified.

Nelly weighed whether to tell him the truth and decided she didn’t have a choice. “I’m seeing someone who’s going to be there and I don’t want his wife to get suspicious,” she said, being careful with her words.

Bradford chuckled. “Now I get it. I was wondering why you asked me of all people.”

She felt defensive. “You’re the closest I have to a friend, a friend who’s a fellow. I’ve been too busy to get to know very many people. It’ll be no different than if you were acting.”

“Relax,” he said, leaning over to elbow her in a friendly way. “You think I’d miss this? I don’t care what you want me there for, frankly. I’m at your beck and call.”

Her shoulders relaxed; she hadn’t been aware that she was clenching them. “Thank you,” she said. “I do like you just fine, I just didn’t know who else to invite. You’re the first fellow who came to mind.”

“Relax,” said Bradford again. He continued talking amiably as his Ford crept up the Villa drive. He wanted to know how she knew Buster and she reminded him of her involvement with Steamboat. “When’s that coming out, anyhow?” he said.

“Any day now from what I’m told,” she said, her mind only half on the conversation. Butterflies tickled her abdomen from the inside.

The circle drive with the fountain in the center was ringed with expensive cars, Packards, Rolls Royces, and Lincolns. There was a man leading a woman wrapped in a white fur stole up the steps and into the house. Bradford grinned like a little boy as he drank it all in. He helped her out of the Ford which was dismally out of place, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. She reminded herself that she was an actress and could every bit pretend to be a person who belonged to the ranks of the stars. With this in mind, she ascended the steps with her arm hooked in Bradford’s elbow and let him open the door for her. “Thank you darling,” she said, practicing that acting as he took her arm again. She hoped that the figure dressed in the beaded navy-blue dress and standing beyond the vestibule had heard it. Natalie was greeting the guests ahead of them. Seeing her, Nelly felt a little on the faint side. She’d rented her dress at Carmela’s again, this one $25 and less eye-catching. It was sleeveless and of bright purple damask. It had no beading or ruffles, just modest ruching around the waist. She’d accented it with her own glass amethyst pendant necklace and ivory silk stockings. She had wanted to look less noticeable, but the light in the vestibule made the satin threads in the dress dazzle and flash. She’d done a formidable job of keeping worry about her mistake with Buster at bay the past week, but Natalie’s nearness and realness brought it home. Slim though it was, a chance existed that this woman’s husband had made her pregnant. Before Nelly had time to gather her wits about her on this matter, she and Bradford were advancing to greet Natalie.

“How do you do?” said Natalie, and Nelly and Bradford echoed her.

Bradford answered Natalie’s unspoken question. “We work with Mr. Taylor at United Artists.”

Nelly could only manage a desperate smile as she took in all the flesh-and-blood details of Natalie and remembered how Buster had looked in the mirror as he’d thrust himself into her. She wondered if Natalie recognized her from the party last autumn and was relieved at the sound of the front door opening behind them and the excuse to move on from the hostess so she could greet her next guests.

“Holy mackerel,” Bradford said under his breath, as he led her into the foyer and looked around him.

Nelly took stock of who was at the party already. She saw Norma Shearer, Bebe Daniels, Marion Davies, Pickford and Fairbanks, and before her eyes had gotten any further, Buster. Her heart went at a clip at the sight of him. She’d expected him to be upstairs and make a grand entrance as he’d done at the previous party. He was wearing a smart brown suit and his hair was neatly combed, every errant strand in place. He swirled a glass of whiskey and took a sip, talking with Norma Talmadge and a dark-looking man with Spaniard features. “That must be Gilbert Roland,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Hmm?” said Bradford.

“Norma Talmadge’s boyfriend. She’s married, but everyone knows she’s seeing Gil Roland,” she said, reciting the gossip she’d heard from Buster.

“You’re back,” said someone cheerfully.

She turned and beamed when she recognized Charlie Chaplin. The sight of him reminded her how fun it was to be among the brightest stars in Hollywood and her discomfort about Natalie eased. “Hello again,” she said. She held out her hand to his extended one and he kissed it, his lips soft and cool on the back of her hand. She giggled, thinking she really would have been in trouble if she’d attended the party with him. “This is Bradford. He’s with me at United Artists.”

“Oh, that’s simply heartbreaking. Don’t tell me you’re taken!” said Charlie, his hand going to his heart.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, leaning her head on Bradford’s shoulder briefly to demonstrate. “I’ll still save a dance for you.”

“If you’d be so kind,” he said, his accent rich and irresistible. “But why haven’t I seen you at United Artists?”

Nelly smiled and squeezed Bradford’s arm. “We’re undiscovered I’m afraid, but D.W. Griffith has his eye on Bradford. They spoke just this week. Me they’re keeping locked up in the prop department right now, but just you wait.”

Charlie winked. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we? Will you be about next week?”

She could hardly believe it. And she’d been so worried about her career. “Of course.”

“Good. It’s settled. I’ll catch you when the band starts, hmm?” he said. “Lovely to see you.” He pressed her hand and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

Her head whirled. One minute she was worried about Natalie Talmadge finding her out, the next Charlie Chaplin seemed to be promising her some sort of a future in films. And there was a band!

“Drink?” said a butler she didn’t know, stopping in front of them with a tray on which were arranged a number of delectable-looking drinks, all of oranges, deep reds, and yellowish creams.

“Thank you,” she and Bradford said, choosing drinks after a few moments’ consideration. She went for the cream-colored one.

