#the worst part is that she is one of the only characters of mine that has ever got acc developed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aesthetically-dying101 · 20 days ago

Text

Unattainable

A/N: the tittle is pretty self explanatory no? Nanami falling in love with a very powerful woman(i will be writing this prompt for other characters cause ehehhehee) I'm splitting this in two bc 28k is a lot in one go imo, so uhh.. yeah!

Warnings: pining, toxic relationship, divorce, one sided (?) love, lawyer stuff that i don't even understand

Part 2: Obtainable; Part 3: Mine

Nanami Kento prided himself on precision.

Every line in his life—meticulous.

His suits, his ties, his case files. He lived in sharp angles and straight paths, all in service of a life that didn’t leave room for chaos or frivolity.

And then there was her.

The woman who walked into every courtroom like it was built for her, like every strand of light had been arranged to illuminate her path. She wasn’t just successful; she was untouchable. The top attorney at the rival firm, her name carried the weight of whispered legends—cases no one could win but her, settlements that reshaped industries. She was elegance sharpened into a blade, and Kento hated how much he noticed.

He noticed everything.

The quiet gleam of her wedding ring. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was reading through contracts. The barely perceptible quirk of her lips when a witness lied. It wasn’t fair, the way she lingered in his mind like cigarette smoke, heavy and inescapable.

But the worst part?

She wasn’t his.

*-*

“Did you hear?”

Nanami stopped short outside the break room, the low hum of voices catching his attention. Two junior associates, whispering, and that was always dangerous.

“About her husband? Yeah, apparently, he showed up to one of the charity galas drunk out of his mind. Embarrassed the hell out of her. Can you imagine?”

“Ugh, he’s such a nobody compared to her. Like, what does he even do?”

“Finance, I think? But, like, not good finance.”

Nanami’s grip on the coffee cup in his hand tightened, knuckles pale against porcelain. He wasn’t one to indulge in gossip, but this—this felt like a thread he couldn’t stop pulling.

“He hates her success, doesn’t he? I heard he got into a screaming match with her once because she’s never home.”

“Probably because she’s busy running circles around everyone in court. I mean, who wouldn’t hate that? She’s—”

Nanami stepped into the room, silent and deliberate. The associates froze mid-conversation, one of them clutching a packet of sugar like it might save them.

“Oh, Mr. Nanami! Uh, good morning!”

“Morning.” His voice was cool, clipped. “If you have time to gossip, you have time to review case law. Get back to work.”

The room cleared faster than he expected, but the damage was done. Their words had lodged themselves in his chest, a splinter he couldn’t remove.

*-*

Her husband.

He’d only met the man once, at a legal conference where spouses had been invited. Nanami had seen him—a tall, thin man with an expensive watch and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His handshake had been limp, and the way he introduced her—“Oh, this is my wife, Y/N. She’s, uh, a lawyer”—had grated against Kento’s ears.

She’s a lawyer??? She’s the lawyer.

The woman every firm wanted, the woman judges respected, feared, adored. She was a force of nature, and her husband had reduced her to “a lawyer.”

He hated him.

The thought felt unprofessional, indulgent even, but he couldn’t help it. He hated him in a way that felt primal, instinctual.

And then there were the things he heard. How the man resented her hours. How he sulked when she won cases because it meant more press, more attention. How he’d once called her “intimidating” in an argument.

Nanami clenched his jaw.

I wouldn’t be intimidated, he thought bitterly. I’d be proud. If she were mine…

He stopped himself there because that was a dangerous road. She wasn’t his. She was married. She’d chosen someone else.

*-*

The next time he saw her was at a joint strategy meeting for a high-profile case. Her firm and his, teaming up for the kind of case that would make headlines for months.

She walked into the room like always: poised, graceful, devastating. A beige pantsuit this time, tailored perfectly, the sharp line of her jaw softened by the faintest hint of perfume. He knew the scent. He’d looked it up once after catching it in an elevator with her—amber and vetiver, grounded yet sweet.

“Nanami,” she said, nodding at him as she took her seat.

“L/N,” he replied, his voice steady. Always steady.

For the next three hours, he forced himself to focus on the case. He listened to her present her arguments, her voice even and measured, with just enough edge to cut through the room’s noise. He didn’t miss the way her fingers played with the edge of her notebook when she was thinking or how she leaned forward when she was challenging a point.

He never missed anything about her.

When the meeting ended, she lingered, packing her things slowly as the rest of the room emptied. Nanami hesitated, unsure if he should leave or stay.

“You look tired,” she said suddenly, glancing at him.

He blinked. “Do I?”

“Mm. You work too much, Nanami.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Her laugh was soft, but it lingered in the air, wrapping around him like silk.

*-*

Later that night, alone in his apartment, Nanami stared at his untouched dinner and thought about her laugh. He thought about the way she smiled when she talked to him, like they shared a secret no one else was privy to.

He thought about her husband, about the stories he’d heard, about the ring she wore and whether she ever took it off. He hated himself for wanting her to.

You’re better than this, he told himself. She’s married. You respect her choices.

But then the darker thoughts crept in. The ones he couldn’t suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

What if she made the wrong choice? What if he doesn’t deserve her?

And the worst thought of all, the one he would never say out loud:

What if I could be better for her?

*-*

Nanami's morning had begun like every other—a controlled chaos of legal briefs and phone calls. But in the hours between his neatly pressed suit and his perfectly arranged desk, there was always that fleeting moment when his thoughts wandered too far. Too far into a realm where he didn’t belong, where the crisp lines of his life began to fray and unravel.

Today was no different.

The buzz around the office had started quietly, like the murmur of a river before it swells into a full rush of noise.

“Did you see the broadcast?” someone whispered as he walked by. “Y/N L/N, that courtroom queen—she just destroyed that pharmaceutical company. It was beautiful.”

Nanami stopped, his chest tightening, fingers still gripping the handle of his briefcase. He could hear every word, every bitter syllable, even as he stood just outside the break room. Destroyed. A word that had no business fitting into any sentence when it came to her. She didn’t destroy. She won, gracefully. It was too easy for her.

A small pang of jealousy gnawed at his gut. He hated how the world watched her with such rapt attention, how they celebrated her every victory, while—he couldn’t help but think—her husband probably didn’t even care. Probably hadn’t even watched her obliterate that corporate giant. And that thought left a sickening taste in his mouth, a bitterness that threatened to choke him.

Didn’t cook her dinner, he thought grimly. Didn’t even pour her a glass of wine to celebrate.

That’s what he imagined, anyway. The image of her walking into an empty home after the televised event, no applause, no warmth, only the dull, detached presence of the man who had the audacity to call himself her husband.

He doesn’t deserve her, Nanami thought, but he knew better than to dwell on it. Respect her choices. Respect her choices, Kento.

He hated that mantra, the way it came to him unbidden, the way it made him bite down on his own thoughts, like there was some invisible boundary between them. Some insurmountable wall he couldn’t scale.

But today, today he was going to push it all aside. He was going to be professional. He would congratulate her, just like any other attorney would congratulate a worthy opponent. And then he’d go back to his perfectly ordered life, the one he could control.

*-*

The office door swung open with a soft click, and there she was, standing in the doorway, still in her perfectly tailored coat. The very embodiment of everything he could never have—grace, power, intelligence.

He took a breath.

“Y/N,” Nanami called out smoothly, his voice a touch too clipped, too formal. But it was his default setting. “Congratulations. That was an impressive win against that pharmaceutical company.”

Her gaze flickered up at him, briefly meeting his eyes, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch. It was like he could hear the beating of his own heart in his ears, the way his blood rushed in a deafening roar. His chest tightened. The walls inside his mind buckled.

She smiled at him—no, really smiled—her lips curving up slowly, like she had all the time in the world, and for just a second, the world felt like it narrowed down to the space between them.

“Thank you, Nanami,” she said, her voice soft, but it struck through him like a lightning bolt, sending a tremor through his veins.

And then it happened.

Her gaze lingered.

Just a little longer than it should have. Her eyes studied him with such quiet intensity, like she was searching for something. A flicker of something—a recognition?—crossed her face, but Nanami couldn’t place it. He was so caught in the moment, caught in her, that it felt like everything in him had shattered. His throat went dry, and his heart gave a sickeningly unprofessional lurch.

He felt it.

He felt it as if the very air between them had sparked, and it was dangerous, it was too much, it was everything. And yet, all she did was nod slowly. A small, controlled movement. She acknowledged him, gave him that faintest of smiles, and then—that was it.

That was it.

Nothing more. She turned her back, the soft swish of her coat disappearing into the corridor, her heels clicking against the polished floors like a drumbeat echoing in his mind.

For a long moment, Nanami stood frozen in place, blinking as if he had just been struck blind.

She smiled at me, he thought, barely able to grasp the words as they swirled around him in a dazed haze. She smiled. At me.

His breath caught.

He was still staring at the door, his entire body tingling with that inexplicable tension, that feeling as though something had shifted—something irrevocable. His fingers clenched around the handle of his briefcase, knuckles white.

No, no, no. It was just a smile. She smiled at me like she smiles at everyone, she’s just being polite. Respect her choices, Kento. Respect her choices…

But the words were meaningless. He could still feel her eyes on him, still hear the way her voice rang in his ears, soft but piercing. He could still taste that fleeting moment, the way time had stretched between them like a rubber band, taut with possibility.

His pulse quickened. His skin felt too tight, too hot, like he might break out of it at any moment. The thought of her smile, that slow curve of her lips, was enough to send him spiraling into something dangerously close to madness.

Don’t think about it, he told himself desperately. Don’t. Just don’t. It was a passing moment, nothing more.

But it wasn’t.

His eyes burned. His hands trembled. His chest was tight with the undeniable ache, the yearning, the impossibility of it all. She had looked at him. She had really looked at him.

Was I—was I about to faint?

It was ridiculous. Absolutely absurd.

But God, if he didn’t feel like he was on the edge of losing control. He could barely stand, could barely breathe. The thought of her—of that smile, that look—was consuming him, turning him inside out. He wanted to tear apart his own heart, rip out every unworthy thought, every unprofessional desire, and bury them somewhere deep inside where no one could see.

But all he could do was stand there, rooted to the floor, feeling like a fool. A pathetic fool.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Her footsteps were long gone, and Nanami was left standing alone in the hallway, staring at nothing.

He pressed a hand to his face, willing himself to breathe.

She smiled at me, he repeated in his head, a mantra now.

She smiled at me.

And as the reality of it hit him again, a bitter laugh escaped his lips.

*-*

Nanami’s apartment was quiet.

A small oasis of order amid the chaos of his mind, where every book was aligned perfectly on the shelves, every object placed with precision. He liked it that way—predictable, steady.

But tonight, the silence felt heavy. It pressed against him as he loosened his tie, the faint hum of the television filling the void. He wasn’t much for entertainment, but it was a Saturday, and after a week that had felt like a year, he allowed himself the indulgence of background noise.

He settled into his couch, flipping through channels with a practiced indifference until something caught his eye—a familiar face.

Her face.

Nanami froze, the remote slipping from his fingers as the image on the screen crystallized. It was you, seated in a pristine studio, her expression composed, poised. The anchor—a man with an overly polished smile—was gesturing animatedly as he introduced her, his tone dripping with false enthusiasm.

Nanami leaned forward instinctively, his hands clasped together, his chest tightening as the interview began.

“Ms. L/N, first of all, congratulations on your win. Truly remarkable work in the courtroom this past week.”

Y/N smiled, a small, practiced gesture. “Thank you. It was a team effort, as always.”

Nanami huffed quietly to himself. Team effort? She was too gracious. That case had been hers from the start—her strategy, her brilliance.

“But,” the anchor continued, leaning in slightly, “it’s not just the legal world that’s buzzing. People are curious about how you manage to balance such a demanding career with your personal life. It can’t be easy, can it?”

Nanami stiffened. He recognized the tone, the shift in body language, the glint in the anchor’s eye. The man wasn’t interested in her career. He was circling the personal, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Y/N, however, remained unflinching.

“I believe balance is something we all strive for, regardless of our profession. I’m fortunate to work with talented colleagues who make that balance achievable.”

Good answer, Nanami thought, nodding slightly.

But the anchor wasn’t done. “Of course, with the recent news about your personal life—rumors of a divorce, if I may be frank—many are wondering how that’s been affecting you. Has it been a distraction from your work?”

There it was. The shift from veiled curiosity to outright prying, the question so thinly disguised it might as well have been written in neon.

Nanami’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know what was worse: the audacity of the question or the ease with which the man delivered it, like her life was public property.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smile unwavering but cool now, a subtle shift that only someone paying close attention would notice. Nanami, of course, noticed.

“I find it’s best to keep personal matters private,” she said smoothly, her tone neutral, diplomatic. “What I focus on is my work, and ensuring my clients receive the best possible representation.”

The anchor pressed on, undeterred. “Certainly, but doesn’t it become difficult to separate the two? Your personal life and your professional image are so intertwined.”

He’s a vulture, Nanami thought bitterly, his hand tightening into a fist on his knee. A miserable little vulture.

Y/N didn’t flinch. “I appreciate the question, but I think it’s important to remember that everyone, regardless of profession, deserves boundaries. My work speaks for itself, and I’d prefer to keep the focus there.”

The anchor hesitated, clearly unsatisfied with her non-answer. He shifted in his seat, his smile faltering slightly before he recovered. “Fair enough, Ms. L/N. Fair enough.”

Nanami exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as the interview moved back to safer topics—her strategy, her future cases, the intricacies of the legal system. But he wasn’t listening anymore, not really.

All he could think about was the way she had handled herself. How she had parried every intrusive question with a grace that bordered on surgical precision.

She knew they’d ask, he realized. She knew, and she was ready for it.

It wasn’t fair. She was brilliant, successful, untouchable—and yet, the world still found ways to pick at her, to pry open the cracks in her armor and dissect what they found.

Her husband, he thought bitterly, the word itself leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He’s the reason they ask. The reason they treat her like a spectacle.

Nanami slumped back against the couch, running a hand down his face. He hated how much it bothered him, how much he cared. It wasn’t his place—it wasn’t. She was her own person, capable of handling herself in ways he could only admire from afar.

But the thought of her sitting there, enduring questions about a marriage that he suspected was crumbling under its own weight, made his chest ache.

He doesn’t deserve her, Nanami thought again, the words louder now, sharper. He never did.

And yet, despite it all, she had smiled. She had smiled at that anchor, at the cameras, at the world. She had smiled even though they had no right to dig into her life.

And then, she had smiled at him.

The memory of that moment earlier in the day returned with a vengeance, unbidden and unwelcome. Her gaze, the way it lingered just a second too long. Her smile, soft but knowing.

Nanami groaned, dragging a hand through his hair as if he could scrub the thought from his mind.

Get a grip, he told himself sternly. She’s handling it. She’s stronger than anyone you’ve ever met.

But somewhere, buried beneath the layers of admiration and restraint, there was a part of him—a small, dangerous part—that wanted to step in, to shield her from the world’s scrutiny.

And maybe, just maybe, to be the one who deserved her smile.

*-*

The night was humming, a soft murmur of chatter and clinking glasses reverberating through the grand hall. Nanami Kento had always prided himself on his ability to blend into any setting—his poise, his sharp suits, his even sharper mind, all made him a natural at events like these. The annual gala, a gathering of Japan’s finest lawyers and legal professionals, was no exception. His firm’s presence was important, the connections invaluable. Yet tonight, his mind was elsewhere, orbiting around thoughts he couldn't quite shake.

He had caught glimpses of her again, as always—Y/N L/N.

Every time they passed each other in the courthouse hallways or at various client meetings, it felt like a collision of two separate worlds. Her poised presence was something he couldn’t quite escape, not that he ever wanted to. But tonight, she wasn’t in sight.

Instead, he found himself standing by the bar, engaging in the usual small talk with colleagues. Yu Haibara, a financial adviser who had a reputation for knowing just about every rich and powerful person in the city, was chatting animatedly beside him. Yu was a good guy, a friend, someone Nanami had worked with on various cases involving finance and mergers.

Yu's face lit up as he leaned closer to Nanami, his voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial whisper.

“Did you hear?” he asked, his eyes practically sparkling with the anticipation of a juicy tidbit.

Nanami raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for something that would inevitably be too good to be true. “What?” He didn’t hide the slight edge of curiosity in his voice.

Yu’s grin widened. “Y/N L/N, man. She’s apparently going to leave her husband.”

The words landed like a punch to Nanami’s gut. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure as Yu continued.

“You know I have friends in some pretty expensive estates—those high-end, discreet places where the real movers and shakers go. And apparently, she’s been looking. Alone. Looking for a place for herself.” Yu’s grin was practically smug now, as if he had delivered the news of the century.

The air around Nanami felt suddenly heavier. He should have been thinking about the importance of the gala, about his position in the firm, about making connections with other power players. But all he could think about was her.

She’s looking for a place? His mind swirled with the thought. She’s alone?

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone light. “Are you sure about that? I mean, there’s no way to know for sure, right?”

Yu gave him a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, I don’t know for sure, but I know people who know people, Kento. And the word is definitely out there. Could be the start of something big, if you ask me.” He shrugged, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having.

Nanami’s thoughts were swirling. He tried to push back the rush of feelings—hope, confusion, a sense of desire so intense it felt like it could burn him alive. He wanted to ask more, but that would be too obvious, wouldn’t it? Too much.

He didn’t want to seem desperate.

He was about to respond when another voice slid into the conversation, cutting through the haze in his mind.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but did I hear that right?”

Nanami turned to see a woman standing beside them—another lawyer, someone he vaguely recognized from past events. She was tall, sharp, with a professional air that could only come from someone who worked in high-profile circles.

“You said Y/N L/N might be leaving her husband?” the woman said, her tone a bit too interested for comfort. “Well, if you want the real story, I can tell you.”

Yu chuckled lightly, not missing a beat. “Go ahead, Ayumi. You’ve got the inside track on this stuff.”

Ayumi’s smile was as smooth as polished stone.

“Well, I work with divorce lawyers,” she began, eyes twinkling with something far too knowing. “And I can’t exactly tell you anything concrete, of course. Client confidentiality and all that. But I will say this—when you work in the high-end legal world, you hear things. You know who’s looking for a lawyer. You know who’s getting advice on how to move forward with a separation.”

Nanami’s heart dropped. He didn’t want to hear it—he really didn’t want to hear it—but the words came tumbling out anyway. Ayumi, her voice slow and deliberate, continued.

“Y/N L/N has been meeting with lawyers. Multiple times. Not just any divorce lawyer, mind you—high-end ones. The best. It’s been going on for weeks now. And as much as she tries to keep it under wraps, the word gets out.”

Yu was practically leaning forward now, his eyes alight with the thrill of the gossip.

“Sounds like something’s brewing. It’s a mess, isn’t it? If she really is planning to split—”

Ayumi cut him off with a small chuckle. “It’s not really a mess, Yu. It’s a process. But let me tell you this—it’s not just about the marriage. No, no. She’s done with him. The rumors about his… insecurity about her success? That’s all true. The guy has his pride, but it’s not enough to keep a woman like her.”

Nanami’s blood ran cold. His grip tightened on his glass. He knew it was wrong to feel a sense of satisfaction at hearing that, but part of him couldn’t help it. A small, dangerous part of him that wished for this—wished for it to be true.

Ayumi continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions building inside him. “She’s had enough. She’s probably going to pull the trigger soon. Everyone in those circles knows it’s just a matter of time. He couldn’t keep up with her. Hell, he couldn’t even be happy for her when she was making millions. You’d think a man would be proud of his wife, right?” She clicked her tongue in mock disbelief. “But no. She’s ready to move on.”

Move on.

The words hit Nanami like a blow to the chest. His heart raced, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.

She’s leaving him.

It was absurd. He wasn’t happy about it, not really. He didn’t want to see her hurt, didn’t want her to feel like she was shackled to someone who couldn’t match her. But at the same time—God—the thought that she was getting out, breaking free of whatever miserable shell she was stuck in, made his pulse quicken.

She’s leaving him for someone else?

Nanami blinked, trying to hold onto the thread of his thoughts. But the words that had been spoken continued to replay in his mind, over and over again.

She’s leaving him.

