#i just wish culturally it would settle down

[hauntingrabbits]

Happy Batman day! Went back and finished the last batch of the MLP AU I had sketched way back in May.

Part 1, Part 2

More info under the cut!

Enigma/The Riddler (Edward Nygma)

Intelligence and puzzle-solving are deeply valued among sphinxes, and those who fall short of their standards are often ridiculed and cast out. Among some (prejudiced) Sphinxes, other sapient, non-Sphinx species such as ponies are looked down-upon or seen as fundamentally inferior for not putting as much stock in puzzles and the like as sphinxes do.

Enigma, though considered a prodigy for his remarkable intelligence and skill with puzzles even among his fellow Sphinxes, was ostracized when a pony unfamiliar with Sphinx culture (a younger Sundown traveling Equestria for his training), humiliated Enigma by unraveling a puzzle of his that was meant to be judged as his final submission in a prestigious event, permanently staining his reputation and wounding his massive ego.

After years of quiet ridicule from his peers and his own growing obsession over the event, Enigma eventually snapped and fled to Gotham for revenge. His contempt has since spread far beyond that of the original pony he wished to prove his superiority over, and he now makes all of Gotham the target of his obsessive schemes, constantly trying to prove his superiority and feed his ego by putting ponies through his elaborate puzzles and riddle-based traps. He sees Batpony’s skill and determination in foiling him as both an inherent challenge to and a slight against his own abilities, reminding him far too much of that original pony from so long ago. 

Other notes:

-Apparently sphinxes in MLP have pony heads instead of human heads which makes sense I guess but it threw me through such a loop man.

-Whilst traversing the wiki I ended up with the same problem I had with chimeras in the first post where only one ever shows up in the series and there's no other info on them. So I made stuff up again.

- I imagine Sphinxes live a very long time, so the event Enigma was embarrassed at would probably take a long time to roll around again and he'd be forced to stew with his anger and wounded ego for far too long. I'm not sure what the puzzle was exactly or how Sundown dismantled it, but I imagine he did something extremely simple that a Sphinx would never have thought of (a la that software engineering joke), making it feel far more unfair and humiliating than if he'd solved in the intended way.

-His naturally crooked tail settles into the shape of a question mark, and the pattern on his arm is meant to look like a stylized question mark wrapping around his forearm (the "dot" is the white of his paw).

2. Miss Friday (Miss Tuesday)

Enigma’s teenaged assistant, Miss Friday seems to be the only pony the sphinx enjoys (or perhaps simply tolerates) the company of. Beyond her having met Enigma in Tartarus during their simultaneous imprisonments, the exact origins of her relationship to and exceptional status with her boss are a bit of a riddle in of themselves. Regardless, the two seem to have something of a mutual understanding, and Miss Friday’s mental prowess and dubious moral code are more than a match for Enigma’s own.

Other Notes:

-Yes this is a "The horse's name was Friday" joke. I'm sorry it was just too good to pass up.

-Miss Tuesday already sounded like a MLP name, but the horse named Friday thing was just too perfect for somebody who works under a guy who's whole thing is riddles. Also I relistened to the BTAA episode where she's introduced while coloring her and I noticed they reference His Girl Friday several times, so fun coincidence?

-The candy-striped leg patterns are based on her canon costume's striped pants & are meant to mirror the Riddler's wrapped leg pattern. The dark patterns on her face are supposed to be reminiscent of eye bags.

3. Mania (Bat-Mite)

Bat-Pony’s self-proclaimed biggest fan, Mania is a Draconequus embodying the spirit of obsession. Normally he watches the hero from his own dimension, but at times he tries to insert himself into the narrative or help Sundown fight, both to varying degrees of success. Though he genuinely adores Bat-Pony, Mania is usually more of a hindrance than a help, and can even be directly antagonistic at times when his obsession goes too far. 

Other notes:

-Similar issue to Chimeras and Sphinxes, only two Draconequuses (Draconequui?) show up in the series, one being Discord (embodying chaos), the other being a comics-only villain known as Cosmos (embodying malice), but honestly what little we're given worked super well for the character anyway. Discord seems to come from his own unique plane of existence/dimension and Cosmos has similarly strange origins; both have penchants for causing mischief with incredible reality-warping powers; and both embody non-physical concepts. Bat-Mite being a reality warping 5th dimensional creature obsessed with Batman was surprisingly easy to adapt.

-He has the head of a pony, a ferret-like body, two front rat paws, mite antennae, an insectoid wing, a bat wing, a pigeon foot, a chevrotain (mouse deer) foot, and a monkey tail. I tried to have him mostly made up of animals that were very small, seen as mischievous, and/or seen as pests.

4. Poison Ivy (Pamela Isley)

Said to be more plant than pony, Poison Ivy is the self-proclaimed princess of the Green. Though once a regular Earth pony, she began to spiral after receiving her cutie mark and fully coming into her powerful natural attunement to plant life. Fleeing into the nearby forests on the outskirts of Gotham, she wasn’t seen again until many years later when Gotham’s city refurbishment and expansion efforts began to encroach on the forests borders, where she reemerged with strange new powerful magic and retaliated violently.

Though she isn’t recognized politically or physically as an alicorn, plants grow from the flesh of her body in the pattern of a horn and wings characteristic of those born into or bestowed with royalty, and the strange natural magic that accompanies them seems to almost rival that of a true alicorn’s.

Other notes:

-I dont really have anything to add to this one I just thought a false alicorn would be a cool concept.

-the whole alicorn royalty thing is very strange to think about isnt it? I feel like the ruling class having such insane amounts of physical and magical power probably has much more pressing ramifications than ever was, would, or should be addressed in a kids show but they are fun to think about.

-Her actual name is Poison Ivy, yes. It sounded like a pony name. I don't know what that says about her parents.

-The leaf wings are folded down in the graphic but I think they are flighted, or at the very least useful for gliding and expressing emotions.

5. Saltbrine (Oswald Cobblepot)

Short, stout, and flightless, Saltbrine’s moniker of “The Penguin” has its origins in the taunts of his peers from his youth. Though the title has persisted into the current day, it’s often spoken with far more fear and trepidation throughout the alleys and backstreets of Gotham than ridicule. Saltbrine owns two of Gothams most well-known businesses, one being the luxurious, high-class Iceberg Lounge…and the other being the organized crime syndicate the former acts as a front for.

Other notes:

-Again don't have much to add to this one. One of my favorite designs though, I love the giant beak face.

-The bird half is actually based on a puffin, because a penguin felt too on the nose for Oswald and too strange for a hippogriff (I couldn't get the wings or face to look right at all either). I feel like the title being an insult works a little better if he's not literally half-penguin.

-he's the same color my club penguin avatar used to be (RIP)

[greenlight]

.

[vampiricgf]

☆ FAVORITE GIRL

ᝰ you think he's just another frat boy with meaningless flirty words for the person he sits next to in a boring class (he's down horrendous)

frat boy satoru x f!reader, college au, somewhat established relationship you guys are classmates, sfw no smut, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, just lots of him being an idiot with a massive huge earth shattering crush <3

"And how's my favorite girl?"

"Worse, thought you'd skip this class again and we'd have some peace." You roll your eyes as you slide the straps of your backpack over the back of your chair.

Satoru Gojo, nuance Sig Ep and unfortunately glued to your side since the first day of statistics for reasons unknown to you. You'd made an effort to avoid members of greek life on campus, not wanting to get involved in party culture or whatever new dramatics were unfolding with its subgroups. That only seemed to encourage him though, casually throwing his arm around you through the duration of lectures and begging in that whining tone of his for you to come by the house.

You never did, you also pointedly ignored most of his text messages and actively regretted ever having to give him your phone number after the one assignment you'd been paired up for. Outside the occasional drunk text where he'd plead for you to show up, which did make you feel both bad for ignoring him and a little high off the attention. Not that you'd ever admit to clicking your phone lock and grinning to yourself in bed on those nights.

"C'mon, I'm the highlight of your day!" He shoots you that signature megawatt smile and you stick out your tongue at him, scooting your chair in the opposite direction and creating a wide gap as you sit down.

You see him frown and for a half second it looks genuine, making a pang of guilt reverberate through you so you scoot back to where you were and he resumes pestering you with some latest escapade in the Eps house as you both wait for the stream of students to peter off and the lecture to begin.

"Hey so, why you been ignoring my texts?" He pulls a pout and god you wish it wasn't actually cute.

"You send me weird combinations of emojis Gojo, what can I say to that?"

"It's Satoru," he quips almost immediately, barely allowing you to finish.

"Alright, Satoru, it's because you send me weirdo shit. Say hi every once in a while and maybe I'll say it back." You shrug, opening your laptop and preparing yourself to block out his incessant whispering for the next hour while you take down notes.

~

"You actually came!"

The sheer volume in the cramped, would-be living room of the house made you wince in tandem with his shout as Satoru threw an arm around you.

"I'm just humoring you so you stop bugging me!" You shout back, accepting a cup of god knows what from his hands and already formulating a plan of when it would be polite to bow out for the night without a barrage of where'd you go texts.

He doesn't answer you, too busy immediately yelling at some other guy over the volume of the music but you don't miss the way his hand slides down your back to settle at the lower curve, just above your ass. It makes you smile a little, despite your own misgivings about the scene you're in.

But quickly it becomes too much, being jostled by a permanently sweaty and horny crowd in such a cramped space, and you find yourself drifting outside to a patio sparsely populated with only a handful of smokers. The alcohol buzzing inside your brain makes you crave one, a thick, acrid stream of smoke spreading like thick flower petals blossoming inside your lungs.

One girl catches your eye and slowly you meander over to where she's perched, away from the rest on a railing that's seen one too many coats of poor paint jobs.

"Could I bum one off you?"

"You got a dollar?"

Lamely you pat your hips, absentmindedly searching for one until she lets out a soft laugh and extends the pack in her hand out to you. Marlboro lights, the gold top of it shimmers faintly in the dim light as you slide one out and accept the lighter she passes you.

"I tell myself lights mean I'm working on quitting. What a load of shit." She huffs out a laugh to herself as you flick the lighter and it gives a few sparky coughs before the flame catches, burning the tip of the cigarette into a solid ember cherry.

"I'm Ieiri," she says cordially as you hand back the deep purple lighter.

You give her your name before taking a deep drag of the cigarette, enjoying the feeling of it settling in your chest.

"They should invent a kind of cigarette that doesn't kill you." You say absentmindedly and she cracks a smile.

"Too bad the "healthy " cigarettes of ye old days had asbestos in them."

That makes you laugh, enjoying the way it flows into the air with the breeze that plays against your skin, like a lover running fingers over it and giving you gooseflesh.

"Wait, you're the girl Satorus got statistics with right? Tuesdays and Thursdays?" She asks between puffs, flicking ash off into the dark.

"Yeah, the very same. I figured I should finally take him up on the offer to come over, I've blown him off so many times." Saying out loud makes you feel a little like an ass, he may get on your nerves but he's never been anything but sweet to you.

"You know he's like, obsessed with you, right?" She says with another laugh and it makes you raise a brow.

"Oh yeah?"

She shakes her head, another drag before continuing. "Oh yeah. Gets too drunk every weekend and cries in the bathroom because you didn't show, has a crisis every day because he doesn't know what to say to you in texts. I've never seen him excited about a math course before this semester either, usually it's any excuse to cut class until a prof bitches at him."

With every word a strange sense of giddiness grows in tandem with the alcohol drenching your brain, and you can't help but think about those devastating blue eyes. The opposite of rose colored glasses but it fits, a shade of comfortable blue that tints the world because of him and suddenly you're gripped by the urgent need to go back inside and find him.

"Hey, thanks for the cigarette but I'm gonna go find him. See you inside?" You crush the butt out with the toe of your shoe, grinding it down and giving Ieiri a wave goodbye as the wall of thumping bass and neon light swallows you back up.

It strikes you as incredible how a house can turn into a labyrinth when filled to the brim with bodies and only offering the occasional flash of strobe or neon lights to guide you in the dark. After when feels like hours and checking nearly every room you come across for Satoru, without luck, you find Ierie once again leaning against a closed door with a particularly bored expression.

"Satoru she wasn't saying she was leaving she said she was coming to find you, dummy. Open the door."

As you sidled up beside her she shot you a conspiratorial glance before pulling you closer so you could hear her over the din.

"Can you tell him you're right here? He's such a whiny drunk." She rolls her eyes but you can tell it's playful, although you get the feeling this has happened more than once.

Hesitantly you put your palm against the door, feeling the distant bass thrumming through the wood. "Hey Satoru? I didn't leave, I'm right out here with Ierie!"

There's silence on the other side, making you frown in concern until the door is suddenly wrenched open and you nearly fall right against him. Despite clearly being drunk his hands come to grasp your upper arms gently to steady you before yanking you inside the hazy dark of what you assume was his bedroom.

"You're welcome!" You hear Shoko yell through the door as he sits down in a huff, still holding onto you, against a well worn futon.

You can't help but giggle at the way he almost curls around you, as if determined to attach to your side like some sort of sucker fish. With a bit of wiggling you manage to pull back, sweeping a few stray strands of hair from those baby blues as you do.

It's in that moment, when your fingertips brush his skin, that everything seems to pause. The noise outside seemingly vanishes, and it's like only the two of you exist in a comfortable bubble of silence. You never really noticed how his eyes looked almost crystalline before, too pretty to exist.

"Who gave you eyes like that?" You murmur, more to yourself but nevertheless he beams down at you.

"So you do like me, huh?"

The way he says it, so boyish, so... happy. You can't help but smile back, a shy thing that barely tugs at the corners of your lips.

"Duh, of course I do."

That makes him frown a bit, brows knitting in thought and somehow it made him look even cuter. No fair.

"Then how come you never showed up before? And you don't text me back?" A little pout forms on his lips as he finishes and you're struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

With a superhuman effort you keep yourself focused on answering him. "You're, well... All this," you gesture broadly with your hands as you pull away slightly. "And I'm just a girl you have stats with. I thought maybe you were just yanking me around, being flirty in class but that's it, you know? I didn't wanna look stupid getting my hopes up."

"A girl I have stats with? You're joking, right? You're everything." He says incredulously, eyes wide as if more shocked than insulted that you could've looked at the situation that way.

Heat rushes beneath your skin at that, you're everything, and you know it's not the alcohol making you lightheaded. In your silence he continues.

"Y'know I'm not just messing around with you, I think about you all the time. Sometimes you're all I think about all day-"

With a surge of confidence you grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him down and cutting him off with your lips pressed against his. It grips you like a fever, a crushing need to taste him. It's all sloppy teeth and tongues and spit but it feels perfectly serendipitous at the same time, an otherworldly calm that takes hold of your mind as your lips move against one another.

As you open your eyes into his you can't help the grin that now stretches wide across your mouth, giggling as you press kiss after kiss against his lips, his cheeks, his forehead and soon enough he's dissolved into a puddle of giggles and faux pouts in your arms.

"Will you tell me I'm your favorite girl again?"

"I'll tell you that forever."

[flokali]

♢ I own you, I love you | Tartaglia

warnings: yandere, dub/con, male m.asturbation, violence, threats, corruption, unrealistic sound-isolation, delusional thoughts, possessive behavior (from childe), childe/tartaglia lore-spoilers, canon divergence (maybe?), misunderstanding/miscommunication, manipulative behavior (from ajax) , unreliable narrator (ajax), ask to tag more.

pairing: afab! fem! reader x childe

word count: 10.7k

a/n: after months... here it is;; i'm so sorry for taking so long (tt),, i'll make it up to you !! istg (huhuh)

— 18+

You had trouble falling asleep ever since the day Ajax went missing.

It was meant to be yet another normal day, one that would blend in with all the others – muddled with other memories of childhood. Instead, it became the day your life began to change in ways you hadn’t even fathomed possible. 

It had heavily snowed the previous night, which left a brand new layer of pure white to cover the humble roads of Morepesok. Normally, after such a heavy storm, you and Ajax would go over to his house and play inside – making use of the fireplace his father had built and hot chocolate his mother would make to keep warm. You both would steal his father’s diary and read about his adventures across Teyvat, recreating the scenes in your minds with yourselves as the main characters, before sharing your dreams with one another.

