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usagi-chwan · 1 month ago

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Jealousy is a bad habit (BSDxReader)

🌸 Characters in this chapter: Dazai (Agency), Ranpo, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Atsushi, Yosano, Oda, Tecchou and Lucy.

🌸 Spoiler-wise, knowing who the characters are is enough to be able to read their respective parts.

Hey, hey! Hope you are doing well 😊 Today, I wanted to focus on a feeling we are all more or less familiar with: jealousy. So, what do BSD characters do when their boyfriend/girlfriend (somehow) finds himself/herself having to talk with someone who seems interested in him/her?

Basically, how do our favorite characters express (or not) their jealousy! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and wish you an excellent reading moment ~

(The parts are more or less the same size, except that Atsushi's is much longer... I was more inspired for him, that is all I have to say in my defense 🥲)

Dazai

- A rather jealous young man when it comes to love, let's face it. And you do not want to make him your enemy, far from it; he is capable of using some of the vilest stratagems in order to make that amateur flirter (a client of the Agency no less) regret having dared to be interested in you.

- And so, since this unfortunate mishap, Dazai now accompanies you on every assignment and attends client interviews with you, among other things... Which, of course, he never did before.

- He is the ultimate clingy person, even going so far as to hang on to you, preferably in front of the troublemaker, so that the latter realizes that they would better go on their way and find another agency to solve their problem.

- Then again, they are lucky Dazai is not still part of the Mafia, or else : snap.

Ranpo

- He, too, has a little trouble containing his jealousy, so he has learned to react accordingly, with new techniques emerging as time goes by, as peacefully as possible with a Ranpo by your side.

- He id a child par excellence, especially if you take into account his latest technique for letting the world know that he is not happy (and especially you). He does not hesitate for a second to roll around on the floor, grumbling and saying things like “be interested in me!”... But it does not work this time: outdated technique, in other words.

- He then starts sulking in his corner when he realizes that he is going to have to come up with new methods, and that you are not responding by letting him have his way.

- All because of one stupid customer.

Akutagawa

- He is one of those who have a few problems with violence, but I think it is more than common knowledge now.

- Someone tries to attack him? The person in question is called to order immediately, and in style if you please. Which is to say, if he or she was going to get anywhere, the assailant is going to have a tough time of it.

- Is someone bothering his boyfriend/girlfriend? Faced with this situation, more irritating than any other for our dear Akutagawa, nothing could be simpler: simply get rid of the annoying elements.

- Definitely.

Chuuya

- He tends to be a little jealous at times, but he would rather die than admit it.

- When he sees you with this stranger, his first instinct is to be annoyed, and quite irritated, too. It is obvious that he wants to go and do some kicking.

- He is torn between two contradictory feelings: on the one hand, the urge to go see this person and to stop them from hitting on you; and, on the other, his reason telling him not to.

- Chuuya then tries to think calmly, and comes to a conclusion: this person may not know that you are already in a relationship, after all...

- Chuuya does not doubt you for a moment; he knows that, for you, this conversation is completely banal, even if the other person seems interested. And, above all, Chuuya knows perfectly well that you would never do the “I'll see if the grass is greener somewhere else” thing (between you and me, who would with Chuchu as a boyfriend, anyway?).

- The story has a rather happy ending, if you put aside a certain point of view. Because the unknown person, strangely enough, did not really appreciate Chuuya's murderous look, despite the fact that the latter was supposed to have made peace with his feelings (according to him, at least).

Atsushi

- He is not jealous, not at all; he is just plagued by doubts, from all sides.

- The problem is not you, far from it... And maybe not even from the stranger, for that matter. No. The problem lies with Atsushi himself.

- He knows full well that you are not the type to hurt him by responding positively to a stranger's advances; he believes in you, that is for sure!

- He is simply making an inventory of everything this person has that is better than him; and he cannot help but conclude, inside his cute little head (which sometimes thinks a little too much...), that this stranger is a thousand times better than him.

- He then starts to get depressed, unsurprisingly, like a little cat with its ears down. He will cheer up, however, when your attention is drawn to his presence, and you give him one of those smiles he loves so much, probably the most beautiful he has ever seen in his whole life.

- He responds with a small, hesitant wave of his hand, but is delighted when you take leave of the stranger and walk towards him, all smiles.

- Of course, it does not take you long to notice (despite the fact that he is smiling too, as you walk hand in hand) that your favorite little tiger is not as jovial as usual... But, without you understanding at the time, he refuses to tell you why.

- In silence, you observe Atsushi's shifty eyes and flushed cheeks, as well as the stammering he makes when answering you, which has not escaped your notice either. Very quickly, you line up the elements at your disposal in your mind...

- And you cannot hold back a chuckle as you understand the reason for his strange actions. But why would he need to be envious of a stranger? Your favorite little feline already possesses everything you like in a boy... Otherwise you would not be with him in the first place! The list would be far too long.

- But he still have to understand that... And above all, accept it. And not end up comparing himself to some poor stranger who approached you as a loser from the start.

Yosano

- Without a doubt, this is the worst mistake this unconscious person could have made. Clearly.

- Daring to take an interest in her boyfriend/girlfriend? Unforgivable, and liable (for sure) to a good beating once your back is turned (or maybe not, depending on our dear doctor's patience at the time); Akutagawa has competition, and Yosano certainly has nothing to envy him!

- We cannot emphasize this enough, but survival lesson number one: never piss off the doctor, especially if she is armed with a chainsaw.

Oda

- The story in question took place during an evening at a small bar not far from your home, when he went off to use the bathroom, leaving you momentarily alone.

- When he returns, there is someone sitting next to you, at the bar where you and Oda had sat a few moments earlier. And this someone is rather close to you while you, on your side, are trying to get as far away from them as your seat will allow without falling.

- Oda is not known for getting angry easily, and that is exactly what is happening, even in this situation. He simply frowns and approaches gently, briefly placing his hand on your shoulder to let you know he is back, then sitting back down in his seat, opposite the stranger, with you in the middle.

- Oda's gaze is now neutral, but his presence and size are enough to intimidate the stranger: without further ado, they take off, almost running.

- Obviously, even if it is not written on his forehead, the fact that Oda is part of the Mafia must still be felt in the way he is... Especially if he is a little irritated, deep down. He is not really jealous, and he was not really planning to make the person go away; he only feared for your safety, which explains why he sat back down without saying anything.

- Afterwards, if the other person had tried anything... There might have been consequences, who knows.

Tecchou

- Known for doing whatever he wants, however he wants. Often with all the laziness in the world.

- He simply walks up to you, hoists you onto his shoulder like he would a sack of potatoes, and leaves just as quietly, without saying a word. But not without giving the rascal a dark look in the process, just to end on a pleasant note.

- No violence... At least not the kind you can see. Because, inside, he has already murdered this oblivious fellow a thousand times over.

Lucy

- Although she strives to appear self-confident in all circumstances, it is actually quite the opposite most of the time. She has lost count of the times when hesitation has got the better of her will, much to her dismay.

- But this time, annoyance far outweighed hesitation. And not just a little.

- To put it mildly, she is fuming, outraged that anyone would dare take such an interest in you.

- So she comes over and hugs you, with all her love for you, pulling you away from the intruder at the same time, and tells them straight to their face how she is feeling at the time (without them having asked you for anything out of the ordinary, except maybe the direction of the Post Office...). But all they had to do was not to approach you so closely, it could be confusing... And observe you that way, too....

- Basically, if a look could kill you, the person who came to talk to you (and more, if they were so inclined) would have been dead long ago.

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callsign-rogueone · 2 months ago

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a fair trade

aaric graycastle / cam tauri x reader (sunny!!!!) words: 1.2k 🏷: progressing through the beginning of IF! this one has a lot of transitions and jumps between scenes, which is my least favorite thing ever, and a major reason why it took so long, but I wanted to show these two interacting every day and slowly becoming friends, so here ya go! the next chapter will be so much better and much longer, I promise 🥺

It’s incredibly strange to be standing in this corner of the gym again, in the same spot where Nadine had died, and Violet nearly had too, avenging her. You’d never seen that much blood before in your life – but now it’s gone without a trace. Had someone knelt there last night and scrubbed it away, or had it been erased with magic? Which option is worse?

Aaric appears at your side, speaking softly so as not to startle you. “You’re fast, and you’re smart, but at some point you’re going to have to throw some punches,” he prods.

That’s fair. You’re the only one of the group who hadn’t made any offensive moves in your assessment match, and the last to find a partner to fight with today.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “I’ve been dreading that part, honestly.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got. Just a basic stance, first.”

You nod, settling into a position that looks something like what you’d seen Imogen do earlier — she’s probably a good bet to copy.

He shakes his head. “Your feet need to be farther apart. And if you tuck your thumb in like that, you’re going to break it. Here.”

He steps forward and adjusts your fist — not missing your inhale of discomfort as his thumb presses against the swollen joint of your ring finger. He pulls back immediately, offering an apology and adjusting the technique. “Sorry. You should be fine to just keep it loose like that, as long as you adjust the impact point — what part of your fist is going to hit your target."

Another nod.

"If you just do... this," he explains, carefully reaching out to rotate your wrist to the side, careful not to put any pressure on the bandage there, "then you can make an impact with your pointer and middle finger. It won't be as effective, but it'll work until your hand heals."

Realistically, it won't — it hasn't shown much improvement since March, and the burn doesn’t help things either — but he doesn't need to know that.

"Don't worry about it too much," he offers, sensing your apprehension. "You’ve got more strength in your legs, anyway.”

———

Being assigned breakfast duty means fewer hours of sleep, but you’re used to being up this early, anyway – you’d be going to bed at this hour, if you’d stayed in Calldyr City, just dragging yourself into the bathing chambers to hose off the sticky feeling of the ale you’d been serving, and the unwanted attention you’d been paid.

Someone is waiting for you outside the girls’ dorms; Aaric. He looks a little shy, shifting his weight awkwardly as he speaks – at a whisper, considerate of those who have been afforded the precious extra time to rest. “I saw you got breakfast duty, too, so…”

You give him a warm smile. “Glad to have a familiar face around. Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

It’s evident that he hadn’t thought this part through. “No, actually. But it can’t be far from the mess hall, right?”

You just hum in reply, nodding down the hallway. “Good place to start.”

He’s right �� there’s a little door you hadn’t noticed by the serving line, propped open for you. You can already smell the bread baking, hear the pleasant bustle of a fully staffed kitchen. Not too different from home.

....

You turn to grab another potato, your eyes catching on the one Aaric is holding -- it's mangled, cut in odd places, yet somehow still holding onto half of its skin despite him having hacked at it for a good two minutes.

So there is one thing Aaric Graycastle doesn't excel at, after all -- one thing you could help him with. But you’ve never been the type to offer unsolicited advice.

Aaric is nice, though, and he’d given you so much advice on fighting, so he probably won’t be offended if you return the favor. It's a fair trade, or close to it. Still, you choose your words carefully. “Have you ever peeled a potato before?”

“Once,” he answers, a slight blush on his cheeks.

You cross over to his side of the table, grabbing one yourself along with a short knife. “You’re digging in too hard, and taking the meat along with it. You need to hold it more flat, and scrape, to take off just the skin. Like that,” you say with a smile, finishing yours and adding it to the bowl.

“How are you so good at this?”

“Years of practice,” you answer. “My best friend is — was — a kitchen maid. I used to sneak downstairs to help her sometimes.”

“For once you’re done with those,” the cook announces, dropping a crate onto the end of the table with a thud. “Cored and quartered.”

“Whoa.”

“That is a lot of strawberries,” he agrees.

“It must have cost a fortune.”

His head tilts. There had always been strawberries, and a variety of other fruit laid out for every breakfast, more than they’d ever eat, but he’d never considered the cost, or what became of the leftovers.

Thankfully you continue the conversation for him, a fondness in your eyes. “We bought a whole pound of them for my birthday once. We were going to try to make them last, but they were gone by dinnertime.”

He just offers you a smile and a soft laugh, returning his attention to the vegetables.

———

“I am a god among men,” Ridoc announces, grinning from ear to ear from where he kneels over Sawyer, the executive officer pinned underneath him in what looks like a very uncomfortable position.

“Yeah, and I’m the next queen of Navarre,” you quip over your shoulder. “Saying it doesn’t make it true.”

Aaric’s heart nearly stops. He can’t help but imagine you dressed in the fine silks of the royal court, bejeweled and shining, crowned in gold, seated beside him and Halden at his father’s dinner table — a beautiful but miserable existence.

This is better. This feels right, seeing you in the sleek black of the rider’s quadrant instead of yards of stiff brocade, being able to hear you laugh and joke like this rather than sitting quietly for the rest of your days like an ornamental vase.