Ayumi leaned back, satisfied with her contribution to the conversation, and Nanami felt himself slipping. His thoughts were too loud, too jumbled, and yet... he couldn’t ignore it.

Yu’s voice cut through the haze again. “Well, whatever happens, I’ll be watching. You never know who might end up being in the picture when all this plays out, huh?”

Nanami’s eyes darted to Yu, and for a moment, his own thoughts seemed to clear. He gave a small, controlled smile.

“I suppose we’ll see,” Nanami replied, his voice calm, but his mind was already miles away, envisioning what might come next. What could come next. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but the idea of her—finally free, and maybe finally looking at him—was almost too much to bear.

He could only hope that when the time came, he’d be ready.

*-*

The shift in her was unmistakable.

Nanami noticed it almost immediately, though he doubted anyone else could have pieced it together so quickly. You had always been a force of nature—sharp, composed, commanding—but now? Now she was something entirely different.

In the courtroom, she was relentless. Every word was honed to perfection, her arguments devastatingly precise. Opposing counsel couldn’t keep up, fumbling under the weight of her pointed remarks and icy glares. Witnesses stumbled, judges leaned in with rapt attention, and even juries seemed to shrink under her gaze.

She was terrifying.

She was magnificent.

And Nanami, against every instinct of self-preservation he had ever cultivated, thought it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

*-*

In the weeks since Yu had told him about the rumors, Nanami had been hyperaware of her every move. He told himself it was out of professional interest, an admiration for her unparalleled skill. But deep down, he knew better.

She’s angry.

It was evident in the way she tore into her opponents, in the way her voice cut through courtroom debates like a blade. Whatever turmoil she was experiencing—whatever bitterness her life outside of work had brewed—she was channeling it into her cases.

And God help anyone standing in her way.

Nanami watched her from a distance, always careful not to stare too long, not to let anyone else catch on to the way his eyes lingered. But inside, he was a storm of contradictions. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her she didn’t have to bear the weight of her anger alone.

And yet…

She doesn’t need me.

That truth hit him like a punch to the chest every time he saw her. She didn’t need anyone. She was untouchable, unshakeable, a pillar of strength that made his own admiration feel insignificant in comparison.

But admiration was a poor mask for what he really felt.

It’s love, he admitted to himself in quieter moments. You love her. You’ve loved her since the first time you saw her.

And it was true. He couldn’t deny it anymore, not when every glance, every word, every thought of her sent his heart racing and his carefully curated composure crumbling at the edges.

The next gala came almost a month after Yu’s revelation, and Nanami had no intention of dwelling on it. It was another event he couldn’t avoid, another night of polite smiles and shallow conversations. He stood with Yu again, exchanging pleasantries with other attendees, his thoughts drifting as they often did.

Then he saw her.

She was across the room, a vision in sleek black, her hair swept back elegantly, her posture regal. The crowd around her seemed to blur as his focus narrowed, the ambient noise fading into a dull hum.

Her presence was magnetic, as always, but there was something different about her tonight. Something he couldn’t quite place until—

Oh.

His eyes fell to her left hand, where her wedding ring had always sat—a symbol of the one choice he could never bring himself to question aloud.

Except now, it wasn’t there.

No ring.

No. Fucking. Ring.

Nanami’s mind went blank, a thousand emotions rushing in to fill the void. Relief, joy, disbelief, hope. His heart was a thunderstorm, a wild cacophony that drowned out everything else.

She left him.

He wanted to laugh, to scream, to do something ridiculous and celebratory. His mind painted wild images—him dancing on the tables, popping champagne, tossing confetti in the air like a lunatic.

But instead, he did what he always did. He stayed still, composed, unreadable.

Externally, at least.

She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping the room until it landed on him. Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and she raised her glass in greeting.

Nanami’s breath caught, his pulse thundering in his ears. The gesture was so simple, so innocuous, but the weight of it hit him like a freight train.

She noticed me.

He raised his own glass in return, the movement steady, deliberate. He couldn’t let her see the chaos inside him—the way his chest felt too tight, the way his stomach churned with nerves and something dangerously close to joy.

Her smile lingered for a moment longer before she turned back to her conversation, leaving him rooted in place, the glass still in his hand.

Internally, he was spiraling.

She left him. She’s free. She’s free, and she’s here, and she smiled at you.

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself, to keep from spiraling any further. He wasn’t a fool—he knew this didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean she was interested in him, didn’t mean she saw him as anything more than a colleague, a peer.

But it meant something.

She was free from that man, that sad excuse for a husband who had never deserved her in the first place. Nanami’s mind conjured an image of the guy—pathetic, insecure, looking like some poor sea creature dragged up from the Mariana Trench and gasping for air.

Good riddance.

Nanami exhaled slowly, setting his glass down on a nearby table. He needed to get a grip, to calm the storm of emotions threatening to undo him.

But as much as he tried to push it down, the truth remained:

He loved her. He loved her, and now she was free.

And though he would never presume to think he had a chance—never cross the line of his own respect for her independence—a small, dangerous part of him dared to hope.

For now, though, he would let her enjoy her freedom, let her stand tall in the room without the weight of a man who couldn’t keep up.

And he would wait. As long as it took, he would wait.

*-*

Your apartment is the kind of place you never thought you’d have.

It’s sleek and modern, perched high enough to keep the chaos of the city below you at bay but not so high that it feels disconnected. The kitchen gleams with marble countertops you picked out yourself, the living room glows with the soft, ambient lighting you’ve always wanted, and the whole place smells faintly of lavender and the kind of peace you’ve been craving for years.

It’s yours.

Fully, completely, undeniably yours.

The cats seem to agree. Snowball, your eldest and the clingier of the two, is perched on the counter, watching you with the intense focus of a creature who believes the world revolves around them. Shadow, your sleek black cat, is curled up in the corner of the room, pretending to sleep but flicking his tail whenever you get too far away.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” you mutter, scooping food into their bowls. Snowball immediately hops down, tail curling around your leg in what you’ve come to interpret as cat-speak for ‘finally, peasant.’

You sigh as they dig in, their tiny crunches the only sound in your apartment. The silence is nice. Comforting, even. You love your quiet nights now—no passive-aggressive sighs from across the room, no snide comments about how you spend your time, no one sulking over the success that should’ve been a shared triumph.

Still, the peace doesn’t come without a price.

Your mind drifts as you chop vegetables for dinner. The knife moves rhythmically, slicing through crisp bell peppers and juicy tomatoes as the soft hum of your thoughts turns sharper, angrier.

He’s dragging this out on purpose.

You know it’s true.

Every demand, every unnecessary delay, every petty little stunt—it’s all designed to make your life just a little bit harder. To remind you that even now, even after you’ve chosen to walk away, he still has the power to inconvenience you.

What a waste of time.

It’s not like you didn’t see it coming. He’s always been the type to dig his heels in when things didn’t go his way. But somehow, the sheer pettiness of it still manages to catch you off guard.

You toss the vegetables into a hot pan, the sizzle snapping you back to reality. The smell of garlic and olive oil fills the kitchen, warm and familiar, and for a fleeting moment, your mind shifts—unbidden—to Nanami.

It’s stupid. You don’t even know why he comes to mind. Maybe it’s the way he always seems so calm, so steady, like nothing in the world could shake him. Or maybe it’s the way he watches you—quietly, respectfully, like you’re something to be admired and not just tolerated.

The thought makes your stomach twist, not unpleasantly, but you shake it off. You’re not here to daydream about a man who’s nothing more than a passing presence in your life. You’re here to make dinner, feed your cats, and maybe watch an episode of whatever trashy drama Netflix is pushing on you this week.

Besides, you think bitterly, stirring the vegetables with a little more force than necessary, you’ve already made enough bad decisions when it comes to men.

Your ex. Your fucking ex.

The thought of him sours your mood instantly. You were twenty when you got married—twenty and stupid, brimming with the kind of youthful optimism that made you believe love could fix anything.

He was your high school sweetheart, the first boy you ever loved, and that had seemed like enough at the time. Never mind that you were halfway through law school and already growing into a version of yourself he didn’t seem to like. Never mind that every argument ended with you apologizing, even when he was clearly in the wrong. Never mind that, deep down, you’d always known he didn’t really get you.

You wanted it to work. You wanted it so badly.

But wanting something doesn’t make it real.

The vegetables are done, the pasta boiling gently on the stove. You pour yourself a glass of wine, taking a long sip as your thoughts continue to spiral.

Why the hell did I stay so long?

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself a thousand times, and the answer never satisfies you. Maybe it was guilt—after all, he hadn’t cheated or hit you or done anything that screamed ‘leave me now.’ Maybe it was fear—fear of what people would think, of what it would mean to be alone after so many years of being part of a pair.

Or maybe you were just stubborn.

You snort softly, swirling the wine in your glass. You can’t sue him for leeching off you, you remind yourself, though the thought is tempting. The man hadn’t worked a full-time job in years, content to play the role of supportive husband while you carried the financial weight of both of you.

You wanted to believe it wasn’t out of malice. That maybe he felt emasculated by your success, that maybe he didn’t know how to handle being outshone by the woman he married.

But then you remember the way he used to talk to you—the cutting remarks, the little digs at your ambition, the way he made you feel like you were too much for wanting what you deserved.

Fuck him.

The cats have finished eating, now lounging lazily on the couch as you plate your dinner. It’s nothing fancy—just pasta and vegetables with a sprinkle of parmesan—but it feels good to cook for yourself. To take care of yourself, on your own terms, in your own space.

You sit down at the table, the soft glow of the city lights filtering through your windows. It’s quiet again, the kind of quiet that feels like freedom.

And as you take your first bite, you can’t help but think:

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

*-*

Nanami sat at his desk, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting a warm light over the scattered papers, but he wasn’t looking at them. He hadn’t been looking at them for hours. His mind was somewhere else, somewhere much more dangerous, and his thoughts—his relentless, overwhelming thoughts—had begun to blur the lines between fantasy and reality.

The worst part? He knew it. He knew it in the very marrow of his bones.

I’m insane, he thought for the thousandth time, rubbing his temples in an effort to ward off the growing headache. I’m obsessed with her.

It wasn’t just the way she moved or spoke or carried herself. It wasn’t just her beauty, which had always been undeniable—radiant, sharp, intelligent. God, she was breathtaking, but it was more than that. So much more.

It was everything.

How could I be this obsessed with a woman I’ve known for years?

His fingers drummed impatiently against the edge of his desk, his body restless. Every moment with her, whether it was a casual exchange of pleasantries in the hallway or a fierce legal battle in the courtroom, left a mark on him. Why does she do this to me? His mind refused to quiet, constantly racing, dredging up scenarios, dreams, things he would never say aloud.

It was so much worse than attraction.

It was infatuation.

I want her. I want everything.

The thought hit him like a jolt of electricity, and his pulse surged. He gripped the edge of his desk, leaning forward, his chest tightening as his mind filled with images—vivid, impossible, but undeniable.

Her. Her in my life. In my home. In my space.

He could see it so clearly, so vividly.

She was there, standing in his kitchen, her back to him as she expertly chopped vegetables, her gaze sharp and focused, yet there was something soft about her in this moment—something domestic, something intimate. He would watch her from the doorway, waiting for her to notice him, for her to smile in that way she had. The way she did when no one was around to see.

She would look at me and I’d know.

He’d step into the kitchen, his hand brushing against hers as she reached for a pan, the smallest touch that would send an undeniable jolt through him. And she would let it happen. She would let him in. She’d let him take her hand, maybe even kiss her palm as they stood in that kitchen, surrounded by warmth, by domesticity.

What’s wrong with me?

He closed his eyes, trying to shake off the images that wouldn’t leave him, the fantasies that were growing increasingly real in his mind.

He wanted to see her work. Not in the abstract way that they worked together occasionally—no, he wanted to see it. He wanted to be a part of it, to watch her in her element, her intelligence shining through in every decision, every word, every strategy. He wanted to be the one who stood by her side in those moments, the one she turned to when the weight of a case grew too heavy.

He wanted to be her partner.

Not just in the professional sense—no, it went far beyond that.

I want her in every sense of the word, he thought. His breath quickened, his chest tightening further. I want to wake up with her beside me. I want to see her face first thing in the morning, when her hair is still messy, and the world hasn’t had the chance to ruin her yet. I want to make her coffee, cook for her, laugh with her, love her.

And, God, yes, he wanted her physically too. But not just for the raw, frantic desire that twisted his gut every time their eyes met. He needed more. He needed to feel her skin against his, to hear her laugh in the dark, to feel her at peace—something he never saw in her, but something he was determined to help her find.

But it was so much more than that. So much more than lust.

This isn’t just sex, he thought with a kind of despair. I’m not like this. I’m… I’m a professional. I’ve been doing this for years. But every time I see her, I forget myself. I lose myself. I don’t want to just fuck her—I want to build a life with her.

The thought was terrifying. It shook him to his core. He had never, not once, allowed himself to feel something so irrational, so out of control. But she made him feel—in ways that were dangerous.

He wanted to be the one who kept her grounded, the one who saw the pieces of her no one else saw. The quiet, hidden parts of her that were too hard, too sharp for anyone else to understand.

But she’s not mine.

The harsh reality slapped him in the face again.

She wasn’t his.

Not now, not ever.

She had her own life, her own path to walk, and as much as it crushed him, he respected that.

But damn it, it didn’t make it any easier.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, his body feeling like it was about to crack under the pressure of his own thoughts.

I’m a professional. I need to focus. I’m losing my mind.

But even as he told himself this, as he tried to push the gnawing ache in his chest aside, he knew. He knew that none of this was going to go away. The yearning. The need. The obsession.

It was growing, expanding, until it swallowed everything else.

He couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to.

And if it meant he was slowly losing his mind, then maybe, just maybe, it was a price he was willing to pay.

God help me.

A/N: ehehehheheheheeh nanamiiii, also, i have a draft for aizawa!! i'm so happy i've started writing for him, i hope this is okay btw, im unsure if i like this story.

Masterlist.

221 notes · View notes

hannahhook7744 · 4 months ago

Text

Why Franklin and Maryann Portman are the Worst™ (Part 1)!;

I want to preface this by saying that I know that by no means Franklin and Maryann Portman are the actual worst parents in fiction or in this series even.

Of course they aren't.

But that doesn't mean that I can't still refer to them as the worst™ for them being shitty. Even if I do believe that on some leave that they do care about/love their son.

I also wanna point out that it's been awhile since I read the books so I'm going off my memory and the wiki for this. So I may forget some context of why this or that happens, and if I do that, feel free to comment it down below respectfully. And if I forget something that you find shitty that they did, also feel free to reblog or comment it down below because I would love to talk about these characters and fandom more.

Am I saying that Abe Portman is 100% perfect and did nothing wrong whatsoever? No, that would go against how his character is betrayed in the books—as a flawed traumatized man who did his best to be there for his family and keep them and himself (as well as others) safe and went about some things the wrong way.

Now that that's out of the way…

According to the wiki:

“Jacob was born on Halloween, and up until he was eight years old was convinced by his parents that trick-or-treating candy was birthday presents (something apparently revealed in Hollow City).”

These people are rich.

R-I-C-H.

Rich enough that Jacob’s dad can study birds and volunteer and write mine books that he never publishes without the worry of them not having anything to eat.

R-I-C-H enough that Jacob comments that “I did love her, of course, but mostly because loving your mom is mandatory, not because she was someone I think I'd like very much if I met her walking down the street. Which she wouldn't be, anyway; walking is for poor people.” And rich enough that they gave their kid their four year old sundan so that they could get a brand new car.

And for eight years, they had their son believing that candy was a birthday present.

1. Now, look. I get it. Birthday shopping is hard, especially for a little itty bitty kid but not actually having the money to buy your only kid gifts and choosing not to because people are handing out candy on that day anyway? That's not a very nice thing to do for that long.

They let him go through three years of school thinking that and we never learned how he found out that was a lie. That's not even including the fact that the rest of their extended family let this lie continue (assuming they knew).

Can you imagine if Jacob found out because he mentioned this to his classmates or a teacher? Maybe a teacher or family member could salvage the situation but little kids can be brutal, especially towards other little kids who they think are wrong and considering we know that in that same year, Jacob was pants-ed causing him to stop believing anything Abe said…. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility tl believe that one of Jacob's classmates got in a fight with him over it and caused some kind of embarrassing, painful memory.

Though I guess it's a good thing they didn't get Jacob birthday presents that early on considering my second point.

2. The birthday scene.

Look at his birthday scene.

This scene? Shouldn't really exist.

Not because I hate birthday scenes but because Jacob literally told his parents he didn't want a party which under normal circumstances is a reasonable ask within itself. But these? These aren't even normal circumstances.

Jacob doesn't want a party because the one person he'd actually want there, in his own words, is his grandpa. His grandpa who died in his arms nine months before and who Jacob has been viciously mourning for said nine months. His grandpa whose death caused Jacob's ‘mental breakdown’.

Whose house they had also cleaned out recently, doing shit all for the now sixteen year old’s mental health and grief.

But what do his parents do?

Throw him a surprise party.

A surprise party.

For their jumpy traumatized son who found his grandpa bleeding out in the dark after getting attacked by a monster (or ‘rabid dogs’) and who has been sleeping in the fucking laundry room.

Why on earth would going against his wishes be good for him? He said he didn't want a party and under these circumstances, it's even more understandable. If you really want your son to socialize or to celebrate, then get him a cake or some food he likes and invite his friend over. Talk to him.

Don't throw him a party he doesn't want and don't throw the kid who's been having non-stop nightmares about the monsters who killed his grandfather a fucking surprise party.

To make matters, in this party:

One of his uncles he’s not close to tries to spring a summer trip to his house on him, listing shit that he likely knows Jacob doesn't like with no previous warning to the kid himself (his parents were just planning to ship him off, whether he wanted it or not).

They're calling Jacob's apparent disorder ‘his thing’.

And nobody is actually getting him anything he wants. Just shit they've been gifted and are trying to get rid of.

Gifts like CD's of country Christmas music or subscriptions to Field and Stream (because his Uncle Les thinks he's outdoorsy, this one I can understand slightly since Jacob did want to be an adventurer but still).

The only exceptions being:

1. The key to the family four-year-old sedan, which Jacob is embarrassed to be receiving in front of Ricky (who Jacob hasn't talked to in a long while after a fight they had).

And

2. A camera Jacob had been wanting for ages (since last summer) from his parents….who likely only gifted it to him because of his dad's new book.

Which leads to his mom drunkeningly making front of her husband at her sixteen year old’s birthday party…. Real classy.

Oh and 3. A book that belonged to Abe that Jacob's parental Aunt Susie snagged trom the house when they were cleaning it out. A book titled “The Selected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson”.

She gave this to him, saying it was from Abe because he'd written Jacob's name in it.

Thoughtful right?

Well everyone else doesn't think so because they go quiet. Jacob's mom, Maryann even while drunk, tries to say it was thoughtful and that she didn't know Abe was a reader.

Meanwhile Jacob's dad, Franklin, is barely hiding how pissed he is.

Like dude.

Dude.

Do you really hate your own dad so much that you don't want your grieving son to have even just a book of poems that the only member of the family who he was close to left for him? Are you still, even after that disastrous day where you cleaned out the fucking house with him there and fought with him, refusing to let him have any ties left?

To be fair, you can say that this is because of his own history with Abe and that it's because Jacob is in a worrying state. But that doesn't really hold up considering that they let Abe babysit Jacob often and fill his head up with stories they thought he embellished due to his own trauma and because they thought that Jacob was well enough to handle trashing and donating all of his dead grandpa’s stuff.

Sure, they don't take the book from him but the fact Franklin can't even hide how pissed he is is shitty.

That's not even considering this little tidbit here:

“My mother leaned toward me and in a tense whisper asked if I needed a drink of water, which was mom-speak for keep it together, people are staring.”

….

Do I even need to say anything?

The fact that Jacob thinks this probably means that his parents—or even just Maryann—have said this to him before. Frequently so, even. To the point where he's trying to escape the room, feeling like he might cry, and instead of thinking that his parents (or anyone in this family) might be able to potentially comfort him in this hard moment, this is what he's thinking.

It's infuriating.

But not as infuriating as my last point for now!

3. Franklin sent his then fifteen year old son to deal with what he thought was his dementia ridden, war world 2 veteran father having a PTSD attack/episode.