You never had the courage back then to tell him your ideal adventure was a rather simple one, while you always dreamt of moving to a less snowy nation, one like Mondstatd or even Sumeru, you were content with peacefully traveling across Teyvat before settling down. You didn’t want to spend your life fighting monsters and exploring the world, you only really longed for a simple life, where you could work a safe job and create a new home for yourself and those you loved. It was fun to imagine yourself on a long, rewarding journey across the nation to complete a request, but you’d rather keep it as just that – a figment of your imagination.

Ajax, on the other hand, longed for the chance to become a warrior. While never too skilled with the blade, always too nervous to even kill an animal, his determination was enough to convince you he’d one day make a great adventurer like his father. He’d longed for the thrill of exploring every corner of Teyvat, roaming the land until there was nowhere in this world where he hadn’t been to. Meeting new people, learning about new cultures, fighting monsters and gaining the freedom that came with being an adventurer; Ajax’s dreams had been clear from a young age.

A part of you, albeit really, insignificantly small, always wished he’d never succeed, secretly hoping he’d leave those ambitions behind with age and become a fisherman or craftsman instead. You’d heard tales of men and women who’d joined the Adventurer’s Guild only to never come back, and even more about those who’d joined the Fatui’s ranks, and you didn’t like the idea of waking up one day to find out he’d passed in a foreign land. It was selfish, you knew that, but you hoped that maybe he’d choose a safer option, one where you two could live together, away from the cold winters of Snezhnaya and safe from the dangers of the world. Maybe you’d both move away from Morepesok, find a quaint town in Fontaine where you’d both settle down and continue being friends, or maybe more, with no worries for each other’s safety - only busy being happy and healthy.

While you were putting on your boots and coat, making sure to layer as many clothes as you could to avoid the freezing cold temperatures that came with such heavy snowfall, you remember feeling an odd sense of uneasiness, a queasy feeling settling down in your stomach making you feel sick and nauseous. At the time you had thought nothing of it, too focused on meeting up with your friend and the taste of his mother’s hot coco, but now, years later, you think it was the Tsaritsa’s way to warn you for what was to come.

You remember nearing his house, confused as to why he hadn’t met you halfway down the road like he always did. It was quiet, eerily so, only the sound of your boots and your labored breath as you battled your way through the snow. There were no kids out on the street, all the adults that would normally be on their way were missing, even the birds seemed hesitant to chirp.

Instead, you find his mother worriedly looking around the perimeters of their humble cabin, her normally neat appearance now disheveled. Her long, ginger hair was half-hazardly put up, her clothes were wrinkled, her coat wasn’t even buttoned up all the way, but she stood there, frantically looking around.Whenever you’d come over, you and Ajax would always bump into one another before racing home to see who’d get there first, but today there was his mother’s choked sobs where normally his laughter would ring.

“Auntie?” You asked, running the rest of the way as you saw her expression, the closer you got the clearer the worry in her face became and you felt yourself grow anxious.

“Sweetie,” she looks at you in surprise, not having seen you approaching - too preoccupied to hear your unsteady footsteps as you struggled to run towards her, you see her blue eyes frantically look behind you and you follow suit, “A-Ajax, he wouldn’t have been with you, right?”

“No…” You shake your head, the previous feeling in your stomach expanding across your body, your head felt fuzzy as you asked, “Isn’t he home?”

“I… I’m afraid not,” She looks distressed at your words, her eyes water as she ushers you inside while still trying to look around to see if she caught sight of her son’s bright ginger hair against the cold white that coated the roads, her hands are shaking as she holds yours and brings you into her home, “Come inside, come inside – it’s too cold out t-there, you’ll get sick.”

Behind you, you hear more people arrive, you’re almost certain you hear your parents as well, but you have no time to ask before the worried mother shakes her head at the curious adults that looked up at her – the atmosphere worsens at the realization he hadn’t snuck out to be with you, she tries to occupy herself by taking you inside so as to not give into hopelessness.

You’re confused, not too sure of what’s going on even as you see adults from around the village inside of the house, maps in their hands as they whisper about the boy’s possible whereabouts.

“Is Ajax… o-okay?” You ask, you start to feel afraid as you process their concerned faces, seeing all of these adults who’d always been smiling and assured look so worried and uncertain sent a chill down your spine.

Where was Ajax? Normally he’d be here, assuring you your imagination was running wild and that nothing was wrong, the empty space next you where he’d normally be felt awfully cold.

Nobody answers you, instead you’re taken to your friend’s room where his siblings were gathered. Their mom, who you've always called your auntie, kneels down in front of you, taking your smaller hands into hers and giving you a weak smile.

“Ajax will be fine, okay?” Her words are meant to comfort you but you feel like they’re more for herself in that moment, “He’s just… gone out for a while, but he’ll be back before you know it.”

You nod, not truly understanding what she meant but feeling as if that was the response she needed to hear.

She gives your forehead a small kiss, you feel a tear fall travel down her cheeks and into your hair but you say nothing as she leaves, noting how she desperately tried to conceal the tears in her eyes; You’d never seen her cry before and it’s only then, as you look at his siblings and the pained look in their faces, that you finally begin to grasp the severity of the situation.

He was missing. Your best friend was gone and no one had any idea where he had run off to.

That evening your parents came over and stayed the whole day with Ajax’s family, alongside the other townspeople who went and came as they searched for the young boy in the woods around the area. Normally, you had to fight tooth and nail to let them grant you permission to stay over but that night they’d been the ones to offer it first.

That night was the first and only time you had a sleepover without Ajax. You and his siblings huddled together in the living room, next to the fireplace as his mother looked over you all. You would wake up every so often to the sound of people coming and going as the search efforts seeped into the night and early morning.

The suffocating cycle repeated itself for three days. Three days, two nights, and one afternoon later, after countless hours crying to your parents in fear of losing your best friend; Ajax emerges from the woods in one piece, but he who returns is not the same boy.

The first thing that stood out was his disheveled hair, he was wearing the same clothes – which were in too good a condition for a kid who’d gotten lost in the woods by himself for three days –, and the hunting knife he’d stolen from his dad now dull as if it’d been used continuously for a long period of time. What shocked the men and women who’d found him was the blood on him – specks decorated his face and hands as he looked up at them from his position near the corpse of a bear, one easily three times his size, he’d somehow taken out. 

They’d found him in a clearing close to his house, the smell of blood had been what had alerted the rescue party – they’d prepared for the worst case scenario where the blood came from Ajax’s body, instead they found him to be in good shape even after three days by himself in the wild – perhaps a little too good, for it seemed he’d somehow taken down a beast by himself with his hands and his father’s old hunting knife. 

The news of his return quickly spreads, everyone gathered near his home as they awaited with bated breaths to see the young boy; you’re there as he’s reunited with his family, hugging your mother’s leg as tightly as you could.

Rumors spread about him having killed an animal, some claimed it had been a rabbit while others alleged it had been a beast the size of a horse, and you wondered if they had mistaken another kid for Ajax – he’d never had the guts to harm even a fly, you doubted he’d changed so much in the span of three days. But it seemed as if you’d been wrong.  

He doesn’t shed a tear, he doesn’t say a word. Not even a squeak as his parents coddle him; nothing at all. The only sounds are hushed whispers as people discuss the absurd situation and gleeful congratulations from onlookers as they celebrate his arrival and well being while giving his family well wishes. Instead, his blue eyes find yours and you’re unnerved at the empty look in them. Where there’s once been a warm light, you found an empty void that seemingly sucked you in and refused to let you go. You felt goosebumps arise all over your body the longer he looked at you.  Even as he’s embraced within his father’s arms, his family surrounding him as they cry from relief, it’s only when he makes eye contact with you that, the first time since arriving, he smiles.

You feel a chill travel down your spine as you realize Ajax hadn’t been the one to return that day. You unconsciously nestled closer into your mother’s coat, as if trying to hide from his unnerving gaze.

You did your best to ignore that unsettling feeling, opting to attribute it to the rumors you had heard instead of something your friend had done, you pushed it and as well as any doubts aside as you attempted to focus on the good news; he was here, home with his family and back next door to your own house, and that was all that really mattered.

Ever since then, he’d become more confident. His once timid personality completely disappeared and the days where you had been the stronger one, defending him from his older siblings’ teasing and the mocking from other kids, were now but hazy memories. The roles had switched quite suddenly, not that you minded it too much – there were times where it felt nice to be the one being protected rather than the protector, but it had been quite the surprise at first.

He’d become bolder and more protective, never afraid to throw a punch (and sometimes even more) if he felt like you had been disrespected. It came to a point where you’d sometimes grow suffocated by his mere presence; eventually it escalated to where he’d never let you hang out with anybody he didn’t approve of, afraid they’d hurt you and he wouldn’t be there to defend you, and he’d make sure to let it be known you were his friend first and foremost. Unknowingly, a set of rules had been implemented between the two of you. Rules that stated you were his responsibility to protect and care for, even if it meant it drove others away and left you two isolated from other kids your age.

There were times you missed the Ajax that’d gone into the woods, the freckled boy who was timid and polite – who’d rather be teased by his siblings than hurt even a bug the size of your pinky, you doubt that boy would have picked fights with kids twice his size because they’d made a joke or two that didn’t land too well. But you hesitated to dislike the new Ajax, after all, when it was only the two of you - it was as if that damned day had never occurred at all.

He was back to the sweet, delicate boy who’d blush at your jokes and avoid prolonged eye contact. Whose hand would grow warm from holding yours, who’d confess his feelings to you every night when he thought you’d fallen asleep. 

A few years later, once you were both older – now settled into your teen years, he ended up joining the Fatui and leaving your humble seaside village to go to the capital to train as a soldier. 

You cried the day he’d given you the news. As overbearing as he could be, the ginger had been your only friend that your parents consistently let you hang out with, you’d spent your whole lives together and the thought of being without him terrified you greatly.

You remember the look on his face, the way he desperately tried to look strong and not let a single tear get away, his hands that had once been soft were now calloused as he grabbed your own.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He’d whispered, his lips near your ear as he enveloped you in a hug.

You don’t trust your voice not to break and so you nod, letting your nose burn from trying to contain your sobs and not worry him more than he already was.

“A-and I’ll write you letters, so you better not forget me,” he continues, and even if by now he’d long since grown taller than yourself – you’re amazed at how small and vulnerable he felt against your frame, “so please… wait for me.”

“Only if you always write to me first… ‘Cause I swear I’ll leave if you forget.” You try to lighten the mood, halfheartedly warning him as if you both didn’t know it’d take death itself for Ajax not to fulfill a promise from him to you. He tightens his arms around you and you feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wonder how long it’ll be before you can both hug like this again.

“I promise.” He laughs softly, the sound warms your heart.

“Then I promise as well.”

Ever since the day Ajax went missing, you have had trouble falling asleep. 

When you did manage to fall asleep, a task which took longer than you’d like to admit without external factors such as medicine, your dreams would be strange and cryptic, often times you’d wake up in the middle of the night with a racing heartbeat and a sense of urgency, as if you’d been in danger; you’d learned to hate the images your brain would concoct during your rest. Some nights, you’d dream about that day and what would have happened if Ajax had never been found, other times you’d open the door to soldiers grieving his death; whatever tragic scenario your mind decided to present you, it would always be so realistic you’d wake up with tears streaming down your cheeks and a devastated heart.

This time, however, your sleep had come easier than expected and there were no dreams or nightmares to haunt you. No earthly worries were present and, after such an unexpected day filled with reunions and world-shattering news, you wished to succumb to a never ending night; however, the fates had other plans for you.

As you’re forcibly awakened from your slumber you feel a familiar, pleasant hand gently caressing your head. It felt gentle, their touch delicate and sweet, as if they were afraid any more force would hurt you. If the owner of said limb wished to lure you into consciousness, their touch had the opposite effect as it almost seemed to beg you to go back to sleep and forget the world of the living.

You felt truly content as you laid there, the blanket that laid atop of you was heavy and cozy,  a foreign feeling - nothing like the blankets you were used to, and the pillow smelt like an old friend, welcoming and nostalgic. It all felt like a perfect trap set out to catch you, if that were that case then you’d have to admit it was a little too good at its job as you resign yourself to cuddling closer to the fabrics that enveloped you.

If it hadn’t been for the gentle kiss pressed against your cheek, you probably would have never gotten up. You want to complain, already formulating a sentence of indignation and annoyance to throw at the perpetrator, but the warmth left behind by the gesture is cozy and fills you with a taste full of happiness and fulfillment you don’t want to sour. At the feeling of a pair of unknown, soft lips against your skin you become more alert, slowly your consciousness begins to enter the realm of the living once more while you grow aware of your surroundings. Your eyes open timidly, the leftover fatigue from such a deep rest keeping them heavy, it takes you a second or two to adjust to the light and another few to register the man that lovingly gazed down on you.

“Ajax…?” You call out, rubbing your eyes as you wonder if it really was him. You’re almost sure you’re dreaming, as embarrassing as it was to admit, it had been so long since you’d seen him in person you may have simply gone crazy and imagined the man to be here; You’re about to ask him what he was doing here, if he were real at all, but he beats you to the punch with a smile before answering you with a gleeful tone that reminds you of summers long gone.

“The one and only,” he laughs gently as the hand that laid atop your head began to ruffle your hair in a familiar gesture – reassuring you that he was, in fact, a real person and not a figment of your imagination you had come up with to deal with the loneliness, “… don’t tell me you forgot about earlier.”

He teases you, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes as he awaits your answer; surely, you couldn’t have forgotten. It’d only been a couple of hours and he had been sure to be as thorough as possible so that he left a print on both your mind and body, there was no way you’d forget making love with your soulmate. Just the thought of it sent jolts of anger and frustration down his spine, not at you - never at you, but at himself as he wonders if maybe he’d underperformed and disappointed you to the point you’d try and act like nothing had happened. If that was the case, he was more than willing to go again just this instant to right any previous wrongs.

“Earlier?” You mumble, you wreck your brain trying to think of what he meant but it isn’t a full minute before you realize what he meant. If it hadn’t been for his words, maybe his coat laying on you and your sore body would have been enough to eventually jog your memory. You feel your cheeks grow hot as you remember what you two had done earlier, you’d been so tired by the end you’d fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber that momentarily left you empty-headed when you woke up, but now the memories are rushing in and you doubt you’ll be able to forget the feeling of Childe on top of you for a long time.

Your embarrassed gaze was enough for him to know you’d remembered the dance you’d both partaken in earlier that day, the way your eyes avoided his had his heart swooning and a warm, fuzzy feeling settling deep within his very soul. 

He feels himself calm down the more he looks at your flustered face, his whole body light and intoxicated on your sweet expressions; his pants felt so tight as he watched you fiddle with his coat, he wonders if he’d be able to warm you up on the ride back to his place the same way he’d done so previously.

You were absolutely adorable to him, so very weak and fragile in comparison to him – if he wasn’t such a gentleman, he would have loved to destroy you until you were too scared to leave his side. Alas, he decided that you shouldn’t be the one to face the sharp end of his blade, instead, he’ll scar your psyche and those around you so violently you’ll have no want nor need for anything else other than him.

“So, ‘slept well, my love?” He asks, his tone sweet as to never betray his darker thoughts — you didn’t have to know about how deeply he wished to break you until you couldn’t function without him by your side. You nod while suppressing a yawn, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was unfolding due to the man in front of you, and he laughs, content with your naïveté; he missed you oh so very much, “That’s good.”

There’s a warm, almost euphoric feeling that invaded your senses as you both took the time to enjoy each other’s presence; it felt different from earlier, something had changed now that you both had finally indulged in each other’s bodies. It felt akin to drinking a warm cup of tea, comforting and pleasurable, a reminder of home and the feeling of familiarity after a long period of impersonal and foreign coldness.

“Let’s get going then,” he breaks the silence, finally standing up from his crouching position, he gives you one last pat in the head before he starts making his way through your room and inspecting your belongings – or what remained of your belongings, “the carriage will be here soon, it’s only an hour long ride away but I think it’s best we take as much as we can today and send someone to pick up what remains.”

That’s when you notice he’s fully dressed, other than for his cape that was laid on you, as if he was anxiously awaiting the time to leave. You’re confused; why was he so keen on leaving and so fastly – he’d barely been here a handful of hours. Did you misunderstand his intentions? 

“What do you…?” You ask, you rub your eyes while you sit up, using the large coat as a cover once you feel chilly Snezhnayan air hit your sensitive skin. It’s then that you can finally look at the many bags and boxes that litter the floor, and the almost empty room you laid in. All of your belongings seemed to have been packed away, almost nothing remained other than old family portraits and gifts from your parents from across the years. 

