#whether it came from the object of your affections or an outside observer

[possamble]

Thank you for writing the (messy but neccessary) farcille breakdown. You handled it so wonderfully aaaaaaaah!! Like the other anon I was wondering how far "rock bottom" could get (because chapter 4 already felt pretty rock bottom) but. Yeah. That's pretty rock bottom, huh. The tragedy of loving someone but the other person not understanding <- this applies to both of them.

I think it was really neat how you flipped the question on who's reaching out to who with the academy flashback and the final scene with Namari, because... Marcille clinging onto Falin really is just a reversal of their academy days, isn't it? To everyone who met them after they reunited, it was always Marcille chasing after Falin, but to those who were at the magic academy, it was Falin chasing after Marcille. From picking flowers and berries to eat together, inviting Marcille out to see a play, and generally monopolizing her free time... I'm sure any of them would say the same thing as Namari, but in reverse. No wonder everyone thinks Marcille is just another friend to Falin. They weren't there to witness her pining /j. Idk!! I was rereading the chapter and the academy flashback girl was like "why do you hang off of Marcille so much" and I screamed to myself, "hey wait. HEY WAIT."

[paper-mario-wiki]

"no art is good bc it's a misconfiguration of the natural world to suit man's vanity" Is an extremely misanthropic take on art. Is humanity not part of "the natural world"? Can one not make pigments from flowers or minerals? You say that the universe would never align so that a piece of art is made without human intervention, but the universe did align so that it could be made, you just assume humans aren't part of it. I understand that this is some faux-deep shit I'm on, but I love art and while I think good is kind of useless adjective when talking about art in general, to compare the concept of art to a tumor is a pretty bad faith take. Sorry if that was like, ironic or something and I just sent a rant into your inbox for nothing.

your faux-deep shit could never reach the faux-depths of my even shallower faux-deepness.

i think the main problem when establishing this argument in the first place was saying "all art is bad" because someone asked me if i liked any bad art, and i answered using "bad" as a shorthand for "not good". if i had known i'd be getting into this pedantic of an argument about it i definitely would have changed my wording, because things that are "not good" are not inherently "bad", which seems to be where the majority of the misunderstandings of my stance come from.

i'd ask you this: what could be considered "good" outside of something that affects humanity in some capacity? to be clear, you're absolutely right, humans ARE natural, humans ARE part of the world. but the idea of something being "good" didn't exist until humans came up with it.

100,000,000,000,000,000 light years away, two planets crash into each other, each with their own forms of biological life so different from earth's that we would find it difficult to even classify it as life if we were given the chance to observe it, but that doesn't matter because we would have never been given the opportunity to reach those planets anyway under any circumstances. is this a good thing? is it a bad thing? i don't think it's either, it's just something that happened.

because "good" and "bad" are code words used to reflect the societal values of the person using them, they cannot exist in a vacuum.

so if that's the case, and "good" and "bad" only exist to us, what does it mean to us?

well, something "good" is something with objective benefit or subjective enjoyment-- but subjective enjoyment of something can also contradict the nature of its objectivity. soup can be considered "good" because it sustains us and is therefore beneficial. soup can be considered to "taste good" because someone might enjoy the flavor. but "torture" can only be seen as "enjoyable", but it benefits nobody-- even if the person doing it enjoys it. that's just them subjectively enjoying it.

conversely, something can be objectively good but still subjectively unenjoyable, like having a soup that's healthy in a way you think tastes bad! you'd still benefit from it, even if you didn't enjoy the experience. but regardless of whether or not you enjoyed it, what has the greatest bearing on something being considered "good" is its objectivity, as it's something fewer people can debate.

now, all of that being considered, what can "art" do that is objectively good, without it serving some secondary purpose? something that is objectively good can be artistically created, like a children's hospital designed by a genius architect-- but its goodness in that case would be derived from its benefit, with the subjectivity of it being something that only enhances its good.

a piece of fabric, stretched across a wooden frame and painted using colorful oils, creates no benefit objectively, it exists solely in the world of subjectivity. how can something be "good" if the only thing it does is hold the potential (not the guarantee) for a person to look at it, and enjoy looking at it?

more importantly though, is that bad? it's not.

but it is superfluous.

^ please forgive me for typing all of this. im so sorry. it's just so easy to be pedantic. i promise im not a stick in the mud and i love art, i just also happen to be someone who is personally deeply concerned with rhetorically whittling communication down to the bare knob of its meaning (XRA style).

because it is something i find subjectively enjoyable.

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :) 

-----

“Keep an eye on him.”

Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.

It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.

She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.

“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.

“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow. 

“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss. 

It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.

“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering. 

“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared. 

“Zemo-”

“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…”

“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”

“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”

She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature. 

“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.

“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”

“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world. 

Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”

Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.

“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.

She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band. 

It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now. 

As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again. 

“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”

Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.

“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”

She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”

He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat. 

“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her. 

But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.

“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give. 

“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued. 

Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her. 

It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?

Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on. 

But oh, how much she wanted it to. 

“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk. 

“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”

At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.

“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly. 

It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all? 

She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more. 

“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”

“Please-” she rolled her eyes.

“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”

His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered. 

In more ways than one, she thought.

Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right. 

Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”

With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her. 

The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”

“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone. 

“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.

“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”

The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.

“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.

“What is there to lose?”

Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.

Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth. 

He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”

“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”

Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.

----

Part III

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[shroudcore]

Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (Finale)

Summary: The ghosts may have left, but the wedding they officiated is not something to be easily forgotten. Will unsaid feelings remain hidden? Idia thinks so, after seeing you with your admirers. 

Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

After that 3-star difficulty sidequest, it was finally time for the ghosts to leave. They were filing out through a shimmering silver portal to the Land of the Dead, which you joked about jumping into “for the meme”. Idia was quick to discourage it. The joke would’ve been funny at any other time than right now. 

Each ghost made sure to give the newlyweds their congratulations. Each congratulation made Idia want to take off into the night, never to be seen again. It was beyond embarrassing. Unbearable. Way past his limit of social interaction capability. Things were getting way too much to handle for his now-empty Energy bar. 

While Idia longed for the comfort and isolation of his dorm room, you were the one who thanked the well-wishers and said the goodbyes—from a safe distance, of course. 

“When we return, I want you to meet our baby!” Eliza announced before she stepped into the portal. You and Idia shared a look. As if reading each other’s minds, you checked your schoolmates’ faces for their reactions—which did not disappoint. Different ways of saying “Don’t come back!” filled the hall, in varying degrees of anger and vulgarity. Before she disappeared for good, Eliza huffed and stuck her nose up in the air—an expression that tonight’s failed suitors knew all too well. 

At her departure, the portal shrunk into a mere speck until it completely disappeared. Then came the loudest cheers of the night serving as Victory fanfare. It was all over! But before he went, Idia hoped to say goodbye and take a look at you in your suit one last time. Or maybe even ask you to hang out tomorrow, depending on his current Courage level. 

While he silently rehearsed his thank-yous and good-byes, he wondered if you knew that you were still holding his hand. He decided not to mention it. 

Unfortunately, his brief moment of (weak) celebration was cut short when he noticed that the now-mobile Groom Rejects were approaching. They might as well have red bars floating over their heads to warn him of danger. He froze, contemplating whether to: 

> Bear it and stay with you just until he was prepared to say goodbye (+10 relationship points -20 comfort LV)

> Just run off on his own without saying anything, ignoring your calls. (-10 relationship points +10 comfort LV)

For now, he decided to stick with Option 1. Just a little bit longer. 

“That was amazing!” Deuce exclaimed, rushing over to give you a high-five. You laughed and  met other high-fives, low-fives, fist bumps, and head pats that came your way with that lovely smile of yours. 

Suddenly, Ace rips you away from him. Suddenly, you weren’t holding hands anymore. The loud first-year put his arm around you and Idia couldn’t help but notice how easy and natural it looked. Meanwhile, there he was: someone who needed to rehearse his goodbyes. 

Clearly, there was a huge level difference here and Idia was the one disadvantaged. 

“Our hero!” Ace yelled, inspiring more cheers. The distance between you and Idia grew as your wave of admirers and friends swept you farther and farther away. He was an outsider once again, stuck watching the fun from the sidelines. Their eyes sparkled. Their mouths smiled. Their loud voices laughed and praised you and laughed with you again. 

They loved you. And Idia was no different. 

Everyone’s Friend and the Weird Shut-in. Was there hope?

“Brother, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Ortho’s voice cut through his stream of thoughts. Immediately, he feels the weight on his shoulders lighten. 

He watched as his brother, his beacon of hope, made his way around your fan club until he eventually reached his spot. Ortho wouldn’t care if he looked like a loser, standing there awkwardly at the side all alone. Finally, he was saved. 

My savior! “Ortho! Thank you, thank you…” 

“No injuries… tense muscles… an increase in cortisol production,” Ortho muttered, frowning. “Are you okay?” 

“No…” 

Ortho nods. “We’ll return to the dorm, then. But before that, we should thank the Prefect.”

“Oh… right.” Idia looked over to you, still surrounded by your “fans” like the SSR character you were. You listened to Azul, who prattled on and on about something that was oh-so-interesting that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. And Vil judged your suit’s design, reaching out to fix something near your neck. You cracked up at something Floyd said. You posed and smiled beside Cater as he took a selfie with you. 

His mind raced as it continuously spotted the students on his list and everything they did. What was so interesting about Azul? What was so funny about Floyd? Did you like Vil’s hardworking, confident attitude? Did you think Cater had a way with words? 

He looked away. 

“Ortho, I’m going back to my room,” he said with a heavy heart, admitting Defeat. He was underleveled, had zero energy, and zero SP (social points). He’ll see you… some other time. After his cry-sesh, maybe. 

“Huh? Don’t you want to talk to the Prefect first?” 

“I’ll just… DM them later,” he lied. In truth, all he wanted was to drown himself in a video game while he gorged on candy and tried not to think about you. Ortho’s eyes narrowed, but followed him as he sneakily left the hall anyway. 

You’d understand, right?

Once he and Ortho were out, he looked back at the hall doors, hating himself for being too shy and cowardly to make a move. He imagined charging back into the room, wedging himself in between your friends, grabbing your arm, and pulling you away. Then he’ll kabedon you and—

Who was he kidding? He can’t do that, and you probably wouldn’t like that. 

“It was terrible, brother. Nobody wanted to help!” Ortho said, and Idia thinks he didn’t need to be reminded that nobody liked him. 

“When the Prefect and I reached Diasomnia, we expected them to reject us too…” he mused. “But Malleus Draconia agreed to help us! Can you believe it?”

“Wait… Malleus-shi?” 

Ortho nodded enthusiastically. “Yes… because the Prefect talked to him… and then he cast a charm on them to help us ward off those ghosts! It was really nice of him.”

“I see…” Idia knew that you and Malleus were friends. But to actually help you and him? Maybe your relationship with the Diasomnia dorm leader ran deeper than he thought. Why else would he go through that trouble? 

“The Prefect volunteered without needing to be asked, you know,” said Ortho, who he now noticed was observing him carefully. Idia tried to ignore the way his brother’s eyes lingered on him as they walked (floated in Ortho’s case). 

“...I’m so glad their plan worked!”

Wait, what?

“Volunteered? Their plan?” All this time, he thought you’d been forced to do this by the Headmaster! You did always rant about Crowley promising you different sorts of rewards if you did jobs here and there. But… you got yourself into this mess… all for him? 

Idia looked at the hand you held just moments ago and dared not hope again. Maybe you would have done this for anyone else in his place. Maybe you treated everyone the same, and it just so happened that he was the one kidnapped by a ghost bride. 

Still, he felt bad for not doing as Ortho said earlier. It was too late to turn back, however, as Idia and Ortho finally reached the Hall of Mirrors. 

“Finally… I’m so tired,” said Idia, meaning it in all ways. But as he put one leg forward to enter the door to Ignihyde, he heard someone’s voice, along with the scuffle of shoes against the floor coming closer and closer to where he and Ortho stood. 

“Idia, wait up!”

Oh no. It’s you. Enter now! Enter now!

But no matter what his head told him to do, he remained rooted to his spot. He stood still despite his pounding heart, that elevator-like feeling in his stomach, and the blaring alarms in his head. 

Object of affection at 5m…

Ortho was probably seeing his vitals going haywire and giving him that look again. He turned to look at his brother… only to not find him there. 

Help… oh no…

2m… 

“Hey,” you gasped out, catching your breath. “When I turned around, you were gone…”

Yeah, same. Just like Ortho… 

No one said a word for a while. The silence was only filled by your heavy breathing as it slowly evened. Inwardly facepalming at himself, he decided to take the chance to tell you everything he should’ve said before he left. 

But before he could open his mouth and apologize for leaving, (gods know he had too many things to apologize for after tonight), he was taken into a warm embrace. 

OHMYGODSOHMYGODSOHMYGODSOKAYLET’SCALMDOWN

“I thought I was too late.” you mumbled into his suit. 

At that moment, without anyone else around, nothing else mattered but the safety of your arms. And damn, how good it felt to be embraced. Did anyone else get these hugs from you? Idia didn’t think so. He hesitantly lifted his arms up and hugged back. 

Looking up at the domed castle ceiling, he wondered what he did to deserve something this good. 

It’s okay. I can have this. He allows himself to melt into your arms, head drooping down to rest against your neck. 

“G-good thing you weren’t,” he finally whispered back, freezing as he heard you sob against his chest. Oh no, oh no, what do you do when your love interest is crying? Quick, quick, pull up the archive of romantic scenes from your memory. 

“Hey, hey, I-I’m okay, you see?” he said, patting your back awkwardly. You let go after releasing another sob to wipe your eyes with your sleeve. 

“Sorry I got your suit wet,” you said softly, turning your face away. “I’m really, really sorry about what happened there too.”

“About what?”

“The whole wedding thing...” You took a quick look at him but immediately dropped your gaze to the ground. 

Idia blushed. “I-It’s okay! D-don’t worry about it… I-” 

Come on, say more! Ugh… I hate myself. 

You pulled at our vest and slipped something out of it—an envelope. “I… wanted to tell you everything through a letter.”

Tell me what?

“But… Eliza came and took you before I could give it to you.” You avoided his eyes as your fingers tightened around the white envelope. Idia’s breath hitched, expecting you to crumple it. But to his relief, your fingers relaxed. Then, as if it took all your courage, you handed it to him with a slightly shaky hand. 

“It's old-fashioned, I know but yeah... just read it!” 

In the hall’s silence, he could hear your breaths quicken once again. 

“Th-That’s all I came here for. Goodbye!” 

Before he knew it, you were running off. Your arm waved frantically from a distance as every step carried you farther, farther away. He lifted his arm to wave back but you never saw it. You were gone and all he had left was the letter. 

His curiosity made him impatient. With fast and purposeful steps, he sprinted on the way to his room. What did he feel? Excitement? Dread? An unpleasant mix of both? His room, feeling farther than usual, was the only safe place he could experience whatever it was.

After a lot of walking and almost slipping over someone’s spilled soda (he cursed the shoes those ghosts made him wear. His very own would never fail him like that), he found himself in front of the doors, which slid open, revealing Ortho already inside. 

“You left me there!” Idia huffed. 

“Couples need alone time, brother,” replied his brother, innocently blinking.

“Wh-wha… we’re not a couple!” 

“Hmm? I could’ve sworn the signs were all there...”

A blushing Idia threw off the silly coat those ghosts made him wear and threw it over his desk chair. He sat on the bed, fingers racing to open the envelope. Ortho watched with great interest as two sheets of paper covered in your handwriting slipped out.  

Unfolding the first page, Idia took a deep breath and began reading:

Hey Player 1!

Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight last night. Maybe you can show me your new manga tomorrow? I know how excited you are about it.  I’m writing this while Grim’s asleep. He’ll never let me hear the end of it otherwise. 

I figured that this would be the best way to communicate my thoughts and feelings. This way, you won’t feel pressured to respond immediately. You can open and read it whenever you’re ready, in the safety of your room. I know it’s old-fashioned. But to me, a handwritten letter feels more personal—like I’m giving you a piece of myself. So here’s that piece of myself. Please, handle it with care. 

Beware. I’m about to get sentimental and mushy and cheesy and everything you cringe at! I hope you read on, anyway. 

First of all, I want you to know how much I admire you. Right from before we were friends, I was impressed by your intelligence and knowledge with technology. I’ve seen nothing like it back home. I always wondered why you hide yourself and those talents away. My curiosity drove me to want to get to know you. I’m glad I did. 

You were closed off. To you, I was just another normie. Do you remember? Your dismissal annoyed me, so I challenged you to a 1v1 match. I thought I was good, but you crushed me. I guess that’s where it started: our friendship… and something else. Soon, I found more and more reasons to admire you. Honestly, I find more with each passing day. 

I should have known, right from when songs started to make me think of you, that I was falling. I started to see you as, well, more than a friend. Your quick mind, your expressive hair, your soothing voice, your precious grin… your voice when you talk about things you love, your love of cats, and your candy, and your cold hands… Okay, I think you get the point.  But if you have time, I could go on forever. 

There’s something different in your eyes when you truly care. You say you’re bad at being sentimental and feel-y, but that’s okay! We express love differently. I see your love pour out in the way you perfect every detail on Ortho’s modifications, anyway. I’m sure he knows how much you love him. 

I want you to know how special you are to me. You’re so amazing, Idia. I wish you knew that. I want you to know that. 

I know it’s hopeless. You’re the young master to a noble house. I’m just… me. A homeless, magicless foreigner with nothing to my name. Nothing to offer but my feelings (and my superb gaming skills of course). I’m not asking nor expecting to be your special someone. But hey, I can be a top-tier teammate. A worthwhile BG opponent. A movie buddy. And most importantly—a friend. 

Our time together has always been a highlight of my difficult stay in NRC. The times we hung out in your room were my refuge from the outside world’s demands. Somewhere I was untouchable and safe from harm. Safe from demeaning remarks. Even if you never get back to this letter and decide you never want to see me again, I will always treasure the matches we played, the movies we watched, the candy we shared, and the memes we laughed over.

That’s all of it, really. Please don’t sleep too late. Watch your sugar intake. Listen to Ortho. Take care of yourself. 

Oh, and enjoy your new manga. 

Your best raid teammate, 

Player 2

Wide amber yellow eyes glistened as they repeatedly flitted over the words. A shaky thumb caressed the smudged ink from where a fallen teardrop marked the paper. Burning different shades at once, fire-hair slowly released itself from the tie it was forced into. Now free, it swathed Idia’s back in warmth like it should.

“Th-This can’t be real!” he sputters as he waved your letter around like he was fanning a bonfire. In a way, he was. 

However, Idia knew his hair wasn’t the only thing that kept him warm. He stared at the letter and it stared back. But no matter how many times he blinked, the words remained the same. You felt the same. 

“What have I done to unlock this route?” Idia clutched the letter to his chest, but noticed he was wrinkling it. “Nooo!” He quickly smoothed it over again. 

“They… they like-like me!” Saying it out loud made it more real. It was a fact! It was true all this time! Thinking of everything you did tonight: rescuing him like a true hero, running after him because you couldn’t keep your feelings secret for much longer… he couldn’t stop himself from swooning. 

“Like-like… did you mean love?”

“L-love?” Idia exclaimed. He suddenly felt dizzy, so he fell back onto his bed and talked to the ceiling. “It’s too early for that word!” 

But he knew the effect which that word had on him didn’t go unnoticed by Ortho. Well, at least he knew now that Idia wasn’t suffering from an illness. Can love be considered an illness? Idia recalls a documentary that said it was. Back then, he ate that up. Love made people do crazy things, after all. 

But ‘illness’ wasn’t an apt word to describe this dizzying happiness surging through him, was it? It was way too wonderful for a word like that.

“I’m so glad the Prefect finally confessed!” Ortho bounced happily, reflecting his brother’s joy. “I knew they would do it soon!” 

Mouth hanging open, Idia looked at his brother. “Wait… you knew?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Ortho giggled. “Vitals can’t keep secrets!” 

***

Contrary to plan, Idia didn’t touch his video games, nor gorge on candy, nor cry himself to sleep. Instead, he replayed the night’s events in his head over and over like a song he couldn’t get enough of. It had been two hours and thirty-five minutes since he read your letter. Two hours and thirty-five minutes since his world was turned upside down. In his reflection on the dark screen of his off tablet, he almost looked different. He saw someone who was admired. Wanted. Loved. 

Was that what you saw whenever you looked at him?

Ortho told him what the next move was: asking you out. He was scared. You might have changed his view of himself a bit, but that didn’t mean he was suddenly ready to go the distance and conquer the world, or whatever those overenthusiastic extroverts say. The night was still too much, and maybe he still needed those three weeks of being a complete hermit. 

Okay. Maybe with your help, I'll get there little by little. 

Perhaps you could watch a movie in his room... Would you be okay with that? You always hung out with him in there. But what if you wanted to do something outside? Eh, maybe it all didn’t matter, as long as you were together. 

When he put on his headphones, he knew which song to choose right away. There was one forgotten song in his music library that he couldn’t bring himself to delete. A love song. It wasn’t a bad one, because Idia would never keep a bad song in his music library. It’s just that the lyrics  were too happy—its singer so blissfully in love that it amplified the loneliness that had always been there.