Your boot connecting with his stomach and his back hitting the floor snap him out of his daydream, and knock the breath from his lungs.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes, cheeks reddening as he takes your outstretched hands and lets you haul him to his feet — it takes a considerable amount of strength. “That was good.”

You can’t help but smile a little about your small victory, the only time you’ve bested anyone in combat, though you know he was definitely going easy on you. “Maybe one of these days, I’ll really win,” you laugh.

He sounds considerably less winded as he speaks again. “We’ll get you there.”

You blink at the words he chose – not you’ll get there, but we. He’s invested in your success. That’s the squad mentality, you suppose. It’s odd, but not unpleasant.

———

“I didn’t even know I had muscles in some of these places,” you groan, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them.

Visia pats your shoulder gently. “That’s good – it means they’re growing.”

Your response is muffled, but universally understood by the rest of the group, who are all similarly exhausted after a full week of Rhiannon’s extra training sessions.

All except Aaric. “Eat,” he encourages. “It’ll help.”

#locked the fuck in last night and this morning during my break !!!#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine #aaric and sunny #aaric graycastle #cam tauri #cam tauri x reader #aaric graycastle x reader

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silkscream · 2 years ago

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once bitten, twice shy

megumi fushiguro x reader

ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k (i cannot write anything under 2k to save my life)

ੈ✩ tags: emotionally constipated megumi, tsundere basically, friends to lovers, a lil angst, not actually unrequited love, pining, alcohol, typical yuuji nobara antics

ੈ✩ a/n: this is not xmas themed despite the title BUT it does end up taking place on satoru's birthday for plot reasons. megumi fushiguro your intimacy issues bewitch me mind body and soul.....

megumi does not know what to do with his feelings.

he’s never been the type to be particularly in touch with them — he didn’t remember his parents enough to blame them for whatever avoidant attachment he’d accustomed himself to. or maybe, that was the exact cause of said attachment style. gojo taking him in when he was a child didn’t help either — the man also refused to be very vulnerable around him, merely acting as a benefactor and a nuisance at best.

and while he was closest to tsumiki, he’d still built up a wall around himself that she couldn’t get through, and she knew it. she couldn’t break through it in his pre-teen years, and certainly not his teenage years when he was taking out his aggression on his classmates. he would ignore her soothing words and resent her kindness. perhaps he’d taken after toji in that way. constantly fending for himself for the sake of survival. always convinced that he was doomed to be alone.

and then there was you.

he’d met you first at jujutsu tech before any of the other students could. after sparring with maki, he’d been dismissed to shoko’s office. he’d opened the door that september day and was immediately met with your wide eyes, your searing cursed energy. gojo had found another stray.

shoko had made him your first experiment and you excelled. his injuries were healed within minutes. if anything, he felt better than he had in months — after battling insomnia and panic attacks, he felt… calm. like his brain was cleansed and that he had nothing to stress about. (until the next time gojo had gotten on his nerves.)

your introduction to his class was nothing extravagant despite gojo’s theatrics. megumi couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you after that — during practice battles, lectures, or lunch. he was always hyperaware of your presence. he blamed it on your cursed energy.

he hates how enthusiastic yuuji is about you, how yuuji tells him about how he manages to get you alone even though you often keep to yourself, and how he thinks you’re so fucking pretty, and that you’d agreed to watch the human earthworm movies with him. (megumi had refused when yuuji asked.)

he stews in that anger quietly because he’d rather die than let anyone know. nobara knows better, of course. she teases him about it and brings up jealousy.

why should megumi ever be jealous of yuuji? the boy was a freak accident in human form, with no inherent technique. who fucking cares that he can make you laugh without any effort?

it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t. because you have no direct effect on megumi and you don’t distract him during school. he doesn’t cling onto the memory of your hands on his skin. he doesn’t wish for the feeling again. of course not.

he tells this to yuuji and nobara, too. there’s one day where nobara goes too far — she teases him about setting up a date, that you rave about him, that he’s definitely your type. megumi doesn’t believe a word of it, especially because you’re probably more comfortable with yuuji. he doesn’t care to date because it would hold him back. he’s too focused on his training, on being the best, because he’s determined to follow in gojo’s shadow even if he won’t admit it. he could be the second strongest. he could be the most reliable.

it comes out in all the wrong ways. he’s more irritable than usual, so he yells at nobara instead of seething in hushed tones. he rants about how he does’t need someone by his side, certainly not you, whose only benefit is to heal superficial injuries and not much else. how your combat skills are poor, how easily you get beat when you spar on the field. how compared to him, you’re weak, so you’re of no use.

unfortunately, you hear him. every thought on his mind that tumbles out of his stupid mouth, his tone spewing wrath. you know that megumi is a moody person, but you’d never think him to be mean.

you pretend you’re just passing by, but from the faces nobara and yuuji are making, megumi already senses your presence. the color drains from his face, cobalt eyes wide.

“i’m — i’m sorry, i didn’t mean —“

“it’s okay, fushiguro,” you say softly. even after that shitshow, you’re still fucking smiling. it puts a sinking feeling in megumi’s stomach.

“ah, i got an extra pack of mochi and thought you guys would like it.”

you hand over a small bag and megumi takes it wordlessly.

“that’s so sweet,” yuuji beams, attempting to deflect. “hey, i was just looking for you. do you happen to have those jujutsu history notes? kugisaki spilled a soda on mine.”

“you knocked it over!” nobara protests.

“you put it on top of my stuff!”

you take your notebook out of your bag and hand it to yuuji graciously, avoiding megumi’s gaze and making up an excuse to see all of them later.

apparently, “later” means a week after. megumi sees you in class, and while he attempts to walk you to the dining hall or invite you to hang out, you bolt out the door before catching anyone’s attention. he has to find out how you are from fucking yuuji, who somehow gets to see you around the dorms every other day.

“i think she just likes to keep to herself, s’all,” yuuji says. he can sense megumi’s anxiety just from being in the same room as him.

“but you see her all the time.”

“she’s been tutoring me a little. and we just like the same movies and stuff.”

yuuji shrugs casually. his nonchalance makes megumi’s blood boil, because of course he’s the one who gets to occupy all of your time. of course you’re probably most comfortable with him. he knows he shouldn’t be seething at the thought of you two together — it isn’t his right. but his jealousy is starting to get the best of him lately.

“are you guys together?” he blurts out.

“no?” yuuji furrows his brows. “if anything, i feel like nobara might be trying to make a move since she’s way nicer to her than she is to us. except i’m pretty sure she and maki have been going out lately.”

“maki?”

“dude, keep up!”

and when yuuji accuses of megumi having a crush again, the same way nobara did all those weeks ago before he made a fucking fool of himself, megumi shuts it down with a grimace and a blush. he’s merely concerned about your wellbeing is what it is. that’s what he’s able to muster up to yuuji, of course, who absolutely isn’t buying it based on his shit-eating grin.

it’s annoying, especially because yuuji can make you feel more comfortable, comfortable enough to hang with the whole trio, and the pink-haired bastard has to meddle like a little troll. bumping the two of you into each other like you’re in middle school. somehow, it worsens everything. not your dynamic, but megumi’s self-consciousness.

he was already so extremely aware of you, but now he’s convinced that some angel above has tied the red string between you both extra tight. megumi looks for you in every crowd, awaits your arrival every day in the classroom and at lunch, and it’s starting to feel pathetic — the lightness in his chest whenever you’re even so much as ten feet away. his heart even beats faster at the anticipation of your text in the group chat, for fuck’s sake.

and then there’s gojo’s birthday party, a surprise orchestrated by the four of you, despite megumi’s reluctance. you’re particularly more radiant than usual. maybe it’s the lighting. maybe it’s the dress you have on.

despite the amount of shots he’s been forced to take in the past hour (three), megumi is still sober enough to feel anxious around you. though, he thinks he might be drunk enough to be lost in your image, fixating on your collarbone and the way your hair falls in your face as you laugh at one of gojo’s stupid jokes. it’s when the two of you lock eyes that megumi feels out of it, because you smile at him. you fucking smile.

if the warmth of the liquor wasn’t currently raising heated blood to his head, he’d deny the sparks that came from the mere sight of your smile, but he was hopeless. you’re mesmerizing. dizzying. he doesn’t know what to do with his face, not when his cheeks are flushing red and his motor skills are slowing down. fuck, maybe he was a lightweight like gojo after all.

he’s clearly out of touch with reality, because the moment fades as soon as it comes. perhaps it wasn’t a moment at all. he watches you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your mouth moving slowly as you mingle with other classmates. he’s fucking fixated on your mouth — your lipstick tonight is a blush red with a shiny gloss reflecting light. megumi has only dreamed of what your lips would taste like once or twice. no more than that. he swears on it.

there’s brief eye contact between the two of you again for half a second. there’s a coy smile on your face as always before you slip out the back door of the house.

there are so many bottles around the place that no one will notice megumi taking an entire bottle of champagne for himself. he scowls at the taste, of sickeningly sweet pears — courtesy of gojo, probably. his head swims and thinks of you.

his momentary peace is rudely interrupted by the sound of nobara’s voice in his ear, asking for you.

“ijichi’s setting up karaoke!”

“there is no way in hell that i’m—”

“i don’t care what you do, emo, but i need her to do a duet!”

megumi heaves a sigh, making his way to the backyard where he finds you sitting on a tree stump. even with the dim fairy lights, he probably would’ve missed you if not for the cherried end of your cigarette.

“fushiguro-kun,” you nod at him.

“megumi,” he rasps. “just… megumi is fine.”

“oh, i get special privileges now? how come?”

there’s no mirth in your tone. you’re teasing him. he doesn’t answer your question.

(the mere act of you teasing him becomes an intimacy in itself — he had never thought that you would be comfortable enough to talk to him in jest. you’d maintained your distance from him fairly well.)

“didn’t know you smoked.”

“only when i drink,” you shrug. “ieiri-san doesn’t make much of an effort to hide her cigarettes, either. don’t tell on me, though.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he doesn’t know where to look. luckily, you’re not looking at him, so he can settle his gaze on your mouth nursing the cigarette. plump. glossy under the moonlight.

megumi is not used to wanting. he had never asked gojo for anything during his adolescence, and refused any gesture of kindness from anyone. he was convinced since childhood that there was no point in desire because disappointment would be on the other end of it either way.

he’d like to be a monk about it. he could control himself and focus on his studies. never spare you a glance again that isn’t platonic. and then a cool december wind blows past the two of you, and he smells your amber perfume.

and when he turns his head, you’re looking at him, eyes bright.

“so… not enjoying the party?”

“i’m not really one for parties.”

“me neither,” you shrug. “that’s why i like to do my little ritual of escaping.”

“we have that in common.”

you hum, a noncommittal noise. you take another drag of your cigarette, which disintegrates slowly.

“what a pair, the two of us.”

megumi can’t pick up any sarcasm from your voice, though he assumes it. it makes his stomach drop even though the statement is harmless. the two of you. together. it makes endless futures bloom in his mind. maybe it’s the prosecco, but it almost makes him want to vomit. to think that he was even good enough to be beside you in your future.

you curse quietly when you pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, realizing it’s dead. megumi gives you a once-over. the jacket you’re wearing is all too familiar. like him, you’re not one to wear very many colors. but this jacket is bright red, varsity style, and oversized on you.

“is that itadori’s jacket?” megumi stammers.

“oh, yeah. i didn’t realize how cold it would be tonight.”

“oh.”

“why?” you give him a curious smile.

“nothing,” he coughs. “are… you two…”

you laugh and it’s like a song to him.

“i think he might be my best friend, s’all. why? you jealous?”

he looks at you again, head-on, your eyes still bright. brighter than fluorescents. there’s something in your irises that is meant to provoke him, but he’s dispensed of his usual cautious nature after he takes another gulp from the bottle.

“more than you can imagine,” he huffs.

“sorry?”

“’m not repeating that.”

“what, you’re not saying you’re like, into me, are you?” you exasperate.

megumi remains silent, cheeks flushed. he thinks that if his head could heat up any more, he’d end up with a migraine.

you breathe the tiniest gasp. if it wasn’t for how close megumi was to you, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“i kind of thought you hated me, you know,” you admit.

“i could never hate you. i don’t think anyone could.”

“you don’t have to pretend,” you sigh. he didn’t notice until now that your cigarette was finished, discarded onto the dirt with your boot to crush it into ash. “i— beyond the politeness, i get it. that i’m not your type or whatever. you don’t even have to be friends with me, fushiguro-kun.”

“megumi,” he emphasizes.

“megumi.”

