#because the truth will never set them free. it will only confirm all the terrible things they've done.

[fuckinart]

(they'll never understand) How could I ever understand? No, I don't have to understand. I don't wanna understand. So I will never understand. (we could have everything)

[grandmother-goblin]

Field Study - Chapter 11

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: After waiting a day, Astarion finally gets a response from Cas.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Tags: Sexual content, kissing, safe word discussion, confessions, mild dirty talk.

A full day passed and Astarion still hadn’t gotten an answer from Cas. Their conversation had left him on edge. It was like he had an open wound in his chest, and Cas was the only person with the means to heal it. Yet she decided to make him wait, his heart beating out in the open. Exposed. Vulnerable.

He tried to distract himself with whatever he could think of: fletching arrows, reading that changeling detective novel, fixing a small tear in his armor. He even tried striking up a conversation with Gale of all people. Nothing seemed to make time go by faster or take his mind off of his little wood elf.

It was maddening.

So when he learned that the tieflings at the Grove wanted to throw a little celebration at the campsite, he initially welcomed the idea. It was something to occupy his time. It was also a chance to show Cas that he could behave himself in a setting where it would be completely acceptable to flirt and mingle. He was determined to be on his absolute best behavior.

But by the time the party rolled around, Astarion’s determination gave way to frustration. For more reasons than one.

First, the tieflings thought he was some sort of hero. For what? Stabbing a hobgoblin and a couple of his cronies in the dead of night? Some people would call that being a serial killer, but what did he know? The tieflings thought that he helped save them. If he did, it was completely unintentional. A mere side-effect of their mission to find a cure for the tadpole situation. Nothing more.

Second, Cas was busy socializing with everyone but him. She flitted from one conversation to the next like a hummingbird, staying just long enough to say a few words before moving on. And their companions took notice. Shadowheart even had the audacity to tease him about it. Then, as if to rub it in his face, she asked Cas to have a drink with her then the two women proceeded to chat for at least ten minutes.

Third, his wine tasted like vinegar. It was the least of his problems, but given everything else going on, it irritated him more than it should have. Still, he drank it anyway.

The party itself was fine. Not bad, but not terribly good. There was music, dancing, and plenty of drinks to go around. But there were also children present, which meant that the levels of debauchery Astarion was accustomed to at parties was practically eliminated.

Not a single person got so drunk that they took off their clothes. Or tried doing something dangerous and stupid. Or started a fist fight. Or an orgy. It was so… boring.

Astarion was never a wallflower at social events, but he couldn’t bring himself to mingle with this particular crowd. They all wanted to thank him, which would have been hilarious if it didn’t make him so uncomfortable. He wasn’t a hero, and the tieflings were idiots for thinking so. However, he had the good manners not to say anything to their faces. After all, they did bring free booze, even if it was shit.

Regardless, he had used the party as an excuse to dress up a bit. Not much, since he didn’t have his usual wardrobe on hand, but nice enough. He wore the black linen shirt that showed off a bit of his chest just because he knew Cas liked it and paired it with well-tailored trousers that tucked into his leather boots. A simple, monochromatic look that he knew looked quite striking with his complexion.

A few interested pairs of eyes had wandered his way and confirmed what he already knew. But he ignored them. It was only a few weeks ago that he would have taken those lingering glances as an invitation. After what happened with the drow, he didn’t show any interest in return. The truth was he dressed up for Cas, hoping to entice her into speaking with him, but it seemed his efforts were in vain.

Restless energy pulsed through him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and drank deeply from his bottle of wine, but even the alcohol didn’t seem to relieve his growing tension. That tension only grew when he saw Cas laughing at something Halsin had said. And again she left to talk with Wyll in private for a moment. Astarion ground his teeth together so hard it was a miracle he didn’t snap a fang. He forced himself to look away for his own sanity, fuming.

Why the hells should he just wait around for Cas to come talk to him? Sure, he could have gone and talked to her himself, but he was stubborn. Stubborn and not willing to roll on his back and bare his belly for her again. No. If she wanted to talk to him, she would have to be the one to initiate conversation. He was tired of feeling like she held his heart in her hand, and he was far too proud to slink after her and beg for it back.

Unwilling to endure the party any longer, Astarion took his one last sip of his wine and dumped the rest into a bush. That could be his heroic deed: ridding the world of that swill they called wine. Now that was worthy of celebration.

He needed to do something other than waiting for Cas. Something to distract himself before his irritation festered and he did something stupid again.

Maybe he could hunt? It would get him away from the party and burn off some of the energy that was coiling inside him like a tight metal spring. Plus killing something usually made him feel better. It didn’t really matter that he hunted earlier in the day. Perhaps he could find something that would put up a bit of a fight. He could use the release.

As he turned to his tent so he could get changed into something more hunting appropriate, he stopped short. Only a few feet away, Cas watched him with those deep brown eyes. Curious and hesitant, but there was a familiar warmth behind them that made his undead heart quicken.

She hadn’t even dressed up for the party. Just a simple, white, sleeveless top paired the leather leggings and boots she typically wore with her armor. Her hair was down and a little messy from running around the party all night. Still, he drank in the sight of her as though she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

He hated how his body responded to her at that moment. The butterflies in his stomach had no business being there, but his mind couldn’t convince them to leave.

“Hey,” Cas said, her brow furrowed and a faint frown appeared on that mouth he so still so stupidly wanted to kiss. “Are you leaving?”

Yes, because you ignored me for the last hour and I’m tired of waiting around like a dog, he wanted to say. Even though she had finally come to talk to him, it was a minute too late. He was done being patient and done with not knowing where they stood.

Astarion huffed. “I’m bored, darling,” he said, his tone a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. A couple of tiefling children dancing with their parents caught his eye and Cas followed his gaze. “This really isn’t my sort of thing. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find something else to occupy my time. I need to hunt anyway.”

“Wait.” Cas’s fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist and his body electrified at that small touch.

Goosebumps crawled up his arm when he saw the look on her face. Her eyes were wide, pleading, but there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite place.

He glanced at where her fingers touched his skin but made no move to pull away. He watched her and said nothing. Waiting. Again.

Cas drew her lower lip between her teeth. “I—” A sharp breath cut between them as she straightened. “I wanted to talk to you. About you and me.”

“I’m listening,” he replied, keeping his voice flat to hide the hope that threatened to blossom in his chest. Just because she was ready to talk didn’t mean he was going to get the answer he wanted to hear.

In fact, he was almost certain that he wouldn’t like whatever she was about to say. His night was already going terribly, so what was one more disappointment?

Her fingers slipped from his wrist, and he immediately mourned the loss despite himself. The urge to reach out and touch her was strong, almost overpowering, but he resisted. She wasn’t his to touch anymore.

“Let’s…” She looked down at her boots. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private,” she said and cocked her chin toward the edge of the woods.

Astarion nodded and followed her lead, but his stomach twisted with apprehension. Truth be told, he had no idea which way the conversation was going to go, but he was already steeling himself for the worst. Just because she wanted to talk didn’t mean that she forgave him. It didn’t mean that she still wanted him the way she did before. There was a good chance that she would sever whatever romantic connection they had, and he couldn’t really blame her if she did. If the roles were reversed, he knew exactly what he would do.

But Cas had a much softer heart than he did.

They stopped at the border of the campsite, where the chatter from the party barely reached his ears and the only light came from the glow of the moon. It was quiet enough that he could hear crickets over the distant sounds of lutes, flutes, and drums.

Yet, Cas didn’t say anything for several seconds.

She picked at her short fingernails and rocked on her heels. “Thank you for giving me some time to think,” she started, her voice a little softer than normal. Almost like she didn’t trust it. “I needed a day to go over what you said. And to figure out how I felt.”

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice, darling,” he said, folding his arms across his chest as though he could shield his heart.

A sheepish laugh passed her lips as she continued not to look at him. “Still….”

Leaves rustled in the wind, filling the lingering silence between them. Moments passed and Cas opened her mouth once or twice to say something before ultimately changing her mind. The longer the pause went on, the further his heart sank.

She was ending it. Whatever it was that was between them, their nascent relationship; she wanted it to be over. It was the only reasonable explanation for her reticence. He swallowed the lump in his throat and his fingers dug into his shirtsleeves.

It was over. He laid his heart out on the line for nothing.

“Out with it,” Astarion bit, his impatience boiling over into anger.

Tell him he wasn’t worth the trouble. That he was nothing more than a quick fuck to distract her from the mess they were in. That nothing he said or did mattered to her. He needed her to remind him that the world was a cruel place. That anything that made him happy was bound to go up in flames. No matter how he tried to stop the fire, it would always destroy him. Bit by bit.

Hope was a dangerous thing, and Cas had given him hope. Made him think that, even for a moment, she wanted him for him. She made him believe he was worth something to her.

He was such an idiot.

Dread dripped down his spine and he mentally tried to steel himself. Cas was just like anyone else he had seduced. Just a bit of fun. Nothing serious. Certainly no one worth fretting over.

Astarion repeated the words like a mantra in his mind, trying to convince himself of it. Cas meant nothing to him, so she couldn’t hurt him. It was just flirtation and fun. Like always.

Cas gazed up at him with those deep brown eyes and sucked in a lungful of air. “I still want you.”

The words came out like it was a secret she had been trying to keep inside. A mere breath. A whisper.

And he couldn’t believe it.

For a second, he wasn’t even sure he heard her correctly. She… she still wanted him? Or did she say she didn’t want him? The more he thought about it, the less sure he was of what she actually said. The pessimist, vitriolic, part of his brain told him that he definitely misheard her. The way she had been acting didn’t make sense otherwise. Why would she have stayed away from him if she still wanted him?

He blinked at her. “What?”

“I still want you.” She wrung her hands together and averted her gaze. “I was blindsided by what happened the other day. I thought you just didn’t care, but after our talk yesterday…. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t have bothered.

“I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I like you. A lot. Despite what happened. You’re clever and funny and you’re one of my favorite people to talk to. Not to mention extremely handsome, but you already knew that. I’m rambling. Anyway, if you’re still interested I would really like to continue—”

The impulse was too strong to resist. It was like the tightly wound coil deep inside him had suddenly snapped, and he couldn’t wait a second longer. Astarion clutched the back of her head and his lips crashed against hers in a rough, soul-searing, all-encompassing kiss. He wanted her too much for anything else to matter. Too much to care about whatever else she was going to say. She had said all she needed to.

A faint whimper escaped the back of her throat as her body sank against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, anchoring herself to him. The delicate stroke of her tongue against his sent a shock of pleasure through him and a groan, almost like a growl, rumbled in his chest.

He cupped the curve of her ass and pulled her tightly against him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her stomach. Her fingers slid into his hair as lips broke from hers, moving down to her corner of her jaw to her throat. The frantic throb of her pulse beneath his lips made his fangs ache. He wanted to bite her. To claim her again. To mark her so the whole world knew who she belonged to.

The need nearly overwhelmed him for a moment as his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her head back until her throat was completely bared to him. Cas’s breath hitched when his teeth closed gently against the tender flesh of her neck. Just a nip. Not hard enough to pierce the skin, no matter how desperately he craved it. He wouldn’t bite her without permission.

Because he wanted her. Damn it to the Hells, he wanted her. Blood, body, and soul.

At that moment, everything he had been worried about had vanished. It was just him and her. Nothing else seemed to matter when she was in his arms, and he would take every second of peace he could get.

The tip of his tongue soothed over the faint mark he left on her throat, the salt of her skin as exquisite as fine wine. “Darling, I want to bite you,” he said into the cove of her neck as his hips rocked against hers once, trying to relieve the ache he felt for her. “I miss seeing my mark on your neck.”

“Maybe I’ll let you make another,” Cas replied a little breathlessly. “You said you needed to hunt tonight anyways. Why not hunt me?”

Astarion loosened his grip in her hair, smoothing his fingers over her scalp down to her nape. “Hunt you?” he asked as he pressed a lingering kiss against a pulse point just below her jaw.

“Yeah,” she said, almost a little shyly. Like she couldn’t quite believe what she was asking for. “Not for real, obviously. But like a game. I’ll pack up some things and wander off into the woods. All alone. Far away from camp. Then you’ll come find me.”

The thought of stalking her, catching her, and overpowering her appealed to him on the most primal level. Excitement swelled in his chest. In all his years, he had never been asked to hunt someone before. At least, not like this. Not by someone who knew what he was and what he was capable of.

Vampires were hunters by nature. They had to be. Most people would never subject themselves to a vampire's bite willingly, regardless of the risk of being turned. And most vampires would never let their victims live. Especially the ones they chased down or seduced with the sole purpose of feeding. It was simply a risk most vampires couldn’t afford to take. Loose ends and all of that. The fact that Cas was asking this of him….

His hand lowered on her backside, giving the firm flesh a little squeeze. “You trust me to not go too far?”

A small gasp passed her lips when his fingers curved around high on her inner thigh. “Of course I do,” she said. “You didn’t go too far before.”

Before Cas had held a knife to his throat as he bit her. Before was his very first time drinking the blood of a thinking creature. Before he hadn’t cared enough about her to truly worry about losing control. But none of that seemed worth mentioning at that moment.

For her to place her trust in him like this…. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to unpack the feelings that it stirred up deep in his core. It wasn’t the right time, and he was far from ready.

Instead, he kissed her before she could say anything else that made him feel things he wasn’t ready to feel. His tongue searched the inside her mouth with delicate strokes, the kind meant to keep her wanting more. When he drew a soft, pleading moan from the back of her throat he pulled away, smiling as her mouth tried to follow his.

Her pupils were blown wide as he stared into her eyes, searching. Trying to find even the slightest bit of hesitation. But he found nothing but desire and longing.

He held her chin and dragged his thumb over the center of her lower lip. “Will you run from me when I find you?”

Cas arched into him, putting delicious pressure on his cock and he stifled a groan. It was like every contour of her body perfectly reconciled with his. Like she was made to fit against him. “Only if you don’t stop me.”

Already, he was thinking of ways he could do that. How he could hold her body against his, how he could pin her down, maybe even tie her up. The yellow ribbon she had used to wrap up his portrait came to mind. How pretty that would look wrapped around her wrists. The possibilities were endless, and he wanted to explore each and every one. Maybe not that night, but eventually.

His lips brushed against her ear, sending goosebumps down her arms despite the warm night air. “And what happens when I catch you?” he whispered against her heated skin. “Are you going to fight me, darling?”

“Just a little.” Her breath caught when he kissed the side of her throat, working his way down the juncture of her neck and collarbone. “Not hard enough to hurt you. Besides, I don’t think I’ll want to fight you for very long anyway.”

“And why’s that?” Astarion touched his tongue to her pulse, smiling at the shiver it sent down her spine.

The soft gust of her breath feathered against his ear. “Because I think I’ll like getting caught by you.”

He wanted to say he had already caught her. After all, she was in his arms, willing and wanting. Despite everything. Despite his own foolishness and insecurities. Despite how he had tried so hard to resist her. Despite how he knew that what they had couldn’t last. The gods and the universe would never let him keep her.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“So I’ll catch you and subdue you,” he said as he continued trailing kissing along her neck. “What will I get for all my hard work?”

“What would you want?”

A shudder went through her when he licked a stripe from her collarbone to the corner of her jaw. “I’m picturing you on your hands and knees, darling,” he said, his lips brushing against her ear. “Begging for my cock. But the moment I give it to you is the moment I sink my fangs into your pretty little neck. Mixing pleasure with pain. How does that sound?”

Cas made a pleased humming sound as she pressed herself into him ever so slightly like she was trying to feel what he had promised. “I think we should ditch the party.”

Astarion lifted his head and stared into her eyes again. With a little burst of tenderness that seemed to come out of nowhere, he brushed a loose lock of her silky hair behind her ear. She already had a darkened spot on her neck from where he nipped her, but it would fade quickly.

And he wanted to make a few marks that would last for days.

Anticipation glimmered in her dark eyes, but it was the smile on her lips that nearly had him undone. It had only been a few seconds, but he already missed the sensual heat of her mouth against his.

His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. She leaned into his touch, affectionate. Trusting.

“Before we do this,” he said, “how do you want to let me know if I am too rough or if I go too far? Because I won’t be nearly as restrained as I was last time.”

“Maybe a safeword?”

“Probably a good idea with these sorts of games.” He held her chin between his thumb and index finger. “I’ll let you pick it since it’ll be the last decision you make with me this evening.”

Cas bit her lower lip, but a smile pulled at the corners anyways. It was... adorable. He wasn’t sure the last time he found someone cute in a non-condescending way. It was like she was so excited to be with him, she could hardly contain it.

The way she looked up at him through her lashes lit a spark low in his stomach. There was something more than lust and anticipation in her eyes, something he couldn’t quite place, but it made him want to smile back at her.

She placed her hands on his chest, the heat of her palms like a brand through his thin shirt. Gently, she pushed herself away. “Merlot,” she said as she took a few steps backward with a bright grin on her face.

“Merlot,” he repeated back to her.

Cas took another step backwards in the direction of the party. “Give me an hour to say goodnight to people and get ready.”

“I’m not waiting an hour, darling.”

“Forty-five minutes?”

“Ten.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty,” he said. “Any longer and you’ll be getting a spanking when I catch you.”

Cas covered her mouth with one hand and gasped in mock offense. “Oh no. I wouldn’t want that.”

Well with that tone, he definitely had to spank her now.

“Nineteen,” he said.

She flashed him one more smile before she turned around and jogged back to camp. He watched her disappear into her tent before he started back himself. The moment she left camp, the hunt would be on.

And he could hardly wait.

---

Beginning

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[pollyendings]

Two Sentenced Horror Stories

After days upon weeks of not posting any material (writer's block is a bitch), I have decided to journey down a route which I was not too fond of in the beginning when it was introduced to me in high school but gained much appreciation for recently.

Two sentenced horror stories is a difficult genre of literature for me to learn and practice as I was never one to believe in telling stories, especially horror and Gothic, with such a limitation. So, I studied many two sentenced stories to educate myself to the way of constructing a small story and wrote a handful of my own.

For this post I chose to share fifteen of my two sentenced horror stories to the people of the internet (Tumblr and Instagram to be exact). So, please enjoy my work and comment your thoughts, I would love opinions.

1.

Allison convinced herself that the man wearing the trench coat entering the DMV the moment she was exiting was did not have a gun, but a notepad and a pen.

Later she confirmed it was true after she watched the news to find out the man in the trench coat was dead and the shooter - the young man wearing the Iron Maiden hoodie with the bulge in his jeans she sat next to waiting to be called- arrested.

2.

How do you make a crying child smile?

Easy: you engrave a Glasgow smile on that little fucker's face and they will smile for the rest of their pitiful life.

(Not a story, but it tells a story on its own terms).

3.

My mother keeps on telling me that I am troubled and insists that I seek help.

It was then I realized even after chopping up her body into bits and burying her six feet in the backyard, she will never leave me.

4.

He couldn't help but laugh realizing his mother was wrong about him dying because of his terrible chemical addiction.

He continued to laugh even while the wolfman chewed into his chest until it came upon his heart to consume.

5.

Satan asked me if I knew why I was sent down to Hell and I honestly answered that I didn't know.

After living my life devoted to God by cleansing the whores in flames, leaving the liars breathless as I demanded them to speak the truth through the hangman's Knot, and sacrificing the blood of the greedy to make the world a better place I couldn't believe I was sent down here.

6.

My wife kept berating me as I continued to dig into the spot where the grass stopped growing exactly a month ago today.