Franklin gets called when he's volunteering at a bird rescue in what is either early afternoon or night by his worried fifteen year old said who tells him that Abe called him ‘flipping out’.

He asks if he's taken his pills today and Jacob tells him Abe wouldn't tell him.

At this point, any reasonable adult would go and help their poor ailing father who may be having an episode or PTSD attack about the war, what happened to his family. The monsters.

At this point, any reasonable adult would send their son home out of danger and call up a friend or sibling or in-law to go deal with the situation.

What does Franklin do?

He sends his fifteen year old, who is at his job, to go check on Abe. Who again, Franklin thinks is having an episode.

Now, even if there was a chance that Abe would still recognize Jacob and wouldn't be a danger to him, who would risk sending their son to check on an ailing relative by himself when there's every chance that when Jacob gets there he'll be having flashbacks to the horrors he witnessed. I mean, it's understandable if you or another adult is there and need help calming the man for you to maybe have your teenage son there. Especially if he may be caring for him one day out of choice.

But sending your fifteen year old there by himself to handle the situation when he probably won't know what to do and when he probably hasn't seen one before?

And doing that when you know that your dad was in a war and still has a sea of weapons hidden away behind lock and key (a key which you have) because you can't be half assed to tell the shelter your volunteering at that there's a family emergency?

Franklin literally sent Jacob into a traumatizing situation that could turn dangerous (for Abe or Jacob, if Abe didn't recognize his grandson) under the assumption that all of his paranoid dad's weapons are stored away.

And what did Abe die with in his hand?

A box cutter.

Which just proves that Abe had things lying around that he could use as a weapon if needed. Things he could improvise with.

Just think for a moment about what could have wrong if Abe wasn't actually in danger from a wight but something he was actually imagining—a memory from his past. Imagine what could have happened to Jacob if Abe had mistaken him for a burglar or a wight or what Franklin thought he was imagining.

Jacob can't fight.

It's dark.

Things could easily go wrong.

And what would happen if they did?

Jacob would be hurt and traumatized or dead and Abe would likely be in a horrible place if he wasn't, all because Franklin didn't care enough about his dad to go check on him himself. Hell you can he didn't even care about Jacob enough here, because he didn't care about what Jacob could possibly see if he sent him to deal with his grandfather.

Like, not only is he being incredibly shitty to his son but to his own ailing father who was at the very least convinced he was in danger and who was actually in danger (for all Franklin knew his dad could have actually heard someone breaking in but he didn't even take the time to think about it).

That's all I have time to write for today but there's several other things that they do that are pretty crappy where their son is involved that I will happily discuss.

Hope this doesn't disappoint, @kallmeweirdhprroe .

#miss peregrine's home for peculiar children #the portman family #jacob portman #maryann portman #abe portman #rant/list #this isn't even considering the disgusting way Jacob's parents talk/think about Abe and Jacob when they think they're unwell #Or their horrible views they passed on to Jacob #just. they are the worst

198 notes · View notes

ohsohoney · 7 months ago

Text

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part One

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Hey! First time writing for Em so I figured I'd use a side account and see how it went? Honestly this is a whole series in my mind so might add onto this first part soon! An oc character but can be read as a reader insert if you prefer:)

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

Warnings: Lots of swearing, dark humour

Masterlist

I was mortified.

More so than I’d probably ever been, in truth. All because of a stupid video that had been taken a couple of years back when I’d had one drink too many on a holiday I’d always dreamt of.

To be fair though, the majority of the blame lied heavily on my younger sister’s shoulders, who’d found the stupid thing whilst reminiscing through old memories and thought it would be hilarious to post online. Forgetting about the millions of fans who would soon see it– and not just mine, it would seem.

No, because that just wasn’t how the internet worked, was it? And when a newly nominated artist, who had only been in the game for a couple years, was filmed rapping an old noughties classic instead of singing like expected, it was basically bound to go viral. Didn’t help that I was a Londoner through and through and had the accent to prove it, making the whole video that much harder to watch. In truth, I continued to cringe each time I was reminded of it, which was practically anytime I opened up social media or witnessed the guilty expression that continued to mar my sister’s face.

“Stop doing that.” I huffed at her later on when the worst of it still continued to storm on, almost whining actually as I looked away from my phone screen and down at the food I wasn’t really eating, just picking at. I was supposed to be mad, infuriated even, but it was proving to be a fucking chore when she kept on looking at me like that.

“Doing what?” Lottie retorted, not even attempting to wipe the culpable look from off of her face. She was currently residing back at mum’s now, seeing as how she had school and I’d only just landed back home, but I’d give it a day before she was back here again. My flight over had been strenuous, it always was when flying to and from Cali, but still I made time for her– even after the most recent stunt she had gone and pulled.

“Don’t do that either.”

I’d meant to sound scolding but the soft laugh that escaped me truly was accidental. I couldn’t quite help it, I knew that being mad at her wouldn’t solve anything now and that she hadn’t really meant any harm by posting the video. That was just the type of person she was, she acted before she thought things through and didn’t ever think much for the consequences. Then again, she was still only fourteen and her putting the drunken moment on her Instagram story had just been one of those sibling type moments, the kind where you’d rip the piss out of one another simply because you could.

“I mean it, Lotts.” I sighed around the words, eyes flitting back to the screen and the way she was chewing on her lower lip. “It’s being sorted and, I don't know, I guess it’ll die down sooner or later. Mila reckons so anyway. We’ll give it a day or two, hey?”

A day or two did pass. And no such thing happened.

I’d been cooped up at home ever since I’d touched down at Heathrow, having jumped in the first cab available and fallen asleep the second I’d gotten in through the door. I’d been working out in LA for a couple weeks with a few other writers, just messing about with new sounds and ideas for the next album I eventually wanted to release. So I hadn’t been witness to the media catastrophe Lottie had created until later the next afternoon when Mila, my manager, had all but mowed down my front door, having called my phone three dozen times and gotten a guy she was currently seeing in the city to come buzz my intercom. It had been a wake up call and a half to say the least.

Still, she had assumed it would all die down fairly quickly, went as far to say that it could do wonders for my career– even with me being visibly tipsy– after having had the absolute gall to say that I hadn’t sounded half as bad as I thought I did. I’d cackled hysterically into the phone at that, then had somewhat of a meltdown, in utter disbelief over the apparent reaction she claimed the video had gone and garnered. Because I was absolutely not looking. Knew that if I did there would be too large a chance that I’d check myself into the nearest psychiatric unit.

But as I said, a couple of days had passed and typically something like this would have eventually blown over when the next big story hit the headlines. White girl can spit a verse, who cared? Only then the VMA’s had happened and shit hit the fucking fan.

I hadn’t attended, shit like that had always irked me. I could perform in front of a crowd of thousands and step off feeling as high as a kite, but stick me on a carpet and force me to interact with cameras, questions, and people? That was where I drew the line.

At the start, I had tried. I’d been new on the scene and people had reasoned that I would just end up being another one hit wonder, so the label had figured it best if I got myself out there, if only to interact with other artists and producers in similar circles.

It had gone down a treat– like a cake being knocked over at the wedding of the year. Maybe even worse. I didn’t like to linger too long on it.

But I’d tried again and again afterwards, although it had only proven to worsen my mood each time and forced me to retreat, avoiding my team and the responsibilities I had lined up for a short while after. It was only following a particularly uncomfortable night that Mila had called it quits and had a contract drawn up stating that I only had to attend a certain amount of events a year. It had been at that moment that I’d realised just how fucked I would have been in this industry without her.

Even so, life still continued on without me and the VMA’s were just another show I would be mostly avoiding, only making a statement at the end of the night online for the nominations I’d been gifted.

It was around midnight when I heard the scream.

Lottie was staying with me, typical for whenever I was back in London for a few weeks at a time, and so I’d felt my heart literally drop to my feet at the very sound of her screech and legged it across the entirety of the house. At first, I’d thought she’d slipped and fallen, maybe cracked her head open on a counter. And then the thought of an intruder had crossed my mind whilst I’d gone skidding over the landing. So anyone could understand why I was so worked up when I finally threw open her bedroom door only to find her simply sat there on her phone, hand covering her mouth.

“What the hell is your problem? It’s just gone twelve, Lottie! I thought something had happened!” I rebuked her, chest heaving as I dropped the heavy bookend I’d managed to pick up somewhere on my way over down onto her desk. “Shit.”

Her eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them though when I finally did get around to catching my breath and chanced another glance back at her.

“I was literally just about to fall asleep.” Which really meant that I’d been getting into bed to scroll through my phone or read a book when I’d heard her shout. “Then you screamed as though Freddy Krueger was stood at your window.”

“Elia.”

I blinked, Lottie rarely did that, used my entire name and not the usual shortened version or whatever other epithet that came to mind– and truly, there was a large variety, the shit I’d heard this kid come out with was insane. But I shook my head at the thought and quirked a brow at her. “What? Did someone die?”

“No,” She answered me, dropping her hand away from her face even though her jaw was still gaping, “But I just might.”

Rolling my eyes at the theatrics, I exhaled and walked over to slump on the end of her bed, figuring that something had happened between her and one of her friends, or maybe some lad she might’ve been speaking to. “And it deserved a scream like that? Honestly Lotts, just be thankful this place doesn’t have any neighbours listening in through the walls.” I told her, thinking back to my own adolescent years and the woman in the flat beside ours, “We’d have someone knocking at the door in under a half hour.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes then as she scoffed at me– like I was the one being dramatic here– before she then shook her head and shuffled hurriedly over the mattress to sit closer. “No Lia, just listen, look.”

Confused, I sighed and tilted my head when Lottie moved to shove her mobile in my face. I squinted at the sudden contrast, showing off my age and the horrific tragedy that was my eyesight, and tried to make sense of whatever it was that she was so hellbent on showing me.

From what I could first make out, it was just a Twitter thread, but then Lotts then clicked on the main video at the top. I waited as the clip buffered for a second, then a familiar face panned into focus and I felt my brow furrow. I peered over at Lottie for a split second before her eyes were widening in retort and she gestured her chin back towards the screen.

I narrowed my own eyes in turn, but watched on.

It had to be a coincidence, I reasoned. That of all people it was him that Lottie was currently showing me.

“Well, aren’t we in for a show tonight! Eminem is in the house, people!” An interviewer started, she was a tall, leggy blonde who held a too big microphone too close to her chin. “How are you feeling?”

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to see him on the VMA’s carpet, not after the comeback he’d made late last year with LP 2, but I was, eyes caught on the bleached buzz cut he’d since reverted back to for the album’s release. Fuck, I’d be so pissed if it came out that he was performing tonight and I’d gone ahead and missed it.

Lottie thumped my shoulder, hard, realising fairly quickly that I hadn’t really been listening, and so I scowled in retort but gritted my teeth to keep from thumping her right back. She might’ve been my sister, but I had well over a decade on the kid and was marginally her guardian, just not in writing.

The rapper had seemingly just finished commenting on a question the tall blonde had asked him and so I forced myself to pay closer attention, brain whirling as I wondered what could have possibly been so important that it had Lottie screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.

“I feel that!” The woman practically beamed at the rapper, head nodding along to whatever he’d just said, “But it’s good to hear that you’re enjoying being back. In truth, I wasn’t sure I’d catch you here tonight, there’s been a lot of buzz surrounding you at the moment and not just because of the album!”

My heart stuttered in my chest. Actually, I was pretty sure it had gone and fallen out of my arse, especially when the interviewer continued to press on the topic and it appeared as though the man in question understood exactly what she was getting at. His stoic facade cracked just a tad and– there! A smirk. An ever so slight crook of his mouth. I shot a startled glance over at Lottie but her gaze was fixated on the screen.

“I mean, have you seen it?” The interviewer prompted whilst he simply stood there, fisted hands clasped before him. No sign of the split second curve he’d just had on his lips. “The whole world’s been wondering about your thoughts on the singer!”

And there it was.

“I can’t,” I started to say, turning away from the phone just as a rush of nausea flooded through me, but Lottie held strong, hand coming up to catch my shoulder so that she could position her phone back in my eyeline. “Lottie–” I tried. Please.

“Just listen.” She persisted, face so serious.

Immediately I wanted to rescind my earlier statement. This was now my most mortifying moment. In fact, I wanted to hide in the nearest cupboard and never come out again. How the fuck was I going to show my face in public, not to mention at the next event, after this?

I swallowed thickly, entirely unprepared to hear a word he had to say about me. I mean, who would be? This man was leagues above a majority of the industry, me included. Never had I ever even thought that he could hear my name in passing, let alone listen to one of my songs playing in some shop he was coincidentally in or a random radio station. But here he now was, rolling his lips as he pondered over a question which concerned that stupid fucking video.

“I hate you.” I whispered at Lottie, mostly in hopes to cover up whatever he was about to say, but also because I was embarrassed beyond belief. And this was all her fault.

In the time spent since the drunken video had first gone up and now, I had yet to even think about him ever seeing it. Because the idea was that far fetched. But this was me, so of course he had.

“I’ve heard it.” Marshall confirmed, his head dipped in a barely there nod. My throat cinched. I wondered briefly how quickly I’d be able to tie myself a noose.

“And?” The woman prodded and internally I cursed her future bloodline, hoping that she'd somehow spawn the next antichrist or that her grandchild would become a shit-headed politician.

The man in question merely hummed, hollowing out his cheeks. “I was surprised, I have to admit. But she’s good, even when wasted.”

“I wasn’t fucking wasted!”

I hadn't even realised I’d spoken out loud until Lottie snorted on a chuckle. I turned towards her, brows raised high, “What? I wasn’t. You were there!”

I rolled my eyes when she didn’t deign me with some sort of assent but my head snapped back over to where she still gripped the phone when I heard him speak again, his voice echoing throughout the quiet bedroom.

“Then again, her shit goes hard. So it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.”

That heart of mine that I kept on talking about? Yeah, I had zero clue as to what the fuck was going on with it now, only that my chest was wound as tight as it possibly could be and my eyes stung as I withheld the urge to even blink.

“You’re a fan?” The woman asked him, appearing genuinely surprised by the notion, even though it sounded more like a declaration rather than the question it was.

Marshall hummed, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder when a group shuffled on past them, disrupting the interview. It didn’t deter the woman though and I couldn’t blame her, no matter how much it pained me.

“So, could this mean we’ll be seeing a new featured artist on whatever you put out next?”

I made some sort of inhuman sound at that, but barely moved a muscle. And then I all but shutdown when the rapper's wide eyes flickered over to peer straight into the camera’s lens, “I mean, if she’s down.”

The next scream that was emitted once again came from Lottie, but I couldn’t think to scold her for it, not when I was hardly even functioning and wanted to implode myself.

The girl toppled over onto me, shaking my shoulders whilst she squealed unabashedly. “If. She’s. Down!” She repeated, squealing with excitement, “El, this is insane! How are you not screaming too?”

The air I forced from my lungs came out in a breathless chuckle as I clung to the forearm that was still wrapped around my collar. In truth, I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to react.

“Figure you’ve screamed enough for the both of us.” I replied faintly, not really thinking but somehow managing to carry on, mostly out of sheer shock. I glanced her way, “I feel a bit sick.”

Lottie just shook me harder and when we eventually went falling down onto the duvet in a mess of limbs I wondered what I was going to do with the knowledge that I’d just been given. God. He knew who I was. The shock of it was almost like reliving my first time on stage all over again.

That night I ended up listening to Lottie rant on and on for a good while after whilst she scrolled through her Twitter feed and the rest of the internet. Mila eventually intervened, calling after having seen it too, and was as smug as ever. “Told you.” She’d said the second I’d hit the answer button and I hadn’t had the heart to play it off or act as though I hadn’t seen it either.

After the interview eventually finished trending and stopped being posted here, there, and everywhere, I was left with a flow of new followers but also a nightmare of opinions spouting from every corner of the planet on any comment section I had to offer. I forced myself to come off most apps I had downloaded after that and resorted to gaining my daily entertainment, and any real news, from Lottie. Which seemed sad, in retrospect, but honestly? It was more than a little self-serving and I’d even managed to get a shit load of stuff done.

I worked on a couple new songs, sticking to what I did best, but my mind did end up drifting away every so often, back to a conversation I’d had with Mila and Travis at the label a couple days after the media storm had passed. It seemed they all wanted me to try implementing a few new concepts into the music I was currently working on before we started to draw up ideas for the next album. Travis reasoned that even attempting to add a couple freestyles into the motions whilst I went about writing would do me wonders later on.

I just felt uncomfortable with it all, really. I’d never been a rapper. I mean, I loved it. It was mainly what I’d been brought up on, having grown up in an area where every kid on the estate was either attempting to become the next big thing or just blaring the biggest hits out of their car stereos. But that was just it. I listened and sang along, had even built up an extensive collection which I was immensely proud of, but the label were now aiming for this next album to make it onto a Grammy nominations list. It was all they had been fretting over since I’d somehow managed to chart the last one– although a single number one and an almost throw away making it to number seven didn’t make me all that hopeful.

Even so, it forced me to wonder how it would all work if I started to switch things up now. I could appreciate all genres but I didn’t wanna become the next hopper just to appease the people yessing me and then fall off.

The entire concept had me confused and so I had taken to keeping my head down for a while longer.

Lottie had headed back to mum’s earlier that morning, seeing as I was due to make an appearance in Paris for Fashion Week, attending the Vogue show alongside Vivienne Westwood. An utter dream, yes, but also still an incredibly daunting reality. Even so, it was something I couldn’t quite worm my way out of even if I had wanted to– see, with that contract there still came clauses.

I’d been prepping for my upcoming early morning flight most of the day, showering later on than anticipated just so that I could pack my case and eat before I eventually climbed into bed. Hoping to somehow get a couple hours kip.

I’d thrown on a robe and kept the speakers blaring once I’d eventually jumped out from under the spray, wet hair curling at the ends as I worked on throwing something quick together in my kitchen.

It wasn't long before I went and took the bowl I’d just made out into the living room with me, simply so that I could curl up on the settee and wrap up the few emails I’d been working on earlier. I was just nodding along and humming to the next song that played through the overhead speakers when my phone started to buzz against my ankle, shooting a funny feeling up through the bone. I was quick to pick it up, wrinkling my nose at the feel and not paying much mind to the caller, figuring it had to be either Mila or Lottie.

“Hello?”

There was a short pause as I shifted the phone against my ear before a voice eventually sounded, “This Elia?”

Frowning, I casted a quick glance at the phone’s screen to find a number with an unfamiliar area code staring back at me. I let my gaze stray on over towards a clock I had hanging on the far wall only to find that it had just gone eight.

I fumbled for a moment, “Um. It is, can I ask who’s calling?”

A low cough rumbled through the line before the same voice spoke again, I shuffled to set my laptop off to the side on the sofa, brow furrowed. “It’s Em– Marshall.”

Suddenly my head felt so very empty and my mouth was working around words that couldn't seem to find their way out. Em. The Em?? Fucking, Em?

I’d obviously been quiet a beat too long, drowning in the sudden panic that had shrouded me, because he spoke up again, “That Nas playin’?”

I shot a startled glance over my shoulder to where the fancy sound system was installed, the biggest reason I’d gone and purchased the home, in truth, and was immediately reminded of the music I had piercing through the air. Clumsily, I rolled off of the corner of the settee so that I could stumble over to turn the thing off, doing exactly that before I was forced to blink at the sudden silence that greeted me.

I winced and was quick to turn the music back on, keeping it low. All the while I still held my phone close to my chest.

“Uh, yeah. Hi!” I blundered helplessly after a moment, carding a hand through my damp hair as I stared at the empty wall before me stupidly. I wasn’t sure what to say, let alone do. I could sort of wrap my head around the interview, his brief mention of me. But a fucking phone call? It was on another level.

He chuckled though, enough so that I felt myself flush bashfully at my obvious awkwardness and forced my body to move back towards the sofa, if only so that I didn’t have to stand on shaky legs anymore.

“Hi.” He mimicked, voice low albeit a tad amused.

I smiled. Unable to do anything but, in all honesty, as I lowered myself down onto the cushions, vaguely aware that I should probably be saying something else now that he’d gone and replied, but was simply more than a little caught off guard by everything.