Another butler materialized with hors d'oeuvres. She plucked up one of the bite-sized trifles and popped it in her mouth. She tasted dill and some kind of fish. Bradford sampled one too before returning to his drink. She didn’t recognize the butler. Buster must have hired help for the party. Bradford wound a hand around her shoulder. “Thanks for all this, darling,” he said. The endearment was scripted for anyone within hearing, but he meant the words.

“You’re welcome,” she said, sipping her drink. It had the flavor of pineapples, a California taste if there ever was one.

Her eyes roamed over the guests again. She recognized Constance Talmadge, Harold Lloyd, Buster Collier, John Gilbert, and Gloria Swanson. There were many men she didn’t know, some of middling looks, some downright unhandsome; those were the directors and big shots. Her gaze flickered to Buster just as he looked over at her. He gave a small, unsmiling nod and returned to his conversation. A mild pang struck her at the coldness of his acknowledgment, but she was relieved that he was being careful. She and Bradford kept to themselves, smiling and responding in kind whenever a guest nodded and said hello. She missed Louise Brooks and wished she had a girl friend to keep her company.

They were on their second drinks when attendees began to nod at each other and move in the direction of the living room. Exchanging looks, Nelly and Bradford followed. The living room, fully decorated when she’d last seen it five days ago, had been denuded of all furniture. Against the loggia on the southwest wall, a full orchestra was arrange in a suite of chairs. The members held instruments of all sizes and shapes, violins, saxophones great and small, trumpets, clarinets, a drum kit, a piano, an upright bass, even a huge tuba sitting somewhat uneasily in one man’s lap. There were at least two dozen men in the band at Nelly’s quick count, dressed alike in black tuxedos and bow ties. With the furniture and grand piano moved out, the living room was more spacious than ever.

“Why, it’s Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra!” Bradford said into her ear, voice hushed. He nudged her and flicked a finger in the direction of a fat man with a round face standing to the right of the orchestra.

Nelly was dazzled. The realization that one of her favorite bands in the room burst through her like a beam of sunshine. She couldn’t find words for her awe, but clutched for Bradford’s hand and squeezed it. The orchestra was burbling in a tuneless way as violinists tested strings and trumpets and saxophones tried out notes. A kind of restlessness pervaded the scene, musicians keen to begin, partygoers eager to dance. This went on for a few minutes until Buster threaded his way through his guests and stood facing the crowd with his back to the band.

“Nate and I want to thank you for coming tonight,” he began. “It’s an honor and a—” He looked over the crowd for a few moments as though he were thinking about what to say next. “An honor, a pleasure … you know, that kind of stuff. Anyway, I’d like you to give a hand for this gentleman and his little band here. They’re not very well-known, but if you’ll just, uh, pretend a little I’m sure it’ll make them very happy.” He straightened his tie, took one step forward, and fell on his face. There was laughter. As Buster stood up and brushed himself off, Paul Whiteman took his place. He was even less a man of words than Buster, saying only to the guests, “Thank you very much for having us tonight.” He walked to the left of the musicians and addressed them. “Gentleman …”

Two men assembled at the front of the orchestra near the upright piano. Nelly wondered for a second how they transported it from gig to gig, but forgot the question when Whiteman lifted his baton, held it in the air, and dropped it. The two men and the one at the piano began scatting a capella.

Wot-dot-dot, doh-dot, dot-dot-doh

Wot-dot-dot-dot, dot-dot-doh …

The man at the piano laid his hands on the keys just as one of the singers started in a smooth baritone, “You’ve heard of the Charleston, the Black Bottom.”

“I’ve got a rhythm that’s really got ‘em,” chimed the other singer. “It must be something new.”

“Gonna start it for you,” sang the man at the piano. It goes like, One, there it is.

His companions joined him:

One-two, there it is,

One-two-three, can’t you see where the merit is?

One-two-three-four, everywhere it is,

One-two-three-four, five steps!

At this, the snare sounded a beat and the whole orchestra burst into voice. Bradford grabbed Nelly’s hand and waist and swung her into motion. She yelped with delight. The rhythm was too fast for her to think about whether her feet were doing five steps; she just clung to Bradford and tried to keep up with the foxtrot he was leading her in. Over his shoulder, she could see that all the other dancers were smiling, Marion Davies dancing with Charlie Chaplin, Gloria Swanson paired with John Barrymore. She felt a sudden, uncanny sense of belonging as she and Bradford galloped along. A clarinet soloed, followed by a violin in a high, reedy voice like a grasshopper.

One, there it is,

One-two, there it is,

One-two-three, can’t you see where the merit is?

One-two-three-four, everywhere it is,

One-two-three-four, five steps!

One, got to learn,

One-two, got to learn,

One-two-three, there is not such a lot to learn,

One-two-three-four, aren’t you hot to learn?

One-two-three-four, five steps!

As the singers carried on, it was all Nelly could do to keep her rhythm and her breath. She was panting and laughing when the final note sounded. She and Bradford withdrew from the dancers to get a drink of punch from the bowl on the table in the foyer. As soon as their thirst was quenched, though, she took Bradford’s hand and hurried back into the room. She wasn’t going to miss a moment of the Paul Whiteman Orchestra’s set if she could help it.