“i’m not pretending. i… i really fucking like you,” he slurs. “it kind of scares me how much.”

“you’re drunk.”

“i am. i know you heard me say all that shit to kugisaki and itadori, but it’s because they put me on the spot and i was nervous. i don’t know how to… deal with feelings. honestly, if i wasn’t even a little drunk right now, i’d probably have left the party with my tail in between my legs and avoided you for the next fucking week, and you don’t deserve that. you deserve… everything.”

“even you?”

when did you get so close to him? if he sauntered just a few inches in your direction, he could touch your noses together. he can smell your perfume so deeply.

“it’s the other way around,” megumi breathes. “i don’t deserve you. not anything close to you.”

“what if i want you regardless?” your voice is just above a whisper. a prayer, a hymn. a wish to be blown out.

megumi swallows the lump in his throat. he blinks at you, dark indigo luminescent. the world slows down. he may owe it to the liquor and the wine, but he assumes it’s just your presence. your scent, the softness of your hair in between his fingers, your soft breaths.

“what do you want, megumi-kun?”

he remembers something gojo said. that to be a jujutsu sorcerer, he has to be selfish. he’s not sure if that philosophy applies to the situation at hand, but he’d be damned if he let you crawl into bed tonight without knowing how he truly felt about you. so, uncharacteristically, he takes a leap forward.

he unwinds the tension in his body and presses his lips to yours. it’s soft, chaste, innocent. something like a pause. he’s afraid to touch you, but you’ve already reeled him in with arms thrown around his shoulders, fingertips touching the softness of his black hair.

you bump your nose with his, shyly, and he kisses you open-mouthed. tongue in your mouth, meshing the taste of tobacco and prickly pear. the vanilla chapstick that he’d put on before he followed you out to the backyard.

he has one hand caressing your jaw and the other on your shoulder, thumb brushing over your collarbone in a way that makes your entire body shiver. you’re embarrassed at the pool of desire in between your legs.

megumi has never let himself be full of wanting, but at the moment, his veins are surging with it. it’s like a drug to him — your warmth, your scent, the saccharine taste of your mouth. your flesh is so soft, so pliable, from the way you dip towards the cavern of his lanky body, pressed against him chest to chest. letting his hand dig into the fat of your hip. fingertips grazing the skin underneath your shirt.

maybe it’s the liquor, but he’s feeling experimental — he tucks your bottom lip in between his teeth. pulls your hair ever so slightly. you mewl into his mouth quietly and he thinks that he’s never felt anything better than this. you’re wrapped up in all of him. you can quite literally feel the heat on his cheeks and both of you realize how aroused he is, his bulge prodding your thigh.

“fuck,” he whispers into your mouth, and he pulls away. only a few inches are separating you as he takes a moment to breathe. his eyes are blown out wide, black stretching across dark blue. both of you are stunned, panting, and the tension is more palpable than ever.

a rustling of grass makes both of you jump. when he turns, he sees yuuji and nobara staring with wide eyes.

“you owe me 7,000 yen,” yuuji deadpans to nobara.

“seriously, fushiguro? i didn’t think you had it in you!”

“i always had faith in you, fushiguro!” yuuji chimes.

while you giggle, megumi growls under his breath at the new intrusions of dumb and dumber.

“i personally thought you were way out of his league,” nobara tells you.

“eat shit.” megumi seethes with arms crossed, and despite his wrath, he resembles more of an angry kitten to you than any potential threat.

“sheesh, don’t summon a shikigami on them, megumi,” you tease with a pleased grin.

“i—” he stumbles over his words in frustration, grimacing. “what do the two of you want, anyway?”

“gojo-sensei got ijichi to sing doja cat.”

“oh, i’ve gotta see this,” you snort, grabbing megumi by the hand as you begin to usher the crew back inside. his heart leaps at the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his.

despite his inhibitions, megumi’s decided that he could get used to this.

#megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fluff #megumi angst #megumi fic #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #ree.writing

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milkoomi · 5 months ago

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a guide on becoming an academic weapon. ᥫ᭡

being an academic weapon is one of the top goals for a lot of us. we strive for excellence and hope to achieve top marks in all our classes so that we can continue to reach whatever it is that may be our final goal like getting into a top university, graduating as valedictorian, or getting into the career of our dreams. this guide will be about all the habits of an academic weapon and what tools & methods you can incorporate into your study/school routine!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — lecture preperation

pre-reading chapters/lecture powerpoints

skim through chapters, make note of important headings, highlight key terms! if you can, look through any powerpoints that will be used for lecture notes as well!

jot down quick notes like vocab terms, key pieces of information, and/or any questions on topics you want to understand further!

read chapter summaries & highlight important headings

set up your notes

if you like to use different note-taking methods, try setting up your pages beforehand! this will take up less time while in class and you’ll come in already prepared to take any notes!

i have a post on note-taking here on my blog that you can refer to for a few different note-taking methods!

begin homework assignments

my professor will publish homework assignments on sunday mornings for each week that we’re learning new material, so if your teacher does something similar or you’re taking an all-online course, start by working ahead on those homework assignments!

getting a head start can …

help with having a better understanding of the material by the time of your lecture

help you apply the knowledge you learned from the assignments into your lecture

help you come up with questions for better comprehension of the topics

help you manage your time better

reduce your work load later on

start creating flashcards

if you’re required to know key terms/vocab, start creating flashcards ahead of time! this will help you get familiar with the vocabulary that’s related to the material and will jumpstart that increase in understanding of what’s to come in your lecture or any required readings!

୨ৎ — smart studying

we’re always told to “work smarter, not harder” and i believe that doing so can help you achieve success more quickly and efficiently! while it’s great to dedicate a lot of time to your studies, it’s not always optimal. spending hours upon hours working with no breaks in between and forgetting to take care of yourself can lead to burn out, so it’s important to find ways to study that not only help you study more efficiently but also work with your learning type!

trial periods

there are a plethora of study methods out there that you can try out to see which ones work the best for you!

posts with study methods ( + how-to’s ) …

how to study effectively - @milkoomi

non-basic study techniques - @glowettee [ this post is PHENOMENAL! mindy includes so many unique study methods— some that she created herself! — that give an entirely new way to study & learn material! 100/10 recommend reading through this! ]

take some time each week to try out a new study method while still incorporating techniques you’re used to! pick one study method for the week & test it out at the start of your study time slot.

trying out new methods/techniques also help with keeping your study routine fresh and it creates a bigger study arsenal for yourself! having multiple ways of studying just means having a variety of ways to learn the material! every method has its benefits, some will help with memorization while others can help with better comprehension!

pick your big 3

amongst all the different study methods out there, you should pick your top 3 techniques that help you the most! they’ll be your ultimate go-to study methods!

factors to think about for your big 3 …

how much time does the method/technique take?

what is your success rate with the method/technique?

how easy was it for you to incorporate the method/technique into your study routine?

your big 3 study methods should help with maximizing your productivity time, help you achieve your desired grades, & be within your limits while studying, meaning it shouldn’t make you feel like you’re stretching yourself thin because, again, we need to study smarter, not harder!

my personal big 3:

Feynman Technique - teaching others

active recall - practice questions & flashcards

knowledge application - making real life connections

textbook tests

i feel like a lot of us view textbooks as these giant, daunting bricks we’re forced to lug around, but they’re required material for a reason! they’re more than just a giant book of “boring” chapters!

a lot of textbooks have mini assessments at the end of every chapter, so take some time to do them! they’re just practice tests and they’ll be extremely useful for active recall (plus, you don’t have to worry about creating your own practice questions!)

୨ৎ — change your mindset

being an academic weapon means having the mindset of an academic weapon. the way you think and feel about your schooling plays a huge role in this!

“i have to” to “i get to”

treating your academics and studies as if they’re chores will make you lose your motivation and passion for learning. getting to have an education is a privilege and i feel like a lot of us forget that. be thankful that you get to pursue an academic career and get the chance to further your education! instead of “i have to study” say, “i get to study”!

getting an education is a beautiful opportunity in life, so practice gratitude when it comes to learning!

self care

i will always advocate for self care because you can’t do your best when you aren’t at your best. being an academic weapon doesn’t mean throwing your entire life away or setting your health to the side to solely focus on your studies. going to the extremes for your academics shouldn’t be normalized.

you don’t need to pull all-nighters every other day to study, you don’t need to work/study for 14 hours, you don’t need to harshly motivate yourself to get back to studying— you need to treat yourself kindly and shoe yourself gentle care.

get enough sleep

shower, do skincare, brush your teeth

keep yourself hydrated & well-fed

get your body moving

make time for your hobbies & things that make you happy

remember to take breaks when your mind & body needs them

don’t sacrifice your well-being to get ahead on your road to success. you’ll only bring yourself farther behind if you neglect your health.

final notes —

becoming an academic weapon is 60% mindset, 40% work ethic. you have to motivate yourself to give your best work, but! you have to take care of your mind and body before you even think about giving your best work. be kind to yourself, affirm yourself that you can do this! you are more than capable of achieving academic success!

the work you put in as an academic weapon has to be work you’re proud of. be sure that you’re using your time wisely, that you free yourself from distractions while studying, that you give yourself enough time to get work done (and take breaks & do something for yourself!), and that you always give it your all when you’re completing assignments, writing notes, or studying.

i know that you’ll be able to truly be an academic weapon! you have what it takes! you just have to remind yourself of your own potential.

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

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justlemmeadoreyou · 1 year ago

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3. protectively watchful (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here)

summary: you take up on the mantorship offer, but it creates more tensions and turmoil within you than were before. an incident in the kitchen makes harry go into protective mode, and you can't help but get turned on by this man more and more.

words: 4.8k

warnings: sexual tension (like A LOT), inappropriate behaviour, protective!harry.

***

"You wanted to see me, Chef?"

You gave a light knock on the open door of Harry's office, trying to sound polite and professional. It had been a few weeks since you had that talk with Harry about keeping things strictly business between you two. During that time, he had been a perfect mentor - giving you advice and guidance without any flirting or suggestive comments.

His coaching had really helped improve your cooking skills as you soaked up all his knowledge and experience. You were grateful to have a normal working relationship again, focused solely on culinary training. And yet...you couldn't ignore the faint lingering tension between you, that subtle underlying charge.

Harry looked up from the notebooks on his desk, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile when he saw you. "Ah, there you are. Come on in, have a seat."

You sat down in one of the chairs across from him as Harry neatened up the loose papers into a stack. Up close, you couldn't help noticing how well-fitted his black button-down shirt was, or how his tousled hair looked very touchable.

Firmly reminding yourself this was just a professional meeting, you averted your eyes politely until Harry cleared his throat.

"So as you know, the big Martin gala fundraiser is coming up in a few weeks," he began, shuffling through some folders. "It's one of the biggest events of the year for underprivileged culinary education programs. I'll be preparing the featured dish for their live auction, and I'd love for you to assist me on it."

Your eyes went wide with surprise at this prestigious opportunity. The Martin gala was a hugely famous event in Chicago's culinary scene, attracting all the wealthiest and most notable diners. For an up-and-coming chef to collaborate on the centerpiece dish was an amazing honor and chance to get exposure.

"Wow, yes of course!" you replied enthusiastically. "I would be absolutely honored, Chef. Thank you for this incredible opportunity."

Harry's dimples deepened as he smiled approvingly. "Don't thank me yet. We'll be under a huge spotlight to deliver an amazing showstopper dish. I expect you to rise to the challenge."

You quickly nodded. "You can count on me to give it my absolute best effort. I'm ready to do whatever work is needed."

"Excellent," Harry said in a slightly lower, huskier tone. "That's exactly what I like to hear."

For a moment, his voice had a heated quality that hinted at other situations where your eagerness might be welcome. You ignored the shiver it sent through you, reminding yourself this was strictly business now between you two.

Harry seemed to realize he was skirting the line, as he abruptly straightened up and all hints of flirtation disappeared as he switched fully into mentor mode. "Right, well let me walk you through my basic vision so far..."

You leaned forward attentively as he outlined preliminary ideas for a highly ambitious and avant-garde dish blending molecular gastronomy techniques with classic French cuisine fundamentals. It was wildly cutting-edge, even for a showpiece event like the Martin gala. But the more details Harry provided, the more that same thrill of adrenaline rushed through you whenever presented with a new culinary challenge to conquer.

For the next hour, the two of you bounced ideas back and forth in that unique creative flow state that chefs share. Harry's presence was magnetic, but you refused to get distracted by more physical aspects - like the stretch of his biceps against his crisp sleeves, the hint of toned abs beneath his open collar, or the raspy timbre of his voice dipping into that lower register as he passionately discussed certain techniques.

