#for the 3 people that will put themselves through reading all of this

[space-apples]

i buried my teeth in everything good

hi chatters sorry for dying. thanking @dakedo0o @loveroped @angeart and @sunieraes for beta-ing i appreciate you <3

here it is on AO3 x

and if you want to read it here you can do that !!

He’s succeeded his task, and the wind was faintly blowing in his ear, almost sounding like laughter.

He’s succeeded his task, and the sun was just peeking over the mountains. He didn’t even realize he’d gone the whole night without a blink. 

He’s succeeded his task, and the cold air was gnawing against his skin. He could hardly care anymore. 

Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life.

He was drowning now, and felt the familiar sense of life being drained from him before arriving back at the Secret Keeper. He stared at it coldly (everything was cold.)

A skeleton was somewhere in the distance. It was shooting at him, but Scar couldn’t be bothered to care. The arrows buried themselves into his skin, but as he bled and whatever remaining life source once again drained out of him, Scar didn’t recognize the pain as much as he should have. All he really felt was numbness, a fucked up sense of relief. He closed his eyes, exhaling softly, wishing, hoping, praying for release.

If he died now, he would be gone. He would be free. 

Of course the Gods above cared too much about their entertainment to let him go. So when he opened his eyes, the arrows were gone. The only mark left that showed they were ever there were the scars. More to add to the collection, he supposed, bitterly staring up at the Secret Keeper statue. 

Scar wanted to scream at it, to get TNT and blow the stupid thing to dust and rubble. 

He pressed the button once more, wildly, angrily, and cursing so much that a sailor would cringe away. 

Win Secret Life, it said. As always. He did win. As always. 

Pressing the button over and over again wouldn’t do anything, but he did anyway, something in him snapping. Only getting more desperate and upset with each hit as it gave him more and more books. He didn’t care that his hand was getting splintered, that a nasty bruise was starting to form, that he felt it breaking. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything anymore, he couldn’t focus on caring. Scar just wanted to go home. 

He didn’t even realize when he started rapidly hitting the stone instead, putting so much weight and force into his attacks that the button had broken. When he paused long enough to realize, he swore he couldn’t feel himself breathing anymore. The books were splattered around, his hand was bloodied, and his legs crumbled from underneath him. 

Scar prided himself on being resilient, only crying once or twice after a Life Game. But seeing his own blood on a half beaten rock where the button should have been, feeling the cold air biting at his skin, the awareness that he was irrefutably alone, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do anything in order to go home, shattered any resolve he so wished to keep. 

His hands didn’t seem like his as he laid them, shakily, gently, carefully, on pedestal once more. His whole body shook, wracked with impending doom. He was sobbing, he realized, though the tears never seemed real. None of this seemed real. He couldn’t breathe through it, and some sick part of him hoped that it would continue, that his body would finally collapse and allow him to be detached from this world. 

But maybe he deserved this. 

Maybe with how many people he killed, how many people he made suffer, this was his punishment. A permanent loop, a permanent limbo, forever cursed to be alone. 

Maybe that was the reason for his time here; showing that his destiny, his purpose, his fate, was to be on his own. Where he grew up, it wasn’t exactly an option to talk with other people, and perhaps he got too comfortable in Hermitcraft. Last Life should have been his reminder, his push in the right direction, but he wanted the interaction. The comfort of being near someone was too tempting to turn down. Yet the bite of cold he felt constantly growing up in the apocalypse, it was the same he felt on that horrible mountain in Last Life. It was the same he felt now. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how many blankets or campfires he had, just like how he wouldn’t ever be able to be relieved of the crippling isolation that threatened to overflow and drown him. 

He didn’t know when time started to blur even more, he didn’t know when he started to feel so numb that it felt like he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t care for it. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of doing just that. The sun was blaring, it might have stung to look at, yet he just kept staring upward, blankly. There wasn’t much else he could do, anyways. He broke the button. He probably broke his hand too, but he was floating too much to really register it.

He didn’t notice when his legs became anchored to the ground. The hope that the possibility of his opponents (they were friends, they were friends, they were friends) cared enough to come back, to check in on him, was of course foolish. They wouldn’t. It should have bothered him more, and maybe some part of him was uneasy. But a bigger part of him was tired. 

Now, his legs didn’t just feel heavy, they felt like stone. 

And that’s when he noticed he couldn’t sit up. That everything was so much colder. That he was so much more aware of the world. He could make out every grass blade being eaten by grazing animals, the fish wading through the waters, and he didn't even flinch at the desperate snarling of the Undead– the zombies. They were hungry, ravenous, and all he could really do was shift his energy away from it. 

He still felt like he was being stared at, yet he couldn’t detect the stare of the Secret Keeper anymore. It bothered him in the back of his mind. In the dark corners, it felt more than simply wrong. His eyes felt sluggish, but somehow he knew he wouldn’t be able to close them. Now he had to watch, to feel more than the ground below him, the suffocating air around him. It was dark. It was bright. It was hot, but so so so cold. 

All he could do was stare into the sky, watching the sun reach into his peripherals and watch it fade away into a cold night, stars tracing each speck of his vision. It should have been the only thing he saw. He didn’t know how he saw everything. But the statue wasn’t there anymore, it wasn’t watching along beside him. 

He tried to regard it as a good thing. That he didn’t have to feel that prying stare bear into him. But all he could think was that he was now those intrusive, intense, invading eyes. It wasn’t that it was gone, it was that he took its place. He didn’t know if shattering that stupid button was the cause, but he didn’t even mean to break it. He had just wanted to go home.

He can’t even think of how he’d do that now. He barely remembers the faces of his opponents. No, no, they were his friends. Yes, his friends. He couldn’t remember the faces of his friends. They were all muddled and blurry, just like the memories of their time together, hardly resurfacing when he tried to remember. He remembers a boat pole? Bluebells— no, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t frame it correctly, but akin to. A flower of sorts, poisonous to something. He remembers vague things about vexes, though they were just a– a mob with no real significance. He can’t quite... God, why can’t he remember. They were his friends, he said it himself, they were kind and funny and. He wished he could remember more about them other than their bloodshed, than their violence. There were pieces he was missing.

(He misses them. He needs them. He doesn’t know why he’s here, why he’s had to isolate and disconnect from everyone he knew for the sake of Watching. But it isn’t his job to question it, if he could even do such a thing. At least not anymore.)

Time passed on, he knows it’s passed on. There’s little, in this world at least, he doesn’t know at this point. But as far as the people who are gone, the people he killed, he doesn’t know where they are now. How long it’s been for them. He knows there’s not much he can do about it. There’s not much they can do to save him. He thought, he hoped, the numbness was back.

He didn’t know how much he even felt anymore, he wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling. So why, why, is there so much dread in the pits of his stomach. Why is there nausea building in his body, his head throbbing with a migraine. Why did his fear come back all at once, his disquiet of being so utterly alone solitary abandoned abandoned abandoned being seemingly worse than before. It’s not like it ever left, but if it did, it came back stronger than it ever was prior. He didn’t mind being numb, really. He half-heartedly wished for it back. He vaguely realized in his mind he won’t be going home anymore. And this wasn’t at all what he wanted. To be trapped in a never ending loop of pain and pressing buttons was hardly on anyone’s bucket list. He didn't even know what he wanted now, other than to simply rest. 

Though now he figured this was why he was here. Why wouldn’t they want someone already contiguous to not one soul— someone so bloodthirsty— in their grasp. Playing their sick games until he could only regurgitate futile means of escaping. Watching for them. Commanding for them. Succeeding for them. Maybe he should have felt horrified at the prospect, and maybe he did, but if it wasn’t at the forefront, he could hardly be expected to feel anything other than that flooding sense of numbness. Maybe he didn’t want to be here. Maybe he did. It didn’t matter now. He had a job to do. 

He succeeded his task, and it was then he noticed the button on the stone pedestal was back. It was nicer than the old one. Engraved in markings he recognized. It was the traditional Elven designs that coiled around harsh stone, though he could already feel the connection to his identity fading away.

He succeeded his task, and yet when he tried to reach out for it, he couldn’t move his hand anymore.

He succeeded his task, and now he’d be making sure when others came along, they’d succeed too. 

He could vaguely remember that he was Scar, but even that was fading from his mind. Now he was the keeper, the beholder, the Successor of the thing that was here before.

.

. 

. 

.

.

They had no idea how long they were trapped in there. They tried to glance around, and though they could technically see, they couldn’t See, not how they were used to. They didn’t wish for it back. Or perhaps they did. But the harsh transition made it difficult to look around at all.

They knew they were not envious of their replacement— though it was still hard to grasp that they could feel, really feel again. The sensations latched onto them like they'd always been there; like it was coming home— but they couldn’t remember anything to match it, or anything at all. It had been too overwhelming to have so many of them, to notice and detect sensations other than stone and that icy cold that swallowed them whole.

 It had been far too long to even remember their name. They were trying awfully hard as well, to remember the identity they had left behind. Before all the buttons, before all the colored names and hopeless faces showed, before all the cravings of violence just to get a sick taste of what being angry meant. They had a life, surely. 

They looked down at their new body. This one couldn’t have been their old one– Staring into the reflection they remembered the face of their Successor, eyes still red and running rampant on Red Life urges. They weren’t in that world, and yet. They wondered if the bloodshed would ever stop.

 It was rather warm here, they noticed, but for some reason they could still sense that bite of cold they felt as the Keeper. 

They didn’t quite know where they were, but they could hear someone approaching. They almost expected a button to be pressed, for them to make a request. Of course that didn’t happen here, and instead a voice called out. 

Excited, concerned, afraid, afraid, afraid—

“Scar, oh my god.” The person, upon seeing them, ran over much faster than they had expected. And to their own surprise, they recognized their– her– voice. She was hard to forget, really, because admittedly, she was one of their favorites. The Newbie, the first to truly find the End in their domain. (Their old domain. It wasn’t theirs anymore.) One with such promise, such potential. Of course now they’re rather glad she didn’t win. “Scar, where have you been?”

They forgot they were in place of the Successor, they forgot that was even his name. They tried to open their mouth to respond, but it turns out after spending what felt like centuries with their mouth made of literal stone, it was a bit harder to get words out. They were sure it’d be raspy anyway, from the misuse.

They remembered her name now, and vague recollections of Scar’s memories came back from when they Saw him. Her name was Gem. 

Gem frowned at his silence, and Scar– not Scar, they’re not Scar– tensed, worried that they’d already be found out within five seconds. 

“I won’t– I won’t push you into talking, Scar,” she said, to their surprise. She surveyed them with such concern that it made them discern… something. Guilt? Embarrassment? She continued, spurred on by them remaining silent. “It’s just– you’ve been gone for almost, uh, two months now. I think.”

They didn’t have to pretend to shudder at the time frame. 

It had been way longer than just two months.

Honestly, they really did try getting their mouth open to speak, to demand, but all they could manage were raspy grunts. Gem winced, yet kept her relatively calm demeanor. 

“It’s okay, I don’t want to force you.” She reaches over slowly, maybe so that if they wanted to back away, they would. They didn’t. It could have been because moving was so unknown, unfamiliar. Or because they regarded Gem as more than just trustworthy; as safe.

The touch burned before it felt like a regular mortal being was actually holding them. She gently encouraged them to move forward, for them to follow her, a smile now plastered on her face. 

 “Come on, Scar, let’s get you home, yea?” 

Home. 

In their last moments before the Successor took over, they remembered his last thoughts were wistfully praying that he’d be let go. Back to wherever here was, where they could pretend his past was long gone and have fun and play— not dangerous— games. Where they could have just a little company. 

The memory made them feel like something was twisting in their gut, their throat closing up with such a tightness it felt like they were forgetting how to breathe. They didn’t remember what that feeling was. But they needed to get rid of it, and Gem’s words were so warm, such a drastic change from the icy wind clawing at each part of them, threatening to freeze them over. 

Gem’s offer didn’t seem to hold the same malice, but when they tried to see into it, see her intentions, they were swiftly reminded their abilities were no longer with them. The similar sensation in their gut came back, and it screamed and yelled at them to run, to get far away. Logically, though, if they were to run, Gem would most likely catch them a lot easier than they’d like to admit. They were not used to having legs that— more or less— work. And if she wanted to kill them she would have already done so. 

So they nod, following her carefully after she takes her hand off their shoulder. She let go, and it still felt like it was there, still felt like it was burning, still felt like it was there to keep it burning. Gem’s touch wasn’t bad, at least they didn’t think so. They hadn’t had any contact with anyone or anything for so long, and perhaps that was why it felt so sudden. So much. They tried to trail behind her as best they could, only becoming more overwhelmed with each step. 

They’re not familiar with so much of this, so many textures, so many potential people around, so many so many so many—

It wasn’t her fault, really. 

She just kept leading on, adding little comments here and there. It was hard to keep paying attention to her when she wasn’t the only one making noise. Grass crunched from underneath them, water was crashing a little while away, Gem’s armor was rattling against itself with every step, there were probably people in the distance, not bothering to keep their voices down. 

Their vision got blurry after a while, their legs felt like mush. They didn’t think it had been that long, though that didn’t make them feel better. They could barely make out Gem’s face, her antlers being the only thing that they could really see. 

Everything was spinning around them, going too fast. Or it could have been that they were going too slow. It hurt to keep their eyes open, but the worry that if they closed them now, the worry it’ll be like before made them try so very hard to not blink.

And despite their best efforts, they felt the impact of hitting the ground before anything else.

And despite themself, they knew their eyes were rolling back into their head. 

At least it wasn’t everything all at once, but now it was— once again— nothing. 

.

.

.

.

They woke up, not expecting to be able to feel the softness of whatever they were laying on. They were laying down as well, a position they hadn’t been able to be in before. Though they half expected to be frozen like that, it was certainly a lot more comfortable now than it used to be. They didn’t try to move, at least not for a while, unsure they even could. 

They were talking about them. Not them. Well, maybe it was them technically, but it was still about Scar. The Scar they knew.

“—Just overwhelmed, maybe,” a voice— they could recognize once more as Gem— said, most likely contributing to a conversation that had already started. “I don’t know. He’s been gone for months.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m aware, Gem.” 

Grian. That voice belonged to Grian. They didn’t have the same excitement towards the man as maybe some of the Others did. They didn’t want to like Grian, and as much as They tried to make them favor him, they had leaned towards Gem. 

They thought she’d be smart enough to figure it out. Clearly, they had thought wrong.

They still weren’t moving, afraid to even try, and instead waded through the waters of their mind, through every crevice of newfound sensations, newfound thoughts. It still felt they weren’t their own, as if they were still rifling through someone else’s head. 

They couldn’t tell if they still felt like it was burning, and they were once again worried they were back there again because even with however many sensations their body may have been experiencing, it still felt so far away. 

They realized they were shaking. 

Which was good, they thought. Good that they could move, at least. They couldn’t think much of anything else when trying to refocus on Gem and Grian, whose voices had become slightly raised. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffed, inhaling sharply. “I am glad he’s back, I was just— concerned.”

“We all had this after the first Death Game, Gem. Scar shouldn’t feel more violent than, you know, he usually is.”

“But his eyes— even if they weren’t red— they were so empty.”

“Winning a game can be a lot. And Scar was by himself that whole time, even before his, uh, extended hiatus. I think we both know that Scar being alone isn't his favorite thing in the world.” 

“You— Okay, I can see that. I mean I think the Death Games can be a lot for anyone, just on its own. But sure.” She let out a long sigh, as if she hadn’t taken a breath throughout that entire conversation. “I care about him too, Grian. It’s not just you.”

They were both silent for a moment, and for a small second, they thought they had walked away. That was until Grian spoke.

“I know.” His voice was so soft, almost a whisper. “I know. I just— Let’s just make sure to make something fun for when he wakes up. Or at least a cup of water.”

Gem lets out a hum of agreement, and they can’t help but feel that pain in their chest. One that seems bad at first, yet seems to feel more comforting. Even as they hear the door being opened and closed, it remains.

It’s a feeling that, although they barely remembered anything, they know they craved and strived to have it. The feeling of being cared for, of knowing that you’re cared for. 

It was ridiculous, especially as they weren’t even Scar. It was only a matter of time before they found out, before they kicked them right back out for very justifiable reasons. And yet it was hard to deny the temptation of staying, just to feel wanted for even a little while. To have a connection with a real person, a real being. They know it won’t last, as things usually do, but they didn’t see why they couldn't savor this. 

It’s not theirs to savor, they know this. But there’s no one else to provide that connection to them anymore. Even if there was, they don’t remember. It’s frustrating how much they don’t remember, how much they remember about Scar more than they remember about themself. 

They knew they should say something, but the thought of being cast aside was enough to replace the feeling in their chest with a much heavier weight. 

They knew they weren’t Scar, but for now, they could pretend. 

They knew they would be forced to leave eventually, but for now, just for now, they could stay.

[lilacstro]

messages from someone(channeled messages pac)

hey, I wanted to post a pac for a while, so i did haha. It was hard to decide what topic should it be on, so i decided delivering messages from people who would want to come through, hoping it resonates

lmao all three piles were so different than one another, I enjoyed doing this tho. I hope you could resonate with this <3 leave suggestions and feedback in the comment or asks :) remember its a general reading and you dont have to take it if it doesnt feel right :) i love you :)

decks used: cupid says oracle, biddy tarot deck

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

Pile 1

this doesnt seem to be a romantic pile specifically, feels like someone who you felt like family with, a sister, a female best friend or mother coming through, did they betray you in some way? doing something behind your back to pull you down, maybe criticizing something you wanted do or create. someone who could have cut you off or blown up on you for putting your side of feelings forward, some kind of argument could have occurred too. could be someone who thought you are doing to well, or, going after what you want, was too ambitious or man like? could be jealousy infact. Could be that they didnt intend to do so maybe? maybe it was heat of the moment? take what resonates. I see them wanting to come forward and apologize so much. Someone who is ready to rebuild what was gone, and take things forward with you, especially apologizing and creating a new emotional start, probably meaning wanting to leave everything that has happened in the past, It is in their heart to give you an apology, they might even have nightmares about it, they know they have to do it sooner or later and they have this realization. They want to take a quick-impulsive action too. They just know they have to do it. If its been a while, this person seems ready to come forward very soon.

channeled messages: I am confused this isnt a phase it still hurts i love you more take a leap its getting very dark and cloudy as i am reading this pile.

Pile 2

awww this feels like someone who has a crush on you. I was feeling very anxious while reading this pile trying to make meaning out of the cards even before they fell out or the spread was complete. So they might be overthinking everything(thats so cute) Also, as soon as i finished laying this deck down, the sun came back again lol.

This feels someone who you are either dating or wants to date you. Some possible scenarios I am getting are (since this is a general reading) being in an online/long distance connection or you might have not met this person yet, or atleast even if you know them they definitely seem at a little distance from you, even emotionally. Could also be cultural differences.

This person feels like someone who is walking away from something in their life. Going into the unknown, starting something new. Apart from this, they definitely want to start something with you, slowly even if its small, I see confidence issues here, feeling of not being good enough. This person wants to give you queen treatment pile 2 , but i feel they have this subconscious belief of wanting to be better, to be able to provide for you and give you what you deserve. Some of them might also be thinking what other people might think, they just dont want you to suffer with them in any way, they want the best for you before they can come forward to you. Financial stability is major here, maybe you or them have experiences or wounds around it. This person definitely is giving this a lot of time and serious thought

Channeled messages: I think about us a lot Make me believe(yeah man ig you need to because this person is very hard on themselves for even if they deserve you) I am yours the time is now

Pile 3

Ok so this feels like someone who has unfinished business with you, This screams to be a ex lover but could be a situationship/toxic old friend. Someone who is up at night thinking about how they couldnt give you what you deserved, not realising they slept on their chance to do that. I see it is someone you had a lot of love for, maybe you expected that the love was reciprocated but it rather caused you some kind of heartbreak. Some possible scenarios coming through are someone who probably left you without explanations, making you rely on other people for help or information, or someone who acted on what their friends or family told them to do instead or someone that caused you some kind of shame in front of people, making you some kind of "gossip topic" in the end. It could even be that you or them heard something from other people that could have caused trouble. Number 3 might be significant to someone, it was coming up a lot. Third party? 3 friends? 3 chances? March? could be, but its a general reading so take what you only believe could be confirmation

This ending could have been very fast and hurried and unexpected as well. It could be that this person chose you over thrill and enjoyment in their life, OR they were over committed to two things at once, both of which needed their time and passion. They were struggling to create a balance is what I see. This person has so much to say to you its insane, they think and reflect on this a lot. But I see this person isn't ready to take the fight as such, they have so much to say to you, so much apology for not being able to give this what it deserved, yet they are afraid of coming forward and saying what they have to, They keep on thinking and wishing, I wish I could, not realizing they are literally sleeping on their chance to do so. What a weird person lol

However what I see is this person making a choice, and a plan, to do something. I wonder how fast is that going to be because i see so much pain and doubt in this person, they don't really feel that you would take this. But I still see them contemplating and making some plan. Could be you have gone through similar some cycles with this person. You could have been hurt yet compassionate to this person it seems yet very uproar and mad and visibly upset about it (understandable tbh) In such readings I am adamant to say that they love you, because this absolutely isnt love imo, Its called guilt tripping and gaslighting but your situation might be diff. However if anyone loves you, they would not be so wishy washy and "oh I wish..." about it, They would just not want to lose you, even the second they knew or even had a realization. These kinds people irk me tbh. They do miss you a lot (more like seems the fun with you but whatever) though and do hope for a second chance. They somehow even find you even more attractive/addictive and dont seem to be over of what has went down yet.

Channeled messages: I want you you are incredible do you know that what do you want from me i can help it i feel so guilty lets go on an adventure have I been here before? feels like deja vu we need to talk

[thatscarletflycatcher]

can you tell me what your thesis is about if you're willing to share??

Hi!!! Yes, of course! I need to go over and over the description of this thing in order to turn in a precise and compelling project for the board (attempt #3 at finishing this cursed degree, here we go! *sobs*).

My area of interest has always been Medieval Philosophy, Metaphysics, Ethics, Virtue Ethics and Aristotelian Ethics-Politics. My very first attempt was writing something on Metaphysics (transcendentals) then Ethics Metaphysics (the role of intellectual intuition in moral reasoning in Aristotelian Ethics, Book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics)... Neither worked mainly because a problem when talking metaphysics is... well, there's few words to use and little to say and I have always been a very succinct academic writer (yeah, I know, but it is true).

When I reached acceptance about that XD I moved on to trying something about Aristotelian Ethics-politics. Alasdair MacIntyre is a key author in that area, and he's a favorite of mine because in agreement or disagreement he's thought provoking, he has a sense of humor, and he's a hater of the fun kind. I know it isn't proper to call or pick academic authors because they are fun, but hey, he is. He is a curmudgeonly old man (present tense: he's 95), who kind of manages to disagree with everyone because he hates being put in boxes, but he's also always been very willing and open to listen to other voices and change his opinions on things.

For example, the refinement and reformulation of many ideas between his After Virtue (1981) and his Dependent Rational Animals (1999) came (declaredly) through a reading of certain feminist theory, which brought to the foreground to him how little academic Ethics had focused until that point on disability and caretaking.