Now playing: “Immortal Flowers” — SERPINA

This time, it’ll be different. Tonight, he puts it on repeat. He listens to it with a head for once clear of uncertainties. Instead, he thinks of fluffy otome scenarios. 

That date idea would have to wait. For now, he’ll imagine and dream of you, with your warm smile and open arms—skin basking in the glow of blue fire light. 

THE END. 

~

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

There you have it! Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this 4-part series. Would love to hear some feedback! 

Btw, the title of the song Idia listens to at the end comes from “Conversations with Persephone” by Nikita Gill. “What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” 

[bubble-tea-bunny]

sweet talk

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: been rewatching ouran and found the time to write smth small. basically a really late valentine’s fic lol. i’m drafting an idea for takashi as well atm. maybe kyoya after? ;)

word count: 1,844

At this time of year, the weather is chilly, the air cold even without the presence of wind and warranting the need for a scarf to avoid a red-tipped nose and numb cheeks. Most days are gloomy, the overcast sky glaringly bright and difficult to look at. But today, it would seem the divine hand in charge of the course of the seasons has granted a reprieve, the clouds parting so the sun might wash over the grass that you and Tamaki sit upon currently, in the garden of the Suoh estate.  

The gardeners had finished their tasks this morning, as instructed by Tamaki the night before. It gave you two the opportunity to be out there alone in the afternoon. The hedges are trimmed and tidy, and the smell of freshly cut grass is strong. You inhale deeply, chest puffed, and sigh in satisfaction as the scent reaches your nose. It had been so long since you sat out in a garden, owed to the fact it had been too cold for that lately.

Tamaki chuckles at your enthusiasm and rifles through the picnic basket he’d brought with him. He pushes aside the array of deserts—cake slices, chocolate bars, fruit tarts, and more—their colorful wrappings crinkling loud enough to grab your attention.

“Where is it…” he mutters.

You tilt your head. "Where is what?”

The tip of Tamaki’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, evidence of his concentration, and when he finally finds what he’s searching for, he holds it up like a first place prize, complemented by an exclamation: “Aha!”

It’s a small plastic pouch, clear with red stripes and tied near the top with a matching, shiny red poly ribbon to keep it closed. There’s what you assume to be candy inside, in various colors, but you don’t recognize it. You’re still just as clueless, but you don’t need to voice your question because Tamaki can see the confusion written across your face.

“It’s commoner candy!” he explains. “Well, commoner Valentine’s candy, more specifically.”

You continue to watch, intrigued by what he’s brought, as he pulls at the ribbon to loosen it and opens the pouch, reaching inside for one of the pieces of candy. He holds up the heart-shaped treat, gripped carefully between index finger and thumb, and angles it so you can see what’s written on it: Sweetheart.

Upon realizing there’s wording on it, and that the same must go for every heart in the bag, your eyes light up. “Cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tamaki agrees, voice quiet as he observes the candy. The nickname is printed red though the lettering isn’t too sharp, which gives away that it was done by a machine. “Haruhi got one for all the host club members, and I wanted to share mine with you.”

When he turns to you, amethyst eyes warm like a summer night, you smile. And when he offers the bag of heart candies to you, you eagerly reach in for one. “How thoughtful!” You turn over the piece you picked out: Only You.

“Well, shall we try them together?” Tamaki inquires, and you nod. The two of you pop the candy into your mouths in unison, then sit silently for a moment in contemplation.

It’s… unique, is the best description you can come up with. The powdery, pressed substance is basically a sugar bomb that melts once it comes in contact with your tongue. But it isn’t the quality of sugar you’re accustomed to—it’s far and away from the refined sweetness of the handmade confections stashed away in the picnic basket Tamaki brought along. Still, this mass-produced goody is delightful in its own way, in taste and novelty, for you have never seen such small candies with words on them, and you say as much to your boyfriend, the last traces of the heart candy lingering on your lips which you lick away.

“They’re charming,” you remark, reaching for another piece. “For when you can’t find the words or get them out yourself.” You read what’s written on the yellow heart you grabbed, then turn it to show Tamaki: Be Mine.

Tamaki’s attention briefly diverts down to read it as well, and the corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided grin as he meets your eyes again. “Sure, they can be useful for some people, but I can get by just fine without candy telling me what to say. How could I call myself the king of the host club if I weren’t able to string together pretty words?” Always conducting himself with some semblance of dramatic flare, he puts a hand to his chest, and the sunlight reflects off his eyes in a way that makes it seem like there’s a tear or two forming in the corners.

As usual, his acting is impeccable, and you can’t contain your smile; he’s such a natural. You have no objections to his claim as king of the school’s host club, and if you’re being honest, you wish you had even half the charisma he does, that some of the skill he possesses at waxing lyrical would rub off onto you via proximity alone.

“They would’ve come in handy for me that day I confessed to you,” you admit shyly, and it’s Tamaki’s turn to tilt his head, confused but waiting for you to expound. “These candies say all the things I wanted to say to you then.”

The day you came to terms with your feelings about Tamaki and the day you actually revealed them to him were different, and the time in between had been spent in a state of conflict over whether it was worth mustering up the courage to approach him about it. There was little doubt in your mind that the president of the host club received declarations of love left and right, a routine part of his week, a clockwork consistency like that of waking in the morning and laying down to sleep in the evening. You’re a drop of water in the ocean; what could possibly make you stand out?

For all that, you figured you should confess anyway. Rejection was still an answer and it was better than nothing. At least after the gentle let down (because truly, Tamaki is, without fail, graceful in matters of love, both the reciprocal and the unrequited) your turmoil over what he may say would finally be put at ease.

Though you rehearsed over and over what you would say and how you would say it, the practice ends up being useless, and you weren’t sure why you even bothered. Once you met his kind gaze—expectant and patient, giving you the opportunity to gather the words in the stretching silence that would be oddly too long in any other context—the resolve you had slowly been building on your walk to the meeting point by the fountain crumbled. You tripped over your words at the sight of his tender smile. Tamaki just had that effect on people, and you wished he’d look at you that way always. To be on the receiving end of his affection was to bask in the warmth of a sun that never sets.

It’s a feeling you’re distinctly reminded of now, sitting in the garden on an uncharacteristically sunny day for winter and the center of Tamaki’s attention, and you think you might be set alight from the sheer intensity (due mostly to Tamaki; the sun is poor competition in contrast). He wears that beautifully soft expression, mind clearly having thought back to your confession as yours just had. But it seems his recollection differs slightly, for he presents a counterpoint.

“I thought you handled it perfectly.” He sets the bag of heart candies on the grass and braces himself with his now freed hand, which allows him to lean closer to you. He enters your bubble but you never mind it, and his touch is feather-light as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

You’re unpersuaded, however, and raise a brow. “Really?”

Tamaki chuckles and nods, blonde hair bouncing with the singular motion. “Your eyes spoke for the words you had trouble finding. I might be the one stringing together pretty poetry like diamonds around your neck”—his fingers slide lower to trace the curve of your collarbone left exposed by the cut of your blouse, and you shiver—“but you have no need for words at all, much less the turns of phrases on pieces of candy.”

“Is that why you liked me too?” you ask, remembering his own confession that had followed closely on the heel of yours. You keep your voice hushed because given how close to each other you are, there’s no need for any higher of a volume.

Tamaki hums in confirmation. His index finger delicately taps once, twice, thrice, on the hollow at the base of your throat, a sort of absentminded movement while absorbed in his thoughts, before he once more brings his hand up, cradling your cheek. “You say you’re a drop in the ocean but you’re the drops of morning dew on the roses just outside my bedroom window. My heart flutters to breathe you in.”  

You smile, bashful, and set your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. Your cheeks have darkened in a blush Tamaki would like to kiss. “Okay, I’m convinced,” you concede with a murmur. He’s so close to you now. “When I admitted how I felt, maybe it didn’t go as badly as I thought.”

This elicits another laugh from Tamaki. Instead of acting on his desire to run his lips along your silken skin (there would be time for that later), he settles for a quick peck on your nose, then reaches into the pouch of heart candies, temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. His fingers curl around two pieces and he pulls them both out rather than dropping one, but he sees the words on them before you do since his hand obscures them from your view.

“The powers governing destiny have destined our souls for each other,” he declares. “Because you and me, it’s love.”

He uncurls his fingers to reveal the candy in his palm, and you look down at them. The green one reads You & Me, and the blue one It’s Love. This prompts you to giggle. It’s music to his ears.

“What happened to not needing candy to tell you what to say?” Your tone is playful.

Tamaki shrugs, unable to hide his amused grin. “I pulled them out at random. If this is the universe speaking to me, who would I be to argue?”

You have no counter to this, not that you think there even is one. Destiny is destiny and as Tamaki feeds you one of the hearts and you bite into it, the sugar once more dissolving on your tongue, you can only thank those powers which make the world turn for conferring their blessing upon the two of you in such a deliciously sweet way.

[supremeinlilac]

Three’s not a crowd, especially when it’s us (1)

Summary: Its just part one idk what to say? oh, its a slow burn :) The idea came to me at 4am and I’ve just ran with it, it was initially going to be like 4 parts, and now its probably more like 10.

Word count: 2546

Warnings: mild language 

You weren’t quite sure how you’d managed to get through 2 months of being at Miss Robichaux's without accidently revealing your true ‘power’ to anyone. You thought that Ms Goode, of all people, would see through your bland lie about setting your families house on fire being the reason you’d ended up at the academy’s front doors. Instead, she’d simply nodded at you with a kind smile and a tour of the house.

You’d met all the witches, heard stories about the house and how this was now one of many schools like it that the Supreme had opened since rising. Some of the other houses were for the young witches and were more discreetly placed to avoid the inevitable hate crimes that witches still faced, while some were for the older women who’d always been taught to hide in the shadows and supress themselves rather than flourish. You’d fallen into the middle, gifted witches that were brought to learn under the Supremes’ close guidance and protection.

Your first night had involved sitting beside the fireplace with Zoe and Queenie, who were asking of your abilities and showing their own with stories of before Cordelia’s reign as supreme. You were awed by Queenies voodoo abilities, laughing at the time she’d stabbed her hand with a fork when Madison was being bitchy. You insisted she show you sometime. Madison was back at this point, you’d yet to meet her as she was off on some trip but Zoe had already advised you to stay clear. They weren’t even sure how she’d got back from hell, normally she would be the first to brag about something like that, but apparently she’d kept relatively quiet about it.

You’d met Ms Venable the next day, after hearing hushed rumours from the other girls about her sharpness and generally how they were all scared of her intimidating grandeur. She’d given you your lesson timetable with a quick flick of her eyes down your body at your state of undress when you’d come to the door, barking about having some decency. Her striking features and the perfect peaks of her red hair had you scrambling for something coherent to babble back to her as she turned and left you, mouth agape and staring after the strike of her cane on the ground.

Although Ms Venable had no magical abilities of her own, she was no less admired and feared among the other witches at the academy, her quick wit and sharp tongue more than compensating and aiding in her looming dominance. She prided herself in teaching the girls practical non-magic skills and subjects that they could put to use in due course when their time within the school’s halls ran out.

The girls had whispered and giggled to you about Ms Cordelia having a thing for Ms Venable, because of how she used to flush and stumble over her words in the presence of the woman. You hadn’t noticed in your brief week at the academy, mainly due to not having seen them together an awful lot in that time.

Over the weeks you found yourself watching their fleeting interactions, mentally noting the way Cordelia would shift under her gaze at the breakfast table. How she would be the first to pick up the fallen cane as it clattered to the ground; never using her telekinesis for it either, she would go out of her way to get up and retrieve it, small smile and glances exchanged as she did so.

You understood why the girls had picked up on Cordelia’s feelings for the redhead, but you were surprised at how they’d missed the obvious way Ms Venable would soften when she looked at Cordelia teaching when she’d walk past the open classroom door, or the way she’d grip her cane until her knuckles whitened when she caught one of the girls imitating the Supreme. You thought it was obvious, maybe it was just you. Maybe it was just that you’d grown rather fond of her and liked to observe the small habits that she’d do when annoyed or relaxed.

It was clear they didn’t just like each other, but that they were together, whether they formally declared it or not, to you at least; the lingering touches and glances when they thought no one was looking.

Over your weeks at the academy, you’d grown to appreciate the time you were able to spend alone with either women. You were always the first to volunteer your time in the greenhouse or to carry files for Ms Venable when she walked past a classroom with papers balanced precariously in one arm.

Cordelia had developed a soft spot for you, as an eager and caring student. You’d laugh and mess around with the plants in the greenhouse and share stories of times when your magic hadn’t quite gone to plan. You’d become infatuated with her laugh on one of these nights, when she’d let down all barriers and just enjoyed herself without worry.

Once, and at the time you’d totally thought yourself to be completely pushing your luck, you’d arranged a dinner for the pair of them out there, hauling Wilhemina’s chair outside from the kitchen so that she would be comfortable. You’d known that they’d both been stressed and hadn’t had much time for themselves away from the hum of the girls. Happy as always to oblige, you’d thought they’d appreciate the small moment to enjoy a meal together in the peace of Cordelia’s safe space.

They did, of course. Although it was only the Supreme who voiced her thanks, squeezing your shoulder tightly while Ms Venable shot you a momentary smile and a nod of approval. Since then, you wanted nothing more than her approval again.

***

At the dinner table, Madison had made some offhand remark about your magic which had sent ripples of barely contained laughter down the table. You’d looked up to Zoe who just gave a sympathetic grimace and a shrug, everyone else just continued sipping at the soup, an occasional slurp breaking the quietness. Everyone was so used to Madisons comments and attitude that they just took to ignoring it in uncomfortable silence.

You were not used to it. You didn’t understand why everyone could just sit and let her berate people as she did, you’d been brought up in kindness and empathy. Pushing your chair back, you emptied the contents of your bowl into the bin before quickly leaving the kitchen, guilty faces watching you leave. Cordelia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, knowing as the headmistress and supreme she shouldn’t stand for the way Madison talked to some of the girls, but she knew that aggravating her further would be a worse idea. Wilhemina’s hand came to settle discreetly on her thigh, squeezing slightly and grounding her in a silent way to tell her that it wasn’t her fault.

You’d slipped out into the greenhouse to let of some steam, moving objects around and letting yourself set random balls of paper on fire safely as an outlet for you to bubble your frustrations out through magic. After having done so, you settled into one of the chairs in the corner, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them.

It had been Ms Venable who came through the doors to find you, heaving a sigh as she lowered herself into the chair beside you and balanced her cane against the arm. She sat rigidly, as always, hands clasped in her lap and one leg balanced over the other. Allowing herself to observe you, she took in your slumped shoulders and tired face which you hid in your drawn up knees.

“Cordelia sent me.” She stated, straight to the point as always, and you lifted your head in acknowledgement.

She’d lied, Cordelia hadn’t sent her. The supreme had actually wanted to come herself but Wilhemina had said that she’d go, that she needed to talk to you anyway; but she’d never tell you that of course. She had a stature to uphold.

You sat in uncomfortable silence, neither one knowing what to say to put the other at ease. Wilhemina didn’t really know how to start conversations with anyone apart from Cordelia that didn’t begin with a barked command or condescending jab.

“Ignore Madison. That insolent girl needs to be put in her place.” She quipped; lips drawn into a thin scowl before softening as you looked up at her. “From what I’ve seen and been told, your magic is coming along quite nicely. You should be proud of your progress.” She added quickly, suddenly finding great interest in the hanging plants that Cordelia had been tending to over the past few days: a new addition to the greenhouse.

“No. she was right. I’m not upset about Madison; I’m upset because no one knows me. Not really.” You mused, an appreciating smile gracing your lips for a second at her words. It wasn’t that you were overly affected by Madisons words, it had just served as a reminder to how you were keeping everyone in the dark.

“What do you mean?” She asked softly, as soft as you’ve ever heard her talk, hand reaching to draw your knees out from under your chin so you could uncurl to speak to her properly. You inhaled a shaky breath, fingers digging crescents into your knees as you prepared to tell her the thing you’d been hiding for months.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” You asked hopefully, knowing it wasn’t something she could, or even would want to promise to you. She shook her head shortly, “you know I can’t promise you that.” Pushing it to the back of your mind, you decided to just blurt it out; now or never so to speak.

“I’ve been keeping my natural power a secret. I lied on my first day. I- I didn’t set my house on fire.” You admitted, head hanging shamefully and tears pricking at your vision. You didn’t need to look at Wilhemina to see the scowl that would inevitably be forming to replace the slight smile she’s had, at your stupidity.

“And you didn’t think Ms Goode needed to know of this?” watching you in disbelief, shaking her head and tutting. “You’ve been here long enough to know better, missy.” She scolded, making to get up by bracing her hands firmly against her knees and reaching for her cane.

You scrambled off your seat, frantically holding your hands up in front of you towards her in an attempt to stop her from going. Your hands found purchase on her wrists and you guided her slowly to sit back down, pushing slightly when she protested.

“No, no please- I mean, don’t go.” You pleaded, eyes wide, squatting in front of her so you could fall to a kneel, making sure your face was in her line of vision and she could see how scared the thought of having to tell Cordelia of your dishonesty was making you. Shuffling in place where you knelt, you quietly muttered your thanks when she settled back against the chair.

She scoffed audibly to make you aware of her distaste at the current situation but made no attempt to move your hands from where they now rested near her hands on her knees, or even to suggest that you move them yourself. Accepting that you weren’t going to let her leave until she’d listened, she let her curiosity pique and, raising her brow in question, she asked you shortly.

“What ability is so embarrassing that you decide to keep it from us all for so long? Lord knows it can’t be as bad as being a human gluten detector.”

You appreciated her dry attempt at humour to deflect from the uncomfortable silence you’d fallen into. Fidgeting your fingers against the fabric of her skirt, you remembered a dream you’d had where you’d told Zoe of your power and she’d turned the whole coven against you. Brushing it off, telling yourself that Zoe would never do that, you continued to admit to Ms Venable.

“I’m not even sure of it myself, I can’t find a name for it anywhere. I don’t even know if it has a name.”

“So it’s rare?” Wilhemina seemed to strike an interest then, straitening up and raising her eyebrows as if to prompt you to continue. She did this until she seemed to remember that she’s meant to be uninterested and she forced herself to scoff and reached to tweak her earring deftly between finger and thumb.

“It will have a name. Incompetence is the reason you cannot find it.” She stated coldly, lips pursed in intolerance. “That or your just looking in the wrong place,” she added, noting the way you looked down at your trembling and twitching fingers when she was mean.

You paused, having a momentary realisation of what you were doing before the thought was swiftly pushed to the side of your mind by the familiar pull of your magic at your fingertips.

“C-can I show you?” you blurted, almost clamping your hand over your mouth at your unexpected boldness.

“You most certainly will do no such thing, it’s not me that needs to be aware of your abilities, it is Ms Goode that you need to show.” She barked, defensiveness coming back out at your request. You tried not to take it to heart, knowing that that was just her way. Not that she would ever tell you, but Wilhemina felt a lot more secure talking about magic with Cordelia present, where she knew she wouldn’t be judged for having a less secure knowledge of the field. She liked to always be the most well versed in the room, hated to be spoken at about a topic she was new to.

“I can’t show Ms Goode without you.” You tried to explain, an itch of annoyance bubbling under your skin when she laughed at you again mockingly.

“I can’t show Ms Goode without you.” She mimicked, face pulled into a grimace which made you scowl, and exaggerating the words to a degree that just felt excessive, even for Ms Venables constant condescendence.

Your mouth fell open. You couldn’t believe this woman’s nerve.

Something suddenly snapped in your head at her incessant mocking and the condescending tone she used, and you found yourself moving your hands quickly from her knees to her hands, linking your fingers tightly before she could even react. You watched her eyes raise in surprise and the cocky smirk fall from her lips as she attempt to pull away unsuccessfully.

“What are you- get your hands off me!” She exclaimed; voice higher than normal in surprise as your quick movements caught her off guard.

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the way her hands pulled within yours and the sting of her nails digging into the delicate skin of your palms as she tried to free herself. The heat of your magic burned under your skin, the annoyance you felt only serving as a fuel, directing all your power towards the woman in your grip.

When you felt the snap of your magic release, Wilhemina let out a cry of pain and you almost stopped.

Almost.

***

  Part 2

Just to clarify, your powers do not involve giving people orgasms lmaoo. I will never try to leave anything on a cliffhanger ever again rip.

taglist : @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @extraordinarilycelestrial​@toujours-ensanglante​@mssallymckenna @okpaulson  @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark​ @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @amethyst-bitch​​ @its-soph-xx​,,if you want to be added just send me an ask :))

[bubblegumbeech]

What use is a Memory Compared to a Future?

Day 1 Dannymay: Memory

 He woke up slowly, feeling like an empty pool of water catching rain for the first time. His thoughts were short, tiny little things pittering and pattering around in his mind. His senses came back to him in fragments, the feeling of cold stone solid against him and surrounding his body entirely, an electric unrecognizable smell mixing with the faint scent of death and decay, then sound.

 “Pariah?” a voice said. It was a nice voice, low and deep with a touch of gravel. He liked listening to it.

 “By all means, you can stay in the sarcophagus, if you wish.”

 Was he in a sarcophagus? He cracked open one of his eyes. The other simply twitched and sent a twinge of pain across his face. It took a moment for the image before him to come into focus.

 When it did, what he saw was breathtaking.