“Sorry, I– Well, I didn’t expect your call. Or anyones really.” I murmured, trying my best to shake off the nerves that were apparently wreaking havoc on my brain to mouth filter. “I just jumped out of the shower, had yet to turn off the stereo. Sorry.” How many times had I just apologised? I wanted to scream.

“You’re good.” He assured me, voice unlike what I probably would have expected and so I blinked once more at the sound of it, reminded that it was actually him I was talking to. But all that was fluttering through my head was ‘what the fuck are you doing calling me?’ “Nice choice, I gotta say. This an alright time for you to talk? I don’t wanna disturb you much.”

My eyes widened at both the compliment in song choice and well, him. Then withheld another sudden urge to scream, the hand not holding my phone clenching into a tight fist against my chest. “No, no, of course not. I mean, you’re fine! Not disturbing me at all.”

His next reply sounded more than just a little mirthful, “Sure ‘bout that?”

I willed myself to relax and took an inconspicuous breath as I pulled my legs back up under me. “I’m sure.” I told him, laughing lightly at myself for being so socially inept– or maybe it was just this entire scenario I’d been shoved into. “How’d you even get my number anyway?”

I hadn’t meant for it to sound so forceful or abrupt, but it had been yet another question my sluggish brain hadn’t been able to find an answer to.

“Mila?” He answered me, and I blinked stupidly at the name. “We had a mutual contact, figured I’d chance askin’ her instead of gettin’ lost in your DM’s. That cool? She said she’d let you know.”

The conniving cow, I thought to myself, though I wouldn’t have put it past her to have reasoned with herself that I would’ve probably freaked out if she had told me beforehand, before then having proceeded to just let my phone ring out whilst I stared pitifully at it. She knew me all too well.

“She did not.” I replied through a baited breath, “But no, yeah. You’re alright, just caught me off guard is all. You’re probably the last person I expected to call, if I’m being honest here..”

When I heard him laugh once more I grinned, all too pleased with myself. It was a low gruff sound, not deep enough to be sarcastic or ingenuine, but rather warm. It surprised me.

“Oh yeah? Even after everything that’s gone down lately?”

My eyes slipped closed at the instantaneous reminder and I winced. The video. Honestly, in the whirlwind that wasn’t just my life at the moment, but this phone call too, I could have almost forgotten about it.

“I still can’t believe you saw that.”

Marshall let go of another amused huff that I figured to be a chuckle, breathing in deep enough that he forced me to wait on his next words. “I don’t lie. I meant what I said. But tell me, how many drinks d’you have in you?”

I curled my tongue against the back of my teeth in hopes to keep from grinning too hard, feeling a slight sting at the tip. “I was tipsy.” I argued pointlessly, knowing it would be a tireless venture, “I’d only had a couple.”

He hummed, seemingly not convinced.

“It was years ago, too!” I felt the need to tack on, the rosy hue the alcohol had given my cheeks sprung to mind and made me wonder. My face wrinkled as I dragged a helpless hand across it. “Who even sent it to you?”

“A couple people, actually.” Marshall ended up revealing and his words sounded playful enough that I could almost picture the curl of his mouth. “My daughter was one.”

Without thinking my hand flew up towards my mouth and I shook my head as I let it rest against my palm. “You’re not being serious.”

“Dre too.”

I let go of a hissed curse and crumpled a little bit in my seat before laughing stupidly at myself. If I couldn’t talk myself out of this then I supposed I would just have to get over it. I hoped thinking sensibly would allow me to actually follow through on that sentiment, but I very much doubted it.

Marshall laughed again, slow and easy almost as though he’d shared it with me a hundred times before. “I wasn’t kiddin’ neither. ’s why I called.”

Pulling my head from out of my hands, I wet my lower lip, mind promptly flashing back to the clip Lottie had shown me. “What’s that meant to mean?” I asked him, treading cautiously.

“Listen.” He began, pausing only briefly to inhale before he then added, “I’m workin’ on another album–”

“No.” I interrupted, eyes suddenly wide and alert, “Already?”

A tittered snort followed the disruption but my mind was already reeling.

“You’re not fucking with me?”

In all honesty I had prepared myself to wait a couple more years for another drop, hoping for him to feature or for someone to send for him if only so that he’d make a track in reply. I’d been obsessed with his recent work, even going as far as to add it onto the tour bus playlist late last year. It had actually been played so much the roadies and the band had threatened to rip the system out. But a new album? Fuck. I hadn’t expected it.

“Who else knows?”

There was a slight click on the other side of the line. Or scuffle. “As of right now? Like six people.”

I swallowed down the understanding that then hit me, but my stomach lurched at the very thought of it. “And I’m one?” I chuckled, holding back the hysterical laughter I felt bubble as my hand fell over my heart, “Wow, I feel honoured, Mathers.” It was teasing, the rib I meant, though my eyes still widened when I realised what I’d gone and said, not wanting him to take it the wrong way.

I needn’t have worried.

“As you fuckin’ should be.”

I gave a real laugh at that, almost a full-belly type shit. But could you really blame me?

I was still smiling as I went to retort, humming with it, “God, you really just went and sprung that shit on me.”

“Hold you to keepin’ it on the low for now.” Marshall said, reminding me how paranoid the press and Hollywood had made him out to be in the past. I wondered how much truth there was in the sentiment. I mean, the man was almost a recluse– not that I could blame him, I was pulled from the same sort of cloth there– but to put a secret like that in my hands? It had to take some amount of faith.

I nodded seriously, even though he couldn’t see the gesture. Seemed he could hear the sincerity in my answer though, “‘Course.” I told him and then chewed on my lower lip for a second before a soft snicker escaped me. “That the only reason you called though? I mean, as honoured as I am to be one of the infamous six, I’m surprised you just phoned to let me in on the know. Have I just been roped into some sort of celeb elitist group? Weird initiation.”

His huffed laugh was breathy and made my mouth twitch that little bit more.

“Nah. You always this weird though?” Marshall wondered and I bared my teeth in a light grimace, figuring I’d gone too far with that one. Or maybe.. I'd just hit the mark? I snorted lightly at the thought.

“It was an honest question! I’ve heard horror stories.” And wasn’t that the truth, events and parties weren’t all about the awards and just getting trollied. Some of those fuckers were as strange as people could come.

The man clucked his tongue, although I could hear the slight smile in his sarky response. “Uhuh. Sorry to disappoint but nah, initiation starts in the belly of LA. Gotta dissect a virgin and drink Ciroc out of their intestines. Funnel that shit down.”

The snort I gave in turn was ugly and loud enough that it forced a hand to fly up and cover my mouth, but it didn’t appear to bother the rapper none, who chuckled before clearing his throat.

“Change this shit to Facetime.” He said not a second after, swiftly cutting short my absurd amusement. “Then we can talk about the album.”

I fumbled for a moment. “I look a mess.”

“Good thing this ain’t a fuckin’ fashion show then.” He only pressed, “You think I give a shit what you look like right now?”

That struck an odd chord in me for some reason, but I didn’t want to linger much on the feeling. “No. But I do, dickhead. It’s half eight at night, I have sudocrem on my face and I look like a dog off of Lady and the Tramp.”

I was so flustered by the very thought of acquiescing to the man’s demand that I didn’t even think much of the name I’d gone and called him.

“Again, do I give a shit? And what did you just call me?”

I paused, reeling back to whatever it was I’d just spouted at him. Upon rehashing my words I felt my tongue press between my lips to keep from laughing loudly, if Mila or Lottie had been there I’d already be strung up by a pair of metaphorical balls.

“You heard me fine.” I brushed it off, if he wanted to call me out of the blue and act all chummy then chummy was what he’d get.

Besides it wasn’t like I’d meant the term maliciously, I used that type of endearment with everybody. Something my manager had tried and failed to force out of me time and time again.

“But back to this whole ‘seeing my mug thing’. Not happening, mate. Why couldn’t you have called like, six hours ago? I looked like an actual person then.”

“Dickhead.” He muttered beneath his breath, barely even loud enough for me to have heard him and I could only guess that he was shaking his head with it, hopefully somewhat amused. “You ain’t an actual person then?” He said in reply, forgoing the name calling for now, “Figures, you give off lizard vibes.”

“Fuck you!” My laugh was sudden, jaw having dropped a tad at the quip. “Lizard vibes, the fuck are you then? And yes, an actual person! You can’t just call people, drop a bomb, and then demand things!”

“Shit typically works.” He quipped all too quickly that it had me shaking my head around another quiet smile of my own. “Just entertain me though, for a moment.”

My head fell back against the arm of the sofa, eyes casted towards the high ceiling which loomed above. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually considering it.

He didn’t even have to goad me before I relented. I huffed, blowing a strand of hair from out of my face as I sat back up, “Fine. Just gimme a sec.”

He hummed.

Elbowing my way off the settee I skidded over to the closest mirror, dragged a hand through my mostly dried hair and made sure that I didn’t have racoon eyes from any lingering mascara I’d had on before my shower. The patches of sudocrem would have to stay though, I deemed, seeing as he already knew about those.

I gave up on the preening and sighed as I fell back onto the sofa, thankful for the dim lights the living room offered in that moment. It was just as I was switching the call though that a thought hit me, making me question if the reason he’d asked me to start the Facetime was due to him wanting to give me the option to turn it down or simply because he had no idea how to do it himself. “Still there, old man?”

A scoff echoed into the room before my phone screen stuttered and I was left staring at the sharp lines of his face. It wasn’t like I hadn’t actually believed it was him I was talking to, but seeing the man was another thing altogether. He was a real person and that idea alone had me reeling.

I wrinkled my nose almost shyly around a smile when that sharp gaze of his slid away from something behind the camera to meet mine. He tilted his head to look me over, the hood of his jumper moving with the motion.

“I was right about the lizard thing.” Was the only greeting he offered me, jutting his chin out as he feigned all seriousness.

My mouth dropped open upon hearing him and my tongue quickly flicked out towards a canine to keep from biting back at him. There was humour written in the gesture though, even as I moved to narrow my eyes. “He’s got jokes! Reused ones, I might add, but jokes nonetheless.” I snarked, lifting my eyebrows at him in exaggeration, “Hilarious.”

His mouth curled very, very briefly, but I was quick to work out that it was all in the eyes with him. They held a certain amount of mirth as they flickered over my face. I wondered what he saw.

“Suits you though. Even with all the…” He waved a hand over his own face, probably referencing the white dots I had littered in a few places.

With a shake of my head I raised a hand to my chest, feigning a fond appreciation for the sardonic comment. “Is that the famous charm the world’s heard so much about then? Really know how to make a girl feel special, Mathers.”

His eyes slitted but still shone with a slight glaze, he hummed deeply in retort. “Best believe it. Why d’you think I’ve gotten divorced twice?”

A low whistle escaped me before I then laughed, eyes squinting with the strength of it. “Figured you might just have a kink for courtrooms.”

His tongue swept into his cheek at my boldness, fighting back a real smile as he glanced away and then back again. “I’m down bad for a good Judge. Spank me vibes, you know?”

I chuckled outwardly at that, amused by his quick witted replies. But that in itself didn’t surprise me, it was well known just how hilarious the man could be, his stoic demeanour only prodding that revelation further.

That sternness his face seemed to consistently hold softened though in that next moment and I watched on as he shuffled a little closer to the camera, sat somewhere indoors with enough natural light that he could have only been in his kitchen. It hit me then how wild this whole thing suddenly was. “What’s with the last name anyway?”

I blinked, caught off guard by his ask. “Um,” I fumbled, a slight wrinkle forming between my brow, “What do you mean, me calling you Mathers?”

He hummed and I had to think about it for a second. Ultimately I ended up gifting him a shrug, “Don’t know. Just feels strange to call you Eminem or whatever.” I laughed lightly at myself, hand falling to my knee to toy with a loose thread on the hem of my robe. “What do people usually call you?”

It was his turn to shrug then, his being a singular and fluid motion whereas mine had been more thoughtless. He was watching again though, the wide eyes I was so used to seeing in old interviews where he was always playing a part were now gentler, narrowed sure, but softer and slightly wrinkled at the very edges.

I tugged on the frayed thread, wrapping it around my finger enough to whiten the skin before I had to let it go again. “Is Em okay? Or just Marshall maybe?” I queried, watching him too.

“Whatever you want.” He murmured and it was then that I noticed he’d propped his phone up somewhere in front of him because a pair of hands came to rest at the bottom of the screen just as he pressed further into the counter he was sat at.

I wrung my lips to one side, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek enough to keep from smiling much more than I already was. “Most people call me El or Lia. Elia just started to feel unnatural away from, you know, everyone else.”

It was the worlds now, as well as one of few reasons I had for the stigma I felt around my own name.

The man jerked his head in a short nod in response whilst his fingers intertwined against a marble countertop. “So we should just slide that into the writin’ credits then? Or you finally gone take me up on that offer of a feature?”

You know that odd feeling you get when you’re on the tube or a plane and so suddenly your ears just pop and there's this ringing sound that floods the single sense? It just happens, out of nowhere, and you blink. So all you can immediately focus on is the sound. The odd feeling of it driving waves deeper and deeper into your skull. And the only way you can recover is by holding your own breath?

That was what that question felt like to me.

“What?”

His eyes were alight, akin to a low flame of flickering amusement and perhaps hope. “You deaf now too? Know you heard me.”

Of course I fucking heard him but that didn’t mean I understood. “This is for real?”

Finally, he let go of a dulcet chuckle, almost a ringing sound in and of itself. “You gone make me repeat it? You in, or not?”

“How is that even a question?” I breathed back to him, my hand shaking against the hem of my robe. “Yes! God, if I ever say to no to an ask like that you better fucking shoot me. What the fuck, Marshall?”

That chuckle again.

It was unlike anything else, the only sound I could hear around the blood rushing between my ears. Stupidly, I pinched my thigh and released a stuttered breath when the twist of skin radiated a short snap of pain up my leg.

“That the go ahead then?”

I must’ve looked so incredibly starstruck but I couldn’t even bring myself to care, this was unreal. I nodded, almost frantically at him. “Of course that’s the fucking go ahead! Are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I mostly write radio shit.”

“Your earlier stuff ain’t.” Em shot back, the quip startling me enough to snap my jaw shut because not a lot of people ever dug that deep. But he continued on before I could think to hone in on the slip, “‘sides, your lyrics are what I fuck with. That shit makes you think, has you lingerin’. Playing with words is the aim, I want people thinkin’, leachin’ onto each syllable and every phrase. You do that.”

The air in my lungs lurched.

I could only offer him one reply, “When do we start?”

296 notes · View notes

mimimarvelingmarvel · 5 months ago

Text

time bound part seven

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Seven - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

The road stretches out before us, a seemingly endless ribbon of asphalt cutting through the desolate landscape. The car, a beat-up old muscle car with a purring engine that speaks of too many miles and too many battles, rumbles beneath us. The seats are worn, their once-plush leather now cracked and faded, much like the people riding in them. The air inside is stale, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and sweat, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that seems to cling to everything we touch.

I lean back, my body sinking into the seat as I close my eyes, trying to find a moment of respite. The gentle vibration of the road beneath the tires lulls me into a light, uneasy doze. But it’s not enough—never enough—to ward off the nightmares that wait just beyond the veil of sleep. Images of my world, my friends, everything I’ve ever known, shattered and dying, claw at the edges of my consciousness. The sounds of their screams, the scent of burning flesh, it all lingers, just out of reach, waiting to pounce the moment I let my guard down.

When I open my eyes again, the car is still moving, the road still stretching endlessly ahead. The world outside is a blur, the trees we’ve been driving in continue on for ages, but I can tell we’re close. Inside, the only sound is the soft strains of music playing from the car’s ancient radio, a static-laced tune that feels like a ghost from a time long past. It’s quiet—too quiet—yet I cling to this moment of calm like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“You enjoy your power nap, pumpkin?” Wade’s voice slices through the quiet, shattering the fragile peace I’d managed to find. The nickname, as ridiculous as it is, grates on my nerves. I groan, my eyes fluttering shut again, hoping to block him out.

“It was so peaceful before you opened your mouth,” I mumble, my voice thick with irritation. There’s a part of me that just wants to hold onto the silence, to bask in it a little longer before reality comes crashing back in.

Wade’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, his expression playful, as if he’s completely oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. “I don’t hear Logan complaining.”

Logan, sitting stoically beside Wade, rolls his eyes. The subtle gesture, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel, tells me more than words ever could. I chuckle softly, a hollow sound that barely covers the unease gnawing at my insides.

Then, as if he’s compelled to break the fragile truce, Wade blurts out, “Okay, I’m just gonna ask it. What’s with the suit?”

My gaze drifts to Logan, to the yellow X-Men suit he’s wearing. It’s a jarring sight, one that doesn’t fit the image I have of him—rugged, battle-worn, but never in something so bright, so out of place in this bleak world. The realization hits me hard: I’ve never seen him wear it before.

“The first thing I did when I flamed out, I took mine off,” Wade continues, his tone light, almost mocking, but there’s a sharpness beneath it that makes my skin prickle.

Logan’s response is immediate, his voice low and edged with warning. “Drop it.”

But Wade, relentless as ever, presses on. “It’s not that ugly.”

“Stop talking about the suit,” Logan snaps, his irritation growing palpable in the confined space of the car.

Wade, ever oblivious to danger or perhaps simply indifferent to it, persists. “Did you make it yourself? Been there.”

Logan’s tone darkens, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Quit now.”

But Wade doesn’t quit. He never does. “The X-Men make you wear it? Those sons of fucking bitches. They are not your friends, I’ll tell you that. Friends don’t let friends leave the house looking like they fight crime for the Los Angeles Rams.”

The words hang in the air, and I feel the tension coiling tighter, a noose around my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the mention of friends—our friends—who are no longer here, no longer anything but ghosts in a broken world.

“Shut the fuck up about the suit,” Logan’s voice is a razor, slicing through the air. It’s ice-cold, and for a moment, I flinch at the intensity of it.

Wade raises his hands in mock surrender, but there’s a seriousness to his tone that wasn’t there before. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Watch your frown lines, angel baby. I’m just trying to bond a little bit.”

“Yeah, well then talk about something else,” Logan’s patience is fraying, each word a thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Fine.” Wade’s voice shifts, losing its edge. “If they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out of here? Rubbing alcohol shots? Maybe a wiper fluid chaser?”

The word “If” lodges itself in my mind like a splinter, unraveling the fragile grip I have on my emotions. My ears start ringing, and suddenly, I’m not in the car anymore. The world blurs, and I see it—Wade, punching Logan in the face. The vision is jarring, disorienting, and then, just as quickly, I’m yanked back to the present.

“What did you say?” Logan’s voice is sharp, pulling me out of the haze, grounding me in the here and now.

Wade, his confusion plain, repeats himself. “So when you get back, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“No, no, no, before that,” Logan insists, his eyes narrowing, his suspicion flaring.

Wade hesitates, and I can see the moment he realizes his mistake. “If… they can fix your world?”

Logan’s expression hardens, anger and betrayal flashing in his eyes. Without warning, he slams on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. The sudden stop jolts me forward, but it’s the look on Logan’s face that makes my heart skip a beat. “What do you mean if?”

“I mean…” Wade falters, his bravado crumbling as he struggles to find the right words.

Logan’s voice is a dangerous growl, the kind that makes your blood run cold. “You lied to me. You don’t have a fucking clue if they can help me fix things, do you?”

“No, I mean… No, fuck! Fuck!” Wade stammers, but it’s too late. The truth is out, and Logan’s claws are already extending, a deadly promise in his eyes. Before Wade can react, Logan stabs him in the leg.

Wade yelps, the pain clear in his voice. “I didn’t lie!”

“You lied,” Logan hisses, his voice as cold as the steel in his hands.

I sit in the back, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of guilt and the crushing realization that there’s no undoing what’s already been done. I could have stopped this. I should have stopped this. But it’s too late now—too late to change anything.

Wade, his tone desperate, tries to explain. “No, I made an educated wish. Because I need you.” He pulls out a photo, his hands shaking slightly as he holds it out for Logan to see. “This, this is why. Right here. Because if we don’t do something, they die. I don’t know anything about saving worlds. Why would I even care? Because my entire world is right here in this picture. It’s only nine people, and I have no idea how to save it alone. I know how to fuck people up for money, but you, you know how to save them. At least the other Wolverine did.”