He's also always been a versatile author in the sense of breaching the barriers between disciplines for the purposes of philosophical inquiry -After Virtue has a great deal to say about Sociology, and Dependent Rational Animals talks a lot about dolphins XD.

I decided I wanted to write something about this guy, but I got stuck because if you are writing on an author specifically, alone, how do you manage to write something that isn't like, textbook regurgitation? Theoretically I know it is possible, but it was very paralyzing to me all the same.

Enter Elizabeth Gaskell with a steel chair.

I love Gaskell dearly for many different reasons. I love the way in which she writes nuanced, believable, textured characters. I love the treatment of grief in her work, I love the compassion she has for her characters, I love how she makes interesting, central, and natural relationships between parents and children. I love that she's versatile too, and that she saw writing as a vocation, and how she manages to talk about so many different things in a novel without making it come across as didactic or preachy. But one very special thing that has called my attention is her specific interest in communities, and community building through friendship.

Very often her "proposals" of "solutions" to social problems, specifically in her industrial novels, have been dismissed as the utopian sugary pap of learning to share and be nice of someone completely out of touch with reality, but I think those readings are fundamentally missing the framework that makes her ideas make sense and be solid.

As an aside, I feel like that ungenerous reading is kinda rich when Hard Times and its "imagination to power!" concept or Shirley and its marriage solution keep getting praise to this day. You know. It comes across as a bit double standard-y, if you ask me.

But back to topic, guess who did consider friendship, understood as the ties that unite virtuous people in the pursuit of the good for themselves and their fellow men, the very foundation of society, and mankind as essentially social, and therefore for ethics and politics to be a continuum? That's right, my boy Aristotle!

And to that, between other things, when talking about the Aristotelian tradition of Ethics Politics, MacIntyre adds teleological narrative as the element that frames and anchors virtue ethics in this scheme. What is more, he dedicates A CHUNK of chapter 16 of After Virtue to Jane Austen, and why he thinks she's "the last key representative" of this tradition (which has sprung a non negligible amount of scholarship on Austen and virtue ethics).

And I'm persuaded that Gaskell is a significant successor to Austen in this way too, and that the certain sympathy people often perceive between them comes from this aspect (because, in all honestly, it's clearly not about tone or style).

So that's the aim/core of my thesis: to present/analyze/contextualize Gaskell's work within the framework of the Aristotelian Ethics-Politics tradition as understood by MacIntyre.

Of course because I am, in Nelly Dean's description of Edgar Linton, a venturesome fool, this is clearly very ambitious, and I am making it worse for myself by doing things like harvesting circa 350 titles for a thesis that won't require more than 50 and that cannot be more than 80 pages long. The clown shoes can be heard from the other side of the world no this has nothing to do with the fact that I don't think I'll ever get a masters or a PhD where I might be able to develop this concept beyond a very summary overview of N&S and maybe Cranford and My Lady Ludlow if I'm lucky.

And that's how I should have sent something to my advisor three weeks ago (I haven't yet) and how I'm half agony half hope about the whole thing, because I'm scared and anxious and full on rowing through Nutella executive function wise. Maybe I should get a rubber duck.

[coffeetank]

7 Simple Literary Devices That Elevate your Writing

1. Mood:

The mood of your story is the ambience you're trying to create around your setting and characters in a book. For example, in a horror story, the mood of the book will dark and ominous. In a romantic comedy, the mood of the book will be light-hearted, funny and swoon-worthy.

The mood of your story needs to be maintained throughout your book as it is the direct emotional environment of the themes you're using. It does not change at any point of the story.

2. Metaphor:

Metaphor is a literary device where you compare two things without using the words "as" or "like". It is an indirect comparison that convinces you of the similarities between two things.

For example: "You knowledge is your weapon." This sentence is indirectly comparing knowledge to a weapon to imply that both can be used to protect/defend/fight.

3. Simile:

Simile is a figure of speech that directly compares two things and insists on their similarities. You use "as" and "like".

For example: "slept like a baby" or "as light as a cloud".

4. Colloquialism:

Colloquialism is the device used to fit a more informal environment. Imagine the way you talk to your friends or family. You are a lot more relaxed with them than you are in a professional setting, say work or university.

Colloquialism is especially important for dialogues as your characters are not going to be speaking formally with each other all the time.

For example: Words like "wanna", "gonna" are used in dialogue to show how a character talks. Moreover, a lot of time, people don't pronounce the 'g' in '—ing' words which is another easy way of showing how your characters talk; talkin', goin', etc.

5. Imagery:

Easy, effective, engaging — imagery is a common and useful tool that can help you with descriptions.

Imagery is a device used for descriptive writing as it triggers your reader's senses. We have five senses — touch, smell, hearing, seeing and taste. Using imagery will invoke these senses in your readers and they will be able to put themselves into the world you're creating for them.

For example: "The house reeked of alcohol, the windows deeply ingrained with dirt. The wooded floor creaked with every step he took. When he came across the plate of cake left unattended on the dining table, he almost retched at the thought of how it would've tasted."

6. Amplification:

Amplification is a literary device used to emphasise on the importance of something being conveyed. Amplification uses a detailed extension of an already understandable sentence/word/phrase to add more to it's value.

Amplification can be used in both descriptions and dialogue based on it's requirement. If you're writing a character that's dramatic, they may resort to using amplification to focus on their POV. If you're writing a serious scene, they you may use amplification to describe the essence of it.

For example: "You could be the richest man alive, have a closet full of designer brands, line up a hundred lambos, wear the most expensive shoes ever made, eat Michelin star meals, sleep in the finest of silks, date the most beautiful of women, but you still won't be happy unless you've actually worked on yourself."

Designer brands, expensive shoes, lavish cars are all self-given details that we'd understand once we read the phrase "richest man alive", but those details are still written to add importance to the point being made about working on oneself.

7. Tone:

Tone is a tool you use when writing about the subject in question. Tone involves a particular incident/scene/circumstance on your work where there is a shift in the general ambience only until the subject matter is resolved.

For example, if you're writing a romantic comedy and your two main leads have fought recently, then instead of your general liveliness, you will write a bit dully to show that your characters are going through some problems. This will go on until your characters make up.

**NOTE: Tone and Mood are not the same thing. I will make a post soon about the difference between tone and mood too.

Hope this helps!

-ashlee

[joyinunderland]

Aziraphale’s personality type -MBTI

INFJ vs ISFJ

Ok, so, I just had a thought.

You know MBTI personalities, right? On Pdb it is said that Aziraphale is an ISFJ, but I don’t completely agree with that, and I was wondering what you guys think.

My take on this is that he’s an INFJ (chatGPT thinks the same, but anyway), but I’m still not entirely sure.

First of all, just remember that for INFJ we have Ni-Fe-Ti-Se, while for ISFJ we have Si-Fe-Ti-Ne. This means that the biggest difference between these two types can be found in the dominant function, which is introverted intuition for INFJ and introverted sensing for ISFJ. But what does this mean? Basically, INFJs are better at seeing the bigger picture, while ISFJs are better at noticing the little details. For beginners in the field of MBTI, the difference can be reduced to intuition vs sensation.

As for personal experience, I believe INFJs are more prone to forgiving others because they put themselves completely in the other person’s shoes; while ISFJs’ kind of forgiveness seems to come more from the way they observe from the outside the other person. So, I would say they have a different kind of empathy: the former more overwhelming and personal, the latter more “rational” and detached.

Now, I don’t think I will be able to come to an actual conclusion before seeing season 3. Mostly because we still have to see, in my opinion, the real personality traits of this character. What I mean is, Aziraphale has been through a lot of religious trauma, so it’s difficult to understand whether his choices come from that or from his actual personality. We can only guess and speculate and try to find patterns.

As an INFJ, I personally see a lot of myself in him. I just rewatched the scene of the Church in London, 1941. We all remember Aziraphale’s reaction to realising that Crowley had protected the books for him. Usually, the angel is the one taking care of others without expecting anything in return, no one ever thinks of doing something for him and he doesn’t even expect anything. But in that moment he realised that the demon did care about him. For the first time in ages, Aziraphale probably felt seen, understood, cared for, with such a simple yet important action. Well, that’s how basically every single INFJ feels everyday: always caring for others, no one notices what you do, no one thanks you, no one does anything for you. But then, you find that one person that is different, and damn, that person can really change your life.

But let’s go back to facts. We know for a fact that Aziraphale always has a plan, but he waits because he knows that Crowley will come to his rescue. We also know that the angel strongly believes that things can be changed and that he in particular can change them. He has a strong sense of faith and hope, and I don’t mean religious faith, we know he’s been losing that for a while now, but he has faith in humanity, in people, in himself and in Crowley. He has hope that Heaven will be a better place. I personally see all of these characteristics as a show more of an Ni function rather than an Si: he’s more concentrated on the future possibility rather than the present reality.

But again, I won’t be able to tell for sure until season 3 is released, I have to understand what drives him, I have to see all the actual motivations that have led him to the choice he made and, mostly, I have to see who he will become, ‘cause only after he’s healed from his religious trauma he’ll be 100% himself.

Good, if you’ve read all of this long analysis (which took me like an hour to write), GOOD JOB, get a cookie, you deserve it.

Let me know what you think, I am really curious and I’ve always wanted to know what the fandom thinks about this.

Lots of love!

[ilynpilled]

what do you think of valonqar Jaime? Do you think it's going to happen?

This is going to be very long, and will discuss a lot of things. Sorry in advance. Also do not expect anything truly conclusive either.

To preface: Alright, so I am not big on theory crafting and focusing all my energy on predicting what events will or will not happen. I have many different reasons for this. I think a lot of this fandom expects “endgames” to be all encompassing character defining moments. They want easy answers to questions they have set themselves. Even though this is not at all how this series functions to me. Sure, a death and an ending can speak to a character, but it will not be defining, especially in the cases of the major characters. If that was the case, our main and only takeaway from Ned’s story should be how his failure to play the game got him to lose his head because #thisisnotlikeotherfantasies here the #hero #dies, being the honorable protagonist = death. That is clearly not the only point. It is those of who view this story as nihilistic torture porn that believe this. Its realism, that should never be misunderstood as nihilism, does not set out to deal divine justice to all of its characters based on a concoction of all of their moral choices. Especially the PoV characters. For instance, much of the reason I find the theme of “the heroism lies in the attempt” so profound is because it frames heroism as defined by acts DESPITE of this reality. So on a meta textual level, these characters do not act motivated by receiving rewards from the narrative.

“My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results... but it is the effort that's heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight.”

This is the thesis conveyed through moments like “No chance, and no choice.”

This fight he is referring is to is the macro, with characters destined to try and enact radical change that truly challenges the very structure of the world that they are inhabiting. But I also think it can be applied to the micro: internal battles. There are so many characters in this series that are battling themselves primarily. George uses the canvas of a feudal society to have his characters carve out their identity in a world of rigid constructs full contradictions. The characters’ heart will always be at conflict with itself, but he aims to achieve the same with the readers’.

I do not think we should expect George to provide us with a completely conclusive answer to what we should take away about some of his ‘protagonists’, or how we should ultimately feel about them. This is why it bothers me that so much of what governs conversations regarding Jaime’s endgame, and the valonqar theory specifically, is the word “redemption”. This need to reduce this complex character and his journey to a word that is essentially a media trope drives me nuts. It always goes on to become an argument of “he is on a journey of redemption” (sure, whatever that means), “no, actually he is on a journey of subverting redemption. the point is that you are being tricked!!!” (ok, feels dismissive), “no, it is a subversion of the subversion!” (ok enough). The way these labels are used all feel like a reductionist idea of an arc. What is “redemption” even supposed to mean here? Why do we expect George to decide this for us and set it in stone? So much of Jaime is about perception, contradictions, and complex moral dilemmas with no easy answers. Why would any part of his endgame or choices of great importance down the line be not that? I think Jaime’s attempts at change, and the decisions he makes in pursuit of redefining his self concept, be it successful or not, should be the ultimate deciding factor for the reader in what they make of him, not just where he ends up (as with most of the characters).

“One of the things I wanted to explore with Jaime, and with so many of the characters, is the whole issue of redemption. When can we be redeemed? Is redemption even possible? I don’t have an answer. But when do we forgive people?” “I don’t know the answer, but these are questions worth thinking about. I want there to be a possibility of redemption for us, because we all do terrible things. We should be able to be forgiven. Because if there is no possibility of redemption, what’s the answer then?” - GRRM

Does not sound very concrete to me. This is an idea that does not even have to extracted from his interviews, it is written all over this series.

"If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil." - Mel vs “A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward. You were a hero and a smuggler." - Stannis

"Most deserve to be forgotten. The heroes will always be remembered. The best." - Loras vs                “The best and the worst."..."And a few who were a bit of both.” - Jaime

I also think another reason I avoid putting much effort into forming ideas of what will happen is because I do not really gain that much satisfaction in guessing an event happening. I much prefer to pick apart the event once it happens. Because these events will be complex with a lot of implications. Knowing the “if” or “it” without the “how” and the “why” is whatever to me. Of course so many of the mysteries are fun to address in your head, I’m just hesitant to come to conclusions about them without actually reading how the events play out and are written.  Also I think a lot of it is just people being more insistent on just pulling whatever out of symbolism and twisting lines into that of vague foreshadowing rather than looking at the grander structure and what would make sense thematically.

Now that that is over with, I am gonna actually tackle this question. This is gonna be Jaime & Cersei endgame discussion, not just the valonqar. 

CW: discussion of abuse, violence, suicide, incest, you know the drill with this topic.

To me, Jaime valonqar certainly leans towards the “how” and “why” rather than the “if”. The main reason I am really leaning towards Jaime is because I really cannot see another as thematically meaningful alternative. I’d personally hate it if it were Loras or some other “little brother” (Aegon, Victarion etc). I think a lot of the parallels that are in the text that are used to argue that Loras is a candidate for instance are primarily there to juxtapose the Tyrells and the Lannisters more than anything. Like I do not know how that would really serve Cersei’s character. After all, that is who this is most relevant to, it would be her conclusion for certain. Tyrion is a red herring for Cersei, which is extremely important. The narrative being in accordance with Cersei’s paranoia about him (she also tends convince herself of it using ableism) would not work for me, sorry.  Jaime is very likely, but if it is not him, I would only really accept it to be Cersei herself. Part of it is the desire to not have her death be her being overpowered and killed by an ex. Obviously, I do not know how that would work, the prophecy would have to become less literal. Maybe she poisons herself with the strangler in an act of suicide, as everything collapses around her, as an act of tragic agency and addition to the poetic nature of her downfall being self inflicted. This route makes me think of Ibsen’s (the father of realism in theatre) Hedda Gabler. I see a lot of parallels between these characters, with how their nature, nurture, and the patriarchal systems they inhabit affect them. This play gradually deconstructs Hedda as both a victim and a perpetrator, whose actions are influenced by the patriarchy that suppresses her identity and inner desires, rendering her inhuman. Ibsen comments on the destructive capacity of static social constructs by creating a character that turns into the devil of the story due to a world that ceaselessly strips her of her humanity, very much like Cersei. An essential aspect in making Hedda into a functional character is not removing her agency. Ibsen demonstrates an understanding that being a perpetrator does not negate her victimhood, and vice versa. She still makes choices. It is Hedda’s stubbornness and power hunger that leave her to her ruin in a world that does not allow her the ‘freedom’ or ‘power’ that she desperately desires (again, much like Cersei). This part could become confusing if you are not familiar with the play, but when Lovborg “loses” his manuscript, Hedda knowingly withholds her knowledge of its location in an attempt to control Lovborg’s destiny (gain control over others bc she has no true autonomy as a woman, again, much like Cersei). Lovborg refers to his manuscript as his and Thea’s child, saying that he would rather destroy it than leave it in evil hands. He says to Hedda: “But to kill his child—that is not the worst thing a father can do to it”. By this statement, Ibsen makes a parallel to Hedda’s life and her relationship with her father. Her father abandoned her and sentenced her to the life of a woman in a world that is restrictive and cruel. This has similarities to Cersei’s relationship with Tywin, and how much of a presence he, his conditioning, as well as how he used her in bridal slavery to gain political power, has in her life. Lovborg continues with: “The devil knows into what hands it may have fallen—who may have had their clutches on it.” The devil’s hands in the case of Hedda’s life is the static social contruct of gender. In the same way that the manuscript is trapped in Hedda’s clutches, she is trapped in a patriarchal system. The dramatic irony of Hedda becoming the devil whose hands the transcript has fallen into demonstrates the results of these static social constructs that turn the victim into a perpetrator. A perpetrator that burns the manuscript representing hope in the story and kills her child in the process of freeing herself from the world through suicide. Hedda ultimately kills herself to not let the men in her life rule over her, shape her into what she is not, and not accept her defeat.  I acknowledge that there are a lot of problematic aspects in framing a suicide as the only means of escape for Cersei from the patriarchy, but I think it would function well thematically.

I agree that a lot of the intrigue about the prophecy comes down to Cersei misunderstanding it, and it being Jaime would be something she does not see coming, hence it would function very well. But what if she starts to suspect him too?


“No one knows. We've had no further word of him. The woman may have been the Evenstar's daughter, Lady Brienne." Her. The queen remembered the Maid of Tarth, a huge, ugly, shambling thing who dressed in man's mail. Jaime would never abandon me for such a creature. My raven never reached him, elsewise he would have come.


Like she is currently overdosing on copium, but what if her character goes down a path of complete paranoia when this fact becomes more of a certainty that she cannot deny? What if her paranoia about the valonqar is what drives her to become her own valonqar? I think that irony would function very well too, especially in a self-fulfilling Oedipus kind of way. As for the pronouns subject, maybe it speaks to the constructs of gender that is such a primary focus in Cersei’s story, and how she always craved to be a man, or at least have what a man does in this society. However my issue with this is the “little brother” part. Truly there has to be some major mental gymnastics done here to make that fit neatly. Maybe there are multiple valonqars contributing to her downfall simultaneously, including Jaime? And they are not physically present to kill her, they are just causing the downfall of her regime, “choking her” with their armies? Maybe the valonqar part was never real, and that is the real tragedy of all of it? Do not want to over-complicate this, so I am leaving it here. Again, requires a lot of mental gymnastics to justify this scenario, which speaks to its unlikelihood. 

Thematically, what needs to happen is for their romanticized idea of “one soul in two bodies, going from womb to tomb” to be subverted, because obviously it is a narrative that has been deconstructed and proved to be a belief system they made up to justify themselves and what they gain from the relationship (my post elaborating on it here: link). This subversion can happen with a murder/suicide, Jaime killing her and then living on, Jaime living on and even being potentially destroyed by that decision etc. It can also be subverted by it not happening at all, as in one of them dies alone, tragically reflecting on this very belief, calling attention to their “other half’s” notable absence. So a complete divergence in regards to their characters would also work. I am pretty much okay with literally everything, if it is executed well, except for what happened in the show lmao.

Anyway, if Jaime valonqar happens, it will have to be a very loaded decision. I do not think it will be motivated by angry revenge because of the infidelity, as I do not view Jaime’s anger towards Cersei as exclusively rooted in her infidelity to begin with (plus if that was the case how come he did not do it already). The misogynistic rage is very much present though, I just do not think Jaime would actually resort to murdering someone like Cersei purely motivated by rage as a result of that betrayal, especially in his current state. He makes threats in his head constantly, but like his confrontation with Lancel, they do not come to fruition. "Only a fool makes threats he's not prepared to carry out.” is to me a very ironic line with this man.

However:

"How is Cersei? As beautiful as ever?"

"Radiant." Fickle. "Golden." False as fool's gold. Last night he dreamed he'd found her fucking Moon Boy. He'd killed the fool and smashed his sister's teeth to splinters with his golden hand, just as Gregor Clegane had done to poor Pia. In his dreams Jaime always had two hands (interesting); one was made of gold, but it worked just like the other. "The sooner we are done with Riverrun, the sooner I'll be back at Cersei's side." What Jaime would do then he did not know.

Then two Jaime chapters later:

Ser Ilyn drew a finger across his throat.

"No," said Jaime. "Tommen has lost a brother, and the man he thought of as his father. If I were to kill his mother, he would hate me for it . . . and that sweet little wife of his would find a way to turn that hatred to the benefit of Highgarden."

Ser Ilyn smiled in a way Jaime did not like. An ugly smile. An ugly soul. (very interesting part of the quote, read this wonderful meta about what Ilyn represents and you can come to your conclusions about it: link, not getting into it here)

Of course, taking Jaime’s words at face value is not how it works with him. This goes both ways, good and bad. Jaime is a character that often purposefully deludes himself. That in itself is a major character flaw, but it is different from taking all his words and thoughts at face value. Things that actually bother Jaime tend to be things that he completely represses and forms different narratives in his head for, to cope. The reason he does this is because he feels doubt about them. They are things that actually threaten his view of the world (like the amoral nihilism he justifies himself for having bc contradictions, flawed moral constructs, the impossibility of being a true knight, life being shit, his romanticization of his relationship with cersei etc) and most of this guilt or things he is in denial over he only manages to actually start to confront in dreams, a way of his subconscious mind to communicate with his conscious mind (attraction to Brienne, guilt over Rhaegar’s children, his concern with how he is perceived, the death of his mother, what he and Cersei became.) Before he can confront them consciously, he often does so subconsciously. This applies to his violent anger towards Cersei. The self-deluding can also apply to his attachment to her, that I think is still there, and his reasoning for not killing her is not exclusively what he claims here. If it was, and that is what is stopping him, Tommen is soon to be dead anyway. melrosing’s interpretation also rings true to me though regarding the themes of the futility of vengeance that is so prevalent in ASOIAF, and how a lot of his thoughts of vengeance seem to come to a dead end. It would not make him into a person he is thriving to be, but a person of the likes of The Mountain and Aegon the Unworthy, as he subconsciously points out. His loudly proclaimed future revenge against Vargo Hoat & co. also went nowhere for him (the brutality of what happens to Vargo Hoat kind of disgusts him, in fact, “somehow revenge had lost its savor ”- Jaime III, AFfC). After all, it is not gonna bring his hand back, I fear. Neither would just killing Cersei and closing that relationship make him a good person. Currently, a feeling represented in his actions regarding Cersei’s possible death and the letter is disillusionment. There is an acceptance that she has been spiraling and that their fates are not entwined. There is also an aspect of grief, if you read the snowflake in that one line as a tear. But it is not complete detachment. She is still lingering at the back of his mind in ADwD. Could be argued that this is a force of habit that he manages to push away for the first time, and then chooses to go in a different direction all together, away from her. The point is, Jaime has notably changed. So did Cersei. And so did their relationship. Jaime being so hung up on her cheating currently to me also speaks to his reluctance to face that this relationship was always very broken in its foundation, and that so many of their justifications and acts to sustain it were abhorrent. Jaime’s really has to come to terms with how this reflects on him as an individual.

"The things I do for love," he said with loathing.

"If I'd let kingslaying become a habit, as he liked to say, I could have taken you as my wife for all the world to see. I'm not ashamed of loving you, only of the things I've done to hide it. That boy at Winterfell . . ."