 Ruby red eyes and smooth blue skin hidden under a deep purple cowl framing the most beautiful face he had ever seen. At least, he couldn’t imagine ever seeing a face quite as beautiful as this one. If features like this were common then he would probably greatly enjoy his existence surrounded by them.

 “Ah,” the beautiful stranger with the beautiful voice spoke, “you’re awake. I was beginning to worry.”

 The stranger’s voice was dry, and held a touch of familiarity that he filed away as important for later. It was likely that something was amiss, if the stranger knew him while      he     did not yet know himself.

 He wet his lips and tried to speak, his voice rough with disuse, “you needn’t lie.”

 It had been a lie, or at the very least, it had not been the full truth, that this stranger worried about him. It was likely a quip, a sarcastic comment meant to rile him, and Pariah felt it best to respond in kind. The last thing he would ever admit to was any kind of vulnerability, especially in front of something so seemingly perfect.

 His eyes caught on the scar that snaked its way through the stranger’s eye and along his cheek. It was the same eye that refused to open for him and he wondered if there was a connection. A history that was held out of his reach. And then he wondered exactly why he seemed to lack any memory or solid knowledge at all.

 The first step, of course, would be figuring out who he was. The next would be figuring out where he was, and then figuring out this stranger, and what relationship they might have had. Whether he needed to do something to drag this handsome stranger closer to him.

 The stranger scoffed, “I see you haven’t changed much, Pariah. Too much to expect you to believe someone might have anything resembling affection for you-“

 “Do you?” he asked, testing the name Pariah in his mind. It fit surprisingly well, clicked into place and was pleasant to hear spoken in the stranger’s deep voice.

 The stranger blinked. “Do I what?”

 Pariah stepped fully out of the sarcophagus and into the stranger’s space. “Harbor affection for me?”

 A flush spread over the stranger’s cheeks, a deep purple spilling like watercolor in the soft blue and creating a tantalizing contrast. “I hold no such thing!” he hissed, sharp fangs on display as he scowled.

 A shame. Pariah would have to make moves to change that somehow.

 He acknowledged the stranger’s discomfort and took a step back, taking the chance he had to observe in his surroundings.  It was a castle, large and mostly European. Upon further inspection, however, influences of ancient Egyptian tombs could be found in the details, and particularly the traps  . The deep red of the brick was at contrast with the slight green of the ambience around them- ectoplasm. As for where he was …

 His mind drew a blank. He could recognize the ambient ectoplasm for what it was, but could not name the location itself. How frustrating.

 “Pariah?” the stranger asked as he stepped away to more closely examine the castle’s structure.

 Pariah turned his attention back towards him, taking in the stranger’s appearance once more. Beyond the beauty and piercing red eyes, he had a clock embedded into his chest, and his legs dissolved into a wispy tail, his cloak floating gently behind him. A ghost. He was a ghost.

 From the soft thrum of the core in his chest, and the lack of any beating heart or need for air, Pariah was likely to be a ghost as well. Objectively it made sense, and when Pariah attempted to stop and think about it, there was little else he could have been.

 He wondered, if he should ask a question, would the stranger answer? Would it be best if he attempted to hide his lack of familiarity? Would admitting it plainly be equivalent to holding out a dagger with which he may be attacked? But how much could he discover without fully tipping his hand?

 The sarcophagus… Clearly he’d been sealed away in it somehow, and possibly for some time. Pariah tilted his head before turning to his companion and asking, “How long?”

 Best to keep it vague, bank on assumptions made.

 He watched as the stranger’s expression twisted, just slightly. Enough for Pariah to read the guilt, the discomfort, and he found himself wondering exactly who this was, floating in front of him almost close enough to touch but far enough to flee.

 “Longer than I can justify,” he finally answered. “In all honesty I’m surprised your core is so intact. I would have expected some kind of damage, locked away as you were.”

 Damage, yes, that was certainly likely. He turned away. Would the stranger follow if he left?

 There was really only one way to test it. He started walking towards the entrance of the castle, looking around and taking in everything he could, each puzzle piece and missing bit of knowledge. Something clicked into place. He recognized the structure, could describe the ambient ectoplasm outside the windows, and he could feel his age. He knew there was a history here that he had once been privy to. A history that was lost to him now.

 Being that he was a ghost now, it was likely that at one point he had been alive. That was how ghosts worked, right? Then again, it seemed unlikely that his companion had ever been constrained to something as fickle as mortality.

 His companion had followed him, at a distance and clearly uncomfortable with his actions, but following nonetheless. It settled something inside Pariah, a hum of affirmation in his core. Now if only he could find a way to discover his name, or at the very least a moniker by which to call him.

 “No more questions, Pariah?” Suspicion laced his words, and Pariah glanced back at him, not bothering to stop. There was too much he didn’t know, too much he could give away. “I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type.”

 “Everyone experiences things that might change them,” he offered accusation, interested in whether the barbs he planted would pierce.

 His companion flinched, small, almost imperceptible. An admittance of guilt, something that Pariah should probably hold against him. It was entirely possible that the one who released him from his sleep had been the one to force him into it in the first place.

 Was his loss of memories intended, then? Or merely a side effect? Was he refusing to admit something already well known, or keeping his companion in suspense? What an interesting dance they were in, a tug of war where Pariah had no rope to spare and no reason to admit it.

 “You seem more subdued. Seeing my face when you first awoke, I expected for you to fly into one of your rages,” his companion said, offering an accusation of his own right back.

 Strange though, flying into a rage didn’t sound like him. It seemed too sudden a thing for Pariah, a quick burst of uncontrolled emotion. Was that something he should expect from himself? He’d have thought himself in more control than that.

 But he need neither admit nor deny anything here and now, so instead he switched tracks entirely, turned towards his companion and said, “Why would I awake in a rage, when the first thing I see is as beautiful as you?”

 The other ghost sputtered, the same colorful blush splashing across his cheeks, and Pariah longed to follow it beyond where the hood hid it away. He wanted to uncover him and see his ethereal companion in his entirety, every feature unobscured and available for Pariah to peruse at his heart’s leasure. He desired to trace his fingers along every feature, to catalog them properly so that he might not forget them again, no matter how pleasant the discovery.

 “Is this some ploy to win me back into your arms?” his companion said. The ambient ectoplasm swirled around them, drenched in his emotions. Twisted, complicated things painted in thick layers of history and intimacy that Pariah was a stranger to. “Did you forget I betrayed you? That we saw your fall, orchestrated it twice over? Do you think perhaps I might trust you, when I have no reason to expect anything but bitterness and resentment from you?”

 “So you’re saying I’ve succeeded before?”

 There was a pause, a moment in time where nothing moved, and his companion stared at him, incredulous. Pariah dared not move himself. As skittish as the other ghost was, there was no reason to risk scaring him off so soon. Especially when Pariah had only just now admitted to lacking the history his companion was so clearly drowning in.

 “You don’t… remember?” he asked, his voice soft. Pariah tilted his head, an admittance in itself, and watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions seemed to play upon the other. It was fascinating, to watch the scowl melt away and be so easily replaced with increasingly more complicated emotions. Hope, anxiety, distrust.

 It was intoxicating.

 Pariah had him before, in his previous life, and lost him. He’d have to be sure, this time, not to let go.

 “...Your name.” It could have been a question, or a statement. Pariah answered either way, easily offering the name he had inferred. Judging by the way his companion’s face crumpled though, he hadn’t been entirely correct. “It’s Pariah Dark.”

 Ah, yes that sounded more complete. A full name for what was once a complete identity, not the tattered shreds held together that Pariah was now. He nodded and his companion nodded back, guilt quickly overtaking his features.

 Well that wouldn’t do. Out of all the expressions he’d seen so far that was certainly the least attractive. The coy smirk from earlier, or the flustered blush, those suited him better by far. Pariah stepped closer and spoke softly, “I’d rather know yours, I think, so that I needn’t call you handsome stranger in my head.”

 The blush came back easily and Pariah smiled, reaching a hand to tug away the damned hood blocking his view. A gloved hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him, and Pariah stilled at the contact. He purred, touch starved in his long captivity, and the other ghost looked up, caught, his eyes wide and startled.

 Pariah lifted a brow, his question unanswered, and his companion released his arm and backed away, out of reach. He didn’t let the disappointment show, simply followed with his eyes. They tracked every movement, every shift of his shoulders, the ticking of his clocks. It was some time before he was able to answer at all.

 “Clockwork. My name is Clockwork.” He frowned, clearly hurt but unwilling to show it. “Are you telling me you don’t know who I am?”

 That wasn’t accurate, Pariah mused, it wasn’t so much that he did not know who Clockwork was, but rather that Pariah could not remember him.

 “I know who you are,” he argued. That was, if anything, what he knew most assuredly. It was there, etched into Pariah’s core and written plain as day upon Clockwork’s features.

 “Oh?”

 “You’re mine.”

[nightswithkookmin]

RE HOW BIGHIT MARKETS BTS

Thanks for the question dear.

Marketing is for a lot of things but in BTS's case, I'd say the primary goal of marketing them is to expose the entire group and or the individual members to an audience, a particular audience at a time, to brand them in a way that makes them appealing to that target market- to put it simply.

During one of the recent run episodes, when Jimin performed his dance from Serendipity- which I must say, God he is breathtakingly beautiful when he dances. Serendipity and the choreo is my weakness. If I see anything better than that- hold on, there's filter too. Ayayaya.

Stream Serendipity and Filter🔪

Oh and did y'all see JM's bit in Film out? Omg! I'm afraid I'd have to fly to South K to kiss his talented ass morning, afternoon, evening.

Who's coming?

Anywho, when Jimin performed Serendipity on Run and suggested that was the dance the staff was performing, the members- cough RM, quickly pointed out how he was plugging, self promoting (to Run's target audience)

Run has a different demographic.

When Suga talked about them not being funny on their Let's BTS show on KBS the Host pointed out how they were actually funny in their Run episodes.

A lot of Army(who are already fans of BTS or each individual member) watch Run but not all who watch Run are Army or even listen to BTS songs. So any performance of an individual's music or choreo would attract such a 'unique' viewer who might go on to become that member's stan or bias etc.

Similarly, when a member embarks on a solo project they are exposed to a new or unique audience. That's where most of the solo stans come from.

For V, his fanbase are not just made up of people who enjoy him as a musician but as an actor as well.

He has a strong fanbase in SK outside of 'Army' because of his exposure to the Korean market beyond BTS and this comprises of his musical collaborations with Korean Artists and film companies such as his OST Sweet Night on the series Itaewon class.

It's the same with Suga and IU, his Agust D mixtapes which draws in audiences that are not necessarily into boybands, RM's Mono whixh attracts strong hiphop fans, Jimin's dance collaborations with Taemin for example and his contemporary dance performance which attracts people in the world of contemporary dance and ballet- point in case the black swan performance at the end of the year, Jin and Hobi's MCing etc.

All these projects exposes them to unique audiences and markets outside of Army or BTS's own fanbase.

And I think the best way to understand how this is important or how this affects BigHit's marketing approach is to look at their recent YouQuiz interviews.

Jimin, Jhope and JK were paired to attract aspiring dancers or persons who want to be dancers and learn from these three dance leaders of BTS- or at least they were paired to appeal to them in my opinion.

Tae and RM were equally paired to appeal to creatives and creative minds and persons who are more into composing and writing lyrics and are full of passion and musical geniuses.

Jin and Suga were paired to appeal to mature audiences.

Ten out of ten when any pair is paired in BTS it is for marketing reasons to appeal to certain fanbase or audiences and are often strategic moves unless of course it's to balance things out to not create the impression they are promoting subunits within the group in furtherance of the BTS kumbaya agenda- Team over units or solos.

So Jikook are not gonna be allowed to sit together all the time even if they want to, neither would JinKook, or Sope.

They shake and reshuffle sometimes.

And like Tae said in his 2018 VLive, the company decides who they collaborate in or what market to promote them in.

Tae was allowed to collaborate with Adora on his Chrismas song but not Jimin- which to me is very homophobic but it goes to show the company has a say in who they work with and most importantly which market they work in.

For JK, he's been working his way within the American marke and building a strong fanbase internationally from his English covers of Justin Bieber, Troye Sivan, to his collaboration with Charlie Puth, and most recently Jason Derulo in Savage love- that's a lot of English speaking fanbase he's attracting and appealing to outside of Army.

Tae's English mixtape would achieve a similar feat and draw in a lot of English speaking fans.

Bts did the same with dynamite and coldplay's Fix you.

So by allowing JK to work with renowned Japanese Artists and film companies, collaborating and composing original sound tracks for them such as his Your eyes tell OST, Film out, etc. he is appealing to and drawing in a Japanese audience.

As Hobi explained in his 2019 January Vlive, their mixtapes, solo projects, collaborations with Artists outside of BTS are all ways for them to expand their fanbase individually and build their portfolio.

And these new fans are mostly going to be solo stans who stan him for his music composing abilities but of course some may fall in love with BTS as well and go on to become Army so it's a win win situation.

WOULDN'T THE OTHERS OBJECT

Yes and no.

As long as the company isn't pushing him as a soloist outside of BTS and creating a separate brand with him outside of BTS's own brand I don't think the boys would object to it.

That was the problem they had/have with Jikook. In my opinion.

The company branding Jikook, distinctifying them from the group as a 'couple' subunit, selling their chemistry to fans and advertisers really doesn't and didn't sit well with the group. AT ALL.

In my opinion of course.

You can't create a brand within a brand.

It goes against Bang PD's own objective of prioritizing the team over all else which is what sold the members in the first place.

I just think in JK's case, since 2020, they are just trying to help him find himself and his bearing and his purpose.

He's been trying to find himself since 2020 and he'd talked about losing his passion and had had his passion hijacked and commercialized by the company.

He used to say he didn't know what he was going to do with himself and his life and career after BTS- having him work on music videos, directing, composing, reading these are all ways that they are doing right by him if you ask me.

They are helping him not trying to push their own agendas- which is not to say they might not change their minds about it in the future.

JK is an artist being managed by the company and they owe a duty to him to make the right business decisions for him with his consent- can't stress on the consent bit enough.

Personally, I'm happy about Japan because they are and are shaping out to be queer friendly and have a bit of progressive laws and conducive environments for queer artists to flourish in- if coming out would ruin their careers that's one less worry.

Which by the way I hate anyone who peddles this 'coming out will ruin their careers' nonsense because I can tell you one hundred percent that that is rooted in homophobia and it's not OK.

Don't tell that to no queer people shut up. You are not helping.

I know some say that out of genuine concerns for the boys but PLEASE DON'T. Don't use fear to keep queer people hidden and out of sight. Don't promote closet safety. Rhetorics like that only perpetuate queer invisibility and homophobia- do I need to spell it out to your liberal homophobic ass?!

Coming out is entirely up to them regardless of the risk you think is involved. If they want to take it. They'll take it. It's their choice to make regardless of whatever consequence.

That there are or should be consequences is a problem in of itself.

I don't want to hear 'if JK comes out he's been stupid and reckless and putting Jimin's career at risk'

'If he loves Jimin he wouldn't come out'

Go ahead kiss it😌

If he wants to stay closested respect it. If he wants to come out RESPECT IT TOO.

Support him either ways goddammit!

Y'all gone get me bothered like that huh.

JK POTENTIALLY WITHOUT JIMIN

They both have different career objectives.

I know Jimin says JK is imitating him but chilee JK is his own person. Lol.

Jimin plays too much.

He has his own aspirations.

In 2014 Jimin posted this Christmas song he did with JK. In 2020 he posted his own Christmas song without Jk.

It's not hard to see where his interests in music lie as a musician.

JK covered We don't talk anymore by himself and later did a collaboration with Jimin on the same song. He's done Fools with RM- see where I'm going with this?

Suga said he was more likely to write pop songs for JK but write dance songs for Jimin.

Jk said in the Be interviews bang PD advised him to consider dance performances when writing songs as he himself is a dancer too and need to incorporate in his compositions.

They are two distinct artists and at some point it would become necessary to brand, promote and encourage their uniqueness in their professional lives. They don't got to be tethered to each other all the time.

Personally, I don't think BigHit would want to push official subunits within BTS- yet and it's inclination towards Jikook have always been because of their marketing appeal rather than to further a career objective for both of them.

This goes back to the pairing objectives I talked about earlier. If they are going to pair Jikook professionally as an official subunit within the group it wouldn't be because they are a couple and ought to be together all the time but because it is smart for them to do so business wise.

If their pairing isn't commercially profitable they won't be paired at all- unless of course Jikook themselves want and request to be paired in that way. Know what I mean?

They each signed separate contracts with the company from day dot. They didn't sign on as a unit.

Whether or not they've decided they are a package deal I cannot say- yet, as their new contract just came into effect.

We would have to observe how they are being handled by the company going forward.

HE'D NEVER DO IT WOULD HE

Come now sis...

It's not like he's leaving Jimin😅

Jimin and Jhope were equally sent to Japan for promotion purposes without JK.

Out of all seven, Namjoon is the most promoted member in the international Market not just because he speaks English but because he is often made the spokes person for the group in interviews, at awards straight up to the UN.

Look how happy they all were and how chatty they were at the KBS Let's BTS interview.

I mean they all talked about it. About how they can't say much on foreign forums and often step into Namjoon's shadows.

RM is the most recognized and dare I say the most liked member out of all seven in the international market outside Army and their music profession.

In Japan they all have a chance to be front and center at interviews etc.

It just so happens that JK as it stands is the one member pushing to build a portfolio within that market.

Let's pray he gets mainstream and build a strong presence within the music industry there because we all know he's gonna drag Jimin up there with him😏

Just pay attention to the songs he's written and the parts Jimin sings in them- he makes Jimin shine on those songs.

They have so much potential my God.

Let's support them individually and as a unit.

I purple you and sorry I had to respond here.

Stay gold. Let's keep supporting and rooting for our guys.

Signed,

GOLDY

[drxwsyni]

Yandere Eraserhead with an S/O that has a Cat quirk (Neko girl basically) but like he’s possessive and everything but she is super chill and go with the flow with life like the cat she is.

Mm yes cat quirks are my weakness, thank you for the request! This was gonna be just a headcanon thing but i couldn’t help myself, so here’s a oneshot! (oh god how do i always write more than i mean to)

_____

Yandere Aizawa/Eraserhead x f!Reader

(3435 words) ︱ title: Complaisant

It’s only natural that when people see a cute little animal they want to pet it. So when those around you, even strangers sometimes, approached you to pet the soft, fluffy cat ears atop your head so often, it became clear that it was easier to let them rather than fight it.

It was a recurring event that you were all too familiar with growing up. Almost absentmindedly, your friends and family would gently stroke the irresistible fur as they spoke. One would think that’d be irritating, but a side effect of your quirk, which you still hadn’t decided if it was unfortunate or not, was that the feeling of being on the receiving end of this affection left you in a relaxed, purr induced state―similar to an actual cat.

Slowly, you realized these experiences weren’t all too bad.

You resolved that putting up a fight was useless, as doing so never seemed to deter people from getting their way anyways.

Without you even realizing it, other traits of furry little felines had bled into your personality. You were quieter than most, and never shied away from affection. One thing your friends liked to tease you about was how easy it was to read your emotions. While your facial features didn’t give them away, the thumping of your soft tail when you were angry, or how it tucked in between your legs when you were frightened did. Other times your ears would fold back against your head when you were sad, or perk up when you paid attention to whatever had caught your eye.

Little adaptations like this were all too normal nowadays. Especially today, as you literally embodied that of a stray cat, having taken up residence on the rooftop of a random building.

It was nighttime, and you had originally come up here to stargaze. But the heavy sensation of your eyelids and the growing fatigue was becoming all too alluring towards a harmless cat nap. Curling up into a ball, you figured a bit of shut eye wouldn’t hurt for a few minutes. You drifted asleep, a welcoming sensation that you could never resist.

_____

Now, you were certain that before you fell asleep there were no other people on the rooftop, so how you ended up covered in a black jacket when you woke up was beyond you.

At least it was, until coming to your senses you made out a man leaning against the rooftop entrance to your right, arms crossed and eyes closed. He was wearing some sort of scarf, with yellow goggles hanging loose from his neck. Looking further up, you saw he had long black hair and a scar under his right eye.

He must’ve sensed your awoken state somehow, opening his eyes and lazily uncrossing his arms, instead shoving them in his pockets as he pushed away from the wall behind him.

“It’s about time you woke up. The hell were you thinking, falling asleep up here alone?” He tiredly sauntered over to where you were still stationed, now sitting up with what you presume to be his jacket falling slightly off your shoulders.

He didn’t let you respond. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” The man outstretched a hand towards you before continuing. “C’mon, it’s too cold to stay out here and I need my jacket back. I’ll walk you home.”

It hadn’t been in your nature for a long time to argue with people. This situation was no different, the man seeming to be trustworthy enough after guarding your sleeping form for who knows how long.

You took his hand and were pulled swiftly to your feet before feeling him readjust the jacket onto your shoulders. He headed towards the rooftop entrance without looking back, assuming you’d follow suit.

Once on the street he let you lead the way, your tail swaying gently as you moved. For the most part the journey home was in silence. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat, and you spoke up.

“You a pro hero or something? Or do you just like watching people sleep?” Normally you weren’t this bold, but the situation was fitting for it you figured.