Wade’s voice cracks, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through his usual bravado. “Oh, fuck!” Logan twists his wrist. “I guess I’m stuck with the worst one.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Did you say you made an educated fucking wish?”

“They call me the Merc with the Mouth,” Wade tries to regain his usual humor, but it falls flat. “They don’t call me Truthful Timmy, the blowjob queen of Saskatoon.”

Logan’s hand twitches, his control slipping. “One more,” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Please, give me one.”

Wade, ever the joker, tries to lighten the mood. “Gubernatorial.”

But Logan is beyond reason now. He goes to stab Wade again, but Wade screams, the sound tearing through the car, reverberating off the walls of my mind. I’m sitting in the back, too shocked to move, too numb to process what’s happening. There’s no saving what I’ve done. No changing the hurt I could have stopped.

Logan turns to Wade, his voice dripping with contempt, his words a knife twisting in the wound. “You know what, you’re a fucking joke. No wonder the Avengers didn’t take you. Or the X-Men—they’ll take fucking anyone. I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life. And that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than 200 fucking years. I’ll tell ya, that bald chick was right. You will never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper. Motherfucker, I wish I could say you’d die alone, but it’s one of God’s best jokes that you can’t die, except that’s on all of us!” He slams his fist on the top of the car, the metal groaning under the force, and I flinch, my heart skipping a beat. The tension in the air is so thick it feels like it’s suffocating me, wrapping around my throat and squeezing until I can hardly breathe.

Logan stares at him, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and disgust. “You got nothing to say, Mouth?”

Wade flinches, the words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. His usual bravado crumbles, and for a moment, he looks like a lost child, the weight of everything finally breaking through the armor he’s built around himself. He looks away, his eyes dull, and when he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “I’m gonna fight you now.”

Logan chuckles darkly, the sound devoid of humor, and I feel my stomach churn, the dread pooling in the pit of my gut. The vision hits me again—flashes of blood, violence, and something far worse waiting just beyond the edges of my mind. My hands start to tremble, and I know I can’t stay in the car. I push the door open and step out, the cool air hitting my face like a slap. My legs feel like jelly, but I force myself to move, taking a few shaky steps away from the car.

Behind me, the fight erupts with a sudden, violent force. The car jolts as their bodies slam against it, and I hear the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh, the wet splatter of blood as it sprays across the ground. The smell of iron fills the air, sharp and acrid, mixing with the earthy scent of the forest. My stomach turns, and I barely manage to keep myself upright as I stagger over to a tree and collapse against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the ground.

I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to block out the sounds of their fight, the horrible, animalistic grunts and growls that seem to echo in my head. But it’s no use. The vision is getting stronger, more vivid. Bright, flashing lights sear across my mind, and I hear a scream ripping through the vision—a scream that’s mine, raw and terrified.

And then, as if the world itself is breaking apart, there’s a loud crash. Logan is shot through the front window of the car, his body flying through the air before crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. He rolls past me, his body leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. I tuck my legs closer, curling into a tighter ball, trying to protect myself from the onslaught of sensations that are threatening to tear me apart.

The vision crescendos, a blinding storm of light and sound, and then, just as suddenly as it began, everything goes dark. There’s nothing left—no sound, no pain, no fear. Just an endless, consuming void.

Next Part

A/N: I’m so tired, I need sleep updates will probs be slow.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

225 notes · View notes

mrschwartz · 18 days ago

Text

Alex Turner for Rumore Magazine (September 2013)

Seventies Heads and Modern Loves or I Don't Know What I Want But I Surely Want You

by Elia Alovisi

Until he opens his mouth, Alex Turner looks like he stepped out of the Nevada desert. Leather loafers, a belt, slicked-back hair, sunglasses. But as soon as he starts talking, between “summat” instead of ��something” and “me” instead of “my,” he transforms back into a boy from Sheffield who grew up on cocktails and DJ sets. The discrepancy between the way he looks and the way he speaks is strange: you would expect a cocky and arrogant rock star, but instead you have before you a relaxed and thoughtful boy who carefully measures his words, but does so with a smile and not a frown. The lyrics of AM, the fifth album of his band, mainly revolve around difficult and elusive women. There are many questions. “Do I want to know?” “Are you mine?” he says; “Why do you always call me when you’re high?” she says. There is no shortage of desires: “I want it all,” “I want to be yours.” Absent, however, are the answers. We tried to get a few out of him.

How was it to be back at Glastonbury as a headliner five years after the first time?

Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful, this time it was very natural. Everything was harder in 2007, we had done a lot less shows and had a lot less songs. Now we have learned to move better.

After the experience of Humbug, you collaborated again with Josh Homme.

Yes, Josh is on Knee Socks, towards the end of the piece. We gave him carte blanche and he decided to sing a sort of counter-melody that reminds me a lot of Bowie.

Are knee socks your favorite piece of underwear on a woman?

[Laughs] What do you think?

If she has the right legs.

Exactly, yes. The best is the garter. But then they would not be Parisian anymore, right? And then they are thicker than women's stockings. However they are not my favorite underwear, I go with the push-up.

In the lyrics of Arabella you talk a lot about the universe.

I wanted to use that linguistic palette to try to describe a woman. There are many songs that use those sorts of words… galaxy, interstellar, constellation, things like that, but usually they are used just for the sake of being used. Instead I wanted to make them an active part of a description, they are images that I find very interesting. In England, on the BBC, there is this program called Wonders of the Universe, with Professor Brian Cox. And it is one of my favorite programs [smiles, pleased].

Barbarella also pops up in the text.

Yes, although I haven't read practically any of her comics and I've only seen a small piece of the movie. I don't really like B movies. To know her, you just need to have seen a poster, that's all you need. I just used her to make a comparison with the costume she wears.

How does the suite you sing about in Fireside relate to room 505 in Favourite Worst Nightmare?

Yes, I’m talking about a suite in my heart… or in her heart? Well, in someone’s heart. Room 505, in my mind, is something very concrete. I wrote that song on a train between Philadelphia and New York, my girlfriend was in a hotel waiting for me and I just wrote about that [Turner’s voice becomes increasingly whispered as the sentence progresses]. In Fireside, however, it’s all figurative.

So how much of your real self is in your lyrics and how much is just imagination?

There's no rule, sometimes there's a lot of me in the lyrics when you least expect it. I put little secrets in them. What I try to avoid is that people who listen to one of my songs say, 'oh, he's talking about that girl'. You know when you read a novel and, somehow, in your mind you see its characters with the faces of some of your friends, or your favorite actors? That's where I want to get to with my music, I want it to be like being in front of a story, not the evidence of two people with a name and a surname who are kissing. It's up to the listener to give them both a face. When I write I pretty much always have someone or something in mind, but it doesn't really matter.

How did you come up with the idea of using John Cooper Clarke's words for I Wanna Be Yours?

We wrote most of the songs on this record on a four-track that I got for my birthday. I spent a while recording ideas on it, sometimes we'd loop a bass and drum melody for five minutes and the fact that it was on tape gave it an incredible color. Then I'd sit there with headphones and a microphone humming melodies, or making up silly lyrics to start coming up with ideas. One day, while I was jamming, the words I wanna be yours came out and I remembered that they were the title of one of his poems. I thought it would be cool to use someone else's words – and especially his, I'm a big fan of his. It's one of my favorite songs on the record, the lyrics alone make it different from anything we've done before. And then I love the juxtaposition of the slow, sexy, flirtatious music and his words.

The party you talk about in No. 1 Party Anthem seems a lot more laid back than the ones you’ve talked about in the past, like the house in This House Is A Circus.

That’s true, but the parties we go to are still pretty messy. They’re just twice as long.

Am I supposed to be imagining some sort of indie celebrity party?

Indie celebrity party? [Laughs.] No, no, no. The slow tempo of that song gives it a bit of a Los Angeles feel. It’s a city that I’m told is very similar to what we’re portraying on the new record, and I’m starting to think that might be true. Not that it sounds like the Eagles, you know.

It's like your sound is becoming more and more American.

Yeah, maybe. There's something special about that part of the world. Everything that came out of California owes something to '70s rock, the spontaneity of those rhythms also comes back in West Coast hip-hop. But then came the fucking '80s and… a lot of fucking bands that don't fit into that theory. I think there will always be something English in our sound, it's something we can never detach ourselves from.

How much does Sheffield still mean to what you do?

Well, you know… [he taps two fingers on a tattoo on the inside of his arm: the Yorkshire rose and underneath it the word “SHEFFIELD”].

There are three songs on AM whose titles are questions.

You don't notice things like that until you sit there and write the titles of the songs one after the other. I hadn't noticed until then, there are also a lot of wanna.

The protagonist of R U Mine? is wrapped up in a certain western imagery, you portray her as “a lone cowboy riding in an open space.” And in All My Own Stunts you talked about “watching cowboy movies on gloomy afternoons.”

I love the western style. The leather ties, the belts… Hey, look at this one I’m wearing! [He stands up and shows me his leather belt, turning his back: it has “TURNER” engraved on it, on either side of the horseshoes.] A friend gave it to me for my birthday, this year was really nice, between this and the four-track. I also love western movies, especially the ones about Butch Cassidy. I also love Ennio Morricone’s soundtracks, obviously.

How do you usually celebrate your birthdays?

They’re nothing too devastating. I have a birthday in early January, everyone is still recovering from Christmas and New Year’s, so the average response I get is usually “forget it.”

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? brings back the drunken text messages you mentioned in The View From the Afternoon.

We've all done that at least once, come on. Those lyrics might have come off the first record, but the music is fully invested in what we're doing now. I just wanted to write something simple.

While we're on the subject: when was the last time you got bounced at the entrance of a nightclub? It's not like From The Ritz To The Rubble anymore, is it?

Shit, that was like four weeks ago! [Laughs.] We were in Stockholm, we were trying to get into an area of the nightclub and there was no way we could get in.

What are those Mad Sounds you're talking about?

That song is about those moments when you put on a song and it's like it's talking about exactly how you feel. It's a song about those songs, and I hope it can become one of them. I get that feeling from some songs by Lou Reed, John Cale, or Harry Nilsson. It's like sometimes they really understand how I feel, and you're like, "What the fuck..." and you almost tell them to go fuck themselves.

The point where the song explodes is when you start singing a series of ooh-la-la-la. What is the la-la-la moment that sticks with you the most from the music you listen to?

Definitely the do-dodo-dodo-do-do-do-do from Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed.

By the way, who came up with the idea of calling a song The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala? What does that mean?

It came up one day when we were making up names for guitar pedals – sometimes they have crazy names. The Blond-o-Sonic Shimmer Trap would be perfect for a fuzz, for example. The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, however, comes from a bar we hung out in a lot while we were writing the previous record. The room was full of glitter and there were a lot of weird chicks all winking, like cougars.

The lyrics to Snap Out of It revolve around hypnosis. Do you think there's any real power behind it or is it just persuasion?

I've never been hypnotised, but it all seems pretty real when you watch hypnotists on telly. There's this show in the UK where this guy, Derren Brown, gets people to do all sorts of things. Crazy stuff like, "rob someone!" Nothing I'd want to be involved with.

In I Want It All you say, “Leave me listening to the Stones 2000 light years from home.”

I’m actually a Beatles guy, no doubt. But I like them both, I saw the Stones at Glastonbury and it was great.

Don't you think it's better for a band to go at the top of their game than to keep going and going and risk having nothing left to say?

What the Stones have managed to do is really extraordinary. I mean, they're seventy years old and they're still on stage. It's very difficult to have an opinion on something like this because I don't think I've reached that level yet. I'm very excited about the new album, we've reached the point of being a good live band and, speaking as an artist, I think I've reached a certain excellence this time. I want to build on that, explore new things. We still have a lot of places to go.

I think the main difference between AM and your previous albums is the small amount of guitars.

This time we didn't want to sound like four guys playing in the same room, while that's exactly what we wanted to sound like in Suck It And See. We immersed ourselves in a more minimalist idea. The guitars are perfect, sometimes they don't even sound like guitars from the way they're played, or from the effects we put on them. They sound a bit "spacey," they would be good for the stereo of a flying saucer. Then we came out with some bass and drum parts perfect to be played at full volume through the speakers of a car. We also worked much more with the vocal lines, especially with the choirs.

There are actually a lot of songs where you put backing vocals and backing vocals, especially One For The Road.

Matt, Nick and I do them. Jamie is the only one who doesn't want to have anything to do with them. It all started with R U Mine? , the part where we all start going: [hums the backing vocals]. As soon as we tried that part we realized how good it sounded, we especially liked the fact that it was something we hadn't done before. So we just went for it.

#i've been looking for this entire interview for so long i finally found it today!!#decided to search for it in italian and translate it #i had only ever seen the question about fireside and 505 #so many good insights here #the bit about women's underwear made me blush jvnjfvnjgn #how all of his songs are about himself and the people and the things in his life #even if that isn't what he wants people to gather from them (sorry alex! lol)#how he feels about his birthday being so early in the year i've always wondered that!#how hard they were partying during this era #WHAT HELLCAT SPANGLED SHALALALA MEANS!!!!!#what a discovery i'm so pleased with myself #alex turner #arctic monkeys #am #interview

112 notes · View notes

daretolovemyrambling · 1 month ago

Text

ARCANE: unreliable narrators (Silco and Vander focused) PART 1

I haven't really been in this tag/fandom before the season 2 finale, but can we talk about how both Vander and Silco are unreliable narrators? Especially when it comes to their flashback scenes?

I don't get why i've seen so many take the flashbacks we got in the show at face value. The show makes clear time and time again that when we get a flashback from the point of view of a single character, they are an unreliable narrator.

some examples of other characters:

on the left: biased/not the reality (character's memory/pov) vs on the right: unbiased/reality (our, the viewers, pov)

I'm going to use video clips and transcripts of the memories because I can't just gif like 5 minutes of scenes. Since you can only have one video per post, I will have to post this in several parts.

Let's start with Warwick's memories from 2x5:

We see that the memory of Warwick in episode 2x5 is all over the place, memories from the past 15-20 years come flooding back in bits and pieces.

In the first moment of this scene we see Warwick running through the mines, then we see Singed who has experimented on him, we see the Monkey Toy aggressively banging it's cymbals against each other, then we see a younger looking Silco about to swing something at an enforcer, for a split second the Monkey's face replaces Silco's, we see that it was a bottle bomb and set that enforcer on fire.

I think this represents Silco's almost obsessive nature when it came to their fight for Zaun's freedom, the Monkey overwhelms you with it's loud noise the same way Silco likely overwhelmed Vander with his ruthless actions.

the next scene, Silco looks horrified at Vander and we cut to Vander drowning Silco, then back to the moment Vander (and likely Silco) discover Felicia's lifeless body.

We see a moment of Vander punching an enforcer with his gauntlets from 1x1, cut to the Monkey's face again, then we see Warwick's perspective of the prison fight with the enforcers in 2x4 (we see him choke one of them out with his claws) and slashing several more of them brutally.

Finally, we cut back to the mines were he hallucinates a toddler-aged Powder crying her little eyes out (it looks like something that actually happened. I think this might be a moment shortly after he takes in the girls. Powder looks like she just woke up from a nightmare, her body language is shy and scared). He softly wipes the tears away with his left hand (same hand he used to choke Silco and an enforcer just a few moments earlier)

Powder's face turns into Jinx and then pre-teen Powder and we follow Powder's lifeless gaze to Felicia dancing at the Jukebox, before finally, Vander images a Silco shortly after the murder attempt, this Silco is still dripping wet from the lake (and he uses his signature glass) but smiles at Vander invitingly (likely a moment that actually happend but was warped by the many nightmares Vander likely had about what he did).

The idea that Silco escalated the Bridge Riot and thus caused the death of many Zaunites, including Felicia and Connol, is definitely supported by this short memory, but it's *not* the only way you can read the scene. Vander's memories are evidently completely scrambled, he is remembering the worst moments of his life all at once.

It's just as valid to say that Silco was not there during the Bridge Scene in season 1 episode 1 as to say that he was!

That is what makes unreliable narrators so interesting, we can make assumptions to what happend, but if we don't get an unbiased view at a scene, we don't know for sure if it happend the way the narrator imagined it.

Examples where we have unbiased flashbacks would be flashbacks like Mel's childhood in 1x8 and the Bar scene with Felicia in 2x5. In these scenes we don't follow the pov of one character, of course information is still omitted from us to an extend, but we can make our own assumption instead of seeing the biased/narrow pov of a single character.

#arcane #arcane details #arcane analysis #silco arcane #arcane silco #vander arcane #arcane vander #vander x silco #zaundads #vanco #unreliable narrator #arcane season 2 spoilers #dare's rambles #hopefully my rambles made sense here. not 100% statisfyied with what I wrote.

96 notes · View notes

legacygirlingreen · 1 year ago

Text

That time of year again… // Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC (NSFW)

Hi friends! I have been battling the flu for a week now so there’s a delay on strumming hearts pt 2 but I managed to scrap this together for those who celebrate Christmas! Also hella unedited so RIP.. anyways, Hope your day has been fantastic!

Screenshots in art by: @sinty2ek - seriously check out their page, it’s great if you aren’t already following 💚

Warning: smut (duh), Sebastian gets dom for a moment but overall is worried about her, loss of virginity, consent is hot, size difference, etc

Word count: 7,700

All characters are aged up and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The first December after the events in Feldcroft, he had come down with a bout of dragon pox that landed him in the hospital wing for weeks. The second his finals had come to an end he wound up in a bed, with nurse Blainey rushing around him, and he didn’t realize what exactly was happening until the first of the year when he was released. In a way, he’d been thankful, that not really being conscious or alert through the worst part of the year.

That vile illness saved him from going to an empty home with too many bad memories to sulk and more than likely drink his uncle's firewhiskey. He had “come too” so to speak the morning of his birthday - New Year’s Eve or Hogmanay for the Scots - but in his house it had always been about celebrating himself and Anne. Knowing he’d be unable to grieve the loss of his sister from his life with nurse Blainey in the room he laid in the hospital bed trying by any means to distract himself.

She had come around several times seeing he was much better but still not quite healthy to be released. As his energy grew so had his restlessness. He was so grateful when his friend, the only one he had anymore, had so sweetly continued to try and attempt to see him. He had heard snippets throughout his stay from the nurse about how the girl had frequently attempted to come see him, and she’d caught the girl trying to sneak in a few times, firmly reassuring the hero of Hogwarts that dragon pox was no laughing matter.

It warmed his heart when he was finally awake at how the pile of books slowly started to accumulate, giving him a much needed distraction. She even slipped in a title to the stack he knew she must’ve stolen from the restricted section, and the thought of her puttering around amongst the ghost to get him comfort while sick, made him smile.

And on his birthday in the morning when he awoke he saw a small slice of cake alongside a neatly wrapped gift and a small note containing his name. Blainey had informed him how desperately the girl had begged to stay on the far side of the hospital just to see him and how upset she’d been handing off the gift and pastry before sulking back downstairs.

As sweet as it all was, he was somewhat grateful to the nurse for keeping the girl away. Not only would he never be able to live with himself should he be the reason she contracted the often fatal illness, but he honestly didn’t want to be seen like that.

He’d been quite honest with himself over that first summer holiday on his feelings for the girl. He had come to terms with the awful ways in which he’d treated her and decided her miracle of not turning him in and standing by him should never go wasted. In those hot months in feldcroft he decided that he’d never hurt her again. And perhaps one day he’d tell her how he felt.

Because as the first July without Anne and Solomon raged on as he tended the garden, all he continued to think of was her shimmering eyes dreamily staring up at his own in amazement as he showed her the undercroft. Or how silky her hair had shown in the moonlight that night they raided the goblin mine. How small she felt pressed against him when he’d pulled her to safety from that spider. How brilliant her smile was when they discovered the first of Isadora’s memories. Or how she held him so tightly the night before they left hogwarts in May when she’d found him crying in the undercroft…

But that former Yule where he laid in a hospital bed, covered in sweat, scabs and looking like death itself, he was almost more thankful that the nurse had prevented the girl of his dreams from seeing his current state. Sebastian had always been a bit cocky. And he knew that he had some baseline qualities to which made him attractive, despite the ones he tended to dislike. He often hoped his messy hair would be considered more charming in her eyes. Or she’d notice that he’d started shaving by purposefully leaving it a few days sometimes so she’d have to notice the dark hair adorning his chin. He found the few of his features he could be proud of and he was thankful that she’d not seen him sick when she’d left that sweet gift.