“They fought for half the night . . . well, Cersei fought, and Robert drank. Past midnight, the queen summoned me inside. The king was passed out snoring on the Myrish carpet. I asked my sister if she wanted me to carry him to bed. She told me I should carry her to bed, and shrugged out of her robe. I took her on Raymun Darry's bed after stepping over Robert. If His Grace had woken I would have killed him there and then. He would not have been the first king to die upon my sword . . . but you know that story, don't you?" He slashed at a tree branch, shearing it in half. "As I was fucking her, Cersei cried, 'I want.' I thought that she meant me, but it was the Stark girl that she wanted, maimed or dead." The things I do for love. "It was only by chance that Stark's own men found the girl before me. If I had come on her first . . ." The pockmarks on Ser Ilyn's face were black holes in the torchlight, as dark as Jaime's soul.

There is certainly an awareness in Jaime about the vile things he has done. He has self hatred about it, this to me is clear. He justified it to himself in the name of this relationship. But as he changed, as the relationship was deconstructed, and as he learned of the infidelity  (which represents a hole in the illusion he made inside of his head), it fully crumbles. Now he has many more things to reflect.

Also, there is a clear set up of paralleling Cersei with Aerys, doubt that is not building up to something. Do not think this would not play a part in the valonqar situation: “Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said. The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him.”

I also believe that AFfC, the letter burning, them being “effectively estranged” according to George, could be about how their relationship had moved past a point of return, rather than closing completely. Like this does not mean to me that they will no longer hold relevance in each other’s narratives, or that they will not meet ever again. I think the romantic aspect is over, but I also think they will need to ‘conclude’ their relationship in some form and meet again with this change being the new normal. Hence she is still present in his thoughts in the ADwD chapter. Though I very much understand the preference to have that conclusion be him just no longer associating with Cersei anymore, for both of their sake.

“And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”

The strangling certainly has very violent implications, but I genuinely have no idea about the logistics of a one handed man wrapping his “hands” around her neck, if we are meant to take that literally. There is the hand of the king chain theory, which has merit (like his offhand threat of strangling Sybell with her seashell necklace when he is angry about Jeyne and her situation), but I think that would require Jaime to be her hand, to make the chain “his”, which I do not see happening at this point considering where their relationship is, unless Jaime tricks her. There is, again, also the strangler (poison), and that could be his weapon of choice. It could also be worded in such a way so the major point of it is the idea of intimate betrayal, with the technicalities holding less relevance, as it is more metaphorical. I also have my gripes with this part of the prophecy, and do have a desire to have it be subverted in some form. People already want her to get a brutal dehumanizing death, if it turns out to be in anyway overly gratifying (really doubt it, but let’s acknowledge that George’s writing of Cersei is not flawless when it comes to this, and Lysa’s death falls under this too) it will leave me pretty bitter.

The issues within their relationship will not be excluded from it though, like it will not JUST be a pure kingslayer 2.0 situation, that I am certain of. Like you cannot extract the history of that relationship from such an act. I also do not really want it just to be a purely heroic mercy kill where we put down the mad woman like old yeller, for very obvious reasons. Anyways, regardless of the circumstances, then we might be left with Jaime and the aftermath, as this will no doubt impact his character if he lives on. 

Some people remove the potential of the kingslayer parallel from it by moving it away from KL (and the caches of wildfire) to Casterly Rock. I know of the theory that the twins will die like the Reynes, and that is when the valonqar will come to fruition. Not really sold on it. Read a post that put it similarly: I completely get the thematic appeal of Tywin legacy collapsing upon itself, but I just do not think that holds as much weight character wise for the twins. I don’t think it is as monumental in Jaime and Cersei’s narratives. Jaime actively rejected it, and Cersei’s desires and arc are located at KL, her status as queen and her children dying under the weight of their crowns, so I think it is more fitting for her eventual demise to be there. I just feel that the two of them left the place behind them multiple times with the choices they made, unlike Tyrion who is very fixated on it, and whose character it holds a lot of significance to. Him near destroying it will serve just as well for this idea of Tywin’s own children bringing his legacy to a ruin.

Anyway, what I want for the Lannister siblings is a more of an active role in destroying the Lannister legacy (be it with the intention of doing so or not) rather than just going down in flames with it. I also think a lot of this theory relies on a very literal read of Jaime’s weirwood dream, which is primarily metaphorical and about his conscience anyway, not to mention the way that dream goes does not really fit with it either because JC end up separated in it, as in she leaves/dies before him, at least that is how I read it. It also does not completely rule out the possibility of dying with Cersei after killing her, again it is very open to interpretation in my eyes.

The reason I am hesitant to believe that they will die together is a combination of things, the dream included. I am certain everybody already covered this, but I am putting it in here for the sake of practicality. It will be surface level analysis so bear with me, I just want to speed through it.

“What place is this?” “Your place.” The voice echoed; it was a hundred voices, a thousand, the voices of all the Lannisters since Lann the Clever, who’d lived at the dawn of days. But most of all it was his father’s voice, and beside Lord Tywin stood his sister, pale and beautiful, a torch burning in her hand. Joffrey was there as well, the son they’d made together, and behind them a dozen more dark shapes with golden hair.” “Us? This is your place, Brother. This is your darkness.” Her torch was the only light in the cavern. Her torch was the only light in the world. She turned to go. “Stay with me,” Jaime pleaded. “Don’t leave me here alone.” But they were leaving. “Don’t leave me in the dark!” “The flames will burn so long as you live,” he heard Cersei call. “When they die, so must you.” “Sister!” he shouted. “Stay with me. Stay!” There was no reply but the soft sound of retreating footsteps.”

This segment represents the Lannister legacy. Cersei abandons him to join the Lannisters, all of whom named are dead at this point. She as a character does not attempt to distance herself from the Lannister legacy, and more-so embraces it, because it is the only way she knows she could attain and sustain the power she craves. With Jaime, his relationship is more complicated with it. (Here is some analysis of color symbolism to elaborate on it: link)

“In this light she could almost be a beauty, he thought. In this light she could almost be a knight. Brienne’s sword took flame as well, burning silvery blue. The darkness retreated a little more.”

A new light and a new purpose is made for Jaime. That purpose being Brienne and the example she represents. His character is established to have purpose past his relationship with Cersei. He made Cersei his “maiden”, co-dependently making her his purpose. She was made into an ideal, an ideal that covered up the flaws that the Lannisters represent: power hunger, apathy, exceptionalism, brutality, etc. His story might not end with hers. However, now Brienne is the new ideal. I think the context of these two relationships are very distinct, so I do not think his romanticization of her is the same. I also think how he views Brienne and her ‘pure morality’ will be challenged through LSH, when even she will be placed in situations where she must make choices that bloody her hands. This will probably lead to the more nuanced conclusions on morality and knighthood. Long Night: I am not sure how this will go, how long Cersei will live etc. However, I am fairly certain of Jaime having involvement in the Long Night. The fact that George spends time on him training again as a competent fighter feels like a chekhov’s gun that will have purpose past a LSH confrontation, not to mention the whole Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail thing for JB. Widow’s Wail, which was just an #edgelord naming by Joff, also feels like a rather ironic name considering valonqar.

Anyway, when we look at the prophetic weirwood dream, a lot of Jaime’s trauma is presented with imagery of the Long Night and fighting The Others. Sure, it is metaphorical for his internal battle, but the packaging is deliberate:

“They were armored all in snow, it seemed to him, and ribbons of mist swirled back from their shoulders. ”

“The shades dismounted from their ghostly horses. When they drew their longswords, it made not a sound. ”

“The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne’s burned, as the ghosts came rushing in.”

Another instance from his second ASOS chapter:

In his dreams the dead came burning, gowned in swirling green flames. Jaime danced around them with a golden sword, but for every one he struck down two more arose to take his place.

Same is the case for Brienne’s own dreams and how her trauma is conveyed:

“she dreamed about the men she'd killed. They danced around her, mocking her, pinching at her as she slashed at them with her sword. She cut them all to bloody ribbons, yet still they swarmed around her . . .”

After all, “the night is dark and full of terrors, and so are dreams.”

So yeah, flaming swords are just the tip of the iceberg.

In terms of Jaime’s ending: The weirwood dream certainly hints at him not surviving, but it is also very intentionally open. His ‘prophecy’ certainly feels less set in stone than Cersei’s. Especially with Cersei’s words being plural, with only his flame going out at the end: “the flames will burn so long as you live” “when they die so must you”.

“The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne’s burned, as the ghosts came rushing in”

Whether that be literal, as in he falls in the fight against the Others, or metaphorical, that he succumbs to his conscience and self hatred in some way (“ghosts” of his past, the impact of valonqar can be relevant here). The point is that Brienne’s light is still burning. She will carry his legacy, with a next generation of knights. That legacy will be the conclusion of the series’s deconstruction of knighthood, that Brienne carries with her. A conclusion they came to together through their journey. (my metas about it: link, link)

If he lives, I would be fine with him taking the black, or being attached to a duty that he does not desire to serve the realm for the rest of his life as atonement. Wouldn’t be crazy about him living happily ever after on Tarth because I do not think it would fit with the series, nor do I feel like that is necessary for the romance between Jaime and Brienne to be incredibly meaningful and thematically fulfilling.

And that concludes my thoughts. Hope this satisfies you, anon. I am never having another thought again, this took all the energy out of me.

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

so: masking: good, unequivocally. please mask and please educate others on why they should mask to make the world safer for immune compromised people to participate in.

however: masking is not my policy focus and it shouldn't be yours, either. masking is a very good mitigation against droplet-born illnesses and a slightly less effective (but still very good) mitigation against airborne illnesses, but its place in the pyramid of mitigation demands is pretty low, for several reasons:

it's an individual mitigation, not a systemic one. the best mitigations to make public life more accessible affect everyone without distributing the majority of the effort among individuals (who may not be able to comply, may not have access to education on how to comply, or may be actively malicious).

it's a post-hoc mitigation, or to put it another way, it's a band-aid over the underlying problem. even if it was possible to enforce, universal masking still wouldn't address the underlying problem that it is dangerous for sick people and immune compromised people to be in the same public locations to begin with. this is a solvable problem! we have created the societal conditions for this problem!

here are my policy focuses:

upgraded air filtration and ventilation systems for all public buildings. appropriate ventilation should be just as bog-standard as appropriately clean running water. an indoor venue without a ventilation system capable of performing 5 complete air changes per hour should be like encountering a public restroom without any sinks or hand sanitizer stations whatsoever.

enforced paid sick leave for all employees until 3-5 days without symptoms. the vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through industry sectors where employees come into work while experiencing symptoms. a taco bell worker should never be making food while experiencing strep throat symptoms, even without a strep diagnosis.

enforced virtual schooling options for sick students. the other vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through schools. the proximity of so many kids and teenagers together indoors (with little to no proper ventilation and high levels of physical activity) means that if even one person comes to school sick, hundreds will be infected in the following few days. those students will most likely infect their parents as well. allowing students to complete all readings and coursework through sites like blackboard or compass while sick will cut down massively on disease transmission.

accessible testing for everyone. not just for COVID; if there's a test for any contagious illness capable of being performed outside of lab conditions, there should be a regulated option for performing that test at home (similar to COVID rapid tests). if a test can only be performed under lab conditions, there should be a government-subsidized program to provide free of charge testing to anyone who needs it, through urgent cares and pharmacies.

the last thing to note is that these things stack; upgraded ventilation systems in all public buildings mean that students and employees get sick less often to begin with, making it less burdensome for students and employees to be absent due to sickness, and making it more likely that sick individuals will choose to stay home themselves (since it's not so costly for them).

masking is great! keep masking! please use masking as a rhetorical "this is what we can do as individuals to make public life safer while we're pushing for drastic policy changes," and don't get complacent in either direction--don't assume that masking is all you need to do or an acceptable forever-solution, and equally, don't fall prey to thinking that pushing for policy change "makes up" for not masking in public. it's not a game with scores and sides; masking is a material thing you can do to help the individual people you interact with one by one, and policy changes are what's going to make the entirety of public life safer for all immune compromised people.

[sincerelyneo]

will you be reposting the jeno fic you had on your old blog? it was my fave 🥺

here it is <3

fireproof | l.jn

“‘cause no body saves me baby the way you do”

💿now playing: fireproof by one direction

❯ summary: Your brother Jaemin loves throwing parties when your parents aren’t home — but you hate it. In an attempt to escape the loud music and sweaty bodies you try and head out. But there’s no way your brother’s best friend, Jeno, is letting you wander around the streets so late.

❯ pairings: jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, brother’s best friend, college!au

❯ words: 8.4k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, masturbation, minor mentions of drug use, drinking, marking, slight protective brother jaemin, begging, spanking, mentions of marking, unprotected sex (don't do this!), oral sex (m/f receiving), fingering, reader uses she/her pronouns, jeno fucks his best friend’s little sister.

a/n: i changed the title hehehe

This party fucking sucks.

You’re not even drunk. The vodka is watered down, you're sure of it. Your friends ditched you about half an hour ago — disappearing with some of the guys they had been speaking to and seeing. 

"Come to the party with us, they said." You mimic to yourself into your plastic cup. "It'll be fun, they said." 

You scoff taking another swig but pull your face at the awful taste that lingers in your mouth. There are better things you could be doing on a Saturday night, you think. You’re almost positive you saw a new show released on Netflix today. Or better yet, you could be reading some sort of erotic novel that would spice up your Saturday night more than this shit.

But the thing is, this party is at your own fucking house.

Your brother is throwing it. 

Every time your parents go away for one weekend he can’t help but jump at the opportunity to trash the place. You don't see why he can't just have a few of the boys around, have some beers and then call it a night. But no, that isn't exactly Jaemin’s style. 

Of course, he has to invite a bunch of random weirdos that seem to be snorting cocaine off of every surface in this house, and smoking whatever kind of weed they could find. And sure, you’re not impartial to a good night but this... this is not your idea of a good night.

At all.

Sighing, you push through the masses of people, seeing the sweaty bodies that are dry humping one another or eating each other's faces off so much you feel like you’re going to throw up at the sight. 

Stopping in your tracks, you reach into the back pocket of your denim jeans to pull out your phone, seeing that it is half-past midnight. If you know Jaemin — and you did — this was only the beginning of the night. The party is definitely far from over.

Fuck sake.

You put your phone back in your pocket and continue to manoeuvre around the bodies in the hallway. Your stomach growls and you think about how you're drinking on an empty stomach. The only thing open at this time is a Mcdonald's but you don't necessarily want to be that person that sits in McDonald's by themselves on a Saturday night. 

Still, you head for your front door and try your luck at an escape. As you reach your hand out to grab the door handle you smash headfirst into a body. Well to be more specific a chest. A hard chest.

"Ow, fuck!" You lift your hand up, rubbing your forehead.

"Sorry little Na, didn't see you there." You immediately recognise that voice. The deep slowness in which he talks. It’s the only voice that has a straight hotline to your core. 

Yeah, you couldn't ever forget that voice.

You stop rubbing your head and slowly look up, following the lines of his muscled chest that you can see through the tight white t-shirt he's wearing with a pair of denim jeans and converse. Yes you had already checked him out tonight, but you’re only human. And when your eyes meet that sharp jawline, hollowed-out cheekbones and those damming brown eyes, you involuntarily clench your thighs together.

You shun yourself because you know you can’t have him. And that’s the reason why you hate him. 

He's your brother’s best friend.

Lee fucking Jeno.

The worst man on this planet. for many reasons like for one he’s insanely hot. Like too hot. Who on this planet even needs to be that hot? But to make it worse he knows he's hot. Girls are always flying off his arm fueling his ego. He's also selfish and arrogant. 

But the reason you hate him the most, the reason you despise him so much, and avoid him at all costs is because of the burning need — it's past being a want it's a fucking need — to just devour him. Every part of you screams out whenever he is in the same room. 

And you hate it.

You have zero control over your words and actions with him — and he knows it with how much you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of him over the years. Your cheeks tend to grow red without your permission, and oh does he love to point that out.

Ever since your brother brought him home in his first year of high school, they have been inseparable — and you’ve been madly in love.

Well, you’re not in love with the boy. You just, you know, want to rip his clothes off. And let him fuck the living daylights out of you.

"Aw, there they are." He distracts you from your thoughts. 

His eyes are burning straight through you. As if he can tell what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling. And right now, you have very infuriating dampness in your panties that wasn't there 30 seconds ago. 

"Those rosy cheeks, are they for me, little Na?" You swat his hand away as it attempts to reach up to caress your cheek or some stupid shit like that.

"Stop that Jeno!” You snap at him, getting angry is your default with him.

It the perfect remedy to keep him away from you, so you don't do something stupid like fuck your brother’s best friend

“Please just get out my way.” 

"Such a pleasant girl, aren't you?" He winks. 

He fucking winks, and your pussy screams in delight. If you were any other girl, you’d be swooning right now. You’d be on your knees begging for it. 

Well, you won't be on your  knees for him.

Ever.

Especially not tonight.

"Just get out of my way, Jeno,” you push him rather hard. 

You knew it wouldn't make him budge if he didn't want it too but he dramatically moved out of your way of the door. You yank it open and dart through onto the front lawn. Halfway down the driveway, a sharp tug on your arm spins you around and you’re  faced with Jeno... again.

"Fuck sake, what do you want?" You shake your arm out of his grip but he doesn't let go. 

You give up, huffing and dropping your shoulders. The two of you are just staring at each other, so much so that you didn't even realise how close you really were. Your chests are almost touching, there is a hair width between you. And due to your height, if you looked forwards you’d be looking at the bottom of his neck, right where you see him gulp before meeting your eyes again. They seem to burn into yours, suddenly growing intense. 

He is the first to look away but he doesn't just look away, no. You watch as his eyes flash down to your lips. Your breath hitches, he sees that and when he looks back to your eyes again, he flashes you a knowing smirk.

Motherfucker. 

"Come back inside." He says as he throws his head to the side, signalling to your house.

"No," you all but stomp your foot.

"You're such a fucking brat, you know that right?" He growls, closing that gap so that your chests touch. There’s an electricity running through you, begging for him. 

"I'm not a fucking brat, I just don't want to be here at this shitty party!” 

You don't break his eye contact, chests still touching. He can sure as hell feel each heavy breath you take and probably every beat of your heart that seems to have sped up since he moved closer.

"Just go inside, go to your room, anything. Just don't fucking leave, your brother would have my balls if I let you go out alone this late at night.” 

You roll your eyes at the mention of your brother. You love him, you really do, but hearing the word brother leaves Jeno’s lips reminds you exactly why he’s even here.

It’s not for you — it’s for Jaemin’s sake. 

"I don't see why either of you care, you've got plenty of booze and girls to keep you occupied to not even notice me gone,” you stand your ground, trying to tug your arm once again but he still won't let go.

However, he has loosened his grip so it isn't so harsh, but it's still locked around your wrist. In fact, you’re sure you feel him drawing little circles on the inner skin with his thumb and that thought alone has you squirming no matter how much you try to ignore it. 

"I think I'd always notice when you're not there," Jeno says under his breath, his face lowering to yours. 

If you didn't know better then you’d think he was about to kiss you. But that can't happen. Can it? 

Everything but your core is saying no. Your whole body is screaming to open up your mouth and say please. But you ignore it — you always do— and try to keep a brave face. But as he gets so close, too close, your eyes automatically flutter shut.

You expect his lips to graze yours but they don't, instead, you feel his cheek against you , only faintly, as his lips skim your ear lobe.

"I think I'd always notice when you're not there because there won't be some childish little brat moaning about not getting her own way." 

Your eyes shoot open as he pulls back, laughing at your flushing cheeks. Your eyes narrow as you finally tug your arm hard enough this time that he has no choice but to release you. 

"I do not moan about not getting my own way and I am not childish nor a brat,” you sneer at him. 

"Sure,-" he huffs, laughing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever you say." 

"Why can’t you just go inside and leave me alone,” you cross your own arms over your chest. 

"No can do." He stands there like some sort of bouncer, you look to your right and see the path only a few steps away. He watches you and says a low, demanding, "Don't." 

But you do it. 

You spin on your heel and run for it. But you only make it two steps before two large arms are wrapped around your waist from behind and you’re being sprung back into a hard chest. Jeno’s one arm sits tightly around your waist, his fingers digging into your hip and you squirm against him. To stop your wriggling, his other hand flies up to grab a hold of your throat, tilting your head back to the rest of his shoulder. 

His eyes flash to his hand around your neck and he takes a deep breath that causes his eyes to flutter shut. Then you feel something growing behind you causing your own eyes to grow wide. He leans forward, lips skimming yours barely. 

“I said don't." It sounded more like a growl than anything and a small whimper escaped your lips. "Are you going to walk inside or am I going to have to carry you?" He whispers still close to your mouth. If you lifted your head slightly, you’d be kissing.

"I'm not going back inside." You sternly reply, he just laughs and his hold loosens on you. 

But he doesn’t free you. Instead he throws you clean over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. 

“Put. Me. Down. Jeno." You scream, hitting his back, but he doesn't listen. Carrying on heading back inside your house. 

Your cheeks are bright red and you stop your attack on Jeno’s back and decide to clench his shirt in your fists and hide your face in it.

"What's going on here?" You hear Jaemin’s voice and your head flies up.

"Your sister tried to escape," Jeno says laughing, bending down to lower you to the ground. 

When he stood back up, you were so close your bodies touched again, your breasts rubbed against his firm chest and your nipples stiffened. His eyes glanced down to them and they darken, then he looks to you again and grabs your shoulders, spinning you around to face your brother. You automatically lifted your arms up and over your breasts to cover the obvious arousal.

"Come on Y/N, you know you can't be walking around aimlessly at night." Jaemin chastises you.

"I'm not a child Jaem," you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

"So what? Grown ass people still get kidnapped!” 

You groan, I'm going to my room." 

You push past him and head towards the stairs. You turn around seeing Jeno’s smug face knowing he’s got his own way about you coming back inside.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction. You’ll  just sneak out the window and have your perfect escape. He won't know. 

Not like he’ll come to check — right?

You spin on your heel as you hear the sound of footsteps following behind you. Jeno’s there, eyes locked on your ass until he sees you looking back down at him and then cocks his head to the side and smiles innocently. 

“What are you doing?” You spit. 

"Just making sure you actually do go to your room." He flashes his infamous eye smile that has plagued your dreams since you first met him. "And that your windows are locked. Don't want you running away now do we?" he winks at you.

He’s so irritating!

With a huff, you turn around and storm your way up the last couple of stairs, making sure your stomps are extra loud. You can just hear Jeno snickering behind you and that only rattles you even more. When you reach the landing you turn immediately and head to the last door of the hallway and pull it open, stepping inside of your bedroom. You go to slam the door shut but a sneaker covered foot stops in between preventing it.

You immediately roll your eyes and groan. 

"Leave me alone Jeno." You groan, leaning up against the door with your back, pushing it.

"Let me check your windows then I'll leave."

"What kind of request is that?” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. 

"Just let me."

"No."

The two of you enter a stare off — one you both know he’s going to win. And he does, because you don’t even let two whole minutes pass before you’re huffing out a “Fine.” 

He makes his way over to your window, making sure it's locked, then he chuckles, drawing your curtains too. The only thing lightening the room was your bedside lamp that you had an awful habit of leaving on. That, and it was the perfect deterrent to make it look like someone was in there, keeping strangers from having sex on your bed.

“All done?” You ask, breathy. 

He smirks, his eyes flashing to your lips again and you swear to god if he does that one more time you’re either going to kick him in the balls or jump on him and kiss him. 