I finally found her decaying body, soaked her in gasoline, then burned her to set her soul free.

7.

"Doctor, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and maybe I should try to become a better person, not only for my family, but for myself."

The doctor seemed to smile back at his patient overjoyed for the news as the butcher knife stood straight in his throat.

8.

She kept on weeping like a child making the knight rethink his decision and drop the sword to aid in her release.

Then, in a flash, she turned into her true form and sank all hundred of her razor sharp teeth into his neck before escaping the dungeon to follow her destiny of destroying the world.

9.

"Your mother never loved you and that's why she killed herself," said the bully to his victim.

The victim pushed himself from the grave to attack but stopped when the bully screamed blood murder because his mother's decaying hand broke through the ground and held a tight grip around his ankle in order to drag him under.

10.

"At least I have a valid excuse to miss my mid-term tomorrow,"she joke with her new friend.

He stared down at her in confusion while holding the rusted cleaver covered in dried blood above her nude body.

11.

The theater director of the high school was impressed with Whitney's performance as Christine Daaé for opening night pointing out great improvement over time of poor practice sessions.

Later Whitney would be found hanging from a belt inside of the girl's dressing room in her assigned costume during the performance of "All I Ask."

12.

I have been having these weird dreams lately where I am in the attic of my childhood home in Georgia (now burned down after a malfunction of the gas stove when I was sixteen killing our dog, Jeffery minutes after I left for baseball practice) to meet a man named Mr. Jefferson who claimed to be a great friend of mine from the past I had forgotten.

Then one day I heard my daughter talking to someone in the attic of our newly brought home in Florida and when I asked her who she was talking to she answered "Mr. Jefferson was telling me about all the fun things you and him did when you were younger - especially the special thing you did with the oven."

13.

I insured her that all I wanted to do was save her soul from great damnation and the lake of fire by purification.

All she did was beg for me to let her go as she squirmed in the ropes I used to tie her to my mattress.

14.

She limped towards him tearing off her right ankle when it got caught under the flipped car while her skin melted off her flash after flame engulfed her entire body and her left eye dangled out of her socket with the right pierced by shards from the windshield.

Then, she fell onto the glass scattered on the road and looked up to him speaking in a voice close to death: "Help Mama, Angel."

15.

What should you fear more: the Prince of Darkness, who desires the suffering of the Lord's children, or an unsupervised, unstable minor/adult with a gun?

To answer a question with another question, which do you see often on the news?

(Not a story. Just a dark thought I had while writing all of these. But, it still tells a story)

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part Xl

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually) 

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,375

Note: Hey guys!! It’s been a year since I started this series and I was really excited to continue, I really was. But months flew by and my life began to take a different course, now, I can’t make promises that I’ll be uploading soon again, though I will try if I have time to spare and my imagination cooperates :) Hope you enjoy this chapter! And thank you all for your patience, it’ll be rewarded!

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10

Months have flew by way too fast. And now you were feeling more confident around the northern lady and your family. You’d keep her from any harm they would try to inflict on her no matter the consequences, yet you were cautions cause Joffrey was still so damn annoying. Though since Margaery arrived to the capital she has been keeping him rather distracted.

“Because the truth is always either terrible or boring.”

“Am I boring?” You approached Sansa from behind, daintily kissing her cheek.

“Not at all.” She answered with a broad simper.

“You shouldn’t be too obvious in plain sight.” Shae subtly advised.

“You are right. We should be more careful.” You peered up to see if the guards were staring your way, when you confirmed they were not you stole a kiss on her silky lips. She giggled.

“Have a lovely day. I’ll meet you later. My grandfather requested my presence.” It was true... Tywin wanted to speak privately with you, and you sort of imagined why.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“My ladies.” You winked playfully at Sansa before walking away.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Shae asked Sansa well knowing the answer to her own question.

“She is perfect.” She let out a love sigh.

“You trust her?”

“The princess has always treated me with respect. I always dreamed with a handsome knight or a sweet prince, then I met her and she is far more better than any of that.” Sansa confessed.

“She seems to be a good girl.” Lord Baelish approached the two women.

“Lovely day for it. May I speak with lady Sansa alone for a moment?” Shae stood up and walked back to Ros.

“I saw your mother not long ago. She’s very eager to see you. And your sister.” He commented.

“Arya’s alive?”

“Oh yes. Indeed she is. But... I’ve noticed you’ve grown quite attached to princess Y/N.” He chose carefully his words.

“I have. She is and extraordinary friend.” Sansa added. “I’m very lucky to be her friend.”

“You are. I’m waiting for word on an assignment that will take me far away from the capital. When I set sail, I might be able to bring you with me. But you’d need to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice.” Sansa widen her eyes. She didn’t really want to leave now... did she? After all she knew she’ll never be truly free here.

“I... I’m not sure if that’s a wise idea, Lord Baelish.” She conflicted admitted.

“And why’s that? Other than the risks it involves of course.”

“Well, as I said before, King’s Landing is my home now. It has good things despite the corruption.” Only Y/N, she thought.

“All right then. The offer stands, my lady. Keep it in mind.” He turned around to leave Sansa wondering if she’d abandon you to return home or staying here by your side.

“You are glowing, granddaughter of mine.”

Tywin was jotting down something with a quill. “Is there a boy already?” It sounded more like a statement rather than a question. You tried not blush as Sansa’s picture coming to your mind.

“Mmm... no. There is not a... boy.” You concluded kinda nervous.

“If there is not then you should be looking for a suitable swain. I reckon you have many admirers waiting to receive your attention.” He said with a serious tone. Does he really mind? Of course he does. He wants to get a hold of another loyalty for House Lannister. “Many lords would give their whole lands to marry you. And we might need that.”

“But that’s not what I need.” You responded nonchalantly. It was true. All you truly needed and longed for was the love of someone who valued you. And you already found that in a northern lass. You knew he disapprove entirely your “reckless” choices, same as your mother. You’d fight back and won’t allow them to throw you into some random man’s arms.

You stepped inside Joffrey’s dining table. You always enjoyed to hang with the Tyrell siblings, but now that she’s engaged to your brother... you wonder how she’s been managing to handle him. After all, she’s one of the cleverest persons you know.

“Margaery does a great deal of work with the poor back in Hightgarden. I’ve heard Y/N do charity for the poor here as well.” Loras commented. You nodded. The soon to be queen smiled softly your way.

“The lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a chance and approach them with an open heart.” You mirrored her act.

“An open heart is what you’ll get in Flee Bottom if you’re not careful, my dear. Not long ago, we were attached by a mob there. We had a full complement of guards that didn’t stop them. The king barely escaped his life.” You hid your smirk.

“My mother’s always had a penchant for drama. Facts become less and less important to her as she grows older. Our lives were never truly in danger.” You rolled your eyes at his lies.

“Oh but they were. You didn’t even care about sending the guards to get lady Sansa back to the Keep. A king is supposed to ensure the safety of all the ones that are in need. You seem to keep failing on that, big brother.” You sensed his furious glare upon you.

“Who cares about her anyway.” You clenched your jaw tightly. Loras and Margaery keep their eyes on their dinner.