The man let out a huff. “Yes to the first question, but I also have a habit of taking in strays. Explains how I came across you.”

The two of you were nearing your destination, that being your old, run down apartment complex.

“I’m obligated to warn you not to repeat such reckless behaviour, but I get the feeling that won’t stop you.” You stopped outside the front entrance, turning to face him as he spoke.

“I appreciate the concern, thanks for walking me home.” You offered a slight smile as condolence as you returned the jacket, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him either.

He audibly sighed before responding. “Well, looks like I’ll just have to patrol the rooftops a little more often.” The man walked past you, continuing in the same direction past your apartment, giving a quiet “Stay safe,” before walking off into the night.

_____

Of course you resumed the apparently reckless behaviour, not being able to resist the calm of night in such a secluded place. So when you once again awoke to the same jacket draped over your form the next time, it didn’t come as a surprise.

If anything, the occurrence almost became a routine between the two of you. A few nights a week you’d return to the same rooftop, basking in the moonlight before dozing off, knowing you had a hero keeping you safe.

The walks back to your apartment were mostly quiet, neither of you speaking up until you’d almost arrived at your place. However, slowly a comfortableness settled, and you learned a few things about the mystery hero.

He called himself Eraserhead, his real name being Shouta Aizawa. He was a teacher during the day and hero at night. Generally speaking he was a quiet and collected man, but after gaining these details you decided to do a little research on your own. You’d found that he definitely didn’t let on to how strong he was. You saw clips of him expertly utilizing the capture weapon around his neck, mind you these videos were quite hard to come by, which you noted was likely because he seemed to prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Aside from that he was just the kind civil servant who watched your back, although you figured there were more important things the erasure hero could be doing with his time.

Regardless, you looked forward to the walks home with Shouta, and unbeknownst to you, it was always the highlight of the man’s night.

He’d never admit to it, at least not yet, but he’d grown quite attached to you, and thus was getting more and more invested in your wellbeing. Why you chose to put yourself in such precarious situations was beyond him, but he’d be damned if he let anything happen to you while you did.

So, every night he’d watch over the usual place you’d go to rest at the time you’d normally arrive, always from a distance, whether you showed up or not. If you did, he’d wait until you fell asleep before making his way over to the rooftop, routinely offering up his jacket.

Now, he’d be lying if he said having to resist the urge to run a hand over your velvety cat ears was almost painful. For the longest time he’d left well enough alone, fearing you’d wake up and be mortified.

But tonight, seeing you curled up in a little ball, ears twitching ever so slightly while you slept seemed to spark something uncontrollable in him.

Shouta resolved to sit down next to you, taking his chances and petting down the fur atop your head. Much to his surprise, and gratitude, a deep purring quietly resonated in your chest. More importantly, the sensation didn’t cause you to wake up. It was so easy to get lost in the action, being soothing for the both of you.

So naturally he did get lost in it, mind drifting off into thought while he continued to unconsciously caress your ears.

Before he knew it almost an hour had passed and he was still repeating the same action. Except now you were very much awake, unbeknownst to him, pretending to sleep while enjoying the affection. However, you knew he had hero duties to attend to, and thus it wasn’t fair to keep him longer than necessary.

“Y’know if you wanted to pet them that badly you could’ve just asked.”

He froze upon hearing you speak, but you only found it humorous. “It’s fine, really. Everyone ends up doing it sooner later and it’s not like I care so…” At this point you were sitting up, looking at the man waiting for a response.

You let anyone do that to you? Yeah, no… that’s not gonna fly.

Shouta lazily stood up, once again offering a hand for you to do the same. “It’s late, let’s get going.”

Like clockwork you took his hand, letting him pull you up from the floor of the rooftop.

Except this time he didn’t let go, dragging you behind him towards the rooftop entrance. And you made no objections, compliance was something you’d just grown used to. After all, there was no need to fight him. He’d only proven to be trustworthy, a subtle comfort in your life that was all too constant nowadays.

By now he had memorized the walk to your apartment, so you let him lead the way, opting to mindlessly observe the passing surroundings.

Before you knew it he’d stopped outside the complex, releasing his hold that had gradually become tighter as he had to pull you along.

“I know I’ve said this before, but your habits are dangerous.” You removed his jacket as he spoke, silently handing it off to him.

“It’s not dangerous if you’re keeping me safe.”

Shouta, like always, appeared to be tired with your careless response. Running a hand through his long, messy locks, he continued. “I can’t always be there to watch over you, not like this.”

He seemed uneasy at the prospect of leaving your safety up to chance. In an attempt to console him, you gave a small, warm smile. “Whatever happens, happens Shouta. If something or someone gets to me then it wouldn’t be your fault. That’s just how life works.”

You started in the direction of the front entrance doors before he had a chance to respond, turning back and waving goodbye before stepping inside.

_____

It’d seem what you said to the erasure hero that night didn’t sit well with him.

Since then he didn’t talk much on the way home, not that he ever really did in the first place. Now however, the few questions he did ask were… personal.

He’d ask about your family life, any close relationships, just things that only you would know―personal opinions. A few times you could tell he didn’t like your answers, the grip on your hand getting just a bit tighter.

However, like always you shrugged these things off. It was easier that way. You’d get to continue enjoying the company of the moonlight for a bit, and sometimes you’d wake up relaxed as Shouta occupied himself with running a hand over the top of your head.

Generally speaking, it was nice. Neither of you found it awkward in the slightest. So, you figured, the oddly intimate interrogations on the way home now and then were worth it.

He’d grown attached to the routine just as much as you. Therefore, naturally he was irked when you showed up late one night to your stargazing session.

By now he resolved to wait for you there, sitting in your usual spot with his jacket ready to serve as a makeshift blanket. The two of you would never talk until you’d woken up, but the delay in the unspoken schedule made him curious.

“Care to tell me what was keeping you?” Shouta was always blunt with his questions, something you didn’t really mind. Mostly it just caught you off guard.

“Nosy neighbour business. Kept trying to tell me they saw someone come out of my apartment from the balcony when I wasn’t there. Frankly, I always thought they were a bit strange so this doesn’t really come as a surprise.”

So much for going unnoticed.

You sat down, or rather laid down next to him. In an act of boldness you propped you head up on his thigh, using it as a pillow and got comfortable.

Shouta sighed at the development, acting like you were a nuisance when really he was living for your affection. “And you’re just going to ignore it? What if they were right and someone did break in?” He covered you with his jacket before placing a hand atop your head, gently petting the fur.

You shrugged in response. “It’s whatever I guess. Didn’t see anything out of place so what’s the big deal, right?”

The erasure hero didn’t respond to that, letting you continue with your absentminded ramble.

“What I should be worried about is this guy who won’t quit bothering me at work. Thinks I love him cause I offered to grab coffee for him on my lunch break once like a month ago.”

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you, the thought of some grimy old nobody coming onto you striking a nerve. “Need any help with that problem?”

You yawned audibly, stretching a bit before curling up. “Not really. It’s a bit tiresome but it’s what I’ve got to deal with. Thanks though.”

Shouta could tell that you didn’t have the energy for discussion right now, as you didn’t even bother to watch the stars above shine for a while like you did every other time you met up with him. So he let you drift asleep, head resting in his lap, concluding he’d have to make peace with his desires one way or another before this new threat could give you any real trouble.

_____

In truth, the erasure hero suspected that whatever he had in mind to deal with your reckless behaviour might not please you. And if you were initially upset, he was in too deep now to care.

It took longer than he hoped for, but his home was finally fit to bring back another stray.

The decision was drastic, that he was well aware of. 

Were there better ways to help you handle the everyday uncertainties of life? Yes. Would these ways leave you with little to no situational whiplash that may or may not severely affect the way you saw him? Also yes.

But he knew if he didn’t do something soon, people would take advantage of your irresponsibility one day. The thought of him not being there to protect you in these circumstances was more than enough to outweigh the question of his morals. So, he finished up with preparations and drove to your apartment complex.

_____

You noted regrettably how you weren’t able to visit Shouta tonight. It had been a little over three months since your first encounter with the hero, and by now you were closer to him than most people in your life.

It was late, work had kept you until these ungodly hours and you were more than thankful to finally be stepping through the threshold of your apartment door.

Like most nights like these, you worked through the fatigue to prepare some form of dinner. Tonight it was leftover soup coupled with some stale slices of baguettes, which you popped in the toaster oven in an attempt to improve the overall quality. You washed the meal down with a cup of herbal tea, not that you needed its calming effects to help you fall asleep, the accumulated exhaustion from the workday serving as more than enough assistance in that matter.

Yet as you got ready for bed, it seemed that whatever was in the blend of leaves and flowers ended up being the final nail in your coffin. Almost alarmingly so, you stumbled back to your bedroom, swiftly falling onto your mattress. You couldn’t even be bothered to get under the covers as sleep soon enveloped your body entirely that night.

_____

The rest from that slumber was practically blissful, making it quite the struggle to open your eyes when you drifted awake. The pillowy mattress and ever so soft comforter weighing against your frame threatened to pull you back into unconsciousness.

It almost did, until groggily you identified with the few alert senses you had that oh, this isn’t my bed…or my room for that matter.

You meant to sit up as fast as possible, but doing so proved to be difficult when your head was so nauseously dizzy. Not only that, but the anchoring you felt at the back of your neck kept your weakened state from moving much at all.

With fear bubbling in the pit of your stomach, you moved your hands up to your neck. They were met with a thick leather collar, and upon further inspection it was revealed that there was a thin but sturdy chain protruding from the back of it. You followed it, but it only disappeared beneath the edge of the mattress, sandwiched between that and the headboard of the large bed.

Giving the chain an experimental tug, and then a panicked pull proved that it was not going to budge anytime soon. Staring at it for a few seconds, you pondered how on earth you’d managed to get yourself in this situation. Sure, you were never one to be all that cautious in life, but this was a new low.

However, much to your appreciation for new information, the door to the bedroom swung open.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Recalling to the first night you found yourself under the watch of Shouta, you finally comprehended just what you were doing here.

The erasure hero closed the door before stalking over to the side of the bed. You simply observed him, not knowing how to respond. You weren’t necessarily frightened anymore, seeing him being the one to put you in this predicament. Rather, it was a more complaisant confusion you felt.

“Always the silent type, huh.” Shouta set a glass of water down on the nightstand, looking back to you with arms crossed.

Not knowing what else to do, you returned his gaze.

“You’ve really got nothing to say? Not gonna ask why you’re here, or where here even is for that matter?”

It seemed he knew just as well how odd the events unfolding were. He’d somehow gone and brought you to who knows where, without your consent, even going as far as to chain you to a bed.

You wanted to be mad, you really did. Yet, the only constant in your life was to understand that some things just weren’t in your control. Did that mean this was a healthy display of concern? Maybe not, but you got the message nonetheless.

So you did what you do best, and accepted the outcome of your behaviour.

Shouta had always been kind to you, protecting you at your most vulnerable times. You could trust him, right?

“I get the feeling we both know there’s no need for questions.”

To that the erasure hero silently agreed. “Well if that’s the case then I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve sacrificed a lot of sleep to see that you weren’t robbed almost every night of the week for the past few months.” He passed you the glass of water before taking up the spot next to you in bed, laying back with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. He was wearing casual clothing, but you could spot his capture weapon resting on the nightstand, of course out of reach to you.

Gingerly, you sipped the water, grateful for alleviation to your dry throat.

“You should know that I had no choice, maybe if you weren’t so irrational things wouldn’t have come to this.”

The remark almost made you laugh, but instead you placed the glass atop the nightstand on your side, only to scoot over to his position, resting your head against his chest.

“Yes it would’ve, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

And just like routine, you felt his hand drift to your head, his other arm moving around your waist pulling you closer.

“Go back to sleep, kitten. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[the-witty-pen-name]

Rest Pt. 1

Mando x F!Morellian! Reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: 3rd person; When the Mandolorian is searching for parts on Arvala-7, he encounters someone who may be able to help him on his journey. 

Warnings: none/mentions of injury and brief mention of character death; 18+ in later chapters

A/N: This was meant to be a one shot but this probably going to be 3 parts. I also ignored canon for this one. I tried my best to research Morellians for this fic to make sure its accurate, but it may not be perfectly accurate to canon. I just wrote this up cause I wanted to write today, but take a break from Deadbeat, even though you can expect Part 7 very soon!

If I miss something that I should include as a warning, please let me know!

This is also unedited! 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

He was so tired, all the time. It was such a constant feeling that he had forgotten what it felt like getting a good night’s rest. He’d allow himself to sleep a few hours here and there, but his normal was pushing his body constantly until he was exhausted and then some.

It was caused by many things- the nature of his job, his own paranoia, and even just the sheer uncomfortableness of his small bunk on the Crest. Now, there was the Child. The little green creature taking his free moments of rest more and more. In his mind, it was never a debate- the kid always came first. He didn’t give a second thought to how he was sacrificing his own wellness, and frankly if he did ever think about it, he’d come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t care.

His ability to sleep had gotten worse, with his inability to stop worrying about the Child. He would now force himself to stay awake for several days on end, too worried about if something would happen while he was asleep and his guard was down. The Child would sleep through the night, and Mando would sit up on his bunk, just watching the little creature’s breaths rise and fall, and he would have his eyes glued to the closed door of his bunk prepared for a threat that never came.

When the pair reached Arvala-7, he was in a zombie like state from lack of sleep. His body was on autopilot as his feet dragged across the planet’s surface, the Child securely following behind in his floating pram. The Mandolorian was very hyperaware of the heaviness of his armor, and the way the helmet irritated his skin more than normal. From his outward appearance, no one would know just how close he was to falling over from exhaustion. For the sake of the Child, he kept pushing himself forward, always making false promises of rest if he could just make it to the next location.

“You need rest,” Kuiil declared as he observed the Mandolorian walk towards him.

“I’m fine,” Mando deflected, a little annoyed at how well the Ugnaught could read him, even hidden under his armor.

“I have spoken.” Mando sighed, the exhale of air distorted by the modulator of his helmet. He walks past his friend and walks into his small domicile, with the baby not far behind him.

“I shall watch the Child,” Kuiil states affirmatively before Mando can object. Mando nods, defeated, finally realizing he will rest whether he wants to or not. “I will feed him and wake you when it is time,” he continues.

Mando doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He didn’t dream and he wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck. He doesn’t feel rested, just stressed and his body is still tense. He stirs from his spot and walks back out. He’s panicked because Kuiil and the Child are no where in sight. He only relaxes when he sees the two of them outside, Kuiil tinkering on a project and the Child playing with some parts Kuiil had discarded on the ground.

“You must rest,” Kuiil reiterated. Mando shook his head. He didn’t know how long he had been asleep for but he imagined it was long enough. “It hasn’t been even twenty minutes.”

“I just needed a power nap,” Mando says, not letting his friend talk him into another nap. He was fine. He just needed to work on the ship and he’d rest when they were back on course. “I need to work on the ship, I need to go get some parts,” he states. “Please watch him, I will be back tonight.”

Kuiil doesn’t say anything, just nods, knowing that no matter what he says the Mandolorian was too stubborn for his own good. He borrows Kuiil’s land speeder, and heads to the very small almost abandoned town that’s a decent trek away from Kuiil’s moisture farm. The air is very heavy, and the heat was weighing heavy on his eyelids. He felt like there was a pressure around him that was pushing him to sleep, but he was successful in avoiding it.

He looks over and sees there’s one establishment that looks like its open. He decides to wander in and see if anyone knows where he can buy the parts he needs. As the door to the establishment slides open, he realizes that it is some sort of cantina, with low lights and low music playing from a live band in the corner of the room.

There’s a circular bar in the center of the space, and he approaches the bartender. His mind his hazy, and he almost forgets why he’s there in the first place. Fortunately, his outer appearance makes him look more menacing than he feels in this moment. Customers at the bar speak in hushed tones as he approaches. He doesn’t even notice, the fogginess caused by his lack of sleep is affecting his power of observation.

“Where can I go to get ship parts?” he asks.

“Jawas,” the man chuckles sarcastically, like the question itself was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“There’s no where else?” He asks, frustrated.

“Not anywhere you can travel to in a day,” the man replies. Mando sighs, realizing he’d have to return to the ship empty handed. He can’t let it go another day. He needed to get off this planet.

“Give me directions.”

“There’s no where besides here that can offer you lodging, you can’t make it there on a speeder without stopping.”

“Directions.”

The man sighs and reluctantly gives the Mandolorian the coordinates he needs. With a gruff thank you, the Mandolorian leaves the bar, and gets back to the speeder. Kuiil would understand. Kuiil probably already knew the journey ahead of him and Mando was too stubborn to take his friend’s advice before leaving.

If he didn’t stop to rest, Mando figured he could get to the location by the next day if he drove fast. It seemed like a good idea to him at the time. It was the most time effective option he had. It was entirely different in practice, driving alone in the dark and his eyes becoming more and more heavy. He also never anticipated the wear it would cause the speeder, and he cursed as the thing was gradually slowing down until it came to a complete stop.

It was too dark to try to work on fixing it, even though he tried anyways. Even with his visor aiding his vision in the darkness, it was fruitless. He’d have to wait it out. He couldn’t allow himself to sleep. What if he was found by Jawas and they’d strip the speeder, or maybe they would steal his armor. It wasn’t something that he was willing to risk. So, he stupidly decided to work on the speeder without being able to see properly and assess his surroundings.

His thoughts were only on the Child and returning to him as quickly as possible. It made his actions irrational and careless. Which is why he scraps his arm on the metal of the speeder as he tinkered. The cut is deep, and it stings. He curses at his own stupidity and desperately tries to just apply pressure to his arm with his other hand. The material was old, dirty and rusted and it caused a deep wound.

He sits down on the ground, trying to make himself a tourniquet by ripping at his underclothes. He’s breathing heavy, and he knows that he is losing blood and he had no way to clean out the wound. He’s stranded and he can only think about the Child. Needing to just stay conscious long enough to think himself a plan out of this situation, and that’s the last thing he remembers.

He thrashes when he awakes, taking in his new unknown surroundings. It was a similar abode to Kuiil’s but it was obviously not the farm he was familiar with. He looks down at his arm, seeing the wound has been bandaged and treated, and his glove, and other pieces of his armor that needed to be removed to treat the injury sat on the floor waiting for him. He felt lighter, and more aware. Hell, he felt awake for the first time in a while. He felt rested. If it weren’t for the worry of waking up in a strange place, he’d feel good.

Before he was able to decide if he wanted to venture out of this bedroom, his thoughts were interrupted when another figure walked in. They were moving quietly, and Mando knew they were moving so that they wouldn’t disturb him. He sat up, letting them know he was awake and then he turned to look at them.

The young woman was standing holding a tray of food. She was nervous, but not scared of him, Mando was able to observe. It had also been a long time since he was in the presence of someone so easy on the eyes, and it made him nervous as well. She was very pretty, and easily one of the best things he’s got to see in a long time. He wasn’t sure what to say, not wanting to scare her off, so he waited for her to speak first.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she said apologizing. “But I wanted to bring you this.” She leaves the tray on a small table next to the bed.

“T-thanks,” he stuttered, not sure what questions he could think to ask first.

“You were passed out next to your speeder,” she explained. “I found you early this morning. Your speeder is outside. You’ve been asleep here for about twelve hours… I don’t know how long you were outside before that.”

He nods, trying to still wrap his head around the situation.

“I’m sorry for taking off the armor,” she continues, “I didn’t take off your helmet! I know Mandolorians keep those on, I wasn’t sure if it was okay that I took off the pieces I needed to get to your cut.”

“That’s fine,” he said softly, “Thank you. It is really just the helmet that I can’t take off.”

“All of your stuff is there,” she points to where his bag and pieces of armor sit on the floor in a neat pile. He nods.

“Um, that’s pretty much it,” she says awkwardly trying to remember if there was something else that she needed to tell him. “You’re wound is fine, once it was cleaned up it wasn’t as bad as I thought. You really were just exhausted over anything else; I think. I’ll let you eat, I promise I won’t come back in until you tell me, so you can take off your helmet… There’s no one else here but me so you’re safe- you can even lock yourself in if you want. I don’t mind.”

“You’re being really accommodating,” he says suspiciously, not use to the hospitality. It worried him.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, his words reminding her of what she forgot, “I had contacted by Kuiil- told me to look out for you, that a friend of his- a Mandolorian would be coming my way in need of lodging. When you never came, that’s when I went looking for you.”

“You know Kuiil?” he asks, relieved he wasn’t completely with a stranger. He was, obviously, but he was at ease knowing he was with someone Kuiil trusted.

She nodded. “You can stay as long as you need. He said your son can stay with him as long as you need. I’ll let you eat,” she said, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

He was taken aback at how kind she was towards him. She was so trusting and just let him into her home and helped him. Granted, it was because he was vouched for by Kuiil, but still. He also was flushed at how attractive she was. It made him nervous, he was so used to being along that he didn’t know how to handle himself around a woman- especially one that he thought was just so- so nice to look at. He felt foolish, and he was so confused at how easily that girl flustered him. It was just that she was kind, he tries to reason with himself. He’s just not use to the hospitality. He wasn’t flustered cause she was pretty, no absolutely not.