And oh, his damn tattoos.

No, you sternly told yourself as the conversation began wrapping up. Those days of getting flustered around him were over. Harry had made it clear where you stood, and you fully accepted those boundaries. Anything else was just self-torture.

"...but of course, those are just preliminary thoughts," Harry was saying as he collected the scattered folders into a neat pile. "We'll have plenty of time to refine the details over the next couple weeks."

You nodded, filing away the mental notes you'd taken during the discussion. "Absolutely, Chef. Just let me know whatever you need for prep or testing different ideas to get a head start."

"Will do." With an air of finality, Harry gathered up the pile and rose from his seat. You quickly stood up as well, not wanting him to loom over you in the enclosed space. For a beat, you both hovered awkwardly, the air seeming to thicken between you.

"Well then," Harry said, making no move to step past you towards the door. "I'd say this calls for a drink to celebrate our new collaboration, wouldn't you agree?"

Before you could reply, he turned and went to a small antique cabinet tucked in an alcove you hadn't noticed before. With a practiced hand, Harry selected a heavy glass decanter and two tumblers, placing them on the cabinet and expertly twisting off the stopper.

"Let's go with Lagavulin," he mused aloud, carefully pouring two generous glasses of the amber scotch whisky. "A good Scottish whisky seems appropriate for the occasion."

"I really shouldn't, Chef," you said reflexively, already picturing your lightweight self getting sloppy and unprofessional after even a single drink.

But Harry just chuckled softly. "Loosen up a little. It's a celebration, after all."

He emphasized this by bringing one of the heavy tumblers over and pressing the cool glass into your hand. You frowned down at the coppery liquid, worrying your lower lip uncertainly. But before you could protest further, Harry gently clinked his glass against yours in a silent toast before taking a sizable sip.

The whisky's smoky, peaty aroma seemed to wrap around you intimately. Despite your hesitation, you couldn't help giving an appreciative inhale before taking a small, tentative sip yourself. Bold, layered flavors of vanilla, caramel, and charred oak underscored by an earthy smokiness burst over your tongue. You let out a soft sigh of indulgent pleasure at the decadent taste.

"Good, isn't it?" Harry's gravelly voice made you start slightly. He was watching you with amusement, whisky glass dangling casually from those large, handsome fingers. "It really hits you in the back of the throat, makes you slow down and savor it fully."

You suddenly realized the suggestive implication behind his phrasing and felt a flush of heat bloom across your face and chest. Harry watched the play of emotions flickering over your features with relish before taking another indulgent sip. This time, you noticed the way his full lips pursed delicately to drink, the tiny furrow of concentration between his brows as he savored the flavor before swallowing.

Unconsciously, your eyes tracked the mesmerizing flex of his throat as he swallowed, the hint of stubble grazing along his chiseled jawline. A twinge low in your abdomen accompanied the thought of feeling that scratchy burn of beard between your thighs, that talented mouth working magic elsewhere on your body.

Mortified, you shut down that wayward trail of thought through sheer willpower. Your cheeks grew even hotter as you realized Harry had caught you staring, his own gaze darkly amused.

"Easy there," he murmured huskily, stepping a bit deeper into your personal space. "This dish is a marathon, not a sprint. Best to learn to savor every indulgent morsel along the way."

With a pointed look and arched brow, Harry raised his whisky to those plump lips once more, holding your gaze as he placed the rim against that full lower lip and let out an obscenely gratifying groan of pure delight.

Moments after, the tension had subsided, but the flush and blush that had creeped up your cheeks wasn’t going away anytime soon–you were sure of that.

***

You tried to push aside the lingering thoughts about the “Celebration” that were now implaed into your mind, and the way tiny droplets of the drink remained on his lips till he licked them off with his tongue–

You wanted that tongue to be yours.

Shaking your head, you focused on prepping the ingredients for the evening service. The dinner rush would be starting soon and you needed to have everything ready. As you worked, you were vaguely aware of the dining room filling up with patrons being seated. The sounds and aromas of the bustling kitchen surrounded you in a familiar, comforting way.

You were so engrossed in your tasks that you didn't notice the man approach until he cleared his throat loudly. Looking up, you saw a smartly-dressed diner smiling at you in a way that made you instinctively uncomfortable.

"Well, hello there," he said in a syrupy tone. "I was just admiring the delicious-looking fare over here." He raked an obvious look up and down your body. "The menu selections have my mouth watering already."

You stiffened, recognizing the overly familiar leer. This wasn't the first time you'd dealt with an obnoxious patron hitting on you. Keeping your expression neutral, you replied in a polite but firm tone. "I'm afraid you'll need to return to the dining room, sir. The kitchen is off-limits to guests."

Rather than taking the hint, the man leaned nonchalantly against your prep station. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I was just hoping you could suggest something...special for me to sample tonight." He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink.

Suppressing a grimace, you turned away to continue your work, hoping he would give up and leave. No such luck. The lech sidled closer until he was nearly pressed against you. "What do you say? I'd love for a tasty little thing like you to--"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen area immediately." Harry's firm baritone cut across the man's words like a whip crack.

You looked up in relief to see your boss standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched as he glared at the offending patron. Even from several feet away, you could sense the potent force of his displeasure rolling off him in waves.

The diner seemed to shrink slightly under Harry's censorious scowl. "Oh, uh, my apologies. I was just trying to get some personal recommendations--"

"The kitchen is off-limits and you're making my staff uncomfortable," Harry interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I won't ask again. Return to your table or you'll be asked to leave the premises."

Looking sufficiently cowed, the lech swiftly retreated with some mumbled apologies. You exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the anxiety brought on by the unpleasant encounter. Harry stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked you over with concern.

"You okay? That asshole didn't go too far, did he?"

You managed a faint smile, oddly touched by the protective edge in his voice. "I'm fine, Chef. Just another boorish customer thinking the uniform is a dinner invitation."

His jaw tightened again as he scowled in the direction the man had gone. "That type of behavior is completely unacceptable. You let me know right away if anyone hassles you like that again, understand?"

Nodding, you found yourself blinking rapidly against the unexpected prickle of grateful tears at having Harry firmly in your corner, despite the complicated dynamics between you lately.

For a long moment, he watched you carefully as if gauging your equilibrium. Then Harry surprised you by reaching out and briefly squeezing your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The warmth of his large hand seeped through your uniform, leaving a tingly imprint even after he pulled away.

"I've got your back, [Y/N]. You focus on doing your job and let me deal with any assholes who get out of line."

The gruff tenderness in his words made your heart do a traitorous little flip in your chest. You nodded again, not trusting your voice enough to respond properly.

With one final pointed look, Harry turned and headed back out to his front-of-house duties. As you watched his broad-shouldered form disappear through the swinging doors of the kitchen, you felt a complicated tangle of gratitude, protectiveness, affection...and yes, a lingering undercurrent of attraction that you couldn't seem to fully extinguish despite your best efforts.

You spent the rest of the dinner service determinedly pushing aside any lingering thoughts about Harry or the earlier incident. Focusing fully on your work was the only way to get through these confusing emotions that had you all over the place..

The rhythm of prepping, plating, and coordinating with the other line cooks settled into a familiar, reassuring routine. The constant flurry of chopping, sautéing, and barked orders provided a sort of meditative escape from your muddled headspace.

By the time the last diner had been served and the kitchen was winding down for the night, you felt pleasantly drained in that satisfying way that comes from a job well done. As you began breaking down your station for cleaning, Harry emerged from his office looking satisfied.

"Excellent work tonight, everyone," he called out in that effortlessly commanding tone. "Front-of-house said the new salmon dish was a huge hit. We'll definitely want to keep that one on the seasonal menu."

A chorus of tired but pleased murmurs went around the kitchen at the praise. Harry's eyes found yours amidst the small crowd, holding your gaze a beat longer than strictly necessary before moving on to the other cooks. You tried not to read too much into it.

With the nightly pep talk concluded, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white chef's coat, joining everyone in the evening breakdown and cleaning duties. You watched surreptitiously as he expertly broke down one of the grill stations, muscles in his broad forearms flexing enticingly with each efficient movement.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, quickly refocusing on scrubbing down your own prep area. This was exactly the kind of distracted, unprofessional behavior you were trying to avoid lately around Harry.

Despite your best efforts, however, you couldn't fully ignore him moving about the kitchen, checking in with each station to oversee their sanitation. At one point, he paused to examine some utensils that hadn't been properly cleaned, tsking in displeasure before batting them aside to be re-scrubbed.

"That's never going to meet inspection," he chided the sheepish-looking young line cook in his trademark gruff tone. "Do it again, and do it properly this time. We're not running a greasy spoon here."

As much as his uncompromising attitude could be intimidating, you also found it oddly...thrilling to witness Harry taking charge so authoritatively. Not to mention the visual of those powerful hands deftly at work was sending your thoughts in an unprofessional direction yet again.

Sternly redirecting your focus, you turned your back to give the area behind the grill station a thorough scrubbing. You were so engrossed that you nearly jumped out of your skin when Harry's low voice sounded directly in your ear.

"Everything looking good over here?"

You whirled around to find him looming directly behind you, near enough that you could smell the spicy notes of his subtle cologne mingling with the lingering kitchen aromas clinging to him. Up this close, you couldn't help noticing how the top buttons of his coat had come undone at some point, offering a teasing glimpse of the toned chest beneath.

Trying not to stare, you quickly averted your eyes as you nodded. "Y-yes, Chef. All clean on this side."

"Hmm." His assessing gaze slowly raked over your work before returning to your flushed face. The tiniest of smirks played about his lips as if he could read the direction of your thoughts.

"Well, then. Carry on," was all he said before turning and strolling unhurriedly back towards his office, burgundy cargo pants slung enticingly low on those lean hips.

You let out a shaky breath, mentally cursing how easily flustered you still became around this man, no matter how much you tried to enforce boundaries. Resolutely, you refocused on finishing your cleaning tasks, determined to get out of there before any more distracted lapses in professionalism.

By the time the kitchen had been scoured from top to bottom, you were one of the last few staffers remaining. Wearily peeling off your apron, you were just reaching for your bag when Harry reappeared, looking unhurried and relaxed now that the nightly duties were done.

"Heading out?" he asked as you approached, one thick eyebrow raised questioningly.

You stifled a yawn with the back of your hand. "Yeah, I'm beat. Gonna try and get some extra sleep before the morning prep shift tomorrow."

He made a noncommittal sound, falling into step beside you as you headed for the employee exit out back. For a few moments, you walked in silence, oddly aware of the warmth radiating off his body this close to yours.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what you expected. "You did good with that asshole customer earlier."

Your steps faltered slightly at the praise before quickly recovering. "Oh...uh, thanks, Chef. You really didn't need to step in like that."

"The hell I didn't," he countered gruffly. There was an edge to his tone that made the tiny hairs at your nape prickle. "No one treats my staff like piece of meat, especially not in my own goddamn kitchen."

Harry shook his head in disgust at the very idea, causing a lock of mahogany hair to fall rakishly across his furrowed brow in a way that really shouldn't have been as distracting as it was.

Swallowing hard, you refocused on the matter at hand. "I've dealt with guys like that before. Just comes with the territory sometimes, y'know?"

"That doesn't make it acceptable," he insisted, mouth setting into a grim line. You found yourself unable to look away from the sharp angles of his frowning profile, chiseled jaw ticking faintly with irritation, that he tried to mask.

He fixed you with those intense pale eyes, all traces of humor gone. "No one - and I mean no one - gets to treat any of you with disrespect while I'm in charge around here. I won't stand for that shit under my roof."

The ferocity in his tone sent an involuntary shiver rippling through you, though from wariness or...something else entirely, you couldn't say. All you knew was the low, authoritative resonance of Harry's voice carried an unmistakable air of command that raised goosebumps along your arms.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the fact you were walking in such close proximity out of public view. Or hell, maybe it was just the sheer presence of this man who could flip between stern taskmaster and something rawer, more carnal in the blink of an eye.

Whatever it was, you felt that subtle spark between you ignite and suddenly, you desperately needed to be alone to process the yearning that flickered to life low in your belly. Before you could consider the impulse further, you were blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

"Well, thanks again for that. And for the whole mentorship thing too. I, uh...I actually have some errands to run, so I'll just catch you tomorrow morning, 'kay?"

You didn't even give Harry a chance to respond before ducking through the exit, muscles taut with confused tension. As the cool night enveloped you, you drew a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to steady yourself.

Whatever weird atmospheric flux had momentarily enveloped you back there was too dangerous, too distracting from the tenuous balance you and Harry had only just reestablished. No, it was better to put some space between you before things got muddied again.