There was an awkward pause as the main course was brought to the table. The rest of the evening was all about the same. Joffrey flaunting about his “bravery” and Cersei flattering him all along. Margaery showing off a wide smile at his non sense.

~~~~~~

You strolled to your room exhausted after training with the bow and horse-riding with little Tommen. Before that you decided to pay a visit to Sansa’s chambers. You knocked the door twice and she beamed with delight.

“I hope it isn’t too late to stop by.”

“No, I was about to get under the sheets. Perhaps you can join me?” She suggested with a gaily grin. You chuckled. Seeing Sansa being so... awfully bold was so nice and pure. Being around you made her forget about the fact she’s a prisoner. It didn’t matter as much when you were together.

“I’d love that.” You entered the room, holding her by the waist and leading both of you to the bed.

“How was your day then?” You smoothly asked. She tossed to be face to face with you.

“Actually, it was wonderful! Ser Loras escorted me to the gardens with Lady Margaery and Lady Olenna. They were very kind to me. We had lunch together and chatted for a while.”

“That sounds lovely, my lady. I’ve always consider Lady Olenna as the grandmother I never had. She knows me since I was a baby. Now that they are here I’ve been reminiscing about the good old days when we wouldn’t stop joshing Loras about me beating him on a single duel. We were so young back then... I’ll always hold dear those moments. He may be moody and brash at times, still, he is complete gentleman. Water’s sometimes thicker than blood. That’s for sure.” The Tyrells were your second family, they welcomed you with open arms and never once judge you. Unlike your own blood, with exceptions of course.

“Back in Winterfell I was so focused on learning how to properly be a lady and all that, that I missed many things... I should’ve been closer to Robb, Arya, even Jon. I was mean.” Sansa’s voice cracked.

“Don’t lose faith, Sansa. I know it’s too much to ask for but life takes unexpected turns.” You brushed one of her ginger locks with your right hand.

“I found a new home.” She whispered lightly. “Not Kings Landing. Not this castle. You.” She unhurriedly closed her crystal eyes. Your heart was at her mercy, that was a fact. You caressed gently her cheek and sealed the night with the most tender kiss anyone could dream of.

“You are my home too, my love.” You breathed against her lips.

[multiplefandomsblog]

request; Can I request Nagito, Kokichi, and Rantaro with an s/o that has a hard time understanding why someone feels a certain emotion in situations?

pairing(s); rantaro x gn!reader, nagito x gn!reader, kokichi x gn!reader

warnings; blood, violence, broken noses, strong language, kind of angsty — sorry that nagito's is super long- i started off with him and i haven't written in a long time so i just shit all over the place, fluff at kokichi, i have mood swings I'm so sorry about the whiplash you are about to witness

note; yesss i am back to finish these requests yurrrrrr sjansjdhfbasdkjfds I'm not gonna make a big announcement or anything(I'm still trying to figure out how to balance everything in my life rn, so I'm sorry for people who are waiting on me—) , just gonna spit out as many finished requests as i can, sorry for the abrupt pause of everything by the wayz ill be (hopefully) regularly posting works from now on.

(also this request was kind of vague, so i used the example of someone getting upset/angry and reader not understanding why; i hope that's okay :'))

Nagito Komaeda

◊ I think Nagito would understand your struggles more than anyone else.

◊ And… honestly, it kind of reassures him that you share a struggle with him. It makes him feel less alone, less like the odd one out.

◊ Being similar to someone like you in any way, even if it was a genuinely difficult and real struggle; was a blessing in disguise for someone as lowly as him.

◊ Getting that out of the way, Nagito would never see your struggle as what it is. The way he views you, how highly he puts you up on a pedestal, as well as how much hope he believes you to hold; he, at first*, won't help you at all with your struggles.

◊ As a strong believer of hope overcoming despair, good defeating bad; Nagito is positive that the struggles you hold will always be defeated, bludgeoned into a despairing sludge by your all-mighty hope.

◊ And at first, he won't even think of this as a bad thing! You should be proud of it, of course, unless it stirs despair within you.

◊ * That being said, if he sees you struggling with your inability to understand human reactions to an awful point, he would put his obsession with hope aside, and focus on trying to help you as your boyfriend.

◊ Though I'm afraid, he wouldn't be much of a help, because he gets stuck on this one too.

◊ If you ever unintentionally angered someone, however, and/or provoked them to potentially hurt you; he'd immediately step in and lay the damp washcloth of apologies on the accidental fire you had set.

◊ Though there is a high chance, he'll make it worse by saying something he hadn't intended to sound condescending. It just came out that way.

◊ Nagito would never put your well-being before his insatiable need for you to accelerate and empower your hope.

◊ He's your boyfriend before he is your admirer of hope.

— "What...? How can you- how can you be so calm!?" Confusion, fear, and intimidation seemed to overwhelm you as you stepped back, eyebrows creased in utmost confusion as the person before you, seemed to have been angered by your wording.

Suddenly, you had started repeating and reversing over what you had previously said, scanning your wording for things that could have been perceived as offensive; only to grow even more confused as you had found none.

"I... What? Are you... are you mad at me or something?" Your genuine tone of voice, as well as the genuine look of confusion on your face, had been blurred and unnoticed as the ugly emotion of anger seemed to destroy their human senses— and the person had unfortunately taken your question as an insult.

Without another word, the sickening crunch of flesh and bone hitting flesh and bone echoed throughout the trial room. Flesh and bone that had thankfully, and unfortunately, hadn't belonged to you.

"Holy- Someone hold them back!"

"There's... no need for that...!"

Turns out Nagito took the hit for you.

He peeled the hand tending to his nose away from his face, revealing the nasty bruising and the blood dripping down his nostril—despite the gruesome sight of it all, he still seemed to be smiling. Smiling as if something amazing had just happened, and he was dying from the joy he had been feeling.

He wasted no time to spew out whatever he could think of, despite the shock and adrenaline from getting a broken nose, he still fought through the struggle to speak properly, as well as merely breathing without immense pain.

It was like second nature to him, to steer the blame and the aggression away from you—even if it almost killed him. Anything... to protect his hope.

"Haha, this is... Whatever you need to achieve your hope, whether it be a good old-fashioned beat-down or... murder;" a laugh crossing the line to psychotic erupted from Nagito's scratchy throat.

"I personally invite you all—especially (name)—to bruise me up and brutally murder me for your pleasure, and your hop!" —all at the expense of him making sure no one gets the chance to lay a single finger laid onto you.

◊ He loves you, and he swears this is out of (mostly) good intention <3?

◊ i- i think i lost it somewhere in the middle

Rantaro Amami

◊ Literally, the most understanding, supportive, and comforting man you will ever meet and have as an emotional support boyfriend when you struggle with humans and just... humans.

◊ For first impressions, Rantaro will remain as understanding as he already had been, and is. If he visibly sees you struggle with the reactions of others to specific situations, he'd never start up shit, as well as assume you mean something bad immediately. He will always give you the benefit of the doubt, and the fact that he loves you may have been a factor — but I swear, he does this with everyone else too.

◊ If you ever responded/reacted to something that normal human beings usually respond differently, Rantaro would definitely notice, but he wouldn't say anything until he had his suspicions confirmed — and until someone else decided to get pissy or upset about it.

◊ If you ever get into a conflict with someone about how you seem emotionless( even though you're really not ), Rantaro will always be there to defend you and back you up. The first thing he would do is try to understand your side, then their side, and then try to see how the two fit together, and how you both grew to have your reaction.

◊ Most conflicts and arguments end peacefully, at fault to Rantaro's experience of being exposed to many personality types(his sisters), and completely normal and human struggles(also his sisters).

◊ Though, notice how I said most.

◊ Some situations and arguments, really can't be resolved, nor looked past—especially when personal, and very strong feelings are involved. You really can't avoid it when people are still grieving.

◊ But even so, Rantaro will remain a mediator and a peace-keeper until the end; he doesn't and never has enjoyed violence or super over-the-line arguments.

— "N- no, I a- actually don't understand...! I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, shut up! No one's believing that crap!" The shock and the hurt from their words had visibly affected you — the disbelief and their rage hadn't done anything to calm your anxiety from not having understood what had been wrong.

Rantaro would intrude on the one-sided argument, a gentle yet nervous smile on his face as he tried to put some distance between you and the person who had gotten offended. "Hey now, I understand you're upset, but it'll be safer for all of us if you don't insult them. I'm sure this was just a big misunderstanding... let's sit down, yeah?"

◊ If you ever feel frustrated or upset about a past interaction with someone he had reacted in a way you hadn't expected, feel free to expect Rantaro to be there for you with his comfort. Whether it be assurances, hugs, or just a listening ear; he'll be there for you.

◊ He may not understand your struggles to an extreme extent, but he will try his best to empathize with you and to understand you; and if he doesn't? That's okay. Because he still has cuddles + listening to you rant as his plan B solution on getting your frustrations out.

Kokichi Ouma

◊ Kokichi... doesn't understand you at all.

◊ It's second nature to him to react abnormally or to over-exaggerate towards something that probably shouldn't have gained a reaction like that — but that doesn't necessarily mean that had been his true reaction from the start.

◊ They're lies, well, most of it.

◊ When Kokichi notices your confusion, or if you come to him about your frustrations; he won't believe you at first. It's a stupid thing to not trust someone about, yeah, but he lies all the time about this kind of thing — so not only would he feel terrible if you were telling the truth about your real struggle, he would-

◊ Oh, you're telling the truth?

◊ ... Oh.

◊ Well, of course, he feels horrible for his past faked reactions and lies. A part of him believes it to be his fault entirely, whilst the larger, louder part of him believes it to be someone else's fault.

◊ And he's a liar; so of course, he'll lie. To himself, at least.

◊ "Wha—!? Who's been confusing my beloved? Gimme names and I'll get 'em!"

◊ He's not much of a listener, nor a person who really just... talks about serious shit. So despite not wanting to talk directly about serious things, as well as not being the best at comforting you in a 'serious' manner, he has his own little way of dimming your frustrations with human beings.

◊ He won't show it, nor will he mention it, but he does try to be more transparent with you; as well as tries to be less confusing when talking and/or interacting with you.

◊ The reactions are dimmed down, and despite that, he still continues to be silly and still continues to joke around — just not in a way that'll frustrate or confuse you(ish). He's all about getting reactions out of you, especially frustration but, he wouldn't purposely augment your anxiety about this type of thing.

◊ ^^ If he was to do that, however, he would always tell you it was a lie afterwards. After all— despite enjoying the thought of you thinking of him all week—he doesn't want you stressing and/or overthinking about it for the rest of the week.

◊ Kokichi definitely feels guilty of your struggles, however, they may have not blossomed directly from him, he still feels horrible for triggering it? You? — look- what he's trying to say is, he feels awful, and he hadn't meant to make your struggle with understanding other human beings, worse.

◊ Though there are times he does find your confusion and gullibility to be sort of entertaining in a way, but he would constantly feel bad about finding pleasure in your frustration.

◊ Kind of bad.

— "Nishishi! I'm just saying, if someone took a fat shit on my lawn, I would thank them—"

"Wh- Seriously.. ? Why??"

◊ He finds it hilarious how you seem to take his words to heart, but of course, fun comes to an end as he says—

— "Nope! It's a lie!"

[catty-words]

on the school dance fallout or, a thorough examination of the boys’ apologies to julie

full disclosure, i used to take serious issue with 1.06 for what it did to julie’s righteous anger in light of the boys letting her down, and my gripes haven’t fully gone away. but i have spent some time thinking on the fallout since my first (several) viewing(s) of the show and i finally noticed some emotionally nuanced storytelling that i needed time to come to appreciate. so, if you’ll indulge me another gif-filled meta post...

everyone knows that a good apology demonstrates an understanding of how you wronged the person you’re apologizing to, otherwise the words i’m sorry end up being fairly empty. and luckily for the boys, julie does a good job of immediately and effectively communicating her hurt feelings:

the first part is directed at luke specifically as her main co-writer, while the rest is about how all three of them let her down. it couldn’t be more clear that the reason she’s so betrayed is that a) they’ve made her feel like julie and the phantoms is less important to them than sunset curve and b) they’ve failed to consider her point of view or empathize with how important the show was to her.

which is why singing sorry a bunch of times, though charming, leaves her unmoved. and it’s why booking another gig actually makes her angrier. a gig the boys have deemed important enough to show up for is not a present or an olive branch to her, it’s a slap in the face. and if the boys had actually been paying attention to what she’d said the night of the dance, they could have anticipated her reaction.

but they clearly haven’t listened, so they haven’t learned how to do better or make things right. which is why this is such an important beat in the scene in the studio:

hounding julie to rejoin the band, even with such nice sentiments as “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since we became ghosts”, does nothing to address how undervalued julie feels getting stood up because, as she points out above, their ability to do what they love is very limited without her. that makes her a powerful and essential member of the band, but it doesn’t prove that they care about her, julie, the person. and you can see in the reaction shot how the truth of her words lands for all of them.

their remorseful silence gives julie the opportunity to reiterate one of the points she made the night before, and it’s important to note which part of her hurt feelings she chooses to revisit.

the fact that they made the choice to pay more attention to their old music in spite of the music they were creating together is the thing that hurt her feelings the most. and, of course, her open hostility and her imagined reasons for why the boys picked sunset curve over julie and the phantoms (i.e. selfishness) puts luke on the defensive and ends with everyone leaving the scene dissatisfied.

great! okay, so here’s the part that’s bugged in the past (and the present, just. a little less so.) — in their attempt to deescalate the situation, alex and reggie give julie, and the audience, the all-important luke backstory. but like asking julie to rejoin the band with a shinier gig than a school dance flies in the face of actually making amends, so, too, does asking julie to empathize with luke’s emotional journey when the boys failed to take julie’s into account when they hurt her. only this time, it works as an olive branch.

now, i’m not saying that julie’s acting out of character in being sympathetic to luke’s pain, quite the opposite is the case. and i’m also not saying it’s bad that she does find sympathy for his situation — again, i’d argue that the opposite is true. it’s just, at the same time, it’s not a good look to force aside the young woman of color’s hurt in service of the white dude who hurt her feelings in the first place’s tragic backstory. the narrative is asking julie not to be mad at the choices luke made in the past two episodes because he’s really sad, actually.

and sure that’s an ungracious read of the moment, but i stand by the fact that it’s present in the text of the episode all the same, even with a little more nuance than i’m currently giving it credit for.

all that being said, alex and reggie do a bit to win back this highly insensitive maneuver with another stab at an apology.

alex addresses julie’s comment about them knowing “how tough it’s been for her to play” by reiterating that not showing up let her down and they get that that’s a crappy way to feel, while reggie takes a crack at julie’s “our songs were good” by emphasizing that they all love being in a band and making music with her. it’s a slight step up from their sorry in the garage, but not a complete fix because they’re all still sitting with the fact that they need julie to make the most of their music and how that complicates their declarations of loyalty.

the thing that makes this attempt at reconciliation different than those prior, of course, is this line:

the acknowledgement that things haven’t been fixed + the politeness + the implication that they’re willing to put in the time to earn her trust back so long as she lets them makes the apology a good enough one to accept. well, that, and:

one gets the sense that if rose could actually speak to julie in that moment, she’d be reminding her the value of grace. and, of course, we know that this also serves as a reminder to julie that good things are fleeting, loss is around every corner, and holding close what you care about is important. so she does just that by letting go of her (righteous, righteous) anger and reuniting the band.

still, even though alex and reggie have had their chance to make amends, luke doesn’t get the same moment to show he’s actually paid attention to julie’s needs in 1.06. so, naturally, he starts immediately in their first scene together in 1.07. 

i mentioned in my exhaustive list for “finally free” that julie picking a sunset curve song for their reunion number is a lovely, understated way for her acknowledge luke’s lost musical legacy, and i have similar feelings about the fact that luke suggests “edge of great” for their follow-up gig. it’s his first step in proving to her that he does care about the music they’ve written together with actions instead of empty apologies and misguided gestures.

by the end of the episode, though, the three of them take a step back (reggie gets points for his being, like, half a step) when they learn that, in addition to letting down julie, one of the consequences of their night chasing revenge is a ticking clock on their existence.

though i understand the urge to protect julie from the alarming news that their power is going out, there’s also a lot of selfishness behind the decision. julie loses them in the end no matter what, but lying to her about it and planning to leave without an explanation shows a disregard for her emotional journey in a similar way standing her up did. in fact, this plan is basically to stand her up for eternity. not cool, guys.

naturally, since it’s luke who’s the one proposing the terrible plan and it’s luke who never officially demonstrated his understanding of how he hurt julie’s feelings by not showing up when it mattered, it’s fitting that he’s suddenly more in tune with his own feelings. and, with that, comes a new awareness of how his and julie’s feelings interact, starting with this moment in 1.08.

you can see his conflict over her declaration. she’s worried without knowing just how much there is to be worried about, and that makes him sad because it’s confirmation of the fact that he’s important to her. that losing him will mean a lot of pain for her. but instead of cluing her in, he makes a conscious choice to continue withholding the information of his imminent departure. and maybe it’s such a weak deflection because he’s already starting to come to terms with how unfair he’s being to her, but even so, he’s not being a good friend when julie is showing up for him in big, unexpected ways he’d never even thought to ask for.

and again, here — 

— just after they’ve acknowledged that there’s a something and not a nothing between them, you can see him sober with the thought that she doesn’t know they’re about to lose each other. but it’s still not enough to move him to share. maybe because he prefers that she live with the possibility of that something when he no longer can, maybe because he’s too caught up in his own feelings about how crappy this hand they’ve been dealt by the universe is. but in any case, he keeps tight-lipped.

UNTIL.

it’s seeing her excited about a future their music can’t have that finally pushes him into coming clean. and i love how subtly this demonstrates that he has been paying attention, actually, and he knows that what hurt julie the most was the feeling that their music took a backseat to his past. if he crosses over without telling her the whole, ugly truth about the mistake he made by standing her up, then he crosses over stuck in that mistake. because part of that whole, ugly truth is the beautiful realization that no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you. and he’s not quite at that particular aspect of his truth yet — he still has to experience the what if of caleb’s club to be able to make the declaration with the conviction he does — but when he finally does tell her that and means it, she’s given the catharsis she’s needed since the dance. because he’s backing up his apology with action (i.e. being willing to literally no longer exist instead of making music with someone else) and providing her with the same consideration she showed him when she rejoined the band because his loss felt more important than her anger. and reaching that level of give and take in their relationship, physically represented in their hug, finally sets them free.

so, yes. even though 1.06 is clunky and a little tasteless at times, i can acknowledge that the story manages to win any missteps back. quite poetically, honestly. all’s forgiven.

[fayeimara]

Miya Osamu || Little Delights | First Meeting

SUMMARY. Osamu can't help but be intrigued when his daughter starts bringing home delicious desserts prepared by her best friend's mother.

PAIRING. You x Miya Osamu

GENRE. Fluff <3

WARNINGS. Suggestive content

Haikyuu! Anthology Series | It's Fate When Your Kids Are Friends

OSAMU | First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family

Osamu's made it just in time, right as the bell tolls to signal the end of his daughter's second day in her new school year. Standing back as a swarm of kids rush out of the brick building and into the arms of their waiting parents, he takes a moment to breathe and relax. Juggling his burgeoning restaurant with being a single parent isn't an easy job, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He stands taller than many of the other adults around him and it's evident his little girl has no problem seeking him out as a black, red, and grey blur races towards him, a thrilled, "Papa!" reaching his ears and splitting his mouth into a wide, happy grin.

His arms are already open in a silent but enthusiastic response as he crouches down and then the bite-sized impact of his daughter is rocking him back on his heels, his reaction overly exaggerated as he pretends to almost fall over from the small force of nature that's all Miya Izumi.

Standing back up, Samu catches sight of another little girl who was trailing behind, wide eyes studying him before shifting to Zumi, his daughter turning back around to wave at her, proclaiming the girl as her 'bestest friend in the whole wide world'. The girl returns Zumi's enthusiastic wave with a quick raise of her small hand before her attention is caught by a pretty young woman, her own wide smile replacing her previously hesitant expression as she's warmly enveloped into welcoming arms with kisses peppered on her cheeks and forehead.

Her delighted giggles reach Osamu and his daughter as they turn around, hand in hand, to walk back to his car, small interaction soon forgotten as his little munchkin lists off the snacks she's looking forward to having on their return to his shop. She won't be able to finish half that list, he bets to himself with a quiet chuckle at his daughter's inherited exuberance for food as he securely buckles her into car.

It's not until they reach his second pride and joy, Onigiri Miya, that he finds the first little surprise tucked away in Izumi's not so empty lunchbox. When he inquires about the remarkably delicious looking set of biscuits he certainly didn't pack for her that morning, his daughter's response is that it's a thank you gift from her bestest friend, Reina, for the lunch she'd shared with the girl on her first day.

Well, a six year old certainly didn't bake these from the looks of it. It's only confirmed by his first taste, the texture and flavour beyond even most consistent home bakers, let alone a young child. Right? But a more pressing thought flags his attention, first.

"Did your friend not have her own lunch?"

"She did! We split because hers wasn't so good, even though her mama put so much love into it. But the treats were so much better so we decided to go halfsies and have best of both!" His daughter giggles with the oblivious sweet innocence of a child.