He took a moment and then resolved it was safe to take off his helmet so he could eat. He usually rushed through meals, just so he could get the helmet secured back on his head. But he felt comfortable here, and he allowed himself the luxury of taking his time, enjoying the unfiltered air. He looked around the room, and it was mostly bare, which isn’t surprising. The bed was comfortable, much better than his bunk on the Crest and better than the little spot in Kuiil’s dwelling.

He just felt guilty. He shouldn’t be resting when the Child is waiting for his return, and he still hasn’t retrieved parts for the ship. And here he was getting comfortable like was on some vacation. He quickly finished his food and put on his armor, ignoring the sting putting it on affected the cut under the bandages. He placed his helmet on and then left the bedroom.

“They’ll be here soon,” she announces when he emerges from the room. It stops him dead in his tracks. He didn’t know what you meant.

“Who?”

“Kuiil and your son,” she explains, “I just reached out to Kuiil, letting you know you were awake. He insisted he’d bring the kid to you. He thought you’d leave and strain yourself trying to get back too early. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

He chuckles, and is astonished at how well his friend seems to be able to anticipate his every move. “He’s right,” he sighed, sitting down across from her at the small dining table.

“He’s very wise,” she agrees. There are a few minutes of silence that cause an awkward tension to arise between the two of them.

“I’m (y/n),” she says. “Just realized I never introduced myself,” she says sheepishly.

“You can call me Mando,” he replies. She nods. There’s a mutual understanding between the two that says there’s no need for small talk.

“Is your child also a Mandolorian?” she asks curiously.

“No, he’s not,” he responds. He’s used to people pestering him with questions but he usually gets annoyed. He actually this time was happy that she wanted to know about him, and he was asking about the kid. For some reason, it felt different. There was no judgement or fear, just her genuine curiosity. She doesn’t press him to elaborate, which puts his mind at ease, and he’s relaxed.

“Are you married?” she asks next.

“No- no,” he says hurriedly. He feels foolish for how the question flusters him. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. It was just the natural assumption when she knows he has a kid, but not the context of how he’s a father. He also feels embarrassed at the desire to let her know he’s single. It’s stupid, he chastises himself. He was being ridiculous.

“He’s a foundling,” he explains simply. “He’s not actually mine. I’m not married.”

“Can Mandolorians get married?” she follows up.

“Yes, of course,” he says. She nods, and gets up from her seat.

“I have to check on the vaporators,” she announces. “I suggest you try to get more rest, but if you want to follow, you’re more than welcome to.”

When she moves, he notices the odd, cylindrical weapon fixed on the side of her hip. He trusts her, so it doesn’t worry him, but it is something he wants to ask her about.

“What is that?” he asks, following her out of her house and out into the dry air. She looks to where the gaze of his visor is fixated.

“It’s my light saber,” she says simply, not expanding on her answer much like how he did.

“Are- are you a Jedi?” he asks, his head tilting.

“I’m a moisture farmer,” she chuckles.  

“I thought all the Jedi were gone,” he says, his eyes following her.

“They are,” you explained simply, “I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

“Did you fight in the war?” he asks. She looked young, and he was incredibly puzzled. Maybe her species was humanoid, but she aged slowly, like the Child.

“Clone Wars,” she states, confirming his suspicion. She was older than him, but she looked younger. “I’m Morellian. We don’t age the same as humans.”

“How old are you?”

“Forties? I don’t know. I haven’t really done the math in a while,” she shrugs. He chuckles, he felt the same way about his own age. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time, but he was fairly certain that they were roughly the same age, even though his signs of aging showed on his skin more than her.

“How long have you been here?” He asks.

“How long has it been since the end of the Clone Wars?”

“That long?”

“All the Jedi needed to go into hiding,” she states.

“Are you the only one?”

“I don’t know. The only man I knew I heard died, killed by Vadar,” she says solemnly. “Supposedly, he took on a new apprentice, but I don’t know where I could find him if I wanted to.”

“Can you use the Force?” he asks, thinking now about his own task that lays before him with the Child.

“Yes,” she replies simply, holding back a smile and a sarcastic comment.

“The Child- my son,” he says, a little overwhelmed how easily he stumbled upon you. “I’m supposed to bring him to a Jedi- bring him back to his people.”

“You need to bring him to a Jedi?” she asks skeptically. He nods.

“He has- these, um, powers,” he tries to explain, “Moving things that are physically impossible, healing- it’s nothing I have ever seen.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You said you aren’t a Jedi.”

“But I’m probably the closest you’ll find.”

Part Two

[aalapdavjekar]

8 Lessons from Vipassana

2010 was a peculiar year. It was the year in which I found the great fortune of stumbling upon a book about the bizarre incidents and experiences of an Australian girl voyaging through the Indian subcontinent. The book — a 21st century rewrite of the lore of the hippie trail, offered little towards cerebral surprises, but made for a curious viewing of the life of someone who was brave (or foolish) enough to have gone through all the trouble that she did for the experiences she sought.

The author chronicled days spent discovering religion and spiritual heaven while avoiding hell — nosy neighbours, opportunistic rickshaw-wallas, and the odd would-be rapist. She portrays an all too familiar India — the world’s spiritual shopping mall serving food-poisoning on Tuesdays, vehicular accidents every Friday, and frightening latrines as a daily course. Not all of her pages carried so much drama, but they laid out a rough sketch of the trials and tribulations of the average foreigner in attempting to make sense of the country.

The smallest chapter in the book spoke to me the most. There was a tiny passage that depicted the joy and punishing solitude of the type rarely considered as thrill — monastic rituals, austere and rigorous routines, distress and hardship — it seemed a bit too much for anyone, let alone a solo adventurer. And yet, it seemed like just about the only thing she really enjoyed during her trip.

That was my introduction to Vipassana. That first memory is still fresh: the desire to confront this awkward specimen of a situation for myself, only because, at the time, it seemed so bizarre. To my ignorant mind, I could not have comprehended the result of ten long days (and nights), sitting around without the utterance of a single syllable. If nothing else, it would just be yet another substance: to taste, chew on, spit out, and rave about having conquered yet another mountain of sensory input; spin it all into a tall tale of profundity and wisdom.

Thankfully, the taste was sweet. To me, this became pretty important. It felt like a gigantic discovery and I often found myself proselytizing like a broken record for days after the first course. I eventually stopped for being seen as a bit of a nuisance, however, my fascination with the practice only grew with time. In those ten short days, I had experienced a deep, resounding change from within. As difficult as the journey had been, I only knew I had to keep going.

That was all ten years ago. 2010 was peculiar, but a dozen Vipassana courses later, life only became weirder.

It’s the stark contrast that gets you; the juxtaposition of life inside a course, and then witnessing the world outside. It is hard to illustrate and is not really the point of this post, but I mention it only because I’d like to warn you that many of the lessons I’ve learnt are all experiential truths. Simply engaging the intellect is not enough. You can’t describe the taste of salt to someone who has never experienced it before, and you can’t learn to swim simply by reading about it.

With that said, understand that even though I have been practicing for a while, it does not mean I have achieved any form of mastery over my practice. I still consider this as the just the first step in a very long path. I share these insights, all of which have broadened and enriched my understanding of not only myself, but of all-encompassing experience existence in itself. My only hope is to encourage you to sit down and focus on your breath.

1. Relaxing meditation is more like aggressive deconditioning…

The mind is a big ball of accumulated, tightly-knotted habits. Habits are not merely mundane proclivities like picking your nose, or a preference for K-pop. Habits are the set of all unconscious tendencies, picked up over the course of one’s life and through generations past, resulting in present thought, action, or both. Natural instincts such as the struggle to survive and the urge for sexual gratification are among the densest of elements residing within the mental landscape.

Mental forces are easiest to imagine when you think of them as analogous to Newton’s Third Law: each action has an equal and opposite reaction. As the mind sees, the mind does. Cause and effect. Through millions of years of evolution, the mind has been shaped to recognize and react to patterns. Certain emotions may result in specific thoughts. Certain thoughts may result in specific behaviours.

When you sit down to practice Vipassana, you essentially train yourself to observe the mind without reacting. The process may not seem like much but, with time, the simple act of observation decreases the rigidity and impulsiveness of the mind. Gradually, the simple act of watching it unravel before you, unveiling its knots until they loosen and eventually fade away, brings about a significant change. This does not mean that after ten days of meditation you will deprogram your mind and achieve liberation. It is a very gradual process. Believe me. Even after all these years, I’ve only scratched the surface and, so far, I’ve managed to adopt a slightly better diet. But I have better focus, more clarity of thought, less anxiety, and things that used to drive me crazy don’t annoy me as much anymore.

Meditation will change your brain. Thoughts included.

2. You are your mind’s weak, pathetic slave.

At any given time, you have very little conscious ability to overrule your genetic programming, emotional state, and natural surroundings (many have even argued that there is no such thing as conscious control and free will is an illusion, but that is a discussion for another time). The goal of meditation is to break free from the mind’s thrall: it’s patterns of thought. That’s the liberation that meditators keep referring to time and again.

If you find it hard to believe how little control you have over your mind, try to focus continuously on the breath just for a few minutes and notice the amount of thoughts that manage to pop up. You’ll quickly see how easily the mind is carried away. It’ll drift away, either to the future, or to the past. Bringing it back and keeping it in the present is a constant, seemingly endless struggle.

Our toxic addiction to our own thoughts creates the biggest hurdle. Over the course of our lives, we have been conditioned by our parents, school, society, even language, to think a certain way. Like the words we associate with objects to learn the alphabet in kindergarten, we continuously associate abstractions — words — to ideas; to the way things work. Our names for objects, people, places, feelings, situations, etc. are just names. They are concepts that are formed in the mind. In other words, our brain holds maps to reality which are drawn and redrawn over the course of our lives. But the map is not the territory, yet we are constantly under the delusion that the map is real.

Our fascination and attachment to our artificial concepts of what is real, important, and urgent is what hinders progress— the practice is essentially training the mind not to identify with one’s thoughts. In other words, to heal trauma, you need to learn to dissociate with the feeling which triggers the trauma. Trauma comes in many shapes. It may take the form of the stories that we forge for ourselves to make sense of who we are. The story we tell ourselves turns into the very bondage that keeps us in indefinite servitude to the mind.

The mind is a slippery serpent, as dangerous when untamed as it is powerful when mastered. Most beginners often find it frustrating how difficult it is to ‘control’ their minds. But therein lies the effort. It is a skill to be cultivated like any other. Exasperation and the desire to stop is a natural byproduct of the conditioning described earlier. There is an inertia to progress that needs to be continuously overcome. With time, it gets easier.

Meditation is simply a tool to harness and rein in the unruly mind.

3. Everything is connected. Every action has a consequence, and it matters.

This can be argued as a simple scientific principle. Richard Feynman in his lecture, “The Relation of Physics to Other Sciences,” describes the artificial divisions we create, forming a myriad of distinct models of understanding to comprehend and explain to ourselves aspects of the same reality. Brian Cox takes it even further.

My understanding leans towards the philosophical side, but bear with me. Most religions and spiritual traditions preach purity of mind, speech, and deed. Whether through scripture or ritual, they teach compassion, loving kindness, mercy and wisdom. I’ve realized that there’s more to this than mere morality.

To greatly simplify this, let’s imagine the world as a closed, finite system — something like a small swimming pool. Any kind of movement results in ripples that gradually extend across the body of water, affecting everything in their path. Eventually, given enough time, those ripples will bounce right back to whence they came. Sooner or later, your actions will meet their maker. But don’t mistake this as a need to be nice out of selfish necessity. The picture is bigger than this.

The world, much like our hypothetical swimming pool, is a melting pot of events resulting from simultaneous interactions causing countless, spontaneous consequences. It’s a chain reaction and an ocean of chaos, with the ebb and flow of individual currents that mingle, coalesce and form waves, crashing into one another to give us the great churning of the wheel that Buddhists speak of, and the agitation that we are almost too familiar with.

The turbulence, in essence, is the mind being washed away with the tide, engulfed and drowned in the vicissitudes of a constantly changing life. To remain steadfast and solid in such stormy waters would require nothing short of supreme mastery in the art of mindfulness. A cornerstone of such an endeavour requires the cultivation of a conscious effort to sustain complete awareness and acceptance for the present moment.

When one remains vigilant of thought, speech, and deed, and acquires a resolute and unwavering focus, then all the torment the ocean can muster will be but powerless against this tranquil state of mind. But even beyond that, tranquility will give way to reflection, understanding, and empathy. In other words, when you respond to anger with love, you cast water over the fire.

With practice, each action undertaken will arrive with more effort, more purpose and consideration. That is the delicate insight to be gained — that every action, every moment, every breath is sacred. Every bit of conscious presence is a gift to be treasured.

4. Nothing matters as much as you think it does…

Vipassana meditation is an exercise in cultivating insight through self-observation. You watch your breath and the sensations across your body as they arise and pass away, each time acknowledging their transient and impermanent nature. That, you come to realize, is the truth of all reality.

You realize that suffering is a form of mental attachment, not to any external object, but to the sensation that object has on your mind. This attachment is sometimes so subtle and imperceptible that it is impossible to witness it without a mind that is steady and calm. These attachments are what cause dukkha or suffering. Attachments are not limited to sensations that feel good. Any sensation that makes you feel like had more of it or less of it — desire and aversion — is attachment. The mind runs after pleasure, runs from fear and pain. These are attachments and they are a hindrance to the practice.

As you grow into your practice, you will gradually slip out of your old patterns of thought, replacing them with a more open, willing, and fluid presence of mind. What once bothered you may gradually dissolve into nothingness. What once seemed as part of you, possessed you, caused emotional havoc when you didn’t get what you wanted, might simply vanish from existence. No, you won’t turn into an emotionless robot. No it won’t make you give up everything in life, turn into a vagrant and move to the beach, unless you already desired those things. Meditation will only help sort out what you really want.

Practice will help you detach yourself from your thoughts until you realize that your thoughts are not you. Feelings come, feelings go. They are impermanent, and they don’t matter. All it requires is time and the simple act of observation.

5. You are not an experiential bubble.

For many beginners trying to embrace the many forms of mindfulness, one of the toughest obstacles to overcome is doubt. It may be doubt in oneself, doubt in the practice, doubt in one’s teacher, and so on. But it’s a natural response to something new, especially to those completely unfamiliar with these types of practices. Imparting trust is a transactional habit. Unless one is certain of attainable benefits and can measure their worth, they may find an unwillingness to take even the first step.

Couple a doubtful mind with the myriad of mental encounters one may face during meditation and the result might just kill the desire for practice. People have reported everything from swirling lights, out-of-body experiences, synesthesia, to demons. This is not unusual. Meditation is a gateway into the unconscious — a surgical procedure as S.N. Goenka, the person who brought the teaching of Vipassana back to India, describes. Through the process of Sankharupekkha (observing mental formations with equanimity), the practitioner encounters dormant impurities in the unconscious that rise to the surface of the mind, and manifest themselves as physical phenomenon.

Juxtaposed with modern-day culture, the meditative experience stands out like a sore thumb, often causing its students great confusion and mistrust in the very quality of what they are learning. It doesn’t help that the ideas and general philosophy presented by spiritual traditions are outright antithetical to “western” schools of thought.

Concepts such as avidya, anicca, dukkha, shunyata, samsara and nirvana are like salt. These are concepts that are almost impossible to understand through mere language—one must personally taste them. They are often horribly misconstrued and usually thrown out, replaced by a far shallower understanding that barely skims the surface of the teaching, conflating meditation with stress reduction and labour productivity. After all, these are the values our industrial societies can easily relate to.

We often make it harder on ourselves by letting our experiences fester. Remember to talk about them, discuss them, debate their true essence, and let them be out in the open. Let these ideas, however alien, achieve coherence and solidity. Give them a better chance to struggle and survive. There are many people out there experiencing the same reality, watching the same movie, feeling the same thing. The emotional outlet, especially when you are starting out in this practice is immensely valuable. It’s a small thing but it matters.

After my first ten-day Vipassana course came to a close, as the new students could finally open their mouths and start speaking with each other about their ten days spent in silence, we could all see the benefits this strange new thing had given us. I was in a room full of fifty-odd people that seemed to have had a similar experience in the course as I did. They all seemed calmer than on the first day, happier for having made it through; in the process, they had visibly changed. That’s what brought forth trust in the system; not only because it seemed to work across a diverse set of people, but because it made me realize that we are all in the same boat.

6. Compassion takes practice.

There is no absolute right or wrong. Understanding which is which requires not only context but patience. An impulsive and ignorant mind does not have the capacity to form correct judgement. An angry and intolerant person cannot be trusted to make rational and thoughtful decisions. Why do you need to develop proper judgement? The simplest possible answer: to progress in your practice. Hence, while Vipassana may bring insight, on the last day of each course, students are taught a slightly different type of meditation.

Metta, meaning ‘loving-kindness’, is a type of meditation that involves concentrating on directing love towards ourselves and others, even those (especially those) who may have hurt us. A daily practice of metta has its benefits, but most significant of all, is the way it complements insight meditation and brings out lasting, positive changes in mind and body.

The feeling is hard to describe, but all I can say is that (at the risk of sounding cliched), through the course of one’s life, pain is an inevitability, but suffering through the pain is a choice. With regular practice in metta, instead of being swept away by one’s emotions, one learns to consciously bring awareness to the suffering being experienced and replace it with compassionate and loving thoughts. Suffering is simply a negative reaction of the mind to any form of pain. With practice, mental aversion to pain gradually fades. Like mental ointment, compassion can heal the deepest of wounds.

But compassion takes practice. Think of it as learning a new language. Even if you have no prior experience reading the script or pronouncing the words, with time, you might just achieve fluency.

Compassion towards all beings, regardless of the situation, is an important goal for anyone serious about walking the path. When you emanate a constant stream of loving thoughts without ever missing a beat, then you might definitely consider yourself having changed for the better.

7. It’s all just glorified play.

By the time children reach the age of 3 or 4, their ego begins to form a cohesive identity — a map of themselves: I am this, I like that, I want to be so and so. Whether through nature or nurture, the child learns to take on a role for themselves depending on what the situation may bring: during interactions with their parents, with other children, and with society in general.

From an early age, children are engaged in play. Their games may be diverse, but are usually a form of role-playing: tea parties, dollhouses, make-believe — simulations of the adult world, to test its boundaries and see how things react. Fueled by curiosity and the joy of discovery, they rehearse and solidify their understanding of their surroundings, finding their place in the greater familial and societal picture, and simultaneously strengthen their masks of identity.

The masks we carry, birthed from the ego, may be necessary for our survival, but they are simply roles — the games we continue to play even as adults, with ourselves and with others. When the student of Vipassana comes to notice their own desires and attachments to the world, the identity of the self is often seen as the greatest attachment. It is the great epic; the story of ourselves that we’re so engrossed in writing and reciting— and madly in love with.

This story never ends. It lies permanently in the state of becoming: I am like this, I like that, I want to be so and so. The attachment to a false idea of oneself is the most difficult thing to witness and understand. It is the biggest delusion of the mind, and the greatest hindrance to one’s liberation from samsara — the endless cycle of birth and death. Whether you choose to believe that is unimportant, but recognising one’s tendencies to cling to one’s beliefs, one’s masks and identity, is a crucial process towards self-discovery and insight.

Recognising the mind for what it is — a constant stream of consciousness always in flux — will bring you a step closer to deciphering it.

8. You Know Nothing.

I know nothing. For knowing involves being certain, but if everything is impermanent and things are constantly in flux, then nothing can be certain.

To understand how truly inept we are at comprehending reality, consider the incredibly narrow spectrum of perception our brains provide. Our sensory organs: the eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin offer only a slice of all the information that they come into contact with.

The eyes, for example, see only a thin slice of the electromagnetic spectrum, which we call visible light. Similarly, our hearing is restricted to frequencies of sound that fall between 20 Hz and 20 kHz. In the same way, we carry only a limited cognitive capability and intelligence.

It’s a humbling thought. At the very least, reminding oneself of the fragility of one’s understanding is a way to minimize cognitive bias. Further, since no one knows anything, knowing you know nothing will actually put you a step ahead of most people.

“I am wiser than this human being. For probably neither of us knows anything noble and good, but he supposes he knows something when he does not know, while I, just as I do not know, do not even suppose that I do. I am likely to be a little bit wiser than he in this very thing: that whatever I do not know, I do not even suppose I know.” — Plato’s Apology of Socrates

Similarly, from the Dhammapada:

“A fool who knows his foolishness is wise at least to that extent, but a fool who thinks himself wise is a fool indeed.”

Lastly, Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese Zen Master calls the state of knowing nothing the “beginner’s mind,” the constant prerequisite for progressing in one’s practice:

“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” — from Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

May all beings be happy.

[misc-headcanons]

Hi ! Glad to see you're open. May I request a sweet NSFW scenario of Katakuri and a female S/O( who is smaller, but not normal sized)? Thank you, and good luck with the rest of your requests !!

Katakuri/F!Reader: Appreciation

(NS.FW below!)

    When Katakuri had been told by his mother that his bride-to-be was taller than the average human, he’d felt a small sense of relief--well, as much relief as you can feel when you’re being put into an arranged marriage. He had always wondered how he would be able to give Big Mom the grandchildren she desired with any wife that wasn’t a full-blown Giant or a member of the Long Neck or Long Art tribes, but he had been wary when he was told that his fiancee was a human.