You force yourself to take a step back and take a deep breath which makes him laugh.

"Well goodnight little Na, don't go sneaking out because I will know about it." He walks off to the door and before he exits you say,

"And how would you possibly know that?"

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes flash up and down your body, "I just will,” he winks then closes the door behind him.

You huff out and stomp your foot like a child. God you needed to grow a backbone and stop letting that idiot mess with you. 

Storming into your bathroom you slam the door shut. You strip off your clothes and turn on the shower. Whilst waiting for it to get up to temperature, you sigh. 

"Let me just lock your windows for ya." You pull a face copying him. "Want me to check that for ya?"

Once you’re done in the shower you climb out of it and dry yourself with a towel. 

"He's so fucking annoying ugh," you say to yourself as you pull the bathroom door open and saunter into your bedroom naked. 

You don't even check to see if anyone was in there, too busy ranting about him. And when you feel the cold draft of your bedroom it makes you realise you had just walked into your unlocked bedroom naked. Immediately, you covered your body remembering the party going on downstairs; but on first glance, it appeared no one was in there. Still you quickly grab your oversized grey t-shirt from the end of your bed, throwing it on over your head, but skipping your underwear. 

Your room was fairly simple with white furniture, a wooden floor, soft pink bedding, a few cuddly toys. The bed lies against the far wall, opposite the door and you leave your lamp on to have a little bit of light to help you sleep. 

Trying to fall asleep you flip over so your back faces the light. You try a few different sleep scenarios but everything keeps going back to Jeno.

And the way his hand gripped around your neck. 

You flip over again, keeping your eyes shut, yet, Jeno just waltzes into your mind continuously. Like he won't leave you alone. You feel so much anger coursing through your blood, yet you have this strange pulling into your core. 

You need to give attention to it — so you do. And as soon as you slip your hand under the covers, the fantasies start rolling in. Jeno’s arms around you, grabbing at your waist, your hips, your ass, your breasts.

Your breath hitches.

His tongue in your mouth, along your skin, tracing your neck and stomach, then between your folds lapping at you. Your eyes shoot open as you clench your thighs together and immediately feel the wetness.

It was just too much to ignore. This wasn’t going away. You already knew that. 

You just needed some relief and then you’ll be free for the night. Jeno never needs to know and it’s not like you haven’t done this exact same thing before over him. 

Your right hand finds your centre first, sliding between the folds and instantly feeling the slick wetness there. Slowly and sensually, you begin moving your fingers in a circular motion. Eyes closing instantly, flashes of Jeno now being played before you.

In your mind, it was no longer your hand but his. Rubbing your clit, sending shivers down your spine and causing a small panting moan to escape you. 

Your left hand begins clutching at the sheets and as you feel your nipples peak and rub against the soft material of your shirt, you have no choice but to swiftly move your hand up and under to take hold of your own breasts and squeeze. You moan again as you begin to work your fingers faster over your clit.

Now in your head, Jeno stood before you shirtless. Seeing the ripples in the muscles of his abs, he flexes his arms, making you grow weaker. But you always felt like this whenever you saw him shirtless at the pool, or the beach. 

And you couldn't deny how fucking sexy he was — you wouldn’t?”

"What’re you thinking about?" 

You pause instantly, back arched, orgasm growing close and eyes squeezed shut. You can't decipher whether that voice was in your head or in real life so you just grow still and relax, trying to pretend it didn’t happen. 

Your breathing which was already heavy, grows even more so, this time with panic and worry. You don't want to open your eyes, scared of what you might see because you recognised that voice.

At least, you’re really fucking hoping Jeno’s voice is all in your head, because you’re seconds away from orgasm.

"I asked you a question." 

Your eyes fly open. He’s definitely not in your head. 

Ripping your hand away from your clit, you pull the other away from your nipple and force yourself into a seated position with your hands splayed behind to hold you up. You scream on instinct, he doesn't so much as flinch as he stands at the end of your bed. 

His eyes are dark, head low and looking up at you through his lashes. He has that smirk on his face, and his hands are fidgeting, rolling his fingers against his palm. Your eyes roam his body as your scream continues and you wish you hadn't, only because your scream turned into a moan as you spied his hard erection pushing against his jeans.

You gasp and look back at his face. 

"What're you doing Jeno?" You whisper-shout, even though the party downstairs would make it difficult for anyone to hear you anyway. 

Still, you didn’t want any party goers walking in on a flustered you in bed with Jeno and his very large, very prominent erection, standing at the base. 

Fuck. It's so big. You can tell from how it's breaking at the seams of his jeans to be let free. Your mouth waters at the sheer thought of his dick — wondering what it looks like, how it feels in your hands, in your mouth — how it tastes. 

Fuck no. Absolutely not. 

You shake your head, trying to rid the thoughts and ignore the fact your core is pulsing right now, begging for one last touch so you can explode into orgasm. You really fucking needed it.

"I asked you what you were thinking about?" He says lowly, and it causes your breathing to still.

“H-how long have you been standing there?" You whimper. 

He shrugs, “That doesn't matter, what does matter is-" he moves his head up, looking you dead in the eyes as he cracks his neck and then his fists in each hand. "-What you were thinking about whilst touching yourself? Was it me?" 

He smirks again and you stood up, throwing the duvet off of your legs. 

"Not a chance," He says sternly. You look at him again, face paling. 

"What do you mean, no?" you ask, cocking your head.

"I mean don't you fucking move-" His tongue came out to lap at his bottom lip as his eyes moved down your body, down your legs. 

You instantly went to grab the duvet again but he grabbed it first, ripping it from the bed and throwing it across the room. You get down on all fours, crawling to try and get it before him. 

"Jeno!" You exclaim, reaching your hand out for it but it was too far away. You look up at him on all fours, and from this angle... God. You gulp. 

"Give me my cover."

You try to wash away every fantasy of being in this position before him but you can't ignore the way you need his hard cock, seeping at the tip and begging for you to lick it, to suck it. 

Stop. No. Not now.

His hand comes to the side of your face, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear and you shiver at the touch. 

"Lie. Back. On. The. Bed." He commands.

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and then slowly, you move to follow his command until you are back down on the bed. You keep your legs closed and hands on your stomach. 

You weren’t sure why you’re listening to him — obeying him . But something in you, some instinct is just screaming at you to let this play out, see what he wants.

"Touch yourself." He says and you blanch, your eyes growing wide and you sit up again, but one stern look from him has you lying back down again. "Touch yourself and tell me what you think of, how you feel, tell me everything Y/N."

Your name. He never bothers to call you that. Usually emphasising how you’re his best friend’s little sister with the nickname he’d given you. But honestly, you’re thankful for the nickname because hearing your actual name from his lips, all nasally and sensual, sends you spiralling. 

It makes you putty in his hands. And as for your hands? Well, they slowly spread your legs wide revealing your soaking wet cunt to him. You keep your eyes pierced on him, watching how his breath hitches, eyes glued to you. The way he automatically grabs his cock through his jeans and squeezes is like a reflex. Closing his eyes only briefly before they're back on you, on your core. 

You feel yourself growing red, the heat of embarrassment consuming you whole as you slide your hand down your stomach. As soon as your fingers make contact with your clit, your hips are bucking off of the bed and your back starts to curve. Building up your arousal doesn't take long. You were already half there, teetering on the edge. 

Except this time your eyes lock onto Jeno’s for real whilst your fingers are moving, soft moans leaving your lips. You spy his own hand on his cock, he hasn't pulled it free but he moves his hand back and forth over his shaft. You can see the way his arms tense as he moves and watches you.

You throw your head back with another moan. Seeing him stood there isn't enough, you need something more. You need him climbing on top of you, replacing your fingers with his. His hot breath against your neck as he rubs you harder and faster. 

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." You say breathily.

"What about me?"

Your eyes shoot open to stare at him, he looks tense and flustered. Just as bad as you. His hand stops moving on his cock and you make a mental note that he might've been close. Too close. And this might be over too soon.

"Your fingers on my clit, rubbing me," you throw your head back as the fantasy flashes again. 

"Yes, and what else?" He growls. 

"Your mouth." You breathe again.

"My mouth, huh?" He bites and your fantasy continues. 

"Yes. Everywhere." You cry out, orgasm seconds away. "Your mouth on me, about to- God, Jeno I'm gonna cum,” your back arches, hips bucking, fingers moving so fast and rough. 

"Look at me." Your eyes fly open at the command. "I want you to cum whilst looking at me."

And you do. The sheer dominance radiating off of him is the final straw that has you crashing down. 

Your orgasm rips through you as your hips lift so far off the bed. You moved your fingers through your orgasm, riding it out but finally, your hips fell back to the bed and you let out a heavy breath.

Before you could even open your eyes again, you felt two large arms wrap under your thighs gripping your hips, and suddenly you’re yanked to the end of the bed. Your eyes snap open, and your head lifts up as you spy Jeno on his knees at the end of the bed, his mouth centimetres from your dripping pussy.

"J-Jeno,” you mumble, just the sight of him has you moaning. 

You’re not sure if getting yourself off in front of him was the moment you both decided to cross the line; but now him manoeuvring between your legs, you knew you definitely had. Regardless, you know now you aren't ever going back to the dynamic you had before. 

"I’m gonna make those fantasies come to life baby.” 

He doesn't miss a beat. His tongue comes out and swipes a long lick up and through your folds. All common sense leaves your head as you fall back against the bed. 

"God, you taste so good. I fucking knew you would." 

He’s thought about this? You know you have. 

He repeats the motion again, this time focusing on your clit, making sure to run a smooth stripe along it, circling it only slightly, enough to have you wriggling. One of his hands splays over your stomach, holding your hips down. 

"I want you to cum on my tongue. I want to taste every drop of you,” you gulp, looking down at him between your thighs. You don't miss the dark pupils in his eyes and that daring look, the one telling you to follow his instructions. 

"Jeno, oh my god,” you cry out, your head flying back as his mouth attacks your clit. He sucks it in, flicking his tongue all over in a frenzied motion. 

You know he knows all the right ways to make a girl squirm. And you are fucking squirming. All over the fucking bed, you’d be breaking free from him if he didn't have his large veined hand holding your stomach down. Your stomach is now on show. Your t-shirt has risen up to just below your breasts and you see the way his eyes watch the movement as you move about, tits bouncing around.

And as if he can hear your thoughts he says,

"Take your top off." 

You do it without question, lifting the hem and throwing it over your head. Now you’re laying there completely naked. His hand that was on your stomach comes up and takes hold of one breast, instantly taking your nipple between his fingers and you hear him, no you feel him, moan into your pussy. 

The vibrations cause you to cry out, hands knuckling the bed sheets. 

"You're so fucking hot Y/N, God." He murmurs before attacking you again, his mouth working wonders.

And that tongue. You’re so close. You can feel it. 

Then you feel as he slides two fingers into you. Jeno curls his fingers inside of you, hitting some sort of sensitive spot, and as soon as his fingers massage that area inside you and his mouth returns to your clit, you explode.

You don't even know if the music downstairs would cover your screams as you fell into ecstasy. His hand on your breast doesn’t  move, but the one that had been hooked on your hip moves to splay against your stomach holding you down as he laps at you, riding you through your second orgasm until you couldn’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out, then his mouth away from you at just the right time.

You lay there spent. Completely. 

Eyes fluttering open. Jeno stood between your legs looking down at you. His cock looked painful in his jeans. You had once felt exhausted and ready to fall asleep but as soon as you saw his erection you shot up in your seat. You immediately fumble with his jeans until his hand comes to your jaw, pulling your head up to look into his eyes. He stares for a moment before blinking, taking a deep breath.

"You don't have to- I didn't do that for you to-"

"I want to. I want this." You nod eagerly,"I want you.” 

You lick your lips and it's as if something snaps in him, that moment of care vanishes and he lets go of your chin.

"Well then, suck my cock,” he says, standing there and you do as you’re told.

You unfasten his jeans, pull them down and then his underwear. His large erect cock springs free instantly and without a second thought you take hold of him in your hand. Your hands look tiny against his dick. 

You move your hand slowly up and down his cock, and notice how his thighs tense, then his stomach and you follow your eyes up until you meet his face. His head is hung low, eyes dark and hands clenched by his sides. Keeping your eyes on his, you lean forward and spy the precum, flicking your tongue out and taking it in to swallow down with a moan that makes him grunt. 

You moved so that your face was closer to his balls, then you stroked your tongue all along his length, and felt the way he flexed beneath your muscle. There’s a cocky smirk covering your face when you move back to the top and suck his tip into your mouth.

"Do you like sucking my cock?" He asks, his hand threading into your hair to start pulling on the roots to yank your head backwards. 

"Do you like it when I suck your cock, Jeno?" You flip the question with a smile the power in your hands. You continue working him and he flexes his hand in your hair.

"That's how you wanna play?" He grins at you.

You pretend to think for a moment, "I’m not playing anything." You move your head closer down his length, licking  another long stripe hearing how he curses under his breath and thrusts his hips towards you. "I just want to suck your cock." 

With that, you take him into your mouth, sliding down until you reach your limit. You can't take him whole, he’s way too big for that, but you take what you can. He coughs and splutters a bunch of inaudible words, but you just pull back up and repeat the motion, continuing to take him back into your throat. 

His hand stays threaded in your hair, keeping a rough hold so that you can't pull away — not that you wanted to.  

You love every second. Even as you feel him tensing, his hips moving as he thrusts into your mouth. You look up through your lashes to see his head thrown back as he moans out and hisses every so often when you drag your teeth along his cock. You can tell he likes it as the precum coats your tongue. That and the way he doesn't tell you to stop. 

"Do. That. Again."

And you do, watching his head fall forwards."Such a pretty sight, my cock filling your mouth. What do you think your brother would think about this?" he smirks and your face falls pale.

You almost stop sucking his dick but he doesn't let you, slamming his hips forwards so his cock hits the back of your throat.

Your brother.

Not a thought you want to think about right now but it is something you needed to consider. This was his best friend. You’d finally gotten the man so forbidden, always out of bounds. The whole time you didn’t know that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. 

You moan uncontrollably, and it must send vibrations along his cock as you feel it twitch in your mouth, his thrusts become sloppy and his grip on your hand grows tighter. 

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm gonna cum." He grits out. "Are you gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours?" 

You look up at him. You can't speak so you try to nod. 

"God, you’ve always been the death of me," He thrusts several more times as you slide your tongue all over his length and tip. 

You do it a final time as you take him to the back of your throat, gliding your teeth along him which must've been his undoing as you felt the hot steaming cum splatter against the back of your throat. 

You pulled him out your mouth slowly. Even as he is softening he is still thick and large. You kitten lick the tip as he hisses, causing him to loosen his grip in your hair and you sit back, making sure to obviously gulp so he knows you swallowed every last drop of him. Leaning forwards, his hand comes to your chin and he moves his mouth so close to your you think he might kiss you but instead he says,

"Good girl." 

You hate the way those two words made you clench your thighs together. You thought the two orgasms were enough but no, you’re ready for more. You need more. 

He’s quick to remove his shirt, and as he lifts his arms his abs flex. You are point-blank gawking at him standing before you, making him smirk. 

That snaps you out of it. Remembering you are sitting here, soaking wet and naked before him. You crawl back on the bed and then realise you have no duvet so you have to pull your knees to your chest and cross your arms over your knees to cover yourself. 

He watches you, laughs and then shakes his head. He then moves, shoving off his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off until they both land on the floor.

"Wh-What are you doing?" You ask stuttering, thinking he should actually be getting dressed to leave.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he asks. 

Can't he ever just give you a simple answer? 

Then you notice how his cock has sprung to life again and his hand moves to touch it. Moving up and down the length as he cracks his neck.

"You're h-hard again?" You stutter, eyes glued to the impressive size of him. 

"I'm always hard for you baby." He winks and for once, it didn't make you want to punch him. 

"Jeno, we can't." You shake your head.

 You’re already way past the line. Sex would destroy the whole scale. Still, the idea of him, his cock inside of you, whispering filthy things in your ear... it isn't something you can ignore. 

"You want it." He says point blankly. 

You gulp and remain silent. He moves onto the bed, kneeling and then crawls towards you until he is over you. His hair has fallen over his eyes — so fucking hot. "I know you want it, why try to deny it?" He cocks his head to the side, smugly.

"I-I'm not." You fidget. 

“Yes, you are." He ducks his head low, burying it in your neck. You feel his warm breath and your heartbeat rackets so loud. "You don't want to want me to fuck you,” His teeth graze your neck, sending you into a panting mess as he sucks and bites. 

He then pulls away and laps at the mark you know is there, the one he put there as a reminder tomorrow when you come to your senses that you did this.

"So I’ll ask again. What do you want?" He looks down at you, plump pink lips swollen and wet from his constant licking and biting them. 

You’re going to let your brothers best friend fuck you. And you’re going to love every second of it.

Not wasting another moment longer to think, you grab hold of his neck and lift your head whilst pulling him to you to smash your lips together. There’s heat, fire, and explosions of electricity. 

Your hands claw at his neck, his back, his sides. Anything to pull him closer. His crotch, his hard cock, grinds against your soaking hole and you groan out whilst continuing to kiss him. Both so desperate for each other. His hands skim down your body, kneading your breasts, your hips. He grabs hold of anywhere and everywhere. 

His lips detach from yours, giving you a moment to see how swollen they are before they're attacking your neck. He peppers kisses along your jaw, not sweet kisses but hard and sloppy kisses. Sucking and biting the skin causing your back to arch into his chest, pushing your breasts against him, making him moan. He thrusts his hips forwards, his cock sliding between your folds, hitting against your clit making you quiver.

"Fuck, we really shouldn't be doing this." He continues kissing you down your neck, reaching your collar bones that he also decides to leave marks on. 

"Jeno please," you cry out. Both of his hands move to your hips to hold you still. 

"Please what baby?" He smirks before moving lower to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Fuck Jeno,” you cry out as he flicks his tongue over the bud, biting it harshly so you cry out again then soothing it with a soft warm suck.

"Please what baby?" He repeats. 

"Fuck me. Now!”

"And what about your brother?" he brings him up again and you roll your eyes. 

"Stop bringing him up," You moan as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, repeating the process.

"He'll kill us if he finds out." he grins.

"Then he can't find out," You pant out of breath as Jeno moves.

His face is so close to yours that your lips are only just touching, his chest is pushed against you and his cock sits lodged between your folds. You try to shift to gain some friction against your clit but his grip holds you still. His eyes flicker across your face then he says,

"I won't tell if you won't?" His lips caress yours in the faintest of movements. You flick your tongue out to wet your lips, but in the process he bites onto your muscle making you wince then moan, "What do you think, huh?” 

There’s no room for discussion — your body won’t let you. 

"I won't tell if you won't."

He doesn't miss a beat once he gets your approval. His lips are on yours as his hips thrust forwards. His cock thrusting inside of you, tearing you open as you pull your mouth away to cry out.

"Holy fuck."

He stills once inside you, making sure to push as far as possible until his pelvis meets your skin. Your legs wrap around his waist instantly.

"You feel so fucking good." He breaks from your kiss to breathe. "I always knew you would but this-" he looks down to where you are connected and he thrusts further, trying to get deeper but he can't possibly. "-this is better than anything I could've imagined." 

"Move, please." You grunt trying to lift your hips to encourage some movement. His eyes fly open, dark and daring. 

"Beg me." He smirks and does a tiny thrust, a teasing thrust.

"Fuck off,” you pant, trying to do it yourself but he uses his hips to pin you to the bed.

"Beg." He smiles and cocks his head to one side. "Me."

You hated his arrogance. But fuck, you want him so bad. So badly that you will beg.

"Please fuck me, Jeno." He pulls out of you and you suck in a deep breath.

"Again." He grins now. 

You can't bear to look at him but looking down means watching as he holds just the tip inside of me.

"Please. Fuck. Me." You pant, half moaning, begging for him. 

He thrusts so hard into you, you wince and moan out in pleasure. He hit so deep inside that you’re sure you’ll bruise.

"Anything for you, Y/N,” he whispers in your ear before sucking and biting on the lobe. 

Then he's pulling out and thrusting into you. Again. And again. And again. Harder and harder each time. Faster and faster. You lose your breath, becoming a big ball of pants and moans — just like  Jeno.

God, the sounds he makes. You’ve never heard someone so vocal before, but fuck it's hot. The small grunts he makes when he fucks you, the groans when you clench around his cock and feel yourself building. He moves his hands under your ass to lift it, plummeting into you from a new angle, going so much deeper.

"Your pussy is so tight. Fuck,” He says between thrusts, and gritted teeth. 

He seems to have found a weak spot right under your ear that has you clenching like mad around his cock. And he loves it. 

"How have you just been there in front of me this whole time? How have I stayed away from you?" He seems to be asking himself because he doesn’t press you for a reply. 

He removes his lips from your neck and sits back on his heels, his cock still inside of you, slowing his thrusts and he lifts your legs up, moving them over his shoulders. His head moves from side to side, placing a soft kiss on each ankle and for one second. You’re dumbfounded as he looks at you, a daring smirk written across his face. 

He wraps his arms around your thighs, locking your legs in a straight position against his chest on either side of his head, and then he begins pounding into you again. However this time, he moves one of his hands to your centre, his thumb moving closer to your clit. You feel how it grazes your nerves. He strums it once. Twice. Three times then you're wriggling around like a mess, back arching off as your orgasm tears through your body and you explode into euphoria. Again.

He rides you through it, fucking you as you clench and squeeze around him. A string of curse words come out of him, you feel him so close but he doesn't cum. He stops stroking your clit as you batted his hand away, you didn't realise you had been clenching the sheets with white knuckles until you relax your hands and feel a cramp in your palm.

Jeno slows his thrusts until he stills inside of you, his chest is moving up and down with each of his heavy breaths. You move your legs off of his shoulders, enjoying the movements as your legs feel strained too.

But as soon as your feet hit the bed, he grabs you and flips you so you land on your stomach. He pulls your hips up and slides into you again.

"Fuck!" You scream as he slams into you unapologetically. One hand holding your hip, the other trails along your back as he begins fucking you from behind. He leans over you, still ploughing, and comes closer to your ear.

"I always wanted to fuck you like this, you are always strutting around showing off, your ass? Do you like teasing me?" 

You don't even know what you like right now. Mind too focused on needed Jeno to fuck you any way he pleased. 

He grins, then shoves your head back down into the mattress, straightening his back and fucks you harder than you think you’ve ever have been before. You couldn't keep up with the movements, head a complete daze from all of the orgasms that he had given you.

You come to a conscious mind when a hard slap lands on your ass, it makes your pussy throb so he does it again, and again, rubbing over the area and soothing it before doing it again. Each time it makes you clench around him. 

"Jeno," you cry out between thrusts.

"Yeah, baby?" His voice sounded so much deeper, which told you he was close. That and the way his thrusts grew random and unstable.

"Want you to cum in me," You moan, clenching the sheets again. 

"I'm not wearing a condom," He grits through his teeth. 

"I'm on the pill,” you manage to say between heavy breaths. You needed him to cum in you now. 

He shakes his head, "Last thing I need is to get my best friend's little sister pregnant." And that was that because he thrust a few more times, then pulls out, and instantly, all over your ass and back you felt a hot liquid splatter about. 