"And what about today?"

"Mhm. Same. But I liked the chocolate brownies yesterday much much better!"

Samu chuckles at her excitement and can't help but tease his precocious daughter, "Oh, and was it better than papa's food?"

Zumi's eyes widen as she contemplates the question with all the adorable seriousness she can muster, but loyalty must break free and run because her reply is, "Almost! So close, but I love papa's cooking more than anything in the whole wide world."

It seems the whole wide world is the current standard of measurement for first graders, but he appreciates the heartfelt sentiment behind her loving words.

After another moment of consideration, Osamu settles on the thought chewing at him and decides that tomorrow his daughter won't be giving up a portion of his food which she loves so much. No, she'll have double the amount to do with whatever she may please.

So briefly, that he doesn't even ponder on the sudden image, he's reminded of the warm reunion he witnessed between the little girl and the woman who he'd assumed was her nanny, but concludes is probably the girl's young mother. Based on the number of treats Zumi brought back, Samu's certain the woman had to have thoughtfully made extras of these baked goods for her daughter to have more than enough to share with friends and then some.

Well, it's definitely no skin off his back to make his daughter even the slightest bit happier by being able to help her share her savoury little delights with her new bestest friend.

It's on the third day of your daughter's return from her new school year that you're able to confirm that something is indeed amiss. The previous two days, the small portions of her lunch left uneaten were questionable, given her voracious appetite, however, when she returns with the lunch you made for her today still sitting wholly untouched in her cute little lunchbox, you finally sit her down to ask about it.

Her response is far from what you expected, "My friend's papa made extra lunch so we could both have something yummy to eat!"

You press your lips together to hide your amusement as you teasingly inquire, "Oh? Is that so? And I guess that means mama's food isn't so yummy after all."

Her eyes widen in dismay and mouth opens in an immediate denial that you know would be a lie to soothe your feelings. Even at such a young age, your beautiful baby girl is truly a kind and compassionate soul, she would dutifully eat anything you prepared no matter how lacking the meal might be and never utter a word to tell you the obvious truth.

Before she can manage to find the right words to faithfully express how much she loves your cooking, you lean in to kiss her on the forehead and pull back with a laugh, gathering her in your arms for a warm hug. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry I can't make you the food you deserve. But please don't ever feel the need to say otherwise to spare my feeling, okay? You should always be honest about what you like or don't like."

Her little arms find their way around you as she snuggles in, voice soft and words like a wise, old soul when she denies, "But your food is made with so much love mama. Zumi says some people are just better at other things. We both think you make the best yummies."

"The best yummies, hm?" You think about the various baked goods you add in to balance out for the healthy but tasteless lunches you're able to prepare.

They are indeed good, but baking has always been something that comes more naturally to you than cooking. An interesting distinction not many people might accept, but for you the former has always been an effortless science whereas the latter is more of a difficult art.

"Well I'm really glad you like those, but we do need to figure out what to do so you're not picking at your friends' food or going hungry."

She pulls back to send a serious look your way, exclaiming, "But I'm not picking at it, I promise. Zumi said her papa made extra just for me!"

You take a moment to consider her words. She made a similar implication in her earlier statement, that her friend's dad had made extra for them both. What does that mean? Did his daughter ask him to because she was sharing her food with Reina? Or did he somehow grasp the situation and is simply being generous?

A warm burn threatens your cheeks as you consider the awkwardness of accepting such a gesture from a complete stranger. While you appreciate the kindness of Reina's friend and her dad, it still somehow feels like a terrible imposition, as if you've burdened them somehow with your lack of skills to keep your child happily fed.

It's not like you can't cook good, healthy food. You're just painfully aware how bland the food you make can be, unless you spend three times the amount of time as anyone else would need to in order to prepare similar meals. But... studying the smile that's on your daughter's face, you can't help the twinge in your heart that reminds you how much more her happiness is worth than your pride.

You won't assume this will be a daily occurrence and you'll continue to make your daughters lunches so she never goes without, however, it'll be no extra trouble for you to make double the batch of baked goods than usual. After all, you usually account for the fact that she'll be sharing with friends and classmates anyways.

However, you're now determined there will be enough delicious snacks for Reina to share not only around at school, but also some treats for her sweet friend Izumi to take home for her generous parents. Perhaps, you think, it might be prudent to include a short message, thanking the man for his thoughtful effort.

Silent gratitude isn't very much to anyone ~ (So I hope you and your family will accept these.) Thank you for your kindness, Miya-san.

Osamu blinks, unaware of the small smile that curves his lips as he reads the delicate, handwritten note carefully wrapped around one of the cupcakes Izumi brought back home today. There are only three of the original twelve left, apparently, but the one he's just bitten into is as incredible as expected.

If he's correct in his assumption from the note addressed directly to him and included with today's delightful treats, then the little girl's mother has picked up on his small action and is returning the gesture to convey her thanks. The thought is confirmed by his daughter explaining that one of each of the three cupcakes is for their family.

Three for their family? Hm. Well, it's just him and Zumi, but he's sure his brother will be all over the remaining offering when he visits tonight. If there's any left for him that is. Probably won't be, it's really just that good and anyways, he doesn't need Atsumu nosing his way into this simple exchange as it is.

The following day, Friday morning, Samu pens back his own note, assuring the woman that no thanks is necessary. There's no reason for her to express her gratitude over what's really such a simple action for him.

That evening, he and Zumi enjoy some quality mochi delivered in a white, rectangular box with a pretty decently hand-drawn background scene at a spring festival on the cover. Two little girls, one that looks remarkably like his daughter and the other like her best friend, hold hands in the centre of the street dressed in traditional yukata and sharing a box of what he assumes is mochi.

As they much into the chewy treats, he watches and listens as his daughter points out the bright colours she and her friend chose to fill into what was apparently initially a blank canvas for them to colour on. Her delight at having a pink and grey yukata, even if only in a drawing, prompting him to make a mental note about looking into the clothing and any upcoming festivals.

Osamu makes a point of saving the box, childlike scribbles over the simple sketch leaving a warm feeling in his chest and a slightly wider smile gracing his mouth.

The response he receives the Monday evening (from his penned message the Friday before) is enough to prompt a full smirk that, this time, doesn't go unnoticed by him. The woman showed an interesting sense of humour and gracious acceptance with the first cupcake note. Then, a sweet and thoughtful disposition with the drawing included as part of the soft treat for the girls Friday.

But now, Samu sees a challenging firmness in her reply to his easy brush off of her thanks, delicate lines yet again adorning the small card carefully tucked into a pretty red ribbon that's tied around and decorating another white, rectangular box.

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it ~ So please accept this gift without concern.

Sitting inside are four differently coloured, rounded treats that look familiar but he can't place off the top of his head. A quick search identifies the delicate confections as macarons, the colorful delights an absolute wonder as the airy crunch of the top and bottom shells simultaneously give way to a firm filling with the first bite, the sweet flavour almost dissolving on his tongue.

He and Zumi finish the box off in minutes, three of each flavour included to a total of four different flavours, so both he and his daughter each get seconds of their respective favourites.

The next morning, filled with anticipation at what new surprises you might include with the goods you send today, he's fully aware of the grin that stretches his face as he writes out a note of his own for you to receive later this evening.

The macarons were inspiring. Izumi and I definitely won't turn away any gifts you'd like to send our way. I wonder... what other surprises do you have up your sleeve? I sent a little something your way to inspire you too. - M. Osamu

The neatly written note returned, once again, on the back of the small rectangular card you'd last sent, brings a warm smile to your face. The various onigiri that came along with it, apparently with specific instructions communicated from Izumi to Reina that today's additional quantity is set aside for you specifically, stretches the amused curl of your lips into a delighted grin.

You split each of the four different types of rice balls with your daughter, listening to her input on the delicious food as she points out her order of most to least favourite. Although there's not a single one you wouldn't eat on any given day if given the choice, the food is simply divine.

Your note the following day is a compliment to the chef, with a cheeky inquiry as to what deities one must pray to in order to make food like that. His response is a swift rebuttal asking what cruel gods bless some with the skills to cook but others with the skills to bake, ironically echoing your own thoughts from the previous week.

So goes the back and forth for weeks, notes getting cuter, sassier, and more personal as jokes, challenges, and encouragements alike are enclosed among the lunches of two excited little girls, their own bond strengthening with this unique camaraderie between their parents, until you feel the peculiar sense that you know the man on the other end, without ever even having actually met him.

Then, one day, three weeks into the first exchange, you receive a note that makes your heart beat in your throat at the unspoken challenge which raises the stakes of the now familiar routine. It's a simple response to your unassuming request for the onigiri recipes you initially received as the first returned delight, a meal you and Reina have been craving since the first taste.

I can do one better and teach you. xxx-xxx-xxxx. - Osamu

There's no reason to be shy or hesitant, is there? After all, it's a kind offer that will only serve you and Reina well with your future attempts at her lunches. You can't count on Miya Osamu's kindness forever.

Fingers still shaking, you dial the number enclosed within and find the call picked up before the first ring even finishes.

"I wasn't sure ya'd actually call."

Oh, wow, that's a voice to melt hearts alright. You're still smiling as you immediately reply in beat, with the easy familiarity of your shared repartee over the last few weeks, "With an offer like that, how could I not?"

He's quiet for a second and you start to lose your smile, suddenly worrying that perhaps you've acted too familiarly with a man that's all but a stranger and offended him. But his next words, slowly expelled in a lazy but thoughtful drawl, have your heart beating fast for an entirely different reason, "I had a feeling ya'd sound as pretty as ya write."

Now you're the one that's silent but it's entirely because you're at a loss for words, this quietly charming man having stolen them right from the tip of your tongue.

A low chuckle breaks what you realized was actually somehow still a remarkably comfortable silence and then his delicious voice reaches you again, "I hope I didn't scare ya voice away. It'd be a shame now that I've only just heard it."

Okay so he's maybe much more of a flirt than the subtle hints you'd noticed over the notes, but then again, they were delivered through your daughters as messengers so it would be reasonable he would have toned it down. Then again, what kind of man flirts with a woman he's never met previously? He doesn't even know what you look like. Have you captured his interest solely through your mutual correspondence?

You almost snort, catching your thoughts and feeling like you're the main character to some historical romance. Maybe during a world war era. Mutual correspondence. Right. What are you even thinking? He's got you flustered already.

"Funny. I would never have imagined you would sound so pretty from the way you write." You're tempted to arch an eyebrow with your audible smirk but then you remember that it's not like he can see it.

"Ya think my voice is pretty, do ya?" His tone is full with soft satisfaction, "Maybe ya can tell me if it's better in person."

"And here I thought the offer on the table was for learning a delicious recipe."

You swear you hear the smile in his response, "Sounds like yer in either way."

"Sounds like I am." You concede in mock resignation but you're painfully aware that your words and following sigh sound more like a promise.

You and Reina find the charming storefront quite easily from Samu's instructions. It's finally the weekend, several days since your first call with him, and your handwritten notes have now upgraded into convenient, daily text messages.

He's definitely confident and teasing but not quite the overt flirt you briefly considered he might be from a few days ago. In fact, he's more calm and grounded, even if he can be a smooth talker, but you've quickly found that what came across as flirtatious was actually just him being honestly direct. Which is both exciting and flattering enough to make you nervous for this first real meeting today.

A soft chime sounds as you open the door to usher Reina through before following her in yourself. The first thing your eyes land on is a small girl running to your daughter like a heat seeking missile and the two collide in an adorably sweet hug, somehow understanding each other while seemingly talking simultaneously.

With a small smile on your face, you take a moment to survey your surroundings and find your bearings in this unfamiliar space. It's not an overly large area, focusing more on a cozy, comfortable atmosphere emphasized by the deliciously welcoming smell of various foods that make you feel right at home.

Your eyes run over the bar with stools lined against it before you do a double take, finally noticing the dark haired man that's leaning with his arms crossed against a door frame beyond it, watching as you examined his space.

He must be able to tell he's slightly startled you as an amused smile stretches his lips and he dips his head ever so slightly in greeting. "Welcome to Onigiri Miya."

"Thank you for inviting us, Miya-san." You bite your lip at your automatic formality, already certain what he's going to say next.

And he doesn't disappoint, eyebrow arching as he uncrosses his arms and, finally, steadily makes his way towards you, "I already told ya to call me Osamu. Or Samu."

Now you're smiling again because the situation is definitely out of the ordinary, the level of familiarity you feel with a man you're seeing for the first time can only be considered unusual. You take a moment to study him as he stops just before you, tall build with broad shoulders and a handsome face that looks like it belongs on a heartbreaker not a homemaker.

Your fingers itch to push back the locks of his hair peeking out from under his dark cap and falling over on side of his forehead, if only to have an excuse to run your hands through it. But that's definitely not appropriate no matter how comfortable you might already feel with this easygoing man.

"Right... Osamu, then. And of course, you can call me Y/n."

"Yer name and looks suit ya, just like yer voice and handwriting." He's got a small smile on his own face now and you're not sure if he's aware he basically just called you pretty. He doesn't really seem to do this on purpose, from what you've gathered.

You beam at him regardless and volley back, "Well, I can say the same for you too."

And for a brief second, that small smile splits into a quick grin that stutters the already erratic beat of your heart. Oh yes, this man is certifiably lethal in all the best ways.

"I'm happy to hear it. Now, let's sit ya down with the girls while I grab some things."

Izumi has already led Reina to a table by the window and Osamu gestures their way as he moves to lock the door behind where you came in and then moves off to the kitchen behind the bar again.

You notice with a little apprehension that the girls are sitting next to each other on one side of the booth still giddily talking together (although not over each other anymore) about friends and weekend plans and such, but you're not going to be the anxious oddball that separates them for seemingly no reason. Even if you're already sure of the overthinking you'll be doing at the thought of Samu sitting next to you in the booth.

He doesn't seem to think about it at all as he easily slides in, smoothly setting a plate and a tray with cups, glasses and a couple pitchers on the table just as you feel the left side of his body line up against your right. Okay, yeah, because this is totally normal for you. Not.

You hope neither he and especially not either of the kids can tell you're flustered, even as you feel the heat creep up your neck and flirt with your cheeks. Yup, normal day, normal day. Just a regular day with a new friend.

"Here ya go." You just hold yourself back from jumping when he hands you a cup from the tray and then leans over to pour what looks and smells like tea from one of the pitchers. If you're not going crazy, he's pressed even more against you for those long seconds, completely in your space even if it's not unwelcome.

He either knows exactly what he's doing or he's just one of those people that's never paid mind to polite social norms and rules of conduct that many prefer. While you're calming yourself down, he's already poured the girls juice from the second pitcher into their glasses and set out quarter plates in front of everyone.

You finally focus enough to take in the still steaming gyoza on the plate he'd placed down in the middle with confusion and ask, "I thought we would be making onigiri and eating it for lunch?"

"Of course, but I couldn't put ya to work on an empty stomach."

"Mhm." You give him a dubious look, you might have mentioned your early breakfast in one of your texts to him this morning, but you have a feeling that this is also an effort to make you and Reina feel comfortable in this space together instead of getting right into the cooking lessons planned for the day.

It's an incredibly thoughtful effort and that warm flush is threatening you again so you choose to tease him and deflect instead, "Somehow, I feel it's more about your empty stomach but okay, let's go with your version instead."

You lose the fight with the flush and flutters when he chuckles at your sassy retort, especially since you literally feel the vibrations melt from his body and into yours with the way he's still somewhat pressed into you. Does the man not have enough space in his own booth? Actually... you notice you can move closer to the window yourself since there's quite a bit of space on your side too but, then again, it would be a little obvious to shift now.

The girls pick up the fried dumplings by hand with happy exclamations as they bite right into theirs, you and Osamu following suit but not before placing another two on the plates in front of each of them and then splitting the remaining ones between you.

With a dip into the soy and vinegar sauce (chili excluded for the girls), you quickly bite into the first one and savour the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth. Oh wow, yes, this is exactly what your cooking is missing. This addictive, tasteful quality that makes you want multiple helpings of whatever's being served.

With a glance from the corner of your eye to the right, you meet Osamu's eyes studying your reaction and decide to ask the question on your mind, "You made these yourself right?"

"I did."

"Okay, they're hands down the best gyoza I've ever had." You compliment him genuinely before giving in to the urge to  tease him yet again because the flutters are back, if they ever even left, and you can't have him knowing just how much he affects you, "But who ever heard of serving gyoza in an onigiri shop?"

He must catch the light, teasing tone because he just smirks and throws right back, "Well if they're as good as ya say, maybe I should expand the menu."

"Oh no, don't do that!" You laugh with wide eyes, "Then Reina and I will never find space when we try to come back here during regular hours! Actually, I'm sure you're already always packed, hm?"

"Some days and times less than others, but there will always be space for the two of ya whenever ya want to visit again."

Oh yeah, it's a losing battle, the flutters are a full on tsunami of feelings now. Just push it away and chill. But then he adds, "And I can teach ya this recipe too. Anytime there's something ya like or want to try, just let me know. I'm sure we can make an amazing cook outta ya yet."

Your mouth drops open followed by your blurted question, "Why are you helping me so much? I'm sure this is a lot of time and effort for you too."

You hear the girls' conversation pause as they pick up on some subtle change in either your body language or demeanour, but Osamu's calm eyes just meet your wide ones, his lips sliding into a soft smile, as he simply answers, "Because I like ya."

You feel like you're back in grade school because you want to ask if he means that he 'like' likes you or just... likes you. But there's no way you're going to ask that question, not only because it feels a bit asinine but because that's not a conversation to start in front of both of your daughters.

You look over to the girls who are watching with beaming smiles, maybe happy their parents are good friends just like the two of them, and you return their wide grins with a reassuring one of your own before looking back into steady grey eyes. "Well, I really appreciate your help. Thank you, Osamu."

"I'd say no thanks needed, but I've been down that road before." Another quick, heart-stopping grin graces his face, this one almost as roguish as his tone is playful. He's definitely referring to your initial correspondence when you made a firm point against his initial brush off, as if his actions in making extra lunch for your daughter to enjoy wasn't incredibly thoughtful and certainly out of his way.

"Well you certainly catch on quick. Let's just hope I can say the same." Your playful smile turns into a grimace at the thought of how difficult it might be to actually improve your skills. Maybe it's just a question of talent? Maybe you're just never going to be able to reproduce food like him.

But he glances over to catch your frown just in time and reassures, "I know what I'm doing. Soon enough, you will too. Just say you'll keep supplying me and Zumi with yer baking every once in a while when ya don't need us anymore."

You know he's probably joking with the last part but you hadn't planned on stopping. You love to share the goodies you bake with the people in your and Reina's life, it makes the two of you pretty happy so you're sure Izumi and Osamu will be able continue enjoying your baked goods to their heart's content.

"Izumi will definitely get her share of sweets and snacks every day." You send a smile her way when she hears you and bounces excitedly in her seat but then you force yourself to drop it and face Osamu with a challenging look instead, "But you... well, I guess we'll have to wait and if you're as good as you say and maybe then you can get some too."

He places a closed hand to his chest as if he's been struck, the girls laughing at his overdramatic reaction, but his widening smile gives him away. You look at each other for a suspended moment, with shared amusement but also the teasing heat of something else reflected in his achromatic eyes, which makes you certain he picked up on the unintended double entendre in your words.

"Sounds like a promise." Then with an arched eyebrow at the empty plates and cups in front of everyone, Samu asks, "So shall we get started?"

You agree, helping him clean up the table and he takes the opportunity to help you and Reina familiarize yourselves with the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon is spent in an equally easy cadence as he does indeed walk you through the steps of making his recipes, flavours included.

He starts with the simplest option, yaki onigiri, which is just fried rice shaped in a triangle or oval, and then demonstrates how to make and add a few of your and Reina's favourite fillings in to change and enhance the flavour. The girls enjoy making their own mini rice balls alongside the two of you and the time flies until you're all back at the table and having the onigiri you've just made for lunch.

You can't deny there's an improvement already but your little rice balls are still nowhere near the level of skill and flavour of Osamu's, even though he and the girls all assure you that you've done a great job. You accept their compliments with a smile and the determination to keep at it on your own time until you improve even further because Reina deserves better than even this.

By the time you finish eating, the girls are unsurprisingly tired out and choose to stay at the table to watch a Disney movie with Izumi's iPad. You can't help but smile in amusement while watching Osamu grab the thing from behind the bar, tapping away on the clunky looking device which is perfect for Izumi with a thick, pink rubber cover protecting it from grade-schooler level damage.