With a fierceness born of sheer force of will, you wrestled your turbulent, wandering thoughts back under control. You were a professional, with goals to work towards. Getting pulled into Harry's electrifying orbit again would only derail you.

Still, as you hurried to your car, his shape-shifting countenance kept flashing unbidden across your memory - the dazzling smile, the brooding intensity, the simmering promise of authority barely restrained. All of it provided an infuriatingly potent combination that had your body humming with repressed longing despite yourself.

This was going to take more effort than you'd anticipated.

***

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of grueling practice runs and preparation for the Martin gala. You and Harry spent nearly every waking hour in the kitchen, iterating endlessly on his showpiece dish concept.

With the prestigious event date rapidly approaching, any lingering awkwardness or tension between you had been shifted firmly into the background. The shared urgency of perfecting this culinary masterpiece became an all-consuming focus that left little room for anything else.

Still, that didn't stop you from noticing...things.

Like how the sleeves of Harry's whites had an endearing tendency to get shoved up his forearms in a way that displayed those tanned, sinewy muscles to distracting effect as he worked. You definitely didn't linger over the sight of his strong hands deftly wielding a knife, making precise, practiced cuts. And you absolutely did not imagine those dexterous fingers trailing across your skin instead of the cutting board.

At least, that's what you sternly told yourself in an ongoing effort to maintain focus.

For his part, Harry was all business during these preparation sessions - issuing clipped instructions, evaluating ingredients with a critical eye, pushing both of you relentlessly to get every component just right. Only rarely did you catch hints of something more underneath that professional veneer.

Like the time you were bent over a burner, carefully spooning out the orbs of flavored olive oil onto the waiting plate. Harry stepped up behind you to examine your work, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. As he leaned in closer to inspect the delicate orbs, his low murmur caressed the fine hairs at your nape in a way that made you shiver.

"That's it...go nice and slow with a deft touch," he rumbled in that raspy timbre that never failed to send tingles shooting straight to your core.

Heart pounding, you risked a sidelong glance to find his pale eyes already locked on yours, glittering with an intensity that contrasted sharply with his deceptively neutral expression. A charged moment stretched between you as that underlying spark you'd been determinedly ignoring flared, sudden and molten.

Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust, Harry blinked and cleared his throat brusquely. "Carry on, then," he instructed in his normal crisp tone before turning away to focus on another component.

You stood motionless for several heartbeats, fingers clenched around the spoon, skin flushed and tingling in equal measures of arousal and disbelief. Did that really just happen or had the endless hours in the kitchen started affecting your mind?

Too skittish to ponder it further, you dove back into your tasks with even more single-minded focus, the uneasy moment shelved and locked away tight. No matter what fleeting tension arose in isolated pockets, you couldn't afford to unpack it right now - not with the enormity of what was at stake.

The days ticked down in a relentless march until finally, you and Harry stood in the solitude of his spartan office the night before the big event, taking a breather from your marathon final prep session.

An ungodly number of mise en place containers filled every available surface, each holding fussed-over components of the highly elaborate and conceptual dish that would make its debut tomorrow. Harry had pushed you both to your physical and creative limits, drilling the execution repeatedly until he was satisfied you could plate it flawlessly under the anticipated scrutiny.

Now, having quality-checked and prepped every last possible element, there was nothing further to do except rest up and bring your sharpest mental game tomorrow. Harry seemed to deflate slightly as the backdrop of mounting pressure decreased for the first time in weeks.

Propping his hip against the desk with studied nonchalance, he quirked one eyebrow in a sidelong glance. "You ready for this?"

Despite your weariness, you felt that familiar thrill of adrenaline stir at those simple words - as well as a contradictory quiver of nerves. This event was a make-or-break opportunity of the highest magnitude, especially for someone like you just starting out. Either you nailed your responsibilities tomorrow, or it all came crashing down in front of Chicago's most elite gourmands.

Shoving aside the sudden flutters of doubt, you met Harry's inscrutable gaze head-on, straightening your spine. "You know I am. We've put in the work, and this dish is gonna blow them all away."

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his sculpted mouth as he studied you appraisingly. "That's what I like to hear. Just remember - all the technique practice in the world won't mean a thing if you panic out there."

The subtle warning made you bristle defensively, never one to back down from a challenge. "I'm not going to panic," you scoffed. "I eat massive amounts of public pressure like this for breakfast."

Harry's eyes danced with amusement, and not for the first time, it struck you how effortlessly he could switch between imposing and playful. "Is that so?" he drawled easily. "In that case, would you care to make things a bit more interesting?"

Before you could respond, Harry kicked off from the desk in one sinuous motion to prowl closer. Despite your weariness, you felt your heart rate kick up several notches as he invaded your personal space, long body coiled with a loose, predatory grace.

"Let's say we raise the stakes a little," he proposed in a tone of studied nonchalance that was completely belied by the heated glint in his eyes boring into yours. "If you can prove you've got the chops to keep a cool head under fire tomorrow, I'll take you out afterwards to celebrate. Just you and me, anywhere you want to go."

Your mouth went instantly dry at the implications behind his offer. Were those...the unmistakable undertones of flirtation coloring his invitation? After the weeks of him keeping things strictly professional between you, the sudden shift was dizzying - and left you dangerously intrigued.

"And what if I choke?" you heard yourself countering recklessly before you could reconsider. "What do you get out of it then?"

His answering smile was pure blistering sin. "Oh, sweetheart. If that happens...I get to take you out too - but somewhere a bit more private."

Harry paused to let the suggestive proposition linger, backing it up with a slow, heated raking of his pale eyes over your body that left zero doubt as to his implication. Heat bloomed furiously across your cheeks as forbidden images flooded your mind unbidden - flashes of tangled limbs, straining muscle, sweaty exertion of a far different sort...

Then, just like that, the provoking spell was broken. Rocking back on his heels, Harry shrugged one broad shoulder in an easy, dismissive gesture. "But that's not going to happen, is it? You've got all the skills, you've put in the time - no reason to buckle tomorrow."

He threw one final weighted glance in your direction before pivoting on his heel towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll see you at the venue early to do our final walkthrough before we get this show on the road."

And with that parting comment, Harry strode casually out, leaving you rooted there in dumbfounded silence. What the hell had just happened? One moment, you'd merely been steeling yourselves for tomorrow's high stakes challenge - and then suddenly he was issuing some bizarrely flirtatious...proposition.

Or was that really what it was? As you stood there chasing replays of his words, his tone, his body language - the whole previous interaction kept taking on a slinkier, more salacious cast. Like maybe your presence of mind was slipping already, causing you to read into things that weren't really there.

No...no, you decided as you hefted your bag, determined to put it all out of your head for now. Harry was just his usual aggravating self, trying to rile you by dangling some imagined reward or punishment to keep you on your toes before the big event. This whole...suggestive semiflirtation thing was just the product of your own exhausted mind playing tricks.

Firmly shoving aside all unsettling thoughts, you focused on the immediate challenge awaiting tomorrow. You would plate Harry's showpiece dish to absolute perfection, prove yourself under the brightest lights, and decisively seize this career-making opportunity.

Everything else could be dealt with later.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this!

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jawsoffate · 1 month ago

Text

Diabolically Yours | part III (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part).

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III

Part III: Brainstorming with a Hellspawn

"No romances. There are too many of those in the world already. You need something more... unique," Vessel said, standing in the middle of the living room.

It had been hours since they’d left the library, and Emma was on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, fingers hovering hesitantly over the keyboard. The damn cursor blinked at a merciless pace, as if mocking her inability to come up with an idea that was... good. Vessel stood in front of her, hands on his hips, watching.

"You need something more... visceral. A story that bites. That scratches. That doesn’t ask for permission before climbing into the reader’s head," he went on, now pacing in circles around the couch like a literary coach possessed by Nietzsche and espresso.

Emma rubbed her temples.

"I just want to turn in the assignment and pass. I don’t need to become Sylvia Plath."

"You don’t need to become anyone. You need to become you. Unlocked version, you know? Blood in the eyes, nothing to lose."

She stared at the screen. The first sentence she’d written: "Once upon a time, in a forgotten village…" Now felt like a personal insult.

"I hate all of this."

"Excellent start. Hate is a great fuel."

Emma huffed.

"Can you stop parading around like a Broadway villain and just give me a decent suggestion?"

Vessel stopped. Turned to her slowly, like he’d just had a profane epiphany.

"You should write about us."

She choked.

"What?"

"Exactly. A lonely human who accidentally summons a demon. Sounds like an irresistible metaphor for youth, frustration, and shattered expectations. Throw in a little chaos, a dash of sarcasm... done. Autofiction with an infernal pact."

"That’s ridiculous."

"That’s genius. It’ll confuse your professors, intrigue your classmates, and get you a great grade. No one will know where the metaphor ends and the breakdown begins. That’s art."

Emma stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then, very slowly, she began to type:

"She didn’t mean to summon anything. She just wanted to finish a short story. But sometimes, the universe confuses intentions with declarations. And then he appears. With sarcasm in his eyes and questionable taste in reality shows."

Vessel read over her shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Now that has soul."

"That has you, which is basically the opposite of soul."

"Touché."

Vessel leaned back on the arm of the sofa, watching Emma type with the kind of concentration that only appears under the threat of a deadline or demonic possession. She didn’t look at him, but she felt his presence hanging in the air like a strong incense scent — annoying, yet strangely comforting. Maybe it was just a side effect of sleep deprivation.

The cursor blinked in rhythm with her heartbeat. For the first time since the semester began, Emma felt like she was writing something that truly represented her. Not a mechanical exercise of structure and technique, but a story that hurt a little to tell — and precisely for that reason, it was worth it.

"You know what’s the most ironic?" Vessel said, fiddling with his rings, distracted. "You summoned a demon trying to write about humans. And now you’re writing about a demon to try to understand yourself."

Emma stopped typing.

"And what are you quoting now? Voltaire?"

"I’m just being myself. A chaos agent with a flair for drama."

She leaned forward, cracking her fingers carefully.

"This isn’t about me. It’s just a story."

"Sure. And I’m just an inconvenient guest who steals robes and unlocks creative insecurities. Nothing symbolic."

She stared at him, eyes half-closed.

"You love sounding deep."

"I am deep. I have layers. More than onions and collective trauma."

Emma laughed, unwillingly. And she hated it a little — hated actually laughing. At him. At the situation. At herself.

Vessel smiled too, satisfied. Like someone who had just won an invisible battle.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he said, suddenly quieter, almost in a tone that sounded… human.

Emma turned to him, suspicious.

"Here we go."

"This —" he gestured around, encompassing the messy room, the stacked books, the laptop on her lap — "is way more interesting than corroding the souls of corrupt bankers. At least you listen to me. Complain, grumble, but listen."

She frowned.

"That was… kind?"

"No. That was factual. Kindness is an infernal design flaw."

"Oh. Good to know."

The silence that settled this time was less tense. Vessel lay down on the carpet like a sloppy demonic cat. Emma resumed typing, and he just followed the sound of the keys like it was music.

"So, what happens next?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Next?"

"In your story. The girl who summons a demon. Do they become friends? Rivals? Does she learn a lesson? Does he disappear in the end? Have you decided yet?"

Emma hesitated. Looked at the screen. Then at him.

"Not yet. I think... they’ll figure it out together."

"Hmmm. Nothing like a good character arc to keep things interesting."

"Just don’t get used to it. When I hand in this assignment, you disappear. Remember? That was the deal."

Vessel closed his eyes, a lazy smirk on his lips.

"If life were as simple as a deal..."

She ignored him. Or tried. And kept writing, even knowing — deep down — that she was no longer just writing a story. She was documenting something that had already started to happen.

"I’m hungry."

Emma didn’t look at him. "Then go devour some delivery guy’s soul, I don’t know."

"I mean real food. Burger, fries, maybe a milkshake. The kind of feast that makes the human gut cry for mercy. Come on, I’ll pay."

"You’re a demon, Vessel." She sighed, still typing.

"So? I still get paid for my work, thank you very much."

That made her stop, her mind going static.

"Demons get a salary?"

"Yes, and a very good one. In Hell, everyone gets paid. It’s a flawless infernal meritocracy. I have stocks, properties, shares in surface companies, and a Black card that works in any plane of existence. Believe me, the heaven folks envy how well we get paid — they’re always asking HR to switch plans and come down."

Emma blinked, confused.

"Wait. You’re telling me that… you’re rich?"

Vessel smiled, satisfied.

"Filthy rich. Multiplanar millionaire. I could buy a restaurant right now if I wanted. Or a fast-food chain. Or this building. Want sushi? A ten-course tasting menu? A taco truck parked outside?"