    After he had met his current wife though, any wariness or worry had seemingly disappeared. ____was certainly tall for a human, but she was still a few feet shorter than him. In order to enjoy their wedding kiss, she had only needed to stand on the tip of her toes for his lips to reach hers. He had been worried about frightening her with his true appearance, but once again she had managed to surprise him once again when he’d found the courage to take off his scarf in front of her for the first time; she looked up at his fangs with awe and her only real question wasn’t how he’d gotten his scars or why he was the only one of his brothers to have fangs...Instead, she’d simply asked in an inquisitive tone whether or not he tended to accidentally bite his tongue whenever he ate. Kata had been taken so off-guard that he was actually speechless for a moment before answering that no, he had plenty of years of experience using his teeth and rarely ever bit his tongue. 

Her reaction had left an odd feeling in his chest, and it was one that would reappear whenever he saw her face or heard her speak. It left him feeling very...light. As if he was one of the fluffy pink clouds on Candy Island, where just one glimpse of her would leave him feeling like he was floating above the ground. He wasn’t used to someone being so genuinely kind towards him, except for Brulee. Still, ____ stirred different feelings within him...the kind that he was used to either suppressing because he had more important things to attend do, or that he'd hastily get rid of with his hand when he knew he wouldn't be interrupted. He'd only ever had her in his bed, and he still blushed whenever he thought of their wedding night. 

They had only had sex a few times after that, since Katakuri's schedule as a Sweet Commander left little time to enjoy time to himself--and his wife--outside of his Meriendas. He soon realized that he was a glutton for things sweeter and more indulgent than donuts, and ____ was always eager to join him during his afternoon retreats; the guards around Flour Island were used to seeing Katakuri carrying his bride in his arms to his mochi shrine, with her giggling excitedly and leaving a few kisses along his arms and chest while he nuzzled her neck in return. It was strange to see Commander Katakuri, a man so stoic and steely, being so affectionate with his wife as if they were a pair of lovestruck teenagers. But to ____, this was what Kata was really like; he may be intimidating to the rest of the world, with a face as terrifying as his power, but around her he was as soft and sweet as a teddy bear--and as delicious as the donuts that left his lips with a sugary aftertaste whenever she kissed him.

When he entered the cozy home he shared with ____, his stress from a full day of work melted away the moment he saw her sitting on a chair in the living room, enjoying a book. She glanced up and saw Kata, and she immediately marked her page before hopping off of her set to greet her husband in a hug; when he responded by lifting her off of the floor to return her affection, she let out a small laugh as her feet dangled in the air. “Welcome home,” she said sweetly. “How has your day been so far?”

Kata carried her back to the large couch and eased into the plush seat with a small sigh, and ____ took a seat in his lap. “Long,” he replied. “Pudding’s wedding is still being planned, and with that comes the planning of procuring ingredients for the cake that Mama wants. Cracker, Smoothie, and I just now finished mapping the route our forces will take to ensure we receive supplies from the newest set of territories that were conquered a few months ago.” As he talked, he started to absentmindedly press lightly against ____’s waist and hips--it was a habit he had developed ever since they had married, and he tended to do it more often when he was stressed after a long day of work. 

____ reached up and gently tugged on Kata’s scarf, and he let it fall to the ground next to them now that he was alone with her. One of her hands moved to rest on his thigh, and she mimicked his habit by gently massaging his upper leg. “You sound tired,” she remarked, looking up at her husband’s face. “And even though you’re still as handsome as ever, you look tired too.”

Kata shifted in his seat and had to fight the urge to look away from her; even now, he was still so unused to hearing compliments about his appearance. It left him so bashful that he still struggled to make eye contact with her whenever she did it, even in passing. “I’m...I am fine,” he replied. He had endured longer days of work than this, and he hated feeling tired or drained--especially in front of others. He was the iron wall of Tottland, the one that everyone could rely on. There were rumors that he didn’t even get tired, and when he did he always slept straight on his back so nobody could surprise him. ____ didn’t put much stock into rumors, but she knew for a fact that this one wasn’t true. She pursed her lips a bit at his attempt to hide any “weakness” in front of her, and then a slow smile spread across her face when an idea took root in her head.

____ turned around so that she was facing Katakuri now, and she moved her hand up to gently press against his chest. “You’ve been working harder than usual lately,” she noted, her tone sweet but with a suggestive lilt to it. “I think you deserve a little appreciation.”

Kata cocked his head slightly. “...’Appreciation’?” He was already the highest-ranked pirate in the kingdom aside from Big Mom herself, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't really receive any kind of promotion. Oh, perhaps ____ meant a second Merienda; normally he only enjoyed an additional Merienda on his birthday, but he wouldn't object to it after a long day like this one. His Observation Haki clued him in to what she really meant, and his eyes widened a bit as he saw a glimpse of the future in his mind's eye. "...Oh."

His vision came true a second later when ____ dragged the fingers of her left hand along his chest, all the way down to his belt buckle. She leaned forward and kissed the shell of Katakuri's ear, and smiled against his skin when she heard him shiver. When she pulled away, she saw the pink flush to her husband's cheeks and felt his chest heave slightly underneath her right hand. She moved her right hand up to caress his cheek. "You're so cute when you look up at me like that, Kata," she cooed. "All flustered from a few kisses and touches…" 

He placed one shaky hand on top of hers and turned his head to kiss the inside of her hand, he used his other hand to unclasp his belt buckle. She had barely touched him, but he could already feel his pants becoming unbearably tight. He was normally so guarded, so strong and commanding, but he knew that when they were together, he could let his walls down and simply be with her. "You...Don't feel obligated to do this," he replied, biting his lip as he felt her gently rock her hips against him. He always felt guilty whenever she sacrificed her own pleasure for his, whether it was her insisting she'd be fine on her own when he left on voyages for weeks at a time or being so understanding when he had to leave her to attend to his mother's wishes. "I can--"

"Kata," ____ chided gently, moving past his hand to slip his belt off of his waist and curl two fingers around the zipper on his trousers. "I know I don't have to do this." She pursed her lips. "The same way you don't have to be the strongest man in the world all the time." She smirked and used both hands to shimmy his pants further down his legs, biting the inside of her cheek when she saw the tent in his underwear spring out from the black leather that it had been straining against until now. "And besides, I don't need to do this, I want to do this." She slowly made her way off of the couch and onto her knees in a position that was comfortable, and then leaned down to kiss his clothed cock. "I want you." 

Kata bucked his hips forward slightly as he felt ____'s lips touch his member through the thin cloth. "I want you too," he sighed, his fists clenching when she moved to gently tug at the waistline of his underwear, leaving a series of light kisses to his cock until finally releasing his erection and watching it spring out of his trousers. A few thin beads of precum slid down the shaft, and ____ licked her dry lips before bending down to kiss him again on the tip. Kata's eyes rolled back slightly and he let out a soft groan as he finally felt the tip of her velvety tongue brush and flick his sensitive head in between every feather-light kiss from her lips.

____ felt her own arousal beginning to form a comfortably warm and wet slick in between her thighs, and she moved one hand down to play with her clitoris while using the other to gently grasp the base of Katakuri's cock. The two of them moaned in unison, and ____ began to bob her head up and down his sizeable length. She continued to moan, sigh, and practically sing as she played with herself and tasted him; the vibrations from her mouth wrapped around his length left Katakuri reeling, and he began to move his hips in time with her mouth. He couldn't remember why he'd felt so worn-out and stressed earlier. Hell, he could barely string a sentence together as the pleasure and warmth built up and bubbled inside of him. Before he knew it, his gloved hands had moved to cradle the back of her head, guiding her along at the pace he desired. 

____ pulled away for a few seconds to get some air, and the sight of her lips shining with his precum made his cock twitch at the tip. Not wanting to neglect him completely while she took a short break, she continued to stroke him at a slightly faster pace than before. "How close are you, honey?" She let out a breathy laugh and quickened her pace again, relishing in the slicking sound of her hand running up and down his shaft. "From how tightly you were gripping my hair just now, I bet you're right on the edge…"

Kata felt a slight bit of shame and he immediately released the fistfuls of her hair from between his fingers. "I'm s-sorry, love," he murmured. He hadn't meant to hurt her.

____ smiled again and her eyes fluttered a bit as her other hand repeatedly brushed over a particularly sensitive section of her walls. "Ah--No need to apologize, Kata," she replied sweetly. "I love feeling you tugging on my hair like that…" She bit her lip and her smile widened; Katakuri was always easy to tease, but he was absolutely adorable whenever she talked dirty while they were together. "I like knowing just how good I make you feel…" She moved her head up a bit to lick and kiss the underside of his member, and she felt his grip on her hair tighten again. "And I love your cock so, so much~"

Katakuri inhaled sharply and involuntarily thrust his hips forward, accidentally shoving himself all the way inside of her for the first time. He immediately tried to move back and apologize for surprising (and potentially hurting) her, but she let out a lewd muffled moan as she squeezed Kata's thigh with one hand and feverishly drilled against her clit with the other.

The pressure inside of Kata coiled and he gave into his desires completely, losing all sense of restraint as he thrust into her at a feverish pace. "Aaah, I love you," he growled, repeating those three words over and over until finally gasping as the knot of pleasure inside of him reached his peak. He murmured her name softly as he felt his cock filling her mouth completely with his seed. A bit of drool fell down his chin as he panted with parted lips, hips still bucking and cock still twitching slightly as he rode out his climax.

____, just now coming down from her own high, moaned once more when she felt a trickle of Katakuri's cum on her lips. She swallowed the rest of his seed, relishing in the warmth as it slid down her throat and added to the wonderful feeling of fullness in her core. Once she felt she could stand, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up onto the couch to rest in her beloved's lap and rest her head against the crook of his neck in a loving embrace. "I love you too, dear," she sighed, placing a kiss along his jawline. Kata's cock twitched once again from the kiss, and he let out another soft moan. ____'s cheeks felt even warmer, and she smiled sheepishly; she knew how overstimulated Kata could get, and his jawline was one of his most sensitive areas. "Ah, sorry."

He managed to place a slightly trembling arm around her waist and pulled her closer to kiss her neck in return. "Don't be," he murmured, his eyes half-lidded as he gently brushed his lips and fangs against her skin. "Th-thank you for helping me relax, love." He sighed contentedly and put his other arm around her back to cradle her against him. "I know I say it often when we're together, but...I love you."

____ tilted her neck to let his mouth reach more of her as she smiled with closed eyes and gently drew circles against his skin while he did the same with the fingers around her waist. "Love you too, darling," she murmured. It was the last thing said out loud before the two of them fell asleep, their minds hazy and comfortably light as they held one another. 

[beneaththemasks]

Beast, Fifteen, Dead Apple and Fyodor´s ability put togheter

The first time I watched Bungou I didn't pay much attention to be honest and that lead me to committing a big mistake and that big mistake is what brings me here today.

This is a theory I´ve been working on for a long time now.

Before anything else I have to tell you that this is something I came up with entirely by myself, I don´t know if anyone has already written something similar to this, so any similitude is pure coincidence.

DISCLAIMER: this contains spoilers from the manga and light novels and is quite long, so read at your own risk.

Any hateful comment will be simply ignored, this is just something I'm sharing with you because it makes sense to me and I want to know what you think.

Please excuse my english if it gets bad at times since it isn't my first language.

Let´s begin:

I´ll start talking to you about some guy named “Randou” who was presented in the light novel ''Fifteen” as the responsible for the mafia´s predecessor return and the Arahabaki incident.

For those of you who don´t remember him, here´s a picture.

Ok so, you might wonder why I'm bringing him up.

If he was supposed to be a forgettable face from the beginning, another extra character in the story, then why didn´t I forget him? Why do I mention him before anything?

The answer is simple: I can forget a face I´ve seen once or twice but not one I´ve seen thrice.

“What do you mean? we only saw the man one time” 

You´re totally right, however that wasn´t the case for me.

Confusing his face was the big mistake I made and the one that lead me to building this net of theories and clues that I'm putting together right here right now:

Even though the first time we see Fyodor´s face is at the ending of the second season and then again in Dead Apple, I remind you that I wasn't paying attention at all (like literally guys I already told you about how I would call tachihara “bad tanizaki” just because they looked the same to me). Due to my lack of attention, after finishing the “cannibalism” arc. and becoming more familiar with Fyodor´s face it occurred to me that he was the same guy involved in the arahabaki incident.

Why? because I can so I did.

My brain automatically assumed these guys were the same person just because they were dressed as if they were going to sleep on the top of the Everest for a whole month and because their faces were equally sad...

Of course, when I finished the anime and started reading the manga I was totally confused when Dazai asked Fyodor what his ability was, since I thought him and Randou were the same person, therefore I thought they shared ability.

After that I had to rewatch the whole anime and then realized how high I was when I watched it the first time.

But even when I managed to get the whole story right I still couldn't stop thinking about Randou, he was still a mystery, but more than the man himself, his story and the order in which they were presented by Kafka were somehow strange.

So after reading “Beast'' I came up with a few theories about the book being canonically in that alternate universe, because for me, even if Beast was supposed to be just a spin off written to promote the release of Dead Apple, it couldn´t be that and only that.

I just can´t accept  that “Kafka wrote a 200-page novel to promote a movie that had nothing to do with it when he was asked to just write a 50-page short story” because he just felt like doing it. I knew from the deep bottom of my heart that he was not the kind to write just for fanservice.

So I came up with this idea: “What if the release of Beast and fifteen are more important than we think?”

Despite the first time we see fyodor´s face being at the end of the second season, the first time we see him meeting Dazai, is during dead apple. However, he seems to be just an extra character, someone who doesn't seem to add much to the story at first sight (except for when he turns Shibusawa into a big dragon).

But if we think about it, the same happens with the mentioning of the book in “Beast” and with Randou´s appearance in “Fifteen”.

In these three stories, the book, Randou and Fyodor are like an app running in the background of your cell phone, they are responsible for some kind of event and or incident that we cannot see now but that eventually will go out to light.

These are all very small hints, but that's why it is important, the smaller the better.

We can´t forget that Kafka has always been a mastermind of hiding evidence in plain sight.

He wrote and published 3 stories at the same time  that have nothing in common and then used them to promote each other. He decided not to wait any longer nor release them earlier because they´re relevant to each other even when they don't seem to be. They are like a building in the middle of the city, we see it but we never get the chance to observe it because of all that's happening around it.

But as far as we know Randou dies at the end of fifteen. How could he possibly be related to Fyodor if they never met?

The importance here is not his death or them meeting, maybe not even Randou himself but what happened before his entrance to the PM and after his death.

As far as we know, Randou used to be an european spy tasked to investigate a powerful entity of power in japan and sent to steal it. However, during that mission he was betrayed by his friend who tried to kill him but is Randou who ended up killing him instead.

Nevertheless, in the story we never get to know why his friend betrayed him nor what is that so called “source of energy” that the japanese government has been secretly guarding.

we 

never

know

until now (?)

Towards the end:

What if that “source'' is actually the book itself and his friend tried to kill him to keep it for himself and escape with it? 

Even more important:

What if Randou, after killing his friend, decides to steal the book but forgets about it and it´s power after losing his memory in the Arahabaki incident? 

These explanations can perfectly fill a void we never even noticed was there: Randou dies without remembering that he has a very important item with him, which is the reason for which he was once chased by the GSS (an agrupation that is connected to the Guild who we already know was searching for the book as well) and the same Dazai could have stolen after the Port Mafia kept his belongings when he died.

Please please pleaaaaaaseeee finish the idea.

After writing for 2 days, tying knots and untying them, reading and rereading, remembering details and searching for others i couldn't remember, this is my final conclusion:

 Fyodor´s ability could be nothing more and nothing less than the book itself.

The proof of that being:

-All we know is his ability “Crime and Punishment” is presented as a perfect complement to one another. When he explains why Sibusawa´s mist didn't affect him he says “it´s because crime and punishment are good friends” which can mean that for one to appear, the other has to do something, that is to say, he has to commit a crime to receive punishment.

-We can assume that as someone whose objective is to free everyone from the sense of morality (as Gogol explains) he's the one to decide whether he commits a crime that deserves punishment or better said, his ability “the book” that can only function following the rules of karma.

 -He probably doesn't need to communicate with the outside at all and is trying to deceive Dazai since the plot is going according to his plans and to how he planned to write the story on that single page.

-We know he has a page since the beginning and he also knows everything that´s written on it (for example that sigma´s existence was written on it 3 years before) but it's never mentioned how he got it.

-He literally joined the Guild to search for that book (´cause it belongs to him).

-Despite everything, Dazai is not worried about his plans either (he says all he has to do is observe him) because he's confident that everything is gonna turn out in his favour (you can see the little bitch didn't mind sending Akutagawa to his own death) since he stole the book from Randou long ago.

-What Dazai could've done with the book is nothing more and nothing less than creating the “Beast”  universe after leaving the PM just to give Oda a proper farewell and because since he discovered the real power of that book he decided the best was to hide it.

However none of them can reveal any of this for obvious reasons.

Well I´ve nothing more to say, this is all I have for the moment.

 I know some of these ideas sound very complicated and even excessive, however in the end everything fitted perfectly to me (and I swear I came up with 3 different theories before putting this one together).

If you managed to read this far, thank you very much :,)

If you feel like commenting something feel free to do so :)

[whyralltheusernamestaken]

Curse

Where she's cursed with immortality so she chases around the reincarnations of her first love over and over again and the one time she’s decided to give up, it just happens to be an explosive blonde.

Warning : none!

Words : 6590 (wtf my goal was 3000)

Masterlist 

A/N : Thank you all for being so patient. The ending is kinda rushed, but I hope you enjoy!

Quirks had left an undeniable mark on the face of society. It just came one day and slapped some magical powers on to someone and left just as quickly, with no explanation whatsoever. No one knew why, or how. Nothing could've hinted to the appearance of quirks and none of the decades of research that followed had any more insight into the matter. Y/N was quirkless. Immortal yes, but she had no quirk of herself. She was born a thousand and so years ago, in Japan, and within a decade or two, became known throughout the lands for her immaculate beauty and poise. She became an object of affection for thousands, and one of the men happened to be the emperor. Bakugou Katsuki. He had approached her presence with the sole intent of adding the most beautiful woman in the world to his harem. He was an arrogant and prideful noble, and the thought of her in his grasp has excited him to no end. He could then prance around with his head held up so high that people would crane their necks to meet his eyes. He smugly grinned at the idea of her clinging to his arm, or for her to be waiting for him back at the palace with the rest of his concubines. He flooded her with extravagant gifts, compliments and praises, small private dates in a back garden of the palace, away from prying eyes and complaints of Bakugou's other dozen girls. She had been easily wooed, being kept away from suitors from an early age, the emperor had certainly been her first escape into romance and she was ecstatic. Her parents had gleamed at the idea of her being with the most powerful man in all of Japan, and had given her away to the palace at the first suggestion of the emperor's affection. 

He had fallen in love with her, not only her beauty but her personality, her small habits and her other mannerisms. It wasn't his initial plan, he had only wanted to add her presence into his long list of women, that he had reassured the other women, but his heart can softened considerably and he had fallen hard. Anyone around the emperor could see that, even the towns' people were gossiping about it. The other concubines too, quickly caught on. She was a woman of absolute beauty, only a few hairs short of Y/N's, a princess of a famous descent from China, promised to be married to the emperor. He had taken a liking to her because like himself, she too had a quirk, which was still a very rare trait to have at the time. One of curses, sure it was evil in nature, but she had proven to be a responsible and respected lady. It all turned sour when her fiance liked another woman. In her rage, she had cursed the younger woman. The aforementioned girl had been told what had been done by the princess, by the sobbing and apologetic woman herself, but she was clueless to what extent this curse was. She had forgiven the princess straight away, an act of kindness that the nobles had shined to and the emperor had simply fell more in love with her for. But as countless years went by, she stayed the same. She then truly realised the horrors of her curse and at that moment in time, she wished she hadn't been so naive, so kind to just forgive the woman who left her life in ruins. The curse was one of immortality. Something she couldn't escape even after the princess had passed away. To watch her lovers grow up and prosper, only to stay the same young woman when she watched they started to wilt and eventually die.   And so here she was. An entity of over a thousand years old and yet she remained the same bubbly and happy woman on the outside, smiling brightly at the cameras as she walked around the towns. Everyone in Japan knew of her. Not only did her predicament attract the attention of the public, she was also the CEO of Japan's most well known and successful hero agency. She had set up the agency with her husband, Katsuki, a mere 18 years ago, before he was killed in one of the largest villain attacks in Japan history 2 years after it opened. They had employed All Might when he was in his younger days as well as worked with all of the top 10 heroes, and after his death, she become the sole chairman of the agency. And thanks to the technology present in the modern day, those who weren't previously interested in her at least knew her name. There was then the nickname the media had given her after she had survived the attack : ‘The Undead Hero.’ She sure as hell wasn’t a hero. For god’s sake she was quirkless! But the internet took joy to praising her successes within the hero world. And as a joke, an online petition started for her to become licensed pro hero and the people in charge decided there'd be no harm, since she can't die and all, in making her one, titling her in as Pro Hero Number Zero. So here you were, the country's first quirkless pro hero. ~~~ You had watched the UA sports festival, looking for students to intern here at your company. One certain blonde had caught your eye but you felt yourself flinch at the mention of his full name. It had certainly been a long time since the last time you met another reincarnation of your first love. There had been many different personalities before and the situation you met him in varied to such extent that you had given up with the idea of repeatedly seeking him out and your last encounter with him, or his spirit at least, was your breaking point. You have a good 16 years to grieve his unfortunate and untimely death but even the ten hundred years you were alive wasn't enough time for you to forget and move on. It seemed that you had a curse where you could never escape your one lover, but maybe that was the package deal with immortality. "We're definitely sending an offer out to him right boss?" your assistant, Naomi asked, writing down that all so familiar name down on a notepad. "Up to you, I'm taking a break." you replied, standing up and walking away from the big screen. You knew her eyes softened as she watched your figure retreat out of the room, after all she was there with you after your husband died. Your husband, the one who shared the same name as the boy mentioned. "Alright I'll send you the list later." she replied softly, before turning her attention back to the live broadcast, which now showed a green haired boy. "Thanks. I'll look over it and then you can send out the offers tomorrow." you said before completely leaving the room. It had been a week since the sports festival and it was time for the internships. You had a very important meeting in the morning, causing you to regrettably miss welcoming the trainee heroes to your agency. Standing up, you voiced your thanks and bowed, to which the other businessmen and women returned the guesture.