The orchestra had begun a sweet, wistful melody led by trumpets. She recognized it at once as “Mary,” one of her favorites. Rather than dancing, she stood on the edge of the crowd with Bradford and watched. The trumpets piped and her heart was overfull as she soaked in the music and her surroundings with all of her might. Dancers kicked up their heels in a slower foxtrot as the full orchestra echoed the trumpets’ melody. She could have watched all the beautiful stars before her in their tuxes and brightly colored dresses, but she had eyes only for the orchestra and Whiteman’s graceful conducting. It was a marvel the way he brought different sections of the band to life with just a flick of his baton.

One of the singers stepped forward as a violin finished off the melody. He was perhaps a little taller than Buster, but slightly husky, with ears that stuck out and eyes as blue as a spring sky.

What are you waitin’ for,

What are you waitin’ for, Ma-ary?

What are you thinkin’ ‘bout,

Who are you thinkin’ ‘bout, Mary?

The bees are buzzin’,

They’re buzzin’ right in my ear,

And they keep on asking,

Hey, what’s the big idea?

He was the one with the smooth baritone like poured honey. All his notes flowed together without a single hitch. She recognized his voice from many of Whiteman’s records.

“He’s incredible,” she said, standing on tiptoes to whisper it in Bradford’s ear. He nodded in return.

Why do you lead me on,

Why do you be so con-trary?

You wouldn’t let my castles

Come tum-tum-tumblin’ down

Think of the things in store,

What are you waitin’ for, Ma-ary?

The violins concluded the melody and the brass took it up again. Her senses were filled with trumpets and the snare, then the orchestra singing as one voice.

She didn’t notice how spellbound she’d become until applause startled her back to reality. She clapped along with everyone else and the singer gave a bow and a modest smile. Bradford was bending to say something about the music when Nelly felt the cloth of a suit on the bare skin of her left shoulder. She turned to see Buster. He looked ahead, nonchalant, and her heart gave a fond trot.

“How d’ya like your birthday present?” he said quietly, still looking ahead.

“Oh, don’t kid me.” Even as she said it though, she knew in her heart of hearts that he wasn’t joking. The band was for her.

Still not looking at her, he gave the slightest of smiles. “Pretty good joke, huh?”

Her eyes welled. “I don’t know whether to kiss or kill you. You’re out of your mind and I don’t know how I’ll ever begin to thank you.” When she looked at him again, he was finally looking back, his brown eyes so affectionate she was in danger of throwing her arms around him in front of all of Hollywood, including his wife.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” he said, but his tone was curious, not suspicious.

She wiped the trace of tears from her eyes and turned to Bradford, who by then had noticed their conversation. “This is Bradford,” she said, laying a hand on his upper arm. “Bradford, this is Buster.”

“How d’you do, Mr. Keaton?” said Bradford, extending a hand. He glanced from Buster to her as they shook hands and she saw him connect the dots. Her insides went hot and cold. In hindsight, her casual introduction of Buster was a dead giveaway.

“Where’s Louise?” she said, moving on and trying not to punish herself for her mistake.

“Brooks? Or my sister? Sis is here somewhere. Probably trying to corner Ramon Novarro by the punch bowl.” He removed his cigarettes from his breast pocket and pulled one out. “Brooks, you know the score. Wife thinks there’s some funny business going on between us and if I invite her to another party I’m dead meat.”

Trying to be friendly or playing an angle, Bradford butted in. “How’s your new picture, Mr. Keaton?”

“Buster,” he said, taking a drag off the cigarette. “Going alright I guess. Can’t complain. You in pictures?”

Bradford chattered away about D.W. Griffith and Nelly looked around them briefly to see if anyone was paying attention to their interaction. None of the Talmadges were near. She spotted Natalie and Norma chatting with Douglas Fairbanks across the room. Constance was standing nearer and speaking to a man Nelly didn’t recognize, but her back was turned to them.

“Wanna dance?” said Buster, fingers curving into her elbow.

She gave an anxious glance at Bradford, worried about him overhearing, but remembered he already knew. She said in an undertone, “I don’t think we ought to. Not for a few more songs at least. You should dance with a couple other girls first.”

Buster squeezed the crook of her arm and dropped his hand. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll be back.”

Half an hour later, he had taken her advice. The band had played “I’m Coming Virginia,” “Mississippi Mud,” and “Grandma.” Her next two dances had gone to Bradford and she’d sat “Grandma” out. Buster had danced with Constance Talmadge, Bebe Daniels, and Marion Davies. The crowd of guests had gotten louder as more cocktails circulated. Nelly had accepted a third drink, but was tempering herself and had taken only a sip. The blue-eyed singer stepped forward and commanded the crowd’s attention.

“We just added this one to the repertoire. It’s from a musical they’ve got in New York right now called Present Arms. Harry and Al and me, we’ll introduce you to it,” he said in a smooth, affable voice. He smiled, showing white, even teeth and snapped his fingers at the orchestra to cue them, eyes on the audience.

She was so focused on him that she was startled when someone seized the drink from her hand. Buster walked away from her and set her drink on a side table on the periphery of the room. “Come on kid, I’ve waited long enough,” he said, setting his hand on her waist when he returned. The orchestra was in full swing, the brass section taking up a melody that the strings underscored and singing out cheerfully. A clarinet butted in every several measures, rich and mellow. Nelly had danced with Buster a dozen times in her apartment and his bungalow, but as he folded her hand into his, she remembered just their first dance at the party in October. She’d been spooked then about her changing feelings for him and nervous lest Natalie think something was afoot. Now that they were really having an affair, the dread and nervousness were like a thousand pin-pricks to her skin. She was sure it must be obvious that Buster and she were more than simply acquaintances.