"You have a card?"

"I have an app too. Super handy."

Emma ran her hand over her face, exhausted. Too much info at once. More than she expected to be real.

"I can’t believe my accidental demon is a sugar daddy."

"Don’t abuse the term. I prefer ‘occasional cosmic provider.’"

"Okay, provider. So why haven’t you asked for anything yet?"

"Because I like when you give in first. Creates an illusion of control. But since you brought it up…"

He snapped his fingers. A digital menu floated in the air, glowing red and gold.

"Choose whatever you want. But if you try to order just a salad, I’ll swap your bath salts for a really crappy brand."

Emma laughed, because of course he’d be theatrical even in delivery.

"Fine. But dessert is my choice."

"Always."

She swiped her finger across the floating interface, trying to ignore how everything was starting to feel… normal. Ordering food with a demon. Talking about infernal payment. Laughing at jokes that, weeks ago, she would swear were clear signs of madness.

"Do you have a first-time coupon?" Emma asked, half-mocking.

"I know the chef. If you want, I can call and ask him to customize your pizza with a rune of inspiration."

"I just want carbs. No magic."

"Coward," he replied, but clicked the "confirm order" button with gusto.

Minutes later, the doorbell rang and Emma got up to get the food. They sat on the living room floor, among pillows, scattered papers, and stacked books. Emma opened the box and let out an almost religious sigh seeing the steaming pizza.

"This looks like something from a movie. Like… a ‘Midnight with the Devil,’ culinary version."

"Or ‘Eat, Pray, Summon,’" he suggested, grabbing a slice.

She laughed with her mouth full.

"Okay, confess. Do you do this for everyone who summons you?"

Vessel pretended to think, chewing with demonic dignity.

"Not always. Once in 1984, a guy tried to summon me to win a dance contest. We ended up founding a tap dance school in Oslo. Long story."

"And you became friends with him too?"

"No. He hated me. But he danced well."

Emma laughed again, and for a moment forgot about deadlines, professors, the story she needed to finish. She was just there, sharing a pizza with a being who could probably cause an eclipse with a sneeze — and yet told bad jokes and stole the stuffed crust edges.

"You’re nothing like I expected, you know?"

Vessel smiled, tilting his head.

"I’m everything you didn’t know you needed. And a bit more. Literally, I am chaos incarnate. But, let’s be honest, chaos with good taste."

Emma finished the slice and looked at him with a furrowed brow.

"I still think one day I’ll wake up and find out this was a caffeine-induced delirium."

"Maybe. Or maybe it’s the start of the best story you’ll ever write. You never know, right?"

A comfortable silence settled, the rare kind, made of crumbs and silent contemplations. Outside, the night went on indifferent, while inside, among books, pizza leftovers, and infernal sarcasm, something strange and almost beautiful began to take shape.

Vessel looked at the laptop screen, still open beside the sofa.

"After dessert… we’ll get back to your story. I’m feeling it’s almost there. Just missing a twist. Or an unexpected ending."

Emma nodded, feeling — for the first time in days — that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so lost after all.

#sleep token #sleep token fic #sleep token smut #vessel sleep token #sleep token x reader #sleep toke x you #vessel x you #vessel x reader #trixies masterlist #diabolically yours

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ovaryacted · 5 days ago

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i truly love shen he’s exactly the kind of levelheaded guy you want on your side and idk i think he’d be great at helping you destress and relax if you catch my drift lmao

─ John Shen x fem reader

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Established relationship themes (kinda). Shen being a dependable bf. Mentions of Jack Abbot being a mentor (cause duh!). Pussy eating. Y'all know the drill!

YES! Both Shen & Abbot have that appeal to them, they're cool and collected in high stress situations, at least from what we've seen cause we know Jack has his own mental health issues and manages them, we don't know much about Shen yet. This feeds my personal headcanon that Jack had some influence or part in Shen's medical training at The Pitt, and tbh I have no doubt that Abbot was a mentor to both Shen & Ellis so the way they handle medical care is different than with Robby who is still a great physician but doesn't handle his emotions especially grief particularly well and I don't blame him. (I actually think Robby was put into the attending position right after Adamson's death and didn't have the proper time to grieve or process that change so he's under a lot of stress especially in a "post Covid" world.)

ANYWHO! Yes, Shen to me is the laidback guy that knows what he's doing and is both a good teacher (cause of Abbot) and a very reliable physician. His general attitude shouldn't be confused for incapability, but quite the opposite. He's smart as shit, and also a smart ass, but that's what has me gravitating towards him. He's the real prince of The Pitt, and Francis Anthony Langdon is the Ken Doll lolz (but very smart too).

Shen's approach to teaching helps you get through your residency, he lets you come to your own conclusions, corrects you if needed and isn't harsh about it. He guides you the same way Jack taught him, by walking you through things and letting you find your own confidence to take care of your patients. Thing is, you excel in emergency care, you're good, almost too good sometimes and it fills Shen with pride, and by extension Jack because he knows his teaching style is paying off. The old man is just glad the next generation of physicians have no problem using his education techniques.

But stress? Oh that was a killer. When your mind ran too fast and you were on the verge of burning out, when the walls felt like they were closing in around you and you were running on fumes, so close to collapsing in on yourself for working too damn hard. Sometimes, things just get to be too much for you.

And Shen? He sees it all, and he's already running checklists in his mind on what was needed.

The second you both get home, no questions asked, he walks you through fulfilling your needs. He acts like an extension of your brain and nervous system, starting off with the basics: food, shower, and magnesium glycinate gummies to get you to calm down. After those three things are taken care of, it really depends on your energy levels on what happens next. Too sleepy? It's nap time, he'll pop in some ASMR for you to listen to and lets you knock out until the next day with a kiss to your forehead. If you have to work in a few hours, he'll set your alarm up for you, and if you do have the day off, he creates the most zen environment to make sure you sleep well and deeply.

But if you needed something else? If you needed that little extra attention, he'll give it too.

"C'mon. Be a doll for me and open up." John mumbles above you, shifting your legs and spreading them a bit to make room for his head. "Wasn't so hard right?"

The first kiss on your clit makes you whine, too tired to moan any louder. Your eyes flutter closed, humming with every gentle pass over your slick cunt, his tongue petting over your lips with an affection only he'd be capable of. You shudder when he sucks around the sensitive bundle of nerves, instinctively widening your legs for him and reaching down to curl a hand in his hair, keeping him in place as your body sinks into the mattress.

You could feel him grin against your thigh, placing a wet kiss against your skin before focusing on your pussy once more.

"Just sit back and enjoy it. I'll have you sleeping in no time."

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#john shen smut #john shen x reader #john shen imagine #john shen headcanons #dr. shen x reader #john shen #ken kirby #the pitt #the pitt hbo #ovaryacted asks #ovaryacted drabbles #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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fen-luciel · 10 months ago

Text

Jealousy part 1

Part 2 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I'll update the tags as the story progresses, there should only be two more parts.

I'm not sure how far I'll go with certain behaviors, so leave a comment and let me know what you think <3

(This first part is to provide context, the other two will set the story in motion)

Becoming a Padawan was a lifelong dream. Of course, I was young, so my view of the world and what I would experience in the coming years was very limited. The idea of being taken under the wing of a more experienced Jedi master, learning many more techniques, the missions, the travels, all the people and aliens I could meet... I was bursting with happiness.

Not that the exercises at the temple weren't stimulating, I was glad to have made friends, to have developed a routine with them, but I was ready for something new.

So, when I was finally introduced to my future master, I was bursting with joy. I recognized her immediately, it was hard not to. Vernestra was an important member of the Order, involved with the Senate, and was known for her numerous successes. It was an honor for me to receive that position by her side.

Over the years, I had been recognized as an excellent future Padawan, with the ability to learn quickly, a strong sense of observation, and a positive and kind character that always accompanied me. I was often praised for the way I presented myself to others. In short, everyone saw a bright future for me, but I had difficulty seeing it myself. I was young and inexperienced and I believed that the important thing was to follow the rules, the rest was just a part of me, something I did naturally.

I imagine that becoming Vernestra’s Padawan was just the confirmation of that golden path everyone saw me on, but I was too caught up in the newness to really think about it.

However, I soon realized that I lost the balance I had created up to that point, I lost some friends, some simply due to distance, others were... cold towards me.

I didn't understand what had changed. I would never have accused anyone of feeling emotions like jealousy or anger towards me, we were children. Missteps were normal, and we were taught that it was right to face them and learn from them.

But if you asked around, many would have described me as someone who never made mistakes, who always responded with a gentle smile, a comforting word, a hand on the shoulder, or even just a pleasant company if you needed to vent. Perhaps that was the problem. I appeared too perfect in the eyes of others.

And yet, the Master didn’t make me feel that way. She taught me everything calmly, I followed her every step, she reprimanded me harshly, but always with care. She soon realized how much I sought validation in everything I did.

It was stronger than me, I believed I was always making a mistake, that I was in the wrong. After all, who was I to say something was right or wrong? I was just a Padawan. A child.

And anyway, it wasn’t the Jedi’s job to give answers, but rather to push people to understand for themselves.

Even though it was a concept I found difficult to grasp myself.

Anyway, that’s how I met Qimir.

He was Vernestra’s former Padawan, now promoted to Jedi Knight and independent in his duties, but he often visited us, either to seek advice from his old Master or just to ask how she was doing. I found him very sweet.

The first time I met him in person, I already knew his name. He had managed to stand out as soon as he started his duties as a Knight. Among the younger ones, there was a sense of reverence towards him even though we had never seen him in person. And besides, it was rumored that he was terribly handsome, not that it particularly interested me at the time.

I remember I was in the library with Vernestra, she had assigned me some basic readings to start my future physical training. Young ones are already taught at an early age to defend themselves and to learn various positions, but it was more about building an understanding of your Force signature, learning to trust your senses. The real training would then be individual for the student once they had a Master, so she had recommended these introductory readings on the various forms of combat and their use.

Those were afternoons I remembered with particular affection. Sitting in silence, she would take a more suitable book or bring her work documents on her datapad, and the hours would pass in an instant. Sometimes, I would glance at her to see what she was doing. She noticed every time, smiled slightly, and gently scolded me, telling me to return to my tasks.

I was happy. I felt cared for, appreciated, but not in the cold manner of a teacher with their student. It was a feeling I didn’t quite know how to place in my heart, and it worried me a bit, but I kept my doubts for another day.

On one of those quiet afternoons, I met Qimir. The room was particularly deserted that day, so the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard clearly along the shelves. Thinking it was the librarian, I didn’t pay much attention and remained with my nose buried in the book. Even when he stopped in front of our table I didn’t pay attention. Then, a deep male voice I didn’t recognize spoke Vernestra’s name.

Curiosity flared up in an instant, and as the two began a light conversation next to me, I slowly raised my gaze, the book almost serving as a shield, my hair partly covering my eyes. In front of us stood a young man in his twenties, dressed in the classic brown Jedi Knight attire, speaking casually to Vernestra. His slightly long, smooth hair, a light smile, and dark eyes framed by a chiseled jaw.

It was the first time I saw him. And the first time my heart beat so fast in my chest.

I didn’t know if it was because he was undeniably a handsome guy. I had never been too interested in that sort of thing, and anyway, it was forbidden for Jedi to have too impure thoughts. It was more... his aura. The amused smile but attentive eyes, the neat but relaxed posture... he seemed to shine with his own light. It was what I felt when I saw a member of the council, when I glimpsed Master Yoda in the corridors, reverence, respect, a bit of fear.

He was captivating, and he seemed to be aware of it.

I didn’t even realize that I had been staring at him longer than I should have. He noticed the insistent gaze on him. I must have looked quite ridiculous, a young girl hiding behind a book while staring at the great Jedi Knight, but the smile he gave me right after almost took my breath away as I blushed, perhaps for the first time in my life.

“And you must be the new Padawan who took my place. Nice to meet you, I’m Qimir” he said, extending a hand, and after casting a nervous glance at Vernestra, who was smiling at me, I hugged the book to my chest with one arm, my palm tingling, unsure whether to return the handshake.

Another inner turmoil came with that first touch. His hands had long, slender fingers, marked by numerous calluses, probably from gripping the lightsaber or the various missions he faced. It was just another reason why I started to admire him. I could see all the dots connecting in this figure that represented everything I wanted to become. A Jedi. A reference point for those in need.

I said my name in a low, timid voice, and he leaned towards me with a slight frown “Such a small voice, are you always like this, or am I making you nervous?” he joked, but I bit my lip, not knowing what to reply, I pulled my hand away, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he began to gently rub my knuckles with his thumb.