As soon as his grip left your hip you fell straight down onto the mattress, and your body was thankful for it. Everything hurt. He'd destroyed you. Fucked you, well and truly. And you couldn't stop the smile on your face.

"I'll go get a cloth." He said through some heavy breaths then climbed off of the bed and went to your bathroom. He emerged a moment later, used the warm cloth to clean up his mess although you notice him take a minute to look at it.

"Admiring your work?" You asked him through a laugh, he looked at you and shook his head chuckling. 

"Trust me, if I could take a picture I would,” he wipes it away. Then he returned to the bathroom to throw the cloth in the hamper but as soon as he stood in the doorway of you heard three loud knocks on your bedroom door. 

"Y/N? You in there? Have you seen Jeno?" 

You shot up in bed, suddenly not tired or spent. Jeno’s eyes grew wide too.

You lifted your finger to your lips and gestured to Jeno to stay in the bathroom. He didn't hesitate as he shuts the door. 

Jaemin would fucking kill him and you, without a doubt. Only moments ago you had his best friend’s cum covering your ass. 

"One second," you shout,  jumping out of bed and grabbing your T-shirt. Then you rush over to the door, paint on your best sleeping face and yawn whilst opening it. 

"Oh, you were asleep?" Jaemin stood on the other side, hands braced on either side of the door frame.

You fake another yawn. He looks behind you and you turn too, fearful Jeno was standing there but then you spied your duvet cover on the other side of the room. Jamein frowned and looked back to you. 

"I was hot." You shrug. 

"Shit sorry," He quickly says. "I just can't find Jeno anywhere.” 

"He’s your friend not mine.”

"I don’t understand why you two hate each other," He rolls his eyes and you can't help but scoff at the irony. 

Hate wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for the guy that was just 8 inches deep inside of you. 

"Well, he's probably off getting high or fucking some girl.” 

“Better not be in our parent’s bed again,” he huffs, and your eyes go wide. “Fuck, he better not be doing it in my bed either,” he says to himself. 

And with that, he storms away heading for his room. Chuckling, you shut the door and Jeno emerges from the bathroom, a towel now wrapped around his waist and he stands there facing you. 

"That was close."

"Too close." You sigh. 

He dresses himself as you climb back in bed, getting your duvet back on and covering yourself with it. He walks over to the door and pulls it open, peeking outside to check the coast is clear, then once he does he turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Our secret?" He says.

"Our secret." You nod and he steps out, not looking back and shuts the door.

You lie back on your bed, head falling into your pillows and laugh. 

But then you shake your head processing it all, moving your hand to cover your mouth, looking at the ceiling. 

You just fucked your brother’s best friend.

[loriache]

Butch up that Elf: my Marcille manifesto

TBQH, this came into being because the Falin "dragoness" fanart rewired my brain completely. It's sillytimes, but we're going to make a serious argument: trying out being a little butch would Fix Her.

1. Marcille Gender Discomfort

Now, Marcille LOVES feminity. She loves playing dressup, she loves elaborate gowns, she spends her free time going to the spa - the absolute last thing I want is to deny that. However, there's also a definite vibe that this isn't just a preference. Specifically, the way that she pushes Falin towards femininity suggests that she isn't comfortable with gender nonconformity in the people around her.

If this was something she was 100% confident about ("I'm doing this for myself and nobody else!") surely what other people do wouldn't be a big deal? Of course, you can read this as a little bit of solipsism; "what works for me must work for you too! I think this is so cute and would suit you - wouldn't you agree?"

But for the sake of this argument, all I'm trying to suggest is that gender nonconformity (and probably sexual nonconformity... well, frankly, any kind of sexuality at all) is unlikely to be something that's on Marcille's "radar". She hasn't tried out other ways of presenting and decided she doesn't like them. I do think she'd be a very flamboyant butch - "ouji lolita" vibes, you know? It's a whole new set of wardrobe options she could play dress-up in, even.

After the story ends, she starts dressing like her mother in all black, which makes sense - her mother was also a court magician, so she's probably emulating her in order to project confidence and authority. But I can't say I think she should stick with this. Break away and be your own person, Marcille! Try a fancy waistcoat and frilled jacket!

2. Haircut

This is another potential hard sell, I'm sure. The people she loves doing her hair is a cute symbol of their care for her, and her hair is key to her magic - so there's plenty of reason for her to keep it long. But like... think practically. Having someone do your hair every morning, for the whole of her long life, while it gets messier over the day (because she can't remember to keep it neat)... That's got to be such a pain. My hair gets messy when I put a hoodie on. And I have short hair.

It would require her to go through a change of mind, and probably a little more growth in how secure she feels in her relationships, but - the hairdo's a symbol. The more important thing is the relationships themselves. Eventually I think there might be something liberating about cutting it off, even if she might eventually decide to grow it out again.

The lion, her trauma, took something away from her which was really important to her. The people around her are able to make that easier, and make up for it, and soften that loss, but... Mithrun isn't the person he was before, you know? He's a new person. The relationship he has with his brother is new, and I don't know if it's one that the person he was before could have had. If Falin hadn't died, they wouldn't have gone on that wonderful adventure! They wouldn't have met Senshi or saved Izutsumi and Laios and Marcille wouldn't have gotten so close. So I think it's totally congruent with the themes of the story that the burning away of this part of Marcille's self might eventually create the potential for new growth in a new direction, not clinging onto the parts that are gone.

This also isn't totally out of the norm for elven mages - both Otta and Flamela have short hair. Otta is canonically butch, and potentially Flamela reads that way to elves too, but the point is it clearly is possible to be an accomplished mage without long hair.

3. Desiring (to be) a chivalrous prince

Marcille's succubus is clearly General Halleus from her favourite book series, the Daltian Clan. The fact that this is her ideal man.... it certainly plays into readings of her as Not Straight. But at least, this conveys the way her conception of sex and romance is strongly idealised, dissociated from the bodily and from physical desire.

There are many ways to interpret that, including thinking about what types of desire this fixation is obstructing because she is not comfortable with it, but I am going to focus here on what this desire does signify. She likes the trappings of courtly romance, and is clearly comfortable putting herself in the role of the princess, being taken away on a white horse by a noble (but tormented; eyepatch has "death" on it lmao) prince. (Though I think he's actually the token male lead who isn't royalty; he's a General. There's always one in Romfan, lmao. IYKYK)

A kiss on the hand - this is so chaste, I think it's clear it's more about desire to play a role in a dynamic than it is about desire in a physical sense. There is undoubtedly a big part of Marcille that wants to be a beloved and chased-after princess, but I think it isn't at all impossible that she'd also enjoy being the powerful, cool, and chivalrous "prince" to someone (a pretty girl, perhaps) who needs her protection.

This is a little silly, because it's clearly just aping the shoujo artstyle that articulates basically the same idea as her succubus, that Marcille is attached to highly abstracted and idealised romantic (and Romantic) tropes and ideas. But the imaginary "successful" Marcille from chapter 4 looks quite similar to her succubus. (Another thing I noticed is that in the fantasy she has sharp ears... like full elves have. Despite what she says, I think the cultural messaging that this trait is "attractive" and hers are inferior got to her at least a bit. 😥)

Also, the way that she treats Falin, scolding her indulgently, trying to look after her and wanting to be looked up to and respected by her... that aligns more with the "masculine" role in the trope that her succubus is referencing. "What are we going to do with you...?" I can imagine her saying this to Falin, word for word. Whereas, if anyone real started talking down to her, even affectionately, I don't think she'd like it, given the negative way she reacts when people don't respect her or her skills. Especially after canon, given the way the Winged Lion was treating her.

Her attitude to Falin is partially down to her reluctance to acknowledge Falin as an adult, who is independent and can grow beyond her and leave her behind. But I think even as they move on from that unhealthy dynamic, Marcille is still going to get pleasure from feeling capable, reliable, able to look after and protect Falin. She'd like to pull the chair out for her in a restaurant on a date, you know?

4. Conclusion

Even after the growth she goes through during the story, there are parts of Marcille's character that are very much obstructed. Romance, sexuality, and gender, feel like one of those to me. The way that her discomfort with the messy origins of food betrayed a deeper, more significant discomfort with the cycles of life and death.

Much in the same way, I'd argue that the simplified, idealistic, and safely fantastical way that she views romance, as well as her very "safe" gender presentation and tendency to push it onto others as well, suggest an underlying discomfort in her own gender and sexuality. The character growth she goes through leaves her in a place where it may be possible to safely re-evaluate her relationship with Falin, as well as her choice of clothing and hairstyle, both things that go through a change at the end of the manga. Neither, I think, reach a sustainable stopping point that we see - there will be a point when it's more servants doing her hair than friends, just out of practicality, because they're all going to be so, so busy. The black clothing to copy her mum is cute, but once she gets some more self-confidence in her own skills as a court magician, I think she'll move on from it. And... who knows what direction her relationship with Falin will develop, over the years? I'm rooting for them, anyway.

In all those cases, I think moving outside of the things she's done before, into something really different from the things that are "safe" and expected, will be the most rewarding path for her. Like in the dungeon, things that she would initially reject were actually able to sustain her and broaden her tastes. She loves dressing up, looking after people, and "princely romance". So I say: Butch Marcille! It'll be good for her!!

[cutielando]

I just finished reading your chubby reader fic which I loved as a chubby girl myself!! I was wondering if you could do something similar with like a fit gym girlie I feel like muscle mummy’s tend to be forgotten a lot!

a/n: of course! people always overlook a gym mummy!!

my masterlist

warnings: gymrat!reader (reader is described as being muscly and frequenting the gym)

♡♡♡♡♡

Lando has always been keen on exercising. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter, seeing as his job required him to be in the best shape possible. 

However, that doesn’t mean that he looks down on people who don’t exercise as regularly as he did or at all. Every person was entitled to their own routine, in his opinion.

But when he met you, someone who lived and breathed exercise and hitting the gym, he felt like he had hit the jackpot. Being in the gym together, sharing your love for exercise with each other and always pushing one another to better themselves.

It was a dream come true, frankly. 

The first time he had suggested joining you for your workout, he figured you would go easy on yourself, do some light exercises and call it a day. The shock on his face when he saw you lifting weights, twice the weight he himself could barely lift, was something out of a movie.

You had found it so endearing, seeing him staring at you with such a perplexed expression and shock, you found it sweet and funny at the same time.

“Why are you looking at me like I’ve suddenly grown 3 heads that I don’t know about?” you joked once you had put the weights back and joined him where he was standing.

“You know you just lifted twice what I can lift, right?” he said, eyes still wide and staring back at you.

You laughed, holding your belly as your laughter rang through the fairly empty gym. This was one of your favorite things about living with Lando, the fact that the apartment building where you both lived had a private gym exclusive only for the residents.

“Babe, you know I’ve been a gym rat for years now. What did you think I’ve been doing all this time?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Lando shrugged, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“I don’t know, running on the treadmill? I figured you lifted weights and all that stuff, but I didn’t think you could lift more than me. And I’ve been training straight up hardcore my entire life” he explained, scratching the back of his neck before he reached out for your hand and pulled you closer to him.

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt against his body.

“I can do more than that, but I’m still jet-lagged and my body takes a while to recover, you know” you explained, making the shock return twice as intense.

Lando could swear his brain was malfunctioning. He didn’t know why or how, but the way you were speaking and the things you were saying were doing things to him. He found you so attractive before, but now it had reached a whole other level.

“Have I ever told you how hot you are?’ he asked, his voice having dropped to a dangerous low mumble.

You bit your lip, looking into his eyes sensually. If you had known this was all it took to get to him, you would have brought him with you a very long time ago.

“You have, and I could say the same about you. However, as much as I want to jump your bones this very second in this very gym, I need to finish my workout and you need to work on your neck” you said, your lips brushing against his as you suddenly pull away from him and make your way towards the treadmill for a running session.

Lando stared dumbfounded as you walked away from him like nothing had happened, getting back to your workout just like that.

He would lie if he said he didn’t want to just ditch his workout and take you upstairs, but he knew Jon would be coming soon enough to help him with his neck training and he didn’t want to have to explain to him why he decided to skip it.

♡♡♡♡♡

Ever since that first day in the gym, Lando had insisted on joining you for every workout routine that he had time to attend. It didn’t matter if he had just got back from a race halfway across the globe, or he was tired and sore.

He wanted to be there, even if it was just to watch and admire.

“Baby, you’re tired, you really don’t have to come with me” you argued with him one very early morning as you were getting ready to go downstairs to the gym.

Lando had just got back home very late last night, having flown all the way from China. The amount of sleep he got was nowhere near enough for him to get enough rest after such a busy weekend.

And yet there he was, wide awake before 8 am and ready to go watch you while you work out. 

“But I want to watch you” he pouted, his eyes barely open. His hair was fluffy and his curls were sticking up in every possible direction.

You sighed, knowing you would never be able to say no when he looked at you like that, lips all pouty and those puppy dog eyes staring right into your soul.

“You need to sleep, love. You’ve barely had any time to rest this weekend and when you finally come home you’d rather come and watch me exercise than get some sleep?” you asked, smiling slightly, but you already knew the answer.

“I would rather spend any time with you than sleep. If you’re not here with me then what’s the point of sleeping?” he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You chuckled, shaking your head. He knew how to weasel his way straight into your heart, saying things like that which you couldn’t overlook.

Once he noticed the defeated look on your face, he got up from the bed and took your hand, offering to carry your bag downstairs.

When you arrived downstairs, you were pleased to see that there was nobody in the gym at that hour, giving you two some much needed privacy.

“Alright, I’m going to run on the treadmill for a while and then do some leg lifting. Are you okay here by yourself for a little while?” you asked him once you put your earphones in and your headband on your head.

He nodded, taking a seat on a bench in the middle of the room. The sight all but melted your heart, the way he sat there with his hands on his lap, like a little kid waiting for his mother.

You nodded and leaned in to quickly kiss him on the lips, turning on your music and getting to work.

It wasn’t even 20 minutes after that you got off the treadmill and noticed Lando had fallen asleep on the bench, his head resting on his knee. You pouted, taking out your phone and snapping a quick picture.

Because you knew there was no way he was comfortable in that position, you decided to cut your workout short and get him to bed, figuring you could get some more sleep yourself.

“Lando, baby. Come on, let’s go upstairs” you slowly shook him awake, his eyes opening and meeting yours sleepily.

“Are you done working out?” he asked, stretching a little and looking around, seeing you more rested than you usually were.

“I only ran on the treadmill today, I’m skipping my legs session today so we can catch up on some sleep together” you explained, taking his hand and trying to get him to follow you upstairs.

He protested, shaking his head and not moving an inch.

“No, go on and finish. We can get some sleep later. I don’t want you to jeopardize your routine because of me. I’ll watch, do your thing” he said and planted himself more comfortable on the bench, now facing towards the apparatus he knew you would be using.

You smiled lightly, finding his obsession with watching you train endearing.

Never before in your life had anyone been as supportive of your workouts than Lando has been. Compromising his sleep schedule just to see you train and do your thing, sleeping on a gym bench just so he could watch you in your element.

You couldn’t have asked for a better partner in life, someone just as passionate about the gym as you were.

Maybe even more.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[melonn-soda]

Kinktober Day 3 - Dazai Osamu

word count: 3.2k

warnings: HATE SEX, dubcon, cuffing, overstim, slight dumbification, edging, dazai calls u petnames and he's an ass, reader is a slight brat, bottom cis male reader, top ftm dazai

prompt: dazai visits his favorite mafia member and gives him a little reunion gift

notes: READ WITH CAUTION, THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK THEMES. tell me if there's any other warnings I should add, please. sorry these prompts are super fucking late. different texting style but I'll go back after kinktober prompts are all posted. still currently working on the other ones because this is taking longer than expected. too much plot going on with them lmao. anyways, I'm tired of ftm characters always being on the bottom, so I contribute this. trans dazai canon because I'm trans and I said so.

fem aligned dni

The air blew a cold breeze around Yokohama, chilling the residents of the city and keeping them locked up inside their homes. Nobody went outside without some sort of extra layer to protect themselves from the chill of the atmosphere, either wearing jackets or hoodies over shirts when they strolled down the streets. Dazai Osamu blew hot air into his palms to warm them up as he walked down the sidewalk, eyeing every shop that was on his right. The bakery he passed by was closing down due to lack of patrons and he made sure to get some pastries for Atsushi, Ranpo, and himself beforehand. Some clothing shops were bathing in money because of the upcoming fall and winter seasons approaching faster with people preparing for the cold days by purchasing thick layered clothes. Every store was having its own ups and downs at the moment.

Even with all the tempting things he could buy, he still passed by most of them until he was at the edge of the city, with fewer people and cars coming in and out of this area. There were a few supply trucks coming in and out because of all the supply shipments coming in but that was going to be all. However, Dazai didn’t come to the warehouse for no reason. After all, he always went to somewhere that had a purpose.

He walked through the gates without anyone stopping him, walking to a particular warehouse before pushing the doors open. It was dark and gloomy in the place, yet felt strangely warm from the contrasting colder outside weather. Dazai made sure his steps were slow and quiet, keeping his presence minorly hidden to avoid getting himself hurt if someone were to attack him. He made sure to peek around the corners of supply crates to make sure no one was going to blast bullets directly at his face, eyes scanning with caution in every area he invaded.

A loud clang alerted his senses, and the sound of sizzling came humming after. Dazai’s intuition was right, he was here doing exactly as he thought he would. Footsteps increasing in speed, he rushed towards the source of the sound, still making sure to look over corners rather than going in head-on. Since he wasn’t that far away from his target, it didn’t take him long to get there, seeing the person he was looking for with a mischievous smile. Oh, how he missed seeing his face.

The burned part of a shipping container was melted off in the shape of a circle, laying on the ground as the material was still a glowing red before returning to its original color. The man who stood next to it, the person who caused the eruption of a loud noise from metal hitting cement was none other than his long lost Port Mafia ex-coworker. [l.name], [name]. So many memories were shared with that boy since they’ve known each other since their teens. 

Dazai watched you step into the shipping container, following after you and watching as you rummaged through products, putting multiple things up to inspect before putting them back in place. He knew which product you were looking for and where it was, eyes landing on the box before flicking back onto your figure. With silent steps, he walked in, but once his other foot was placed inside, a loud creak was made and it alerted you to fire a burst of flames that shot out from your palms. Dazai, of course, saw it coming as he leaned so that he narrowly missed it, feeling the heat on his chest before grabbing your wrist and moving his weight around to get himself behind you and out to safety before using his foot to swipe and make you lose your balance. Alarmed and unprepared, you fell onto your stomach as Dazai moved your arm behind you mid-fall, getting your hands effectively pinned against your back.

“Ah~, [name], always so reliant on his ability. It was always your biggest flaw, y’know?” Dazai began to tease, pressing his knee against your lower back to keep you on the ground. He watched you try and wriggle out of his hold, knowing that you were too physically weak to actually break free. Weaker than him, I dare say.

“Dazai! What the fuck are you doing here? Let me go!” You scowled, glaring at him over your shoulder, cheek pressing against the cold metal. Your eyes still held the deep fire as always, so bright whenever you got fired up or even mad. The ex-Port Mafia executive always found that really cute about you, but he never really admitted it out loud, only doing it if he wanted to get a reaction out of you.

“Looking for you, of course!” He chimed with a playful smile, one that always managed to piss you off, “I figured you would be here looking for that really important document from overseas, but I can’t have you getting your hands on it. After all, we’re enemies, are we not? I have to do everything in my power to foil your devious plans.”

You tried thrashing around a little harder as he spoke, not wanting to see or even be within a 100-foot radius of this man, “Can’t you just leave me be this once, you fucking psychopath!?” You yelled out, clearly upset with the predicament you found yourself in. Chuuya really needed those papers and if he found out you didn’t even get the chance to find them, you don’t want to know how mad he might get.

“Oh my, is that the way you should be talking to your past loving boyfriend?” The brunet gasped in mock offense, leaning in a little closer to your ear.

Your face flared slightly at the closeness, “Past!! We’re not dating anymore, sicko. We broke it off the minute you left the Mafia, or have you forgotten?” You glowered at him, “For years, I’ve wondered where and how you were, only to get a message from an unknown number that told me we can’t be together anymore. I knew it was you because of your texting style.”

“But I can tell that you still want me,” Dazai continued to poke around with your feelings, not caring about any of the consequences that might follow after. He heard you immediately deny it all within a seconds notice but, “Oh, but you do still desire me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be blushing so hard over me just whispering thiiis~ close to your ear.” He chuckles as you shift your face so that he couldn’t see it.

“Just get the hell off of me.” You threatened weakly, feeling him shift around slightly while still on top of you.

You could hear Dazai sigh in what seemed to be in disappointment before he yanked you up and got you to sit on his lap. Dazai was sitting on the floor and you could feel your face grow even hotter as his body pressed against yours even more in this position.

“Y’know, I could really care less about you taking those documents. I didn’t come here to stop you either,” The detective told you, causing your eyes to widen and look back at him, “I only decided to foil your plans because I wanted to see you again. Do things we never got to do with you. For instance,” with a pause, one of his hands let go of your wrists and teasingly slid down your waist, getting dangerously close to your sex, “now that we’re adults, you can lose yourself to me.”

The last parts of his words were said in a whisper, causing a shiver to go down your spine as your lips pursed to suppress a whine. However, your body decided to show your true feelings you held towards the brunet with your dick hardening and sensitivity going to overdrive. You still loved Dazai, you really did, but you didn’t expect to react this way. Maybe it was because of the stress from the Port Mafia? I mean, it has been months since you’ve last jerked off.

“Oh dear, it seems like you're getting excited.” Dazai chuckled next to your left ear, his hand gently brushing against your crotch as you let out a whimper, “and your sounds are just the cutest.~ I’ve been imagining this scenario so many times, and now that it’s happening, it’s hard to believe that it’s ending up like this.”

A strained moan left your lips as you could feel his hand press harder against the tip of your cock, head falling forward in shame over turning into putty from just his voice and soft touches alone. In a near desperate tone, you still attempted to resist his efforts, “S-stop- this isn’t right-!”

“You may say so but your lovely body still craves my touch.” You could feel his fingers undo your pants and slip into your underwear, his cold touch coming into contact with your blistering heat, “You still desire me, otherwise, why would you still keep pictures of me on your wall after so many years, huh?”

“Go.. ah- fuck yourself.” You growled, a loud wince ripping through your throat at a particular tug at your cock, your back unconsciously arching and the back of your head hitting against Dazai’s shoulder, “Shit, shit, shit!”

“When did you become such a brat?” Dazai huffed out annoyingly, “Have you been spending too much time with that stupid slug? It looks like he’s beginning to rub off on you.” His hand picked up in pace and technique with a squeal of surprise coming from your mouth causing the brunet to smile slightly, “Ah, but I think it might make breaking you even more enjoyable.~”

Tears began to spill from your eyes from the stimulation, whining and moaning pathetically in Dazai’s hold as he continued to pump your cock. He even noticed that you stopped retaliating against his ministrations, fully submitting from the pleasure racking your brain into a state of stupidity. God, you looked so good like this.

“Fuck!” You suddenly yelled, thighs quivering around Dazai’s legs, “I’m close, ‘Samu- can’t take anymore-!” Words slurring like you were drunk, your hips bucked to bring yourself to your release.