“Huh?” The sight of your room packed into boxes was enough to wake you up, you instinctively try to stand up but a firm hand keeps you in place; you look up and see Ajax looking down at you. Your eyes meet and a chill goes up your spine at the look in his, they look eerily empty. You barely feel the coat slip from your shoulders, too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your forearm and the fact he, as a soldier, could easily overpower you if he wished.

“You’re still sleepy, aren’t you?” He asks, the muscles on his arm flex slightly as he speaks to you - he sounds disappointed as he continues interrogating you, “Do you really not remember?”

You shake your head, trying to wrack your brain for any indications of what he could be referring to; you remember the news about your parents and what happened after, but moving out? You have no memory of such a thing being even discussed, lest he meant —

“You agreed to marry me,” he says, as if reading your mind, your arm is finally set free as he adjusts the gloves on his hands, “and as my wife, you’ll be living with me from now on; I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay… here for much longer, considering everything.”

“Marry you…?” You echo as you watch him parade around your room, sharp eyes taking in what was left of your belongings on display. You vaguely remember his proposal during the first half of your conversation, something about how it’d serve as an obstacle for the arranged marriage – after all, it’s not as if the wife of a Fatui Harbinger’s marriage could be easily questioned or objected to. You had agreed almost immediately, even if you had your doubts about the reasoning behind the arrangement, you’d rather marry someone you knew than a stranger.

You wished you’d thought things through better, waited a bit longer before giving your answer. Clearly Ajax had made up his mind but now, after the shock of the news began to wear off, you felt like you owed your parents and yourself a discussion. Even if you felt betrayed, like their decision degraded you to an object instead of their daughter, you wanted to head their side; if only to get closure for your own aching heart.

Instead of answering you, Ajax turns around to meet your eyes. His eyes had always had the ability to suck you in like a void, they’re never clear - always muddy, like there was a side of himself he hid from you; you could never find your reflection on them. It took you a while to get used to them, to their empty, numb look that sent chills down your spine all those years ago.

The room feels small as you both look at each other, you sit on the bed naked and he stands in front of the door as if he were trapping you in, it’s silent and intimate and it makes your skin crawl. His expression is one you can’t read, maybe all those years in the Fatui had taught him how to make his enemies cower thanks to his presence alone, because the harder you tried to understand what his gaze meant, the less you felt you knew about him.

“Yes, you said you’d marry me.” He states and, even if it wasn't phrased as such, it felt more like an order than a recalling of events. 

“I know,” you mumble, “and I… I like you, Ajax, I really do, and I’d love to be with you, but… but  I can’t run away from this without hearing them out, you know?”

“You said you loved me.” His expression changes into a frown; Had you lied to him? 

He probably sounds childish, his sentences short and repetitive like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum, but the truth was he simply couldn’t believe that you’d even hesitate to marry him; his brain completely short-circuited as he tries to understand why on Earth you’d ever think of giving anybody a chance when you had him.

“I mean, I-I do,” your cheeks feel hot as you’re quick to answer, at least you think you love him, “but… mom and dad wouldn’t just do this without a reason and you know that. I can’t just leave and never see them again without their explanation, even if it’s bad… I need some sort of closure; I can’t accept they’d just do this to me for no reason.”

“As if that changed anything, they gave your hand away for Mora, my love” He retorts, completely bewildered at your words; they’d tried to give you away to some lowlife, they hadn’t consulted you, they were going to spring it up on you one day and expect you to get over it the next, “Does a reason even matter?” 

“It does, at least I… I think it does,” you look down at yourself and notice droplets falling down against the coat, staining the heavy leather with your sorrow, you were crying and hadn’t even realized it, “I don’t want to hate them… I don’t want them to hate me.”

He goes quiet when he catches sight of your tears. He freezes, his chest tightens and he feels himself grow dizzy – it’s the same foreign feeling he got when he first heard of the engagement, he feels his knees buckle under his weight and himself sway with every step he takes in your direction. They were beautiful, your tears, so delicate and clear, they shone like crystals when the soft afternoon light came through the window just right; he wishes he could collect them in his palm and weave a necklace to keep with himself, a reminder of your fragile heart he desperately needed to protect. 

You looked so vulnerable, naked and crying, covered only by his coat. It was an intoxicating sight, he wished he could take a photograph and engrave it on his eyelids so every time he blinked he’d see this scene play out. You broke so beautifully, it was haunting to hear your voice break into sobs and wails as you mourned the life you thought you had, but it sounded beautiful to his ears nonetheless. It makes him feel insane, it was taking too much self-control from his part not to jump on you.

He sits down once more next to you, shaking limbs trapping you in his arms as he rubbed your back softly. As you cried uncontrollably, he found his cheeks hurting from the large grin on his face; it couldn’t be helped, no matter how much he tried to will it away, the joy he felt as he saw you cry was too much for him to hide.

“It’s okay,” he makes no effort to quell your fears, instead he chooses vague words of comfort to let it fester in your heart, “you won’t need to see them ever again, you’ll have me instead.”

He feels you hiccup, too deep in your own despair to formulate words. Your shaking body clings to his, you felt so scared and alone; How were you supposed to accept such a cruel, unforgiving truth? What could you possibly do to ease the pain in your heart as you thought about your parents and siblings, who had so easily given you away to a stranger. They felt so far away from you, it felt as if your whole life had been a long dream, nothing but a fantasy you were unaware could break any second, leaving you afraid and confused as you awakened to a reality you could have never seen coming.

“Come, I’ll help you get dressed,” Ajax helps you up as he speaks, essentially forcing you to face reality and displace the fogginess in your mind, he’s gentle as he makes his way with you to your closet - you vaguely note that it was still full, unlike the rest of your room it seemed he hadn’t touched it save for a few drawers here and there -, “the sooner you get ready,” he keeps an arm around you while he goes through the rack of your clothes, making sure you stay close to him, “the sooner we can get out of here.”

You nod, your head hurts but you can’t seem to stop the tears. 

Maybe he was right, maybe it was a bad idea for you to talk to them; there was truly no excuse, was there? You doubted anything they’d say would take the feeling of betrayal away, they had treated you like an object, completely forfeiting your own personhood and giving you away to a stranger for Mora. No matter how desperately you wanted to understand what they’d done and why they’d done it, the more your head and heart hurt – it was such a cruel, heartless thing to do, to throw away your own blood to whoever bid the highest for them.

You can’t even muster the strength to facilitate the Harbinger’s task of dressing you, your whole body felt heavy as he made sure to layer on your clothes, it was near impossible for you to even stand up by yourself without your legs swaying and your knees buckling under your weight. It’s only due to the ginger’s persistence and strength that you don’t collapse.

By the time you’re ready and boarding the carriage, you’re tired and too drunk in your own misery, to question why, even as it neared nighttime, your parents nor your siblings hadn’t come home yet. Not that you cared, at least not right now, seeing them was the last thing you wanted to do.

The ride home is peaceful, you’d fallen asleep early on and laid beside Childe as he caressed your sleeping cheek and gazed out the window. Your head laid on his lap, broad thighs becoming a make-shift pillow for the ride, a blanket covering your body to keep you warm while you both made your way to his residence in the capital through the cold night.

Bored, deep blue eyes mindlessly gaze at the scenery passing by, his thoughts too jumbled together for him to admire the scenery. His thoughts stray back to your mother’s horrified face as she walked in on you together in bed earlier, he chuckles to himself as he recalls the screech she let out; it felt nice to see her so uncomfortable, but it wasn’t nice enough he’d forgive her for what she’d tried to do to you; Separate you from him.

“Ajax?” She finally gasps out, her hand points at him in an accusatory manner, “What… what is going on?” 

When did that boy come back? He’d been gone for years, the last she remembered him was as a young teenager going off to join the Fatui; what was he doing in bed with you? You hadn’t mentioned him once during all these years, she had thought you’d long since forgotten about him. So why on Earth was he laying in bed with you - naked? Had he pressured you to do so? You two had such a close relationship, there was no way you wouldn’t have mentioned him to her if you two were dating - her mind was racing with a million thoughts and all of them left her worried and confused. It’s clear she’s not doing well, her breaths are visibly unsteady, her chest rising and falling unevenly while she audibly gasped for air, she’s shaking so hard you can see her knees wobble as she tries to steady herself against the doorframe; this wasn’t something she could have ever seen in coming. 

Ajax couldn’t care less, the whole spectacle was boring and wholly unnecessary; she wouldn’t get to see you ever again, she should be grateful he hadn’t simply taken you home with him the minute he saw you. 

“I came back for my beloved,” he answers carelessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he makes a vague gesture towards your sleeping form as if to make the point clearer, “can’t have a wedding without a bride, after all.”

“Wedding? You and her… are getting married?” 

“Yes, is it that hard to understand? Come on, ma’am, everyone could see that she and I were going to get married,” he scoffs, “you said so yourself multiple times.”

“But,” she looks visibly confused, “that was back when you two were together everyday, Ajax… you haven’t seen each other in years. You can’t seriously think that you’re getting married because you both said so when you were children.”

The audacity this woman had was near parody, clearly she knew nothing about you nor your life and it made him feel sick. She had the privilege to be a constant part of your life during all those years he was away and yet she clearly spent them doing Archons’ knows what, he was growing visibly angry the more she spoke.

“We’ve known each other long enough,” he shoots her a glare, “and I’ve known my whole life I’d marry her, whether we’ve been seeing each other everyday or not - we’re getting married and that’s final.”

“Did she agree to this?” Your mother asks, her voice rising until it was near a squeak.

“Of course she agreed to marry me!” He snaps, his tone venomous; Could she just shut the hell up already?

“Then why didn’t she mention it to her father nor myself?”

“Because we agreed to get married today,” he puts your sleeping body aside, slowly standing up and tying a loose blanket around his hips, “and neither of you were here.”

“Today?” She echos, “You came back today and asked her to marry you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did,” he shoots her a glance as he picks up his clothes, slowly putting them on as he goes on, “and she said yes, I think you get the point by now.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she mumbled to herself, she made her way inside the room, careful as to not wake you up, “there’s no way she was serious about marrying you. You… you’re practically a stranger to all of us at this point, Ajax.”

His pants were on at this point, his blouse now balled into his fist as he tried to control his annoyance. This was starting to get pathetic on her end.

“I will have you know,” he interrupts her, turning around to make eye contact with the woman once more to make his point clear, “that not only have we been in constant communication since I left, she agreed quite happily to the proposal - I don’t understand what exactly is not clicking, ma’am.”

“Of course she’d agree,” she exclaims, her hands flying up in desperation as she continues, “she has liked you all her life; but were you two dating until this point? What even was the relationship between you two; how am I supposed to support her getting engaged with a man we haven’t seen or heard from in years. Never once did she mention you, Ajax, she never spoke of a partner much less a marriage, all her life she’s made it clear that’s one of the least of her concerns and you want me to believe her mind changed in one day because you came and had sex with her? You’re insane if you think I’ll allow it.”

He feels himself freeze, most of what she’s said up until now feels like background noise the moment he finishes processing her words. You never mentioned him to your parents? He knew you hadn’t mentioned the letters, not all of them at least - he’s asked you not to, but never once in the almost eight years since he left had you mentioned him - not even as a potential suitor nor as a lover. That hag is lying, right? There’s no way you’d do this to him, right? You loved him, you said you did when he was fucking you just minutes ago, you wouldn’t lie to him, no.

“Listen to me, I don’t care if you want to get married to her - but there’s an order to how things are done,” your mother shoots your sleeping form a glance, “you could have at least let us know beforehand you’d be coming, you… you should have spoken to us; you know we would have given you our blessing if you’d waited a bit longer. This is the first time you’ve seen each other in years, emotions are running high - at least give her some more time to think this through, you already bedded her… don’t make this harder on her - she was beginning to move on, she’d been planning to move and now you’re telling me she’s throwing it all away? For a man she’s barely seen in years no less.”

“You’re… you’re wrong.” He mumbles under his breath, “You’re wrong, we both love each other.”

“Listen to me,” had your mother’s voice always been so grating to the ear, “she might have said yes to you now but how do you know she won’t regret it? When did you ask her? Today, the same day you come for the first time to see her? You think that under all the emotions that’ll come up seeing you again she’ll be thinking rationally? Was this even a conversation you both had previously, Ajax? How are you so sure she loves you like a wife and not just as a friend?”

His movements slow down, his hands feel heavy as he buttons up his shirt; can she just shut up? What did she think she was doing, lying to get him out of the way? Insinuating you’d ever regret him, what a joke - you needed him to survive.

“I’m saying this not just as a parent but as a wife, you can’t rush into these things, you can’t spring the question up suddenly and not take the time to consider it properly! You… you immediately had sex with her and you want me to believe this is out of love and not physical attraction? You couldn’t even wait for her father and I to get home. You’re telling me that both of you are completely sure of what you’re doing, you want me to believe that? I’m not letting my daughter make such a rash decision in a day -”

“So what if it was in only a day, huh? You’re just looking for any excuse to oppose us getting together,” he’s quick to interrupt her, “because you are trying to get her to marry some old fuck for some quick mora.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You think I don’t know, huh? You don’t care about her at all, do you? Lying to me that she’d never mention me, as if you didn’t know we were together all this time… acting like you care about her when there’s some fucking bitch downstairs you sold her off to.”

“What… What's this about selling my daughter?” “Don’t act stupid on me,” he doesn’t even bother buttoning the rest of his shirt before he’s pushing your mother out of the room and following her out the door, “I tried to be civil, but I’m getting really damn tired of you criticizing us and you keep on lying.”

She hits her back against the wall, she yelps in surprise but the Harbinger makes no acknowledgement of any discomfort he may be causing. Instead, gloved hands shoot up and take hold of her shoulders as he continues going at her; there’s a crazed look in his eyes as he keeps on speaking, getting progressively annoyed the longer the conversation went on.

“We – I, we never sold her off,” your mother pants, she looks up at him in confusion and fear, “who do you take us for?”

“I have the records,” he pushes her down, “there’s no use in lying to me, ma’am – I know everything I need to know.”

“You’re crazy,” she spits out, “you’re fucking crazy… I don’t what the fuck happened to you, but I’m sure as hell now that you are absolutely not getting anywhere near my daughter!”

“Shut up!” He picks her up and throws her against the wall, there’s a loud thud as her body slowly sinks into the ground, he corners her with his body, “Shut the fuck up, you hag.”

“Let go!” Tears are streaming down her eyes as she pleads,“Help, someone help! Please, upstairs… come upstairs now!”

“Listen here,” his eyes are wide open, his posture threatening as he leans over her shaking body, he’s rough in his handling of her and he knows it but chooses not to care, “she said she’d marry me, she said she loves me, she said so and so it is. There’s no debate, got it? If I want to fuck her two minutes after seeing her, I do so, and if I want to marry her after not seeing her for years, I do so. We don’t need a lying bitch getting in our way, you understand that, right? I don’t need you taking her away from me to give her to someone else. She was mine before I left, she was mine when I left, she’s mine right now, and she’ll be mine as long as I’m alive, so you either shut up and accept it or I’ll get rid of you and your fucking mistake of a family.”

“Listen here,” his eyes are wide open, his posture threatening as he leans over her shaking body, he’s rough in his handling of her and he knows it but chooses not to care, “she said she’d marry me, she said she loves me, she said so and so it is. There’s no debate, got it? If I want to fuck her two minutes after seeing her, I do so, and if I want to marry her after not seeing her for years, I do so. We don’t need a lying bitch getting in our way, you understand that, right? I don’t need you taking her away from me to give her to someone else. She was mine before I left, she was mine when I left, she’s mine right now, and she’ll be mine as long as I’m alive, so you either shut up and accept it or I’ll get rid of you and your fucking mistake of a family.”

“Get off of her!” 

Oh, your father was here.

It’s strange to think that at some point, Ajax would have considered him something akin to a second father - especially now as his stomach filled itself with venomous rage at the mere sight of the older man.

“I said get off,” he runs towards the younger soldier, at an impressive speed for a man his age, his hands lunge forward as if to tackle him but it takes one hydro blade’s slash for him to stop dead in his tracks, “I… what do you want?”

Your father looks visibly worried as the ginger brands his weapon, the sight of an unfamiliar vision user threatening your spouse is one that would make anyone think twice before taking their next step. 

“Do you seriously not recognize me?” Tartaglia laughs incredulously, “Come on, sir… I was only gone for a couple of years.”