“Leave her alone, Qimir. She’s shy, don’t start with your teasing” Vernestra scolded him, at which he let go. I hid my hand under the table, clenching it into a fist, my skin tingling.

“Sorry, sorry. It must be a relief for you to have someone like this after me” she sighed but didn’t deny it either, at which I let out a smile and he, noticing, winked at me.

That was the first time I had dealings with him. But soon I began to see him everywhere. When he wasn’t on a mission, he stayed around the temple, so I encountered him in the corridors, in the halls, in the meditation room, and he always had a kind smile for me.

He made me feel special even though I knew it was a selfish feeling. When I managed to study with other Padawans in the library or practiced in the courtyard, he always stopped by to give me a nod. My friends were jealous, but I wasn’t really offended. Qimir was... kind.

It was like seeing the Force alive and pulsing around him. It was impossible not to look at him, not to wish that he would glance at you even just once.

Everyone wanted to be like him. Charismatic. Confident. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

One of the first missions I did with Master Vernestra was another point of contact. Being young, I wasn’t yet allowed in particularly dangerous scenarios, not to mention that if there was one thing I was lacking in, it was combat. I followed the Master almost everywhere, political life was just as important in a Jedi’s path, and I had to understand the mechanics early on for when I would be older, even though they were often more moments of leisure.

The meetings lasted hours, often discussing places, people, and things I knew nothing about. I tried to stay focused, but it was really difficult, and even Vernestra thought I shouldn’t strain myself too much, so she let me roam around, maybe continue studying, or even just take a little break.

One day, ready to depart, we were loading the luggage onto the ship. We were going to spend a few days on Hoth, and I was incredibly excited since I had never experienced a planet with that kind of climate before. As I was lost in my thoughts, a light knock interrupted me. At the foot of the ramp, Qimir gave me a half-smile "Is there room for me too?" I was still intimidated by his presence since we had never really spoken before. I opened my mouth several times, glancing around awkwardly, not sure if he was teasing me or if I was too stupid to understand what he meant.

"I hope you didn’t bring your usual baggage" Vernestra said behind me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, confused "Excuse me Master, is Qimir coming with us?" I struggled even to pronounce his name, it felt like an insult to do so, as if I didn’t have enough experience to earn such a privilege.

"What, you don't want me around?" he smiled as he walked up the ramp. I squirmed uncomfortably, realizing the embarrassing situation I had caused "N-no, I didn’t mean that—" He smiled even more, but Vernestra intervened again, scolding him "Give her some space Qimir."

The plan was simple: it was a diplomatic mission, and Qimir had joined us to study for a few days with his former master. I didn’t know exactly what he needed, but he wanted her advice. We left a few minutes later, and I avoided the control room like the plague. I only entered once to ask how much longer it would take, burning alive under Qimir’s gaze, then I shut myself in the bedroom and did my homework.

Hoth was as beautiful as it was freezing. But it was worth it; I had never seen such an immense expanse of white, the ground soft underfoot from the snow, the ice mountains, creatures I had never seen before. Vernestra stopped to talk to some locals, and I approached the enormous door overlooking the ice field. I wondered if the entire planet was like this. Did anyone live in those isolated areas? How could anyone survive in such a harsh climate?

A gloved hand rested on my back, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned, expecting to see my master, but under the hood, it was Qimir’s dark eyes that looked at me with a gentle smile on his face.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" he asked before turning back to look at the white expanse before us. I nodded hesitantly. Nervous about speaking to him, I bit my lip but managed to gather the courage "Do you know... if there’s anyone who lives in these lands?" He looked at me, puzzled, and I quickly corrected myself "I mean... besides the local species. Or aliens accustomed to these temperatures. Do you think others could live in a place like this?" He let out a small amused puff, "Well, we actually know for sure. There are many bandits or pirates hiding in these lands. Mainly to hide something, you know, it’s not worth sending search teams into snowstorms for a single man" he explained.

I made a sound of acknowledgment, but he continued "And if we’re talking about others... I think so. Someone who likes solitude or seeks peace. It seems like a good place not to be found" At that point, I turned toward him "Completely alone? It seems..." sad. But I was afraid to say it out loud, sadness wasn’t one of those emotions a Jedi should typically feel, but it felt natural to feel melancholy at the thought of people wanting to lose themselves in nothingness, to never be found again.

"Sad?" he seemed to read my mind "You see, emotions are very complicated to recognize. What might seem sad to you might mean peace to others. As Jedi, we often take many emotions for granted, but we often forget to give them context" I listened, hanging on his every word.

The conversation seemed... strange in some way. It made sense. Of course it did, he was older than me, had more experience in the field, and knew what he was talking about. I should have just nodded and thanked him for sharing those words.

I ignored the burning sensation I felt and thanked him in a faint voice It felt silly to do so, but it was the least I could do.

He smiled at me and gently took my hand "Let’s go, we need to warm up a bit. Trust me, in two more minutes, you won’t be able to feel the tip of your nose" he joked. I stifled a giggle and let him lead me inside toward the rooms. I didn’t know if it was because we were both wearing gloves or because of the conversation we had just had, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable being held by the hand.

A couple of days later, I was alone in one of the bases scattered across the ice. Vernestra was in a meeting and had forbidden me from attending due to the sensitivity of some of the information that would be exchanged. The problem was that these places weren’t particularly full of people or things to do. Yes, there was a bar area, but after the third cup of hot chocolate, I was afraid of pushing my stomach to the limit, so I stayed at the entrance, my feet in a pile of snow as I doodled or made small, questionable-looking statues.

I was so engrossed in the crooked little house I was shaping out of the ice that I didn’t notice the snowball being thrown in my direction.

I let out a startled yelp when it hit the hood on my head. I spun around just in time to see Qimir burst into laughter "Why did you do that?!" I stood up quickly, brushing the snow off my head.

"You looked so bored, I woke you up, didn’t I?" he chuckled.

I glared at him with a pout while he continued to laugh, so I decided to get revenge.

I bent down to grab a pile of snow, quickly making two balls. I threw the first one, but he easily dodged it.

He turned with an arrogant smile, ready to boast when the second one hit him square in the face.

I burst into laughter. He wiped the snow from his nose, his smile gone before bending down to grab more snow.

I shouted his name, realizing immediately what he was about to do, and started running through the snow with him on my heels. We didn’t even have time to make proper snowballs, we just grabbed the snow in our hands, compacted it as best we could, and threw it at each other in a never-ending war. Sometimes I noticed people giving us amused looks as they arrived or departed from the base, but I didn’t care, I was so happy that, for the first time, I didn’t even care what people thought of me.

An hour later, Vernestra called us back, giving us a confused look. She sighed and sent us to dry off. I felt a bit embarrassed at that moment, and I apologized for the childish behavior, but she smiled at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with what we had done.

In the end I took a full shower someone had left dinner on my bed, considering how long I had been under the hot water. I ate and, putting on one of the heavy local pajamas, decided to step out into the hallway to ask the Master what we would be doing the next day. I knew she wasn’t in bed yet, based on her nightly habits.

I walked down the hallway on the second floor, where the various guest rooms were located, when I noticed that her door was already open.

I approached slowly and immediately recognized Qimir’s voice.

"I’m just saying, if we block the main routes, they’d be forced to come out into the open" With a sense of curiosity, I pressed myself against the wall to peek into the room. The two were looking at an old map spread out on the table.

"I agree, but it would take too many resources, and we don’t know the exact times or routes. It would take a lot of time" she replied wearily. Qimir, standing next to her, bit his lip before flashing one of his smiles, "Or... we could sneak in"

She sighed again "The point is the same. We don’t have the resources—"

"I’ll go in myself. I’ll cut the power right under their noses, and—" She interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

"Do you realize what you’re saying? Sneaking in like a thief, and then what? Even if I let you do it, they could still escape, and..." He circled the desk, positioning himself in front of her, his back to me, so I barely heard what he said "No one said we need them alive—"

A sudden thud made me jump. I pressed my hands to my mouth, paralyzed, afraid they had heard me "No. Stop this nonsense, Qimir."

I don’t know what they said after that, I was too busy slipping back into my room, the conversation I had just overheard spinning in my head.

Sometimes, as a Jedi, you had to make drastic choices, right?

Or at least, it seemed that way.

I tried to forget about it and went to sleep.

#the acolyte #star wars #qimir #qimir x reader #qimir x oc #first person #jealousy #everyone is here for the age g4p #age g4p #manny jacinto #dead dove do not eat

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howtofightwrite · 8 months ago

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Hi! Love your blog, it's such a brilliant resource, thanks so much for writing it.

So, I'm looking for more information on ways that someone would go about breaking someone else's neck. Long story short, it's for a murder mystery situation where I need the investigators to be able to look at the injury on the victims (in an autopsy context, not necessarily on casual examination) and go 'oh, that's a specific technique and it suggests our killer has military or similar how-to-kill-people combat training'. Any suggestions?

A shovel through the spine at the base of the skull?

So, the headlock neck break is basically a fantasy. The amount of force you'd need to actually shatter someone's neck in the way presented would be superhuman. (Which does mean there's probably examples as industrial accidents, but industrial accidents are a somewhat uncommon murder method. Mostly because they're not especially portable.)

Hilariously, there are multiple attempted murder cases, where the would-be killers tried to replicate that neck break, only succeeding in annoy their victims, and telegraphing their intention. So, someone were to try to snap someone's neck that way, it would be an excellent indicator that they had no training what so ever.

There are ways that someone can kill with a headlock, such as a blood choke, but nothing that's going to concretely point the finger at someone with a military background.

Similarly, stab wounds can be very informative about the killer. But all you'll really gather is how familiar they are with human anatomy, and how comfortable they are with cutting people-shaped meat. This won't help you distinguish between someone who's done this before, and someone who's done this before for their country. (Incidentally, “people-shaped meat,” isn't strictly a joke. There are lot of potential careers and backgrounds where you could become pretty comfortable cutting into animals, either live or recently deceased. So, in this specific case, that's more about the mindset. Someone uncomfortable with that level of physicality, is like to leave behind hesitation wounds. These are smaller cuts, sometimes in the main wound channel, indicating that they're not really comfortable with what they're doing.)

So far as it goes, I'm more a fan of just ramming a blade into an artery, rather than slitting their throat. The latter is a lot more work, but the former requires you actually know where to find someone's arteries quickly and efficiently. Which isn't necessarily a sure thing.

Even tool selection won't necessarily tell you much. Someone who's using a military knife might be ex-military, or they could be someone who uses surplussed equipment because it's cheap and relatively reliable. And that's assuming you can concretely identify the knife from the wounds it leaves. Which is also not especially reliable. You can tell how far the blade penetrated, and roughly how large it is, but that won't tell you if it was a bayonet or some cheap gas station hunting knife of a similar size.

Firearms present a similar problem. Once you can track down the gun (if there were any intact bullets to compare, which isn't a certainty), you might be able to match the gun to the wounds. But, examining the wounds on their own (especially if the bullets are gone, or buried deep in the corpse) will only give you an estimate of the bullet's size. Here's a problem with this, did you know that .38, .380, and .357 magnum are all 9mm rounds? They're different cartridges, but the bullets they spit out are very similarly sized. You might be able to make some educated guesses based on the wound channel and burns, but these all fire a round that's roughly the same size. So, when someone looks at a wound and definitively says it was a .38, they don't know that. (Unless they found the shell casing. But even then, you're not likely to find a .38 or .357mag shell casing unless the attacker specifically dropped their spent brass and reloaded, as those are revolver cartridges. .380 is a semi-auto round, so those will get kicked out after each shot. And, yes, before someone complains, there is .357 SIG, that's a semi-auto cartridge. It's 9x22mm.)

Also worth remembering, you can't, specifically match a shotgun's ballistics, assuming the shell was loaded with shot, and not slugs. You may be able to match the mechanical wear on the casing itself to a model (or multiple models in some cases), but not a specific gun.

So, how do you know it was someone with military training? You don't. Learning that someone's been trained to kill is a bit easier to pin down, but the information isn't that useful. That doesn't tell you if they're ex-military, ex-police, or even just the product of an extremely messed up homelife with a prepper parent. Or, even just they got extremely lucky (or unlucky) with a single stab.

Now, it isn't pointless to try to determine that, as it can be helpful later to demonstrate that the eventual suspect had the training to kill in the method that the victim experienced. But it doesn't do much to narrow the suspect pool on its own.

Ironically, the killer not having combat training. So, with things like defensive and hesitation wounds, can be far more useful for narrowing the suspect pool. As an investigator, when you're talking to someone that you're sure has been certified in knife combat, isn't likely to be especially messy with their stabbings. (Though, to be fair, even a trained knife fighter might stab their victim many times, to ensure a faster bleedout, and not all of those hits are going to be especially artful.)