Buster led her in a medium-tempo foxtrot, his eyes cast upward, as though dancing with her among all the other women was no big deal. Only his thumb massaging her palm gave him away. He smelled like aftershave and cigarettes. She tried to pay attention to the dance, the rhythm of her hips and her feet and not the sensation that every person in the room was staring at them and wondering about the girl Buster was dancing with.

He leaned in, his cheek almost resting against hers. “Loosen up,” he said in her ear.

She put her mouth by his ear in turn. “I feel like everyone’s watching us.”

He gave a calm, closed-lipped smile. “Everyone’s too busy getting ossified and cutting a rug to pay us any, baby.”

“I still don’t feel—”

“Hush,” he said. “Just enjoy yourself.”

The brassy trumpet and an oboe bantered for a while before the full orchestra cut back in.

I’m a sentimental sap that’s all

What’s the use of trying not to fall?

I have no will

Aw, you made your kill

‘Cause you took advantage of me

It was the blue-eyed singer again. In the background, the two others crooned softly. Nelly closed her eyes for a beat and watched herself as Natalie might, were she able to peer inside Nelly’s head. Buster. The Villa. The Paul Whiteman Orchestra.

I’m just like an apple on a bough

And you’re gonna shake me down somehow

So what’s the use?

You cooked my goose

‘Cause you took advantage of me

Her purple dress. A room full of stars.

I’m so hot and bothered that I don’t know

My elbow from my ear

Suffer something awful each time you go,

Much worse when you’re near

Playing billiards in Buster’s game room. Buster enclosing her in his arms on his bed.

Here I am with all my bridges burned

Just a babe in arms where you’re concerned

Buster’s lips and tongue and fingers and hands. His prick.

So lock the door and call me yours

‘Cause you took advantage of me

The shower. The down blanket and the stars sparkling over Beverly Hills. Buster’s body warm against hers.

The brass section sang out again, boisterous, confident, the strings wrapping its melody. Nelly moved her feet, scarcely conscious of the dance. Her head was still planted in the clouds when it ended and Buster’s hands let go. She couldn’t help glance around her, wondering who’d been watching. To her relief, the one person who caught her eye was Bradford, who had just let go of Marion Davies. He kissed Marion’s hand and said something in her ear that made her laugh, then walked back over to Nelly.

“Don’t make me jealous now,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Look who’s talking!” she said, giving him the smile and all the weight of feeling she would have to Buster had she been able.

“Don’t forget your Orange Blossom,” said Buster, pressing it back in her hand. “I’ll be back for you in a little bit.” He turned away and she saw him catch John Gilbert by the arm and demand something that made Gilbert roar with laughter.

“How’d you enjoy your dance with Miss Davies?” said Nelly to Bradford.

“Oh, I expect I’ll be playing the lead in her next picture,” Bradford said, winking to show that his boast wasn’t serious. “How was your dance with Mr. Keaton?”

“He dances well,” she said, playing along.

A cool hand on her arm made her turn. Nelly blanched when she saw who it was.

“Have we met?” said the blonde woman, her smile warm.

“I don’t believe so. You’re Constance Talmadge.”

Constance smiled. She had a small, prim mouth outlined in a rose-colored lipstick. Her hair was waved and golden, her throat sparkling with a sapphire and diamond choker.

One of the singers was singing, “Baby face, you’ve got the cutest little baby face …”

“That’s right. And you?” said Constance.

Nelly reminded herself that she could act with the best of them. She put a hand on Bradford’s back. “Bradford and I work with Mr. Taylor at United Artists.”

“I’m in the new D.W. Griffith,” Bradford offered.

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Constance, sounding interested. “What’s your role?”

Bradford smiled. “Well I’m just an extra at the moment, but Mr. Griffith said Thursday he’s going to fit me into more scenes. He found out I can play piano and thinks he can use me for a bigger role.”

“I loved you in Breakfast at Sunrise,” Nelly said to her. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

“Why thank you.” Constance was as friendly as could be, but there was something about her appearance that made Nelly uneasy. “Is this your first time at one of Bus and Nate’s ‘dos?” she asked.

Nelly put on her best casual smile. “My second. I was here last fall.” She didn’t offer to explain how she knew Buster and hoped that Constance wouldn’t inquire. Distantly, she heard the orchestra and saw the bodies around them moving in time to the music.

“Oh, then you’re old hat. Have you tried the crab croquettes?”

Nelly said that she hadn’t. She was wondering where the conversation would go next when Bradford broke in. “Miss Talmadge,” he said, his voice brimming with charm. “Would it be too forward to ask you to dance?”

Constance smiled. Nelly could tell she was genuinely charmed. “Even if it was, I’ll say yes.”

“Wonderful.” He palmed her waist which was clothed in blue silk and chiffon. Glancing at Nelly as he took Constance’s small, white hand in his, he said, “Sorry, darling. Don’t be jealous.”

Nelly could have kissed him. With only one thought in mind, she elbowed her way out of the crowd and to one of the butlers, she helped herself to a minty green drink from his tray. She tossed it back, grabbed an Orange Blossom, and gulped that too. To his credit, the butler was too well-bred to react. She would have explained to him if she could that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy another second of the party without being drunk. The encounter with Constance had brought her jitters to a fever pitch. Nodding her thanks to the butler, she took another Orange Blossom in hand and went to track down the washroom.

The blue-eyed singer’s baritone followed her down the hall.