“Ajax?” Your mother nods her head frantically as your father finally puts a name to the face of the strange man in his house, “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

“He’s going on about,” your mother gasps for air, “marrying her and - and, us selling her or something!” The awkward position she found herself in made it hard for her to comfortably speak, even so, she made sure to spit it out as quickly as possible. Her chest is heaving while she desperately tries to make your father understand the absurdity of the situation, the hydro blade in his hand was simply too close to her skin for her comfort - the power of Harbinger was nothing to scoff at and she wanted nothing more than to never find herself in this position ever again.

“We can talk this out,” your father’s hands shake as he tries to slowly approach the ginger, “there’s clearly been a misunderstanding…”

“There has been no misunderstanding, sir,” he laughs, “I know damn well what I saw and what I heard.”

“We would never -” “Yes, you would!” He nearly shouts, but he restrains himself - if only because you’re still sleeping nearby, his whole body shakes as he tries to control the volume of his voice, “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you acting like you wouldn’t, you know? Just admit it and maybe, just maybe, we can work things out.”

“We would never hurt our daughter like that, Ajax,” the older man tries to explain, “please, understand that… let my wife go and we can talk this out properly, please.”

“Talk it out?” Ajax looks at him incredulously, “There’s nothing to talk about if you won’t admit to your mistakes, sir.” “B-but we didn’t -”

“Shut up!” His blue eyes are wide open, the crazed look in them was enough to send a chill down a grown man’s body. Why couldn’t they just admit to trying to separate the both of you? Why were they so desperate to lie? He knows what he heard, he knows they were trying to ruin his chances to be with you. They were clearly trying to get in his way, they had to be conspiring against the two of you - there was no other reason as to why you’d been so hesitant to agree to his proposal, why you’d been scared to see the truth; they were brainwashing you into forgetting him, doubting him. They had to have known he’d come back, there was no way he wouldn’t have, it’d take death itself for him to give up on you.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t stand to listen to your parents’ pathetic attempts at covering up their lies.

Your mother’s words die in her throat as he knocks her out with a single blow, it’s by sheer luck the impact against her skull hadn’t straight up killed her. Your father doesn’t even get to react, not even a pip can be mumbled, before Tartaglia is making his way towards him at rapid speeds, the young man’s strength was enough to tackle him down. The Fatui soldier makes sure to use as much strength as possible, all in an attempt to get his opponent to knock his head against something and pass out with as little fuss as possible. 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold - not yet dead nor mortally injured but not awake, no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you.

It’s almost pathetic how quickly he’d taken both of them down, in just a few minutes the couple was knocked out cold, both lying motionless on the ground, their limbs sprawled awkwardly; not yet dead but no longer able to annoy Ajax or disturb you, much to the former’s delight.

Footsteps could be heard from the first floor as the guests downstairs started getting worried, standing up and roaming around calling your parents’ names - too polite to dare wander into the house but too anxious about their absence to stay completely still, the thick wooden floors muffled the sounds but not enough that the commotion upstairs couldn’t be heard. One of the many benefits of Snezhnayan architecture was the isolation you could achieve in a big enough house, he’ll keep it in mind when he picks a house to start a family with you in.

Due to your house’s size, Ajax wouldn’t have to worry too much about Andrei or his parents hearing too much, meaning he’d be able to keep the element of surprise.

The Vision user knew he’d have to avoid the dining room, the place where the guests currently found themselves, lest he lose control and kill his former subordinate the minute he laid eyes on him, however his reasoning was anything but noble; Tartaglia simply wasn’t too keen on the idea of letting him get away with his crimes just yet. 

To him, death would be too soft a punishment, it would have to be a fate worse than, not just for Andrei but every single person who was involved in the scheme.

His gloved hands make their way to check their pulses, both weak but still there - good. 

With a satisfied huff he makes his way down the hall and staircase, quick to dismiss his signature hydro blades as he purposely makes his presence known with loud, rhythmic footsteps any soldier who’d served under him would recognize.

Years of hanging out under this very roof meant Ajax knew exactly where your back entrance was, which meant that he could enjoy instilling a sense of dread into the people downstairs without risking being found.

With a lazy smirk, Ajax purposely lets a couple of framed pictures and paintings fall from the wall, his hand tracing the walls and making sure to create as much sound as possible. As he approaches the dining room, he can hear the confused, hushed whispers as someone tries to peek into the hallway but, by the time the young man finally reaches the door to look around, Ajax has long since exited the house as he makes his way to recall the soldiers he’d stationed around the neighborhood.

With a wave of his hand soldiers seemingly appeared from thin air, emerging from bushes and rounding dark corners, soon the Harbinger is surrounded by men awaiting his orders.

“Is the Galkin residency ready?” He asks, making direct eye contact with a shorter soldier.

“Yes, sir.” The man nods.

“Good,” he combs a hand through his hair as he looks at your childhood home, “there’s a knocked out couple on the second floor, the rest are in the dining room.”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices respond, mechanically a group of the soldiers turn around and march into the house.

“Keep it down, will you? If they scream, knock them out,” he adds half-heartedly, “she’s sleeping, so don’t wake her up.”

The leader of the group nods enthusiastically, making sure to echo the sentiment to his men before making their way inside the house.

As their operation takes place, Tartaglia turns back around to address his remaining companions; “Make sure to make it look as realistic as possible, we need the charges to stick.”

“Yes, sir.”

He asks to see the boxes full of fabricated evidence one last time. There are at least six large boxes filled to the brim, but he focuses on one. The one that holds the most damning evidence for the most serious crime anyone could commit in the land of Cryo; Treason against the Tsaritsa. Cold, blue eyes look with a gleeful glint at the falsified letters, penned to look exactly like your family members’ handwriting, there’s more; photographs, bank records, falsified shipment records, and more.

He gives one final nod, officially sealing everyone’s fates. From this moment onwards, your family and the Galkin’s would be charged with treason against the Tsaritsa and conspiracy to overthrow the Fatui. Sure, many others, perhaps even innocent people, will unjustly be implicated but he’ll make sure to pin this on the worst people he can. He’ll get rid of two birds with one stone while he’s at it.

It takes only a couple of minutes before everyone is being pulled outside of the house and led into carriages. It’s a humiliating sight, the ones who were awake were panicked, some even crying, the ones who had to be subdued needed to be carried by two or more people as they were unceremoniously dragged away.

Ajax purposely hides away, making sure to make a mental note of who was being taken and their condition. Andrei and his father are the only Galkin family members out of the four present who hadn’t been knocked out. Your parents, your eldest sister, and younger brother are knocked out - your elder brother, and your other sister are the only ones awake. There are a couple of other people, their partners, and a few he didn’t recognize immediately. In total, there were 16 people taken from your home.

Tartaglia made a point to only reveal himself as they finally dragged Andrei out, the final person out the house. His hands were bound behind him, a confused look clear in his eyes as he desperately tried to understand what was going on. His green eyes finally make contact with Ajax’s, they widen.

“Sir? What is going on -” He’s cut off by a harsh shove from the soldier walking him, he stumbles.

Ajax almost feels bad at the sight, Andrei was a good man - if only he didn’t try to get with you. He was young, unlike the idea he’d planted into your head, Galkin had only recently turned 27 last month, and he’d been a promising soldier until he was honorably discharged after a failed mission took the lives of most of his troupe. However, if you found out about his closeness in age to yourself, you’d probably not have reacted as poorly - maybe you’d even think about giving the fucker a chance. After all, people like Andrei - honorable young men who sacrificed a part of himself for his nation - were always appealing to the masses. But never as appealing as Ajax was to you, he couldn’t be.

The Harbinger turns around on his heels, not even sparing another glance to the arrested individuals, before making his way inside your house.

It’s filled with strangers, their serious faces evident as they set up the scene - their movements calculated as they did their best to create the image of guilt. Even though there were easily five or more people in every room, the whole place felt eerily empty. In a way, he almost feels as if you two were the only people in the world - you, the sleeping beauty waiting for him to arrive.

There’s a spring in his step as he pushes the door to your room open, his eyes immediately find you buried within his coat. He’s not surprised you had managed to sleep through it all, you’d always been a heavy sleeper even during your youth. 

He ushers a soldier in with a bunch of empty boxes, signaling for her to start packing your things up.

“Wake her up and you’re dead.” He adds while he makes his way towards you, a cheeky smile on his face as he makes himself comfortable next to you.

The soldier nods, making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible as to not anger the man in front of her - at this point, everyone in the house knew that he was not exaggerating when he said such things. When it came to you, the eleventh Fatui Harbinger knew no bounds. She turns around, making sure not to look too much at either of you in fear of upsetting him.

He patiently waits for the woman to finish packing all she could fit in the boxes. By now, he’s cuddling you in his arms, never allowing you the chance to so much as squirm away from him. It’s a suffocating, possessive hold he has on you, like he was scared if he let you go even for a second you’d leave him.

“Good, thank you.” He doesn’t even look at her - too focused gazing lovingly at your sleeping form. She says nothing but bows before leaving, desperate to leave the room as soon as possible.

The minute she closes the door he pulls himself away from you, making sure to not wake you up with any sudden movements - a concern he seemingly hadn’t had before when he’d been tormenting your parents.

He’d done his best to conceal himself but the truth was that the minute he saw you again, he felt himself growing hard again. Your naked body was hidden enough he didn’t feel the need to kick the soldier from before out, but he knew - he knew that beneath it you were still dirty with him, you were bruised from his handling of you, your neck filled with his kisses and bites. Just knowing that was enough for him to get dizzy, as if all the blood that was meant to flow to his brain had been redirected to his dick. His white pants were tented up, it almost hurts from how erect it was - just the memory of you taking him inside had a wet patch forming in his underwear.

“Look at what you do, baby,” he moans, his voice breathy as he pulls his zipper down, slowly freeing his hard-on, “ah… hah, I want to be inside you again.”

Just the cold air hitting his bare cock is enough to send a jolt of electricity down his spine, he just wants to feel you again, it’s all he wants - to be inside you again and to fuck you until all you can think of his your future husband’s cock. He takes your hand, so much smoother than his battle-worn one, and cautiously shoves two of your fingers into his mouth as a make-shift gag. 

He keeps one hand there while the other one slowly caresses his slit, his touch almost a ghost on his skin as he makes sure to tease it until a glob of pre starts to form from how sensitive he already was. He takes a small amount of pre-cum and uses it as lube, making sure to spread it slowly across his tip and down his shaft with long strokes.

He’s trying his best not to bite down on your fingers but it was so hard not to, instead he occupies himself by sucking on them in sync with his hand. 

“Mhm!” He accidentally touches his vein, the thick bump was extra sensitive against the cold air and your scent, his whole body twitches.

He can’t stop his hand from gaining speed and force, the longer he’s here with you the more his hand moves. It just not enough, his hips thrust upwards as he gives into himself, fucking into his balled up hand. His tongue laps at your fingers, his lips wrap tightly around them as he tries not to bite into your flesh; he can’t stop his hand from tightening against his cock.

He continues like this for a while, humping into the air like a bitch in heat, making sure to not cum - he didn’t want this to end too soon, he wanted to continue feeling like this next to you. In your room, a place that smelt so much like you it was overstimulating him, the taste of your lips against his tongue was intoxicating - he didn’t want today to end.

“Hah, mhm…” He chokes against his moan; it’s starting to get too much for him.

It’s then that he makes the mistake of looking over to you. Just the sight is enough for him to cum, it takes just a few strokes for him to finally spill.

“F-Fuck!” He can’t stop the moan that leaves his lips, he takes your fingers out of mouth in fear of hurting you but he refuses to let it go, gripping tightly while he lets himself ride the wave of pleasure he feels.

It takes him a second or two until he finally calms down, his dick growing sensitive as he slows down his strokes until he finally stops. His chest feels heavy as he pants, his heart beating painfully loud - he wonders if maybe you could hear it even in your sleep, a part of him hopes so. His whole body is on fire but he thinks this is the best he’s ever felt, just being near you was enough to make him feel like a God.

“I… I love you,” he pants, his fingers almost leave a dent in your hands from how tightly he’s gripping it, “hah… I love you so, so much…”

Almost a little too much.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Need You Now

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky thinks about the hurt he caused you as he is left with memories of happier times. Does he get a second chance at life with you?

Warning: Angst, sadness, drinking, hope?

Word Count: 1125

A/N: Thank you to my beta readers @pigwidgeonxo​ & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog​ & @music-culture-mythology (any mistakes on spelling & grammar are my own. Did this on my phone)

A/N 2: This used to be a Dean Winchester fic but since I write for Marvel only I'm switching this to a Bucky Barnes fic.

A/N 3: Song fic, Need You Now by Lady Antebellum. Lyrics in Bold.

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere else besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts then it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

Bucky is such a fool. He let the one person he loves the most leave after an argument. He said a lot of hateful things to push you away and it seems that this time it might be for good. Why couldn’t he see that he deserved a life away from constantly going on missions? You’re willing to settle down with him and give him the normal life that he always dreamed of. Now he is haunted by pictures of you both together in happier times scattered everywhere. His phone is in his hand ready to dial your number but would you pick it up? Has he crossed your mind as you have with him? Screw it, he dials your number and lets it ring. But you don’t pick up. God, he was such a fool to let you go. 

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor

Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?

For me, it happens all the time

Bucky looks at the clock and sees that it’s a quarter after one in the morning. The feeling of loneliness swarms over him as he drinks his whiskey slowly. He thinks back to the sadness in your eyes when you ask him, “Are you sure you want this?” God, no he didn’t want this to end but he was too proud of a man to admit it. Looking at the locked screen on his phone he sees your smiling face. He wants to call again, though a part of him tells himself to let you go so you can be happy. Bucky doesn’t know what he’ll do without you but if this is what a broken heart feels like he never wants to feel it again. The other part of him is screaming that he needs you. He needs to see your smiling face, hear your laughter, and taste your lips. What he would give to have you come through that door again and tell him you can’t live without him. Though if he was honest he doesn’t know how he is going to live without you. Dialing your number again he silently prays that you will pick the phone up but it goes to voicemail. 

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door

Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?

For me, it happens all the time

Bucky pours another glass of whiskey as he thinks about the life you could have had together. You both had talked about having a family one day and getting that little house with a yard big enough for a dog. Yes, that was the life that could have been. But it’s all a distant memory now. He should have never allowed going on missions so much to be the deal breaker between you both. He deserves a chance at a normal life. Grabbing the glass of whiskey he downs it in one gulp. Bucky promised he wouldn’t call but fuck it. While he has the courage he quickly dials your number and listens while it rings. After the fifth time ringing, it goes to voicemail.  Dammit, he screwed up. He just hopes that you’re sleeping and not ignoring his call. Maybe he should try to sleep as he is feeling a little buzzed. Though how could he sleep knowing you won’t be there in the morning? As Bucky leans back on the couch he tells himself he would rather have these hurt feelings than feel empty inside. Unbeknownst to him, his finger dials your number again. 

It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now

And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

Bucky shut his eyes for a few minutes and woke up to someone shaking him. He groans his disapproval and slowly opens his eyes. There you are staring at him with a sad smile on your face.

“Bucky, I saw you called me several times. Is everything okay?” You sound concerned as you ask him. He looks awful and smells heavily of whiskey. You notice the pictures of you both are scattered everywhere.

He looked over to the clock on the wall and it was just after three in the morning. You came over this late? “I’m fine, sweetheart. I was just drinking some whiskey. No need to worry about me.”

“Does this have anything to do with the argument we had?” You question him as you look at how much whiskey is missing from the bottle. 

He sighs. “No, yes, maybe. I just wanted you to know I didn’t mean anything that I said earlier. I don’t know what I would do without you in my life. I want the future we talked about. I want out of the Avengers if you still want to as well. Just say the word and it’s done.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you nod your head. “I do want that but Bucky you hurt me. Saying you don’t want kids…”

“I was an idiot. I do want them with you. I want the house, the yard, everything. Just give me a chance to prove myself to you.”

A small smile flashes across your face. “Well, I hope you’re serious because Bucky I’m pregnant.”

Bucky sits up quickly and pulls you into his lap. He kisses you passionately, tongues slowly dancing together as you grip him harder against you. When he pulled away so you could both breathe he let out a chuckle. “I’m so freaking happy.” Finally, everything is going to be alright. You need each other and so both of you vow to never make drastic decisions again. Today is the beginning of your forever, just the three of you. 