After the movie's been set up for the two worn out little munchkins, you and Osamu head back into the kitchen for him to show you how to make the gyoza and the next hour slips away with more teasing jokes, increasingly heated looks, and slightly bolder touches.

You can close your eyes and now know the feel of Osamu's hands on yours, demonstrating how to properly fold and pleat the wrappers. You can still feel the heat of his chest brush your back from when he leaned around you to pick up an empty bowl to place in the sink, and you're pondering on what feels like a heated brand on your hip where he lightly curved one hand to shift you over.

You can't deny your attraction to the man, a slow fall that you should have seen coming from the excitement of receiving his words every day until you were eagerly expecting the notes, to this first meeting where he's everything you expected from reading between his lines and even more.

Since the girls are pretty much full, you and Osamu clean off the new batch of gyoza between the both of you - him more than you, which you tease him about again. All the while, you're panicking about this new realization of your feelings, given that you're seriously crushing on a man who might only mean to help as a newfound friend and maybe you're the one reading too much into his interactions.

It's not until you've helped him clean up, collected the girls, and are watching him lock up the shop that you get some semblance of an answer.

"Thank you again Osamu. This was not only very instructive but Reina and I had a great time today."

He's holding Izumi's small hand in his, similar to Reina's in yours, and his other hand stretches up to rub at the back of his head, his arm bent at the elbow. When he speaks, it's not a direct response to your gratitude but a question instead, sounding somewhat unsure himself for the first time today, "How about next time we have a date that's more fun than instructive?"

Your jaw almost drops in surprise but you quickly collect yourself because he's still looking a little worried, maybe because he thinks he's overstepping by calling this a date or maybe because he's not sure you'll want another one even if you do accept that.

Your smile is quick to light up your face and, with a light squeeze from Reina's hand to yours accompanied by her and Izumi's giggles, you happily reply, "Just let me know when and where, and it's a date."

He grins again, the third time today your heart stops at what you're sure is usually a rarer sight since bodies aren't always dropping to the ground around him (that you've heard of). "I think I might already have something in mind."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, but let me look into it and get back to ya."

"Sounds like a promise."

With your final reply, a borrowed echo of his words to serve as a temporary goodbye, you and Reina split away from Izumi and Osamu. Heading for your car with once last look behind you, you're pleasantly unsurprised to find a flash of gunmetal grey also glancing back your way. Later that night, finished with your and Reina's joint skincare routine and having tucked her into bed, you find the expected message waiting for you.

A/N: Okay wow I had SO much fun with this one! I hope you all do too <3 It's not triple edited per usual so please do let me know if you catch any errors or issues. No promises but probably dropping Atsumu’s First Meeting next ;)

Taglist: @yatoatyourservice, @crayonwriting

© 2021 fayeimara. All rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.

[vyeoh]

this is your chance: wax poetic about an Empires or DSMP character of your choice to a fan who is new to both. Explain why I should love them. I need guidance in this new and meme-populated land.

okok this is a lot of pressure haha. Spoilers for EmpiresSMP and DreamSMP below, obviously. I wrote a lot so prepare yourself, anon

I watch a lot of empires POVs but the ones I most anticipate every week are Scott and Sausage.

c!Scott (I'll call him Smajor for the sake of simplicity) starts off the series chilling, not really getting involved with the rest of the server, and staying aggressively neutral. After all, he's an elf. He has lived far longer than most of the other rulers already, and will most likely outlive them for many years. So, the best thing is to stick to his mountains and not get invested in the dealings of mortal affairs, maybe sometimes causing problems on purpose and dipping because what's life without a little spice right.

But then, this demon comes to the server, Xornoth. He's going around causing havoc and wants to send the world into an eternal winter, but he doesn't bother the kingdom of Rivendell much so Smajor stays tentatively cautious but ultimately unbothered. But then, the puzzle pieces start falling together. The first thing that the audience noticed was was Xornoth sounded like Smajor, but we mostly thought that this was just due to cc!Scott voicing both of them and there was nothing more to it. However, then, the people the demon starts possessing start chanting in elvish. The demon hates mortals, and the elves are conveniently one of the two confirmed not fully mortal races in Empires.

This culminates when Smajor stumbles across a cave that contains the backstory of the patron god of Rivendell, Aeor. Basically, there's two opposing forces, Aeor and Exor, and both have a champion. In a previous life, those champions were two brothers, where Aeor eventually prevailed and banished Exor. In this life though, the champions are - you guessed it - Smajor, and the demon Xornoth.

So now Smajor is like. Well fuck. It's my literal god-given destiny to be responsible for defeating this demon who is technically my brother, and if I fail the server gets plunged into an eternal winter. And I have no fucking clue what is happening because I've just been here on this mountain actively trying to stay out of the issues outside my kingdom. We watch him panic and teeter on the verge of spiraling for an entire episode, and when the followers of Xornoth go to the End to kill the dragon, releasing Xornoth's full powers, he fails to stop him. Smajor is a character who was used to being the smart one, the prepared one, the one who has the least deaths on the server. But he's also a character who runs away from his problems and ignores them. Before and during the dragon fight, we hear the desperation in his voice, as he's thrown into a situation he is wholly unprepared for, and it's bigger than him going to the Cod Empire to kill their king, or assisting in other people's plans to kill the codfather. He can't run from this. cc!Scott plays this scene so well as well, as I've said before, one of the best parts of Scott's acting is how he's never super dramatic, but he's so effective in the little things like inflection to make you feel, viscerally, the panic and dread.

So after the dragon fight, Smajor realizes, I can't do this on my own. I've tried and failed. So he gets allies. We watch him, someone who has so strongly been an isolationist, learn the benefits of allies and watch him learn to trust others and watch him learn how to get that trust in return.

My favorite thing about Smajor's characterization is that he's an incompetent protagonist, but not in the way of the "plucky young adventurer". He's capable skill-wise, and fairly jaded and very pessimistic. However, his issue is that up until recently, he did not care about the rest of the server at all, and by the time he learned to, it was way too late.

Also, in 3rd Life, cc!Scott and cc!Jimmy were canonically married and they reference it sometimes in Empires. Like, Scott goes over to the Cod Empire every so often both in and out of character to kill and/or flirt with Jimmy, the ruler of the Cod Empire, which may develop as a secondary plot into the future who knows. So ty Scott for giving the gays what they want o7

Now onto Sausage: his is a story of Icarus, his hubris and ambition being his downfall. He's one of the two followers of Xornoth, who promised him endless power in exchange for his servitude. He started the series being eccentric, but not outright unhinged, but slowly gets more and more extreme as the series progresses, as he gets brought more and more to Xornoth's side.

One of the best parts of Sausage's character, in my opinion, is how his gradual corruption affects the people around him. Initially, he got into a conflict with the Cod Empire and was allied with two other people in the Witherrose alliance. They were allies, but also close friends. The fandom liked to joke that the three had sibling energy, and I'm pretty sure the ccs played to that even more lol.

It was painful to watch the other two members, Gem and fWhip, watch Sausage get corrupted right in front of them, and see them desperately clinging on to this old idea of Sausage in their head because if they faced the truth, it would mean that their friend was gone. Eventually, they do finally cut him out of the alliance, leading him to fully commit to the side of the demon. Sausage felt very clearly betrayed by this, and declared the remaining two Witherrose alliance members to be enemies.

He gets more and more possessed, and we even see the other Empires, his enemies even, slowly realize that something is very wrong with the ruler of Mythland. He starts doing more and more evil things, like killing people more, making sacrifices to the demon, and eventually helping to kill the dragon to free Xornoth. So things are good for Sausage, for a bit. He won, and is more powerful than ever. Then he finds out: he's going to die. Xornoth's possession is slowly killing his soul, and eventually, his body going to be fully taken over and he himself is going to be trapped in the spirit realm. So how do you react to this? Over the next few episodes, we watch Sausage struggle between "the demon is literally killing me" and "the demon has given me so much, and I love it", all while Xornoth takes over more and more of him. We hear him exclaim that "don't worry!! I'm still about 15% there!" while trying to downplay every time Xornoth completely takes over his body. We watch him willingly oppose anyone who is trying to end the thing that is killing him.

My favorite thing about Sausage is that he is undoubtedly evil and proud of it, but he's also undoubtedly human. If you like to watch evil characters go absolutely feral, he's the guy for you. He makes the deal with Xornoth in the beginning, knowing and fully embracing the evilness of the demon, but at the same time he knows what he's doing is detrimental to both himself and everyone around him, but he's gotten in way too deep at this point, and to be fair the demon has held up its end fo the bargain, right?

Also, I would be damned if I don't talk about cc!Sausage's editing. Every one of his videos is like a movie. The way he does camera angles and uses music is so skillful- every lore scene feels like something out of a high fantasy action saga (think: LotR). Every big lore event I always wait in anticipation for Sausage's ep because his editing truly takes lore to another level.

I'm just generally very excited to see where this series goes. Empires is such a good mix of talented builders and good lore. Part of the reason why the series is so immersive for me, beyond any other lore smp, is that they have the settings to back it up. There is a certain charm to the DreamSMP's objectively terrible builds (with a few exceptions) but in Empires, the settings help sell the plot so much.

Another part of why I love EmpiresSMP is how much the ccs are involved with the fan community. I'm sure you've seen the memes about Scott being on tumblr, and Sausage regularly goes through the EmpiresSMP fanart tag on Twitter and likes art, even ones not related to Mythland. Most of the ccs, in fact, have brought up tumblr content on stream at some point or another. Like, several ccs have said that they read tumblr lore theories and hcs and stuff and sometimes take inspiration from them. Fun fact: Rivendell's church was inspired by my pinned drawing; confirmed by Scott Smajor himself. It's just such a good cycle of ccs and fans being excited about each other.

As for DreamSMP, I'm gonna be honest here, the only person I really am invested in in Technoblade. I started watching when he joined the server, and he's the only person whose lore I keep up to date with.

Techno's fun to watch because he's like the Deadpool of DreamSMP. Virtually unkillable, very skilled and scary, but consistently cracks jokes and breaks the 4th wall during plot. His POV is just fun. Like, he does wild plans and gives speeches and some of the stuff that happens to him should be called deus ex machine if it wasn't for the fact that Technoblade is the one who's doing it, and all the stuff is grounded in the fact that cc!Techno is just that good at the game.

However, the fact that he rarely takes anything seriously makes the few times Techno is 100% serious so much more impactful. His whole character has a basis in being perceived as inhuman and being treated as such, and therefore in return trying to hide his humanity. So, when he shows that humanity, whether that's fear, anger, or genuine love for his friends, it really makes you go "oh shit."

Techno's often said not to have character development, but I'd argue that while he remains steadfast in his moral code, he develops leaps and bounds as a person. Like, at the beginning, he's brought onto the server to help Wilbur and Tommy overthrow a government; them knowing he's 1) an anarchist and 2) very very powerful. His character was more of a plot device at that point and was treated as such in the canon. Wilbur and Tommy straight-up lie to him about their plans to establish another government after they overthrow the current one, while he was led on to believe that they were abolishing all governments in the area. But he isn't a plot device. He's a person, as much as he only shows the terrifying, blood god side of himself.

After the establishment of New Lmanburg (the new government its a long story), his friend Phil joins. And for the first time, we see him be fully human with someone and we see someone treat him like a human. Like, we saw glimpses before, with Wilbur and Tommy in Pogtopia, but Phil is the first person we noticeably see he trusts 100%. Then Doomsday happens, and Techno essentially retires to the tundra. During this time, we see Techno learn to be more human, first with Ranboo, then Niki when he establishes the Syndicate. In fact, the two of them, along with Phil, canonically throw him a birthday party, which is a far cry from his treatment in Pogtopia.

Techno's development is one of a god learning to be human, and I just think he <3

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Eleven: Love - SMUT

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, cunningless, tit play, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, food and drink mention, emotional because we’re nearing the end, a family being brought together and our favourite soft, sad dad loving his son and, well… you.

Word count: 4300>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Eleven - Next

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

Just entering Black Gold Cooperative again, when you thought the previous night would be your last, drew tears to your eyes. This extensive size office was the place you’d first journeyed too upon venturing to the world of man. The building meant more to you than you had first realised, and it held so many amazing memories of self discovery. Your eyes flicked between the velvet sofa where you had once slept on, and the plants that peppered each corner of the lobby. They were vibrant and filled with life, symbolic of new beginnings. Now, the only magic in the air was love. You could feel it, Maxwell could feel it, and from the way Alistair perked up as you sneaked up behind him, he could feel it too. Love truly was the most powerful thing.

Seeing the way Alistair ran into his father’s arms, and the way he squeezed Max so tight -- like he was afraid to let him go, was enough to make your heart melt into your chest. “Daddy! You’re back!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Did you win?” He asked, his dark brown eyes glittering with hope. Alistair tugged on Max’s dark blonde shaggy hair as he waited for a reply.

“Yeah buddy, I won,” Max chuckled breathlessly. With those two words of affirmation, Alistair burst into tears. You took a step back as you watched the interaction, sensing how high the emotion was. You knew that Max had waited for this day to come for a long time. “No no, don’t cry. You should be happy.” Max cooed apologetically, his eyes widening as he tried his hardest to comfort his son. You were no longer a Goddess, and you had been stripped of your powers, but you could still feel the compassion between them both. And it was beautiful.

“I am happy,” Alistair choked out in between sobs, pulling back to look at his father. Max wiped away Alistair’s tears and offered him a weak smile.  “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” Alistair confessed, nuzzling his face into his father’s chest.

Max sniffed and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I’m going to redeem myself for everything, Ali. I know… I know I’ve done terrible things and made big mistakes, and I really am a pretty messed up loser but--”

“No,” Alistair cut him off, his tone chaste. “Daddy, you’re a winner. Thank you for fighting for me.”

“Always,” Maxwell hummed, picking up Alistair and cradling him in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

***

Maxwell drove, and Alistair insisted that you sit in the back of the car with him. You obliged, unable to ever refuse the bright eyed little boy. Alistair’s small, clammy hands squeezed yours and he watched intently as you gazed out the window, entranced by all the things you passed. There was still a lot you had to get used to, but it brought you comfort knowing that now, at least you had the time. There was no pressure to return back to Themyscira. D.C. was your home. Wherever Alistair and Max was, you were home.

Alistair nuzzled his head into you and closed his eyes, feeling completely content with your company. “I like your new outfit.” he hummed, his fingers tracing your glimmering gold belt.

“You do?” you asked curiously, and felt Alistair nod against you. “You know Ali, I sorta prefer the normal clothes.” you shrugged, and caught Maxwell smiling in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

“I like this,” Alistair admitted. “You look like a superhero. Like… from my comic books.”

“You don’t need a fancy costume to be a hero, Alistair,” you said, tapping his chin so he looked up at you. “Your dad is proof of that.”

***

Maxwell dropped his keys on the side table by the front door when the three of you returned home. “Are you guys hungry?” he questioned, scratching the back of his head. After a day in court, he’d worked up quite the appetite, he must admit.

Alistair grinned and nodded his head. “Starving! Can we get pizza? Please daddy, oh please can we get pizza?” 

“Hmph,” Maxwell grumbled, displaying a faux annoyance before bursting into an adorable grin. “I suppose so. Since it’s a day to celebrate.” 

“Yay!” Alistair cheered, running into the living room and jumping on the sofa. By the sounds of it, he’d found the remote control for the television and turned on one of his favourite kiddie TV shows.

Walking over to the telephone, Maxwell caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the many mirrors in the hallway and frowned. He was happy, but Gods did he still look a mess. The blonde in his hair was rapidly fading out and he was in desperate need of a trim. He’d been neglecting his biotin supplements and forgetting to moisturize, and oh, his tired eyes. You caught him hyper analyzing his appearance and approached him from behind. Pressing a kiss into his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, you sighed.

“What are you thinking about?” you wondered out loud.

Maxwell swallowed. “I just… I’m not the man I once was,” he ran his fingers through his hair and gestured down to the power suit that he’d worn to court. “I’m not Max Lord anymore. Not this… big oil tycoon businessman. Not on TV anymore. This whole thing is a facade. It’s not me. And everytime I look at myself… I’m reminded of all the mistakes that I made,” he admitted quietly before taking a shaky exhale. “It’s fine,” he quickly backtracked. “Guess I’ll just have to suck it up.”

“The worst part is over, Max. And you’re a survivor,” you told him, taking his hand. “The world can forgive you, but it means nothing if you can’t forgive yourself. You need to learn to love yourself.”

“Will you help me?” Maxwell asked quietly, a nervous tone prominent in his voice.

You offered him a warm smile. “That’s why I’m here,” you reminded him sweetly. “To help.”

Maxwell turned around to face you fully and placed a hand on your cheek. You swore, in that moment and under his touch, that you had forgotten how to breathe. Max might not have been able to see it, but he truly was so beautiful. The gold in his former life may have been gilded, but the gold in his heart was pure and authentic. And now, it was all yours.

Maxwell pulled his tie off his neck and shuffled out of his suit jacket. “I think it might be time for me to hang up this tie for good.” Maxwell sighed sadly, running the patterned silk material between his fingers.

“Do you want to?”

Maxwell paused for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve worked so hard to get here… I just can’t give Black Gold up.”

“Then don’t.” you whispered, shuffling your body into his. He snaked an arm around you and sighed even louder.

“It’s not that easy, darling. I don’t have the money to keep it going.” 

“I won’t let you give up on your lifelong dream, so… we’ll figure something out. Maybe you’ll have to downsize. If oil isn’t making you any money then maybe… you might have to specialise in something else. If the past week has proved anything it’s that all our problems can be figured out through the power of love. And you have that. Right here,” you maneuvered his hand and placed it on your heart before pointing your free hand into the living room at Alistair. The door stood slightly ajar. “And right there.”

Maxwell smiled. “There’s a thing, here. In the world of man…” you could tell he was about to start rambling about Goodness know what. He looked up slightly, avoiding your eye contact as he talked. “Where two people… love each other, a lot. And so they make a promise to dedicate themselves to one another. Asking you to be my girlfriend sounds a little childish,” Maxwell chuckled softly and your eyes widened when you realised where he was going with this. “But I guess… if you wanted…”

“I do!” You said quickly, cutting him off before he could even finish.

“You do?” Maxwell asked, truly stunned that you had agreed so fast. He couldn’t believe someone as magnificent as you would love him back, let alone want to be with him. He never thought he was deserving of love, especially after everything that had happened. If Maxwell had never met you, he would’ve been certain that he’d grow old, cold and alone. 

“I do.” you confirmed, grinning and pressing your lips into his.

The genuine smile that was on his face when he pulled away was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. More beautiful than the sands and oceans on Themyscira. More beautiful than the landmarks and caves in Athens. It differed to his television smile. This was one hundred percent authentic. This was Maxwell Lorenzano. “I’m going to change into my pajamas,” you announced. “And I’ll bring Ali upstairs with me and have him get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” Max acknowledged, still grinning. “I’ll set the dining room table for the pizza.”

You guided Alistair upstairs and followed him into his bedroom. You sat down on his bed, and pulled him down to sit next to you. “I told you I had a gift for you, from Athens.” you smiled and watched as Alistair’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yes!” Alistair cried out, bouncing up and down.

You detached the lasso of Hestia from your tunic and placed the rope gently in his hands. “This is my lasso of truth. Remember that one night when I met Julianna and Theodore, and I came to visit you? And I showed you how it worked? Do you remember?”

Alistair nodded slowly. “Yes. You told me the lasso wasn’t powered by you. It was powered by the truth.” 

“That’s right,” you confirmed, your heart swelling at how Alistair had retained that piece of information. “The lasso is important to me because it was a gift from my mother. And now, I’m passing it down to you. I didn’t get this in Athens, but it is from Athens originally. I hope my lasso will be a constant reminder for you to always tell the truth, and always see the good in people.”

Alistair’s jaw was agape and he was struck with awe as his fingers traced the magical rope. “I love it…” he whispered.

“I’m glad,” you smiled. “It’s very powerful Ali. Who knows, one day you might be able to use it.”

“And I can be a superhero just like you…” Alistair grinned before biting his lip. “And just like my daddy.”

“Exactly. Just like your daddy. C’mon now, I want you to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Then we can go order our pizza, okay?”

Before you left his bedroom, Alistair called your name. You sensed hesitancy in his voice, almost like he was nervous. “Can I… can I try out the lasso... on you? Maybe?”

You wanted to ask him why the child might possibly want to do that, but then you realised, he was probably just curious. So, you obliged, and held out your wrist. Remembering how you’d shown him before, Alistair wrapped the rope around your arm and took a deep breath.

“Do you love my daddy?” Alistair asked, after taking a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Will you promise not to leave him, ever?” 

“I promise.”

“Would you mind if… if… I called you mommy?”

You felt warm tears prick the corners of his eyes. A mother. It’s everything you had always wanted to be. You were the goddess of home and hearth. The urge to one day have a family was in your nature.

“I’d love that, Ali.” you admitted.

Alistair pulled the rope from your wrist and enveloped you into a tight hug. “Okay. Because I love you mommy.”

“I love you too.”

***

“What do you want?” Maxwell asked his son, pen in hand. He’d been scribbling down the order, the businessman in him wanting to have everything planned out before he made the phone call.