The girl had dropped off a blank, leather bound journal, simply explaining in her note how proud she’d been of him for not messing with dark magic and that she hoped he’d use the journal to vent his feelings, frustrations, discoveries and anything else as he continued to turn over a new leaf. It had been sweet and something he’d never done before but if he was honest in the last year he’d nearly filled the damn thing after he taped in her note to the first page.

That remaining school year and the start of the current left him following around her like a lost crup puppy. Although feeling a bit self conscious earlier on about his newly acquired dragon pox scars adorning his body and the few on his face, he quickly resolved the issue when she come to him with a potion to cure it that she promised she had done the heavy lifting with garreth on. It overall did the charm and returned his face and skin to its original state.

Anywhere she needed to go after that, he was there. She needed someone to hold books? Sebastian had two hands. She needed an escort through the forbidden forest to find a lost niffler? He was carrying the small creature back for her. She wanted company even on a night he was exhausted? He’d brave the lack of sleep and stay up with her.

At some point during the year she had come to him and confessed she hadn’t been sleeping well, professor Weasley and her head of house recommending she relocate to her room of requirement instead of a dorm so she wouldn’t disturb her roommates with the nightmares.

So every once in a while when he too was struggling to fall asleep he’d find a note slipping under his dormitory door and he’d be slipping off to the tapestry in the hall to make sure she was okay.

Deek had found them most mornings still awake by the fire just chatting and decided perhaps Matilda didn’t need to know everything. Not even on the rare mornings he found Mr Sallow’s arms wrapped around his dear friend as they both slept soundly in her conjured bed. As far as Deek was concerned both children desperately needed whatever sleep they got, and the hero of Hogwarts only seemed to sleep in the arms of that Slytherin boy with the brown eyes that never left her.

As they found themselves in their seventh year, Ominis eventually trickled back into their lives. Having seen the changes made by Sebastian, and the reassurance from the girl he truly had given up after the damage he brought, Ominis decided that his found family was still better than his birth family. Despite that, he still had obligations at Yule until he was of age, leaving the pair behind as he boarded the train in Hogsmeade in December.

Sebastian wasn’t looking forward to Christmas this year. Not that he truly had for a while - Yule always brought forth the nasty reminder of those who were missing - a number that was increasing for him by the years. But this was going to be the first he was actually conscious for after his sister left. Given the previous dragon pox year he wasn’t sure what was going to happen this year.

Almost as if sensing his nervousness going into the holidays she approached him during dinner the last day of their examinations as she sat down gently and leaned a hand over to place on his arm, startling him out of his deep thoughts while he stared at his mashed potatoes.

Hey Bash, are you alright?

He looked up with a small jump as he saw her brow furrowed and her gaze laced with concern. Her sweet voice caused that ever present stirring to arise in his stomach as he sighed and turned towards her, making her drop her hand from his bicep in the process.

“I suppose” he said after a moment looking down and seeing where her thigh was almost pressed against his own and where she had laced her hands together in her lap after she let go of him.

After a beat of silence she spoke again.

“You’re feeling sad about the holidays this year aren’t you?” She asked and he almost let out a small yelp at how wonderfully she was able to capture exactly what he’d been thinking without him even having to explain himself.

Looking back at her empathetic expression he nodded. Of course she was understanding. She had always been nothing but caring since the day he’d met her.

Sighing, she averted her gaze and grabbed one of his forgotten peeled orange slices off his plate and popped it into her mouth, slowly allowing the fruits somewhat bitter-sweetness to coat her tongue before she swallowed and looked back at him.

“This is the time of year I feel the most alone” she admitted as she looked back up at him from her seat on the Slytherin bench.

Sebastian recalled the times she had mentioned growing up in a muggle orphanage in London. How abysmally poor and mismanaged it was run. How professor Fig had come, lying that he was a long lost relative to the nuns before “bringing her home” as he explained to the young witch that she had accidentally wound up at a muggle orphanage instead of a magic one when her parents were discovered dead by non magical policemen when she was an infant.

Spending her first Christmas at Hogwarts when Professor Fig was still alive had been wonderful. she’d been allowed to travel to visit him and Ominis and Anne during the last Christmas he’d had at feldcroft with the professor just during the day. Sebastian also remembered fondly how happy she looked celebrating Yule with them before she returned to hogwarts for the rest of the holiday: not before giving him a quick kiss to the cheek and scurrying off behind the late man. It had been Sebastian’s first decent Christmas since his parents died.

Now the pair sat in the great hall carrying the weight of loss and loneliness as they went uncertainty into the holiday season.

“I don’t want to go back to Feldcroft alone this year” he admitted bluntly as he continued to peel the orange, handing her a slice as he ate another. As they silently ate the fruit he kept thinking about how he felt conflicted in returning. A part of him hoped Anne would show up again but he knew deep down it was unlikely.

“What if… what if you didn’t go back to Feldcroft? What if you stayed here… with me?” She asked quietly without looking up at him.

Sebastian had wondered if he should stay at the school given he had no family to return to, but he worried she see him as imposing as hogwarts truly was the only home she had.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, unsure if she meant it but hopeful she did want him there.

“Of course I would. I always want you around. I think it’s silly for us both to be alone during Christmas if we have each other we could be keeping company.” she explained as she finally looked again.

“What about our dorm rooms-“ he asked as she shook her head with a small amount of blushing working its way to her face.

“We can stay in the room of requirement. Professor Weasley was returning home this year so she won’t be checking in and last anyone heard you were going to feldcroft. Only one who would know is Deek and he would never tell a soul. That is, if you are interested…” she explained to him.

He almost stuttered in his reply, taking in that the girl was willingly offering him to stay with her for an extended period of time alone and unsupervised. Sure he occasionally fell asleep there when she invited him but never for multiple nights in a row and with the intention directly.

“You want me to stay with you alone?” He asked and she gently nodded.

“I would. We can conjure a tree and decorate it together in the main room. Take care of the beasts in the vivariums and sneak down the library to get books to read… it could be fun” she reasoned and he nodded.

“Alright. I think I would really like that. Only if you’re sure you are alright with it. I can also sleep on the settee in the main room-“ he offered and she shook her head, opening her mouth to speak before pausing and looking down.

“You can if you prefer that, but I -“ she trailed off as she looked at his wild expression before continuing as she tucked one of those stray hairs so often around her face behind her ear as she admitted, “I do sleep better when you are around… the nightmares don’t usually happen when you are with me…” she told him.

He knew the feeling. In fact he knew it so well that the only peaceful sleep he often found was in her room when they fell asleep after hours of talking together. He never knew how but eventually once he would calm her down and they’d talk, he would wake up the next morning with her nestled against his body as if during the night they had reached over to hold one another.

“I-“ he paused, raking his own hands in his hair as he also admitted, “me too. I think the only real sleep I’ve gotten all year has been in the room of requirement”

“So you’ll stay? With me?” She asked and he nodded.

“I’d love to”

————————

The next morning he’d slipped out of his nearly empty Slytherin dorm room with a small bag over his shoulder of the stuff he usually brought home. Some clothes that weren’t his school uniforms, a few books, a quill and some ink, some snacks, the few toiletries he had and the journal she’d given him the previous year. As he snuck down the empty halls he came across the door to the room or requirement, now revealing itself to him with no problem, before he pushed inside.

Once there he could see the always lit fire in the main room, the vivariums grand entrances, along with all her potting and potions stations. Something about the place always felt so inherently homie and incredibly authentic to her.

“Uh…” he looked around seeing the absence of the witch who had invited him, knowing it was really early in the morning and she possibly could still be asleep, but usually she rose earlier. As he went to check the small bedroom that had appeared a few months prior, the door opened behind him and she shuffled in carrying a small basket.

“Oh, you’re already here. I snuck down to the kitchen for some breakfast and I was going to pop by the dungeons later-“ she started to ramble as he looked at her clothes.

Most of the time she wore her uniform, as most students did, but when she wasn’t in her robes she usually looked a tad mismatched. Often finding random articles of clothing with protection charms while exploring, she wore a tacky blend of them. The girl also usually opted for trousers not skirts or dresses as exploring was easier when you weren’t “worried about the wind blowing up or fabric getting caught” by her own words.

Instead she stood before him in possibly the first time he’d ever seen her without trousers or one of those hideous wool skirts all the students wore. She had a white blouse with an emerald green dress overtop that had only a few white embellishments along the skirt. It wasn’t the most elegant of dresses but it certainly was beautiful, especially since he rarely saw her like this.

He set his bag down and walked towards her, and upon further inspection she also had her hair tied back - not an uncommon sight - but she’d left most of it down, only pulling the front strands out of her way as she tied it back with a bow.

Very different from how he usually saw her.

Upon realizing he had been staring she felt self conscious, asking him “how do I look?” As she awkwardly stroked the material of her skirt down with her free hand.

“You look beautiful” he said without a second thought before he looked at her face, something he’d done so often but as her eyes softened he realized he shouldn’t affirm she looked this way only because of the clothes or change to her hair.

“You are beautiful” he spoke when he found himself planted in front of her, boldly admiring her face and not the wardrobe.

She noticed his correction along with the implications it carried as she fell under the wonderful scrutiny of his gaze. As she did so, she turned to take in his appearance with his lack of the Slytherin robes, swamping them for a simple shirt and vest as he stood in front of her. Usually disguised by school cloaks she could see how wide his shoulders had gotten, along with the exposed skin of his forearms from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. The skin that usually laid covered, now proudly displaying the freckled skin below the light dusting of dark hair, as well as his veins that went into his hand.

“You okay?” She heard his voice ask gently as she looked up from his hands to his face once more.

“Sorry, yeah, I mean thank you-“ she told him as she moved past him and walked down the stairs of the main room into the back area. Sebastian didn’t question as he followed her down into the deeper parts of the room.

Once they emerged in the area he noticed there was a large tree in the middle of the room with some pillow cushions on the floor in front of the fireplace. He realized she must’ve been awake a while to have conjured a tree and made the cozy nest where they likely would read together during the day.

“You’ve been busy” he teased as she walked them over to the fireplace and lifted her skirt ever so slightly so she could settle herself on the ground comfortably.

“I just wanted you to feel as at homey as possible” she explained as he sat down next to her, his long legs stretching out in front of them. Looking between their bodies he noticed her hand sat atop one of the cushions on the floor and he carefully plucked it from the space between them.

As he ran his fingers over the delicate and soft skin of her hand he tried to ignore the way his cheeks flamed at his bold action.

“I really appreciate the effort but you don’t have to play host you know? I am just happy to spend time with you” he explained as he looked at her, giving a reassuring squeeze to her hand to truly affirm his words.

She didn’t respond as she stared at the way he continued to clutch her much smaller hand. He worried she would seem disappointed by his request to remain as laid back as possible so he in turn shifted the conversation.

“You said you grabbed breakfast?” He asked and she pulled her hand back to grab the basket, opening it up with a smile to show the goodies she had brought. As she continued to go through the options he couldn’t shake the way her hand in his own had felt like the most incredibly natural act in the world.

———————

After a day of reading, exploring the room, decorating the tree together, and just talking he was on cloud nine. Everything had felt so comfortable, so natural, as they fell into a rhythm alongside one another.

That was, until it was time for bed.

Once again he insisted if she preferred him to sleep on the sofa he would more than happily oblige, understanding that sleeping in the same bed carried heavy implications. She swiftly reminded him that they had indeed fallen asleep in the very bed in her room of requirement before. But for Sebastian, those moments had never been intentional, and to do so from the jump felt like a much deeper step.

To go to bed willingly alongside one another felt like the kind of thing reserved for married couples, certainly not friends of the opposing genders. And especially not a friend he often dreamed about kissing… as well as other more intense and vulgar things…

Regardless, her sweet smile and bright big eyes told him it was okay in her book, and who was he to question that. So as she slipped off into the small bathroom area to change for bed he stripped himself of his clothes and quickly threw on his own night clothes, tossing his dirty ones in his bag just as she returned.

Sebastian hadn’t recalled ever seeing the nightgown she wore. Usually she had something much thicker and denser but this one seemed… thin.

It was suddenly as if Sebastian’s mouth had lost all its moisture and he couldn’t help but stare as the silk she wore seemed to hug areas he usually wasn’t granted access to see.

Since when had her breasts been this full? Has she always had such an intense dip in her waist?

“Sebastian?” She asked him in mild concern as he stared distantly, his mind very much elsewhere as she came closer to where he stood slack jawed. When she found herself in front of him, he looked at her like a wild animal that had been caught by a hunter.

“I…” he trailed off as he took one more, very obvious, look down at her barely clothed breast. The view from up close confirmed his suspicions that she had forgone any form of camisole as the brief outline of her nipple shown through the silk.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently, not fully comprehending his reaction.

“I… I think I may need to sleep out there” he said shyly as he pointed to the main area, his voice much more painned than he intended it to sound. At his explanation her heart fell as she couldn’t comprehend his reasoning.

“But why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” He asked her as he looked at her hair which he realized was now completely down, something he’d never been privy to see before. It made him want to reach out and touch the long strands and see if they were just as silky as he imagined.

Quickly snapping his eyes back to her suddenly saddened expression he firmly said “You’ve done nothing wrong”. This further plagued the girl as she couldn’t place why exactly he was acting in this manor.

“I don’t understand. I thought you said you slept better when we were here together… Don’t you want to share the bed?” Her hurt expression cut through him as he realized she was still not understanding that his resistance was not due to anything about her personally… more or less it was about his lack of control in regards to his wandering hands should they lay in the same bed all night.

“Come here,” Sebastian explained as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing her palm and pulling her to do the same. She simply sat next to him as he turned to face her, his knee slightly framing her hips and he did his best to try and ignore how close they really were.

I don’t trust myself.

If she hadn’t watched him say it she wouldn’t have believed he muttered the words.

“What do you mean-“ she asked and Sebastian almost grew frustrated with the girl for her lack of awareness at how much of a beauty she was, along with the fact he was so irrevocably in love with her it pained him.

“I mean you are too bloody gorgeous like this that I don’t trust myself to behave like a gentleman” he let out with a frustrated sigh. He knew he shouldn’t get so worked up, especially not to show frustration at her, but the throbbing starting in his lower region was making it hard to fully concentrate on his emotions.

All he heard was her gasp, fearing she’d seen the arousal in his night trousers but when he looked up, all Sebastian saw was the girl cautiously clutching her hair trying to make sense of his words.

Closing his eyes, he ran his hand over his face. Why was he such an idiot? She probably thought him some sort of delinquent. She probably hated him. She-

She had turned her body to face him and placed a hand on his shoulder when he opened his eyes.

“Bash” her timid tone called out and all he could muster upon having her so close was an eyebrow raise to acknowledge he heard her speak.

What if I don’t want you to behave like a gentleman?

Sebastian wasn’t sure he heard her correctly or if he was about to wake up from another one of those wet deans where he stained his sheets dreaming about being buried inside her.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for” he reasoned, knowing how innocent in many regards she seemed. It wouldn’t surprise him if no one had explained the marital act to her at all.

Instead of replying she simply inched closer until she was directly in front of him. Sebastian anticipated her to stop but when she cautiously climbed on his lap his breathing stopped. He kept his hand firmly planted at his sides as she settled herself atop him, her hands resting on his shoulders for support.

“I do know what you’re referring to,” she said bluntly and her boldness made him question just how much he might know of her. Behind those innocent gazes perhaps she’d been a temptress this whole time and he was just to blind by his affections to notice.

He hadn’t realized she had lifted one of his hands until he saw her concentrated expression examining his right hand up close. She studied the calloused skin of his palm before placing his open hand along her waist. Suddenly he felt the warmth of her skin through the silk nightgown along with the beautiful dip of her curves that laid underneath.

“I thought, but you-“ he couldn’t think of an intelligent response as she looked at his face. This led to the both of them staring at one another in silence as he kept his hand firmly planted where she’d left it.

Leaning forward she placed her fingers lightly on his chin, noting the stubble growing from his face as she traced over it. He’d shaved it in the morning but she always enjoyed seeing the small, dark hairs when he stayed with her after nightmares.

“If I ask you to kiss me, are you going to run away Sebastian?” She asked him while continuing to trace her fingertips over his face in the areas his facial hair had started to grow.

Sebastian didn’t reply as his hand finally tightened and curved over her waist. Lifting the other, he placed it on her cheek gently as he let his eyes move to her own.

“Are you sure? If I’m honest I don’t think I can ever let things go back to normal if we do that” he admitted to her with a sigh.

Of course he wanted her. Wanted to be with her. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to lay with her. But if this was just some Christmas Eve fun that never would go anywhere he couldn’t stomach it.

Instead of replying she simply leaned forward into his hand, smiling to herself as she felt the warmth of his palm against her skin. Sebastian took a shaky inhale at realizing she was signaling he could go ahead while she looked at him through her heavy lidded lashes.

Exhaling gently he leaned forward just enough to ever so softly press his lips to hers.

He could hear the way she inhaled sharply through her nose before he felt the slight pressure of her returning the kiss. It was cautious. Unsure. But still she continued to press on physically and metaphorically.

Sebastian let out a groan as he felt one of her hands tighten in his dark hair, her fingers weaving in and out of the locks along his sensitive nape. In response he pulled her closer to him by the hands firmly planted on her waist and cheek.

Feeling herself more tightly wrapped in his embrace she gained more confidence in the movements, shifting on his lap ever so slightly and letting out a gasp and breaking the kiss when she felt that beautiful ache between her legs at pressing upon his hard thigh.

She had touched herself before, sometimes rutting into a pillow to find relief, but to use the boys thigh in seeking that feeling once more she felt electrified.

Sebastian couldn’t help but feel the full extent of the throbbing in his pants, when he realized she was humping his thigh to get off. The girl he assumed knew little, quickly proving him wrong as her gasps and sighs carved into his neck.

“Hey..” he told her, moving his hand down to her hip to still her movement for a brief moment as she removed her blush covered face from the privacy of his neck.

“I need some guidance on where exactly this is headed” he asked her.

“You’ve always rushed unto everything with no plan before. Why do you need one now?” She retorted one more trying to find the friction she desired on his lap.

Sebastian let out a soft groan as her center moved over his erection and he paused as he considered her words.

“That’s different… I don’t want to be disrespectful or hurt you. I have read that sometimes intercourse can be painful for the woman and I would never want to cause you harm” he explained and she rolled her eyes, catching him off guard with her frustration.

“I’m not made of glass Seb” she told him before aggressively beginning to kiss the side of his neck. Teeth nipping, lips sucking and tongue soothing the skin as she once again resumed rutting her hips.

“But-“

“Oh Merlin, would you just let me do it” she said frustratingly as she pushed his shoulders back until he fell on the bed, as she crawled over top of his shocked form.

Sebastian barely had a chance to get a word in before she was unbuttoning his sleep shirt. He didn’t say anything as he helped her slip it down his arms upon undoing the buttons.

“Do you want me?” She asked him curtly as she looked down at his half naked form with a surprised gaze.

“I - of course “ he told her.

“Then act like it, Sallow.” She told him and suddenly like a fuse had been lit, Sebastian flipped the girl onto her back and started kissing her shoulders and collarbones with vigor. He hadn’t even realized that as he flipped her over he had pulled her nightgown down significantly but he brushed it aside as he kissed her body.

She grew warm at how suddenly the reservations left him body and he responded so well to her noises and gasps. Sebastian seemed to so easily locate all those spots that made her feel weak as he kept kissing her body.

Soon he was reaching for the ties holding up her nightclothes and she leaned up to help him remove it. As her fingers moved to undo the latches he grumpily pushed her hand aside to do it himself.

“Been wanting to unwrap you like a gift for so long now. I want to do it on my own,” he gritted out against the shell of her ear before removing the top of her dress, pulling it up and over her body and tossing it onto the floor.

As she shivered from the draft in the room, Sebastian looked down and realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He assumed that even though she lacked a camisole she at the very least would have breeches, but no. She was fully naked as she lay underneath him.

“You sneaky little witch planned this didn’t you” he gritted out as he leaned down to take one of her pert little nipples in his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of her skin along his tongue.