***

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[adeptus-nonsense]

humans are poets as well as warmongers

Humans nowadays are well known far and wide in this galaxy. Mostly because they are some of the most chaotic, Stupid or bold "daredevils" around (think i used that word correctly).

While i do recall my first meeting with the humans very V E R Y badly since i served in the contact wars when the Graktuka a well known theocratic empire and very influential and politically strong contender in the galaxy stumbled across human colonies. They saw this as an hostile action since the planet they were settling were a holy world, That however is a story for another time.

Just know that the Graktuka empire shrunk by a significant margin to the point where they asked for militairy support. The humans had apparently developed a kind of magnetic accelerated firing plattform piercing through multiple layers of hull completely ignoring shields. Given that Graktuka empire relied on shields since most of the galactic arsenal is plasma based but their hull wasn't weak at all. Unconventional weapons had to be used to even dent their armour. Realising that the humans ships were massive but rather primitive and slow a ground based invasion was seen to be the optimal way off going.

If you were there you would know why humanity is as feared as they are. Masters of the what did they call it? Art of war? Yeah something like that. Fields of bombs buried into the ground detonating with a light step. Weapons dedicated to injure soldiers just enough to save them but not kill them in order to make the invader spend more resources on saving said soldier.

Even our bases of operations with shields were not safe, let me tell you if you think regular humans can cause damage to stuff by touching things dont even get near trained saboteurs with your stuff. They break things in a ways that seems like a simple malfunction and will work after a simple repair. When the shield generator first broke down i thought i could fix it in a matter of minutes, I still havent fixed it to this day and i have taken that thing apart thousands of times without finding the fault.

safe to say we lost that war and this is just one one planet. This was the short part. Just be glad that they pack bond with just about anything. Saw a human carry a cleaning unit and named it "Ronald the Roomba" And that is apparently our ships mascot. But this is things we all are aware of. Let me tell you of their poetic side

This is not something most of us see as common knowledge about humans, but their cultural aspect besides war is for a lack of better words beautiful. This thing they call music.

for all their wars they know how brutal they are and write songs about everything they did wrong and how they wished how they could change it. But that is not all, according to human Jakob music portrays emotions and ones feelings in a way that regular communication doesn't and you dont even need to understand the words to understand the emotion said piece is carrying. Which i know to be true, it's almost therapeutic

I think My log of it will be a better way to describe since it is honestly hard to describe [alltough be careful their music is quite loud for most prey species]

Year 4574 human sector 456854 log 1 of service leave. I am currently here on a passion project of mine. While the war has ended 6 years ago off now the tensions do still exist. Me and some comrades in service are taking some time off and going to what humans call a bar and apparently there is a human performing. I have no idea of how this is gonna go. All i know is humans are incredibly chaotic especially when intoxicated. Still i should probably record this for the culture scientists at social scientific hub.

Log 2

*murmur and loud talking in the background at the bar*

"for clarifications sake, my name is Groakslo, i am here with my two comrades Kyukla and Telosa. We are currently at the bar only to see that humans are actively drinking poison, i was quite shocked to hear this and asked if it isn't dangerous and the bartender said and i quote "nah we gucci" note to self find out what gucci is."

Log 3

"the humans were beginning to get rowdy and even slight outbursts of violence did occur but nothing the surprisingly loud bartender couldn't handle by a very concerning threat, followed by him saying that the band is preparing so settle down. Telosa and i looked at each other very confused but still awaited this "band"

Log 4

"the band arrived and started to set up weird things, long instruments with metal strings, of varying thickness, i asked the a human who were close by what they were and he said instruments. I asked what they were used for and he said to play music. I was getting nowhere and decided to see for myself what they were gonna do."

Log 5 (i decided to be quiet for this one)

"welcome folks and aliens of all sorts shapes and kinds! Thank you for coming to this bar for our first debut our name is The Lines In between, and for those who dont know human music, we'll slowly lean you into it with this first on and it is namned Memories beneath the stars" [3 hours of music recorded]

Final log (yes i know i could voice record but i want to write while the memory is fresh i'm bad with words)

I never knew that humans could make such songs. Telosa and Kyukla was particurlarly affected. The song was as the name suggest the memories we made sneaking out to watch the stars as younglings, reminiscing about the times when the stars were the most unknown, adventure filled and beautiful place to be in. But also about the connections they've lost over the years, the good times wiped away like a water slowly polishing a stone into sand. It was odd, beautiful calm, sad all at once.

The voices i heard when i fought humans in war can not even be compared to that of the singer in that band, what is most perplexing is that the once borderline rioting bar was completely quiet when the band was performing, almost as if in a trance completely captured by the singers voice, smooth, rough, raspy but controlled in a way i thought impossible. A song about 4 human minutes somehow managed to capture the full emotional spektrum of not only humans but multiple species in that bar.

Humans truly are an astounding species. Truly a species that are on all of the extremes, stupidity, ingenuity, violence, poetry and many many more. For now i'll sign off and hope you at the social cultural exchange fellas have a field day with the music file attached to this.

Grokslo, highly decorated former geothermical shield generator militairy specialist.

[joontroverted]

no harm no foul

office workers nanami kento x reader

fandom : jujutsu kaisen

word count : 1.4k

cw : just fluff! (i think)

“if you keep putting in nights this late, i think the boss is gonna start charging you rent.”

at first you think he hasn't even heard you. you stand and shift your bag up your shoulder, wondering if it's worth repeating yourself or if it's better to take the sign and leave.

he turns to you slightly.

“how long have you been working here?”

you tilt your head to the side, wondering if you've really been that unremarkable. “i'll be completing four months soon.”

“in another two you'll be sitting late at your desk, just trying to finish your work and some bright eyed new joinee is going to come up to you and crack the most unfunny joke as if that's going to make you want to smash your head into the computer any less.”

the silence between the two of you in the empty office stretches.

“um, no.”

he raises his eyebrows. “so you think you're that good at the job?”

“yeah. but i meant that i'd never be this depressed and hateful.”

“mmhm, and why's that?”

“because i have a life.”

his stern face drops in surprise.

it's at this point you realize that this is your senior. your senior. you weren't exactly in his team, but he was senior to you nonetheless, and you had just mouthed off to him without giving it a single thought in a country where seniority was so deeply ingrained in office culture.

you hesitate for a second, and then decide to (foolishly) stand your ground.

you fold your hands and lean forward, making yourself taller in comparison to the seated man who is still staring at you.

“you can try and report me for insubordination if you want to. i'll argue it because i have the right to do so. and it might get me fired. but just know that i can get up and get a different job at a different company and move on with my life, but you'll be here with your big senior position but it will do nothing to satisfy you truly because deep down you know that you are nothing but a man with a nasty attitude upholding the misery of corporate spaces with your negative attitude, you negative nancy.” you squint at his id. "you negative... nanami."

you don't bother staying to see his reaction. you turn on your heel and leave.

and that was where it all began.

you weren't reported for insubordination.

in fact, time passed as if nothing had changed at all.

but something had. someone who had clearly never noticed you before had turned his focus onto you.

nothing nanami does is noticable enough for other's to think that it was special in any sort of way, but for you to know how you had spoken and how he is treating you now despite it all, it has you initially suspicious.

it starts small.

it's the good mornings. what used to be you saying good morning to a senior who would perhaps just nod back has now turned into him wishing you a good morning with a slightly... pleasant look.

then it was how his brown eyes that you had always deemed to be calculating settle on you every time you're giving a presentation or speaking in a meeting or within view of him- but now they seem open, as if for the purpose of needing to take you in.

you're faced with one of the most twisted appliance of them all, the photocopier that sits by the window, choking on paper for the third time consecutively, and you are seconds away from kicking it.

“how is it that it's been six months since you've started and you still don't know that you apaproach this one only when it's absolutely necessary and with a hail mary?”

you spin around and see nanami leaning against the wall, arms folded. you're lucky that the papers in your hand are already crumpled up, because you would've crumpled them anyways with the fist you make. he raises his eyebrows at your frustration. you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“i saw that. there's a better one by my desk. follow me.”

so that's where you're getting your copies printed now.

you don't know that anytime nanami hears a pair of heels clicking around the office, he hopes that it's you, and as it nears he hopes that he sees you, with your pursed lips and your indifferent face that you seem to reserve for him.

he watches you from the corner of his eye, the way your top hugs you and imagines you trying them on in the morning to see which one suits you the best. or maybe you'd keep them laid out and decided the night before, you seem to be the organized type.

he could help you with that. or maybe he'd be of no help at all, what with how lovely he thinks you are as is.

and when you're printing your copies, he hopes that you twist around or peer over your shoulder and end up accidentally making eye contact with him- which seems to make him smile almost instantly. and then he hopes that you smile back, which you used to never do, but now as you're smiling back at him before you immediately scoop up your papers and go back to your seat, he knows that there is space for more. more between the two of you.

you can't help but fall for him notice him.

it doesn't help that he's handsome. handsome in an obvious way. his blonde hair that's styled back, or how it sometimes falls forward in waves of honey. his brown eyes behind his extremely serious looking glasses, the same eyes that seem to soften whenever they see you around.

it gets worse.

you grimace at the coffee from the office coffee machine once and before the day ends you get an im from him saying that he'll show you the place he gets his coffee from every morning. and sure enough, the next day, he's waiting for you outside the office to take you on a short walk to the nearby coffee shop.

you're looking at all the options, acting like you don't think that it's really sweet that nanami with all his money and status frequents the little cafe tucked away where no one can see with no parking and a singular barista who seems to be hard of hearing.

“mr and mrs. nanami!” he exclaims when the two of you approach the counter.

he's supposed to be hard of hearing, not hard of seeing, so you have no idea why he says that, but you give him a flustered giggle regardless and tell him he's mistaken. when everything's ordered and the two of you are walking back to the office, he's about to take a sip of his coffee and you ask him if you can taste it.

"not to sound grossed out, but that's disgusting," you pull a face and give it back to him.

he laughs. "it's straight to the point, just what i need for the rest of the day."

"you take another coffee during lunch and sometimes drink tea before you leave for home, you liar. this is barely gonna last you a few hours."

"well for someone who prides themselves on how well they work, you seem to spend an awful amount of time studying me."

"you're very funny. your subordinates run helter skelter to make sure their work's done perfectly so you don't catch them slacking when you're running low on caffeine. you influence the office a lot more than you think, you know."

"well, i'm a particular man with particular tastes," he says, his eyes on you.

as you walk into the office, you notice your lipstick stain on the cup.

“oh!” you fumble with your bag and pull out a tissue, reaching out to his cup, “let me- ”

“i have a busy day, i need to get started with my work, yeah?” he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze before turning and briskly walking towards his desk.

“nanami!” you laugh, and he turns around, coat fluttering around him, head tilted to the side.

“yes?”

you point at the cup and then spin your finger around. “they're gonna know!” you whisper.

“that i have a particular taste?” he smirks. “i hope they do,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee, lips meeting the exact place where your lipstick stain is.

he turns around and walks away, leaving you standing there, and the heat from the beverage in your hand is nothing in comparison to how hot your face feels.

later in the night, as you lie awake, twisted to your side and all of a sudden it hits you.

nanami kento, investment banker, coffee connoisseur, man whom you have shared an indirect kiss with, gorgeous, rich, extremely smart and serious nanami kento is flirting with you.

you.

and you have been flirting back, or at least not shutting it down, you realize. the shock that goes through your body has you curling into an even smaller ball, so much so that your fiance grumbles next to you.

“quit movin' around."

"sorry," you whisper back immediately.

sato grunts and shoves his hand up your shirt again, fingers gripping your breast.

it really can't get worse than this.

reblogs, comments, likes and asks are HIGHLY APPRECIATED!!! 🎂

guys i promise it makes sense i PROMISE

[cloudshuffle]

an arrow, a spark. yan!childe

index / next / beta reader @malewifeharem

When they assign you to a new division in the Fatui, you think nothing much of it. People were always being moved around in the organisation, people disappeared under mysterious circumstances, new recruits were popping up out of nowhere.

What was strange, however, was whose division you were assigned to. Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, all the way in Liyue, no less - or Ajax, as you knew him better.

“I'll be sorry to see you go,” Signora says from behind you.

You jump, nearly dropping the stack of papers in your hands. She stands in the doorway, imposing as always, yet the air she gives off implies she's left off a “darling” at the end of her sentence.

Madame Signora's always been fond of you for reasons you've never known, though that often meant being stuck in dull, dull meetings and organising her paperwork for her.

You salute her, then laugh nervously. In the midst of your packing, your office looks like a hurricane hit it, stacks of books and papers scattered everywhere. Not the best look to put forward to your boss.

“So, Liyue.” She takes a step, placing her right inside the threshold of your office. Behind her, her new bodyguard slash secretary shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Quite a ways from home, yes?”

“It is.” The land of the Geo Archon, Morax, but most importantly his creation of mora. A warm place by far, considering Snezhnaya's standards, but its trade sector was coldly competitive.

“How do you feel about it?”

How did you feel? The question catches you by surprise, much like her appearance in your office. Never before had you been asked your personal opinion on anything before, least of all by a harbinger.

It’s just work.

“It’s a great opportunity to expand my horizons and learn about another culture, ma’am.”

She chuckles elegantly. “A textbook answer. Good. It’d be useful if you kept those same wits around Tartaglia.”

You blink, a cloud of dust distracting you briefly from what she’d just said. “...Tartaglia, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes.” Her red lips curve into a wry smile. “He requested for you specifically. He’s been pestering me, in fact, to let him have you.”

You remain silent, unsure of how to respond.

“But look at me, holding you up. I do hope you have fun while in Liyue - it can be quite the interesting place, after all.”

────────────

You don’t quite know what all the fuss about Tartaglia is about till lunch, when you venture into the mess hall with Nadia.

She doesn't even wait for the two of you to sit down before broaching the topic. “Did you know the eleventh is back is Snezhnaya?”

“He is?” You stab at your potatoes with your fork, eyeing her cheekily. “And I don't suppose you're in the market for a partner at the same time, are you?”

“Oh, not a harbinger.” She laughs. “That’s way too high profile for me.”

You eye the raised platform at the front of the hall where a long table’s been set. It’s more for show than anything else, seeing as how the harbingers have never once found themselves privy to dining with you common soldiers. There are twelve high-backed, intricately carved mahogany chairs, and one in the middle, larger than the rest, gilded with gold and complete with red velvet cushions. The Tsaritsa’s. Yet another reminder of who you all served.

Nadia's chatter washes over you like a soothing wave. You're grateful to have a friend when you go abroad, if only for distractions like this if nothing else.

She wants to marry and settle down already - a noble sentiment for a young Snezhnayan lady. You think any man would be lucky to have her.

For yourself, you're not so sure.

“Ooh!” She nudges you. “Don't look, but Vlad's over there. Isn't he cute?”

Against her wishes, you turn your head. He looks like any regular Snezhnayan man to you, blonde and with an angular face that could’ve been carved from the frozen earth itself. “Well, I guess. He looks kind.”

“And he's coming to Liyue too!” Nadia stage whispers.

“Exciting.” You raise an eyebrow.

You excuse yourself from your meal after a while, leaving the mess hall alone. Nadia's conversation was entertaining but exhausting, provided one could keep up with her endless stream of news and gossip from various sources.

But it's from this river of information that you sift out a tiny gold nugget: that Harbinger Tartaglia would be in the archery fields if he weren't busy preparing for his return to Liyue with his new crew.

Perhaps it's curiosity, or pure boredom that drives you outside into the cold.

The walk is familiar, ice crunching under your boots. It was admittedly difficult to walk on snow and ice - if you were anything but Snezhnayan, born and raised.

Your fingertips tingle with the phantom itch to hold a bow. It'd been a while…

You follow the path, rounding the building to a frozen field. A number of wooden targets and straw dummies are lined up, some in varying states of disrepair. A small hangover, an incline, really, provides minimal coverage against the wind like a very tiny rock against a great river.

As expected, there’s no one there. You feel a small sense of relief at having missed that chance encounter.

The new recruits train elsewhere. It’s a place only for those who want to exercise the muscles you rarely get to use, being cooped up in front of a desk all day.

You take up position at the edge of the field, summoning your bow and fixing three arrows to it.

They arc in a graceful, shining line, each landing perfectly in the middle of its respective target board.

You affix another arrow to the shelf, taking a deep breath. The world narrows to the point of your arrow and the fletching on the arrow you landed.

Dimly, you’re aware of the shuffling of feet behind you, quickly hushed. Probably just another of your fellow soldiers who wanted to get out of the noise of the mess hall. You pay them no mind.