“Pineapple pizza! The biggest one!” Alistair exclaimed gleefully, stretching out his arms. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ali, you won’t eat it all,” Maxwell frowned. You nudged him, as if to say, ‘let him have this’. “Okay,” Max sighed. “The biggest pineapple pizza. And what do you want?” he asked, turning to you this time. You furrowed your eyebrows together, taking another look at the menu that had been passed around the dining room table.

“How do I know what’s good?”

“Well, not pineapple.” Maxwell grumbled. 

Alistair gasped, unable to believe the words that had just left his father’s lips. “Don’t listen to him,” Alistair said, grabbing your hand. “Daddy is wrong. Pineapple pizza is so delicious. Will you try some of mine?”

You squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Sure,” you agreed. Maxwell swore his heart melted everytime he witnessed interaction between you and his son. It was so pure, it was like you and Alistair had known each other forever. Granted, you’d known the little boy longer than you knew Maxwell. The day you woke up in the park felt like yesterday. “What do you like, Max?” you quizzed, eventually giving up on the menu. 

“Pepperoni, I guess. I don’t eat pizza much.” He admitted sheepishly. Before you could reply, Alistair’s voice made you jump up in shock.

“Boring!” He called out. Max shot him a playful glare and you rolled your eyes. 

“Don’t be rude!” Maxwell chastised, wiggling his index finger, and you couldn’t hide the smile on your face.

“He’s like you,” you pointed out. “Always has something to say.”

“My son.” Maxwell declared proudly, pulling Alistair into his lap and ruffling his dark hair.

Just like Max had anticipated, Alistair couldn’t eat the large pineapple pizza. In fact, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa after only two slices, a Star Wars blanket draped over him and a stuffed toy curled tight into his chest.

“Alistair asked me if it would be alright if he called me mommy,” you admitted quietly as Maxwell gathered the plates and empty glasses. His head snapped to face you the second the words left your lips. “I told him yes. But I figured… maybe you should have some say in it? I don’t know.”

“It means a lot to me that Ali can put his faith in you, and that he sees you as his mother. But this is a big deal. Family is for life and I don’t… he’s already lost one mother. I don’t want him to lose you too. So of course, it’s fine by me. As long as you promise to always be a mother to him, no matter what.”

“Always,” you whispered in reassurance, cupping Maxwell’s cheek and gazing into his dark eyes. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” Maxwell replied, kissing you on the forehead. “I should take him to bed.”

“Let me handle it,” you replied, stretching before leaning down to pick up the sleeping boy and cradling him in your arms. Clearly, somewhere down the line, you had forgotten you had been stripped of your powers and you were now a mortal. You let out a yelp. Once able to carry Alistair easily, you were now struggling. You wobbled slightly and Max hurried to your side to hold you and help you keep your balance.

“You okay?” Max asked, quirking an eyebrow. “He’s heavier than he looks.” you gasped, already a little breathless.

“Wanna trade?” he quizzed, raising a plate.

You mumbled a ‘yes’ and passed Alistair over to his father. “I’ll do the dishes and meet you upstairs.”

***

Max was still with Alistair by the time you had finished up the dishes and headed to the bedroom. You sat by the dressing table, brushing out your hair, and looked at the pile of discarded armour sat in the corner of the room. Maybe one day it would come of use, but for now, this was it. This was the start of a new life where you didn’t need no Amazonian armour. With Maxwell and Alistair, you had all the protection you could ever need.

“Hi,” Maxwell whispered, padding into the bedroom. You turned to face him and smiled. “I’m glad to be home… now… with you. Glad this is all over.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and began to rub them affectionately. “Me too.” you replied warmly, leaning into his touch and nuzzling your head into his chest. You closed your eyes in contentment. Every second you spent with Max, you spent wishing it would last forever. Although you knew better than to make a wish.

“Are you tired?” Max pondered, smoothing out your hair and admiring your face.

Pushing back your hair and admiring your beauty was up there with one of his most favourite things to do. Your eyes looked like home, your lips tasted like home. You were home.

“Mm, no, not really…” you confessed, staring at the image of both you and Max in the reflection of the dressing table mirror. But Max’s gaze was fixated only on you. “Actually. I had an idea, since you know, we’re celebrating and all,” you confessed after a brief moment of comfortable silence. Maxwell raised a curious eyebrow and waited for you to continue. “Remember our first night back in Athens when we…” you trailed off and glanced over towards the bed.

“Yeah.” Max answered, already breathless from the thought.

“I liked it a lot.” You admitted bashfully as you reminisced on your first time with Maxwell.

“Me too.” he agreed.

“So do you want to do it again…?”

Max didn’t reply with words, but instead he pulled you up from the stool that you were sitting on and twirled you around so you were facing him. He crashed his lips onto yours and let his large hands freely roam your back, desperate to feel every inch of your body. He’d been waiting to do this again.

Without breaking away from the kiss, you pushed him towards his bed and climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips and began to run your hands over his chest, leaning over and kissing along his jaw and down his neck. Feeling his cock already hot and heavy, he cursed under his breath, dipping his hand under the hem of your silk nightgown and smirking upon finding that you weren’t wearing any underwear. He slowly slid his thick fingers between your folds, causing you to gasp at the sudden bolt of pleasure that ran through you. His thumb began to circle your clit and you dug your fingers into his shoulders as he worked at your bundle of nerves.

He loved to look at you and watch as your face twisted in pleasure. He liked to know you were feeling good. His fingers were like magic, and he truly had a golden touch.

“Want you to cum on my fingers, okay?” Max asked, increasing the speed. You tried to push out a word but just came out as a mangled moan. You nodded your head, feeling your cunt desperately clench around nothing and your thighs tighten as you neared orgasm. 

When you came undone, Max’s dark eyes gleamed with desire and pride. He pulled his fingers from under your nightgown and placed them on his tongue, sucking your arousal from his own digits.

“You taste amazing baby,” He praised, unable to contain his smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied back with a smile.

Both you and Max made your way over to the bed, stripping yourself out of your clothes and intertwining your bodies together. 

“I don’t ever want this moment to end.” you confessed with a shaky exhale as Maxwell squeezed your breasts, peppering kisses down the valley of your chest.

“It doesn’t have to, princess, we have the rest of our lives to spend together.”

There it was again. The dumb nickname he’d called you from the day you first met. You’d insist that you weren’t a princess, and by no means royalty, but to Maxwell, you were. You were his princess. A rose stuck amongst a bush of thorns. You were the epitome of hope, beauty and love. And you were all his.

So the nickname grew on you, and you’d come to like it.

You felt the tip of Maxwell’s cock tease against your entrance as he swiftly rubbed his length up and down, between your glistening wet folds. By the time he pushed himself inside of you, just the scrunched up look on his face was enough to make your stomach erupt into butterflies. The crinkle in between his eyebrows and the way his perfect lips parted into an ‘o’ shape as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you-you’re so tight,” He gasped, the Adams apple in his neck prevailing as he tried to swallow away his desire. “Always so tight. So per-perfect. Good girl. Such a go-good girl.” he praised, a small strand of dark blonde hair falling out of place and crossing his forehead.

You shuddered at his words.

“Look at me,” you begged, and he obliged, his chocolate coloured eyes snapping open. Despite the glaze of lust that seemed to cloud his vision, he was able to fixate on you, spending a few moments adoring your face -- the face he fell in love with -- as he remained seated deep inside you. He was stretching you open and Gods, it felt delicious, but you needed more. You desperately needed more. “Move, please.” you whimpered, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

Maxwell began to rock his hips into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. He leaned over you and pressed his forehead against yours as he picked up his speed. “Don’t be too loud,” he warned quietly, his warm breath fanning over your ear.

It wasn’t long before he felt his cock twitch inside of you. “Shit,” he moaned, squeezing your shoulder to signify that he was close. “Neither of us are protected-- fuck, I need, I need to pull out.” 

“Mm, no, no Max. Keep going. Don’t stop.” You begged, your fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You could get pregnant.” he rasped out, suddenly remembering you were now a mortal.

“Would it really be so bad?” you asked, and your question alone was enough to throw Maxwell over the edge.

Would it really be so bad?

You had a point. Max had never imagined having any more kids. Hell, he’d never really planned on having Alistair. But times had changed, and he was so in love with you. He figured -- maybe kids were something he could give another go at. Little mini you’s running around the house would simply be so adorable. And who better to have children with, than the goddess of home and hearth? Having a family was written in your destiny. It was always meant to be. Given the time and the place, the prospect of having kids, getting you pregnant… it just felt right.

The start of a new life… both figuratively and literally.

Of course he was certain that this was what you wanted, and evidently, you wanted it to. But the idea of seeing you swole and round, carrying his children… well that was a whole different thing.

“Fuck princess, you’re gonna look so good carrying my baby.” Maxwell grounded, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

You felt your orgasm wash over you, and your walls clamp around his cock. That was enough to push him over the edge.

Maxwell came inside of you, and he made sure to cum deep, too. Once he’d regained his breath, he grabbed two pillows from his side of the bed and propped them under your butt so the lower half of your body was higher than your upper half.

“What are you doing?” you giggled.

“Making sure not a drop of it goes to waste,” Maxwell replied as he pressed sloppy kisses along your inner thighs.

And when he caught a glimpse of his seed beginning to spill out of you, he plunged his index finger and pushed it back in. 

“I love you so much.” You whispered as Maxwell smoothed out your hair and kissed your lips.

“I love you too, darling. And I can’t wait to embark on this new life together.”

You pondered for a moment, relishing in the comfortable silence before you brought your index finger and pointed it towards Maxwell. “Life is good, but it can be better.”

Maxwell was trying his damn hardest to fight the grin that was edging to cross his lips. How could one person be so adorable?

“It can always be better.” he whispered, bringing his hand down to your stomach and kissing you again.

———————————————

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics

I Believe In Love taglist : (tagged in replies!)

[alch3mic]

Beast or Prince's darling discovering their yandere tendencies? I'd love to see some drama go down

Strange how the twisting shadows of night made the estate halls feel so.. unfamiliar.

Those once pristine and well decorated walls that lured you into the estate so long ago now looked tainted by the darkness scrawled upon their surface, while the tile flooring felt even colder beneath your bare feet as you traversed the dim halls with nothing but a cellphone flashlight and the rain to keep you company.

Thunder and lightning crackled outside distantly, enlightening the hallways briefly in brilliant white flashes before plunging them back into the depths of obscurity. It, along with the deafening sounds of rain pattering against the windows, was enough to make your heart nearly pound right out of your poor chest.

.....

Was this some kind of classic horror movie set up or what?

Sheesh!

Talk about cliché! The only thing that was missing from this scene was some kind of terrible scary monster or knife wielding psycho lurking around the corner, and then you’d be the star of the next box office thriller!

At least the thought was funny enough to make you chuckle before another flash of lightning and crackling of thunder made you nearly jump out of your own skin.

...

.....Maybe.. you should’ve stayed in bed..

The thought of turning your butt right back around and just returning to your room was rather tempting.. but..

You had three burning questions in your mind that you just knew would keep you up all night if you turned back now.

Number one, what was that loud crashing sound that had woken you out of your dreams? You’re at least very certain it wasn’t thunder because the storm only started a few minutes after you left your bed.

Number two, why was the power out? Never, in all of your time of staying here, had the lights ever gone out like this. Papyrus once told you they ran on their own line out here on the estate with their own generators, separate from the city grid just so they could keep things on in case of a city wide power outage. So.. why? Why was the power out, even before this crazy storm even started? What happened?

And lastly.. number three..

....Where was Sans?

He had bunked with you in your room today after a late night of playing some video games together, but when you suddenly awoke he was... gone.

That had concerned you, because he wasn’t there when the crashing sound happened, which meant he left sometime before the storm started. It wasn't until you found his phone still placed upon your nightstand that your worries grew. He always kept his phone on him..

Now straddled with anxiety you gathered yourself before heading out in search of your boyfriend.

Just where in the world did he go?

.....

You checked your cell phone again.

...Still no service.

Dammit.

Great.. juuuust great.

...Maybe Sans' would..?

Nope.

That was a bust too.

You let out a huff of annoyance, even trying to wave his phone above your head in the hopes of getting a single bar of service, but it was to no avail.

There was another moment where you looked back to the hall you had just been wandering through, wondering if you really should just head back.. but..

It was foreign now.

You in all honesty had no idea where you were.

Like, you weren't even sure if you were in the west wing anymore, the once bright halls becoming like an endless labyrinth or darkness and spooky noises.

....

..Well, looks like your only choice now was to press on in hopes you’d find one of the brothers. The estate really was big, but they had to be somewhere..!

...Right..?

.........Right.

So onward you walked.

......

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Even the soft steps of your bare feet made eerie echoes that resounded with the quiet hum or rain.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Another flash of lightning and crackle of thunder, another small scare.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A left..? Or maybe a right? Well that flower pot looked familiar at least. ...Maybe..? K-kind of?

.....

Alright maybe you were a little scared now.

How could you not be!?

Everything felt tense and haunting, your anxiety spiraling the more you wandered around in the dark! Maybe this was just a dream.. a weirdly realistic dream.. and you’d wake up to find yourself still nicely snuggled in bed with your bone friend all safe and soun-

Wait.

.....That was..

Oh! You recognized those doors! They led out to the garden!

That sinking feeling in your chest was replaced with a sense of hope as you finally gained a sense of your surroundings, taking a few hopeful steps forward.

BANG.

You nearly screamed as the double doors out to the garden swung open accompanied by a flash of lightning. Thankfully the light faded just in time for you to see..

"Sans!" you called out as your skeletal boyfriend stepped inside and shut the doors behind him.

You quickly approached, stopping just a few feet away.

"You're...!" you inhaled sharply, gazing upon him. "...Soaking wet!"

And also dressed.

No longer was he adorned in one of his cute sets of pajamas, but a clean white button up, dark pants, heavy boots and thick work gloves, all now sticking to his bones from being soaked by the rain.

A deep sigh came out from your boyfriend and he shook his head, drops of water twinkling as they caught the light before splattering to the floor, while other droplets were just encouraged to finish their run down his face.

"HEH. IT'S REALLY IS RAINING SOMETHING FIERCE," he muttered lightly. "I'M THANKFUL TO SEE THAT DAMNED SKY TUCKED AWAY SINCE IT'S BEEN SO SUNNY THESE PAST FEW WEEKS BUT.. WHAT TERRIBLE TIMING."

You closed the distance between you two, stopping once more right before him and looked up and down in worry.

"Are you-" you began, but he merely reached out to gently catch your chin in his gloved hand.

It felt wet and cold, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'M ALRIGHT DEAREST," Sans chuckled, his eyelights roaming over your face.

"..Really?"

The ever so familiar hearts in his eyelights seemed to grow a bit bigger as he looked at you, his hand leaving your chin to carefully brush a few strands of hair.

"REALLY," he confirmed.

You found yourself shivering once more as his cold gloved fingers lightly lingered on your cheek before he fully retracted his hand and began pulling his gloves off.

"AND WHAT ABOUT YOU MY DEAR? ARE YOU ALRIGHT? IT'S QUITE DANGEROUS TO BE WANDERING AROUND SO LATE ESPECIALLY IN THE DARK."

"..I'm fine," you said, your hand reaching inside your pocket to pull out his phone. "I just.. woke up to a crashing noise and you weren't there. Then I saw your phone and it started raining like crazy and the lights wouldn't turn on so I got.."

You flushed a bit when he smiled at your ramblings.

"..Worried."

"HEH. THOUGHT I DO APPRECIATE YOUR CONCERNS MY SWEET, YOU SHOULD NEVER WORRY ABOUT ME," he chuckled, taking his phone. "I'M HERE TO PROTECT YOU, ALWAYS."

He didn't even give the device a look over before stashing it into his wet pocket, shoving his gloves into another one and began rolling up his sleeves and loosening his collar.

A strange silence fell for a moment as you both stood there, a small flame being ignited in your chest as you watched him move.

"..Sans?"

"YES, DEAREST?"

"Is everything really okay?" you asked quietly, your hand scrunching up the fabric at the end of your pajama t-shirt.

"OF COURSE!" he said, giving you one heck of a cute smile. "...WELL, I MEAN.. THE POWER IS STILL OUT AND I AM SOAKED TO THE BONE, BUT YES EVERYTHING IS FINE MY LOVE."

....

"...You're lying to me, aren't you..?"

....

Sans didn't say another word, instead just keeping that impossibly sweet smile swept over his features as he stopped unbuttoning his collar and looked at you for a moment.

His silence was calculated, just like his expression and his movements. For he knew that if he spoke anything more, you'd catch on more to the underlying anger in his tone.

It was the exact kind of anger that always stuck around after something happened.

You've.. gotten better at hearing it over the months that you've become closer to him.

At picking up the emotions he hid behind that princely charm and smiles.

It's how you could tell that things were absolutely not alright.

That he was lying to you.

...Again.

Once again you were being kept in the dark about something.

Once again Sans was covering your eyes from seeing clearly.

Why..?

Even though the two of you had grown so close. Even though you've swore to him to the moon and back that he could trust you. Even though you promised..!

Why does he still..!?

.....

He offered his hand to you, catching your eye before you looking back up at him. That smile of his turned just a bit fonder, and he merely tilted his head in a quiet encouragement for you to take his offer.

Stand your ground.

Don't let him do this!

Not again!

....

Quietly you took his hand, the feeling of his bones damp and clammy against your warmed skin from having your fists clenched so tightly before.

He bent in, and placed a tender kiss upon your check, making you shiver from the cold water that trickled on to your neck and shoulder.

Then he pulled back out, giving you one more loving smile before taking a step, and then another..

And you did the same, following as he led you away from those double doors out to the garden and back into the blackened halls from whence you came.

His boots squeaked against the marbled floorings and loose raindrops continued to descend down his skull, followed by the soft patter of your feet as he led you without another word.

...Again.

Again you were.. too afraid to say anything. The words came bubbling up your throat, threatening to break free at any moment.

But you kept your mouth shut tight.

You were afraid....

Of what the truth might be.

Of this fairytale that you so desperately sought and now finally had.. falling to pieces.

Of who your Prince Charming might really be.

Was he really the soft, sweet and lonely skeleton you saw beyond all of the make believe? Or was he..?

.....

Another distant flash and strike of thunder, and once again the halls were enlightened.

Your gaze dipped only for a second from Sans' back, enough to catch a bare glimpse of something before it became dark once more.

....

That..

Couldn't have been right..

..Right?

Something like that... shouldn't be...

.....

..No..

Your eyes were certainly not deceiving you.

You know what you saw.. without question, even in the passing light.

For at the very edges of Prince's dampened white shirt.

...Was red.

"DEAREST."

"Y-yes?"

"JUST REMEMBER, I LOVE YOU VERY, VERY MUCH... AND THAT EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT."

check out my other writings | feel free to drop me a ko-fi!

[yeojaa]

GIRL we need a devil in a new suit drabble where jungkook gets jealous pls bless us😭😭❤️

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  kook being hilarious and naive, reader being a little frustrated but head over heels, smut in the form of:  titty sucking (kook is a big boob guy in this), cunnilingus, kook wanting to love you forever.  wc.  2.1k.  author note.  i am... so in love with this couple so what was meant to be a “kook gets jealous and breaks reader’s back” turned into... this.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t get jealous.  Not because he doesn’t care, or he’s unaffected, or any other negative connotation under the sun.  He doesn’t because he’s him, too soft and sweet and silly to believe the worst in people.  (This, coming from the man who’d steered clear of dating apps and blind dates because he was worried he’d be hurt.)

Once, you’d been waiting for him to pick you - he’d been running late, dinner with his parents and younger sister - and he’d found you chatting politely to an old fling of yours.  Well, maybe not so old.  A recent fling, a friend of sorts.  Someone who’d swanned into your life during your college years and had remained there ever since, popping his head in from time to time. 

You’d always been on good terms, caught up for lunch every six months or so when he’d return home from his overseas job.  In the past, you’d found familiarity in the shape of his hands, the neon outline of his almond eyes and pouting lips.  He was good in bed, as charming between the sheets as he was on the street.

But your heart belonged to Jungkook now - had, before you’d even realised it - and Taewoo was just another guy.  Another face in a crowd.

Still, you’d thought your beloved boyfriend would have some sort of reaction.  Maybe a quirk of his perfectly groomed brows, a certain tightness belying his displeasure in the softly peaked bow of his mouth.  You’d spied neither after extracting yourself from the hug and waving goodbye.  Jungkook had been sunshine and sweetness, opening your door for you and stamping a kiss to your cheek.  

That night, he’d loved you how he always had, with you crying his name and making a mess of his sheets.

Another time, you’d been at a work function.  One of those ridiculous galas you loved, full of women in their highest heels and men in their swankiest watches.  (You’d worn Aquazzura that night, Jungkook with an Audemars Piguet loose around his wrist.)  

He’d stuck close to your side, far more interested in the way your dress hugged your figure, cut intimidatingly high over your thigh and revealed the swell of your ass at juuuust the right angle.  Yejin had been the only one to tear him away, insisting on shots that you knew she couldn’t handle.  Anything went if free booze was involved.

Thirty minutes later - give or take, since you hadn’t had a watch of your own on - your boyfriend had returned, flushed and adorable.  There’d been a garden of colour creeping over the expanse of his chest, peeking around the collar of his shirt and disappearing into his neatly tousled strands.  He’d giggled his way back to you, somehow completely oblivious to the man that’d found you at your table and settled himself into the spot labelled Jeon Jungkook.

The imposter had been affronted, gaze narrowed at the younger man who was a little too loose, a little too smiley.  Wholly out of place at an event like this, where people spent too much time up their own asses, noses held aloft and business cards exchanged.  

(One of the reasons you loved Jungkook so much.  He was a breath of fresh air in a world you thrived in - found humour in, at the very least - carrying you high above the clouds with the sound of his laughter.)

“Hi, baby.”  Your darling boy smothered you in kisses, traced them up and over the exposed expanse of your shoulder, nosing against your skin, utterly unbothered by the man shooting him daggers, wishing him ill from the spot he’d wrongly claimed.  