“I had hoped it could be a possibility…” she said through a whine as he flicked her now erect nipple with his tongue before moving to the other one.

When he successfully gave it the same attention he release it with a pop as he looked back up at her face hungrily.

“So that innocent routine was just an act?” He asked her as he moved back up her body and leaned his weight down on her. She could finally feel his arousal through his pajama pants and she shivered as he used his free hand to trace down her torso.

“Tell me what you hoped for… did you hope I would kiss you…” he trailed off kissing her now severely flushed skin before pulling back to look up at her through his thick lashes as he kept teasing. “Did you hope I would… touch you here?” Sebastian asked as he ran his fingertips ever so gently over the skin of her chest.

His index finger moved down painfully slow until it was right at the base of her opening and he looked into her eyes intently as he breached her walls with his finger, smiling as he asked “did you hope I would enter you here?”

Sebastian only brought his finger back out slowly as she whimpered at the loss of the stretch that she’d felt around his knuckles and upon hearing the noise he shoved it back in again causing her eyes to go wide as she clung to the quilt.

Shoving another finger alongside it, he continued to work her open so she’d be able to take him with ease. Curling his fingers and scissoring them within her, he took his time appreciating every noise she made and every pull her body made on his appendages.

He wasn’t done teasing the girl yet because just when she was nearing an orgasm he pulled his hand away to look at her exasperated expression with a grin as he shoved the soaked digits into his mouth and licked them clean.

“Well?” He asked her and she remembered vaguely he had asked her what she had hoped for.

“I wanted you to… be inside of me…” she admitted somewhat ashamed and he chuckled at her relapse into innocence.

“My fingers?” He eased as he brought them close to her opening once more before changing his mind and grabbing her hand from where it was still clutching the quilt and bringing it over his arousal before asking “or my cock?”

“Your… cock…” she said as if she was out of breath and he smiled down at her, suddenly breaking the trance he’d been in and softly stroking her messy hair away from her face as he laid down next to her.

“You sweet, darling girl” he cooed as he pulled her into his frame. “You may have whatever you desire” he told her before leaning up to passionately but delicately kiss her once more.

She carefully reached for the tie on his sleep pants as she undid the knot and pushed them off his hips. Sebastian reached down to loosen his breeches and pushed them off his body to assist her before maneuvering his way between her open knees, laying over her.

“I’m sorry if I got carried away…” he admitted, realizing that his brash actions may not have been what she wanted.

“Don’t be. I found it to be… quite stirring” she admitted and he laughed at her choice words. Caressing her cheek he leaned down to kiss the skin between her eyebrows before pulling back.

“We do this at your pace. Promise you’ll let me know if it stings” he asked her and she nodded, brushing off the concerns as she reached for his cock, only to have him palm his manhood with a slight groan as he shook his head.

“I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He told her sternly and she looked up at his concern laced brow.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine-“ she said as she finally unwrapped his hand from his manhood, finally getting to feel the full size of him as she looked down in shock.

Sebastian was much larger than she imagined. Not that she’d ever seen one in real life before but, even from anatomical drawings she’d seen and the girlish whispers she realized he was much more endowed than she assumed.

“Oh…” she said as she looked down, losing her nerve as she saw the way his cock looked massive between their bodies and the way it pulsed under her scrutiny.

“We don’t have to do it if you are nervous” he told her as she tore her gaze from his manhood back to his face.

“I want to” she said firmly and he looked at her for any signs she was lying or feeling pressured.

“You’re sure?” He asked her gently, his thumb tracing over the skin of her chin as he held her face carefully.

“Just… go slow…” she told him, parting her legs further and reaching down to assist him.

Sebastian grunted as he felt her lining his head up with her opening and once he could feel they were properly aligned he let go of her chin to reach for her hand, holding it in his own as he encouraged her to look up.

“Look at me, don’t worry about what is going on down there alright? Just look into my eyes…” he offered and she nodded, pulling her gaze directly into his own as he ever so slightly pushed his hips forward.

Everything went okay for a few moments until her breath hitched and he paused, not tearing his eyes from hers as he stopped pressing in. When she looked as if she adjusted, he continued until the entirety of his head was inside of her, pausing once more.

He couldn’t help but sigh as he sunk into her, enjoying the warmth of her body around him as he parted her. Every so often he’d stop and ask if she was okay to keep going and she never told him it hurt but he could definitely see the discomfort at the new and what he imagined, intrusive, feeling.

However for him… it was like coming home, to a place he’d never known was so wonderful. Her body eventually opened up and accepted all of him and he found his mound of dark curls pressed against her own, slightly more manicured patch of hair atop her womanhood.

He could feel the press of her hip bones on his as he laid there, waiting for her to adjust to the fullness of his length within her body. Sebastian almost felt amazed at where it all had gone, as she was so small in comparison to him and he knew his cock well exceeded his classmates from their time sharing dorms and bathrooms.

“Do you think you’re ready for me to move?” He asked her with the softest tone he could muster despite feeling like he was going to burst free at any second.

“You’ll be gentle?” She asked timidly and he almost removed himself entirely at the tone she asked him with.

“I promise. I don’t want you to be in pain. Does it hurt now?” He asked her, not wanting to know the answer but needing to have it regardless.

“It’s moreso just… pressure? Maybe moving will help” she offered as an explanation and he nodded, ever so carefully pulling his hips back before slowly sliding back inside once more at a snail like pace.

Eventually his movements became more comfortable, confident, and controlled - as well as slightly faster.

At first her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes but after a moment she seemed to relax her eyebrows as her mouth fell open. Sebastian watched her reactions intently as she gave herself over to him.

Somehow he moved to an angle causing a pleasured noise to spill from her lips and he felt himself twitch knowing that she was slowly starting to feel good.

“Hey, I like seeing those pretty eyes Love” he said gently as he nudged her nose with his own, causing her to open them once more and blush up at him as he continued to press within her.

“There you are… so incredibly beautiful. You are an angel…” he whispered as he picked up the pace but kept his tone soft.

His words and his moments caused her to feel a stirring in her stomach that was similar to when she rode highwing and she would dive low.

“Sebastian…” She sighed his name as a mantra while she reached up to hold his cheek in her hand, the other curled around into his hair.

“My gorgeous witch… so lovely inside and out…” he continued to praise her as her eyes grew glassy at his sweet words and without thinking a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, his thumb moving to catch it the second he spotted it.

“Did I hurt you-“ he quickly asked but she stopped him by leaning up to kiss him, her hips rising to meet his shallow moments as he groaned.

Pulling away she continued to hold him close as she whispered

I love you Sebastian Sallow…

Hearing her call his name like that, and saying she loved him, caused him to stutter in his movements and his cock begin to angrily throb looking for that final push of release.

He moved his hips much faster against hers as he leaned down and groaned out, “I - love you too… so much… uhhh fuck… need to… finish… where” he struggled to choke out as he kept his momentum while driving into her.

Realizing she was likely much further behind he had the foresight to lean his hand down and start playing with her nub, causing her back to raise sharply as she whimpered and clawed at his back.

“Need to pull, out-“ he grunted and she shook her head violently beneath him.

“No. Please. Don’t -“ she said through a loud sob, her body beginning to clench around him as she looked up at him fiercely saying “please finish inside…” she begged.

He didn’t need to ask twice after she gave him permission. Pushing harshly on her clit, she came with a scream and with that, her body pulled his cock so tightly that he followed.

As her body milked him for every drop he had he couldn’t help but feel the strong sense of pride running through his mind as he flooded her with his seed. He looked down watching her wide eyed expression as he continued to pump his load deep within her body, only slowing once he ran out of stamina before he collapsed on top of her.

Sebastian was spent as he laid on top of her chest, his face pressed against her sweaty skin and he slowly began trailing butterfly kisses across her neck at the same moment he felt her brushing his hair off his forehead to do the same.

Suddenly he heard the clock chime loudly in the main room, signaling midnight and he removed himself from the crook of her neck as he softened within her, his spill slipping out of her and between their thighs. It felt so overwhelmingly perfect and then he realized something.

“Happy Christmas” he whispered as he tucked her hair behind her ear and she looked up at him slowly realizing that he was indeed correct and they had made love on Christmas Eve through the official start of the day itself.

“Happy Christmas Sebastian…” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from the screech she’d let out and he leaned down to kiss her once more before pulling her body into his, neglecting the mess between them.

“Well, I for one think this Christmas is already off to the best start imaginable” he admitted before pecking her forehead and he smiled when she laughed, the chuckle causing both their bodies to shake.

“Of course you’d say that”

“What? I’ve got the girl I love in my arms. What more can a man want?” He asked her and he looked down just in time to see her face turn up to meet his.

“You love me?” She asked softly and suddenly it was his turn to chuckle.

“I think that what we just did goes to show that but yes, I do love you. Terribly so.” He admitted as he brought her closer into his arms.

“I love you too” she told him as he smiled, his eyes starting to grow heavy.

“I heard you the first time… although if you feel so inclined to repeat it, I can guarantee that’s not the sort of thing one grows tired of hearing” he told her as he drifted off to sleep holding her in his arms thinking about how much more pleasurable this was than going to sleep with dragon pox on Christmas.

THE END

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow/reader #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #fluff #hogwarts legacy fandom #ns/fw #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fic #christmas #tooth rotting fluff

647 notes · View notes

tangsakura · 6 months ago

Text

Sukuna's Backstory Theory (+ mini Uraume Backstory Theory)

While we wait for jjk ch 265 leaks, I hope you enjoy reading this post of mine in the meantime.

Please note that this is just my theory. Also, Sukuna deserves to die.

Now enjoy your reading.

WARNING: MANGA SPOILERS UP TO CH 264; subject covers the following sensitive topics: sacred s*x, cannibalism, homosexual relationships; mentions or implications of abuse

Beginning:

We know from Sukuna himself in chapter 237 that he was an 忌み子 - a taboo child. In ancient and medieval Japan, a taboo child is a child that is ostracized, unwanted, and discarded.

JJK CHAPTER 237

As mentioned by Sukuna, he himself 'consumed' his twin to survive and had presumed that his 'foolish mother' (愚母 - he wasn't looking down on her, calling her stupid, but instead he was humbly referring to her) must have been starving.

JJK CHAPTER 257

Prominent families during that time were the Fujiwara, Sugawara and Abe clans. For sure, he wasn't born a noble, but rather a commoner, or worst, a slave. He must've been born with weak or below average CE, too, aside from his four arms, four eyes, and the second face.

It was probably only him and his mother in the beginning and she was the only one taking care of him. Given their supposed circumstances, Sukuna must've started working by the time he was around 5 or 6. Plus, if I were to guess where they would've lived, it would be in the agricultural lands of a Buddhist-Shinto temple. In Heian era, Buddhism and Shinto co-existed together (shinbutsu-shuugoo) so it's not strange to find Buddhist temples to have at least one small shrine dedicated to a kami (a Shinto god/goddess) [these are calles jisha (寺社)] and Shinto shrines accompanied by Buddhist temples in mixed complexes [these are called jinguuji (神宮寺)].

In addition, these institutions had these manorial estates called, shooen (荘園), which were "any of the private, tax free, often autonomous estates or manors...... developed from land tracts assigned to officially sanctioned Shintō shrines or Buddhist temples or granted by the emperor as gifts to the Imperial family, friends, or officials." In the case of shrines and temples with shrines in them, they are called mikuri (御厨), which means a god's/goddess' kitchen.

The Chinese characters for mikuri are the same as the first two letters of Sukuna's CT (御厨子). In the beginning, mikuri only referred to the place where shrine offerings/sacred food (fish, vegetables, etc.) were cooked, but it eventually also included the land or property where they get the offerings from and prepare them in the meaning. Plus, the citizens of these lands/properties were called "gods' & goddesses' people" (神人, shinjin), and these mostly consisted of the producers (fishermen, farmers, etc.). We can definitely infer that Sukuna has most likely worked in the cooking area of the mikuri, the 御厨子所 (mizushidokoro, a kitchen for the upper classes and the shrines and temples) Think about it, not only does he use words related to consuming, but he also referenced fish-related words.

JJK CH 224 - "A fish who merely has no name attached to it."

JJK CH 216 - "卸す" - to grate (e.g. vegetables); to cut up fish "三枚に卸す” - to cut you into three slices (fillet)

JJK CHAPTER 8 - "おろした" - past tense verb of 卸す "三枚におろした” - cut you into three slices (fillet)

(light blue is just to cover watermarks)

In Heian era, meat was forbidden except for some parts in Japan where hunting was really common (except for aristocrats and monks lowkey - they do eat them at times, especially when they fall sick). Fish was temporarily banned but was eventually lifted. So, majority of the Japanese people during this time period didn't eat meat with the exception of fish and other seafood. Moreover, when cooking the shrine offerings, the only meat they cooked was seafood. Plus, if he and his mom was in one of the shrine and temples in Heian-kyoo (present-day Kyoto), then chances are he had to cook for festivities and rituals in the imperial palace.

But then, how did he learn to read and write? The only one who were literate were the imperial family, aristocrats, Shinto priests, Buddhist monks, and anyone else related to religious institutions and higher rank than commoners. So the only available ways for him to have access to learning kanji (漢字 - Sino-Japanese characters) and even kana (hiragana and katakana) was to become an apprentice monk or priest. But I believe he became a Buddhist apprentice monk since it is more open than becoming a Shinto priest.

If he had started as a worker in the mikuri, he would have been secretly listening to the lessons between an apprentice and the older monk. Then, if he managed to prove his talent, he could have become an apprentice. If he were an apprentice monk, he would have to learn directly from an older monk. This would not stop him from working as a kitchen worker since he would have to help with preparing offerings and cooking for important occasions and guests.

As an apprentice, he would have learned everything about Buddhism, including how to preach to people. Unfortunately, there was a cost to this. It was the nanshuudou, the homosexual practice between a prepubescent apprentice monk and an older adult monk, which is heavily documented in Edo period but a practice that has been ongoing in the Shinto priest apprenticeships and eventually in Buddhist monk apprenticeship, as well. Mind you, this is not a practice between male lovers, but of loyalty and the first step to 'reaching enlightenment'. I think of it as a pseudo-sacred s*xual relationship. It is something expected at that time, but it may not have been a great experience for Sukuna. He was a taboo child, meaning even those older monks most likely made this harsher than it already was. Not to mention, he might have been as young as 7 or 8 years old when this all happened.

This was also sort of thought of by a JP theorist, according to this twitter user.

Anyways, let's move on from this sensitive topic.

You might be wondering why do I think he had been an apprentice monk and a cook? Well, mizushi (御厨子) also has these meanings.

Zushi (厨子) originally was a word for storage boxes for utensils and ingredients in the kitchen, then extended into becoming a storage for personal stuff and a decoration as well for aristocrats.

Zushi also extended to becoming a storage for Buddhism relics, scrolls or anything important. This includes the Buddhist altars. Thus becoming Mizushi, sacred storage.

Additionally, as an apprentice monk, he would be able to interact with nobility more. Buddhism was intertwined with the court politics in Heian era. This is more prominent when court officials and even the imperial family members, including the Emperor, would retire as Buddhist nuns or monks. Plus, there would also be visits by the officials and probably he was able to see or receive letters and poems from them. It would be inevitable that he learns them to communicate effectively.

This would also makes sense as he knew Tengen, who was an avid supporter of Buddhism.

Career as a Sorcerer:

In an era where the Fujiwara clan ruled supreme, leaving barely any crumbs for other aristocratic clans to take spots in the political arena. So, in order to consolidate their own power, many other clans (including the minor/weak branch families of the Fujiwaras) and Imperial princes went to obtain their own land outside of Heian-kyoo (present-day Kyoto) and even their own army. That's why these clans have armies of their own, especially those full of sorcerers. I won't be surprised if they took in anyone who has curse energy and trained them, just like what the Fujiwaras did with Uro.

So, I believe that someone noticed his cursed energy and his potential, then took him for training. Then obviously he would have met other Heian-era sorcerers. Here are my two cents on this:

I would like to believe that Tengen trained him as she was also an avid supporter of the religion, and he eventually met Kenjaku as they're 'friends' with her. Being a jujutsu sorcerer apprentice meant quitting or being part-time in his apprenticeship from the Buddhist Temple. (But I wonder if this would have stopped the pseudo-sacred s*x stuff.......) However, I'm open to the fact that it might have been another sorcerer who trained him (or there has been another one besides Tengen and Kenjaku who did so or influenced him) due to the name of his extension technique 'Divine Flames, Open'

One of the opposing factions (either the Sugawara, Tachibana or Abe clan) to the Fujiwara hired him in their order to put them in check. I'm leaning more towards the Sugawara clan.

This was probably the time when he probably met Angel from Abe clan, Uro from the Fujiwara, and especially Uraume. I'll explain how Uraume is related to the Sugawaras in a bit.

Sukuna served as part of Sugawara's troops or something like that. This can also be the point where he learned more about Japanese art and culture at the time.

One of the curses he must've fought was Yamata no Orochi.

Sukuna betrayed the Sugawaras and destroyed its army of sorcerers, with a few survivors left. Uraume decided to dedicate their whole life to him and followed him from then on.

He officially became a curse user and wrecked havoc in Japan, especially Heian-kyoo

Angel got enraged from his acts and with the permission of the Abe clan and the remnants of Sugawara clan, they jumped on Sukuna but lost.

Later on, he defeated the Fujiwara army led by Uro.

How is Uraume related to the Sugawaras?

There's this video from JP channel that was theorizing about Uraume when they first appeared in Shibuya arc a couple years ago that they used to be trapped in the prison realm before being freed so that Kenjaku can use it for Gojo Satoru and it was time for Sukuna's resurrection but this was obviously debunked, but there was something interesting that the creator brought up - the Tobiume.

Have you heard about The Legend of the Flying Plum (飛梅伝説)? So basically, when Sugawara no Michizane was demoted in ranking because of the Fujiwaras and was exiled, he wrote a poem expressing his sorrow of not seeing his precious plum tree in his residence in Heian-kyo (present-day Kyoto) ever again. Then from this, a romantic legend came about, where the plum tree was so fond of its master and cannot bear to be apart from him that it finally flew to Dazaifu, where he was exiled to, and that tree became known as tobi-ume (飛梅, 'the flying plum').

Michizane loves plum trees and plum blossoms, so it won't be strange if there were people in the clan named after plum blossoms or plum. In my case, I believe that Uraume is related to the Sugawara clan, but their status in the clan itself wasn't great. We can assume from their name in kanji, 裏梅.

裏 means the following:

opposite side; bottom; other side; side hidden from view; undersurface; reverse side

rear; back; behind

in the shadows; behind the scenes; offstage; behind (someone's) back

梅 means plum

Though they may have been born from a noble, prestigious clan, they remained in the shadows. My theory is that, for whatever reason it may be, Uraume's life wasn't as good as before Sukuna allowed them to serve him. They might have been an illegitimate child or they might have some deformity we don't know of, or whatever. Then they met Sukuna and the rest was history.

Do you not believe that Uraume is not related to the Sugawaras?

Let me show you a picture of the Sugawara clan crest.

They call this umebachi. A plum blossom crest.

And what's in Uraume's name? Ume (梅) - plum.

Another thing here that fulfill its name is the fact that Uraume is Sukuna's servant. Just like the tobiume, they follow their master from behind and cannot bear to be apart from him.

'Divine Flames, Open':

Here's something that caught my attention.

Kamino (カミノ) has the kanji 竈, that is originally pronounced as kamado. It means traditional Japanese wood or charcoal-fueled cook stove. Fuuga (フーガ) has the kanji 開, originally pronounced as kai, meaning open. Now everything else is purely Japanese except these two.

Kamino and fuuga originated from Latin and Ancient Greek, and both exist in the Romance languages. How tf is he using these words? Around Heian era, only the Eastern Roman Empire is standing and the main language there was Greek....... but that's around present-day Turkey and its surroundings. The furthest they reached in trade was China...... oh wait, Heian era Japan still traded with China........

Seems like that theory of Chinese sorcerer isn't far-fetched, eh?