Birds are singing merrily

The sun is shining peacefully

Because my baby don’t mean maybe now

She locked the door behind her and set the drink on the edge of the sink as she relieved herself. Her make-up needed no touching up, and her cheeks were flushed with drink. Buster had engaged the Paul Whiteman Orchestra as a birthday gift to her and she was going to relax if it was the last thing she did. Technically it wasn’t her birthday for a few more hours, but even if they didn’t know it, everyone out there was dancing in honor of Nelly Foster’s twenty-seventh year on earth. She exited the washroom feeling more secure with this thought. Bradford was playing his part perfectly. The Talmadges didn’t suspect anything. It was okay if she loosened up as Buster had urged her to do.

#Buster Keaton #fan fiction #RPF #Actor RPF #Golden Age Hollywood #1920s #Bing Crosby #Paul Whiteman Orchestra

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 4 years ago

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Ishqbaaz Liveblog, E4: Anyone Between 40-59 is Shit

Previously: E3 “A really good premise”

Welcome! My liveblogging continues. Check out @australian-desi and @tellywoodtrash for more IB liveblogs (if you’re interested in this, TTji is my ultimate guru to lb-ing)!

So far I’m waiting and seeing if IB will break Kasautii Zindagi Kii 2, cause KZK2′s plot and non annoyance meter stood firm till 5 episodes. Until new Prerna decided to mega sacrifice herself and marriage a CREEP to save her family’s home. I noped out of that so hard after Prerna’s decision.

And so far I’m pleasantly surprised by IB, and genuinely enjoying it plot-wise.

Here’s the end of my yapping, now enjoy the liveblog!

Episode 4: “Anyone Between 40-59 is Shit”

- Deva Shree Ganesha continues. Till now Nakuul’s chin level is steady (later in the show his nose is permanently in the air - as noted by @ridzmystique)

- Burning Man continues, literally.

- Ganesh Ji also getting nice footage.

- Where is the thunder in the bg music coming from?

- Why ISN’T ANYONE DOING ANYTHING TO STOP THE FIRE? AH SHAKTI nearly went but was stopped by Tej.

- Tej doing damage control. Ofc, classic Tej. Dramatic shot continues, Tej is dramatic AF.

- HEY WE DIDN’T SEE MUCH OF THE OBROS TRYING TO SAVE BURNING MAN. But we must assume cause Shivaay is a bit burnt.

- Shivaay hurt his hand too? Shivaay, are we connecting too? Why? (My hand is hurt too)

- Ah, their first factory was burned but Dadaji decided to save the people instead of inventory #dadajirocks

- Shivaay taking the full pressure of things, as usual. Oh, Nakuul is acting really well in this scene - what do they do with him later?

- Poor Dadiji, she’s so sad - she’ll get a heart attack one day.

- Good vaada to take from older brother, make sure bhaichara remains between all of them.

- Sometimes it is so important to not be like your parents, if your parents are shitty.

- Oh the Mandir is BEAUTIFUL.

- DRAMATC TEJ APPEARS.

- WTF ACQUIRING LAND BY FORCING THE FARMERS? Tej must like what crap the government is pulling right now. #farmersprotest (please check it out and give it the support and awareness it deserves)

- Good, thank God Shakti has some sense. Oh, a flawed man with a conscience - I really like Shakti, he’s very layered.

- Tej is dramatic AF, Shakti is frickkin layered. These two bros are playing well against each other.

- WHO? DADI AND HER TWO SONS FACE OFF.

- YAY THIS POOL IS DEEPER THAN 1 FOOT! (Imagines Arnav swimming through this *cough*)

OK STOP DISTRACTING ME GUYS, LET’S FOCUS ON THE SHOW.

ISS PY

ISHQBAAZ

WHERE THERE’S A POOL

AND NO OTHER THOUGHTS

YOU KNOW WHY I GOT DIVERTED, BECAUSE OF YOU GUYS, YES

ANYWAYS,

- Shivaay… wondering about family name even though someone died?

- You know, what I like about this convo is that both Om and Shivaay are right in their positions.

- Om: worried that a person died, Shivaay: reputation matters

- Damn it, this was a good conversation.

- Ah Rudy. I LOVE LOVE LOVE HOW THEY USED THE BABY BROTHER TO BREAK THE TENSION. The great thing of Rudy not smiling is that you know shit has hit the fan when that happened.

- I don’t like how they’re treating Guggi - the way they tried to make her ‘comedic’ because she doesn’t fit the standard of beauty. I DO NOT like this.

- FINALLY DADI! Finally have a word with your sons.

- Just ignoring Pinky. Jhanvi, I Stan you as always.

- Ah Rudy, I LOVE HOW SHIVAAY AND OM CALMED AND THE CRACKS HEALED BECAUSE OF RUDY BEING THEIR BABY.

- HAHAHAH! Shivaay yelled Om for hitting Rudra by showing Rudy how to hit better!

- HAHAHAH THEY’RE MAKING RAJNIKANTH OUT OF SHIVAAY! I LOVED how in one scene, without too much, showed how Rudy is the glue between two brothers who love each other but are ideologically different (and a difference that can cause a crack if not healed at the right time)

- DADI BRINGIN IN THE KASAM to make sure her two fishy sons tell the truth. Shakti told half truth, smart. WHY IS DADI SMILING?

- OK dadi your sons have a LOT of issues, your sanskaar totes failed.

- Okay, Anjali has transformed to Sahil (I guess that’s the kid’s name). Do we need to be orphans and have a limping sibling to be a television lead? (Taking a hockey stick and heading to my brother)

- Why is the landlady and constables standing in filmy line too?