You release the arrow, reload, release, reload. Three arrows land in rapid succession, splitting each of the previous arrows neatly down the shaft.

You exhale, and your senses return to you. The cold embraces you again, and you shake the tension out of your shoulders, putting your bow away. You can almost feel its sigh, already impatient for the next occasion it could perform.

Slow clapping. “An impressive show, soldier.”

You spin on your heel.

Tartaglia stands at the top of the incline, flanked by two bodyguards. As if he needed them within the walls of the Fatui stronghold, the youngest of all the harbingers, who single-handedly dug his fingers into the fabric of Liyue to get the Tsaritsa a foothold.

It’s been quite a while since you last saw him, you realise. He looks a little sharper, a little leaner, his gaze perhaps a little more complex, as if he were thinking of the future while simultaneously discerning all your secrets. The hydro vision on his belt winks at you in the cold light.

Standing on the incline, he looks like a conqueror, surveying his land. It's a good look for a harbinger to have.

“My lord.” You salute him smartly, tamping down your embarrassment at noticing them late. “My apologies for taking up your time.”

“Oh, no need for all that, padruga.” He comes down the slope, the bodyguards following a respectful distance behind. “It's always a delight to watch you in action.”

What had Madame Signora said? “He requested for you specifically”?

Ajax- no, Tartaglia, is a good head taller than you, maybe more. As he approaches, you have to incline your head to meet the unfamiliar gleam in his blue eyes. Whatever could he want from you?

“You've been well, I trust?” He summons his bow, and you take the cue to move a step backward, leaving him room to shoot.

“Well enough, may the Tsaritsa continue to watch over me.”

To your surprise, he snorts a laugh, loosing his arrow. It strikes deep into the wood, igniting a spark as it scrapes against yours. “A devotary? Some things certainly have changed around here.”

One of the bodyguards shifts his feet. You glance back at him, then at Tartaglia. “Is a harbinger not also subservient to her majesty?”

He chuckles. “Of course he is. I’m just… surprised.” Another arrow, another target. “You never struck me as the type to believe.”

You remain silent as the last arrow hits its mark. All just to the right of your own arrows, pressed so close they seem on the verge of falling off.

“Excellent marksmanship, my lord.” The impersonal compliment comes easily to your lips. You clasp your hands behind your back.

A gentle breeze begins to blow (the kind that might have killed a man in lesser clothing), unsettling his already unruly ginger hair. The bodyguards adjust their stances, as if roused by the cold wind.

“Certainly.” He grins, a self-assured smile, unhidden by a mask. You’re grateful for yours in that regard - no need to hide your emotions or expressions too well when all Fatui are shrouded in uniform secrecy. “Nothing but the best to serve her majesty.”

Somewhere deep within the halls, a bell begins to toll.

You snap to a salute. “Thank you for your time, my lord,” you say, as if he hadn’t been the one to seek you out for conversation first. “I must be taking my leave now.”

padruga: friend (female) according to google

— word count: 1598. thank you for reading!

[professional-yapper]

Proximity pt. 4

Neteyam x Olangi! Reader

Warnings: fluff, misunderstanding and lack of communication, making out up, reader is lowkey the bane of my existence

"We need to talk," you began bluntly as you entered your hut, finding Neteyam sitting rather dejectedly on the floor. "Wha- how long have you been there? Were you waiting for me?"

Neteyam nodded, unfolding long limbs and standing up to meet your eyes. You noticed he was gripping his loincloth again, like he had when he first met you. "Did I do something wrong? Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I never meant to upset you, you must understand that."

You exhaled shakily, taking another step into the hut, bringing you closer to him. "No. Lo'ak explained it to me. The- the cultural differences."

Neteyam tilted his head, looking almost amused by his brother's involvement. "Lo'ak did?"

"Mhm," you confirmed. "I did not- my people are not permitted to do what we did with anyone but our mate. We are not mated yet. I brought shame to my family by letting you kiss me."

"Oh." Neteyam's eyes grew soft with understanding. "I'm sorry. Truly. I should have known better. You just-" He stopped, cutting himself off, a flush spreading across his face, turning his head away from you.

Your heart stirred in your chest at the sight. "I just what?" you prompted, reaching out, gripping his upper arms and forcing him to look at you.

Neteyam huffed out a little laugh, letting his head drop forward so his face was inches from yours, turning his hands to cup your elbows, running his thumbs over your skin delicately. "You just looked so good. Like you were made to be here, standing in the home I made for you, all warm and golden in the midday sunlight, looking so peaceful for once. I didn't think twice."

You smiled. "Yeah?"

"I don't regret it," he added seriously. "The only thing I regret is upsetting you and making you think I did not want to see you. You are all I want to see, paskalin. The first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see when i go to sleep." His voice was trembling a little as he spoke, grip growing tight on your elbows like he was trying to steady himself.

"I know this union is arranged, but-"

"I want this," you interrupted, voice firm and steady, sliding your hands up his arms to cup his face. "I want you."

Neteyam sucked in a breath, eyes darting to your lips ever so briefly. But he made no love to kiss you, and you didn't know if you were disappointed or not. "I cannot wait," he said in a low voice.

You knew what he meant. Couldn't wait for the night you two would mate in the eyes of Eywa. It made your heart beat faster just to see how eager he was for you.

"I can," you said, smiling irresistibly, wanting to tease him just s little now it was all out in the open and you had nothing to fear anymore. "I will have you for the rest of my life. There is no rush."

Neteyam didn't seem to share your feelings, instead making a low, defeated rumbling noise in the back of his throat and releasing your elbows.

Your heart rate spiked again, this time out of anxiety as he let you go, wondering if you shouldn't have teased him.

But then he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and the other around your middle, pulling you into his chest, pressing his nose into your hair and breathing you in deeply.

His tail coiled around your calf, and you wished you could return the gesture, but settled for hugging him back, wrapping your arms around him and taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"This will be a happy union," Neteyam muttered into your hair, a note of steel in his voice. "Maybe this love will not last, but I want us to be happy. I swear it to you now, paskalin. I will make you happy."

You didn't have the words to respond to that, instead pressing your forehead to his shoulder.

"Do you trust me to make you happy, paskalin?" Neteyam asked lowly, stroking one hand up and down your back.

"I trust you, ma Neteyam." Your voice was softer than you had ever allowed it to be.

He shivered at the use of 'ma' and held you tighter, like he was trying to envelop you with his body. "I cannot wait," he repeated.

This time, you agreed with him. If he shivered at a mere affectionate term of possession, you couldn't imagine what other reactions he might have. "Neither can I."

Finished this in bed half asleep and it has not been proofread whatsoever I don't believe in proofreading (fun fact!) Also very short for which I apologise 🤧

Enjoy!

Taglist: @luvv4j4ybe11 @ikeyniofthetayrangi @rivatar @lunamochii @mochamochimoch1015 @dutifullyannoyingfox @oakbuggy @abcm18339 @atokirina-tsuki

Part Five >

[genericpuff]

ok listen right

please don't take the implication of what i'm about to say the completely wrong way, there's a point i have to make here

there's this gross thing that happens in LO that's been definitely talked about numerous times (by many people) where fashion is used to label a character's like, "alignment" between "good" "bad" "pure" "tainted" etc. this is something that comes up a lot when discussing Minthe and Persephone because there are a LOAD of double standards in how Minthe was treated and viewed for dressing like a "slut" but then Persephone wears the exact same fit and suddenly she's a queen-

(image courtesy of @anoldplace on Instagram, I'll be showing a couple of their posts in this because they show off a lot of the great - and frankly disturbing - parallels in LO, whether intended by Rachel or not)

-but can we talk about how the "bad ending" version of Persephone where she ends up with Apollo slaps WAY FUCKING HARDER than anything we've seen her dressed in since she got with Hades ??

fucking hello?? where's THAT fit ??

you're telling me this girl is queen of the underworld and the best she can do in the fashion department is looking like a color-swapped version of Hera ???

and I WANNA MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR, this isn't me trying to say "Persephone would have been way cooler if she got with Apollo", that is FAR from the point, more so just pointing out the pattern of Rachel aligning "bad" with "dresses with more flavor than an extremely out-of-touch conservative boomer". Even when she tries to draw Persephone in more "out there" clothing it just comes across as ... tacky? And only at her own detriment?

Like, how the fuck is this supposed to be Persephone being drawn through a literal male gaze (Apollo):

And THIS is supposed to be Persephone being drawn from a female gaze (her own because she dressed herself):

Like literally how? How does this happen? Especially when the latter is STILL being framed from a male perspective (the green guy behind her, "Jeffrey") but we're supposed to believe it's some "boss babe" moment for Persephone to just be walking down the street while getting oggled inappropriately by a male onlooker? How could these scenes be any more different and yet more alike? She's still being objectified for the characters around her and the audience, but we're supposed to believe the second is better than the first one because... she chose to wear that?

Sure, one could argue that at least she dressed herself and that definitely gives her agency, but it's really Rachel telling on herself where her priorities are in trying to write a "feminist comic" that she had Persephone dress herself and then STILL have its only purpose be for men on the sidelines to stare at and objectify her. When you just know this same outfit would have undoubtedly been used to slut shame characters like Minthe or Thetis or Leuce.

I don't even know, man. The intentions in LO's writing are so confused, contradictory, and ultimately pointless. It's trying so hard to be "feminist" and a "deconstruction of purity culture" but then it turns around and reinforces all that same shit it's claiming to be fighting against anyways. Persephone would be an evil slut if she was with Apollo, look at her outfit! But not here, not the banana purse dress being oggled by strangers on the sidewalk, not now that she settled down with her old rich husband who she only knew for a couple weeks before being separated for 10 years but their love was just so strong and the thirst for dick so real that she and him loyally waited for one another until she was old enough to make it "not be creepy" anymore for them to hook up, but only after marriage. She's definitely not a gold digger like Minthe or a vapid slut like Thetis or a homewrecker like Leuce, nah.

I just wish she'd dress herself, for the love of god. Let her dress herself with her own input and not the influence of the people around her or the tone of the comic's own internalized misogyny that demands "woman must always be objectified for better or for worse, that is The Rule!"

Of course she can't "dress herself" though. She's an extension of Rachel and Rachel herself writes like an out-of-touch boomer who will and has gladly gone about how men are just clamoring at the bit to stare at her and get to her... but then claims she "didn't realize sexism was all that bad" until she started working on LO.

Sorry, this post got very long and very mean, I initially just wanted to make the comparison in a very silly haha "wild how bad ending Persephone has way more visual personality than good ending Persephone" way, but then I thought about it too long and pissed myself off LMAO

And no, I don't want to go back to beating the dead horse of "banana dress bad" because honestly, I think in any other context or comic, sure, it would be very cute to see her walking around in an outfit she chose herself even if it's "objectively" not a great outfit, it shows agency and not caring what other people think which is VERY freeing. But we're not reading that comic, we're reading LO, where a woman's worth and value is only determined by how the men around her react to her and only Persephone is allowed to be empowered by wearing outfits that would otherwise be treated as "slutty" if worn by anyone else.

I don't want the message to be "Persephone looks like a dumbass bimbo" or, on the flipside, "Persephone looks boring and out-of-touch", I want the message to be "Persephone is valid for dressing how she wants, just like how the women around her are valid for dressing how they want regardless of whether or not they're protagonists or antagonists."

Quit using women's fashion as an alignment chart, quit using these "not so sly for a misogynist guy" dogwhistles as a way to "other" the women around the power fantasy main character. Women deserve to dress how they want without shame or objectification - all women, not just the women you like.

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Commoner!Eijiro Kirishima x Princess!Reader - So This is Love? - II

Summary: Kirishima accompanies you to the castle to make ready for the ball, and he can't help but drown in the cultural difference.

Warnings: Reverse harem, social class difference, fluff, slight angst, mentions of suggestive thoughts, love at first sight, princess x commoner trope

As promised, just as the sun got ready to settle, a carriage pulled up to the home and shop of the Kirishima family. It had arrived right on time, not that there was a chance Kirishima could miss it. He'd sat in the front room over his parent's shop since this morning, always with a perfect view of the window. He'd long since given up on his work for the day, there weren't any pressing jobs today anyway. All he could think about was the arrival of the carriage, and here it finally was.

"I-It's here!" he shouted anxiously to his parents, running to the back room to kiss his mother's cheek. "I have to go!" His parents wished him well as he scrambled out the door, stumbling over the threshold. To his delight, the footman was waiting at the end of the walk to let him inside. "Uhm," he waved nervously, slowing down a bit as he grew near. "Hello, sir..."

The glare the footman shot him made him uneasy. It reminded him of the social distance between himself and the opportunity he was presented with, and he presumed this one wouldn't be the last prejudicial stare he got by the end of the night. Nevertheless, he pressed on, letting the footman help him into the carriage.

His blood ran cold when he was met with a floor full of fine silk, ruffles, and cotton with intricate designs. Following the full skirt upwards, his eyes once again met yours as he paused, still on the carriage step. Just like before, your eyes held a mysterious beauty, barely visible thanks to the angle and the hand fan obscuring your painted lips.

"Y-You're majesty!" He gasped, scrambling into the carriage, and sitting across from you. He was suddenly acutely aware of the amount of space he took up as his knees grazed yours in the small space. "Forgive me, I hadn't expected to see you again until tonight." He admitted sheepishly.

"Quite alright," you answered, voice saccharine from beyond your fan. "I would be remiss if I didn't accompany you on your way, considering I invited you so last minute."

"Well, thank you..." he nodded timidly, hands folded in his lap. "If I may ask, why did you invite me?" He finally asked, the question having burned sores into his mind.

"All in due time," you answer cryptically, folding your fan to reveal a friendly smile that made him queasy when paired with your mystique. "All will be revealed soon, you have my word."

"Yes, my lady..." He relented with a small bow, still feeling microscopic in your presence.

-----

Arriving at the castle, the carriage halted, the footman coming around to open the door. Kirishima stepped out first, immediately turning back to the open door, extending you a hand. "Allow me, your grace." He said with a focused expression, though your could see the way the tips of his ears turned red when you gave him your hand.

"Why, thank you," you smiled, nodding to him as he helped you onto solid ground.

"Of course," he responded, holding your hand high as he always assumed a man should when escorting a lady. A bit of him was joyful when you didn't withdraw your hand, even though you had every opportunity, as it simply rested in his palm. You allowed him to help you up the castle stairs, stopping a few feet before the entrance. Giving the guards time to open the doors for you, you stepped forward, prompting him to do the same, still holding his hand as you stepped over the threshold. It almost made you giggle the way he kept sneaking glances, adjusting his posture to match yours. It was almost as if he was mimicking you to fit in.

Entering the castle, you halted, finally taking your hand back as the pair of you were swarmed by servants, dutifully directing you both up a grand staircase to the right. Once up several flights of stairs, you were ushered into a hallway where you were pulled into separate yet adjacent rooms. For you, this was nothing out of the ordinary. For Kirishima, this was strange and almost cult-like, the way people seemed to buzz around you, as if automated.

Now inside your personal chambers, you could relax, plopping down in a decorative armchair. "Best not to get too comfortable, my lady," your chambermaid, Tsu said, smoothing a white sheet into a wooden tub towards the center of the room. "Your bath will be ready soon."

"Come now, my lady," another maid smiled, kneeling in front of you to remove your shoes. When she was finished, she offered you her hands to help you up. "Can't be tired now when you've got the ball to look forward to." She chirped, bustling around you to begin the long process of removing your day dress.

"Of course," you nod half-heartedly, shivering as she reduces you to nudity before slipping a paper-thin linen gown over your head. "Ochako, I don't believe I'm prepared for tonight." You confess, approaching the tub just after Tsu has finished filling it.

"Why ever not, your grace?" The brunette asks, her chipper smile fading into a look of concern as she takes your hand, helping you into the tub.

"I fear this night will be a disaster," you lament as their hands begin to graze your skin, flannel washcloth dragging about.

-----

In the adjoined room, Kirishima sat similarly in a bathtub, a luxury he wasn't accustomed to. Not only that but he certainly wasn't accustomed to having someone bath him, let alone a young woman. His cheeks flushed as her fingers grazed his skin and occasionally, for a moment at a time, when he glanced at her hand, he'd see your manicured nails and blushed knuckles, smooth skin wet with his bathwater. Each time he caught his mind wandering off, he'd promptly call it back, never daring to tarnish your visage with such a lewd filter.