Much to your dismay, Dazai pulled his hand out of your pants promptly, causing you to whine in protest, “Not just yet, lovely. I wanna see you scream and beg me for mercy as I dumb you down into oblivion.” He whispered sweetly though menacingly, causing you to shudder in delight.

Within a blink of an eye, he slammed you back down on the cold metal floors face first, taking out handcuffs from his back pocket and locking them on your wrists. You took the time to catch your breath as he got up away from you to dig into one of the containers, pulling out a black box with gold lining on it. 

He took a seat next to your slumped figure with a mischievous smile on his face, opening the box and pulling out a solid black strap-on and a bottle of lube. The dildo was about 5-inches in length as far as you could tell, although there was nothing on the other side to please Dazai. Did he just buy that thing only to watch you become fucked out in ecstasy?

Dazai grabbed a bag of toy-cleaning wipes from the box as well, making sure to wipe the strap-on down as he continued to look at you deviously, “Do you like my surprise, lovely? Are you excited?”  He asked, removing some of his clothes to place the toy around his pelvis.

Your dick twitched in anticipation, drool pooling on the ground as you looked dazedly at the sheer size of it, “However,” Dazai interrupted, “Because you’re a virgin, you’ll have to wait. After all, you’re nothing but my fragile little doll. As much as I would love to see you crumble, I wanna take my time shattering you.” He smirked, popping open the bottle and spilling its contents over his long, pretty fingers.

Positioning himself behind you, he gently grabbed your hips with his non-lubed fingers to lift your ass up into the air. Pushing only one of his fingers in your hole, he continued to pour lube consistently onto his hands to keep your insides from tearing. It wasn’t even 30 seconds before he found your prostate, pressing on it harshly to see you jolt and gasp, easily making you into nothing but a plaything. Even still, the fucker avoided it on purpose for the next few minutes of stretching you out. He added finger after finger when he saw you ready for the next, but wouldn’t even press that specific area. 

After what seemed like an hour of teasing, he pulled out his fingers as you trembled on the cold floors. He wiped his fingers on the inner parts of his trench coat, hands then finding themselves on your waist to make it so you could feel the silicon against your thighs that were pressed together. You don’t know if you were enjoying this, or hating this.

“You ready, dollface?” He asked you, hands sliding up your chest and pulling you up so that your back came into contact with his body. You could feel the toy slip through your thighs for a brief second before he positioned it so that the tip could press against your hole, pressing lightly against your rim as you let out a shaky moan.

Glaring at him from the corner of your eye, you growled, “Just put it in, you asshole.” Maybe Chuuya has begun to influence your attitude.

With a grin, Dazai shoved you down onto the silicon dick without any lousy comebacks, causing a loud wince to fall from your lips. From the tip of the cock pressing against your prostate, you wailed pathetically in desire as your body was beginning to give up, letting your torso fall back onto the ground with a light thud. Your limbs started to feel like jelly, trembling terribly as Dazai pressed his hips even closer, reaching even deeper as you sobbed out in pleasure.

“Ah-! F-fuck-” You cried as Dazai began to pull out briefly before rocking his hips into yours repeatedly, setting a rhythm for himself. Incoherent ramblings spilled out of your cute lips as he continued to press against your prostate, your body feeling extremely heated.

“Oh, aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?” He cooed into your ear, one of his hands trailing up from your hips and to your nipple, pinching and pulling on it lightly to stimulate you further. He brought it up to his mouth to wet those fingers then returned them onto your chest, the slight chill making you shiver when the cold air brushed underneath your shirt, “So sensitive, too. I hope I’m the first person to see you like this.”

“U-urgh~... Dazai..” Words slurring and hiccups turning into broken moans spurred the brunet even further, pistoning his hips even better when he took ahold of one of your ankles and lifted it into the air with ease. You were just so cute like this.

“Osamu.”

Staccato moans turned into full on wails as you could feel the tip of the dildo poke at your prostate, sending you into a mess of tears and babbling nonsense. It was too much. It was all so much for you. From the edging Dazai did earlier, the pent up stress from being in the mafia, now the dick inside you that was ramming you into stupidity, you could feel yourself getting close to your orgasm. And fuck, if it didn’t come fast.

You were sobbing thick tears as cum spilled out of your pathetic excuse of a dick, seeing Dazai’s face contort into one of amusement as you came all over the floor. Body shaking from the heightened stimulation, you wanted a break, wailing at him in hopes to tell him to at least slow down.

You should really know better, though, because he’s an asshole and would do anything in his power to watch you crumble for his own entertainment. And you acting like you hated him only motivated him to fuck you even harder. So here he was, bending your left leg so that your knee nearly touched your chest while continuing to move his hips at his brutal pace. It didn’t help that his toy kept pressing into your sensitive spot either.

“W-wait! Nnng!” You cry out, fingernails digging into the metal of the shipping container, “Osa- ah! Osamu, sl-slow down-!” Your voice squeaked as he used his hand that was on your hip to press down hard against your tummy, feeling the tip of the silicon dick disappear and come back.

The agency member giggled, raising that same hand and wiping away the abundance of tears flowing down your face, “Look at you~ just so adorable and begging for me to stop. Don’t you remember what I said? ‘I wanna see you scream and beg me for mercy as I dumb you down into oblivion.’” The attitude in his voice becoming condescending and dark.

His hand travelled down to grasp your dick, causing you to bite your bottom lip to quiet down the scream that nearly left your lips. Almost too quickly, your cock hardened once more with tears flowing down the sides of your face from overstimulation. Dazai only gave you a shit-eating smirk while he looked down at your pitiful face, feeling a rush of excitment through his veins.

God, you should’ve taken the day off.

…

Dazai took off the strap on with ease, letting it fall back into the box, shiny with lube and Dazai’s own slick. He didn’t care about his own orgasmic pleasures, just wanted to see you once more, even if that meant fucking you stupid. He wasn’t lying when he said that. Dazai was cruel, there’s no doubt about it. However, he still had the courtesy to clean you up with multiple wet wipes and redress you. Too bad he couldn’t do anything about the bruises and bite marks littered beautifully across your sleeping form.

The brunet pulled up his pants and closed the box with the sex toy in it, holding it by pressing it against his side while his other hand fished his phone out of his trench coat’s pocket. Quickly, as if he remembered the phone number by heart, he dialed one of your co-worker’s digits and his phone began to ring.

“Who is this?”

“Chuuya!” Dazai said in a chippy tone, hearing the other groan and spit out a “what do you want?” in response, “Well- for starters, [name] is in a shipping container, currently knocked out. You know, the one you wanted him to check? Could you be a good friend and pick him up safely? Oh! But be careful, he’s a little sore in the lower half.”

“What the hell did you do to him!?” Chuuya barked on the other side of the line, Dazai hearing him kick open doors to rush over to where his coworker is.

“Just a little reunion gift.” Dazai singsonged, pressing the “end call” button before he could hear his long time friend yell again, “Man, they sure are becoming too similar. I’ll have to fix that.”

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff drabble no2. making it up to you

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ drabble summary. after a pretty angsty period between you two, gojo tries to make it up to you with flowers & a kitten he finds on the side of the road. (note: for new readers, this is in continuation of my long fic gojo x reader series “kickoff”!! masterlist is linked below) ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. drabble #2

ᰔ words. 2.2k

a/n. ahhh in the original ver of ch10, i actually wrote these scenes from reader’s pov, but cut them out and condensed them bc the word count was already super high haha. so it’s nice i have a chance to include them like this!! although this is written from gojo’s side of the events :”) hope you enjoy <3

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

Gojo finds himself crouched down on the sidewalk outside of your apartment complex as he plucks thorns off of roses one by one, flicking them off of his finger and almost straight into his eyeball with how closely he’s inspecting the stems for any pointed edges.

Are roses poisonous? It’d be bad if they were, since he got pricked in about five different places when he rummaged through bushes at the city park to pluck them for you, walking straight into spring foliage and the no trespassing sign wasn’t going to stop him if it meant he could get the dopamine rush of seeing a smile on your face. But he couldn’t have you getting pricked the way he did. Just in case they were poisonous. And also because he’s not too keen on hurting you anymore than he already has.

“Hm?” he hums as he turns one of the roses in his hands, ankles starting to strain from holding his body weight up on them for so long, something Coach Yaga would make him run laps for, given he skips warm-up stretches at the top of every practice and his lack of flexibility was starting to show. Then he’s wondering if you were any flexible, and the thought threatens to make him horny at 6:17am.

There’s a ladybug creeping up the stem of a soft petalled red rose, missing the opportunity of seamlessly blending into the pigment since it just crawls onto one of the green leaves instead. Absolutely abysmal survival instincts, Gojo thinks to himself. He lets it be, regardless.

Well the flowers didn’t really put a smile on your face, turns out you don’t enjoy having to answer to a doorbell at the crack of dawn on the one day of the week you got to sleep in. He used all the people-reading skills he could possibly muster, and got the vibe that you were annoyed by the gesture. Maybe he could’ve chosen better flowers? He doesn’t know anything about flowers, although he probably should, since his mother used to run a florist shop before she traded it in to run a KFC downtown, near the city’s high school. Better business than selling shriveled up tulips, was how she defended her decision. But maybe if she’d kept it, she could have shown him what arrangement of flowers he should make for a girl he’s trying to apologize to.

You’re rubbing your eye, standing in an oversized stained old T-shirt and some shorts underneath that barely reveal themselves under the hem of the shirt. Cute, so fucking cute. Unbearably, really, but you deny it when he says it.

“You woke me up. And I look like bigfoot standing in front of you,” you say, still rubbing at your eye with a pout on your face.

“I still think you look pretty,” he says and now you’re scratching the top of your head where your hair piles up with coils that look like cotton candy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask through a sleepy voice that sounds a little grumpy.

“I got these for you,” he says, leaning against the doorframe of the entryway and holding out the arrangement of flowers he jumped over a fence to steal. In his defense, none of the supermarkets on the way were open at this hour, but the desperation and urge he had to see you today was so overwhelmingly strong, so he had to find an excuse.

You take the flowers from him, which have been sparsely held together by the newspaper he took from someone’s driveway, and you blink up at him. Your face was a little puffy with sleep, and he can’t help the pursed grin that makes its way onto his face. In very much contrast to your stone face.

“Did you pluck these for me??” you ask, peering into the bouquet.

“Uh-huh,” he affirms.

“From where?”

“The,” he points over his shoulder, “the city park.”

Apparently pilfering flowers from an area of no trespassing was not the romantic gesture he thought it would be, or possibly waking you up just to give them to you was the crime, since you mumbled something about wanting to go back to sleep and then shoo’d him away before he had the chance to ask you what you were doing this weekend. But that’s fine, maybe he’ll get another chance.

Divine intervention came the very next day. Why Gojo considers a kitten he finds in the bushes as an order from God to go talk to you again is a mystery even his good conscience wouldn’t understand, but he’s on a mission to make it up to you. It’s the only thing he wants to do.

He was taking a two minute break during his morning run, pacing down sidewalk panting slightly underneath spring heat, when he heard something crying deep within the bushes. Without a second thought, he’s pushing his way through branches that were a lot more spiky than anticipated, one tearing straight through the fabric of his shirt, but he finally spotted it—

A tiny little soot sprite sitting curled up in a ball between dead leaves and spiky twigs, the round of its form rising and falling fast with its heavy breathing just like Gojo is right now. It lifts his head up, triangular ears dropping then raising, dropping then raising, as it makes sense of its surroundings and eventually it cocks its head all the way up to look Gojo straight in the eye.

A kitten?

With paws rustling the leaves underneath it, it tilts its head and resumes its cries. Loud and sounding so hoarse from exhaustion in its throat that it sounds like a kazoo. All left alone and abandoned.

Gojo picks it up slowly, noticing it’s smaller than the size of his hand, and he holds it up into the air to inspect it. How does he know if it’s a girl or a boy? He pulls his phone out and types it into Google. Okay, in male kittens, the genital shape resembles a colon punctuation mark (:). He looks back at the kitten with no preservation of its genital honor. Yup, it’s a boy.

He has nothing against cats, he’s just not really used to them. His family had a dog growing up, a stunning Mongolian mastiff he could fight and wrestle with like a bear for as long as he could remember through to his teens, but because of that, he has no clue how to be gentle with an animal. And this little kitten seemed like it needed a whole lot of gentle from the way it shivers as he holds it in his arms.

He knows someone gentle.

In hindsight, he should’ve taken a glance in someone’s car door window to inspect for twigs and leaves in his hair before showing up at your front door, and he also should’ve felt weary over the ripped up condition of his shirt, but he didn’t think of those things until he was already standing at your front door. He briefly considered going shirtless, but then the idea of him showing up shirtless to your front door with no notice at an hour that wasn’t much better than the hour he visited you yesterday was something his gut was telling him wouldn’t be a wise thing to do. Although showing up shirtless most places has hardly ever failed him, he just had the feeling that you’d be different.

The kitten he holds in the curled palm of his hand trembles as it claws at Gojo’s shirt, calming down when it feels the warmth of his torso, and Gojo starts to find it cute. Then the door of your apartment flings open.

You stand there, looking neater than yesterday with your hair kept and you’re in some jeans with a light pink University of Tokyo T-shirt tucked into them. Your tote bag was slung around your shoulder, like you were just about to leave.

“S-Satoru?” you squeak out after jumping a little where you stand.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe again since you seem to never allow him inside your apartment. Apparently the doorframe is as far as he’ll get.

“What are you doing here?” you ask in the same way you asked it yesterday, and you tuck strands of hair behind your ear. His heart beats faster at the sight, and the kitten probably feels it from the way it starts purring with a nuzzling head under his ribcage.

He pulls the tiny thing from his front and extends his arm out to you, as it sits dazzled and confused in the palm of his hand from the sudden loss of surrounding heat, and then it looks at you. And you look at it. “I brought you a cat.”

“Wha—” you stutter, and your face entirely softens, lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout as you use both hands to pick it up off of his hand, it’s tiny white paws dangling in the air before you settle it snug in your arms, and it chirps a mew before pushing its little face against the pillows of your breasts. Lucky bastard. “But why???”

He shrugs, crossing his arms now as an easy smile makes way onto his face. “I don’t know. I thought you’d think it’s cute and you’d want to keep it.”

“But I can’t,” you whine, your fingers scratching the top of its head and its purrs become louder. “I can’t keep cats in my apartment.” You lift the fluff ball up into the air, its tiny stubby tail now slightly wagging from side to side like it’s a puppy. He makes note that you are a person who has the ability to turn kittens into puppies.

“Keep it anyway,” he tells you, “you wouldn’t be the first college student to unlawfully keep a cat in their apartment.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand,” you say, cradling the kitten in the nook of your elbow again. “I really can’t.” And your lips turn downwards into a frown, “this complex checks on tenants often. The people who rented this apartment before us couldn’t renew their lease because they got caught having a cat in the unit.”

His eyes widen. “Oh…that—…that sucks.”

“I can’t keep him,” you say, voice trembling slightly as you look down at it. It looked like it had fallen asleep in your arms. “I really want to, but I can’t. And he’s so cuuute, and tiny and sweet and—” He sees tears start to sheen in your eyes.

Uh.

Uh-oh.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

This was not going how he thought it would in his head.

He wasn’t supposed to make you CRY.

That was the last fucking thing he was supposed to do.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tries to comfort you when he hears you sniffle and sees your lower lip tremble. He holds your shoulders to get you to look at him, and his heart physically hurts at the sight of seeing you so sad. For fuck’s sake, you were going to ruin him. “I’m sorry, I—…I didn’t know that, I shouldn’t have brought it here without knowing that first, it was stupid and—”

“Yes, it was,” you say with a broken voice, shrugging his hold off you and using the back of your hand to wipe at a tear rolling down your cheek.

He pulls you into him now, holding you in his arms against your resistance but you eventually tuck your head into his chest to continue your sniffling as he rests his chin on top of your head and rubs a soothing thumb over your arm. The kitten is sandwiched between you two now, and is probably in the most amount of bliss it’s ever had in its extremely short life so far from the amount of warmth it's being surrounded by right now.

He feels the cool dampness of your tears soaking through his shirt, and he holds you tighter. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.” It feels like he’s apologizing for a lot more than the kitten right now.

You pull one of your arms out, the one that wasn’t holding the kitten, from between the two of you and hold onto his shirt tightly, the places where it’s ripped tearing open even more. “You just don’t think sometimes and it really hurts,” you say, muffled.

He lets out a deep sigh, lips brushing against the top of your head and you two stand still here in the imaginary forcefield of your apartment’s doorframe. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

“Don’t be sweet right now,” you say, voice cracking again, “that hurts even more.”

He’s really confused, in all honesty, but he masks it and can only hope out of the ten things he does wrong, he can do at least one right. “Okay.”

You push yourself out of his hold and hand him back the kitten, all in a rush, and he notices you refuse to look at the soot sprite anymore, like you’re trying not to get attached. “Take him, and leave,” you say, hoisting your totebag higher up onto your shoulder.

“But—” he tries to protest but you push him a few paces backwards by palms against his chest until he’s standing outside into the hallway. There’s a slight scrunch to your brow from your irritation of him, and maybe his problem is that he just finds it cute. And then you shut the door on him.

After a moment of stunned silence, he hears the kitten meow incessantly in his palm.

The little shit’s mocking me, he thinks.

.

.

.

[end]

a/n. thanks for reading!! this was silly to write haha. tbh i think reader was on her period during this scene which is why she became very emotional. i may be projecting bc i sob like a little bitch over cute animals when im on my period LOL. and gojo is trying his best u guys he’s just a little dumb ok ✋🏼😔 his looks have got him this far we have to have patience w a pretty privilege victim okay!!!!

thanks so much for reading!! also i really want to write a drabble of gojo becoming a cat dad now aaaaa

taglist: @megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@erencvlt @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle

@luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress @tsukikourito

@getitsatoru @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @btszn

@izayas-rings @semra4 @ethereally-lyann @bbyxxm @fvsm4x

@sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @banenemilk

@nanasukii28 @spindyl @ri-sa20 @thexmistress @mwtsxri

@ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @megumisthirdog @imjustaweirdnerd

@sakui1 @angelicscribe @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @tetsuski

note: i won’t be doing extended taglist for drabbles, sorry :”) also pls lmk if your tagging preferences change at any time!!

[physalian]

10 More Character Types the World Needs More of

Part 1 was specifically character dynamics, but I’m considering this a sequel anyway.

1. Fiercely independent character’s lesson isn’t to “trust people”

I’m not projecting. You’re projecting. There is a divide wide enough to fit the Grand Canyon between “trusting that someone isn’t lying” and “trusting someone to follow through on a promise”. Most dumpster fire attempts at these characters (almost exclusively women) rely solely on mocking them for the former because “not all men” or something.

Being consistently let down in life makes you hesitant to a) gain friends, b) pursue romantic interests, c) maintain familial relationships, d) get excited about any event that demands participation from someone who isn’t you. None of this is simply a bad attitude—it’s a trauma response. There is no lesson to be learned, and not even exposure therapy can help because it’s a real, legitimate, and common stunt people pull, whether they mean it or not.

So write one of these characters and legitimize their fears, give them someone who proves the exception to the rule, but do not let the lesson be “well they just haven’t found the right person yet”. Even the “right person” can let them down. It's about not becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy by sabotaging a good thing to prove it will inevitably go bad.

2. Conventionally attractive men who aren’t horndogs

I’m going to find every way I can to tell you to write more aces. This is to fight the stigma that attractive people must be attracted to people. Give me gorgeous aces and demi’s, men, women, enbys and everyone in between, who put a crap ton of effort into looking their best, and yet happen to not have a very loud libido. They look good for themselves, and not to impress anyone else.

Give me someone who could have anyone they wanted, gender regardless, and just simply has no interest. Or, they do actually have a significant other, but sex, how hot their partner is, or how horny they are, isn’t their internal monologue. I don’t even care if it’s unrealistic, it’s annoying to read.

And, you know, giving men male characters who aren’t thinking about sex all the time can be good, right? Right?

3. Manly warrior men who also write poetry

A.K.A Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. Just give me more Aragorns, period. This dude is either covered in filth, blood, guts, and the last 30 miles of rugged terrain, or singing in Elvish at his own coronation while pink flower petals fall. A man can be both, and still be straight.

A man can also drink Respect Women juice, you know? He ticks off all the boxes—he’s gentle when he needs to be, not afraid to hide his emotions, kind to those who are vulnerable and afraid and need a strong figure to look up to, resolute in his beliefs, skilled and knowledgeable in his abilities without being arrogant or smug, and the first boots on the battlefield, leading from the front.

4. Characters who are characters when no one is watching

This is less a specific type and more a scene that doesn’t get written enough. This whole point comes from Pixar’s Cars. I. Love. This. Movie. It’s not Pixar’s best, for sure, but this is my comfort movie. The best scene, one that’s so unique, is when Doc (aged living legend) thinks he’s alone when he rolls out onto the dirt race track and comes alive tearing around the oval.

This character’s unbridled, unabashed glee and euphoria at proving to himself that he’s still got it, when he’s completely unaware of his audience, is perfection. Not enough credence is given to characters to just… enjoy being themselves. He’s not doing it to prepare for the climactic race, he’s not doing it for the plot, he’s doing it just to do it, not even to prove Lightning wrong—just for himself.

Give your characters a “Doc Racing” scene. Whatever their skill is. Maybe they’re a dancer, a skater, a swimmer, a painter, sprinter. Just let your character love being alive.

5. Characters whose neurodivergence isn't “cute”

A.K.A. Lilo Pelekai from Lilo and Stitch. Really, her relationship with Nani is peak sibling writing. But Lilo herself is just so realistic with how she interacts with the world, how she interprets her relationships with her so-called friends, how she organizes her thoughts and rationalizes what she can’t quite understand, and how friggen smart she is for an… 11-year-old?

But she’s not “cute”. As in, she wasn’t written by generic Suits who were trying to cash in on the ND crowd by writing what they think will sell, but also making her juuust neurotypical enough to still be palatable by the rest of the audience. Lilo’s earnestness is what endears her to everybody. But also, she doesn’t get a free pass for her behavior, either. Her “friends” aren’t forced to accommodate her and Nani isn’t written as the cold-hearted villain for trying to discipline her.

6. Straight male characters with female friends

Am I double-dipping a bit here? Yes. While I completely understand how tempting it can be, this type of character is in dire need of exposure and representation to prove it’s possible. No weird tense moments, no double-glances when she isn’t looking, no contemplations about cheating on his girlfriend (and no insecure jealous girlfriend either). Just two characters who enjoy each other’s company and are able to coexist in a space and be in each other’s spaces without hormones getting in the way. Peak example? Po and Tigress from Kung Fu Panda.

Let these two rely on each other for emotional strength in times of need, let them share inside jokes, let them have a night alone together at a bar, at home, cooking dinner, getting takeout, talking on the patio in a porch swing… with zero “will they/won’t they.”

7. The likable bigot

I’m actually on the fence with this one but it’s something I also don’t see done often enough and I’m adding it for one reason: Bigots aren’t always obvious mustache-twirling villains and the little things they do might seem inconsequential to them, but are still hurtful. So showing these characters is like plopping a mirror down in front of these people and, I don’t know, maybe something will click. They don’t have to be MAGAs to be dangerous, and only writing the extremes convinces the moderates that they aren’t also the problem.