- UFF THIS LANDLADY KA OVERACTING - OH WAIT SHE’S ACTUALLY ANIKA’S BUAJI BUAJI - DAMN WTF IS SHE. THIS BUAJI IS OVERACTING LIKE SHIT.

- Totally not interested in this character.

- Dude Anika is anaath, isme tera kya jaata hai?

- Yes Anika, kill her.

- Woah who’s manhandling Anika?

- THAT IS A FINE ACTRESS, please don’t make her do a shitty role. WTF? POLICE VIOLENCE.

- Phirse gaana? These three bros should have an album after their name. In case their other businesses fail, this one should keep things floating :D *did I foresee something in this sentence, I might’ve*

- I would call thing cringy, if I didn’t do the same shit with my bro. We’re dramatic AF too, dancing to random songs all the time.

- The police waali has personal vendetta against Anika. Why?

- Ok, almost every 40-50s person in this show is terrible.

- Ok how is this terrible Buaji and the police waali connected? Is this police person a relative or something to Buaji?

- Ok I love the kid, I love how much he loves Anika.

- Ok, we have reason why Anika should be removed from this situation asap (already murdering Shivaay for the future marriage condition).

So it is interesting and I’m eager to see what all tropes would happen when Shivaay and Anika meet. In her words, I have very low tolerance for michimichi! For example: I (largely) hate the swami track, post marriage comedy, sheetal track, when Khushi gives ‘gyaan’ to either Lavanya or Arnav about marriage or anything and all that in IPK.

But I’m also waiting to listen to O Jaana and see the staring, wind and all cause I’m a wee bit sucker for those.

So goodnight and see you tomorrow!

- S

Next up: E5 “Devi Maiyya working overtime for Shivika to happen”

#ib #ishqbaaz liveblog #ishqbaaz #ib liveblog #jalebi watches something else #tere liye ttji

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heras-princess · 4 years ago

Text

There are stories that haven't been told or were overshadowed by others and eventually forgotten over time. The story of how Uga Benzaiten became the Queen of Curses is a forgotten one, unfortunately.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: this fanfic has my original characters; this is also on my wattpad and archive of our own accounts

WARNINGS: original characters, romance, lgbtq+, sukuna being sukuna, references regarding japanese mythology/lore, executions, propaganda, manipulation, murder, corrupt positions of power, brainwashing, family drama, and many more.

Words: 1,183

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄)

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

“Your Majesty, I apologize to inconvenience you at this time, but the Imperial Princess Uga is nowhere to be seen.”

The throne room quickly fell silent.

Not a single person spoke for what seemed like hours but was only a minute in reality.

“...I’m sorry, but I fear that I might’ve misheard you on what you have just told me,” Despite displaying a polite smile, Emperor Nintoku’s voice was filled with nothing but venomous malice. Did he hear that right? No, of course not. Perhaps he misheard the chambermaid’s news. Either

The lowly servant further explained the situation to her superior, “Her Imperial Highness requested some time alone in her chambers after her recent training sessions. When I was entered in order for her to receive dinner, I’ve noticed that her Highness was nowhere in her room and her window was open. I have reason to believe that she has ran away when she was alone.”

After telling her side, the chambermaid awaited and feared on what her emperor planned on saying or doing next. He stayed silent for a moment, and his facial expression - she hadn’t dared to look up to see his face out of respect and fear.

Smack!

The maid whimpered in pain as she fell on the floor, tears threatening to soak on the room’s floor. Her right cheek has a reddening mark from Nintoku himself.

“What a joke of a chambermaid. You avert your eyes from the high priestess and she manages to leave under your nose,” he began to tear into the maid, not caring if she’s starts crying. Uga leaving was the maid’s fault. And here she was, paying the price for her carelessness.

Today certainly has had its ups and downs.

First his men found a kappa hiding itself in an alley and brought it to him. The emperor began to ask them questions about Ryomen Sukuna, in the hopes if locating him. Unfortunately, the kappa said nothing. EIther it didn’t know anything or refused to say anything is left to only his imagination. Either way, he’ll continue to interrogate the yokai until he gets something out of it or it dies. He would be fine with either outcome.

Just then, one of the warriors burst into the throne room, interrupting the emperor’s thought process.

The warrior deeply bowed, “Apologizes for barging in, Your Majesty. But the kappa you’ve taken captive has escaped from it cage!”

Huh. Looks like he was wrong.

Today has been more of a bad day than most.

Nintoku then began to chuckle. His chuckle turned into a laugh, and his laugh became a hearty guffaw. “Well, I’ll be damned. I believe I am able to piece together what has occurred in these late hours. It appears that my dear Uga freed the kappa and took off. Right underneath not only your noses but mine as well.” He tried to catch his breath after finishing his little fit. This whole thing was amusing, to say the least.

That girl surely is something.

Why couldn’t she stay quiet and in line like the rest of her siblings? Maybe if she had, then her father wouldn’t pay so much attention to her. He always knew that Uga wasn’t as afraid of him as her siblings were, never trembling in fear whenever he would merely glance at her.

And her jujutsu training was a thing to behold. His daring daughter was a quick learner, that one.

He turned around and waved off the troop, “Send out your best searchers and find the Imperial Princess. And should you find the kappa along with her, bring it as well. Oh, and do not be afraid to use some cursed energy if she’s spotted.”

Alright, Uga.

You’ve made the first move in this hunting game you decided you want to pay.