"I'll be expecting to see you soon." you smiled as Naomi showed then out. "Of course." one of them replied, smiling once more before all of them left the building. Waiting for them to disappear completely from sight, you turned back around. "Alright, what's next?" you asked, looking over. "Next we need to speak to the interns. Briefly would be fine but we need a positive review of our work place." she replied and started walking away, to which you followed. "Of course." you replied curtly. To be frank, you didn't need her to remind you how to keep up the reputation, after all you had been running the agency for almost 20 years but you bit your tongue as you didn't want her to feel as if her work was unwelcome. She was a great assistant and you knew that you needed her and her abilities. Turning the corner, someone roughly crashed you into you, sending you tumbling back a few steps. "Watch it." they snapped, sending to you a glare. "E-excuse me." Naomi stuttered. She wasn't too intimidated by the way the young boy was fuming, instead at her bosses reaction. You had a vendetta against extremely rude people and she braced herself for an ugly ending. "What?" he scowled, turning to send her a nasty look before he turned his attention back to you. You pursed your lips, unsure whether to snap back or not as you didn't want to cause a scene. The meeting had taken much longer than expected. It was only two in the afternoon but all you wanted to do was sleep, but you needed to meet the interns and consolidate the arrangements with the other heroes that worked here. "Well are you going to say anything?" he asked. "Why are you just standing there like a idiot?" "Young boy I don't think that's very appropriate to say to someone." Naomi said quietly, eyes flickering to observe your reaction. "Well it's true isn't it." You let out a sigh, deciding to not waste your energy on anything out of your plan, especially people who were unnecessarily rude. "Hey, don't ignore me." he shouted as you walked past him, your assistant shuffling behind you. You walked briskly towards the training halls, ignoring his shouts for you to acknowledge him. He eventually stopped to pick up a phone call but at that point you had already walked down two corridors, too far away to hear him stop shouting profanities at you. You pushed open the doors to the largest training hall in your building, leaning on the wall next to the door as you watched several people combat each other. You had stayed there for no more than a minute or too when the fuming blonde stomped back in. A green haired boy, Midoriya was it, waved excitedly at the him, but he simply flipped him over, moving over to the side of the hall. If they had any more interactions planned, they had to be stopped there as one of the heroes spotted you, quickly shouting for everyone to come over and you slowly walked onto on of the courts. "I'm glad you to see that none of you are slacking off." you announced loudly, your eyes scanning over the small crowd of people. "Of course not boss." a young hero replied. You smiled at her with a small nod. "Boss?" someone shouted and you turned slightly to spot the blonde from earlier, his mouth hung open. "It's nice to meet you Bakugou-san." you said, a small bitter edge to your words before you turned back to the rest, a large smile on your face. "Good afternoon everyone, it's a shame I wasn't able to welcome you this morning, I hope there hasn't been any trouble. My name is Y/N and I'm incredibly pleased that you chose to intern at my agency." "Y/N!" Midoriya shouted, a look of glee filling his face. "You're my favourite hero, I love you so much." he shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. The gesture from the boy made you grin even wider. It was almost as if some of his endless energy had been transferred to you. "That makes me very happy, thank you Midoriya." "She knows my name!" he shouted, earning a few praises and snickers. "Shut up Deku." Bakugou seethed. He was fuming at the thought of you. He had not only completely embarrassed himself in front of you, but also insulted you, the CEO! He cursed himself for not researching prior to this, but the fact that you seemed so young to him gave no implications that you were the big boss of this place. "Alright." you shouted, clapping your hands together. "Let's get this show on the road." ~~~ Midoriya had fallen asleep extremely quickly, a small 'good night Kacchan' and he had been out like a light. But the same had not befallen Bakugou and instead he stayed awake, shifting and turning restlessly as he lay on the bottom bunk. After a few more moments of him lying wide awake, he shuffled out of his bed and left the room. He walked down the corridor, planning to head towards the kitchen when he spotted a light on. It was indeed the same direction in which he wished to go so he followed it. Stepping inside the room, he saw you sat on the couch. Your back was to him and you were muttering something. As he got closer, he made out the words falling from your mouth. "He loves me, he loves me not." He turned around to exit the room, sure that you wanted nothing but space, but his foot slipped slightly and he fell slightly, cursing. You jumped at the sound behind you. "Oh I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" you asked, looking up and around at him with a sniffle. Your cheeks were flush and the tip of your nose red, a few stray tears resting on your cheeks. Bakugou stood their awkwardly as you wiped your sleeve across your eyes and cheeks. He didn't know what to do in this situation. He hadn't comforted someone in years, always opting to leave his group of friends to take care of a problem, only ever observing from the side line. "D-do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly. He tried to make sure his words were more gentle than usual, careful not to make you start crying again. Your eyes widened at his questioned but you slowly nodded. Patting the space next to you on the couch, you smiled slightly. "Have a seat Bakugou." You laughed at the irony. Here you were crying about your deceased husband as his reincarnation sat beside you, offer on the table to listen to your troubles. Your mind began to wander at the word troubles. What exactly in your life was going wrong? It was a simple answer really, everything. "So how are you?" you asked, breaking the silence. He blinked a couple times in confusion. "I'm good." he answered slowly, his voice low and hushed. "Well that's good." you nodded turning back to the lonesome rose stem in your hand that you had been previously picking the petal off from. "So why are you up?" you asked. Bakugou at this point was lost for words. Wasn't you the one who had been crying? Why were you so intrigued in asking him questions? "Couldn't sleep." he muttered, a glare on his face as he stared forwards at the coffee table, trying desperately to understand you. "Fair enough." you hummed, turning to look in the same direction as him, your eyes landing on your untouched mug of hot chocolate. "Do you want a drink?" you asked, gesturing to the mug on the table. "I haven't drank from it yet." Bakugou nodded, after all he had come out of his room for the hopes of getting a drink. "Thanks." he muttered. You watched as the boy brought the mug up to his lips and you thought back to your previous encounter with his spirit. "He liked hot chocolate too." you mumbled, turning away and back at the rose stem. "Did you say something?" he asked, mug in hand as he sent you a glance. You pursed your lips, taking a moment before shaking you head. "No, it was... nothing." you trailed off. "Well you accepted my offer so you'd better start talking." he scoffed, but his angry facade was falling apart almost as quickly as he started it and he was sure you could see through it, but you decided not to comment on it. And so you spent the rest of your night with Bakugou. He had proven to be much more thoughtful than you had imagined, less rude and obnoxious, which you were grateful for. It was obvious that he hadn't recognised you during your first encounter, and more than likely did not know about your immortality. You didn't need any more pity for that. So you talked about your husband, to an extent, keeping away from mentioning his name, instead reminiscing the memories you had with him. The younger boy listened, nodding and throwing in small comment here and there. The two of you exchanged a few more words after that topic, but in an hour or two, it was a simple silence. He had fallen asleep next to you, a peaceful look on his face. You got up and cleaned away the mug and flower petals, before returning to your room to get a blanket. Laying it gently on him, you took the liberty to press a kiss to his forehead before leaving, turning off the lights. "Sleep well Katsuki." ~~~ Bakugou was needless to say, very disappointing that he had barely seen you all week. He understood that you had a lot on your plate running a business, but a part of him had hoped that after your emotional night with him on the first day, you would at least take some time to say hello to him. He had went to the living room a further 5 more times, hoping that you would be there waiting for him. But he found himself being disappointed time and time again when he saw that there was no room with a light on in the corridor. Today was his last day of fully interning, he was due to leave the following morning and although he could say he was very happy to leave the other bastards in the company behind, he couldn't say the same for you. In truth, he had formed a small interest in you. Call it a crush or whatever, it wasn't as if he would say it out loud. Sure you had a pretty face and all, that much he would admit, but he was genuinely confused by your appearance. You said you had been running the agency for almost 20 years but you didn't look anywhere near your 40s? That had greatly puzzled the explosive boy. "Deku." he shouted, catching the attention of the smart boy as he was chatting with one of the heroes. "Y-yes Kacchan?" "How old do you think Y/N is?" he asked. The green haired boy gasped, shaking his head. "Kacchan! It's rude to ask about a girls age." he scolded him, to which Bakugou snorted. "But between you and me, I'd say about a thousand and one hundred?" "Are you shitting me you nerd?" he bellowed, hand raised with his palm upwards, ready to start an explosion. The hero chipped in. "I'd say so too. She's definitely over a thousand." she commented. "I think last year was her one thousand and seventyith birthday? I could be wrong, I wasn't invited to the party." she sulked. "You two are fucking joking right?" "We're not." the hero replied, furrowing her eyebrows before she let out a small gasp. "Are you telling me you've never heard of the boss?" "No. Should I have?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes!" she cried out, throwing her hands up in the air, before bringing them down and massaging her forehead. "You're overreacting." Bakugou stated, giving a deadpan look to the girl as he let out a 'tch' in annoyance. "She really not Kacchan, literally everyone has heard of Y/N. She's a massive sensation in the hero community but also the beauty one, I'm not sure how you've never come across her." The truth was Bakugou had come across your name on his browser, twice, maybe three times. But most of them had popped up during the start of the school year, when Midoriya had suddenly shown up with a quirk. So as soon as he read that you were quirkless, he made sure to avoid your name like the plague. Midoriya soon left to start his patrolling, and left Bakugou standing there, thinking about you. With many more questions than he had answers. ~~~ "Y/N." he said, standing at the doorway of your office and you and your assistant stared back in confusion. "Hello there Bakugou, is there anything I can help you with?" you asked. He froze up at your question. Why was he here? He had barged past some security just a few moments prior, saying he had something urgent to talk to with the boss, but now that he was here, no excuse would pop up in his mind. "Alright Naomi, give me a few minutes." you said, handing the papers you hand in your hand off to Naomi before she nodded and left. "So." you began, leaning forwards so both your elbows were on the desk and your chin rested on the back of your intertwined fingers. "Have a seat Bakugou." You gestured to the big chair in front of your desk and he complied, sitting down in utter silence. He opened his mouth to speak but it took a few seconds for the words to come out. "I haven't seen you in a while." he blurted out. He immediately wanted to slam his head into the desk before him, cringing at his words and the smug smile that you shot him. "If I knew any better, I'd say you missed me Bakugou." “Katsuki." he corrected, eyes trailed carefully on yours. You nodded and ran a hand through your hair.

"Honestly, I'd love to stay and talk Katsuki, but I'm on a tight schedule right now." you explained, tilting your head to the side as you waited for his response. "Will I see you again tonight?" he asked, his voice so quiet that he seemed almost... shy. Your smile grew wider. "Sure thing. I'll make sure to swing around earlier so you don't need to stay up so late waiting for me." He nodded at your response and started to get up. "Tell Naomi to come back in when you leave." "Alright." he muttered, turning away towards the door. "And Katuski?" you said, earning a grunt from the younger male. "I missed you too." He quickly turned away at your statement but you could see the tips of his ears grow red. Of course you had missed him. He was the only other person you confided in about your husband other than Naomi. But it was truly Bakugou Katsuki that you had missed. His soul that you had hopelessly fell in love with over and over again. The result was always the same, and after each time, you would tell yourself that it was the last. But he would always come back. And you, once again, would fall for him, like a drug that you simply couldn't fight the addiction of. And so you braced yourself for another heartbreak. After all, it was inevitable. ~~~ Bakugou had waited for you in the living room of the dorm space he currently stayed in, a cup of chocolate in his hands and one for you placed on the coffee table. You kept to your word and came earlier. It was around 11pm when you slipped into the dorm floor of the building. Seeing the light on, you made your way quietly towards it. "Hey." you said, your voice warm and gentle as he looked up towards you, moving to hand you the mug. "Thank you." You sat down on the couch with your legs crossed and he chucked a blanket to yo, to which you laid on your lap. "Is there anything in specific you want to talk about?" "You." he stated. You hummed in response. The rest of the night he asked questions about you, your immortality and more about your latest deceased husband, who he found out the name of. He recognised the hurt that flashed in your eyes as you recalled telling him about your immortality. He had be an accepting person, loving you for you as a person and paying little to no mind to your unchanging outer appearance. At least that was what it seemed on the outside. There had been times were his act slipped and he crumbled, talking about how he wanted to grow old with you, not for you to look the same when he was in his older years and your children looked the same age as you. But of course you hadn't even gotten the chance to think about having children, setting up the agency had taken up most of your time, and which to this day you still regret. You wished you had spent more time with him, appreciating him instead of work, before his dying moment. You hadn't thought too much about things, his presence made you live in the moment, not caring about any problems or consequences as long as he was with you. But of course he wasn't. He had left too early. The younger boy had wrapped an arm around your shoulder when you began to sniffle, grabbing a box of tissues from the table for you. After he was satisfied with the amount of answers you gave him, he opened up about the guilt that he felt for All Might's retirement. He told you about the things he witnessed during the fight against All for One, how utterly useless he felt. He followed with nightmares that visited him almost every night, how he was force himself to stay awake to avoid them, causing him to form a habit of being unable to sleep. You had been so understanding and sweet that the boy couldn't help but let out a few tears, relishing in your soft touches and soothing tone that he eventually fell asleep in your arms. The following morning he waited excitedly for you too see him off along with the other heroes from your company. But you didn't come. He left in the train with a heavy heart, head titled backwards against the glass window as he thought back. He hadn't seen you in the morning, waking up alone and in his own bed. He had wandered out into the living room, hoping that your figure would be sleeping on the couch, but alas, you weren't there. His way home was unusually silent. Midoriya had definitely picked up on it but when he attempted to talk to the blonde, he only received shouts and threats. He eventually gave up, opting to leave the teen to his own devices. Once Bakugou returned home, he unpacked him clothes, throwing everything into a pile to wash. He turned every pocket inside out and when he got to his pajama bottom, a small piece of paper fell out. 'Hey sorry I had to leave so early in the morning, here's my number if you wanted to talk more. xxxxx-xxx-xxx' He instantly smiled, diving for his phone, typing your number in just as quickly before he sent you a text. ~~~ It had been a few months since the internships and Bakugou had found himself calling you on a regular basis. It would mostly be in late into the night, with you obviously busy with your agency during the daylight hours. You would talk about your day, ask him about his. He would often complain about his classmates, maybe his teacher, but on some rare occasions he would say something nice about them, like how Shitty hair had improved in combat or that Deku was getting progressively less annoying. You listened, giving him tips about a variety of things, ranging from things about the general hero world or what he should get for his pink skinned friend's birthday. And he soon found himself hopelessly falling in love with you. He hadn't planned for this to happen. Fuck, he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't. He didn't want to have to deal with the consequences of your immortality, but he found himself crawling back to you even at a bat of your eyelashes. Your grasp on him was truly... inescapable. He had been horrified at the thought, refusing to acknowledge your existence. Your calls would go through to voicemail, your texts left unread. You didn't understand why he was ghosting you, beating yourself up about it over a few glasses of wine as you slowly sunk into sadness. It was another simply another repeated loop and you recognised all of the signs, but you felt what was left of your heart completely shatter. Sure you had previous reincarnations reject you because they disliked, or even feared, the idea of you being immortal, but they had made it clear at the beginning, not half a year into talking with you daily. Your mood soured drastically, and Naomi had tried to persuade you into talking to her, but you refused to, keeping all of your thoughts bottled up. You buried yourself with more and more work, creating a wall around you that even the one or two friends you had couldn't break down, let alone your employees. The company continued to receive praise, by media and heroes alike, but what used to be your sole joy and pride left nothing but a bitter taste in your mouth. You had gotten so used to Bakugou's company that without hearing his voice left you so empty. And to save yourself from being hurt like a broken record on repeat, you gave up on love. ~~~ It was on an interview that Bakugou witnessed the true extent of what his actions had done to you. He had the unfortunate timing of walking in when Midoriya was watching your interview live on the big screen in the common room. Bakugou had initially refused to stay, but his friends had forced him to, saying something about how he should see how his old mentor was doing. He had complained to the point where his friends willingly let him go but instead he begrudgingly stayed, standing in the corner of the room with his arms crossed as he furrowed his brows at the screen You sat across from the interviewer, a tired expression on your face as you explained the agency's plans and future aims. The other woman nodded, asking questions here and there, and then it came to the questions fans asked. "Have you been taking care of yourself?" The question caught you off guard and your breath hitched. You tried to take a deep breath in but everything around you started to blur together into nothing but a background noise. "S-sorry, could I have a moment?" you asked, but before she gave you any answer, you had already left the set. At the same time, Bakugou slipped out of the common room, his heart clenching at the terrible state you were in. When he first met you, only a few months ago, you stood high with your head help up high, a sort of excitement in your eyes, an aura of authority when you dared to ignore him! But now you were reduced to short sentences and even shorter smiles, fake and forced. And unbeknown to you, you were doing the same to him. His loud shouts had reduced to smaller, and less often sharp erratic outbursts. The distance he had put between him and his friends was almost immeasurable and none of them could reach even close enough to console him in the slightest. He had shut the world out completely, solely focusing on training and school work. He gritted his teeth as he fought back the itch to call you, but eventually he relented, taking him phone out of his pocket and dialling on your number. He sure wasn't expecting you to pick up, but when you did, his heart felt elated. "Hello?" you asked, your phone on speaker by the side as you dried your hands in the bathroom, lookign at yourself in the mirror and giving yourself an encouraging nod. "H-hi." he whispered, locking himself up in his room as he sat down on the floor, his back against the door. "I'm sorry." ~~~ He was in his early twenties, too young to be giving up what his future held. You hadn't meant to choose his path for him, but you had indirectly done so when you said no. So there he sat with his head in his hands, cheeks stained with tears and the ring somewhere lost in the corner of his room. It was selfish, you knew, but the time you spent with him only felt like a ticking bomb, each week, day, hour even, was counting down to the day in which you would lose him. And you weren't ready. He knew it was a stupid move to make. After all, you have discussed with him countless times about how scared you were to commit to a relationship you knew would once again end up in flames. "Death is inevitable." he said, watching as you fiddled with his sleeve as you laid together on the couch. "Well not for me." you countered back. "If you could remove this curse, would you?" "I don't know Katsuki. I'm honestly so scared." You shifted so your face was buried in his chest. "I've seen what death can do and I'm just so, so scared." "I want to grow old with someone I love." you continued. "I really do. But I don't know how to feel knowing that was my last few years alive. I've been around for so long that I've become afraid to die." "I'm tired of the heartbreak, but there's always a comforting moment because I know you'll come back. Sooner or later, your soul will be back in my arms, whether it takes 20 years or 200. But if I were to find a way to remove my curse and you died before me, I'd never see you again." He found himself at a lack of words that day. Nothing would leave his mouth so the only thing he could do to comfort you was to hug you even tighter. Eventually something came to his mind. "What if I just find a way to be immortal too?" he asked. You looked up at him. "That's highly illegal Katsuki. Think about it, if you could easily do that, then everyone would be able to live forever. And normally, the effect of the quirk disappears as soon as they die." He hummed in response, mood downcast that he couldn't help you in any way. He spent the rest of the night comforting you to the best of his abilities. You truly had felt better after his words, but he didn't see the subtle change in mood. He wanted to reassure you, to be someone you could rely on. But all he brought into your life was constant worry. He replayed your words in his head on a loop. He already saw this coming, but his constant refusal to acknowledge his situation had led to his downfall.   You had sent him a quick message and in the following days, you hadn't picked up his calls in days. He had called your assistant as well as visited your company, but he was told you weren’t there. He cried in anguish at how hell bent you were at avoiding him, even going to the extent of having your employees lie for you. But he soon found that they weren't lying. No one had seen you in weeks and your fans had picked up on it fairly quickly. There were articles all over the internet, forums and interviews with her assistant and closest friend. "She has left on her own accord." Naomi stated as multiple cameras flashed in her eyes. You had told her you were out to seek happiness, as vague as it had been, and that she needed to cover for you during the month or so that you were gone. That was all of the information you had given her, before you disappeared without a trace. She sighed at your foolishness but part of her resonated with you, knowing she too would do anything for her love.  You sent Bakugou a 'I'll talk to you later' text, before taking apart your phone, leaving it under your pillow before grabbing your get away bag and leaving by train. His proposal haunted your every thought, and it drove you insane. He knew you were scared of commitment and heartache and yet he still asked you! You didn't blame him though. More so yourself. Nobody had made you talk to him about your troubles or reach out to him. You had given him your phone number. He could've left your company with new knowledge about the hero world and not about you, but he already had your heart and you had taken the opportunity to reconcile with your first love, regardless of whether it would leave you in ruins in the future. You were going to make this right. You were so utterly tired of the constant dull looming tide of sadness, doubt, anger. You wanted it to end, you really did. You had told Bakugou you were scared of dying. You were. But your greatest fear was losing him and you couldn't take it anymore. You raised your hand to knock and a large smile decorated your face. It had been a good month since you had last talked to him. You had set out to the remote countryside, searching for some young woman who had a curse removing quirk. 