When the maid deemed him clean, she helped him out of the tub, unphased to see him naked as he tried to keep himself modest. It was as if she did this every day; like it was typical of her routine- and it probably was. After toweling him off, she stepped to a large armoire against the East wall, taking out what he assumed must have been the outfit you'd described.

Expertly, the maid helped him into a large linen shirt and cream-colored stockings that tucked into red breeches. Afterward, she slipped a matching waistcoat over his shoulders before circling back around him to fasten its gold buttons.

Once he was fully dressed, the maid quietly took her leave, but not before showering him with compliments that he couldn't tell the genuineness of. Stepping over to the full-length mirror, he studied himself in the mirror, remarking how different he looked. He was the cleanest he'd ever been and his hair was groomed and tied back with a gold ribbon. The suit he wore looked more expensive than the cottage that he and his family lived in, all crimson satin, embroidered with shiny gold threat into complicated patterns too small for him to fully appreciate. He hadn't ever worn clothes that felt so heavy, feeling weighed down by the thick coat he wore, yet still transfixed by the luxurious visage in the mirror. He definitely looked like royalty.

Just then out of a door he hadn't before noticed on the East wall, you appeared, and his breath was stolen away. You peered around the door shyly, face once again hidden by a hand fan, but not the same one as earlier. Seeing that he was decent, you strolled in, the corners of your eyes crinkling, indicating a sweet smile just behind an accordion of metal boning, embroidered silk, and ostrich feather.

"I thought it appropriate to have our outfits match..." It was obvious that your gown and his suit had been cut from the same cloth- literally. Your bodice and skirt were made up of the exact same crimson satin with identical stitching. The pair of you were a perfectly matching set, save for the long ruffled sleeves that spilled from your elbows, and the shape the fabric took on. Kirishima couldn't help but stare in awe at the way your corset hugged your ribcage and the way the crinoline under your skirt filled out your hips in a manner that tempted something primal within him.

"Y-Your majesty..." he breathed, air caught in his throat as his eyes wandered up over the curve of your uplifted breasts settling momentarily on the silk ribbon that hugged your throat, holding up what he assumed to be a ruby framed with pure gold. "You are a truly..." he paused for a moment, his eyes finally reaching yours, noticing your made-up face and complex updo, and how soft ringlets framed your cheekbones. "Breathtaking visage."

His words put an irrefutable glow in your cheeks as you inched closer, drinking him in as he had done to you. "And you, I must say, kind sir, look rather dashing this evening."

"Thank you, your highness." he nodded in appreciation, throat dry at the prospect of you finding him attractive.

"Aye," you nodded in return, pivoting on your heels to a small table to your left. "Before I forget," you say, opening a small decorative box that sat atop the table. Pulling two objects from it, you step back to him, pinning a small rose to his lapel. He stares at the gesture, heart swelling, taken by surprise when you hand him another one, this one in full bloom, along with a stick pin. Letting your eyes shut, your hands clasped behind your back as your back arched, offering your chest to him. With trembling fingers, Kirishima carefully pinned the blossom to your bodice, touch lingering a few seconds longer than needed. "Thank you, kind sir..." you said, batting your lashes.

"Y-You're welcome, my princess." he stammered, letting a beat of silence pass between the two of you.

"I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you," you finally confessed, looking sheepish. It was the first time he'd seen you not entirely sure of yourself and it made him all the more nervous.

"Please, go on, my lady." he spoke calmly, concern written all over his face as he urged to to continue.

"You see..." you began, nipping at your lip. "The true reason I invited you tonight was-"

Suddenly, there was a stern knock at the door, frightening the both of you out of your skin. A servant then entered, eyes shifting towards your date with visible haughtiness before simply stating: "Your highness, the pair of you are expected in the grand hall immediately to be introduced."

[the-whispers-of-death]

Reader is male & his hair is described to be long enough to reach his nape (long hair symbolizes a time of peace in his culture). I just made up kingdom names. Part One, Part Two

**

After a morning in council with your advisors, seeing to your subjects and their grievances, you were in desperate need of some stress relief. So you put on your armor and made your way to the training courtyard where veteran knights and trainees alike where training, your hands itching to have a sword in them.

"My king!" Several knights around the training courtyard cried out at the sight of you, bowing. But your eyes were trained on Ghost, who ha stopped the training match he was overseeing.

"Sir Ghost, I wish to spar with someone. And I figured you were the best knight of mine to spar with," you said, walking over to Ghost. You smiled at him, able to look him into the eyes easily since you were around the same height. "If you're up for it, of course. If not, I can spar with someone else."

Ghost shook his head. "No, I can spar with you, my king." He gestured for someone to bring you both training swords and shields. "It would be honor to help you keep your swordsmanship skill sharp."

You laughed at that, placing your hands in gloves before taking a training sword out of the two you were given and taking a shield in the other hand. "Are you keeping my swordsmanship skill sharp or am I keeping yours sharp?" you teased, waiting until he held a sword and shield before getting into position.

"How about both, my king? Neither of us can get rusty."

You nodded in response and those were the last words spoken between you two as Ghost strikes first, swinging his sword. You parried with your own and pushed him back, quickly striking back just as quick as he struck first.

Since they were training swords, they barely made dents into either of your armors. Still, the act of swinging and wielding the sword was enough for you, enough for you to love the thrill it gave you to spar with your knight.

Parry, block, strike.

The movements seemed so rhythmic, your sword and shield an extension of yourself. Even then, exhaustion was wearing on you both as you could feel it settle in your bones and see his balaclava and white mask start to get soaked with Ghost's sweat. Your movements were starting to slow down, but neither of you were giving up yet.

That was, until Ghost unarmed you. One second you were thinking of parrying his upcoming strike, the next he was sending your sword flying in the air and away from you. You heard it clang against the ground, signaling the end of the match.

"Well done, Sir Ghost," you said, panting. A small smirk made its way onto your face. "Though I'm quite glad that my knight is good enough to best me. Means I'm placing my life in the right hands."

Ghost straightened up from his hunched stance, nodding. "You gave me a run for my money, my king," he said, though that might've been to make you feel better about losing the match.

You chuckled and followed him to where his canteen of water was, watching him pull up his balaclava enough to reveal his mouth. You greedily watched him take a sip of water, a few drops dripping from his mouth and down his chin.

He must've seen you watching him because as soon as he finished drinking from the canteen, he didn't cap it again, instead he offered it to you. "Are you thirsty, my king?"

"Oh, I can't drink from your canteen, it's yours. I'll be fine," you replied, trying to refuse the canteen, but he wasn't having it.

"Nonsense, you must be thirsty after out sparring. Drink, I don't mind," he murmured, his gruff voice softening just softly.

Ghost didn't let you hold the canteen, instead tilting it himself so you could drink from it. Your eyes closed as the water hit your tongue. It was an intimate gesture, but everyone else in the courtyard was too busy training to watch you two.

You made sure not to drink too much of his canteen, pulling away when you were done. "Thank you."

You watched him cap his canteen again, nodding in response to your thanks. Silence washed over you two for a few seconds and you were about to excuse yourself when he spoke.

"You seem troubled, my king." Ghost turned to you once his canteen was set down on the bench again. "Come, sit with me please. Talk to me."

He sat down on the bench and you hesitated before sitting down. Your weary bones felt relief at sitting down. Sure, you best the morning sitting on your throne, but you hadn't relaxed since you woke up, not until now.

"My advisors are worried that I don't know how to rule this kingdom during a time of peace," you murmured, your voice soft so no one else heard word of your advisors basically thinking you were unfit to lead the kingdom during an era of peace.

It was true that when you took the throne from your father when you were twenty-four, Eridies had been in war with Loria for at least a year and the war lasted until six months ago which meant the kingdom had been at war for eight years. Your reign had started with war and a warrior king was what you had been for eight years. Just because you ushered peace to the kingdom, didn't mean that you knew how to keep peace.

Ghost huffed at that, clearly thinking differently. He hesitated for a few seconds before he rested his gloved hand on your knee.

"My king, you've been doing a wonderful job of ensuring the peace you've won stays. You might have been a warrior king for the past eight years, but you've had a kind heart and a heart of a peaceful king. You care about Eridies, its people," he said, rubbing his thumb against your knee. "I have no doubt you'll continue to keep the peace alive."

Your eyes flickered from his hand on your knee to his own eyes, holding eye-contact.

This man, a man you had never fully seen his face, was a steady presence by your side for the past eight years. You never went into battle without knowing he'd be covering your back, your own personal shadow. You knew him like you knew yourself, he was like a sword; an extension of yourself. You didn't know what you were like without him and you found, you didn't want to know what life was like without him by your side.

A smile graced your lips and you rested your hand on his, squeezing it gently. "You know, I think as long as I have you, I won't mind listening to the people's grievances over one farmer stealing the other's crops," you said, intending on lightening the mood.

Judging by the soft chuckle, a sound only you managed to get from him, your response had its intended effect. Ghost turned his hand over so your palms were facing each other and he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

He knew what he was doing was dangerous. He should be keeping his distance from you, but you pulled him in like no other. Every time he wanted to pull back, his heart drew closer to yours. It felt like your soul was intertwined with his, trying to come together to form a whole soul.

"I'll be by your side for as long as you need me to, my king. As long as you'll have me."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[hiraya-rawr]

"in another life, i would've really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you"

synopsis !! all the opportunities he didn't take! forbidden love, status differences, different life goals, missed chances

characters !! zhongli, thoma

note !! please please read thoma's part I really like it for some reason- also everything everywhere all at once was amazing, i loved every second of it and it was just so beautiful! i also love all the cultural references aaaah

+ + +

Z H O N G L I

"Live a human life with me," You had once suggested to Rex Lapis, lounging on a floating island and watching the construction of what would eventually be known as Liyue Harbor.

He turns to you, confused look on his face, "A human life? Honestly, your ideas only develop in oddity over time."

You laugh, shrugging as the wind chimes along with you. Did Barbatos find it amusing as well?

"I'm being serious, Morax! The war is over, peace is settling, any issues can be handled by the humans and we can always guide them from a distance." You smile, "Live a human life with me. We can open a teahouse by the outskirts, we can visit the harbor on weekends, we can age ourselves and spend a human's lifetime together!"

He sighs, turning away, "I'll amuse you and visit you in my human form, but I have responsibilities I wish to take as their archon. You can play human without me."

"Aww, Morax-"

He rolls his eyes, amused, "Human lives are so fickle and short. Should you ever get tired of living their ways, you're welcome to join me in the skies again."

"Hmp. You might just regret not trying with me." You tease, and you—

Were right. He did regret it, because there was no time left for him to try with you. You were gone, eroded like the old immortals, withered in a grave like a human. The immortality of gods like you and him was never physical after all, and your body decayed too soon.

"So, finally decided to join the bandwagon, huh?" Venti grins at the geo archon, sipping from his drink of what's presumably wine. The teahouse is half full, a known heritage site for anyone who knows the history of good Liyuen tea.

"It's an interesting idea." Zhongli simply replies.

"And how are you finding the human life, my dear friend?"

"Strangely. . . I had expected it to be a sociable endeavor," He smiles, strained, "but it could also feel quite lonely."

T H O M A

Doing laundry and taxes with Thoma was impossible in the first place. Not when you were destined to marry someone of the same status; a political engagement which tied you down since the day you turned of age.

For you, this was an unbearable tragedy. The denial of being with someone you love.

For Thoma, this was as simple as nature's course. Of course you would marry a noble! He's simply a commoner, a mere house worker with the favor of his boss. It wouldn't make sense for you to marry him.

And perhaps that's why it infuriated you; how dare he think so little of himself?

"I just don't understand why you're not mad about this! I'm about to be married and you— you won't say anything about that?" You once yelled, frustration built to its peak at his nonchalance.

"(Name)," Thoma says softly, concerned.

"No, don't you start!" You cut off swiftly, "You'll only talk about how you're a commoner and I'm a noble and I'm sick of that! I'm sick of all of it!"

"I just don't know what you want me to say–"

"Say you love me! Ask me to run away!" The words are desperate on your tongue. "Archons, Thoma, I wish you could be more selfish. I'd give it all up for you." You sob, collapsing onto the wooden floor as your legs give out. He immediately kneels in front of you, ready to embrace.

In quiet whispers, he cups your face, brushing tears away with his thumb, "You know I can't ask that of you."

You sniffle, "I know, I know." and "I just wanted you to try."

[obae-me]

Could you maybe do hc's for Diavolo where Mc is just super casual with him

Like they don't give two shits about his status. They treat him like he's just some guy they play beer pong with every Saturday

Demon Prince can't have a normal day in Devildom because, well, he's a prince? No problem lets just go to the human world

Absolutely I can. Casual Diavolo is one of my favorite types of Diavolo. Please enjoy some of these headcanons.

Homies in Hell

It surprised the both of them when MC didn't seem immediately intimidated by Diavolo. Sure they were confused when they were first summoned down, but despite being in a strange place, being surrounded by strange people who said they were demons, and despite announcing himself as the future King of Demons, the human always looked at Diavolo differently.

Of course, he intended to keep up frequent contact with them to ensure they were settling in properly, and he was always pleased to find that they would typically strike up a conversation with him. It was fascinating! Exciting! They sent 'wyd'! He has no idea what that means! Even when he tries to talk to Lucifer sometimes, it typically leads back to business or responsibility.

They even come over to the castle sometimes as an escape. They come over and tell Diavolo all about the chaos in the House of Lamentation and he always laughs and thinks about how fun it would be to participate. Although he is glad that MC finds it comforting to come to the castle to get some peace. He encourages them to come whenever they wish.

Lucifer and Barbatos had a hard time with the both of them at first. One should not treat royalty so casually! And yet, if it's what the prince wanted...and if it would help MC acclimate... they could let it slide as long as it was kept under wraps. And as long as they both didn't lose sight of their duties. No one expected it would come this far though... The Butler almost had a heart attack the first time MC almost kicked the doors to the castle open and just shouted "Dia! What's up?"

Now, the lines of royalty are completely blurred for MC. Sure, they know he's a prince, but he doesn't feel that way to them. Diavolo is a very good friend.

Diavolo wants to convert the entire Castle into a magical maze for a game of hide and seek? Awesome! Diavolo wants to play a simple card game? They head over with the deck! Barbatos has been making nothing but fancy healthy meals lately? MC brings over some junk food. Diavolo wants to learn more about human culture? MC pulls out some classic memes. You better believe he's going to be talking about it like it's a new hip thing and drive everyone else insane. Maybe they partially do it on purpose.

They enjoy spending time with him this way though. It's very clear to them that no one has ever really treated him this way and it's a shame, because he's actually really fun to be around. He always has a blast with whatever they do and it makes MC really enjoy the simpler things in life.

Sometimes Diavolo will give Barbatos an order that forces him to leave the castle just so MC can come over and do things together. The first night he did this was so MC could come over with groceries and they both spent time in the kitchen celebrating Diavolo's first Taco Tuesday. He was elated.

Sometimes after very long periods of stressful Princely things, MC will fake an emergency and say they need to rush to the human world with Diavolo. They got away clean the first few times, but now everyone knows they're just going up there to have fun. A lot of times they both can be found in a mall eating pretzels and looking to buy things they don't need. (Even though Diavolo could quite literally buy anything he wanted, he finds the concept of a budget quite fun!)

Once, for Diavolo's birthday, they went up to the human world and went to a drive-thu movie and then went bowling right after. They ordered pizza and popcorn and nachos. He got to wear sweatpants for the first time and he had a blast. Although both Lucifer and Barbatos made MC and Diavolo eat strict healthy meals for the next week, but it was worth it. Now Dia tries to wear sweats when he works on paperwork late at night.

Everyone close to MC and Diavolo actually says that MC is the Devil on Diavolo's shoulder since they encourage him to do anything that he wants rather than what he's required to do. It's almost poetic.

Diavolo always gives MC a high five or a fist-bump anytime they see each other now and no one knows how to feel about this.

They've created a sort of bucket-list to get done. It lists a bunch of casual things that Diavolo has always wanted to do. Some of which require: camping in a tent and not a cabin, playing a full game of monopoly, taking cheesy pictures in one of those mall kiosks, playing dodgeball, making a sandcastle, trying one of those restaurant challenges where you either eat something gigantic or super spicy and getting a memento t-shirt, playing Just-Dance, going on a roadtrip with no location in particular, and more. The list is ever ongoing.