Now it is my turn.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

Uga hasn’t stopped running through the forest even though her feet were ready to give out soon. She knew better than to stop at this point. She had the kappa that she freed from her father in her arms. Her plan was to drop off the kappa at a nearby river and continue hiding from the imperial searchers. The chambermaids must’ve learned about her disappearance and have told her father, who probably send out searchers to find her and the kappa.

That was when Uga finally found a river a few feet away. Once the kappa started to sniff a familiar fishy scent from the body of water, it wiggled out of the imperial princess’s grip and dove into the river without any form of hesitation.

Uga took out a few whole cucumbers that she stole from the kitchen when the cooks weren’t looking and showed it to the water spirit. “Here. I know well enough that you haven’t really eaten anything since you were brought to my father.”

The kappa looked between its’ offering and the young high priestess, most likely scared thanks to its recent past experience with a jujutsu sorcerer. Eventually, it quickly snatched a cucumber from her hand and took a couple of bites of it while staring at Uga.

She took off her shoes so she could soak her sore feet, sighed in relief once the feet hit the water. “I really needed this soak.” The princess made eye contact with the river yokai, who was slowly eating the rest of the cucumbers right beside her. “I’m guessing you don’t trust me still. Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust the next jujutsu sorcerer after what you went through.”

When she was younger, Nintoku would often tell her and her siblings stories that painted mythical creatures horribly and told them to run as jujutsu sorcerers who encountered a mythical creature and stay were those with a death wise. He wasn’t really wrong, but she still thought differently. She wanted to understand the mythical, not really hurt them like her other siblings wanted to once they were strong enough jujutsu sorcerers.

Oh, how she wished that some of her other siblings believed what Uga did. Maybe they could’ve run away together and learn about the mythological mysteries.

“If I continue on feet, then those searches would surely catch up to me,” she said to herself. That was when she came up with the perfect idea. Her father was in charge of her cursed energy training and he was worse than the official trainer. He wanted them to have the strength of a Special Grade. Unforuently, at least half of her siblings could barely handle a Grade 3 spirit, with Uga being the lucky few with immense cursed energy.

The searchers, on the other hand, couldn’t handle a Grade 2 curse.

“It appears that Father did manage to teach me something during my training period,” she then made an arrow from the river water and looked at the kappa one last time before getting up. “What to do when a challenge presents itself.”

She ran away from the river and went in the direction that she just came from, leaving the kappa confused. It took the remaining cucumbers and swam away from the shore.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #cursed royalty by heiress #heiress's ocs #heiress original characters #heiress fanfic #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #angst #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x oc #japanese mythology #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst

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thejustmaiden · 5 years ago

Note

Just bcos u PERCEIVE SessRin as something that promotes pedophilia and grooming doesn't mean that's how the author portrayed it. It's disappointing to see that antis force such idea, as if they know what's inside Rumiko's mind. It is fine if u find sessrin cringey. Just don't force your idea of pedophilia and grooming as THE CORRECT PORTRAYAL OF SESSRIN.

Hello there, nonnie! You had quite the party in my ask box, I see. Breaking it up in parts may actually help me get to the point and address your concerns swiftly and accordingly. Here goes nothing. 😉

This answer is for your first two asks by the way. Firstly, you're putting words in my mouth because I do not view Rumiko as an author who promotes pedophilia and child grooming and never have. She never once placed an ounce of romance into their scenes. Rin was essentially introduced to serve as a catalyst for Sesshomaru's character growth. That's major in and of itself, which is why I'm not sure why she needs to be the mom on top of all that she's already done for him. It was you, Sessrin shippers, who had to go and make it romantic, not us. It was you who took every innocent scene and turned it into a romantic one. You'll even use some of their scenes as proof they will end up together, then back-pedal later and say those very same scenes weren't romantic in order to protect the sanctity of your ship. I mean, which is it? It can't be both, it's either one or the other.

I repeat, NO we don’t actually think Rumiko wanted to portray this relationship with pedophillic or grooming tendencies. It's you shippers who insist there is no other way for their relationship to evolve, as if you speak on behalf of Rumiko. Your interpretation of Rumiko's work is what implies child grooming; she may not be condoning it but your perspective sure is. You talk down to antis who disagree, because in your opinion, your interpretation is not only superior but already canon in your eyes. You're doing a disservice to this fandom by spreading false information like that when you try to pass it off as official. So if it's anyone that assumes they know what goes on inside Rumiko's head, it's YOU. Somewhere down the road in the (un)foreseeable future, it's you who changes course since remember we were all in agreement at the beginning that their relationship wasn't romantic. So what did I miss? Please break it down for me and explain what exactly influenced you to change your mind, then describe in detail how again this transition in their relationship magically came to be. It's you who came to that decision on your own- nobody helped you get there, and certainly not Rumiko (as you said yourself). The user boycottyashahime put it better than I did, so here is the link to their post. I highly recommend you read it if you haven't already. I urge you to keep an open mind about it while reading, too. You may not like what they have to say, but there's no denying they make excellent points all the same.

I'm pretty sure I catch your drift, but can you clarify if you're referring to historical context or cultural context? I suppose both can be applied here. haha Anyway, from what I gather, you believe that fans should be on board with the idea of Sessrin and at the very least tolerate the pairing. Whether they ship it or not, you believe this simply for the fact that the story takes place in the feudal era and couples with a similar relationship back then were more than acceptable. The thing is, we may be transported to Feudal Japan in this story but we're still taking our modern day morals with us for the trip. I have a whole ass blog dedicated to the significance of fiction in real life (convienently pinned on my page) if you wanna check it out. I also discuss what age-appropriate content is and isn't for Inuyasha viewers in this recent ask here that I find is also pretty relevant to the convo.