Example: I have a “friend” who recently said something along the lines of “I have lots of gay friends” followed up shortly by “I don’t think this country should keep gay marriage because it’s a slippery slope to legalizing pedophilia.” You know. The quiet part being that she *actually* thinks being gay is as morally abhorrent as being a pedo. But she totally has lots of gay friends. Including one who was driving her during that conversation. (It’s me. Hi. I’m apparently the problem, it’s me.)

She’s absolutely homophobic, but the second she stops announcing it, she’s a very bubbly person. She’s a ~likable~ bigot and thus thinks she can distance herself from the more violent ones.

8. The motherly single father

I say “motherly” merely as shorthand for the vibe I’m going for here. “Motherly” as in dads who aren’t scandalized by the growing pains of their daughters, and who don’t just parent their sons by saying “man up boys don’t cry”. Dads who play Barbie with their kids of either gender. Dads who go to the PTA meetings with all the other Karens and know as much if not more than they do about the school and their kids’ education.

Dads who comfort their crying kids, especially their sons. Dads that take interest in “feminine” activities like learning how to braid their daughter’s hair, learning different makeup brands, going on nail salon trips together. Dads who do not pull out the rifle on their daughter’s new boyfriend and treat her like property. Dads who have guy friends that don’t mock him and call him gay. Dad who does all this stuff anyway and is *actually* gay, too, but the emphasis is on overly sensitive straight men’s masculinity here.

Wholesome dads: a shocking amount of single-parents to female anime protagonists.

9. The parent isn’t dead, they’re just gone

Treasure Planet is an awesome movie in its own right, but what’s even better? This is a Disney movie where the parent isn’t dead, he’s just a deadbeat who abandoned his son and isn’t at all relevant to the plot beyond the hole he left behind for Jim to fill. The only deadbeat dads Disney allows are villains and those guys are very vigorously chasing an aspiration, that aspiration just doesn’t include quality fatherhood. Or motherhood. Disney has yet to write a deadbeat mom, I’m almost certain.

I just wrote a post about the necessity of the “dead parent” cliche, but what is perhaps more relatable because it’s more common, and what earns even more sympathy and underdog points for the protagonist? The hero with the parent who left. Then there’s a whole extra layer of angst and trauma available when your hero can now plague themselves with the question of if the parent leaving is their fault. Death is usually an accident. Choosing to abandon your kid is on purpose.

10. Victim who isn’t victim-blamed or told by their friends (and the narrative) to forgive their abuser

Izuku Midoriya lost so much support from me the moment he told his friend, bearing the consequences of domestic violence across half his face, that Midoriya thinks he’ll be ready soon to forgive his abomination of a father. I am firmly in the “Endeavor is a despicable human and hero” camp and no I’m not taking criticism. I audibly gasped when I heard this line and realized Deku was serious. Todoroki needs friends like the Gaang to remind him that he's allowed to hate the man who's actions caused the burn scar across his f*cking face.

I understand that the mangaka apparently didn’t anticipate the vitriolic backlash toward Endeavor during his debut and reveal of his parenting tactics but the tone-deafness of telling a fifteen year old with crippling emotional management issues and a horrible home life that his abusive dad in any way deserves and is entitled to forgiveness on the grounds of being related is disgusting.

Take it back further to a more famous Tumblr dad: John Winchester. Another despicable human who got retroactively forgiven by his sons after his death in a “he wasn’t so bad, he really did try” campaign. It’s one thing if the character believes it, it’s a whole different matter if the narrative is also pushing this message.

Katara is a perfect example: She lets go of her grudge for her own peace of mind and stops blaming Zuko for something he had no hand in, stops blaming him simply because he’s a firebender and he’s around to be her punching bag. She doesn’t forgive the man who killed her mother, because that man doesn’t deserve her forgiveness. Katara heals in spite of him, not because of him, and had she let him off the hook, she would have gotten an apology for getting caught, not for what he did (which is exactly what happened).

[bratbby333]

your beauty never scared me ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️ suguru geto

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ synopsis: after having your heart broken, your best friend helps you pick up the pieces ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ content + warnings: nsfw + mdni !! fem!reader x suguru, reader was in a toxic relationship + cheated on, fwb!suguru, angst, comfort, smut, unprotected sex ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ word count: 5k (+ a smau!! woo!!) ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ author notes: pink indicates reader's pov, orange is suguru's...inspired by Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green <3 also this was not beta read so pls excuse any typos xx i hope yall enjoy !!

Heartache has its own special way of ruining someone…

...stripping away every ounce of self-respect you work so hard to accumulate. That’s the trouble with letting people in. The outcome is almost always undecided, left in the hands of fate or whatever the hell you believe in. Perhaps it's a moment of weakness, letting a stranger entangle themselves with every fiber of your being, see every inch of your skin, explore the darker parts of your mind– even the things you hide from yourself. Putting trust in the wrong things, the wrong people. Never knowing someone’s true intentions until you discover them in bed, in your bed, with another. When something breaks inside of you, something cynical puts the pieces back together. You are a shell of who you once were. Blame it on soul-crushing character development.

It’s hard to watch the woman you love destroy herself…

...for the sake of holding on to someone who has only ill-intent in their heart. Perhaps it’s best to remove yourself. It’s agonizing, knowing you have the ability to save her from all this. You could relieve her of the heartache, free her from the suffering. Bring her nothing but joy. She has changed, evolved, and is nearly unrecognizable now. You watch as he withers her down into nothing. That man broke her, leaving her to pick up the pieces. And the woman you see now isn’t the same one you knew all those years ago.

The cold air of December flurries around outside as your chest erupts in warmth at the sight of her name illuminating your lock screen. She asks to see you, and you’d be a fool to decline. As she’s sat before you, you take in every part of her that you missed. But she’s different now. Dull eyes, sloping shoulders, her cheekbones are sunken in as her clothes hang from her figure like it's two sizes too big. But it isn’t, you remember the day she bought that t-shirt. The soul that normally inhabits her body has been replaced with something…unrecognizable. You know it’s her, but your mind tells you otherwise. The way her voice lilts from her lips, how chillingly different she sounds while delivering the news, it’s heartbreaking. 

She informs you she won’t be around much, mentioning that it will take time for her to heal from this. You pretend to be supportive of the distance she wants to place between herself and her loved ones, even though it absolutely crushes you. 

There’s something peaceful about loneliness…

…only relying on yourself for company. It can be draining of course. With the few friends you do have, you make the most of it. It’s a serene feeling, private even. People perceive you however they please, but only a few trusted individuals know your ins and outs. It's refreshing. 

God forbid you have to cater to someone else, especially when dating. It's hard enough having to take care of yourself. You make sure your friends know they’re loved and appreciated, of course, but the idea of inviting another person into your life; someone who demands your time and attention in order for it to work out? No thank you. It’s backfired for you many times before, you aren’t willing to go through it again. Your friends have watched you heal from heartbreak after heartbreak, each one more damning than the last. No one blames you for your cynicism, it’s understandable. 

Plus, the emotional upkeep of a romantic relationship is exhausting. And the idea of meeting someone, falling for them, and it not working out in the end? Torturous. Why put yourself through all that?

“You just haven’t found the right one!” 

“They’ll come around when you least expect it!”

“You gotta put yourself back out there!” 

Blah, blah, blah. Not interested. There’s no room for hopeless romance in this ill-fated world. You’re not dealing with that pain anymore. Not if you can help it. 

The trouble with love is that it’s cruel…

…discriminatory, even. Picking and choosing who gets to rejoice in its bliss and simultaneously alienating the unfortunate souls who suffer in its unyielding grip. You attempt to find peace in the silence of her absence, telling yourself that she’s okay, but knowing all too well that her precious heart is still shackled to someone so undeserving. You hold on to the irregular check-in’s you get from her. You hope she’s healing, and you prepare yourself for the outcome; that when she finally returns, she will not be the same person she was. 

Betrayal has a pesky habit of sticking around…

…a lingering feeling that still eats away at you. The night you caught him in his infidelity, something deep within you broke. It wasn’t your heart, no, that would be too simple. It was your psyche, the core of your being. The day he left, a part of you left with him. The chemistry of your brain changed, your atomic makeup shifting toward nihilism. 

So you move through life differently now. Every positive outlook you once had now cast to the wayside, replaced with unyielding suspicion in attempts to keep your heart guarded from the outside world. Hope has finally run out, the idea that there’s good in everyone proven to be a goddamn lie. You shove your desire for love into a padded safe and hide it away on a forgotten shelf in your mind. Hell, you’d burn that obnoxious feeling if you could. Run it through a meat grinder, chuck it into a volcano, nuke it. Doesn’t matter. Anything to stop it from tearing you apart. It’s not like it’s done you any good. Besides, who would want someone as damaged as you?

Part of you feels guilty…

…for sitting idly by, knowing your dear friend was hurting so deeply. But there wasn’t much you could do. You grant her space, knowing she wasn’t given that same courtesy for four years of her life. You pray she returns soon, aware that she doesn’t do well on her own. Her own mind is acting like a prison, holding her hostage, forcing her to relive her pain day in and day out. But, god damn it, you can’t take it anymore. You have been without her for so long. So you reach out, demanding she spend time with you. Self-isolation can only get you so far. It had been months since you’d seen her last. And to your surprise, she agrees.

A spring evening, 65 degrees, the setting sun…

…a gentle breeze that laps at your warm skin as you sit cross-legged on a checkered blanket. The beautiful flowers of May decorate the ground in colorful clusters. The cicadas sing while the bees are busy buzzing around. It’s a strange feeling; coping with the fact that your life has reached rock-bottom, a total stand-still as you work to heal yourself, yet life continues to move, to grow, to thrive. It’s inspiring in a way. You are accompanied by Suguru. He managed to get you out of the house after weeks of rotting away inside, anchored down by the gut wrenching feeling of heartbreak.

Laughter echoes through the park as the two of you revel in the serenity. Life feels…good. Whole. Worth living. It’s been a while since it has felt this way. It shouldn't feel strange, but it does. Happiness has become a foreign concept to you.

Sitting before you is the woman you love…

…the color in her cheeks has returned, the fullness of her face present once more. After suffering through the many months of thunder and unrelenting downpour in her mind, she has bloomed once more. Finally. You couldn’t pull your attention away from her even if you wanted to, your body and mind drawn to her in the most spiritual way. Even though she’s deep in thought, working to take in her surroundings, her beauty is still very much evident. She isn’t even aware of the power she holds– utterly entrancing. You would do anything to live in this moment forever. You’d do anything for her. 

But in this moment…

…with a forgotten feeling of fulfillment creeping its way into your chest as the soft rays of the sun dance across your skin and the sounds of nature swirl through your ears, you realize something. Something so beautiful, yet so fucking terrifying. You love him. Suguru. Maybe it was just your heartache talking, connecting dots that had no business associating. 

You brush it off, hide it away, and chalk it up to just being in a vulnerable moment. Your heart had been torn from your body only a few months prior. Anger still rips through your chest when you think about it. Four years wasted on someone you had placed on the highest pedestal, far higher than you placed your family, your friends…yourself. You were blindsided. In an instant, everything you had come to love, the home you felt safe in, the person you thought you knew…ripped away. Like it was nothing at all. 

Suguru has done what he could to mend the wounds for you, knowing good and well that if you are left to your own devices you would spiral past the point of return. And as renewing as this spring evening is, you know you will never be the same again. 

But you can’t help but fixate on the way he makes you feel. And as hard as you try to push those feelings away, they continue to bubble up. What happens when it finally reaches its boiling point?

You’re only human. You have wants, needs, and desires…

…so who do you turn to for that release? Suguru, of course. Isn’t that what friends are for?

Some would say it’s an evil thing to do; to use someone for pleasure, your own personal gain. A part of you understands that, too. Sure, it may have started out that way, but it’s shifted. And that scares the shit out of you, how you find yourself searching for his validation, the sadness you feel when he leaves in the morning after a night full of fun. So why not tell yourself that you’re just doing what you need to do, rather than what you want to do. Ignoring the fact that deep down you really fucking love it. 

It’s not like you’re taking advantage of him and the bond you share…not really, anyway. The two of you are very close, having known each other for ten years. Side by side, maneuvering through a decade of emotional ups and downs; personal dilemmas, weird family dynamics, terrible relationships, fluctuating hormones and unexpected cast changes within your friend group. But the two of you have always stayed consistent, the main characters. Your personalities mesh well, constantly riffing off one another. Never ending laughter and smiles. He's seen you at your absolute worst and vice versa. The true definition of unconditional love. So why not get a little more from him? After all this time, it feels warranted, well-deserved, even. Ignoring what you feel for him, it just makes sense that this is how it should go down. Plus, if it was such a bad idea, why would he agree?

You would accept her…

…in any way she chooses to present herself to you. After years of watching her hurt, you finally have your friend back, and there isn’t anything you wouldn't do to make her happy. Especially with guilt that you still feel, knowing there was nothing you could have done that would’ve saved her from her suffering. So when she suggests the idea of being friends with benefits, you’d be insane to deny her that. Is it a bad idea? Perhaps. You refuse her offer? She slips away, seeking refuge in the arms of another, someone who could hurt her…Never again.

You crave her so deeply that this arrangement seems perfect. Even though you dread the morning after, not wanting to leave her side…jumping on every opportunity to see her, showering her in praise every time you’re nestled deep within her warmth– the way her eyes light up at your word makes you melt. Is it possible she feels the same way? The more you think about it, the less crazy the idea seems. Would she leave you in the dust if you told her the truth? You don’t want to risk losing her. Not if you can help it. But you can’t confess your underlying intentions. Even though a deep part of you hopes for more, it doesn’t even matter at this point. Hide it. You get to be with her in a way that you never have before, and that’s enough for you…right? 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

It all transpired after one drunken night playing a confessional card game with your friend group. You were shit-faced and horny, and he wasn’t any better off. You’re honestly surprised his dick still worked that night, but god did it work. You didn’t expect it to go any further after that, assuming it was a one-off occasion. The two of you never really addressed what happened, either, didn’t take the time to have a real conversation about it. Just a quick “hey, do you wanna…” followed by an indifferent “yeah, why not?”, and that was that. Which is probably a good thing, because any more talking would have most likely resulted in your true feelings coming to the surface. But it happened, and is still happening, so who are you to complain? It’s perfect.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

Your friends and random on-lookers alike say you’re compatible, and yeah, they might be right, but fuck that. Why risk the friendship you cherish so deeply for a title? That's idiotic. It's borderline insanity. The minute you put a label on something it all comes crashing down. So, why ruin a good thing? 

Don’t overthink it. It’s nothing serious, and it never will be. You refuse to open yourself up to somebody else, someone new. No more getting hurt. You’ve let Suguru into your life in a more meaningful way than you have for anyone else. And that’s far enough.

Does he know every little thing about you? Sure. 

Does he care for your well-being? Yeah. 

Is he attentive, thoughtful, and supportive? Of course…it is Suguru after all. 

But so what? That's what friends are for. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

You and Suguru see each other frequently, at least three times a week, whether it’s just a normal hangout or…a hangout. You just get what you need and go; a good laugh, dinner and a movie, casual drinks, or a heaven-sent dick appointment. You both seem content, enjoying one another’s company and…bodies…and minds and souls. 

Fuck.

It’s hard to ignore your totally natural, human need for deeper intimacy. But you try to, and damn do you try hard. It would probably be best for you to stop hooking up with Suguru and just go back to how things were. 

You can’t go through this. Not again. You’ve already shifted the perfectly normal dynamic you once had into something deeper. Something…real. There’s no turning back now. So you continue to hide behind your ego, fighting off every demon known to man in hopes that this will all just go away. 

You’ve been somewhat successful in suppressing your feelings, molding them into something more manageable. You are best friends, with the addition of benefits. Simple. Nothing more, nothing less. You pretend to be ignorant of Suguru's awe-inspiring beauty. How his energy is absolutely addicting, the way his lingering touch burns your skin so beautifully. He makes you feel seen for everything you are and appreciates you for everything you’re not. That sentiment alone propels you through the unexplored cosmos, crossing the line between reality and nirvana as starlight dances across your skin.

Not to mention, when you two are actually fucking? It's like two parts of the same soul finally meeting after centuries of arduous searching. You don’t know where your body stops and his begins, entangled in the most profound way. 

God. You sound insane. This is no way to view a friend…your best friend, at that. Get it together. 

What would you even call this? Touch starved? No, he touches you plenty…and in all the right places, too. Is it desperation? Your insatiable need for love? Karmic punishment for all your failed relationships? The corny trope where you end up falling for your best friend? As much as you want to fight against the feelings you have for him, it’s too late. 

Whatever. Just play it off. You refuse to let your walls down. And you’d hate to give Suguru the satisfaction of being the one who commandeered heavy machinery and sent a wrecking ball toward your emotional fortress. 

If you don’t acknowledge your feelings they’ll just cease to exist, right? Yeah, that’s how it works. And it’s a super healthy coping mechanism, too. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

All this deep pondering and emotional soul searching has got you worked up. You decide to see if Suguru wants to come over. Not because you miss him, or anything. It’ll be nothing more than a casual hook up. Dick only, no feelings. 

You catch yourself giggling at his messages. Gross. You brush it off with a shake of your head, a violent wave of self awareness washing over you. 

I'm not going through this again. I refuse.

You read the messages over and over. Do you seem desperate? Do your texts carry the perfect amount of indifference? Whatever. It doesn’t matter, it’s just Suguru, anyway. He's stuck around this long, it would take a lot to scare him off, now.

The plan’s in motion, and you’re going to have a good time tonight. You feel your heart rate spike at the thought of seeing him. That's a totally normal reaction for someone who has no feelings involved, right? Just friends…right? 

Suguru chuckles as he reads your response. Excitement floods through his body in anticipation. Is it finally time to confess? His own eagerness catches him off-guard. He can’t. It’s too soon. He takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. Keep it together.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

It’s been so long since the feeling of joy has drifted between these barren walls. You take a swig of your drink, exhaling happily through your nose as the sweet juice dances with the sting of the liquor, warming your chest as you swallow. Leaning back on the couch with one leg kicked up on the coffee table, you absentmindedly swirl your glass as you gaze at Suguru.

“I’m really happy to see that you’re doin’ better,” he muses, taking a sip before setting his cup down. You offer him a small nod paired with a gentle smile, looking back at the drink nestled between your fingers; the ice that’s creating condensation on the outside, the way the sun seeps between the half-open curtains in your living room, the cooing of birds just beyond your window panes. Quite frankly, you’re trying your hardest to focus on anything but him. Ignoring the thrum of your heart every time you look into his eyes, pretending the smooth cadence of his voice doesn’t make your body tremble. 

Say you do confess? What then? Is that really something you want, anyway? Or is it just nice to lust after someone? No, it’s not that. You really do love him. You haven’t even considered the possibility of him reciprocating these feelings, and odds are if he does, you’ll just run for the hills, not willing to open your heart up again. Your last relationship destroyed you. There’s no way you’ll allow someone to fill that void. Not with the possibility that it’ll all be a farce. 

After a moment of silence, you finally speak up. “Me, too. And it’s all thanks to you, Sugu.” You finally meet his gaze, and it’s as if his eyes are attempting to pierce through you with how intently he’s looking at you. His expression quirks as if to ask what you mean. You decide to test the waters a bit. Fuck it.

“You…you’ve made me feel…whole again,” your words come out a bit choppy and drawn out, still battling with your decision to come clean. Your eyes dart around his face before looking away once more. You fiddle with your fingers, unsure of if you want to elaborate. Even if you stop here, it’s okay. That’s a totally normal thing to say to a friend who helped you in your time of need.

Your head snaps toward him at the sound of your name. More is said, but you focus on the way he addresses you. He says it so softly, so gently, like the very syllables of your title grace his tongue as they sway from in between his vocal cords. For four years, your name was used against you, weaponized with anger and hatred. But his words are relayed to you with nothing but love behind them. 

Your ears are ringing as you stare at him blankly. You shake your head in hopes to clear the thoughts that are clouding it. “Wait…wha? What did you just say? The last part?”

“I said, it’s because I love you,” he smiles as he watches your face flush. Time slows as your heart rate speeds up. You brows furrow a bit, trying to piece together what the hell is going on.  A million thoughts spin through your head as you stare at him. “You…love…me? Like, in a ‘best friends’ kinda way, right?” You’re shocked as he shakes his head. “No. I love you, and I have for a while. In a more than friends kinda way,” he laughs a bit before leaning forward, reaching for your hand. “You love me, too. Don’t you?” 

“I-” your words get caught in your throat as his fingers rub against the back of your hand. As calm and collected as Suguru seems on the outside, he is spiraling on the inside. He isn’t sure where this newfound confidence is coming from, but he decides to roll with it. His heart thrums in his chest as he anxiously awaits your response. He has reached his tipping point, wanting nothing more than to finally be able to call you his.

You look down, staring at the place where the two of you meet, the feeling of electricity coursing through your body. A chill runs down your spine before you look back at him. “I-I do. I love you.” 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡

You’re laying on your back, your hair fanned out across the bed. Your arms are wrapped tight around his neck as he gently thrusts into you with slow, deep ruts of his hips. His head is tucked into the crook of your neck, his warm breath brushing across your sensitive skin. 

He leans back, looking down at you with a sweet smile, “You are so beautiful.” His eyes run up and down your body, taking in every dip and curve of your figure, before fixating on where the two of you meet. His lips part as he watches himself disappear inside of you, a deep moan breaking through his chest at the sight of your sweet juices coating his length. He rubs intricate circles into your clit, loving the way you sound as your body writhes under his touch.

Tears begin to pool behind your eyes as you gaze up at him, entranced by the way he manages to stimulate every sense in your body. This is what love truly feels like, bestowed upon you by a man who wants nothing more than to fulfill every facet of your life.

He presses his forehead against yours as he continues to pump into you, his movements influenced by nothing more than pure adoration.

The sun bounces off your features, illuminating your face in such an ethereal way. His breath catches in his throat as he watches the way the light makes your eyes glow. You are angelic in every sense of the word. Someone too pure for this realm, unfathomably delicate; sent to this world to be worshiped and protected.

“I love you. So much,” he groans. Every ounce of devotion he has for you is being pumped into your body with every plunge. It’s overwhelming for him. He's nearly bursting at the seams as he makes love to you, moving his hips so tantalizingly slow, but wanting to thrust into you with fervor, to pound the message into you that you are deserving of all love in the world, and that he will be the one to give it to you. But he takes his time, wanting nothing more than to savor you. 

Small whimpers break through your throat. “I…ahh!– I love you, S-Suguru,” you moan, whining as his head brushes into your sweet spot, making your back arch off the bed as your chest presses into his. The pleasure raking through you is immeasurable, every neuron in your brain firing off at once. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every single part of him.

He cups the sides of your cheeks, brushing away your tears before placing two soft kisses over each eye. “Why’re you cryin’, my love?” he coos, concern evident on his face as he rubs his thumbs against your face. His hips pause as his eyes dart between yours. 

“Just…’m just so happy,” you whisper, scrunching your nose up with a small sniffle before placing a kiss on his lips. He smiles deeply before returning to his original pace.