So, that's a long way from, “you can't really break someone's neck like you see in the movies.” You can kill people, and as an investigator, you can make a lot of educated guesses based on what you find at the crime scene. But, “this method means they were militarily trained,” doesn't really mean they were trained by the military.

-Starke

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#writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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vidavalor · 3 months ago

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How sure are you that they won't turn human? I'm really worried.

Hi there! 💕 I could always be wrong but I'm *Aziraphale voice* quite sure! that they will not become mortal. I'll show you why & you can see if you agree. 😊 *shares nachos*

This is a spoiler-free post when it comes to Good Omens but be forewarned that I'm going to spoil part of the ending of The Good Place as part of an example in here.

I can see why you might worry because turning immortal characters mortal can be a common storytelling technique. I think that if we look at it from a storytelling perspective, though, you'll see why Good Omens is different and likely won't be going in that direction.

What separates an immortal character from a human one is that an immortal character is immune to one of the paradoxes of human living, which is how death informs living. Our finite amount of time on Earth and eventual death is what drives us to make the choices we do while we're alive.

The most common human experience is that, not only will we eventually die, none of us know for sure what, if anything, comes after that. We have all sorts of belief systems and spiritual ideas about what, if anything, might happen after we die, but they're all speculative. None of us truly know the truth. If we did, it could be argued, we'd lose a lot of our motivation to do much living here on Earth.

It is death which gives us a sense of limited time on Earth and it's that sense of limited time on Earth that drives the experience of being human. Having a concept of mortality is essential to knowing what it is to live as a human. So, on the surface, immortal characters fly in the face of this by design.

When you have immortal characters in a story-- angels, demons, vampires, whatever-- you have characters who, by definition, are capable of living forever. What separates them from humans is their lack of a ticking clock.

Characters who are immortal are really there to discuss the human experience, though...

You don't make a character who lives outside the realm of mortal living unless you're trying to talk about what human life is like by showing what of human life those immortal characters are struggling to experience.

In The Good Place, there's the demon, Michael, whose very excellent ending is that they find a way to make him human. This is basically a textbook example of a story doing what you're worried Good Omens might do but which I'll show you that I don't think they will. In The Good Place story, though, it makes sense and is a perfect ending, where it would not be in Good Omens. There are some key reasons why these stories are different.

In The Good Place, Michael is played by Ted Danson, who is in his 70s, so the idea is that Michael will only get to experience, at best, a couple of decades on Earth as a human before he dies. As is pointed out to him when this option is presented to him, anything can happen to the afterlife system in the years while he's down there on Earth so he has no guarantee what the afterlife situation will be when he dies and goes through it like any other human. What choice does our immortal demon Michael make?

He jumps at the opportunity to become human because, as he explains, there's "nothing more human" than living on Earth and not knowing what comes next. This is all he's ever wanted but it is all he's ever wanted for one reason alone:

because he's never had the opportunity to live on Earth.

This is a perfect ending for this character because he's immortal for the duration of the series with a fondness for human life but he's only ever observed bits of it. He's made some human friends in their afterlife but he's never experienced Earth and human living for himself.

He's lived in Hell for his whole existence and all he knows about humanity is what he's learned from observing humans on Earth from a distance. In the process, though, he's become obsessed with them. He tries to teach himself to play the guitar and, just like Aziraphale, he has a fondness for human magic tricks, even though he's a miraculous being who can perform "real magic."

Michael has never actually gotten to live life on Earth, though. The audience winds up wanting that for him and so sees him finally getting that opportunity as a happy ending. Taking away Michael's immortality and letting him experience life as a human is an ending that leaves most in tears in a good way when it happens. We're happy because we want the character to be happy and we know that this makes him happy.

This type of ending only works as a good ending, though, if it's what the characters want.

The audience will only get behind it if the immortal characters in the story have never had much of a chance to be human, really want that chance, and the ending would give them that opportunity.

If the immortal characters are already having human experiences, though, and would suffer as a result of losing their immortality-- would only have a limited time together, say-- then this is actually a tragic ending.

The only reason why immortal characters in a story would ever have an ending where they were no longer immortal is if those immortal characters were like Michael-- if they'd never gotten to experience human living and wanted to.

That is just not the case with Crowley and Aziraphale in Good Omens.

There's none of us watching Good Omens going wow, if only Crowley and Aziraphale could become mortal in their circa 50-something year old bodies and watch each other slowly die of old age! That surely would be the best ending to this romantic comedy! 😂

Whether you think they're already together or not, that ending would be absolute shit lol. Why? Because the one thing that's clear to all of us is that, whatever Crowley and Aziraphale are, they haven't yet gotten the chance to really be openly together without fear.

For the story to give them 6,000+ years of stress on Earth only to then give them a few decades of watching each other die in the South Downs Cottage would not be a happy ending to a show called Good Omens. It would turn this romance into a tragedy, which it's just not. It is, fundamentally, a romantic fantasy comedy.

What the audience really wants is for all of the millenniums of their story that we've just watched to become the prologue to their story.

We want the story to end with them having a new beginning together and, honestly? That's been baked in from the start. It starts, as The Voice of God promised us, as it shall end. The ending has always been going to also be a new beginning. There's no real, conceivable way where them losing their mortality in the ending could be construed as the start of something. It's just depressing.

Why do we feel this way? Because we intuitively know that Crowley and Aziraphale's story is different from ones like The Good Place's Michael because, unlike him, Crowley and Aziraphale do not need to become mortal to experience human living.

Crowley and Aziraphale might, technically, be immortal but, throughout the story we've watched, they've already been given the ticking clock of human living. They've been dealing with it together for the entirety of the history of Earth.

From both of the starts of their story-- both Before the Beginning and Eden-- the knowledge is present in both of them (and in the audience) that this life that they're making together on Earth isn't meant to last forever.

An approximate lifespan was known to the two of them from the start: about 6,000 years. Yes, this sounds like a ridiculously long amount of time to us but, to two immortal beings, it's far less than the blink of an eye.

And they've known all along that it's very possible that this is all the time they'll ever have together and, depending upon how Armageddon goes, that one or both of them might not live any longer than that. Their immortality has never actually been a sure thing.

This limited amount of time is also a source of conflict and tension, especially as the story progresses and the sand in the hourglass starts to diminish as 6,000 years gets closer and closer.

It's basically the whole root of the 1967 scene, where the central question is whether or not to go for broke and risk getting caught so they can live a more open life or whether to play it safe and maybe hope they can find a way to living together for longer or, maybe even, somehow, forever.

What this does in the story is split the difference between Crowley and Aziraphale being immortal and them living like the humans whose corporations they share.

Even as they're immortal, Crowley and Aziraphale are also human because they have a concept of living a limited lifespan on Earth, the same way that humans do.

It might be way longer than our human lifespans but it's functionally the same, too short thing. They've both found themselves on Earth and been told the longest they can live there is somewhere around 6,000 years, if they're lucky, and they both know that this amount of time might be all the time they have with one another.

There's basically nothing more human than this.

Because of this sense of limited time, Crowley and Aziraphale don't know what is going to happen to them. They might be immortal but they don't actually know for sure if one or both of them is going to really live for all of eternity.

All along, they have a sense of a lifespan-- they know it's about 6,000 years but they do not know exactly when Armageddon is going to start, nor do they know if they both will survive it. It's just like how we might know that, if we're lucky, we'll probably live a certain number of years, but we don't know for sure that we will.

It leaves Crowley and Aziraphale wondering the whole time-- is it 6,000 years from the creation of Earth when Armageddon begins? Is it in Year 5697? Or Year 6102? They would have had no idea. After S1, they were even less sure in S2. When would Armageddon: Round Two kick off? They had no idea and it was weighing on them.

Knowing approximately how long you've got to live, if you're lucky, but not exactly how long, and never knowing when your number is up? Making a life together on Earth with people you care about and not knowing how much time you have together?

That's human living.

For humans who form close relationships, especially a romantic partnership, the question always exists out there as to how it ends. Does one of you die first? Is one of you going to be left alone for a bit? How long will you have together? How does your story end?

It's been the same for Crowley and Aziraphale this whole time, too.

There's also that many humans live to or well-past their average human lifespan... but many do not. Death is unpredictable, which makes life unpredictable.

You can make a life together on Earth with someone and think you have decades still left together but then they could get hit by a truck one night and never make it home. They could be there one minute and not the next. You never know what happens when one of you goes out the door. Humans live with this death-related fear of the unknown daily.

Crowley and Aziraphale? They experience this very human thing, too.

Their relationship is dangerous, especially in their supernatural world. If they were ever discovered, they know that Heaven and Hell would kill them. Every time one of them slipped out a door before dawn for the last however many thousands of years, they've never been completely sure that they'll see one another again.

Aziraphale once even lost Crowley right in front of him, back in 1827, on a night that we're shown in S2 that still affects Aziraphale into the present of the story.

So, even as they're immortal beings who have often been contemplating the possibility of an eventual, terrible-sounding, eternal existence without one another looming on the horizon after Armageddon...

...they've also been living with the same sense of possible death and a ticking clock that the humans with whom they live have been all this time, too.

Giving Crowley and Aziraphale a human concept of time in the story was conscious, deliberate design. Without it, the story could not really explore human living through them in the same way because they would only have their immortality and lack that connection to humans.

Crowley and Aziraphale are not The Good Place's demon Michael. They've not been held back from human living. They live so much like humans that they appear to even occasionally forget at times that they're magical. They drove to the end of the world in S1. Crowley got stuck in traffic. 😂

This is all because, in this story, the point of Crowley and Aziraphale's immortality is to take beings who are capable of understanding what it is to be human-- people who have human corporations and who are, by design of the story, people every bit as much as the humans, and living on Earth like them-- and using them to talk about what it is to be a human being.

When you have characters who have been taught that they are different from people and that they should be above them but then are shown through their experiences to be just like them? You're really making a point about human people who have been taught these same things. You're using the supernatural characters to make that point. The intention is to show that they're not so different.

It also just tends to be extra-entertaining for the audience, as we know, because the supernatural characters are a bit fish-out-of-water in their explorations of Earth. As we watch them come to appreciate aspects of the human world, we're reminded of how magical that world-- our world-- can be.

You can give a human being having a rough time a hot chocolate in a story and it can be a nice moment but maybe not terribly memorable... or, you can give the naked Supreme Archangel of All Heaven his very first ever warm cup of sugar while he's got trauma-induced amnesia in the main characters' antiquarian bookshop/Heavenly embassy/secret love den and have him forget the plot for a moment to have a food orgasm over it.

It's pretty evident which one of those options is more engaging, right? 😂 Let alone which one better delivers the story's point about mindful living.

The point of Good Omens isn't so much that the immortal characters are not human so much as it is how very, very human they really are. Immortal characters in this story exist to show us that the really magical ones are the humans.

This doesn't mean, though, that all the immortal characters in the story need to become mortal to experience humanity. The main four have already shown that it's just coming down to experience Earth and joining the side of the humans that is the point.

Gabriel literally miracled "Everyday" onto the jukebox in The Resurrectionist forever as a way of telling Beez that he plans to be there for them eternally. The song is there if something happens to him but the song is also Gabriel himself in his metaphor. He doesn't plan on anything less than all of time with Beez.

They both, too, learned to understand humanity around the idea of it maybe having an end with Armageddon. Their response to that was not to want to become mortal but to try to stop Armageddon from happening. It was to try to ensure that the Earth survived. It's the same thing as Crowley and Aziraphale's story.

A happy ending for all of these immortal characters is peace and they don't need to give up their immortality to find that. Plenty of time with one another would be a positive, satisfying ending. They don't need to learn what living like a human is like because the entire story has been them doing just that.

They would not take away their immortality unless they wanted a tragic ending. The name of the story is Good Omens, though, and it's not ironic. The story is, at the core, a fantasy romantic comedy. It's about the magic of human living. By definition, you cannot have a tragic ending to a romance or it isn't one. This story will have a good ending. No way on Earth they fought to finish this story just so they could give it a sad ending and I doubt it was ever at risk of one in the first place.

What the audience wants is for Crowley and Aziraphale to be able to live openly together on Earth without all this fear. They don't want them to only get a few years together but all the years they can ever want. That's the happy ending for Crowley and Aziraphale and that will be how it ends.

There is no reason to take their immortality because they do not need to learn what human living is. The story has already shown us that they already know and are every bit as human as the rest of us.

#good omens #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #good omens theory #good omens speculation

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