(But fr tho, do you think he met someone from Byzantine? There's no confirmation time travel is a thing so that's the only possible explanation)

Cannibalism:

Cannibalism, believe it or not, was practiced in China from Tang Dynasty and onwards. Remarkably, Heian era's last major Chinese contact was with Tang Dynasty. Records of cannibalism must have been brought from Tang Dynasty China along with Buddhism and other things by monks who were sent to China by the government.

It was said that human flesh of a young person was a great medical treatment for illnesses. So there would be young people, especially females, sacrificing some of their flesh for the sake of their parents or parent-in-laws recovery. Furthermore, Emperors, e.g. Wuzong of Tang, supposedly ordered provincial officials to send them "the hearts and livers of fifteen-year-old boys and girls" when they had become seriously ill, hoping in vain this medicine would cure him. Later on, private individuals sometimes followed their example, paying soldiers who kidnapped preteen children for their kitchen.

There was also something called war cannibalism, in which victors in a battle, war, or conflict would eat the dead enemy's flesh as "official punishments and private vengeance", as well as "celebrating victory over them."

Therefore, I propose that Sukuna started cannibalism as a way to treat an illness or disease - in private obviously since in Heian era, meat other than seafood was banned and meat that becomes available for special occassions or circumstances like falling sick are reserved for the upper class, plus if he ever was an apprentice monk, he would not have been allowed to consume meat. Since Heian era had outbreaks, such as smallpox, and also common diseases, anyone can get it, including him. So, not wanting to die, he resorted to this. But then it eventually became a habit that also extended to eating people he defeated in battles and young people and women for medicinal and nutritional purposes later on. This is the most likely the reason why in the first chapter, he was looking for children and women.

But if he had contracted some sort of illness or disease at some point in his youth and cannibalism (obviously) wasn't a cure for it, how would he have survived it and lived longer? Perhaps it might have to do with Tengen - who knows if she could have an extension technique of her Immortality CE, where she could have extended his lifespan. It could have had to do with Kenjaku; with their vast knowledge, it's possible he offered a solution to him. However, I'm leaning more towards Tengen helping him in this regard. It was also probably the reason why she ended up having four eyes and all because of this. But, of course, he couldn't escape death, so he agreed to Kenjaku's terms and became cursed objects to reincarnate later on.

My second proposition is that Sukuna was maltreated and the people didn't bother sharing meager amount of food available to him. We know that because of the Fujiwara family's political monopoly in the capital as well as the distribution of the land to nobility made it possible for them to abuse their power. For instance, these lords imposed taxes in an unreasonable amount to fund their lavish lifestyle, which obviously made life hard for the peasants and slaves since goods such as silk, grains and food became a common medium of exchange when the currency fell. So you can imagine how much they had to give up just to pay their taxes. This definitely made their food supply low. I can also imagine Sukuna was blamed for misfortunes and misery they have experienced because of his status as a taboo child. I don't think they would provide him food and so he would have to rely on dead people to survive.

And assuming that we're going off with this proposition instead of the other one, I think the reason why Sukuna was seeking women and children because in the past, it was more common for children and women to die. Children are naturally more vulnerable and women die easily, especially during childbirth. I'm certain that the most common corpses or bodies he must've found were those of children and women. But, of course, eventually he began to crave humans because he got so used to it that normal food didn't satisfy his hunger any longer - not that cannibalism fully resolved it, though.

The Fallen:

(I'm not gonna lie, majority of what I would say here are more assumptions based on Geto's and a bit of Yuji's acts)

Everyone has been comparing Sukuna and Gojo, seeing them as foils and parallels. I acknowledge that they are similar to each other and whatnot. But what if I tell you that he could've gone through an experience or two similar to Geto?

Think about it. Wouldn't you consider Geto as a 'Fallen One'? He was a righteous man, whose goal is to protect the weak as a strong person. But after the Toji incident, his moral convictions and purpose has been questioned by himself, and eventually, he fell from grace - being stripped of his status as a jujutsu sorcerer and thus becoming a curse user. He had the same values but they were reinterpreted and twisted.

If my theory on Sukuna being educated at a Buddhist Temple is true, then he must have believed in the salvation of those who are suffering (like Yuji to some extent), but was corrupted along the way. He had the same ideals, but it became reinterpreted and twisted. I think the reason why he hates Yuji because he is seeing all those he threw away to gain freedom and absolute strength in jujutsu in him. Both of them are inverses of each other, and it's not a surprise if Yuji is the representation of the old Sukuna.

I mean if you look at nobility back in Heian era, they kept indulging themselves in leisure and pleasure to the point that they neglected the economy. Literally the currency fell and all those bureaucratic and admin work fell mostly to lower classes working in each ministry. Basically back then, the higher you were in the hierarchy, the more pleasure you could attain and keep chasing for. How else did you think Japanese art, literature and culture came to be during this era? This was where he probably learned about hedonism or what influenced him to be one.

Not to mention, people who would've taken advantage of him for their pleasure, curiosity, greed and personal gains, power and control, and many more reasons. He could have been like Geto and Yuji, who exorcise curses and help the weak. There was a turning point where he decided to let go of everything and walk the path that he has been in for the last 1000 years.

I am not surprised if he decided to be who he is today as a revenge to the world, a response to the trauma and suffering he went through just like Geto.

If I am right about Sukuna going through a similar experience as Geto did, then this page below brings a whole new meaning to the Gojo vs Sukuna fight on December 24, 2018 - the death anniversary of Geto:

JJK CH 223

But despite all of these, there's one thing we can agree on - that is, he became the monster the world sees him as in the end.

That will be it. I hope y'all like it to some extent. Until then.

References:

Heian Era, Buddhism, 御厨子 -related Topics:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sh%C5%8Den/

https://ja.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E5%BE%A1%E5%8E%A8

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buddhist_temples_in_Japan

https://www.britannica.com/place/Japan/The-Heian-period-794-1185

https://www.colorado.edu/ptea-curriculum/imaging-japanese-history-1

https://ja.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E5%8E%A8%E5%AD%90

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sugawara_no_Michizane

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heian_period

https://www.colorado.edu/ptea-curriculum/imaging-japanese-history-1

Homosexuality in Medieval Japan:

https://www.tofugu.com/japan/gay-samurai/

https://ida.mtholyoke.edu/items/19c86409-c129-46a1-927b-11cfe0ffb1c3

Cannibalism & Sacred S*x-related Topics:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_cannibalism

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Medical_cannibalism&diffonly=true

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cannibalism_in_Asia

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_ritual

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacred_prostitution

Ancient Greek, Latin, & Roman Empire Topics:

https://en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/fuga

https://en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/caminus

https://en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/camino

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sino-Roman_relations

YouTube Videos I Referenced:

https://youtu.be/5n24Ulc8u84?si=Nngbg4xEqyNu82x8

https://youtu.be/WhBN29CIuAQ?si=5bNryoT-GzleIGq9

Reddit Posts I Referenced:

https://www.reddit.com/r/Jujutsushi/comments/1bngk9x/i_solved_one_of_the_great_mysteries_of_the_heian/

https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/ztay5e/what_foreign_countries_did_japan_have_trade/

https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/zs4k9p/what_was_life_like_for_the_average_people_heian/

Twitter Posts I Referenced:

https://x.com/eldammonite/status/1571157320570380295

https://x.com/lightningclare/status/1807467771913269374

#jjk #jjk manga #jjk meta #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #uraume #jjk uraume #jujutsu kaisen manga #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #jjk geto #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk spoilers #jujutsu sukuna #jjk 265

175 notes · View notes

verysium · 1 year ago

Text

『01』呪術廻戦: jujutsu kaisen recs

五条悟: gojo satoru

i know you still think about the times we had by @saetoru

satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling. notes: satoru is so desperate and pathetic here it is just delicious; has the right amount of angst to cause tension but a good ending to soothe my poor heart; traditional rich boy and disapproving mother/father scenario but implemented relatively well; miscommunication and feelings of inadequacy; reader realizing the extent to which satoru loves them

pretty eyes by @quirklessidiot

in which the right eye is mine and the left eye is yours and when we meet for the first time, you see your own eyes staring back at you. notes: takes tragic star-crossed lovers to a whole new level; riddled with parallels and symbolism; idea of illness and loving someone at their worst; right person, wrong time at its finest; fate being unnecessarily cruel; surprising moments of humor

minazuki by @quirklessidiot

In which Y/N L/N is placed under a union she has no choice but to partake for the sake of her survival. notes: this series needs to be scientifically studied; it is just that good; halfway in and i fell in love with the reader instead of gojo; strong and somewhat morally grey characters; dark themes around femininity in a patriarchal society but concept was executed flawlessly

21: only by @tenjiiku

“What do you want, Satoru?” You do not use his last name or any honorific to address him despite his age. He was older than you by a few years — but certainly did not act the part — so you do not think he deserves your respect. Your host father told you he does — something about his being from a prominent private school as an educator, which you cannot possibly fathom being the truth — but only in front of you is Satoru Gojo an inane, odd man with a need for clean, dry-cleaned clothes that, for some strange reason he has conjectured in his equally baffling mind, that only you can provide. He smiles at you, placing his cheek in his hand. “You.” notes: this fic embodies the duality between gojo and satoru; he is easy-going until he isn’t and you realize he actually has a considerable amount of depth; the plot twist did it for me; satoru being a loud-mouthed tease but secretly harboring feelings

soulswap by @orphxus (impxria)

this is where the evening splits in half, love or death. grab an end, pull hard, & make a wish. notes: short but realistically describes everything wrong with jujutsu society; poetic voice; gojo being serious for once; disillusionment and tragic hero archetype; being the strongest yet being unable to save anybody; geto would read this fic and feel seen

両面宿儺: ryomen sukuna

nocuous by @quirklessidiot

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? I knew how this was going to end but I’m still terribly hurt by it.” notes: the heian era setting is so complex and established even through dialogue and subtle description; reader strikes me as older and able to deal with sukuna’s chaotic nature; sukuna being an absolute menace is sending me; tragic angst but almost didn’t notice it due to how beautifully the images are presented

avīci by @rotpeach

Several years ago, Satoru Gojo was involved in the exorcism of a uniquely stubborn curse. The official report states that one of Ryomen Sukuna's fingers was recovered from the scene, and nothing else. Only the two of you know the truth. notes: gore, gore, and even more gore; boy was this fic a wild ride; imagine a work that condenses the ugliest and most revolting parts of human nature yet presents them so elegantly you start questioning the blurred lines of morality; cannibalism, violence, and love triangles; japanese mythology & folklore; heian period references; cursed spirit reader tries to grapple with the idea of self after being created for the sole purpose of serving others; themes of existentialism, identity crisis, obsession

#fic recs #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader

506 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

Note

Hello Clan, I was wondering if you could do the glams (including Bonnie and Foxy) and the daycare attendents learning that a worker reader has hearing aids that are usually hidden by their hair or a hat and that the hearing aid has a sticker themed around them, for example: a lightning bolt for Freddy, a checkered flag for Roxy, a cupcake for Chica, a music note or maybe golf clubs for Monty, a bowling pin for Bonnie, a skull for Foxy, a star for Moon, and a cloud for Sun.

I understand if you can't do all of them

No worries! But I couldn't figure out anything for Foxy, sorry-

I did my best research on writing for characters w/ hearing aids, so if there's anything I missed/got wrong I apologize!

......

Glamrock Freddy

He's seen you around the pizzaplex over the past month, although at times he gets confused when you don't respond to his greetings unless he's standing right in front of you.

But he assumes you're just busy and doesn't mind it much.

When you're assigned as his handler to help him keep up with all the events lined up this week (photo-ops, meet and greets, performances, birthdays, etc.), he finally gets to know you on a more personal level.

One evening, you're removing confetti strips and candy wrappers from his stomach hatch (in summary, the pinata's string got caught in the mechanisms during transport and ripped apart when the hatch opened), briefly removing your hat to wipe the sweat from your forehead.

Freddy takes notice of the little devices in/around your ears, and suddenly it all clicks.

"[Y/n], if I may ask...are those your hearing aids?" The curious bear points to his own ears.

"Yep, glad you finally noticed." You chuckled, but he didn't catch your sarcasm.

"My apologies for sounding intrusive. I've just never seen them before."

"Oh you're okay, Freddy. I don't like to make a big deal out of them...unless some guest calls me "deaf" as an insult." You muttered, about to put your hat back on when you notice him still staring at you. "What's up?"

"Are those...blue lightning bolt stickers?" He gasps. "They look just like mine."

"...that's because they are." You smile, turning your head to show him the designs.

His heart is thoroughly touched.

"Aww..you themed them after me? Your favorite bear?" He coos, to which you huff and hide them with your hat.

"Yeah, yeah..I'll admit you're my favorite. Now don't go bragging about it to everyone else."

Roxanne Wolf

Working at the raceway was sometimes sensory hell for you, with your hearing aids constantly absorbing the sounds of noisy karts or screaming kids.

The worst was the construction work.

So you switch them off sometimes when you're busy with a task, as hearing gets tiring--especially in these parts of the pizzaplex.

One day, however, Roxy walked over to ask if you could supervise Cassie's birthday party...only to see you blatantly ignoring her.

She would've been annoyed, had her eyes not seen the aids hidden by your hat/hair.

Oddly enough she never noticed them before...

She just taps your shoulder politely, getting your attention as you turn them back on. "Oh hey, Roxy. What's up?"

She repeats her question, but you still struggle to hear her, so you both go somewhere outside the raceway to talk.

Once you understand what she's asking, you head to the atrium to assist with any final preparations, but along the way she inquires about the aids.

"Oh! There's something I've been meaning to show you." You reveal the checkered flag stickers, surprising the wolf. And you smile at her growing grin. "Yeah, I knew you'd love 'em."

"They're really cool. So I guess you can just..tune out all the ruckus of the raceway whenever you want?"

"It does get overwhelming at times, so yeah..I had them off. Sorry if it seemed like I was ignoring you-"

"Nah, I understand now. But listen, if anyone gives you trouble over them, you let me know. Alright?"

"..I will. Thank you, Roxy."

"Of course. It's the least I can do for my favorite human worker." She chuckles.

Glamrock Chica

The incident where Chica's upgraded voicebox horribly malfunctioned would have surely overloaded your already sensitive hearing.

You were supervising her performance, but at the first sign something was wrong you took your aids out and dodged the chaos that followed, leaving to file an incident report.

As a lead tech, however, you're summoned to run diagnostics on her voicebox in parts and services (as apparently nobody else wanted to do it).

You kept your aids off in case things go awry again, but when Chica wakes up, she's 100% convinced that she broke them and you're angry at her.

She was informed that you use them, though she's never actually seen them.

Plus you were closest to her when it happened. If her voice could damage that many STAFF bots...then surely your aids weren't spared, either.

"Well, Chica..the good news is that we don't have to replace any of your speaking components." You explain, not realizing her sadness at first. "But I recommend you don't sing for a while and stick to the guitar. Just to play it safe."

"Oh, okay....I-I'm sorry....I really am..." She sulks in the chair.

"It's not your fault. I kept telling them not to rush the upgrade, but no one ever listens to-"

"BWAK?!!" Then she jumps, surprised. "You can hear me! I-I didn't break them..?"

"Huh? Oh..no, no, no. They're fine, Chica." You reassure her softly. "They're totally fine. See?"

Taking one aid out, you show her the cupcake sticker you put on it in hopes of cheering her up, watching the relieved smile return to her beak.

Montgomery Gator

If any place in the pizzaplex is loud (besides Roxy's Raceway), it's Gator Golf.

Should the ambience or the bass of Monty's instrument be too noisy for your hearing aids to handle, you can easily take them out or switch them off.

You can always hear his voice given how he talks in general, but if he's speaking directly to you, you'll have to put them back on.

The first time this happens, however, he sees them for a split second before they're hidden by your hat/hair and immediately assumes they're earbuds for music.

In his eyes, you suddenly decided to ignore him and he's not happy.

"So that's how it is, huh?" He snarls, already being in a bad mood as is. "I ain't fun to talk to anymore? You'd rather listen to your stupid human music than mine!?"

"Monty, what on earth are you talking about?" You blink in bewilderment. His hostility usually didn't come out of nowhere like this. "I don't have any music in-"

"Then what didja just stick in your ears?!" He points, glaring at you over his glasses.

"..my hearing aids?"

There's a long, awkward pause.

"...y'know, the things that let me hear you?"

"Ohhh..that's what they are? How long have ya had those for?"

"Most of my life." You smile apologetically, seeing him fumble and backtrack whatever he said before. "It's okay, Monty. I should've told you about them before....you wanna see something cool?"

Showing him your aids, he sees the golf club stickers on them and grins, no longer as grumpy as before. "Awh yeah!! Wait....did ya put those there 'cuz you like golf..or me?"

"I chose this design because of you, big guy." You chuckle.

Glamrock Bonnie

You were Bonnie's main handler, so you two have spent nearly every moment of your shift together.

He's been aware of your hearing aids since day one, complimenting the cute little bowling pin stickers you plastered on them and chastising any person who gave you a hard time about wearing them.

Sadly you never got closure on what exactly happened after he went "missing"...only to discover his shattered body stowed behind Bonnie Bowl months later.

He had claw marks inconsistent with what Monty's hands could have possibly done (not that you believed the gator was ever guilty of attacking him despite the rumors).

You fought tooth and nail to get approval from management to repair him, working tirelessly in parts and services--even doing overtime just to bring him back.

When Bonnie finally reactivated after weeks of trial and error, he nearly looked good as new.

Except...he doesn't remember you, and there's corruption in his memory files from the night he left his green room and went into Gator Golf.

He insists he was following somebody's orders, but can't specify anything beyond that.

"I'm sorry..I'm not much help, am I?"

"No, but...I suppose you should know that Monty's taken your place in the band in your absence." You regrettably inform him, seeing how sad he looks. "But if it's any help...you're still my favorite."

Taking off your hat, you show him the now faded bowling pin stickers that remained on your aids, and he stares for a while.

Then you see his eyes flicker with recognition as a smile grows on his face.

"[Y/n]...thank goodness you're still here! I-Is Freddy okay?"

Sun

He's definitely had deaf kids (both with and without hearing aids) come into the daycare, and he tries his best to give them a fun and accommodating experience during their stay.

So right off the bat, he knows you wear aids and often tries communicating with you in sign language.

Whether you're well-versed in that or still learning, you appreciate his efforts.

But you sometimes have to remind him that you can still talk to him as you normally would.

You show him the stickers on your aids--a cloud covering a sun, to be more precise--and he's totally ecstatic.

And I mean "jumping up and down cheering" ecstatic bc now he knows you picked those stickers because of him!! Because he's your favorite!!

Physically he's there but mentally he's the "yippee" autism creature

Sometimes you gotta lower the volume on your aids with how loud he accidentally can be, and he notices this fast.

"Oh! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!! So sorry!!" He fumbles. "Can I add something to the stickers maybe??? Googly eyes??? Glitter glue to make them shimmer and shine???"

"Thank you, Sun..but they're fine this way." You insist. "I don't want any glue dripping into my ears."

"Right! O-Of course!! We wouldn't want that now, would we? No glitter glue going into your brain!!"

Moon

The lunar animatronic, on the other hand, takes a bit longer to notice your hearing aids (considering how dark the daycare gets during the night cycle, he doesn't notice much).

When he does, he'll ask you some questions.

Like how long you've had them, how well they tune out background noise, etc.

It's all out of genuine curiosity, and you tell him whatever you knew, taking one of the aids out to show it to him.

And only then he examines the star-shaped stickers on them, staring for a while.

At first he automatically assumes they're themed after one of the Glamrocks...until you mentioned how similar they are to the stars on his hat and pants.

Finally, the gears in his mind click together.

"So you're saying....my outfit inspired you when you picked out these stickers?"

"Yep."

"How sweet of you, [y/n]...they look very nice. Glad I could be your muse." He snickers.

You never see it, but he's gonna be gushing over this every time you're working in the daycare now.

None of your coworkers paid any mind to Moon. They usually called him creepy or avoid conversing with him should they absolutely have to cross paths.

But you go out of your way to see him whenever possible; and the stickers are just a subtle yet sweet way of reminding him that he's always gonna be your favorite.

#clanask #anonymous #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf security breach x reader #glamrock freddy #glamrock chica #roxanne wolf #montgomery gator #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #headcanons #deaf reader #platonic

804 notes · View notes