Of course, he’d thought Jungkook was making a point - claiming what was his - but that was so far from the truth you’d almost laughed when he’d spoken, voice carrying above the slightly laboured breaths of your lover.  “I guess that’s my cue to leave, huh?”

You’d smiled, nodded with a hand threaded into cornsilk curling over Jungkook’s nape.  “Looks like it.”

(Then your idiot love - your big-hearted moron, your doe-eyed baby - had come up for air, cheek resting in the palm of his hand.  “Where’s your friend?”  He’d asked, eyes so wide you couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his question.)

Such was the kind of person Jungkook was, with an unwavering belief in the goodness of others, a silver thread outlining everyone’s silhouette.  You sometimes wondered what it would take to drive him to any sort of displeasure, any sort of emotion beyond quiet melancholy (seldom seen but heavily felt, when the rare occasions rose) or easygoing amicability (his default setting).  Not that you’d ever push to see that, of course.

You were happy.  Hopelessly in love.  You wouldn’t have traded him for the world - couldn’t even fathom doing anything to hurt him.  

And yet, you discover albeit by accident - it’s really not that hard.  All it takes is a pretty girl.

“This looks incredible,”  she says, standing close, long dark hair falling in a fluid curtain down the line of her back.  It’s the loveliest shade, cool-toned beneath the boutique lights, and reflects colour like a waterfall.  You’d complimented her on it when you’d stepped into the fitting area, a handful of hangers set across the rolling rack.

Fingers smooth over embroidery, revelling in the feeling of it over your skin.  It’s a beautiful thing, black tulle that hangs to your fingertips.  Not Jungkook’s preferred style - he much prefers harnesses and so many straps it might as well be a cat’s cradle - but you think he loves it nonetheless. 

(You’d confirm, but he’s been stoically silent, seated in the plush chair tucked beside the privacy partition, normally soft gaze hard and trained on his phone.  He doesn’t seem very much in the mood to talk, hardly reacting with each outfit change.  A nod here, a smile there.  Not even the most scandalous of the options - a black corset decorated in Leavers lace - had elicited his usual enthusiasm.)  

“You think so?”  You’re not insecure about your body - know what it looks best in, which assets to play up.  Still, it’s nice to hear from someone other than your doting boyfriend, the people caught in your orbit.  

The sales associate nods, beams at you in the multiple mirrors.  A hand of her own drifts over the thin strap of the slip - an innocent gesture that dislodges wayward strands of hair from beneath.  “Of course— and I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to sell it.” 

You nod, satisfied.  Even if Jungkook doesn’t seem ecstatic, your own joy makes up for it, buyer’s delight spilling over.  “I’ll take the satin robe, the blush silk set, and this in the violet.”  

“Great choices,”  she hums, pulling back the curtain to the adjoining change room to allow you privacy.  Silence follows as you slip the delicate number off, returning it to its hanger.  You don’t expect when the brunette continues speaking - presumably to your surprisingly surly boyfriend.  “Don’t you agree?” 

“Yep.”  He’s never been a man of few words, usually so full of excitement that he rambles when he doesn’t mean to.  

It’s a dead giveaway - a confirmation that something’s wrong.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have time to broach the subject, your purchases already paid for and a firm hand on the small of your back the moment you’ve stepped out of the dressing stall.  “Jungkookie?”  You mean it quietly, just for the two of you, but falter when he slots his fingers between yours and all but tugs you out of the boutique.  You hardly even have a chance to toss the helpful girl an apologetic smile, imposing glass swinging shut behind you.

“Men—men are fine.  I don’t have to worry about them.”  There’s a confidence you’re so proud to see, turning his words as solid as the weight that rests against your hip, sears burning heat into your bared skin.  “No other man is going to love you better than me.  But women?”  A shudder runs the length of his imposing frame, tugs his shoulders up to his ears and tingles the small of his back.  “Women are scary.”  (It’s a sentiment he’s echoed in the past.  In particular, months ago when you’d insisted he dive into the dating scene.)

Hands thread through his too-soft strands, twirl the ends around your fingers as he speaks, nearly muffled into the crook of your shoulder.  He’s being so tender, giving you all the love he has to offer as he writes his insecurities into your skin, offers them with the wet of his tongue.

“A woman might sweep you off your feet and steal you away.”

You laugh then - sound snapping past your teeth before you can tuck it away.  It filters loudly into the baies scented candle you’d lit when you’d gotten into his apartment.  

Jungkook whines in response - a terribly endearing sound that makes you roll your eyes but only with affection (always with that) - and buries his face into your tits, sucking your nipple into his mouth with complete disregard for the tulle that acts as a barrier.  Saliva stains the material, makes it stick to your hardened bud as he laves over it with his tongue - bites surprisingly gently - and tugs it just hard enough to have you keening.

“S-s’not funny,”  he huffs, palming your other breast in his broad tattooed palm.  When he continues, he bites into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against whatever lies beneath your flesh.  “She was flirting with you.”  

It’s less of a sigh of annoyance - more sensual, drowning in need.  “She was not.”

He nips at the delicate flesh again, spreads crimson marks all across the sensitive skin until it’s a mosaic beneath the fabric, his finest work painted by his second favourite brush.  “That’s what you think but she was.”  The hand previously kneading your skin drops, flat of his palm sliding easily over your bare pussy.  

There’s zero hesitation when he slots his fingers on either side of your clit, catches the delicate pearl against the webbing of his hand and applies pressure that has you bucking beneath him.  It’s not nearly as aggressive as he normally is but it’s just as good, paired with the sinful motions of his tongue and teeth. 

“She wants to be the one doing this,”  he continues, saliva pooling across your chest, slipping into the valley of your breasts only to be licked up by the flat of his tongue.  He continues even once you’re clean, skin sticky and a little gross but so erotic it makes you quiver.  Then he descends, pushes the hem of your new slip higher, and licks another stripe from the joint of your thigh up to your belly button.  Repeats it again, moving lower with each pass until he’s sucking your clit into his mouth.  “She wants to be the one tasting this pretty, pretty pussy.”

You reach for his hand - the one somewhere near your ribs, side of his wrist soothing against the ladder of bones - and tangle your fingers together as he drives you mad, tip of his tongue switching between sweet kitten licks and tantalising figure eights.

“Baby,”  you coax, reprimand almost.  Jungkook’s never this lenient, never this sweet on you (not inside the bedroom, at least).  It brings you to a different high, his love folded into lovely origami cranes you tuck into your pockets and the spot you’ve carved out for him within your chest.

“Sing for me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t mean literally - refers instead to the sound of your voice when it leaps three octaves, bounces between sultry and singed, burnt at the edges by the fire he brings to life. 

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.”  Despite how the words muffle, come broken between the glide of his tongue within your fluttering walls, you can hear the sincerity in them.  The earnestness that begs you to promise him this simple thing.  “Not for her.  Not for anyone.”  

“I won’t leave you,”  you answer, threading the vow between your fingers as if they’re the thread binding your love story together.  “Not for her - not for anyone.”

[c-optimistic]

Great! I asked because if you didnt take prompts I wanted to be respectful of it, also okay if you dont feel like doing it or if you take your time, I admire and appreciate all your work. It's an angsty one😅 after the supergirl reveal, all the events and their drifting apart, Kara and Lena are rekindling their friendship, kara tells lena she's in love with her, lena confesses her feelings too but tells kara that after everything they cant be more than friends, angst here, then a happy ending 😁

“You’re my Lois,” she said softly, almost to herself. 

(It had been on her mind for days and weeks and months now, words she was afraid to fully verbalize, thoughts and feelings she wasn’t sure she quite wanted to string into something coherent. 

But now, in the silence, in their solitude, the words slipped out as easy as breathing, slipped out without her consent, her knowledge, her desire.)

Lena didn’t turn towards her, just wrapped her arms tighter around herself to stave off the chilly bite of the air. “I don’t know what that means,” she finally offered, voice terribly soft, eyes still focused on the city lights below them. 

(National City was beautiful in the fall. Parks turned orange and yellow and red, pumpkins and cartoon turkeys and the strong scent of cinnamon could be found on every street corner. Jackets got dusted off and pulled on, scarves wound their way around people’s necks, the smell of hot chocolate seemed to permeate the air. 

And Lena looked at home in the fall. Her hair was down more often than not, gentle curls framing her face. She was wrapped in soft sweaters and warm colors, looking gentler, calmer, more at ease.

And she was, in every way, Kara’s Lois.) “It’s...I—well.” Explaining was harder than she thought. Giving meaning to what she said was harder than she expected. “You’re the one I’d spin the world the opposite direction for, you know?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Kara,” Lena scoffed, turning away from the city and meeting Kara’s eyes briefly before walking through the sliding glass doors and back into her apartment. Kara followed sullenly behind. “What good would that even do?” “Turns back time,” Kara joked softly, watching Lena pour herself a glass of wine. Once maybe, days and weeks and months ago, she would have offered Kara a glass as well. Now she just set the bottle aside and sipped slowly, as if daring Kara to comment. “Why would you want to turn back time for me? And what does this have to do with Lois?” She seemed genuinely confused, and Kara realized she needed to be more direct. 

(In and of itself, it was a scary thought. She didn’t want to confess her feelings and be rebuffed. She didn’t want to tell the truth and leave herself open to...what, pain? A lack of reciprocation? Laughter at her expense?

And yet, and yet...Lena was her Lois, and she was worth it all the same.)

“What I’m trying to say,” Kara tried again, biting on her lip as she attempted to find the right words, beginning to think there were only three, not quite sure how to gather the courage to say them. “Remember Mon-El?” she said, switching tactics.

“Vaguely,” Lena responded, amused. She walked over to her kitchen, pulled out a kettle, a mug, and a packet of hot chocolate mix (an item she only kept at her place because she knew about Kara’s preference for it over tea). “What about him?” she asked as she put the water to boil, raising her eyebrow and looking at Kara expectantly. 

“When I sent him away, chose to save everyone over keeping him, Clark told me he could never do that,” Kara explained, that moment etched into her memory, inescapable and dare she say profound in the absence of feeling. “He said if it came down to keeping Lois or the world...well, he wouldn’t know what to do.”

Lena looked down, focusing on pouring the boiling water into the mug and adding the hot cocoa mix, stirring it in slowly. “Oh,” she whispered finally, pushing the mug towards Kara, “that’s what you mean about my being your Lois.”

“Lena, I—”

“—to be honest, though,” Lena interrupted, frowning, “I don’t think you have a Lois.” 

(Well, if anything could make those three words Kara wanted to say shrink back into their shell, it was that.

And for it to be said so casually, so abruptly, so utterly convincingly, as though there wasn’t any doubt in Lena’s mind. Well. That more than hurt, that felt vaguely offensive.)

“That’s so—”

“—you’re too,” Lena waved her hands, struggling with finding a word, “honorable,” she finally settled on. “You believe in duty, in sacrifice, in putting everyone before you.” She smiled, looking inexplicably proud, and picked up her wine glass, taking a small sip. “You’re too selfless. If it came down to it, Kara, you’d break your own heart a thousand times over for the world.” 

Kara blinked, wondering how Lena misinterpreted her. “No, Lena, I’m saying—”

“—no, I know,” Lena interrupted, setting her wine aside and walking over to stand in front of Kara, so close that Kara could practically smell the alcohol on Lena’s breath. Rather than meet Lena’s eyes, Kara kept her gaze on the ceiling. “And I love you, too. But we’re not Clark and Lois.” 

(And oh, Lena got it. She got it and she was braver than Kara, laying the words out there, giving the feelings between them a name, finally, finally, calling it what it was.

Love. She loved Lena.)

“I don’t pull off the suit as well as he does, I know,” Kara joked sadly, eyes still on the ceiling, knowing where Lena was going with this. 

(It was too soon. It was too much. It was too hard.)

“Kara,” Lena admonished, forcing Kara to meet her gaze. Kara’s vision was a little blurred, so she wasn’t quite sure if those were tears in Lena’s eyes or if her allergies were just working up again. “We can’t,” Lena told her, voice trembling. 

“Right. No. Of course.”

“Kara, after everything, being friends is hard enough, do you really—”

“—I said I got it,” Kara interrupted, blinking, horrified when her vision cleared and she felt something wet roll down her cheeks. She was crying. Crying. How utterly embarrassing. 

(She looked away again, unwilling to see pity in Lena’s expression, unwilling to confirm for herself that what was welling up in Lena’s eyes was indeed allergies. 

She looked away again, because she was willing to break her heart a thousand times over for the world, but she didn’t know how to cope with her breaking heart now.)

“I’m just.” She stopped, heaved a breath, and nodded curtly. “Just friends sounds good. But I’m going to go now.” She stepped back from Lena, practically power-walked towards the balcony door, stopping only when she felt something tug on her cape.

“Kara,” Lena began, but Kara didn’t turn. Couldn’t turn. Whatever courage Lena had been on when she’d managed to say the words Kara couldn’t seemed to fade, however, and she released her grip on Kara’s cape and pulled back. “You pull the suit off way better than him, don’t sell yourself short.” 

(It wasn’t what Lena wanted to say, Kara didn’t need the uptick of Lena’s heartbeat or the soft, regretful sigh she released a moment after the words escaped her lips. 

It wasn’t what Lena wanted to say, but it was what she did say, and Kara managed nothing more than a strangled laugh in response, taking off into the night and leaving Lena and a mug of hot chocolate untouched behind her.)

xxx

The next time she saw Lena was at game night.

(This was not for a lack of trying on Lena’s part. She’d invited Kara to lunch, to coffee, to a variety of science-related events—even Lena’s TED Talk—but Kara had declined them all, citing work or Supergirl-catastrophes.

Finally, Lena had sent a text reading just hmph, and Kara had spent the rest of the afternoon asking Nia if it was a good or bad hmph.) 

Game night, however, Kara couldn’t avoid. Namely, because it was at her own apartment. She had managed to avoid directly inviting Lena, resorting instead to a group chat message, something that had Nia shaking her head and muttering “children.” 

(And rationally, Kara knew better. She knew that she was supposed to be a better friend, that they were working on repairing their tattered and bruised friendship, that they needed to reestablish all those lines of communication and trust that had been burned to the ground. 

She knew, but she struggled. She struggled with the thought of looking at Lena and not thinking about how much she loved her, not thinking that Lena felt the same way, not thinking that had she been better—a better friend, a more honest friend, a kinder friend—then there would have been nothing in the way of her reaching out to take Lena by the hand, tug her forward, chase her lip, and—

Well. All those were things she was determinedly not trying to think of.) 

She was a bit of a mess by the time Lena arrived, looking as beautiful and breathtaking as ever, a bag of takeout in her hand, an unsure smile on her lips. 

“Are you sure?” Lena whispered, not entering Kara’s apartment. “If this is too much—”

“—I want you here,” Kara cut in, not really embarrassed by how desperate she sounded. Because now that she was looking at Lena, she forgot why she had wanted to maintain distance in the first place. Self-preservation no longer seemed very important to her. “I always want you with me.” 

“As a friend,” Lena added, cheeks flushed, suddenly very interested in her shoes, her heart pounding away, teeth digging into her bottom lip. 

Kara wasn’t sure what it all meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. So instead, she responded with the honesty she should’ve afforded Lena sooner—the honesty her best friend was owed. “In any capacity you’ll have me,” she said.

Lena didn’t respond, but as she walked by to enter Kara’s apartment, the fingers of her free hand ran over the inside of Kara’s hand, barely brushing over Kara’s palm, really, and it was like an electric shock, leaving Kara paralyzed to the spot until Alex took pity on her and unrooted her—physically dragging her over to the food and games.

(And the entire night, as Kara flexed the hand Lena touched repeatedly, she noticed that every time she looked over at Lena, Lena was already looking at her.

And the entire night, as Nia muttered “children” under her breath, Kara began to hope.)

xxx

As the weeks dragged on and Lena showed no signs of wanting anything to evolve between them, much of that hope evaporated. She was only holding onto the last tendrils when she had to show up at L-Corp (again) to stop some madman’s mad henchmen from trying to kill Lena (again). 

When the men were appropriately stopped and detained, Kara found herself on the balcony with Lena (again), staring out at the city (this too, again). Lena wasn’t drinking anything, and she wasn’t dressed in her soft sweaters. Instead, she was wearing a navy suit, hair pulled tightly back, hands in her pockets as she leaned against the balustrade, eyes on Kara. 

“You took awhile to get here,” Lena finally said, and Kara turned to her, a little offended.

“There was a fire, Lena. I had to make sure it was out before—”

“—but I thought I was your Lois?” she interrupted, with more than a little snark. Kara straightened, standing at her full height as she approached Lena.

“First of all, low blow. Secondly, you said it yourself, I don’t have a Lois. Maybe you need to find a less honorable friend,” Kara told her, eyes narrowed. 

Lena didn’t look sorry. If anything, she seemed...content. “I’ve been thinking about it, you know?” She tugged her hands out of her pockets, and Kara thought her heart slammed to a halt when Lena reached out and placed her hands on Kara’s shoulders, drawing her in. “I think the truth is,” she continued, hands sliding across Kara’s shoulders, interlocking behind Kara’s neck, “you’re my Lois. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you, even give up a chance at something more, something I really want, because I was scared it wouldn’t work and I’d lose you completely.” 

“Something you really want, huh?” Kara said, her heart jumpstarting at the feeling of Lena’s fingers against her neck, at the way Lena’s thumbs rubbed gently against the base of her skull, at the way Lena leaned up, pressing their foreheads together. “Are you still scared?”

“Terrified,” Lena breathed. “But I figure I could be a little more like you, potential heartbreak and all.”

Kara tried to nod, managing nothing more than gently head-butting Lena and making her laugh. “We probably need to figure out a better way to describe how we feel about each other, I think my cousin and Lois may get concerned—”

“—Kara?” Lena interrupted, pulling away just a bit.

“Yeah?”

“We can definitely talk about this if you want. Or you could just kiss me. Whichever you prefer.” 

(In the end, it was an easy choice.

And judging from the way Lena sighed into her mouth, she felt the same way.)

[peppermintbee]

OMORI has poor writing (Part 1)

OMORI stans, just block the #omori hate tag now because I’m going to use it to vent my frustrations with this game. If you love this game, I am not going to try to convince you otherwise. I am glad you enjoyed it so much. I am glad it means a lot to you. I’m not here to take that away from you. I honestly wish I felt the same way!

However, if you are like me and finished the game feeling disappointed, underwhelmed, and maybe a little frustrated, then I am here to say you are not alone. OMORI--while having the right set pieces for an interesting game--is a narrative mess.

I’m splitting this into two posts. This first post is about problems with the plot. The second is about problems with the message/moral. 

(Note: I use “OMORI” in all-caps for the game title, and “Omori” in title case for the character name.)

Spoilers and criticism below.

Part 1: Plot Writing Lies

There’s a book by Brian McDonald called Invisible Ink which is about how to write a compelling story (you can read this great book online for free here). There’s an explanation of the writing “lie” that I find myself frequently thinking of. A “lie” in this context does not mean something is literally untrue, it means something FEELS untrue, unrealistic, improbable, or unlikely. For example, if a character gets shot in the leg but manages to do parkour, this is a “lie” since it seems unrealistic for that to happen. If a character witnesses their beloved parent’s death and shrugs it off, it’s a “lie” because that reaction seems highly unlikely.

In OMORI, the plot is held together by multiple little lies that--try as I might--I just couldn’t bring myself to believe.

1. Sunny’s friends care about him, and vice versa

A major theme of the game is how friendship can overcome any obstacle. Friendship gets Sunny over his fear of heights, spiders, and water. Friendship is what Sunny remembers before the final boss fight, and allows him to face his guilt and defeat it (and prevent him from committing suicide). With the photobook and dialogue you are reminded over and over and over and over and over again that Sunny’s friends love him unconditionally.

However, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it. The childhood memories are cute but shallow, boiling down to simply hanging out and eating treats. Plus, Kel and Aubrey fight constantly, with Aubrey even physically hitting Kel when he steps out of line. Hero and Mari behave more like babysitters than true friends to the younger kids. 

But at least the other kids interact with each other. Sunny, on the other hand, showed nearly no affection or consideration towards his friends. He floats through the memories like a ghost--he could have been completely absent from all the photos and it would have made little difference. I was ready to accept this as Sunny being an unreliable narrator and not thinking he was a good enough for his friends, but this never contradicted. Instead we are given even more memories where Sunny just silently exists there being “cute.”

[Sunny enriching the lives of his friends by LARPING as a cat.]

Because of the lack of meaningful interactions between them, there was nothing in the game that made me think that these 12-15 year olds would have a strong enough bond that would survive 3-4 years of no contact after finding their friend hanged. In fact, that discovery only drove them farther apart. The only person who I could believe actually had a close bond was Basil, who almost literally filled that trope of being the friend who would help you bury a body (or in this case, help Sunny cover up the accidental manslaughter).

The writing fix for this would be simple: instead of showing us the same boring birthday and beach scenes over again, give the kids memories of overcoming some age-appropriate adversity together: heartbreak over an unrequited crush, anxiety over homework, sports injury, lost dogs, divorced parents, running away from home, bullying, etc. Set a precedent of the friends supporting each other through good times AND bad times. Without such backstory, Sunny’s friendships allegedly giving him the courage to overcome his guilt feels like a lie.

2. Sunny abandoning Basil in the bathroom scene

One of the most confusing moments in the game was Sunny’s negligence when Basil has his first breakdown in his bathroom. This part of the game is player-controlled, which is a strange writing decision because all you can do is click on Basil and various bathroom amenities over and over which completely saps the urgency out of the scene. When you try to leave, Basil begs Sunny to stay, but (due to a lack of player options) Sunny walks out without a word. With no option to talk to him OR get help for him, it makes Sunny seem exceptionally cruel to Basil. In fact, I was starting to wonder if the game was setting up for some sort of twist that Sunny DIDN’T care about his friends, which would fix some of the confusion in point #1. However, as we know, that is not the case. Therefore, Sunny’s negligence/apathy towards Basil’s pain feels like a lie.

The writing fix would be to make it MORE clear that Sunny is intentionally running away from Basil. Make it a cutscene, or, give a false choice such as “Leave Basil? Yes / Yes”. After Sunny leaves, Kel should make some remark about Sunny looking odd, “You look sort of shaken up, is there something you want to tell me?” then hit it home with Sunny shaking his head. This would make it more clear that Sunny is intentionally hiding Basil’s state, as opposed to just being a bad friend. As it stands, it just felt like a writing mistake.