MC gifted Diavolo one of those little basketball hoops to keep on the wastebasket in his office for his work and he adores it.

Sometimes they'll just facetime (or whatever the demon equivalent is) while they're doing whatever. Just to talk.

MC's behavior honestly eventually rubs off on everyone which is Diavolo's secret dream. Now if he shows up at the House unannounced, the brothers will wave and just chat casually instead of freaking out that the prince is here. Even Lucifer and Barbatos aren't fully free from the casualness! Something about MC and Diavolo just makes everyone a little less tense. Sometimes Lucifer will wear a hoodie around the house and Barbatos will actually order take-out every so often.

[glorified-red]

Petnames (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: Damian calls you by your name while grocery shopping instead of the usual petnames, you're not a fan.

word count: 1,330

warnings: a vaguely suggestive sentence This is entirely based off of a TikTok I saw, I wish I could link it but I lost it. I really wanted to go more into Damian's Arab culture so this is the start :)

You rolled the cart forward, leaning your body weight onto the handle bar. Shelves stacked on top of shelves obscured your vision, aisles filled to the brim with expensive foods you didn’t even know existed. 

Who cooks with saffron? Like seriously. 

Damian insisted on going grocery shopping today and you didn’t hesitate to tag along, enjoying the peaceful company that his presence always brought. He was currently sifting through the tiny bottles of herbs in front of him. 

Sesame seeds were gently placed in the cart alongside the lemons he picked out earlier, taking his time finding the perfect one for later tonight. Cumin found its way in the cart as well, set down right next to the yeast. 

Damian’s cooking was one you had come to adore. He spared no expense when it came to providing you with a proper meal. He was fueled by his desire to provide, the act of service lover in him thrived on the sensation. So as he began to explore his culture’s cuisine, you were a constant support for him. 

His new favorite pastime was experimenting with different flavored spreads, trying to perfect his own recipe so he could write it down in the household recipe journal right next to Alfred’s iconic banana bread and Tim’s new tofu recipe (created the second he learned Damian steered clear of animal products as much as possible, a vegetarian leaning slightly vegan if he could).

Damian had spent hours trying to learn how to craft dough from scratch, the fragile pita was a task he was willing to overcome with patience. Each time his hands would be covered in flour, the kitchen turned into a warzone of attempts. One batch was cooking, one was cooling, one was in his hands, and one was set aside to rise. You’d join him every time, sitting pretty on the counter while he worked, listening to the soft hum he let out as he concentrated. 

Damian would kiss you in between, his cheeks dusted with flour that he barely noticed. 

“You’re gonna get flour all over my clothes,” you’d whine in the kiss, complaints falling onto deaf ears as he kissed you deeply. His hands would settle onto the counter on either side of you, caging you in with his body. 

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” he’d smirk.

His sleeves would be rolled up after you insisted he wore an apron, he refused until you put it on him yourself. You’d tie the apron around his waist, the second you finished he’d pull you into a kiss in thanks. You’d blink and his hands would be under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter with the soft words of “I’ll need a taste tester.”

He’d hand you a small spoon every so often, watching your reaction with so much intensity it almost made you laugh with how serious he was about this. His eyebrows would furrow into the scowl as he waited for your feedback while you tasted the creamy hummus.

“It tastes amazing,” you’d gush, the flavors bursting to life on your tongue with how all the spices meshed together. 

The satisfaction on his face was always worth it. It was small, but the pride blossoming inside of him was always so endearing to you. Your word of praise sunk straight into him until his heart felt lighter. 

You’d flick flour at him as the night trailed onwards, smearing wet dough right on the tip of his nose so you could see him go cross-eyed. 

“Oh you are going to regret that.” 

“Am I?” you’d feign, holding back your own laughter. 

By the end of the night, you’d be out of breath with giggles, socked feet sliding across kitchen tiles as he chased you. He’d always nab you, wrapping you so tightly against his body with no hope for escape. You’d fight until your clothes were covered in just as much flour as he was. 

He’d smell of freshly cut herbs and the feeling of home. His tongue would taste of his marvelous cooking, an addicting essence you’d chase after well into the night while your dirty clothes lay discarded as an afterthought. 

The clink of glass against the metal cart brought you straight back to the grocery store. You could feel the tingle on your lips from the memory. You coughed, looking up to find Damian deciding between two types of chickpeas. They slowly became a staple of the household, an easy protein substitute for Damian alongside tofu. 

“Y/n, did you end up liking this one?” He turned to you, holding up the lightly colored kabuli package. The peas rattled against each other as the bag shifted. 

You went to respond but your brain stuttered to a stop. 

“What?” 

Damian quirked up an eyebrow before repeating himself: “Did you enjoy the last hummus I made with these or did you prefer the other kind?” 

“No, before that.” 

Now Damian was really lost. “I said nothing before that, we haven’t spoken since I last asked you about the oils.” 

You remembered, debating between the traditional olive oil or the more expensive avocado oil. 

“You said my name.” 

Damian nodded slowly, looking at you with a bewildered expression, one he used when he was trying not to call you a fucking twat. 

“I did, yes.” 

“Why did you call me that,” you almost pouted. “Are you mad at me?” 

He scoffed, taken aback completely. “No,” the syllable raised with his surprise but he held it firm, reassuring you solidly. “It’s just your name.” 

The chickpeas were long since forgotten, his hands falling beside his thighs as he leaned against the cart. 

“What did I do?” you asked, your heart sinking.

Damian couldn’t tell if you were being serious or messing around with him. He spoke slowly, “Am I not allowed to say your name?” 

You fully pouted, your words feeling embarrassing the more the conversation continued. “You just always use a nickname like beloved or love, you only ever call me by my name when you’re mad at me.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, a playful feeling settling behind his eyes. He didn’t realize how much those names meant to you, he’d remember that next time. 

“No I don’t,” he remarked, the playful retort falling from his lips easily.

“Yes you do!” you laughed, if you were closer you would’ve punched him in the shoulder (not like he would’ve moved or anything, but it got the message across all the same). “Cmon, Dames, what did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Damian said. “I merely wanted to grab your attention so I could know which flavor to buy.” 

“Then take it back,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Damian looked at you with a bored expression. “Excuse me?” 

“Take it back,” you demanded, standing firm in your words. “Call me something else.” 

“Is that really necessary?”

You pleaded with your eyes, willing every ounce of puppy dog sadness into your gaze. Damian narrowed his eyes in return. You were playing a dirty trick, knowing his weakness and exploiting it. He stood unwavering for a single moment, staring straight into your eyes with his own. 

But in the end, those eyes would always make him cave. 

“Fine,” he sighed, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance. “Beloved, darling, love of my life, habibti,” the arabic term of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease, it always made your chest flutter, “What flavor would you prefer?” 

You smiled wide, a big toothy grin that made your eyes sparkle. 

Damian tsked, “Are you satisfied now?” 

“Yes,” you beamed, your hands falling from your chest and back onto the cart handle. “And the desi one, it’s creamier.” 

Damian plopped the bag into the cart. “You are such a dork.” 

You hummed, “You love me, don’t lie.” 

“Do I, Y/n?” Damian smiled, turning away to exit the aisle. 

“Aye!” You followed after him, hearing the soft chuckle from afar.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #41 – Japan 1941: Countdown to Infamy by Eri Hotta

Almost everything I know about World War 2, I learned against my will through a poorly spent adolescence and reading people argue about it online. Living in Canada, Japan’s role in it is even more obscure, with the wars in the Pacific and China getting a fraction of a fraction of the official commemoration and pop culture interest of events in Europe. So I went into this book with a knowledge of only the vague generalities of Japanese politics in the ‘30s and ‘40s – from that baseline, this was a tremendously interesting and educational book, if at times more than a bit dry.

The book is a very finely detailed narrative of the internal deliberations within the Japanese government and the diplomatic negotiations with the USA through late 1940 and 1941, which ultimately culminate in the decision to attack Pearl Harbour and invade European colonies across the Pacific. It charts the (deeply dysfunctional) decision-making systems of the Imperial Japanese government and how bureaucratic politics, factional intrigue and positioning, and an endemic unwillingness to be the one to back down and eat your words, made a war with the USA first possible, then plausible, then seemingly inevitable. Throughout this, the book wears its thesis on its sleeve – that the war in the Pacific only ever seemed inevitable, that until the very last hour there was widespread understanding that the war would be near-unwinnable across the imperial government and military, but a broken political culture, the career suicide of being the one to endorse accepting American demands,, and a simple lack of courage or will among the doves, prevented anything from ever coming of it.

So I did know that Imperial Japan’s government had, let’s say, fundamental structural issues when I opened the book, but I really wasn’t aware of just how confused and byzantine the upper echelons of it were. Like if Brazil was about the executive committee – the army and navy ministries had entirely separate planning infrastructures from the actual general staffs, and all of them were basically silo’d off from the actual economic and industrial planning bureaucracy (despite the fact that the head of the Cabinet Planning Board was a retired general). All of which is important, because the real decisions of war and peace were made in liaison meetings with the prime minister, foreign minister, and both ministry and general staff of each branch – meetings which were often as not just opportunities for grandstanding and fighting over the budget. The surprise is less that they talked themselves into an unwinnable war and more that they decided on anything at all.

The issue, as Hotta frames it, is that there really wasn’t a single place the buck stopped – officially speaking, the civilian government and both branches of the military served the pleasure of the Emperor – whose theoretically absolute authority was contained by both his temperament and both custom and a whole court bureaucracy dedicated to making sure the prestige of the throne didn’t get mired in and discredited by the muck of politics. The entire Meiji Constitution was built around the presence of a clique of ‘imperial advisers’ who could borrow the emperor’s authority without being so restrained – but as your Ito Hirobumis and Yamagata Aritomos died off, no one with the same energy, authority and vision ever seems to have replaced them.

So you had momentous policy decisions presented as suggestions to the emperor who could agree and thus turn them into inviolable commands, and understood by the emperor as settled policy who would provide an apolitical rubber-stamp on. Which, combined with institutional cultures that strongly encouraged being a good soldier and not undercutting or hurting the image of your faction, led to a lot of people quietly waiting for someone else to stand up and make a scene for them (or just staying silent and wishing them well when they actually did).

Now, this is all perhaps a bit too convenient for many of the people involved – doubtless anyone sitting down and writing their memoirs in 1946 would feel like exaggerating their qualms about the war as much as they could possibly get away with. I feel like Hotta probably takes those post-war memoirs and interviews too much at face value in terms of people’s unstated inner feeling – but on the other hand, the bureaucratic records and participants’ notes preserved from the pivotal meetings themselves do seem to show a great deal of hesitation and factional doubletalk. Most surprisingly to me was the fact that Tojo (who I had the very vague impression was the closest thing to a Japanese Hitler/Mussolini there was) was actually chosen to lead a peace cabinet and find some 11th hour way to avert the war. Which in retrospect was an obviously terrible decision, but it was one he at least initially tried to follow through on.

If the book has a singular villain, it’s actually no Tojo (who is portrayed as, roughly, replacement-rate bad) but Prince Konoe, the prime minister who actually presided over Japan’s invasion of China abroad and slide into a militarized police state at home, who led the empire to the very brink of war with the United States before getting cold feet and resigning at the last possible moment to avoid the responsibility of either starting the war or of infuriating the military and destroying his own credibility by backing down and acceding to America’s demands. He’s portrayed as, not causing, but exacerbating

every one of Japan’s structural political issues through a mixture of cowardice and excellent survival instincts – he carefully avoided fights he might lose, even when that meant letting his foreign minister continue to sabotage negotiations he supported while he arranged support to cleanly remove him (let alone really pushing back on the army). At the same time, the initiatives he did commit were all things inspired by his deep fascination with Nazi Germany – the dissolution of partisan political parties and creation of an (aspirationally, anyway) totalitarian Imperial Rule Assistance Association, the creation of a real militarized police state, the heavy-handed efforts to create a more pure and patriotic culture. He’s hardly to blame for all of that, of course, but given that he was a civilian politician initially elected to curb military influence, his governments sure as hell didn’t help anything (and it is I suppose just memorably ironic that he’s the guy on the spot for many of the most military-dictatorship-e aspects of Japanese government).

One of the most striking things about the book is actually not even part of the main narrative but just the background context of how badly off Japan was even before they attacked the United States. I knew the invasion of China hadn’t exactly been going great, but ‘widespread rationing in major cities, tearing up wrought iron fencing in the nicest districts of the capital to use in war industry’ goes so much further than I had any sense of. The second Sino-Japanese War was the quintessential imperial adventure and war of choice, and also just literally beyond the material abilities of the state of Japan to sustain in conjunction with normal civilian life. You see how the American embargo on scrap metal and petroleum was seen as nearly an act of war in its own right. You also wonder even more how anyone could possibly have convinced themselves that an army that was already struggling to keep its soldiers fed could possibly win an entirely new war with the greatest industrial power on earth. Explaining which is of course the whole point of the book (they didn’t, in large part, but convinced themselves the Americans wouldn’t have the stomach for it and agree to a favourable peace quickly, or that Germany would conquer the UK and USSR and impose mediation on Japan’s terms, or-).

When trying to understand the decision-making process, I’m honestly reminded of nothing so much as the obsession with ‘credibility’ you see among many American foreign policy hands in the modern day. The idea that once something had been committed to – the (largely only extant on paper) alliance with Nazi Germany, the creation of a collaborator government in China to ‘negotiate’ with, the occupation of southern Vietnam – then, even if you agreed it hadn’t worked out and had probably been a terrible decision to begin with, reversing course without some sort of face-saving agreement or concession on the other side would shatter any image of strength and invite everyone else the world over to grab at what you have. The same applies just as much to internal politics, where admitting that your branch couldn’t see a way to victory in the proposed war was seen as basically surrendering the viciously fought over budget, no matter the actual opinions of your experts – the book includes anecdotes about both fleet admirals and the senior field marshal China privately tearing their respective superiors in Tokyo a (polite) new one for the bellicosity they did not believe themselves capable of following through on, but of course none of these sentiments were ever shared with anyone who might use them against the army/navy.

The book is very much a narrative of the highest levels of government, idea of mass sentiment and popular opinion are only really incidentally addressed. Which does make it come as a shock every time it’s mentioned that a particular negotiation was carried out in secret because someone got spooked by an ultranationalist assassination attempt the day before. I entirely believe that no one wanted to say as much, but I can’t help but feel that people’s unwillingness to forthrightly oppose further war owed something to all the radical actors floating around in the junior ranks of the officer corps who more than willing to take ‘decisive, heroic action’ against anyone in government trying to stab the war effort in the back. Which is something that the ever-increasing number of war dead in China (with attendant patriotic unwillingness to let them die ‘for nothing) and the way everyone kept trying to rally the public to the war effort with ever-more militaristic public rhetoric assuredly only made worse.

That same rhetoric also played its part in destroying the possibility of negotiations with the United States. The story of those negotiations runs throughout the book, and is basically one misunderstanding and failure to communicate after another. It at times verges on comedy. Just complete failure to model the political situation and diplomatic logic of the other party, on both sides (combined with a great and increasing degree of wishful thinking that e.g. letting the military occupy southern French Indochina as a concession for their buy-in on further negotiations would be fine with the Americans. A belief held on exactly zero evidence whatsoever). The United States government was actually quite keen to avoid a war in the pacific if possible, as FDR did his best to get entangled in Europe and effectively start an undeclared naval war with Germany – but the negotiating stance hardened as Japan seemed more and more aggressive and unreliable, which coincided exactly with Japan’s government taking the possibility of war seriously enough to actually try to negotiate. It’s the same old story of offering concessions and understanding that might have been agreed to a few months beforehand, but were now totally unacceptable. In the end, everyone pinned their hopes on a face-to-face diplomatic summit with FDR in Juneau, where sweeping concessions could be agreed to and the government’s credibility staked on somewhere the hardliners could not physically interfere with. The Americans, meanwhile, wanted some solid framework for what the agreement would be before the summit occurred, and so it never did.

After the war, it was apparently the general sentiment that the whole nation was responsible for the war with the United States – which is to say that no individual person deserved any special or specific blame. Hotta’s stated aim with the book is to show how that’s bullshit, how war was entirely avoidable, and it was only do to these small cliques of specific, named individuals that it began. The hardliners like Osami Nagano, but just as much the cowards, careerists and factional partisans like Konoe, Tojo, and (keeper of the Privy Seal) Kido. Having read it I, at least, am convinced.