“You deserve it...just wanna make you feel good, baby,” his hips press him into the deepest parts of you, rubbing against your sweet, gushing walls, but his pace remains deliberate. “You deserve all the pleasure in the world,” his teeth grit ever so slightly as he feels you clench down on him. “F-fuck, baby… fuck. You are just... incredible,” he groans, angling his hips to keep brushing against your g spot.

Even though you’ve had each other many times before, no other instance compares to the way you feel right now. Your body brimming with love, fulfillment…with him. His touch makes you feel reborn, like no one has ever hurt you before. His hands glide across your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, his unyielding passion evident in the way he clings to you, and you to him.

“Sugu…” you gasp as he bottoms out once more. Short pants leave your lips as you feel the tightness in your stomach intensify. “P-please, keep goin’...I’m…gonna cum,” you mewl. His hands reach underneath your body, palming each asscheek as he lifts your lower half off the bed. The new angle makes your eyes roll as stars begin to dance around your head. “Me too…y’feel so fuckin’ good.” The fiction of his pelvis against your clit shoots ripples of pleasure through you. Your nails drag down his back in an attempt to ground yourself, but to no avail. This feels otherworldly. His pace picks up a bit, pushing you to unravel, your body succumbing to bliss. The warmth that engulfs his lengths makes him reach his peak right after you, his hips stuttering as he works you both through your orgasms.

He props himself up on his forearms, making a conscious effort to not collapse on you and crush you with his body weight, though you would most definitely welcome it. He watches as your chest rises and falls, every soft pant that leaves your lips like music to his yearning ears. He can’t bring himself to pull out, loving the way your walls are still spasming around him. You stare into his eyes for a moment, running your fingers down his spine. A gentle moment of silence settles between to two of you. No words are spoken, but they don't need to be. 

He begins to get up, but your legs lock around his waist immediately, resheathing him inside of you. “Baby–”, he begins to object, but your arms wrap around his shoulders once more, pulling him down as you kiss the spot below his ear, “Jus’ a few more minutes. Love having you like this.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest as he smiles into the crook of your neck. “You keep this up and we might just have to go again.”

And you do. For hours and hours, attempting to make up for all the years wasted. Your two souls engaging in the most mesmerizing dance. He is determined to replace all the heartache you feel with pleasure. And he does. You feel nothing but him. And he can’t focus on anything other than you. Rolling around together until the golden hue of the setting sun shifts into a light pink as it rises above the horizon. But it feels like no time has passed at all. 

Suguru draws soft circles into your skin, holding you tight against his sweat-glistened chest. Your body trembles from the copious amount of pleasure coursing through you. A gentle peck is placed on the top of your head before he looks toward the ceiling. A sense of contentment washes over him, dancing with the soft pulse of his many orgasms still reverberating through his body. After years of waiting, you are finally his, and he is determined to grant you your well-deserved peace.

Dawning a robe, you sit on your balcony, listening to the birds sing you their habitual 'good morning'. The door slides open behind you, and Suguru takes a seat, presenting you with a cup of tea. A quiet thank you leaves your lips as the two of you take in the scenery before you. 

“We should probably get some sleep now, huh?” You ask, turning to him as you take a sip, smiling at the fact that he knows exactly how you take your tea. But, of course he does. It’s Suguru. 

He grins, “No…I don’t want to leave this moment behind just yet.” You blush, reaching your hand out to grasp his. 

“Me neither.”

In his eyes, you are precious, the most important person in his life. The deep-rooted fear of not being worthy of love is disproven in the form of Suguru’s undying loyalty to you. He has waited years to be with you, and he would have waited years more. And as the two of you sit together, with your fingers intertwined and heartbeats in sync, you know there is nowhere else you want to be…no one else you want to be with. An unfamiliar feeling of safety creeps into your chest. You’re in good hands now.

Maybe opening yourself back up to love wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

author notes: this fic is incredibly self-serving...but i really needed this. i just want a pretty boy named suguru to save me from the heartache i feel rn ugh

my reqs are closed at the moment, but thirsts and chats are always welcome !!

alsoooo !! i just wanted to send out a big big thank you for 700 followers...im literally in shock i cannot believe it. im spinning around my room rn just thinking abt it. yall are amazing n i appreciate every single one of you 🫶🏼

tag list: @anxious-chick @call-memissbrightside @the-weeb-of-the-uchiha @sadmonke

likes, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated !!

© bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[kennedysbaby]

pretty baby — leon kennedy.

wc: 3.1k

pairing: re6! leon kennedy x fem! reader.

content: age gap, smoking, alcohol consumption, fake-dating, two pretentious people engaging in a conversation, leon saying "women", kissing, reader is apart of leon's squad.

honorable mention: claire redfield.

a/n: mmmmmm re6 leon (i'm losing my mind). posted this from my patio because the weather's finally getting better <3.

contrary to popular opinion, dreary, rainy nights were one of your most favorite things—amongst many other stuff you cherished—but you held nights like these dear to your heart. the soft pattering from rain droplets hitting against the window, a warm blanket, and comfortable pajamas, coupled with a cup of hot coffee and a book was, in your opinion, a perfect way to wind down after slaving away at work all day.

however…you just wished for one more thing.

a boyfriend. a man. someone to call your own. 

someone who'd let you rest your head on their lap as you flipped through the pages and took sporadic sips of whatever hot beverage you were drinking at the moment. someone who'd thread their fingers through your hair and press soft kisses on your forehead. your entire body yearned for such a thing, but it always felt so out of reach.

unfortunately, men didn't commit, or think, like that. they just took what they wanted like dogs and then headed out the door, not a single care in the world. it was pathetic and desperate. 

hook-up culture irked you. so did "talking stages," or anything of that caliber. why would any sane person waste their time and energy like that on someone they'd meet for no longer than a week? maybe you were just a hopeless romantic. 

maybe you were the pathetic and desperate one.

none of the men at your workplace interested you in the slightest—as they all had that mindset you loathed. you were a special government agent, trying to save the world from bioterrorism. all the male agents were arrogant, wanna-be jerks. they'd call themselves "esoteric" when really, their favorite movie directors were quentin tarantino and christopher nolan.

you just rolled your eyes and sighed. how deplorable.

there was one guy, however, but you deemed him out of the question. a forbidden fruit, in other words. for starters, he was a good ten years—maybe more—older than you. he also happened to be the leader of your assigned, specific, squad. and ironically enough, a mercenary had him twirling his dirty blonde hair and blushing like a schoolgirl. she was very gorgeous, in his defense.

leon kennedy was just so damn handsome, it had you acting a fool. you couldn't help but swoon when he called you "sweetheart" casually, as if it was second nature. he'd put his hands on your waist while walking past you, muttering a quick, "sorry, sweetheart." he had really good taste in films, music, and books too, surprisingly. he treated you like a real person, not a piece of meat like most men did.

he even made you laugh at his insanely stupid jokes.

you often wondered if you were in love with him, or if it was just a fleeting crush. or maybe you adored the attention he gave you (more than your other peers). but then again, was there really a difference between love and attention?

as you tucked your knees beneath yourself, sinking down further into the couch, your cellphone vibrated right next to you, the caller id reading leon—how fucking cliche. your heart then dropped, wondering why he'd call you at eight pm on a saturday. swallowing the lump in your throat, you answered quickly, "um, hello?" 

"hey sweetheart," leon's low, smooth voice said on the other end of the line. it sounded like he was driving. maybe to see me, you thought, before chastising yourself for being delusional. he couldn't fawn over you when ada wong existed. a beat later, he added, "i know this is a little out of the norm, but i was just wondering if you were free tomorrow."

free tomorrow? for what? was this seriously happening? you dumbfoundedly stammered, uttering something so laughable out, "i— uh— are you sure you have the right number?" your whole body recoiled with cringe the second those words rolled right off your tongue. you resisted the urge to groan in annoyance.

and laugh is exactly what leon did. it was short, almost a scoff. "nah. but it isn't what you think, don't worry," that little bit confused you, before he elaborated, "i'm not trying to be some creepy boss. long story short, i need a date for an event."

"a date..? what kind of event?" you queried, sitting yourself upright. your mind was still barely registering the fact that you were having this conversation with leon, quite literally moments after fantasizing about him.

he let out a soft exhale, "one of my old friends is hosting this get together, and lets just say i've been lying to her about having a girlfriend—" leon groaned at how juvenile he was sounding, shaking his head in disbelief. "i'm too old for this shit." he chastised, before getting back on track. "anyways, she's been on my ass about it, telling me i should find a girl, and that i'd be a lot happier, or something like that." 

debatable, he thought, given his experience with a certain woman in the past.

"so i lied to her, and said i was talking to this girl, so she's expecting you. you don't have to if you aren't up for it, but i won't let you go back home empty-handed if you do end up coming through."

pretending to be leon's girlfriend—even for a day—sounded like heaven on earth to you. 

without even giving the offer a second thought, you said a little too excitedly, "yes!—i mean, sure, why not." a poor attempt at playing it cool. "i haven't got anything planned tomorrow, so…"

leon chuckled lightly at your enthusiasm, finding it endearing. unbeknownst to you, the man did actually think about you outside of work, even if it swarmed him with guilt. you weren't a rookie, but still, it felt wrong. he was thirty-six, he shouldn't be giving a girl in her early-to-mid twenties second thoughts. he really did feel like a "creepy boss."

but he couldn't help himself. not when you were so unfathomably pretty. his lips parted at the way you'd smile up at him, nodding your head as you quickly scurried off and followed orders, or how you'd always offer to help him with filing mission reports—a very tedious task that no other agent on your team would ever volunteer to do. 

he also wasn't an idiot, and knew that you held him on some sort of pedestal, whether it be a crush, infatuation, or simply admiration. 

"alright, cool." leon affirmed, now pulling into his driveway, the asphalt crackling beneath the tires. he pulled the keys out of the ignition, and shoved them into his pocket, whilst staying on the phone with you. "i'll pick you up around six. we won't stay too long, leave around eight. okay?"

your mouth had went dry by this point, but you quickly agreed, "yeah, sounds good."

what the hell just happened? 

…

holding onto leon's arm, the two of you walked into his friend's—who you later found out was the claire redfield—house, and you couldn't help but marvel at the place. clearly, the woman made relatively well money, and it showed itself in flaming colors through her subtle decor. dressed in her classic red leather jacket, she greeted you and leon with a smile, "hey leon, and…the mystery girl he's been telling me about," the woman chuckled. she was so pretty.

you introduced yourself to claire, surprisingly not feeling nervous in the slightest, as you usually were when you meet people for the first time. it wasn't that you were shy, you were just reserved. but claire was sweet. some people take ages to warm up to, but she wasn't like that—instantly likable. 

"i honestly don't know how a girl as pretty as her is into you leon," claire teased, a knowing smirk on her maroon lips. leon just scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he was used to her tormenting. "drinks?" she asked, not waiting for you two to respond as she handed the two of you glasses of red wine.

you mumble a quick thank you, then raising the glass to your lip gloss coated lips, taking a sip before laughing, "maybe i'm just attracted to losers." which wasn't exactly a lie—you were in love with leon, or something like that. he just didn't know. yet…

"a loser?" an offended look crosses his perfect features, as he looks down at you in surprise. he just shook his head and sighed, "women." the comment earned a chuckle from both you and claire—laughing at leon's misery would always be funny. he could only purse his lips and keep his peace.

your eyes dart around the room, noticing a few familiar faces, others not. a couple of bsaa agents, sherry birkin—to name a few—and more. the next hour consisted of repeating your introduction to a few more of leon's friends that you didn't know, and leon sporadically leaving kisses on either the top of your head, or your arm, as any "boyfriend" would. he was doing an awfully good job of playing the part.

almost too good. if only you weren't so oblivious.

the atmosphere was becoming disgustingly stuffy, so you free yourself from leon's arm wrapped around your waist from behind, and told him, "hey, i'm gonna step out on the patio for a second." 

"wait, i'll go with you." and you didn't protest against it.

leon was fighting the guilt that was regurgitating to the surface, telling himself that he shouldn't pursue you in any way possible. he couldn't entertain whatever feelings you were harboring for him, not when he was the older, more experienced individual in this scenario. but he was weak. so inexplicably drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. 

the two of you slipped out to the patio, standing side-by-side as the cool breeze blew threw your hair, the skirt of your dress billowing in the wind. leon stared at you, lovelorn. you pulled a pack of parliaments and a fancy lighter out of your purse, flicking it and lighting your cigarette.

"i didn't know you smoked." leon said plainly. he himself didn't—never did, never will. it was a bit ironic how he was comfortable being an alcoholic, though.

you shrugged, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air, "eh. i'm not addicted, like you might be assuming. i just do it for shits and giggles, i don't know," another puff, another cloud of smoke.

"shits and giggles?" he mused, laughing lightly. "that's a juvenile way to put it."

his laugh alone pulled a smile onto your lips, as you couldn't fight the heat that spread across your cheeks like a wildfire. "i guess. but hey, everyone has their vices, don't judge." 

"hey, i'm not judging." leon raised his hands in surrender, a soft smile of his own forming. "you just didn't strike me as the type, that's all."

you just shook your head with a grin, looking away from leon bashfully, trying your hardest to ignore the fact that your heart was beating out of your chest. he was a horribly charming fake boyfriend. it didn't help that you were already pining for the man, even if you wanted to pretend like you could never have him. that was beyond your concerns in this moment. 

"what kind of girl do i strike you as?" you ask curiously, turning your head to meet him staring right at you. oh shit. you bit the corner of your cheek anxiously. whatever, i'm probably misreading things, you console yourself. no, he couldn't be. this wasn't some cheesy romcom. 

he feigned mulling over the question for a moment, before replying in a tone softer than silk. "well," leon got a little closer, just a teensy bit, and said, "you're a good girl. tooth-rottingly sweet, does her work before its due, volunteers when she doesn't have to, not to mention she graduated top of her class. you're also bit of a stickler, no offense," his sharp eyes met yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

"i am not—!" he gave you a knowing look, before you sighed, "i guess you're right. but whatever, you like jane austen novels," you fired back, "you, who enjoys bands like alice in chains and the foo fighters, reads authors like dostoevsky and nabokov—your favorite movie is the french connection for christ's sake! jane austen is very out of character, i'd say."

leon couldn't describe the swell of adoration he felt for you as you judged his tastes, going on a whole tangent; if he had no self-control, he'd kiss you without hesitation. but he played it cool, his eyes narrowing as he countered, "that's different." 

you remembered that stuff about him. his heart skipped a beat, making him feel like an anxious teenager.

"it's different? how's it different?" you retorted playfully, and the two of you went back and forth for the next five minutes over the most ineffably stupid conversation known to mankind. the whole scene was so awfully picturesque, straight out of a movie. 

"whatever you say, sweetheart," was what leon said sarcastically, ending the banter between the two of you, even if he was enjoying it beyond belief. it had been a damn long time since he'd felt something this warm inside of him. leon mentally chastised himself for being so self-indulgent—even if he really deserved it.

his pale blue eyes glance over at his watch, reading the time: 8:04 pm. leon then looked up at you, and asked, "you wanna head out soon?" 

you take a final puff from your lit cigarette, softly exhaling the smoke, before answering weakly, "hm? oh, uh, sure." 

that definitely put a damper in your mood, and leon took very well notice of it. after tonight, you wouldn't be leon's pretend girlfriend. you'd go back to being his subordinate, just someone who he worked with on the field, and maybe considered a friend. you really enjoyed spending time with more veteran agents tonight, more importantly, you enjoyed spending time with leon. 

this all only made your lovesick self worse. you felt slightly mad at him for playing his part so well.

"you okay?" leon asked, a concerned expression etched onto his features as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. his hand, typically so calloused from the rough years, felt so delicate. it was jarring, yet swoon-worthy. he was a little confused as to why you were so upset now.

you swallowed the heavy lump in yout throat, unsure of how to proceed, so you resort to simply mustering up a half-hearted smile, "yeah. just a little exhausted."

"exhausted?" he repeated incredulously. "just a minute ago you were spewing nonsense at me. tell me the truth, sweetheart." a genuine look was plastered on his face, one you couldn't argue against. but it wasn't like you could confess to leon just like that, with zero repercussions. no, that wouldn't work.

he teased slyly, in an attempt to lighten the mood and cheer you up, "was i too mean?"

"nah," you couldn't bring yourself to stifle your chuckle, "it's just…" your voice trailed off, not knowing how to proceed. "well…" leon lifts his hand from you shoulder, up to your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, allowing him to get a better look of your face. your lips part slightly in awe at his sweet gesture—you weren't by anyone now, you didn't have to pretend to be a couple. 

"c'mon, lay it on me."

you sucked in a deep breath, before swallowing your pride, and confessing, "leon, i— look, i know it's not allowed, and quite frankly, inappropriate, but…" 

and that was telling enough. he knew just what you were trying to tell him, and to save you from any further embarrassing stuttering, he leaned in closer, his lips grazing overs, your breath mingling with his.

"that's alright," leon cooed, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. "i'm flattered, really."

his mind was yelling, praying for him to stop and get ahold of himself, but his entire body was working on autopilot, fueling his desires. here this pretty girl was, handing herself to him on a silver platter—how in god's name could he refuse? he was just as eager for her, to feel her soft skin, kiss her sweet, full lips. his breath hitched as your hand lightly trailed up his arm. 

his lips then left a soft, gentle kiss against yours. you sighed contently, leaning in closer to his touch, deepening the kiss. leon's hands roamed a bit more freely, crawling up your sides, lingering on your hips. he pulled away for a moment, and mumbled, "you're so pretty baby," a light chuckle erupted from his throat, the sound alone making your heart flutter. "such a sweet girl." he left another kiss on your jaw, then on your neck, his light stubble prickling your skin.

a shaky breath slipped past your lips, escaping from the depths of your lungs. his words alone made your knees weak—this seemed so surreal, but nice. here leon was, a man you thought you'd never have, kissing you as if he really was your boyfriend. you lifted your hands, bringing them up to cup his cheeks, and smiled. 

"so…are you just getting free kisses out of me, or what?"

leon shook his head, "nah, no way." another quick kiss against your lips. "i'm taking you out for dinner next weekend. i won't take no for an answer." he stared at you intently, as he plunged right back in for another kiss—this man was starved. 

you reciprocated each and every kiss, letting out a soft moan as he slipped his tongue past your lips, fingers tangling into his dirty blonde hair. leon was at war with his mind, his body betraying his thoughts. he really shouldn't be doing this—entertaining the notion of a relationship between the two of you—but he couldn't bring himself to. he was only human, after all.

"fine by me," you replied, pulling away momentarily to catch your breath. "b-but what about the rules? wouldn't this get us both in trouble?"

"again with the stickler act." leon chuckled amusedly. "sweetheart, nobody has to know. this'll be our little thing. we can keep this under the wraps, can't we?—if it all works out, that is. believe it or not…i've had it bad for you too." he reassured you, the words coming out smoothly, as if he'd been planning this moment for ages. i've got it bad for you too. 

"if you say so," you conceded with a stupid smile, leaning in to kiss him again. leon pushed away any regretful thoughts, not allowing them to consume a good moment—they were as rare as they come with him.

you both really were a bunch of self-indulgent, pretentious losers.

[vintagetimetarot]

Your future friend group 🎟️✨

Hi guys! Decided to do this topic since I haven’t seen it done before. As always, take what resonates and leave what doesn’t, it’s a general reading. Pick a vintage picture below for your group!

Pile 1: The first thing I’m getting is that this is soul family vibes. This friend group is going to be very kind and nurturing. There will be no gossip or dishonesty, like you’ve dealt with in the past. I also believe this friend group is very woman dominated. This group will just find you. You could meet this friend group through a spouse, or your spouse is going to be apart of this friendship group, or both. This group is small and very close knit. You guys do everything together, and always make time. You guys all become friends very fast actually. I see this friend group kind of mold itself rather than you being in a pre established group. You guys like to go out together often, that’s what the group is all about, especially in nature. A lot of people in this group have personality differences and multiple other differences. This group is very diverse and has different cultures. There’s just this positive and uplifting energy. They aren’t mean people at all, and they all also have a very good reputation in their community. You all meet locally as well, I see everything this group does is so local, I don’t think this is an online friend group. Everyone is just so respectful, and it’s very bubbly. These people are not Debbie Downers, and always think on the bright side. They are quite extroverted as well. That’s all Pile 1, I hope it resonated.

Pile 2: So I think this is going to be a small yet very exclusive friend group, but you find them fast. I see this friend group is pre-existing, but you are well integrated into the friend group and welcomed. This may be a very popular friend group, for most of you this friend group you will meet either in school or in the workplace. I see you becoming friends with everyone in this group fast. They might be intimidating at first, but as you get to know them you know they are very kind souls, who are just careful who they give their energy to. I see them being a little cautious of you at first, but you prove yourself worthy to them and they let you into their lives. This friend group does a lot of very high profile stuff together, I feel like this is a rich kid/people friend group LMAO. This friend group is a good mix of genders, both men and women. They like to just chill and hang out at fancy places. I see you becoming very acknowledged in this friend group, they all think highly of you. This group never disappoints. They may be a bit stoic, but I still think this group is gonna be there for you, even when it’s real tough. Lastly, I think that this a group of mostly introverts. They like to just feel together, they are super consumed to put themselves out there, which is why at first you may find it hard to integrate, but you will be accepted. I hope it resonates Pile 2, that’s all!

Pile 3: You are going to meet this group of friends after you go through a fallout from an old group, or just a generally rough time in general. I think this friend group is going to be introduced to you. For some of you, you’ll meet a future partner from this friend group, and/or their will be dating within the group. You’ll be going through big changes in your life when you meet them, and this group is gonna match your values and expectations. I think you know these people currently, but you are going to get closer with them soon, and integrate into the group. This is a very healthy group, and is what you’ve always wanted in a friend group. I think this Pile has many different energies, but whatever your dream group is, that’s essentially what they are. I think if you have emotional issues, this friend group is very accepting of that and this group will help you heal. This group also is very supportive for you emotionally. It may be some time until this group comes into your life, because you have lots of internal work to do. But this friend group will serve as a reward from the universe for your hard work. This group is filled with very academically driven people as well, but that may resonate for only some of you. Lastly, this group is gonna hype you up so much. They just really like your personality and demeanor. This group is going to find you and invite you in, so don’t worry. That’s all Pile 3, I hope this resonated.

Pile 4: This future friend group of individuals is going to actively encourage and help you constantly. I think this friend group you could meet while traveling or doing something you don’t usually do. This is a very diverse friend group of different races, economic backgrounds, styles, etc. I think a lot of different people are just bunched up here. This group is completely fresh, so I don’t see this being an old group or any of your current friends in this group. This friend group is very adventurous, they love life! They always want to explore, and will push you to get out of your shell. This group will help build you up as a person. I think this group is going to try their hardest to include you, while at first you may resist them a lot. But once you come out of your shell, they are gonna LOVE you! This group is very positive and likes to just include people. They really enjoy just walking around town and trying new things kind of vibe. I think this group has a lot of different personalities that would usually clash, but you all actually fit so well together. I think this group also has a lot of different energies, but this group is just so positive. Lastly, you guys are always trying new things together. You guys are all close knit, even though I feel like this is a big friend group. There is a lot of online communication as well, since for some of you, you meet on the go. That’s all Pile 4, hope this resonated.