3. Basil and Sunny working together to stage Mari’s death as a suicide

This is the plot hole that I see the most complaints over, but it’s so big I have to address it. Accidentally pushing Mari down the stairs I understand, but the rest is too absurd. Below are some of the “lies” that the writing tries to get away with:

That Sunny and Basil wouldn’t just claim she slipped and fell.

That either boy would even come up with this sick plan.

That they wouldn’t back out of this idea during the multi-step process (carrying her downstairs, outside, getting the jump rope, tying a noose, putting it around her neck, stringing her up, hiding the evidence... This is a series of multiple decisions, not one quick accident like the initial push.)

That it’s not the image of Mari’s death that traumatized Sunny, but the image of what they chose to do to her body that traumatized them. I understand the image of Mari hanging is more dramatic, but they literally did it themselves so why is that more haunting than Sunny killing her?

That Mari’s true cause of death wouldn’t be immediately obvious to the parents, the police, the friends, EVERYONE. (I’ve seen fans try to get rid of this plot hole by hypothesizing that the parents knew and covered it up, but the evidence of this is circumstantial at best. The father saying, “You’re not my son,” is unreliable since it happens in Sunny’s headspace. Divorce is common after the death of a child, and, at the very least, Sunny’s mom doesn’t show any evidence of knowing what happened. The way it is written, only Sunny and Basil know the truth.)

The ridiculousness of this twist is so extreme that it completely broke any immersion I had left. Frankly, the reveal that the happy, loveable Mari committed suicide is a far heavier and more realistic twist than a crazy murder-cover-up story is.

Additionally, it seems like Basil was only written into this scene in order to make Sunny the true victim of what happened. After all, Sunny may have pushed her, but it was Basil who came up with the demented cover up. (This is apparent from just the photos but the datamined Truth Album confirms it.) By having Basil come up with the plan, the game splits the guilt between the two of them to make the kids easier to sympathize with. It’s problematic because if Basil was not in the scene, there would be no way to justify what Sunny did to Mari. So why is what they did easier to accept when they worked together?

Fixing the writing lie: Sunny lies and says that Mari slipped. Remove Basil from the scene, and instead have Sunny confide in Basil which forces Basil to become a co-conspirator and burdens him with the terrible truth.

4. Sunny’s friends forgiving him and Basil for what they did to Mari

Last but not least, the story heavily implies that Hero, Kel, and Aubrey will forgive Basil and Sunny for what they did to Mari. I found this to be almost as unbelievable as the staged-suicide stunt.

It feels like a lie since the group’s friendship is never established as anything beyond shallow hang outs from 3+ years ago (see point #1).

It feels like a lie because this is hot off the heels of Aubrey being so distraught over Mari and the following fall out that in the last three days she 1.) attacked Sunny and Kel with a nail bat TWICE, 2.) Stole Basil’s photobook, and 3.) Shoved Basil in the lake. This trauma is still very fresh for her.

It feels like a lie because the complexity of the staged-suicide is so extreme, one would be hard pressed to forgive ANYONE for doing that, be it friend, foe, parent, sibling, lover, etc.

I’ve seen fans argue that the ending is not about forgiveness, it’s about telling the truth, and I want to believe that. Really. If the ending was about Sunny starting his redemption arc by telling the truth no matter what the consequences are, that would be a meaningful lesson. But the writing does not support that. The ending headspace segments are focused on assuring Sunny that his friends will support/forgive him no matter what. To do this, the game shows us the shallow photobook memories (again) to show how much they allegedly care about each other. Then, when fighting Omori, Sunny remembers these quotes from his friends, which directly correlate to their unconditional support:

KEL: Friends... Friends are supposed to be there for each other.

AUBREY: I hope you can find some peace... or you know... some happiness.

HERO: We made the mistake of leaving each other when we needed each other the most. This time... we’ll stay together.

BASIL: Maybe one day... things can go back to the way they were before.

The really direct evidence that this ending is about getting forgiveness is this quote from Basil in Sunny’s headspace:

[BASIL: “AUBREY, KEL and HERO are good friends. You have to trust that they’ll forgive us.”]

This is one of the last scenes before Sunny tells his friends the truth, proving that obtaining forgiveness from his FRIENDS is in fact the leading motivation for Sunny’s actions.

Fixing this writing lie is easy. Instead, adjust the writing to be about telling the truth, not about how much the friends will still love Sunny. Have headspace Basil say, “Even if they don’t forgive us, Aubrey, Kel, and Hero deserve to know the truth. It’s the only way to make things right... or close to it.”

Conclusion

OMORI is undeniably a cute game with a strong visual identity, and has a premise that could make for a very compelling experience. However, the sloppy plot and weak character writing cause the potential of this game to be squandered. There are other issues as well that I chose not to cover for the sake of time, such as the poor pacing of the dragged out dungeons and the bizarre, unrealistic behavior of characters in the “real” world. 

However, there are a few more glaring problems with OMORI that I have to address: In part 2 of my critique, I break down what may be the biggest problem with OMORI’s writing: the message.

[ Link to Part 2: OMORI’s Message is Mishandled and Distasteful ]

[shurisneakers]

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully,  “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground. 

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close. 

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.  

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn’t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

[tennessoui]

40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”

[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux’s “The Phantom of the Opera” - Chapter 13: “Apollo’s Lyre”

Image of the Apollo statue on the rooftop of the Palais Garnier from Wikimedia Commons

<< Previous Chapter

The chapter “Apollo’s Lyre” constitutes the basis for the “rooftop scene” between Raoul and Christine in the ALW version, but in the book, it is really all about Erik. It’s quite possibly the most important chapter in the novel because we meet our title hero face-to-face for the first time, and because Erik overhearing Christine‘s plan to escape provides a turning-point for the plot.

The symbol of Apollo's Lyre is not only present in the Apollo statue on the highest point of the rooftop (that Erik is supposedly clinging to here), but also adorns the chandelier both in the Palais Garnier and in the original production of the musical.

At the end of the preceding chapter, Raoul had vowed to take Christine away, but she is still at war with herself about the idea. She wants to leave because she is afraid, but at the same time, warns Raoul that he will probably need to force her to leave since she isn’t emotionally ready to let go:

““But if I refuse to go with you when the time comes for you to take me away, you must make me go!” [...] she spoke these words with a forcefulness that seemed to be directed against herself.”

Every time Raoul offers to take her away right then and there, Christine refuses with an excuse of why it’s not possible to leave just now. Yet she is afraid that the next time she goes to Erik, she may never leave again. Erik seems to make her feel very deeply - but too much feeling can be very terrifying, especially if it’s a wild ride on that emotional rollercoaster of ecstasy, horror, pity, despair and passion that he sends her on. It’s no wonder she rationally wants to get out before it consumes her, and yet is afraid of losing it.

While she begins telling Raoul the whole story from her perspective, they repeatedly think they hear sighs, but still remain in the same place. This is a bit odd, considering how they kept running around before, but now, Christine insists that they stay, which is a bit curious. It is possible that she thought they were safe - but considering her general unwillingness to leave, I think it is even possible that she might be subconsciously sabotaging her own escape plan.

When Christine speaks about how she first met Erik, it becomes clear that masquerading as the Angel of Music was not initially Erik‘s idea. When Christine heard Erik in her dressing-room for the first time three months ago, he sang and spoke to her like a real man, except that he had this beautiful angelic voice and was hiding in the passage behind her room, so that he could not be seen. The first person to suggest that he might indeed be the Angel of Music is Mama Valerius, who prompts Christine to ask Erik if he is the Angel her father had sent for her. Erik jumps at the opportunity presented to him and confirms that her assumption is correct, and asks if she will let him teach her. She consents, and together they make amazing progress, developing both Christine’s technique and her inspiration to hitherto unknown heights.

One day, Christine sees Raoul at the Opera, and eagerly tells Erik about it. I bet he bitterly cursed himself then for passing himself off as an Angel, leaving enough space in Christine’s heart for a real man. But his threats to leave cause her to despair and to try to ignore Raoul - also because a marriage to him would be out of her reach anyway. Now it’s Erik’s turn to whine and accuse Christine of being in love with Raoul in the same way we’ve seen Raoul do before. But just like with Raoul, she won’t have that and even challenges Erik that she will ask Raoul to accompany her to Perros. According to her, Erik’s jealous reaction made her realize that she loved Raoul. I wonder if madly jealous Raoul also made her realize that she might possibly be just a little bit in love with two very different men?

Subconsciously, she seems to kind of know already that Erik is not really an angel, because when the chandelier falls, she is half-mad with panic and terribly afraid that it may have killed “the Voice” (and it would be a bit difficult to kill a heavenly being even if you dropped a chandelier on it). She also admits that then, Raoul and Erik were both “the equal halves of her heart” (and I think they still are, beneath all the complications that have arisen in the meantime). She runs to her dressing-room because that is where she is most likely to find “the Voice”, and when she hears the sounds of Erik singing and playing the “Resurrection of Lazarus” on his violin, she follows his voice through the mirror without being able to say how exactly she disappeared through it. She suddenly finds herself being gripped by a man in a black cloak and a full-face mask and tries to fight back, but then faints. When she wakes, she is resting on the ground near a fountain, and Erik is gently tending to her, but doesn’t reply to her questions so as not to give himself away as “the Voice”. Christine recognizes César the horse, and realizes that even though she never believed in the ghost, she had heard the rumours about him stealing the horse.

Erik takes Christine to the house by the lake, first on César’s back (that’s what he needed the horse for, after all) and then in the famous boat (which is rowed in the novel). She is no longer terrified, but feels strangely peaceful - an effect which she attributes to the possibility of having been drugged, even though she admits that at the same time, she was still in full possession of her senses.

“Lake Averne”, the name of the lake under the Opera House, is a play on words as well as meaning. First, “lac averne” is almost the same as “la caverne”, which means “the cavern”. There is also a real lake named “Lago d’Averno” in Italy, and in Roman mythology, that lake is one of the entrances to the Underworld. This fits with the fact that Erik also bears characteristics of Charon, the ferryman to the Underworld, whose name can be literally translated as “with glowing eyes”. The iconic boat ride certainly resembles the passage into the Hades, which is even alluded to in the novel.

The water tank below the Palais Garnier. Image from atlasobscura.com

Let’s stay in the Underworld for a moment. “The Phantom of the Opera” can also be seen as a variation on the story of Hades and Persephone (Christine’s ship in “Love Never Dies” is not called “Persephone” for nothing). Hades, the god of the Underworld, fell in love with the young and beautiful Persephone and wanted to marry her, but as the goddess of spring, she wasn’t willing to abandon the world above and go to live in the Underworld. Therefore Hades abducted her, she finally consented to marry him and became queen of the Underworld. Due to the intervention of her infuriated mother Demeter, it was finally decided that she would divide her time between living on earth for some months every year and living in the Underworld for the rest of the time.

When they arrive, Erik sets a confused Christine down in his brightly lit drawing-room, which has been decorated with an enormous amount of golden baskets full of flowers. It is not quite clear where all the flowers come from, so I guess he bought them all for her. With a salary of 20,000 francs, he could probably afford the luxury of spending so much on flower decorations… He tells her that she is in no danger, as long as she doesn’t touch his mask. When Christine realizes that the Voice is not an angel, she starts crying. Erik then kneels down in front of her and proceeds to tell her without further ado who he is, begs her to forgive him, and lays his heart at her feet. He confesses how much he loves her, and how wrong his actions were, but that he did everything out of love for her. It seems that Erik was rather anxious to reveal the truth that he is not really the Angel of Music and end his deception, but at the same time, was waiting for an opportunity that would allow him to explain everything without the risk of her running away from him forever. Keep in mind that he took on the role of the Angel of Music for just a couple of months, not years as it is commonly assumed.

Christine then stands up to demand her freedom, and is taken aback when he actually concedes it to her, telling her that she is free to leave. But after all, she does not leave because he starts to play the harp and sing for her. The piece he is singing here is the “Canzone del Salice” from Rossini’s “Otello”, in which Desdemona laments the cruelty of love. It is often assumed that the „Otello“ Leroux is referencing here is the more famous “Otello” by Verdi, but that one didn’t premiere until 1887, while the story is definitely set before 1886. Furthermore, Rossini’s version of the “willow song” is the only one that starts with a harp solo. The song is included in the playlist, listen to it here:

https://open.spotify.com/track/25ILZhCIWIRjJVK8SqDWzn?si=U5EPiO_ySBOlIy5XvI1BGw&dl_branch=1

The next morning, Christine awakes on the couch in „her“ bedroom (aka the “Louis-Philippe room”) where Erik must have carried her after she had fallen asleep. When she can‘t get out, she suffers a fit of hysterics, although it seems that she has simply been unable to locate the door set within the wall. Erik has been out shopping for her, which is a rather cute scene when he comes back with all the boxes for her while she yells at him. He calmly tells her to get ready for lunch, and she slams the door in his face so she can take a bath in peace. She places a pair of scissors within reach so that she could kill herself if Erik “stopped behaving like an honourable man”. Her concern is understandable, being alone with the man who is madly in love with her, however it is important to note that Erik never physically forces himself on her throughout the story.

Remarkably, Erik’s house had both hot and cold running water, something that was still very rare then, which suggests that he actually lived in better hygienic conditions than most people at that time, and that he was a skilled engineer.

When she finally joins him, he tells her that she does not need to be afraid, and that all he asks for is that she will spend 5 days with him. After that, he hopes that she will come back to see “poor Erik” from time to time, shedding a few tears beneath his black mask as he speaks. He serves Christine lunch in the drawing-room, consisting of crayfish, chicken wings and Tokay wine, but he himself does again not eat or drink. From their conversation, we learn that Erik has taken on his name “by chance”, whatever that means. The meaning of the name is “sole ruler” which is quite fitting for him.

When Christine has finished eating, Erik invites her to see his room, and she doesn’t hesitate as she instinctively trusts him. Apparently Erik has a very gothic taste as far as room decorating goes, and all this also plays heavily into the death symbolism of his character. Erik sleeping in a coffin is reminiscent of vampire stories, especially because it seems to be a choice and not a necessity. There is also an organ with the score of “Don Juan Triumphant” on it, written in Erik’s customary red ink(?). Erik tells her that he started composing it 20 years ago. Christine asks him to play her something from his “Don Juan”, but Erik refuses because “some music is so formidable that it consumes everyone who approaches it”. It is quite significant that the “sing for me” motif is absent from the novel version, in contrast to the ALW version where it is very strong. Erik, in the novel, has no plans for Christine to sing any of his music. He wants her companionship and her love, and he wants to sing together with her and lose himself in their shared passion for music, but he definitely does not see her as an instrument of sorts. He did help advance her career, but not with the intention of having her perform his work.

Erik makes it clear that his own music is very different from Mozart’s „Don Giovanni“ and from “opera music” in general. “Don Juan Triumphant” can be seen as an allusion to Lord Byron’s epic poem “Don Juan” (in which, incidentally, Don Juan is sold as a slave to the sultana of Constantinople).

He sits down at the piano and starts singing the duet from “Otello” with Christine. There is of course more than one duet in “Otello”, but this one is most likely “Non arrestare il colpo/Notte per me funesta” from Act III (here: https://open.spotify.com/track/151M60b3qxzqKLDFwIVuUB?si=WX4TDWCeQVmIChqd6u7CyQ&dl_branch=1 and here: https://open.spotify.com/track/2Ep1OncGZCNR9yFevG6Pb6?si=QzG2JztuQ42MDoiVrLAaew&dl_branch=1 ) In this scene, Othello accuses Desdemona of betraying him, while she tries to convince him that she is innocent. She realizes that she has fallen victim to Iago’s plot, but Othello does not believe her and stabs her. This opera, for once, is in Italian, while most of the other pieces that appear in the “Phantom” are sung in French.  

The unmasking in the novel happens while Christine is swept up in the passion of her duet with Erik. She “stepped closer to him, attracted and fascinated, enticed by the idea of dying at the center of such passion. But before dying [she] wanted to see his face…”

It’s not like she is sneaking up to him out of pure curiosity, but rather reacting to an instinctive wish to pull away the barrier between them. The scene is even more tragic because with a normal face, the passionate mood that Christine was in would have potentially led to her kissing him. But sadly, his face is anything but normal, so Christine recoils in horror instead. Erik’s reaction to the unmasking is violent and horrific as he goes mad with rage at her, even hurting his own face with her fingernails - an expression of his self-loathing. Throughout the scene, Christine seems fixated on the horror of his face more than his behaviour, though. Ashamed of himself, Erik crawls out of the room and shuts himself up in his bedroom.

“Apollo’s Lyre” by Annie Stegg Gerard

Erik’s appearance as described in the novel is indeed bordering the realm of the fantastic and supernatural. He is so stuffed with death symbolism that it is hard to take everything literally. Christine’s description makes it rather hard to see him as “real” because he seems to look like something straight out of a nightmare.

It is important to note that Erik is not just run-of-the-mill ugly, but that he is very clearly associated with death in many ways - from sleeping in a coffin and having funeral-style decor in his room to actually looking like a „living corpse“. Erik and Christine can be seen as a literal expression of the artistic topos „death and the maiden“, which especially towards the end of the 19th century associated death very strongly with the erotic (see https://eclecticlight.co/2020/01/05/paintings-for-our-time-death-and-the-maiden/ for a very good overview of the motif). Death here is usually represented as either a skeleton or corpse, or as an angel - which is very much in line with Leroux’s Erik.

”Girl and Death” by Edvard Munch

Combined with the fact that Erik‘s music creates feelings of passion, rapture and ecstasy in Christine, it is not a big stretch to conclude that Erik is associated not only with death, but also with sexuality. The duality of sex as both a life-creating and life-threatening force was acutely perceived by the people of that period. Love and death are connected, and both are represented in Erik‘s character. ALW‘s musical adaptation recognized this strongly erotic undercurrent in the story and translated it very aptly into songs such as „Music of the night“ or „Point of no return“. The way in which Christine describes her lessons with Erik - that they “awakened an ardent, voracious, and sublime life” in her, and made her live in a “kind of ecstatic dream” can also be interpreted as her romantic awakening, with all the frightening emotional chaos attached to it.

Raoul, on the other hand, is more associated with purity and propriety - which is reflected in how he views Christine, and the standards that she must conform to in his opinion.

Before seeing Erik’s face, Christine admits that she *would* have come back, but that now, she would never return because “you don’t go back into a grave with a corpse that loves you”. Note how she switches from the first person to the impersonal “you” in this sentence - “you” might not do that, but we already know she did in fact go back more than once. And she is still able to see something of the angel in him because he does not take advantage of the situation, but leaves her alone, turning to his music again.

And then, “music has the power to abolish everything in the outside world except its sounds, which go straight to the heart”. Erik starts playing the finale of “Don Juan Triumphant” where “ugliness, lifted on the wings of love, had dared to look beauty in the face”. Through the music, Christine can glimpse into the depths of Erik’s heart and soul, feel his torment and suffering, and is overwhelmed with compassion.

Once again, she is the one to tear down the wall between them. She pushes open the door to Erik’s room and asks him to show his face, sincerely thinking that she can handle it - but it turns out, she really isn’t quite able to when there’s no music between them. But she manages to put on a brave facade and lie to him about being able to look at him without horror. She despises herself for her lies, but then she also does what she must in order to be set free. Erik takes her for walks along the shore of the underground lake, and for carriage rides to the Bois de Boulogne (that’s where they ran into Raoul in Chapter 9). After two weeks, Erik finally trusts her so much that he is willing to set her free (with conditions, of course). It’s really heartbreaking when she mentions how he dared to try to make her look at him even when he wasn’t singing, like a “timid dog”. At this point, he is in her power just as much as she is in his.

When she finally leaves, she is moved more by his tears than by his threats, and his pain is what gets her to come back in the first place: “Those sobs attached me to him more strongly than I thought when I said good-bye to him.” Part of why she is afraid to leave is that she fears it will kill him if she leaves him.

At the end of the chapter, Raoul asks the fateful question that sums up the tragedy of Erik and Christine:

“You’re afraid, but do you love me? If Erik were handsome, would you love me?” “Why tempt fate, Raoul? Why ask about things that I keep hidden at the back of my mind, like sins?”

Christine’s reply along the lines of “Don‘t ask” was cut from the de Mattos translation. It clearly evidences that Christine has conflicted feelings for Erik that go beyond only horror or pity, and that she prefers to suppress them so she doesn't have to deal with them. The statement also shows that if Erik had not been cursed with his face, then things might have looked very different for him and Christine. Attentive readers of de Mattos might nevertheless notice that her next line „If I did not love you, I would not give you my lips“ evades addressing the „what ifs“ Raoul posed, but it still makes her appear less conflicted than she really is. Christine’s heart is a pretty deep ocean of secrets, and at the back of her mind, there seem to be quite a few things that she is unwilling to admit to herself, as Raoul suspected before:

“You obviously love him, and your fear, your terror - all that is still love, of the most exciting kind! The kind you don’t admit to yourself.”

I haven‘t really counted, but this must be like the fifth time that Raoul insists on his suspicion that Christine is in love with Erik, and he just can‘t get a „no“ out of her. That “no” is given very directly though when he asks her if she hates him. She kisses Raoul to prove that she loves him, at the same time telling him that the kiss is just a one-time thing („for the first and last time“). Then “the night is torn apart”, and the last thing they see is a pair of glowing eyes looking down on them from Apollo’s lyre - which are clearly Erik’s, who has overheard the entire conversation…

Image from wikipedia

Next chapter >>