Alrighty, moving onto your next point. I can't stress enough to you guys that this isn't a mere Caucasian vs. Non-Caucasian dilemma. I'm a POC, so I ask that you please not presume to know things about me you couldn't possibly know unless we met or I shared it with you. In fact, many of the other antis I frequently chat with are POCs like myself. So for all that's good and holy, please stop ignoring us when we say: THERE ARE FANS IN JAPAN WHO HATE THIS SHIP TOO. THIS ISN'T A DIFFERENCE OF CULTURE, THIS IS A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION (& FACT). It may have not been called child grooming during that time, but that doesn't mean that it wasn't; it just went under a different name, that's literally it.

Let me give you another example. So if I'm watching a movie about WWII in Nazi Germany, am I supposed to sympathize with an SS officer if the story is being narrated from his point of view? Because in his mind and during that time period, his ideology is right. Like a lot of Germany during that war, I rally to support his leader for what is in my opinion a just cause. Tell me, how does context matter in this instance? Does it matter so much so that you would adopt the same ideals just because it was "historically accurate" and you don't see anything wrong with it when you put yourself in their shoes? Does the "it's just fiction" defense come into play here, too?

The illustration I believe you are referring to is the calendar with that one official illustrator for Inuyasha, right? The thing is, an official illustrator doesn’t equal the creator of Inuyasha. They may support the Sessrin ship, but their work has no connection to the Inuyasha series in any way besides the name affiliation. I've heard that the illustrator also included Kagome x Koga art, so should we take that seriously then too? Rumiko never once alluded to a future romance between Sesshomaru and Rin, to which you even (kinda) agreed. She described their relationship as neither parental or romantic, and she added that she even contemplated making Rin a boy at first. Fun facts, y'all!

I've heard about those magazines but they sound fishy to me. Would you mind sending me a link to a reliable source that comes with an English translation? I'd like to emphasize again that illustrators or VAs can do and say as they please, but their opinions are still only opinions at the end of the day. Nothing is set in stone until Rumiko says it is.

For one, I never said my interpretation was the only correct portrayal. That's you putting words in my mouth again. What I did say, however, was that my interpretation was more logical and reasonable than yours based on popular and widely-accepted story patterns found in real life and in fiction. Look this isn't about who's more "correct" or not. You can perceive Sesshomaru and Rin's relationship any damn way you want, BUT what you cannot do is dictate how we react to your depiction of this ship. You can't demand us to view your ship a certain way to fit your preferences. I'm sure all the hate on your ship can be unbearable at times, but that's just the cross you'll have to bear for supporting such a problematic couple. If a large part of any fandom is strongly against a pairing and what it represents, then there's usually a very legitimate reason for that. You may not want to hear this, but certainly you must realize there's some truth to it all. A couple of your fellow shippers have even admitted to me that Sessrin would be wrong IRL. You see what I mean? Even if we find the ship gross, antis don't care if you choose to ship Sessrin. All we care about is you acknowledging that, like IRL, Sessrin potentially poses a lot of problems for young viewers and how they come to make sense of and view similar situations that are borderline grooming or the very thing itself. Teens watching this show are more vulnerable and impressionable, which is why it's crucial to not show relationships like Sessrin in a favorable light. If they're ever put in a situation IRL that resembles Sessrin, they need to be aware and understand that it's not at all normal or healthy for that adult to make a move on them. Let's say Sessrin does go canon, then that would mean Rin had to get pregnant around 14 or 15. Sending that kind of message to an audience made up of mostly teenagers isn't exactly wise if you ask me. Please really think about that and sit with it if you need to.

I'm positive I'm following the same story, thank you very much. Also, how can you be so confident making a statement like that when I have actual Sessrin shippers praising me for making valid points? Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think I'm as lost as you claim me to be or wish that I was.

That's a wrap, peeps!

Read over what I had to say again later and then get back to me if want, but only write me back if you plan to be respectful. Otherwise I will decline to answer. Just keep that in mind. And may I suggest only sending 1 or 2 asks at a time? Please and thank you!

I think I may know exactly who are, nonnie, but I can't say for sure. Besides, it doesn't really matter, as you have a right to stay anonymous if you so wish to. Listen, don't forget you are also more than welcome to interact (but appropriately) on my blogs/asks/etc. If you are who I think you are, then you recently did make a comment on one of them but didn't stick around when I replied back (and for good reason). Finally, if you hope to ever have a real discussion about this topic someday, first put your ego aside and refrain from throwing insults and then I'll hear you out. I have never once put you down in all of our interactions, so there's no need to show up here all riled up and aggravated in the first place. There's also no need to laugh at or mock other's opinions. Don't take jabs and assume I must not know something about Inuyasha just because I don't support your point of view. I may not agree with your opinion, but you don't see me having a condescending air about it.

Apologies if you're not the member I believe you to be, but no offense, you probably still needed to hear all of that too. It's not included here since I answered it immediately, but that final ask you sent me where you got angry and assumed I wasn't going to answer you was totally uncalled for. If you ever hope someday to participate in real discourse with me or any other antis, you should take my advice and seriously chill and learn how to be patient.

Hope this finds you well, nonnie!

#inuyasha #iy #hanyo no yashahime #hny #sessrin #anti sessrin #anonymous asks #answered ask

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