You had gone with no expectations, telling yourself over and over again that you would be fine if it was unsuccessful. But deep down you knew you would be distraught if your current situation could not change.

The door opened to the blonde, his instantly furrowed his brows as his mouth hung open.

"Hey Katsuki." "Y-Y/N?" "I think I'm going to die-" "What?" he shouted, startling you. "Let me finish." you laughed. "I think I'm going to die in 50 or so years. Hopefully longer if that means I can be with you until old age." "W-what are you talking about?" he asked, confusion littering his face. "I'm no longer immortal." you grinned, before it fell slightly. "At least I think I am, the girl told me he got rid of the curse fully, but I’m not expecting too much." He continued to stutter, incoherent sentences falling from his lips as he fought back tears. "Surprise?" you asked, letting out a nervous chuckle. You started to grow worried at his reaction. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, but your feet stayed frozen in place, after all you had rejected him a month or so ago.   "Y-you got rid of your curse?" You nodded and he asked another question. "For me?" "Of course silly. Who else am I going to die with?" you laughed. His nose scrunched up as he tried desperately to comprehend the situation. "Aren't you scared?" "You'll be there with me right?" "Of course." he quickly said, nodding his head. "I thought." he trailed off and wrapped you up in his arms, head in the crook of your neck as his body shook with sobs. "I thought you left me." "I'm sorry." you said repeating it quietly over and over again. "I love you so much." "I love you too."

Taglist : 

@boku-no-family @toobsessedsstuff @renarderouges @thatonegeekchick @mrminyoongles @yourscorpiodaddy​

[journeytodreaming]

If you’ve found this post, you might have come a long way.

Sit and rest for a while. Have you had enough water today? I hope you may have some more.

This is the first post of this Tumblr.

No idea what I’ll do with it, but I don’t have to know.

I can tell you how I actually wholly and entirely have No Idea what I’m doing, journeying on to create this blog — but i don’t need to know how I’m going to do it.

I just need to be able to see and know why.

“why! Why! why!”

Interestingly enough, why is one of the dumbest or most useless questions one can ask about a situation, according to an esteemed and trusted podcast I listen to (Spiritual Psi-kology).

Or rather, it CAN BE if asked in the wrong direction — in the way that heads for Resistance to what Is, rather than Acceptance of what Can be.

While that’s absolutely true for the external world, in terms of overly concerning oneself with “why do these things happen?” We can instead focus on whatever it is that we are doing in the the present moment and how we are embracing the future, by asking “why am choosing to this choice?” Or “what is my ‘why’ reason for being motivated today, in this effort I am investing now?”

We should, like, know openly why we do stuff, right?

No reason to be a mystery to ourselves… (unless! There’s a reason! Probably a bad one…)

If we aren’t clear on why we are doing things we are already doing or about to do, that’s more of an issue that affects us directly compared to events outside us, and it’s one that LUCKILY OR UNLUCKILY we very much have control over.

Why things have happened in the past… might not even be knowable. It’s definitely not controllable.

The reason “why” I’m making this particular tumblr is to simply document synchronicities and reflections along the way to creating a bigger project.

My reason for making the bigger project is to get people interested in exploring their own interests, letting go of outcomes and plans beyond enjoying life as an autodidact, a self-teacher and a lifelong learner.

It’s both “political and personal” (though not very political — I suppose if I’m feeling VERY cynical I would argue having a growth-mindset is political in a fixed-mindset society that wants to play dumb and hard to get at the same time, and ends up getting weak and lonely results from shallow efforts and short term thinking, but? — beyond the obvious condition of things, it’s not really a political project at all). The personal half is also not very personal in the sense that I am observing, or hoping to observe, my own life as a situation of circumstances maybe anyone could have gone through, were they to be born at my time and in my place.

The objects are personal, but the descriptions are detached.

If I were to be personal, it would be here: Journey to Dreaming. Here’s a little side dish piece on how I came to the place of making this project.

During a lot of retrograde and life changes no less!

The project is improvised.

The subject is synchronicity.

I’m sure, already, though this may be my first post, it’ll just write itself, ya know?

The content is there.

It’s our dreams, our world, our histories.

The way things go, they come together whether you like it or not so that’s my thesis here: and you don’t have to like it because too bad sometimes.

But I maintain, I have seen enough wildness in the last 10-15 years of studying these patterns…

The Universe has a mind of its own.

It’s all a good idea, generally.

And the tumblr accompanies the blog as a travel log or a journal. I have posted nothing, shared little to nothing, told very few about my project(s).

On the energy level, they have already all-consumed me, and it’s just a matter of walking across the tightrope of intention now.

My entire life may change around this post, rather, this project, but as I write it, I don’t know.

Meh. Felt important to say.

With a flick of the wrist and a snap of my fingers I can close this thought and let it go, let it sleep, deep in the Earth, in the ether, knowing…

If I just keep showing up…

I will have nothing to doubt and no reason to fear.

Once a calling has really got a hold of your ear…

You learn to hold on to that arm as hard as it’s holding on to you because you actually don’t want to lose touch with the thing that pains you anymore.

It’s a weird relationship but as long as there’s balance, right?

Right… this is my story of marrying the Universe, er, marrying my life in the Universe; and as a doting spouse, attending to the stories that await to be told.

It’s not like they haven’t been told before but my beloved brought them to me to make sure you knew them. They, too, felt important.

If maybe not you, then important for someone to know.

All of humanity’s story gets told through a very narrow band of characters… very specific people and places are brought to the surface a redundant amount of times while other stories are… lost, nearly lost, pushed up to the surface with a struggle against a great downward force.

This blog, this project… is like water.

I told y’all, it improv I don’t make typos.

Like Bruce Lee says, “Be Like Water,” this story meanders and floats driftwood from shipwrecks at sea and stormy breezes in faraway lands — what lands on your beach is what lands on your beach.

A lot of other stories might keep on floating and end up living with someone else.

I think the best part is I truly do not intend to control or attempt to control what conclusions are made by who. Just research more, look harder, think deeper, perceive wider, feel more completely. Experience the world, embrace all of it, and shy not away.

Harm no one, love all that people and fault not what folks aren’t. If I were to control anyone, that’s what I’d say. Life is complicated, love is hard, and everyone’s been hurt. So I don’t fault what folks aren’t.

Folks in history might get some ruthless blog posts about them though, to keep it SPICY. I will chat with them in the ether and plan to amicably arrange an agreement as is reasonable and compassionate.

Some figures in history are not going to have a lot of reason to work with but the point is it’s based in merit, I do believe.

Living humans all have a second chance. I thoroughly debated taking up a blog more about journalism, but I decided I don’t know anything about anybody alive today besides maybe myself…

And beyond myself, I don’t want to.

I chose to focus on history to grasp at the timelessness of sensation, emotion, and conscious awareness — the time traveling abilities of dreams and imagination as well as stories and the larger-than-life human beings (and animals! and plants!) told of inside those stories.

Forget what’s going on today — that’s 99.99% judging things as they’re unfolding and — what’s the why in that? We don’t really know what’s going to happen (and then again it’s 0.01% useful when it does turn out to go that way, like the weather is good to have warning about even if the storm doesn’t happen). How can we learn from the past SOMETHING about SOMETHIN’ we can actually DO today? Something we can control?

How can history help us center ourselves for WHATEVER Comes our way?

Do we need to know what will be?

We probably have a lot of information to work with to prepare for a variety of scenarios, as well as good outcomes, as well as — just like my example — natural scenarios.

Storms of a century don’t happen often, but they’re called that because they do happen.

It’s not political if you’ve like, accepted weather exists right?

Right?

Oy. Okay, like I was saying:

we are staying out of journalism and we are retreating backwards into history. It’s nice there!

Well, no… not always…

But it’s okay, when history gets too real…

We are going to the DREAM WORLD.

And when the dream world gets too weird…

Uhhhh, (that can get very weird) i guess

We’ll quit?

We’ll just come back here to the present moment for tea and cookies or something. Who wants a distraction?

How about some more water, actually? Any season, that’s good.

I’m going to go get some now.

Uhhhzz…

I don’t have a sign off yet!

- Journey to Dreaming

[sabineelectricheart]

Rain Over The Mediterranean

Summary: Cardia and Saint-Germain considers the synonymy between them and the sea.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2800

Notes: I mean... I suppose... Well, here it is. Hope you like it.

The first, fat raindrop landed on Saint-Germain’s nose, running along the curve of his nostril before it lost momentum on his upper lip. The second splashed against Cardia’s ear, the cold startling needles beneath her skin.

By the third drop, Saint-Germain had taken her hand to guide her dextrously back to the excessive, replicant mansion by the beach near Marseille that had been their home since the previous afternoon.

The seemingly newlywed couple was in sights of their lodgings, and so the sudden rain was not much of a concern, but it was such a shame cut their walk short. The sweet smells of the lavender plantation nearby, carried by the cooler wind from the continent and easing the dry heat of the summer morning. The soft sunlight reflected on the shore estates and the ruins down the beach.

Saint-Germain looks over to the Mediterranean. Some few miles away from the beach, it was as sunny as ever, while over them hung a grey, stormy cloud, ready to release its contents over their heads. A shame, indeed, but it might be sunny again in a couple of hours.

The young woman paused for just a moment, casting a final look toward the brilliant orange of the morning sun. It was rare for it to rain in the Mediterranean Summer, but she pinned that up to a good omen. Ancient men, like her husband, usually interpreted rain as a gift from up above, and she liked that thought.

As the brunette watched, the surface of the seawater became speckled with rain, the agitation beneath suggesting that more was brewing than a simple morning shower. She turned away to follow Saint-Germain, wondering if these were the sights that had earned her husband’s love for the sea.

Their pace quickened as the skies continued to pour forth with increasing vigour. Her thin slippers, tugged back on in haste, did little to aid her in gaining traction through the loose sand beyond the shoreline. Cardia lurched forward; the shadows of the jacket Saint-Germain held over her head blocking her view of uneven path. His arm was at her side in a moment to catch her.

“I’m well, Saint-Germain.” She promised, giggling at the foolish image they would have made had anyone else been at the seaside to observe them.

“We’re nearly there.” He encouraged as they came within sight of their temporary abode.

He flung open the door and ushered her in, stopping to flick the excess water from his jacket onto the ground outside. When he had finished, he stepped back, latching the door and casting his eye around the darkening mansion.

“It looks as though we may be stuck inside for a while, unfortunately.” Cardia surmised as she brushed the wet curls from her eyes. “But I cannot fault the company.”

“Nor I.” The affection in his voice produced a shiver that had nothing to do with the inclement weather.

The dampness of her clothes finally settling against her skin, Cardia drew close to the fire Saint-Germain was stoking back from embers.

“We should dry much faster if we change out of our wet things.” He advised with a quick glance back at her. “I would not want you to become sick in our little escapade.”

She nodded at the welcome suggestion, fingers already working at the ties of her dress. Still, she watched him as he worked the coals, divided focus slowing movements that should have come easily.

He added a log to the fire, the flames crackling greedily to consume the new wood. In the glow, his eyes gleamed emerald as she stepped nearer. Three years of marriage, and her heart still raced every time she saw the way he looked at her when they were alone together. She hoped it always would.

Saint-Germain joined her in standing, his posture straight and still as he allowed her to assist in his process of undressing. Cardia’s deft fingers made short work of his shirt, tugging out the layers of fabric that had been tucked down the front of his trousers.

“You’re soaked through.” She noted quietly, wondering how many times he had been similarly drenched without a place of retreat.

How many times had he gone without someone to care for him? I will see that he lacks for nothing, she promised as her hand lingered over the well-known scars on his chest.

He covered her fingers with a large hand, dragging them gently from the puckered skin at his side. His lips skimmed the knuckles with the lightest of kisses before he returned the hand and directed his attention to the fastenings at her shoulders.

She watched his face as he worked, feeling his efforts come to fruition in the loosening neckline. Idly, she wondered whether there was anything which his hands were not skilled in doing. If there were, she had yet to discover it.

Moments later, he eased the shift over her head, leaving her bare before him.

“You are beautiful, my Cardia.” He breathed out.

With a tender smile, he extended a hand to cup her cheek. Cardia stood on her toes, offering her mouth for a kiss.

His lips tasted of wind and rain, wakening a heat deep within her that even the cool of autumn could not steal away. It was only with some effort that she pulled back to gather their clothes from the floor. While she arranged their wet things by the fireplace, Saint-Germain stepped into a dry set of trousers.

“Perhaps…” She began, wicked thoughts running through her mind while catching his movement in the corner of her eye. “Perhaps we should wait for these to dry. There is little reason for us to dress fully now. No one is here to see us, and it will be some time before we are able to return outside.”

He laid aside the shirt, but his fingers still worked to fasten the buttons of his pants. “I would not object to that.”

Task complete, Cardia crossed the room, winding her arms around her husband’s waist and pressing her cheek to his bare skin. Even out of the wet clothes, she was far from warm. A faint shiver crossed her shoulders as Saint-Germain’s arms circled them.

“You may doubt my words, repetitive as they certainly are, but tea is very good for warming up on such mornings.” He suggested, stepping aside to pull a quilt from the bed.

Returning to her, he wrapped the blanket around her petite frame.

“Indeed, it is.” She agreed, clutching at the fabric. “But I am not in the mood for tea. I suppose I would rather to keep you warm myself, instead.”

The blond man chuckled. “I would not object to that either.”

Her lips pursed slightly at the quiver of humour in his tone.

While he began boiling water, Cardia took stock of the supplies they had brought with them from his London estate. Impey and Lupin had done them a great favour, not only preparing days’ worth of food in advance, but including all of the things they might need to cook for themselves as well.

She thought that Victor, too, might have had something to do with the state of the provisions, especially when she located a little pot of the honey that they both favoured, which had fallen to the bottom of one basket. She ought to remember to thank him upon their return to London.

Setting it aside, she replaced the contents of the basket, a task that took much longer with one hand occupied in holding up her blanket. When she had finished, she sat and watched her husband’s capable form over the fire. Even as they had adjusted to the roles of their new life, moments like these reminded her just how quickly the familiar had become foreign.

“Is this what you imagined when you wished for a vacation by the sea?” She inquired softly, pulling the corners of the quilt into a knot at her breast.

He turned from the fire momentarily in order to address the question. “You already know that life with you is much more than I ever could imagine, Cardia.”

“That does not quite answer my question.” She protested, falling quiet for some moments before she attempted it again. “Do you never wish for a simpler life? A human life, with a human woman, with little business with Salvation or the British government or the European Concert?”

Saint-Germain withdrew the boiling pot and set it beside the fire to steep. Contemplative, he rocked back onto his heels.

“Cardia, when I was a human, my life was painful, miserable and short. When I met Trismegistus, when I was allowed to want for the first time, I wished for an ordinary happiness. Our life may be far from what I classify as ordinary, but I would do nothing to change our fortunes, because ordinary or otherwise, I am deliriously happy.” He urged with a thin smile. “Especially when we may rely on our friends to help arrange for such disappearances as this one. With them to assist us, I doubt that this will be the last time we escape to the sea together.”

Her legs scratched against each other as she pulled them up under the chair.

"I hope that it is not. Though I’m not sure I expected this particular excursion to be quite so dirty.” She observed, rubbing the salt and sand that had dried on her calves.

"Was it not worthwhile to walk barefoot through the waves?” Saint-Germain poured her a measure of tea and sat across the table.

She thanked him and took a small sip, mulling over the question he had posed. “It was worth seeing the sea at your side.”

He watched closely to gauge her response. “You do not like it on its own?”

She shrugged. “I’m not certain what I think of it. At the moment, I find it rather frightening, and there’s rather more sand than I imagined. I’m afraid I’ll be finding it in my shoes for months to come, and that part of life by the sea does not seem very appealing.”

He laughed gently at her complaint, green eyes shimmering with his amusement. “I am not fond of it either, but it is a necessary evil to enjoy the ocean.”

"Then tell me what it is like to be at sea.” She suddenly demands. “What is it about the water that you love?”

Even beyond the sand, her own first impression had been less favourable. She could smile as the foamy waves lapped her feet, but the thought of being stranded in the midst of the wide ocean made her shudder. It was too large, too uncertain for her to understand his great affection for it.

He chuckled once more. “That would be a very long story indeed.”

Thunder boomed, a tremor reverberating throughout the small mansion.

“This seems a good morning for long stories, dear. We won’t be anywhere until lunchtime.” Cardia tightened her hold on the fine porcelain cup and took a draught of the liquid.

“Very well.” The aristocrat concurs.

“But if I am to keep you warm, then I must join you for the telling.” She stood, barely catching the edge of the quilt before it slipped from one shoulder.

A smile flittered across his face at her brief struggle.

“I do not think this chair is large enough for both of us.” His eyes darted from her to the opposite wall. “Perhaps we should sit before the fire, where we may both be warm.”

Tea in one hand, Cardia rose to the balls of her feet and pivoted toward the place he had indicated. Her tiny steps beckoned him to follow, but he outpaced her easily. Once there, he sat a distance from the flames, legs outstretched so that she was able to easily climb into his lap.

She untied the blanket and spread it around both pairs of shoulders. Saint-Germain’s hands held her secure, arms encircling her slender waist once everything had been properly situated. She sighed with contentment as her bare skin settled against his broad chest.

“This is very pleasant.” Cardia mused, slipping one arm outside of the alcove to retrieve her tea.

The blond nods. “It is, perhaps, too pleasant. If we sit like this for very long, I may be in danger of forgetting the sea altogether.”

With a titter, Cardia slipped from his lap to the floor. “I’ll return once you’ve finished your story.”

Saint-Germain leaned down to kiss her crown, one arm stretching behind to draw her close. Heads together, he began to speak.

For nearly an hour, he told her of the great empty expanse; of the freedom of movement to anywhere in the known world; of the moonlit nights with calm, open seas; of the ceaseless rocking that enticed sleep such as no other force could bring; of the bliss of seeing land at long last after a hard voyage. Countless descriptions and tales that Cardia endeavoured to commit to memory.

She listened intently as he spoke, and while her own feelings toward the sea remained unchanged, she thought, perhaps, that she could understand his better.

By the time his words had reached their end, the roaring fire had dwindled and they had long since given up their seated positions in order to lie beside one another atop the quilt.

"Has your curiosity been satisfied?” He asked finally, voice low against the patter of rain above them. “Or is there anything else you wish to know?”

She considered the sum total of all she knew, both from his words and from her own observations. “Just this. The sea that I have observed is nothing like what your stories describe. Even between this morning and yesterday evening, it is completely altered. What is there to love about something that is so full of changes? How can there be any comfort in returning to something that is never the same?”

"Aye.” He agreed readily. “It changes often. But I think I love it more because of the changes.” His gaze dropped to the blanket beneath them as he wove his thoughts together.

Cardia gave him room to think, lazily combing through the white silk of his hair that were still damp from their previous drenching. When his eyes returned to her face, she was startled to see the depth of emotion held within.

“It is rather like the way I love you, though my love for you is much greater.” Saint-Germain swallowed, the lines in his face softening as he continued. “Cardia, you have altered a great deal since you first arrived at London. Few would recognize in you now the same unfeeling, detached doll that Lupin brought back from somewhere in Wales. Yet, I love you for many of the same reasons that I loved you then. In the months that have passed, I have seen blossom many sides of you, but there is not a single one I do not love.”

Saint-Germain looked on her meaningfully, and she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. Throat thickening, Cardia rolled onto an elbow to get a better look at him. He gazed back with honesty and adoration, and she wondered what on earth she could have done to deserve such complete devotion from so generous a man.

"My love for you is constant, Saint-Germain.” She breathed, brushing her fingers along the length of his strong jaw, “even through the changes.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade, the thick muscles rippling under her touch. “And it is the deepest love that I have ever known.” She traced a line of kisses to his neck, pausing at the nape tenderly.

When she pulled away, he turned to his side and drew her into his arms. She melted against him readily, every vein alight with desire to show him her promises were true.

He searched her face, though her features could hardly be discerned in the dim light. “You are the greatest change to my life, my Cardia, but the greatest constant too. I would not trade this life with you for all of the dreams and stories my mind has ever devised. I have the sun itself. How could I desire more?”

The fire before them had faded to embers, yet the flames within Cardia burned bright as she met his lips in a passionate kiss.

A shock of thunder rumbled, and rain beat heavily against the panes of the small window. But neither thought of the weather, or even the sea that lay outside. They did not even ponder the future changes which waited for them beyond the mansion walls. Instead, they found joy in one thing they knew would never waver.

*_*_*_*_*

Code: Realize Masterlist